Soundtrack: V.A.S.T "Somewhere Else to Be." Aside from that, mostly Melissa Etheridge, particularly "How Would I Know?" "My Lover," "Enough of Me," "Truth of the Heart" and "Sleep," from 'Breakdown' as well as "If I Wanted To" and "Come to My Window" from 'Yes I Am.'

Benton Fraser, Ray Kowalski and a whole bunch of these other people belong to Alliance, which if you ask me is slavery and isn't that illegal?

Rated NC17 for m/m intimacy ("That means 'sex' in Fraserspeak." "Thank you Ray.") Warnings: Unsafe sex.

This is an AU, wherein many things happened quite differently from the way they did in the series; however, there are moments of resonance.

Thanks to Audra, Andre, Betty and Judi for help along the road. Special thanks to Betty for assistance with one particularly recalcitrant scene, and to Audra, Betty & LaTonya for unparalleled beta-work. My humblest thanks.

---

Somewhere Else to Be
© 2000 Kellie Matthews

        "Hey, Doc! This baby giving you trouble again?" the tall, slender man in mechanic's coveralls asked, looking surprised. "You're gonna ruin my reputation here."
        Benton Fraser flicked a thumb nervously across his left eyebrow. "Yes, well, I'm sure whatever is wrong must be my fault, Stanley, I'm just not very good with mechanical things," he said, absolutely truthfully. He was positive that what was wrong was his fault, as he had spent the better part of an hour working on the fan belt with a file to be sure it broke without looking like it had been cut.
        "Ray," the scruffy blond said.
        "Excuse me?" Benton asked, puzzled.
        "My name's Ray. Not Stanley."
        "Ah." Benton looked again at the embroidered patch which embellished the man's coveralls over the smooth curve of pectoral muscle. It plainly read 'Stanley,' just as he'd remembered. "Forgive me, I thought. . . ."
        The other man looked down, following his gaze, and then back up, flashing a quick, spontaneous grin. "Yeah, well, okay, so my name really is Stanley, that's my first name, but I go by my middle name, Ray. The boss sees Stanley on the job application, though, and that's what goes on the patch. Three years I work here, and he still never got it through his head that I go by Ray, and then the new guy took over and I figure why fight it? So, just think of me like Superman or something. By day I'm mild mannered mechanic, Stanley Kowalski, by night I'm . . . Ray."
        Ben was diverted by the flight of fancy. It was part and parcel of the easy manner and open friendliness that Benton found so appealing about the other man. Stanl. . . or rather, Ray, was the only person he knew in Chicago who didn't treat him like some sort of consumable, like the young women in his classes, or like a pariah for getting the fellowship that slightly less than half of the department had wanted to award to someone else. He knew it was pathetic for him to resort to sabotaging his own vehicle for a few moments of real conversation, but he was, frankly, desperate. He wasn't sure how he was going to survive another day of this.
        When he'd accepted the fellowship, nine months in Chicago had not seemed like such a bad idea, and it would give him access to the collections he needed for his research; and though he'd been lonely, the first month or so hadn't been so bad. But each successive month got worse as departmental politics failed to resolve themselves and he discovered that some American women were rather . . . forceful about their attentions, leading him to have a strict open door policy during his office hours. He'd grown more and more homesick, and then on top of it all, summer had hit, and the combination of negatives became almost more than he could bear. Which is what had driven him here, of all places.
        "So, what does Stanley's alter-ego do at night?" he asked, grasping at straws to continue the conversation.
        Ray stared at him for a moment, eyes wide and surprised. Benton gazed back, wondering what he was so surprised about, and rather intrigued by the way his eyes seemed to catch the light, as if there were gold in their blue. He'd never seen eyes quite like that. After a moment Ray shrugged.
        "Not much, really. No secret crime-fighting for me. Couldn't get into the academy. So I watch TV if there's anything good on, which there isn't usually. Once in a while I go out for a beer, shoot some pool. Sometimes I go over to the Senior Center and play chess with Albert Hanrahan."
        "You play chess?" Benton winced, inwardly, sure his surprise sounded insulting. Still, he would never have guessed this man was a chess player.
        A slightly defensive expression flashed across Ray's angular face. "Yeah. My dad taught me when I was a kid. I like to keep my hand in, and Mr. Hanrahan is a tough guy to beat. Strange old bird, crazy as a loon but plays a mean game. Now, let's see what's wrong with this baby . . . " Ray said, popping the T-clamps on the passenger side of the hood.
        "I play chess," Ben volunteered diffidently, hoping that hadn't sounded as feeble as he thought it had.
        Ray nodded in acknowledgment as he straightened and moved around to the other side, released those clamps, and lifted the hood. He planted both hands on the fender and leaned in, searching, poking, prodding. He had remarkably long, slender fingers. That was obvious despite the grease and scrapes that marred his narrow hands. He had the hands of a pianist, not a mechanic. Benton had noticed he wore no wedding ring, nor had Ray made mention of a girlfriend in his recitation of potential evening activities. For some reason Benton found that surprising. He would have thought a friendly, attractive person like Ray would be married or at least have a girlfriend.
        "Here's the problem." Ray said, straightening up, the broken belt dangling from his hands. "Fan belt. Hunh. . . " Ray sounded puzzled. "I just replaced this puppy at your last tune-up. It shouldn't have broken this fast. Must've been detrac. . . I mean, defective. Look, I'll replace it free, okay? Don't want anybody thinking I'd use defective parts."
        Oh dear. Now that he couldn't allow, not when he knew perfectly well that it hadn't been defective. He cast around desperately for a reason to refuse. "I couldn't let you do that, Ray. Wouldn't the cost of the part come out of your salary?"
        Ray twisted around to look over his shoulder, grinning. "I don't think it's gonna break me, Doc. And I should have noticed if it was bad, usually I can spot a bubble or a flaw in a belt before I put it in. I must've been tired or something that day."
        "That wouldn't be right," Benton said weakly. "I insist on paying for the cost of any needed repairs."
        Ray frowned. "Look, Doc, I make good money, it's okay. Let me do it, I'd feel better. I mean, you've been in here twice a month for the past three months. That's not right. You shouldn't keep having problems like that. I mean, she's a good, sound piece of machinery even if she's got a few miles on her. And you're not that rough on her, it's not like Chicago's any kind of hardship for a vehicle like this. I can't figure why you keep having all these problems."
        Benton could feel a blush rising in his face and hoped the spotty fluorescent lights hid it. "Yes, well, as I said, I'm not very good with mechanical things. And I was out on gravel roads last week, perhaps a stone was thrown up by the tires and nicked the belt." God. That had sounded unutterably stupid, hadn't it?
        Ray shook his head, grinning. "Nice try, Doc, but theories probably work better in the classroom than in a garage. I gotta find a replacement belt, I'll be right back, okay? You stay put and don't touch anything."
        Ray sauntered, away, and Benton stayed, despite being a little irked by the command, uttered as if he were a child who might hurt himself, or worse, damage some precious piece of equipment. He was half tempted to pick up a wrench or a tire-iron just to be contrary, but realizing that would prove him to be as childish as the command had assumed, he refrained. A moment later Ray was back, a new belt in his hands.
        "This ought to do her," he said, leaning into the engine compartment again. "Y'know, I always wondered how a guy like you ended up with a jeep. You don't look the type."
        Well, now what did that mean? It sounded vaguely insulting. "What type do I look, then?" he asked, before he could stop himself.
        Ray lifted his head, studied him a moment. "Volvo. Maybe Saab," he allowed, then returned his attention to the engine.
        Ouch. Now that hurt. "I see," he said morosely. "I hadn't realized I looked like a pretentious yuppie."
        The mechanic lifted his head, rather too quickly, and whacked it on the hood. He winced and rubbed at the spot with the back of one hand. "I didn't say that," he said, frowning.
        "I suppose not, but the implication is there."
        "Is not. It's just. . . ." he paused, clearly groping for words, and gestured toward Benton with an oddly helpless little movement of his hands. "You're all. . . buttoned down, neat, tidy, tweedy. Jeep guys, they're usually jeans and tee-shirt guys. They have dogs. They go camping."
        Ah. He was beginning to understand. "I have a dog," he offered. "Well, a wolf, actually."
        Ray looked at him, surprised. "You do?"
        Benton nodded. "Yes. And I camp. It's rather a hazard of the profession, actually. And most of my wardrobe is jeans and tee-shirts. I just don't wear them to work. You're looking at my one and only blazer," he admitted, looking down at the classic tweed jacket he'd bought at a second-hand store in Toronto.
        Ray was looking at him like he thought he was being put-on. "Hazard of the profession? For a college professor?" He sounded incredulous.
        Suddenly Benton didn't feel quite so badly about being surprised that Ray played chess. "I teach archaeology and anthropology. Most summers I spend in the field, on digs and doing research."
        "Archaeology, hunh? Like Indiana Jones." Ray grinned. "Bet the girls in your classes write 'love you' on their eyelids just like in 'Raiders.' You got a hat?"
        Benton smiled wryly. "Actually, yes. Not a fedora though."
        Ray studied him. "Yeah, that wouldn't work for you. Wrong shape face. You got a whip, too?"
        His eyes were sparkling, literally, with humor. It was contagious. Benton found himself smiling back, and replied without thinking. "Tried that once, it wasn't really me."
        Ray's eyebrows went up, pushing several parallel furrows into being across his forehead. After a second he laughed, shaking his head. "You're full of surprises tonight, Doc. So this dog-wolf of yours, how come I've never seen him?"
        "Anti-freeze."
        Surprisingly, Ray nodded. "Oh yeah. Hadn't thought of that. But we're careful here. We got a lot of stray cats around, I always make sure things are disposed of so they can't get into 'em. Bring him with, next time, I'd like to meet him. How'd you end up with a wolf-dog?"
        "Well, that's rather a long story. I'm sure you wouldn't be interested in that."
        The sparkle went out like an extinguished candle and Ray nodded. "Right. Okay. Well then, I'll just finish up here and you can get on your way." He leaned back into the engine, deftly sliding those long, thin hands into the oddly-shaped, narrow spaces between parts to secure the new belt.
        Benton was acutely aware that he had done something wrong, but he wasn't sure what. The conversation had been quite promising until . . . oh. Oh. Perhaps Ray had taken his reluctance to start what everyone had assured him was an extremely dull story as a reluctance to talk in general. He cleared his throat.
        "You really want to hear about how I ended up with Diefenbaker?"
        Ray frowned. "What's a Diefenbaker?"
        "The wolf. I would tell you the story, but you'd probably just fall asleep. I'm told I have a tendency to ramble."
        Ray chuckled. "You're a professor, you're supposed to ramble." He wiped his hands on a rag and put down the Jeep's hood, latching the T-clamps into place. "There you go. All done. Denise already went home, so if you go back out front I'll lock up, then bring this baby around and write up your ticket for you."
        Benton nodded, went back through the door into the office area and Ray locked the door behind him. He stood, waiting patiently, pleased that he seemed to have restored the ease between them, looking at the generic mountain scenery calender by the door. Movement caught his eye and he looked through the window in the door to see Ray open a locker. Bored, he kept watching as Ray peeled down the zipper on his coveralls. He was about to turn away, embarrassed, when Ray shrugged out of the top half of the coveralls to reveal he was wearing a black, tank-style undershirt beneath it. Oh. All right. He wasn't being a voyeur after all.
        Next Ray shimmied out of the lower half of the coveralls, revealing a pair of jeans which, though by no means tight, were still a great deal less baggy than the brown coveralls. The man had very long legs. He took a short-sleeved shirt out of the locker and hung the coveralls up in its place, and closed the locker, then pulled the shirt on over his tank and toured the repair bay, flipping switches. That done, he got into Ben's jeep and backed it out into the parking lot. He stopped, set the brake and jumped out, jogged back inside, pushed a button by the door, then dashed out again, ducking to avoid the garage door as it rumbled closed.
        A moment later the Jeep was out front and Ray was walking in the front door. With a grin and a wink he tossed the keys to Benton, who caught them and tucked them into his pants pocket. Ray's gaze followed that motion, then slid away as he walked over behind the counter and flipped through the job orders until he found the one he wanted. He leaned on the counter, writing for a moment, then tore the top copy off and slapped it down on the spike next to the register. The other copy he held out. Benton took it, saw what he'd written, and sighed.
        "I told you I wanted to pay for the repair. Your time is valuable, and the parts cost money as well."
        "I guarantee my work, and that's the last I'm saying about it," Ray said stubbornly.
        Benton didn't want things to end on this note. He recalled that Ray had said he sometimes went out for a beer, and decided to chance that. "Well then, thank you kindly," he said, then continued, awkwardly. "If you won't let me pay for the repair, can I at least buy you a beer?" Although he did not drink, himself, he had seen the ritual played out often enough amongst his students to know that it was a common offer, and would likely not be refused.
        Ray hesitated for a moment, his gaze sharp on Ben's face, then he shrugged. "Sure, why not? I could use one. Where do you want to go?"
        "You choose, I'm not familiar with the drinking establishments in this area."
        Ray's eyebrows went up. "Drinking establishments? Where're you from, anyway? Oh, never mind. I remember now. Some place North. . . um. . . Northwest Territories?"
        Benton stared at him, nonplused, certain he had never discussed his origins with Ray. "How did you know that?" he demanded.
        Ray closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead, frowning dramatically. "Telepathy," he said, then he dropped his hand, grinned, and winked. "License plates on the Jeep."
        He couldn't help but laugh at that. "Oh, lord, I hadn't thought of that! I wondered if perhaps someone had put a sign on my back."
        Ray shook his head, still smiling. "No, no worries there. Where is that, anyhow? I mean, I get north and west, but north and west of what?"
        "Pretty much anything," Benton said wryly. "It's north of Alberta, primarily."
        "Alberta who? Oh, hang on." Ray dug in a drawer under the register and produced an atlas. "Here y'go. Point. I never was good at geology."
        "You mean geography?" Benton corrected automatically.
        "Um, yeah. That."
        Benton thought he saw a bit of a flush on the other man's face, and felt badly about embarrassing him. He resolved not to correct him next time. Clearly Ray had not had an extensive education, but then, Benton couldn't repair an engine, either. He opened the atlas, flipped through it until he found a full-page map of North America, and pointed toward the coastline along the Beaufort Sea. "There. That's home. Inuvik."
        Ray studied the map, whistled softly, and looked at Benton. "Geez, practically the North Pole. You ever see the uh, thing. . . the aurora?"
        He nodded, suddenly feeling homesick. "Many, many times."
        "Wow. Bet that's something."
        "Yes, it is," he said simply, because there was no need for more.
        Ray looked at him speculatively. "Bet the heat here's killing you."
        Benton nodded. "I am finding it a . . . challenge."
        "What are you doing down here, anyway?"
        Benton sighed. "I often ask myself that very thing."
        Ray gave him an understanding look, and nodded toward the door. "Let's get outta here. We'll go over to The Rose. You'll like it, it's air conditioned."
        It was true, air conditioning was proving to be a godsend for him, no matter that he felt guilty for the environmental repercussions. He couldn't bring himself to purchase a unit for his apartment, but if it was already in use in the public buildings he frequented, that wasn't his responsibility. He nodded and followed Ray out of the little office. "Where is this place? I'll need directions."
        Ray turned and pointed up the street. Benton followed his finger, and saw the big neon flower about two blocks away, and smiled. "I'm not really sure how I managed to miss that before."
        Ray grinned. "People don't see what they're not looking for."
        Benton looked at him for a moment, startled by the simple profundity of that statement, and nodded. "Yes, that's exactly right. Well, shall we?" he nodded toward the sign.
        Ray nodded back, and Benton headed for the sidewalk. Ray looked surprised for a moment, then fell into step beside him. "Good idea. No point in driving two blocks." He looked around mock-furtively, and grinned again. "Don't tell anybody I said that."
        "My lips are sealed," Ben promised, amused.

* * *

        The Doc seemed to un-wilt a little after about fifteen minutes in The Rose's air conditioned comfort. Ray wondered why he hadn't just taken off the tweed jacket at the garage. Wool and button-down collars were not summer gear in Chicago. Maybe he was just so used to cooler weather that it hadn't occurred to him. As soon as they sat down, Ray noticed they were getting looks from the regular bar-chicks across the room. Not surprising, as the other man was almost ridiculously good-looking. He hadn't ever really thought of another guy as handsome or attractive before, not a real guy, one he knew, as opposed to some actor or singer. But this guy, wow. He was something else. Six feet, give or take a bit, with a build like a Greek statue and a face right out of a Superman comic. Perfect features, dark hair, fair skin, cloudy blue-gray eyes.
        Ray also noticed he hadn't ordered a beer, or even a soft drink, just water. It made him feel a little funny about his own beer, but it was too late to change his order. He wondered if the guy was a recovering alcoholic. Didn't look like one, but you could never tell. So he sat across the scarred booth-top from the man, wondering about him as he sipped his beer, and tried not to feel self-conscious. A little to his surprise, things grew easier as they talked.
        Professor Fraser did indeed ramble a little, but it was at least semi-interesting rambling, all about the place where he'd grown up, the Northwest Territories. Sort of like growing up in Alaska, Ray figured. The last holdout of the frontier. He liked the wolf-dog story, had laughed out loud when Fraser got to the part where the adolescent wolf knocked the timber into the mineshaft and brained poor Fraser for the second time. Fraser looked startled at that, then oddly pleased. Ray got the impression people didn't listen to the guy very often, not on a personal level anyway. And boy, he knew that feeling.
        Even though he'd only drunk half of his beer, he was sort of starting to feel it after having skipped lunch. He glanced at his watch, saw he had time to eat before he needed to head over for his regular Thursday chess match with Mr. Hanrahan. He waited for a break in the rambling and then spoke.
        "I'm gonna order dinner, you want something?"
        The way Fraser's face lit up you'd think he'd just been invited to dinner with the President. Or the Queen, maybe, since he was Canadian. He must not get out much. But man, what a smile. It made Ray glad he'd asked. He signaled the waiter who brought over menus, and he ordered the house special burger and fries. He watched Fraser eye the burger side of the menu, sigh, and flip it over to the healthy stuff side, and grinned. Reaching across the table he flipped the menu back over.
        "Go for it. You only live once."
        "It's really not very healthy, Ray."
        "It tastes good, Doc."
        "Please, call me Benton."
        Ray did a double-take. "Benton? Your name is Benton?" Fraser nodded, and Ray shook his head. "That's kind of a mouthful. You mind Ben, instead?"
        The other man frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head, smiling a little. "No, no, I wouldn't mind that."
        "Greatness. Ben it is. So go for it, Ben. Get the special, it's a double bacon-cheeseburger with barbeque sauce. Out of this world. Maybe even some fries. Live a little. It's not like you have to worry about your weight."
        "Actually, I have to be quite careful here. At home I'm used to consuming far more calories than I can use here. I don't get the exercise I'm used to, and I don't expend nearly as much energy simply keeping warm."
        Ray laughed. "No, you definitely don't have to worry about keeping warm here, at least not this time of year. Give it five months and you might. Still, it's not gonna kill you to have a hamburger now and then, is it?"
        "No, I suppose not." He turned to the waiter, who had been hovering patiently through the discussion, and duplicated Ray's order. As the waiter took off, Ray could see past him, and he groaned as he saw the petite brunette woman who was coming toward the table.
        "Oh lord. What the heck does she want? Just what I needed today. No, don't turn around, maybe she won't notice you. . . damn. Too late." He saw Frannie pause in mid-step, her gaze cataloguing and evaluating Benton Fraser, and he shot a dark look in her direction. She ignored the look or didn't see it, one or the other, and resumed her approach, this time with a sway in her backside that better belonged on a bar top in a strip club. She got to the table, struck a pose, and smiled sweetly.
        "Hey there Ray."
        "Frannie," he acknowledged sullenly. "C'n I help you?"
        "You could introduce me to your friend here. Your very interesting friend," she purred suggestively, leaning toward his companion a little, the scent of expensive perfume wafting off her, her Wonder-Bra pushing her smallish breasts into actual cleavage beneath her equally expensive silk knit tank. Ray knew silk when he saw it, he hadn't been with Stella all those years without learning that. He stifled that thought. Was it his imagination or did Fraser seem to edge away from her marginally? Maybe he was more savvy than he looked.
        "I could but I'm not gonna, Mrs. Zuko," he said with deliberate emphasis. "Now go pick on someone your own size."
        "Ray!" Ben exclaimed, sounding horrified.
        Ray shot a quelling look at him. "My neighborhood, Doc. I know what I'm doing. You do not want Frannie's old man gunning for you. Does he, Frannie?"
        Frannie's predatory look melted into a forlorn little sigh. "No, Ray. He doesn't. You're right. I'm sorry. It's just. . . well. . . oh, never mind."
        Ray sighed. Poor Frannie. Married to a guy she didn't even like just because her brother wanted a piece of the guy's action. He toned down his outrage and gave her a sympathetic look. "I know, Frannie. I know. But you gotta not do this. You know what always happens. How many more guys do you want to end up in the hospital?"
        "None," she said in a low voice. She sighed again, shot a longing look at Ray's companion, and made a wry face. "Well, guess I know where I'm not wanted. See you around, Ray. Nice not meeting you, handsome." She started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. She had an odd, apologetic look on her face.
        "Um, Ray, you heard Stella and my brother set a date, right?"
        He flinched, and nodded. "Yeah. I heard."
        She nodded. "I figured, but I thought you'd probably want to know, if you hadn't."
        "Thanks. Yeah, now I know when to plan my vacation."
        She gave him a sympathetic smile, and then was gone. He sighed. Sensing eyes on him, he looked up to find Benton Fraser looking at him with a slight frown, his expression a mixture of curiosity and disapproval. After Ray looked at him, he took a breath, hesitated for a moment, then spoke.
        "That wasn't very. . . polite."
        "Yeah. I know. But believe me, you're better off. First off, she's married. B, she's married to a mob guy. And if that wasn't enough, Vecchio, that's her brother, is an even bigger mob guy. Trust me, Doc, the lady's not safe."
        "She seemed nice enough."
        "She is. Frannie's got a good heart, she just doesn't have much sense." He eyed Ben, seeing him watching Frannie where she stood at the bar, and wondered if he needed a bit more of a whap from the clue-bat. Yeah, maybe so. He seemed a little on the gullible side. "And like I said, she's married, to a guy you do not want to meet in a dark alley."
        That did it. The eyes snapped back to meet his, and a distinct flush painted the other man's face. "I assure you, the simple fact that she's married would have sufficed," Ben said, clearly embarrassed.
        Ray looked at him for a minute, and smiled. "Yeah? Okay. I'll remember that. Wouldn't matter to lotsa guys."
        "It matters to me," Ben said firmly.
        "Got that," Ray said, taking a long swallow of his beer, needing it after the invocation of Stella. He felt those eyes on him again, glanced over to see that Ben was watching him thoughtfully. He put down the bottle and lifted his eyebrows, encouraging him to ask the question he clearly wanted to.
        "Ray, are there really 'mob guys' hereabouts?"
        "You better believe it."
        "Interesting. I suppose I had thought that stories of the dominance of organized crime in Chicago were exaggerated by the entertainment media for effect."
        Ray stared at him, impressed. "Wow. You talk like that all the time?"
        Ben looked puzzled. "Like what?"
        Ray grinned, shaking his head. "Never mind."
        Their waiter appeared and set two identical plates before them. Suddenly his burger and fries weren't nearly as appealing as they had been a few minutes earlier. Funny how thinking about Stella and Vecchio could completely ruin his appetite. Still, he had to drive, and he needed food. He picked up a french-fry and chewed, slowly. Swallowing it was like swallowing sand. He took another swig of his beer to wash it down, fidgeted with the label on the bottle, then put it down and poked at the garnish on his plate. Ben seemed to be having no difficulties with his meal. He watched Ben eat, pleased that his suggestion had obviously been a good one. After a few moments Ben wiped his mouth and looked up.
        "You're right, this is quite delici. . . " Ben stopped, his gaze going from Ray to the nearly untouched sandwich on his plate and then back. His eyebrows lifted in concern. "Is something wrong with your food?"
        "No. No, I just kinda got . . . not hungry."
        "Ah." The other man tilted his head slightly, studying him with slightly narrowed eyes and a faint frown. "Might that have something to do with the woman Mrs. Zuko mentioned? Stella?"
        Ray dragged a hand through his hair with a groan. "God, is it that obvious?"
        "I wouldn't say obvious," Ben hedged.
        "Yeah, you wouldn't say it because you're polite." Ray sighed. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah. It is. Her, I mean. I just can't handle thinking about her an Vecchio. Just kinda. . . eats at me, here." He rubbed at his chest, then swore. "Damn. Sorry. I got no business putting that on you. You don't even know me."
        Ben sat back and smoothed his fingertips across his left eyebrow. "You're quite correct. However, I'm told I can be a good listener, when I stop talking long enough to realize the other person is speaking."
        Startled, Ray looked back up at him. Ben was smiling a little ruefully, but sincerely.
        "You really wanna hear about . . . her?" he ventured.
        "You listened to my Diefenbaker story, it's only fair."
        Ray made a face. "Not exactly the same thing. Your story was kinda fun."
        "Still, I would be happy to listen, if, that is, you wanted to talk."
        Ray shook his head, knowing full well no one in his right mind would want to sit and listen to him whine about his ex-wife. "Nah. Not right now. I gotta meet Albert for chess in half an hour, and Stella would take a lot longer than that to go through. But thanks for the offer."
        He thought he saw disappointment flicker across the other man's face as his gaze dropped to his plate and he started poking at his fries like Ray had been doing a moment earlier. Well, obviously he couldn't be disappointed that he didn't get to listen to Ray bitch, so it had to be something else. . . oh. Maybe it was the meeting Albert thing. Maybe he wanted to hang some more. That was kind of cool. He perked up, suddenly remembering something the other man had said earlier. "Hey, you got plans tonight?"
        Ben looked up from his plate, almost eagerly. "No, Ray, well, not other than grading papers, which, frankly, is absolutely the last thing I want to do. Why?"
        He looked interested. He sounded interested. Ray didn't blame him. He couldn't think of much that would be worse than spending the evening grading papers. Maybe a root canal, or getting pulled over for speeding. "You said you play chess, right? I bet Albert would love to have somebody else to beat. He already knows all my good moves. You wanna come with?"
        That light-up-the-dark smile flared briefly again, and once more Ray felt like somebody had just punched him. Geez, the guy ought to come with warning labels.
        "Yes, I'd like that very much. I think I'd rather face the wrath of my entire class for not having finished the grading tomorrow than look at one more paper right now."
        Ray grinned. "Great. Greatness. Albert'll be thrilled." Albert wasn't the only one. It had been a long time since he'd had someone to hang out with, someone his own age, who actually seemed to like him. After he and Stella split, most of their 'friends' had gone with her. He understood, that, really, after all, most smart people would choose to side with the half of the couple who's dating the mob guy. . . just to be safe. Feeling a little, no, a lot less morose, and also hungry again, he picked up his burger and took a bite. Yeah. Good. Very good.

* * *

        Lord, it was hot. Ben had just about decided that he must have been an axe murderer in a previous lifetime, and that his tenure in Chicago was his punishment for that. What else could explain the fact that the only summer he had spent here in his life would coincide with one of the worst heat-waves in recent memory? His wardrobe was all wrong for the climate, having been purchased for the cooler Northern summers. Unfortunately he couldn't afford to buy new clothes out of his meager stipend, so he was suffering through it in heavy jeans, T-shirts, and hiking boots. During the day it wasn't so bad: he could hibernate in the various air conditioned campus buildings, and he kept Diefenbaker in his office most of the time, against campus policy, to spare him the worst of the heat. He'd actually thought about taking his bedroll to work and sleeping in his office, but he had a feeling the security guards would frown on that.
        The nights, however, were awful. His apartment had next to no ventilation, so even though he left his single window open, mostly all that accomplished was to let in the constant city noise and the smell of exhaust fumes. His neighbors thought he'd lost his mind for leaving his window open, but as he had nothing in the apartment that anyone would want to steal, he wasn't overly concerned. What had so far saved his sanity were his weekly assignations with Ray and Albert Hanrahan, which in the last ten days of intolerable heat, had somehow transformed into nightly dinners out in blessedly air conditioned restaurants and chess matches at the air conditioned Senior Center, or in Ray's air conditioned apartment if it was just the two of them.
        Ben felt vaguely guilty, hoping that Ray didn't think he was just using him to get cool, but it had been his friend's suggestion, after all. Perhaps he had just realized how much the heat was affecting Ben and taken pity on him. He smiled wryly at that. Apparently he was dependent on the kindness of strangers. How appropriate that was, considering Ray's real name. His parents should be ashamed of themselves, saddling a child with a name like that. He was still having trouble with the rather astonishing coincidence that Ray had once been married to a woman named Stella. He'd gotten that much out of Ray, though no more.
        Even three weeks after his offer of a sympathetic ear, Ray still hadn't talked much about his marriage, or what had happened to end it, but it was clear he'd been badly hurt. Ben could empathize. He still burned with pain and humiliation every time he thought of Victoria Metcalfe. He hoped she was happy. No, that was a lie. She'd used him and hurt him and stolen from him and with uncharacteristic viciousness he hoped she was utterly miserable in her comfortable, well-paid, tenure-track job. He'd thought they were in love and he knew she was the only woman he'd ever felt so deeply for. And she'd encouraged that, used him, all the while making sure that the painstaking research that had gotten her that job could never be linked to him, its rightful author.
        Knowing the depths to which that line of thought could lead, he tried to stop thinking about her, but it seemed as if the more he tried not to, the less he succeeded, and he felt the darkness pooling in his mind. No. It was foolish to have these thoughts. He hadn't loved her. It had just been an infatuation. That was all. To lose control like this over an infatuation was unconscionable. He started to pace, but it only seemed to make him hotter. He had to get out of here. Had to find some place cool, some place with people to distract him. But he couldn't leave Diefenbaker to suffer alone in this heat. Where. . .
        He looked at the phone. No. He shouldn't exploit Ray like that. He couldn't. It was impolite. And even if he were to call, surely Ray would be busy on a Friday night. But, God, he was so hot. . . maybe for Dief. Not for himself. For Dief. He picked up the phone, dialed. It was answered on the second ring.
        "Kowalski."
        "Ray?"
        "Doc! Hey, I was just thinking about you. How you holding up?"
        "I'm fine Ray, but Diefenbaker is having a little trouble in the heat. I was wondering, could I bring him over to your place for a bit? I realize it's a terrible imposition but. . . ."
        "Getcher butt over here, Ben," Ray interrupted him. "Both your butts. Immediately if not sooner."
        "Thank you, Ray, I do appreciate it."
        "Anytime. See you when you get here."
        Ben hung up, and quickly yanked a T-shirt on, pulled his jeans on over his boxers, and shoved his feet into his boots, not lacing them all the way up, hoping that would keep his feet marginally cooler. Finally he looked at Dief who was lying under the window, panting heavily.
        "Come on, Dief. We're going to see Ray."
        Diefenbaker answered with an ecstatic moan and leapt to his feet. Ben knew just how he felt. As they left the building the heat radiating off the asphalt of the parking lot seemed to lick at him like invisible flames, and Diefenbaker whined miserably, almost dancing to keep his paws from burning. Feeling badly, Ben stopped and crouched beside his companion.
        "I'm sorry, Dief, forgive me, I should have thought." He slid his hands beneath Dief's chest and hips, and hoisted him with a grunt of exertion. He felt the lick of a grateful tongue at his arm. It felt cool. He put Dief in the passenger seat, already buffered with a ragged old towel so the vinyl wouldn't be so uncomfortable, and got into the vehicle himself. He could barely touch the steering wheel for fear of burning his hands. He sat for a moment, thinking of chucking it all and running home. He could get a job on an oil-rig, perhaps. Or work as a guide. Anything but this. If it didn't cool off soon, he was sure the heat would kill him. Cool. Ray. Yes. He started the jeep and pulled out, going faster than he should, just for the sake of the hot breeze it created.

* * *

        Ray opened the door, took one glance at the utterly miserable-looking man on the other side of the door, and grabbed his arm, worried he was going to keel right over there in the hallway. Diefenbaker looked nearly as bad, panting, his feet leaving little damp marks on the floor because feet were the only place a dog could sweat. Dief almost shoved him off his feet in his eagerness to be in the cool haven of the apartment, and Ray pulled Ben inside and shut the door on the oven-like hallway.
        "C'mon in, I'll get you both some ice-water. Jesus, you look like you're gonna pass out. Go stand in front of the air conditioner, on second thought hang on," he grabbed a chair and hauled it over in front of the cool blast, pushing Ben down onto it, ". . . sit in front of the air conditioner. Stay!" he said as Ben started to get up. "I mean that. I said I'd get you both water. C'mon, Dief. " He clattered around in his cupboards, finding the biggest mixing bowl he owned, filling it with tap water and dumping half a tray of ice into it then, finally, setting it on the floor. "There ya go, bud. Drink up." Once Dief had his muzzle in the bowl, he tossed the rest of the tray of ice into his largest glass and filling it with water too, then after a moment he grabbed a dishtowel, wet it down, and fished two cubes of ice out of the glass and wrapped them in the towel. He went back out to the living room and handed Ben the glass, then took the cold, wet towel and slapped it on the back of his friend's neck. Ben straightened with a gasp.
        "Ray, what . . . ?"
        "Cooling you down before you stroke out on me. Drink. Don't you know people die in heat like this? What the hell are you doing to yourself? Take your shirt off."
        "Ray, I can't very well drink and take my shirt off at the same time," Ben said in a faintly exasperated tone. "And why should I take off. . . aaaah!" he yelped as Ray yanked his t-shirt out of his jeans and halfway up his back so he could apply his impromptu cold-pack to more skin.
        "It's been over a hundred for eight days in a row, Doc. You gotta take care of yourself. What were you doing?"
        "Nothing!" Ben snapped. "We were simply at home. I would have tried to sleep, but it's just so hot!"
        "Run your air conditioner, you dense Canadian you."
        "I haven't got one."
        "Fan then, and a spray bottle."
        There was a pause, a sigh. "No fan, either."
        "No fan? None? Tell me you at least have a window."
        "I do have a window, but just one, and it's impossible to get any cross-ventilation.
        Ray groaned. "Okay, that does it. You guys are staying here until the heat wave breaks. I got a couch, I got a bed, they both work good. You can have whichever one you want."
        "We couldn't inconvenience you like that, I'm sure we'll be fine at home, we just needed to cool. . . ."
        Ray narrowed his eyes. "You refusing my hospitality?" he asked with what he hoped was a dangerous edge to his voice.
        There was a short silence. "Well, ah. . . ."
        Ray bit the inside of his lip to hide his smile, even though he was standing behind Ben and he couldn't be seen anyway. "Good. You want bed or couch?"
        "I couldn't put you out of your bed. . . ."
        '"Couch it is, then." He tugged some more on the t-shirt in his hands. "Raise your left arm."
        Somewhat to his surprise, Ben complied, and Ray managed to get that arm out of the shirt. "Other one now." Compliance again. Quickly Ray took advantage and peeled the sweat-soaked shirt the rest of the way off, still a little stunned by his success. Would wonders never cease? In the few short weeks they'd known each other, he'd come to realize that the Canadian was just plain contrary, and somewhat of an alpha dog. Never say yes when no would do just as well, and never let anyone else lead.
        The fact that Ben was sitting here letting Ray take charge, was acquiescing to Ray's demands, told him he was more of a mess than he looked, which was saying something because the guy was drenched in sweat and looked like shit. Well, no, that wasn't true. Even looking like this he didn't look like shit. Probably couldn't look like shit if he was dipped in it. So what the hell was he doing here of all places on a hot Friday night, instead of out with some luscious co-ed in a temperature-controlled loft paid for by Mommy and Daddy's money?
        "Don't you have a girlfriend, Doc?" he blurted out nosily, then wished he hadn't when the back beneath his hands went tense and Ben jerked upright from the slouch he'd slipped into when Ray had finished wrestling his shirt off.
        "No."
        Whoooboy. There were stories in that word. Lots of 'em. Amazing how much a guy could say with a single syllable. It suddenly dawned on Ray that he wasn't the only person in the room with 'relationship issues,' as Stella had liked to call it. Well, that explained a few things.
        "Bad, hunh?" he said sympathetically as he swiped the wet towel down Ben's broad, pale back, across his neck. After a moment the bent head nodded a little.
        "Yes. Bad."
        And that was all he was going to get, he could tell. At least at the moment. Hunh. Maybe that was why Ben had encouraged him to talk about Stella. Compare war wounds. He got that now, hadn't before. It just seemed impossible that somebody like Ben could have problems in the romance department. Ray let his hand rest on Ben's hot shoulder, briefly squeezing to convey his understanding, then, noticing that some time in the last few minutes Ben had managed to drink all his water, he reached over and took the glass from his hand. "Why don't I fill that up again?"
        Ben gave up the glass without protest and Ray went back to the kitchen for more water and to rinse out the towel and put more ice in it. Dief had finished half the bowl of water and gone out to sit at Ben's feet, where the full stream of air from the window-unit could hit them both. Jesus, not even a fan. Ben was a smart guy, what the hell was he thinking?
        "How come you don't have a fan?" he asked.
        "What?"
        "A fan. Don't you read the alerts? We got an actual heat emergency going here, and you don't even have a fan! You trying to fry that big brain of yours? You know better than that! I mean, if you were up north and it was blizzarding, would you run around without a coat?"
        "Of course not," Ben said, sounding a little miffed. "That would be silly."
        "You bet it would. So's trying to get through a heat emergency in Chicago without a fan, at least."
        Ben didn't reply, which was unusual enough that Ray hurried a little as he headed back to the living room, but relaxed when he saw Ben sitting there ruffling Dief's fur to let the air cool the underlayers. As he moved to stand next to them, Ben looked up, his expression a little sheepish.
        "I suppose I hadn't thought of it in those terms before. I was just trying to be environmentally conscious."
        "Yeah, well, so recycle my beer bottles or something. Don't kill yourself."
        Suddenly the slouch was more profound, and Ben's gaze dropped to the floor again, and with a shock Ray suddenly realized that he'd thought about it. Maybe not today, but sometime. Jesus Christ! He'd actually thought about it. It was like he could see it written in the air or something, he just knew. He went to his knees next to the chair, and grabbed Ben's chin in his cold, wet fingers, dragging his startled gaze around until their eyes met.
        "No. Not over a chick. No way. Not worth it. Y'hear me? If I could get through it, you can get through it. I know it feels like the end of the world but it's not. Got that?"
        Ben nodded slowly, eyes still wide, looking at him like he was a teddy bear that had just snarled. Ray was a little startled himself. In fact, a lot startled. Where the hell had that come from, that sudden rush of anger and . . . feeling? He carefully didn't define that other feeling. Too dangerous. Especially not kneeling on the floor less than a foot from Ben's half-naked body, so close he could smell the dark, clean scent of his sweat. Realizing he still had Ben's chin in his hand, he let go abruptly and backed off. "Okay. Okay, good. Good. Here," he handed Ben the towel and glass, ". . . cool off. I'm gonna. . . um. . . use the can."
        He escaped to the bathroom, nearly slamming the door behind himself as he tried to control the sudden rush of blood into his face, and. . . elsewhere. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked wild-eyed and skittish, like something only half-tamed. Felt that way too, all the sudden. Wow. Where the hell had all this stuff been hiding? Howcome it was popping out now, like some kind of snake in a can? Sure, there'd been a few times in his life when he'd looked at another guy and thought . . . mmm, yeah. Interesting. But not like this. Not this. . . strong, this fast, this . . . God. Why this, why now, why Ben? Must just be way too long since he'd gotten laid. He liked Ben, a lot, but this attraction had really snuck up on him. And he wasn't going to mess up a friendship by acting stupid about it.
        He took a few deep breaths, thought about Stella and Vecchio, and. . . yeah, that did it. No more incipient hard-on. Okay. He was good to go. He flushed the toilet and washed his hands just for cover. Opened the door, walked out again and took a seat on the couch a good three feet away from his half-nak. . . stop that. Ben. Just Ben. Ray stared at Ben narrowly, at his face, saw color rise and wash across those broad cheekbones.
        "Okay, Doc. Spill. What's going on inside your head?"
        "Really nothing that need concern you, Ray."
        "Uh-hunh. Right. Look, I know we don't hardly know each other, and I'm not what you call your best friend, but . . . ."
        "Yes, you are," Ben said quietly.
        Ray looked at him, puzzled. "Yes I are. . . I mean, I am what?"
        "My friend. I daresay even my best friend. Well, except for Diefenbaker," Ben allowed with a slight smile as the wolf made an interrogatory sound at his feet.
        Whoa. That rocked him back a little. He liked Ben. A lot. (More than a lot, apparently, he thought, then pushed that thought away.) But he hadn't figured Ben was doing much more than killing time. The guy was smart. And fun. And incredibly good-looking. And apparently good at everything he did. Even if he was a little irritating sometimes, and a little on the weird side. So. . . why the hell would he say something like that? He felt himself blushing a little. "Um. . . you don't gotta say that, y'know."
        Ben straightened, looking offended. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."
        No. He wouldn't. Ray hadn't known him long but that much was obvious. He was so honest he sometimes made Ray cringe. Ben looked at his hands, raked his fingertips across his eyebrow in a way that Ray had come to realize meant he was nervous, and then looked up, eyebrows raised, his expression so earnest it hurt.
        "I do mean it, Ray. I'm not. . . I don't. . . I don't make friends easily. I never have. I don't know why. My fault, I'm sure, I'm not good with people. I'm just not. . . like most people. I know that. I'm difficult, and opinionated, and not very tactful. I suppose it comes from being raised as I was . . . ."
        "Which was? I mean, I know you're from the Northern Whatsis, but you never say much about it. Talk about college, about chess, about books, about your students, but not about you. How come?"
        "I. . . suppose I never thought you would be interested."
        Ray rolled his eyes. "Well I am, okay?"
        Ben looked surprised. "Really?"
        "Yeah. Really. So, tell me about you. Where'd you grow up?"
        "All over the place, actually. Well, all over the Territories at any rate. I went to live with my grandparents when I was six. We moved a lot. They were traveling librarians."
        "Kinda like a bookmobile?"
        Ben smiled. "I suppose you could say that. They had a huge trailer full of books. We went to places where people had no easy access to such things. They had a circuit they traveled, lending on the way out, and retrieving on the way back."
        Ray nodded, his mind still worrying at an earlier thought. "So, what happened when you were six? Howcome you had to go live with your grandparents?" Once again Ray wished he hadn't asked, as he saw Ben's face go still and closed. "You don't gotta say, if you don't want."
        He watched the struggle between silence and speech on Ben's face, and finally speech won. "It's difficult for me, I'm sorry. My mother died when I was six. She was murdered. And. . . and then my father went to prison, so I had to go to my grandparents."
        Ray's jaw dropped. "Your dad killed your mom?"
        Ben looked up, startled. "No! Oh, dear, yes, I suppose that did sound like that. No, he killed the man who killed my mother."
        Ray rubbed his face, stunned. He looked at Ben. "Wait, back up. Whole story, please. Who killed your mom? Why'd your dad go to jail if the other guy killed her?"
        Ben stood up suddenly, and went to the window, staring out at the sunset. He took a deep breath. "My father was sergeant in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He discovered that a friend of his, a trapper and guide named Holloway Muldoon, was actually dealing in endangered species. When my father discovered this and attempted to arrest him, Muldoon shot my mother, assuming that my father would be too busy with her to come after him. However, intentionally or not, he killed her rather than wounding her, and my father went after him immediately. When he found him, he killed him, then turned himself in and was sent to prison."
        Ray scowled. "That not right. Wasn't that like. . . self-defense or something?"
        "No. It was revenge. Pure and simple. Not that I blame him. He loved my mother dearly and was deranged by grief."
        Personally Ray thought it might've been nice if the guy had spared a thought or two for his son, but he kept his mouth shut on that subject. "He . . . um . . . he still in prison?"
        Ben closed his eyes, shook his head. "No. Former officers of the law rarely last long in prison. He was killed by his fellow inmates a year and three months into his sentence."
        Ray stared at him in shock. "God! That's. . . that's. . . Ben, I'm sorry." God. What a fuckup. Drag the guy's worst moments out for a look-see, why don't you, Kowalski? "Geez. Just tell me to shut up already, Ben. My mouth is way too big."
        "No, Ray. It's all right. It was many years ago. It no longer carries the weight it once did."         Ben's mouth might say that, but his face didn't. He looked. . . lost. Like a little kid, like that six-year-old boy whose mother was murdered, whose father was suddenly gone, leaving him alone with two old folks who no doubt loved him, but had no idea what to do with him. Ray's first urge was to hug him. But Ben wasn't a chick, and he'd already gotten out of line once tonight. But Ben really looked like he could use one. Oh the hell with it. Ray got up and went for it.
        He crossed over to stand beside Ben, put a hand on his shoulder, then pulled him in, close. Ben resisted for all of a quarter of a second, then he was there, holding Ray hard, really hard. The guy was strong, it was almost hard to breathe, and not for illicit reasons this time. He managed to keep his own hands chastely on Ben's upper back, patting gently, like he would a baby, managed to ignore the feeling of skin under his hands; managed to pretend he wasn't bothered by the faint rasp of stubble against his neck; managed not to rub his cheek against the soft, sweat-damp curls of Ben's hair.
        He felt a faint shudder go through his friend and heard a sigh. Then Ben's arms loosened and he pulled away, looking flushed and embarrassed, but oddly. . . happy, too. Ben's fingertips skimmed his eyebrows again, and he licked his lip. Another of Ben's habits that Ray had become more and more attuned to in the last few weeks. Fingers on eyebrow meant nervous, lip-lick meant pause-to-think, and neck-crack meant really nervous and uncomfortable, usually related to discussions of certain of his female students and their continual come-ons.
        "Thank you, Ray," Fraser said quietly.
        "Any time, Ben," Ray said seriously, thinking how nice that had felt. He was instantly ashamed of himself. Oh, very un-cool, Kowalski. Put the moves on the guy when he's down. Not Smooth. He stepped back. "Um, you hungry? I could call May Wah for delivery, or Tony's, but we had pizza last night."
        Ben looked as if he were going to refuse, but just then Dief whined, and he looked down at the wolf. Dief made several noises. Ray swore sometimes it seemed like the wolf was actually talking. And what was even weirder was that Ben talked back like he was making sense. Weirdest yet, sometimes Ray thought so too.
        "Yes, you're quite right, I'm sorry. I could blame the heat for my forgetfulness but that's beside the point. Certainly." He looked back up at Ray. "Dief would like sesame chicken. I'll just have a few bites of his."
        Ray looked at him for a minute, trying to decide if Ben was joking, finally decided he wasn't, and grinned, shaking his head. "You're a freak, y'know that?"
        Ben seemed to understand he didn't mean it negatively. He smiled back, tentatively. "Understood."
        Ray winked. "But then, so'm I. I'll go call in dinner."

* * *

        Ben woke up sweating. It was hot again. Hot, and close, and far too quiet. His own rapid breathing sounded harsh and over-loud in the absence of any other noise. But the heat of the air wasn't the only reason he was sweating. He gritted his teeth and tugged at his now-uncomfortable boxers, trying to adjust them so they didn't bind as he recalled the disconcerting dream he'd been having. It must be the heat. Why else would he be dreaming such things about . . . Ray? Or was it just having someone seem to really care about him that had triggered such a response? Probably. How embarrassing.
        He still felt a little off-balance from Ray's reaction earlier that evening. How had he known? How could he possibly have known that it had been just that bad for him at one time? He threw off the sheet and thin cotton blanket that covered him and sat up on the couch. Dief lifted his muzzle and whined a question.
        "Shhh, I don't know. Perhaps it's on a timer." He started to get up, intending to go check the air conditioner. He would have to move very carefully in the dark to keep from banging into the furniture. Ray certainly liked a cluttered apartment. Suddenly it dawned on him that it wasn't just dark, it was too dark. Even with the main lights out, there should be some illumination from the street-lights outside, and from the faces of several appliances as well. He knew when he'd gone to sleep that Ray's VCR had been showing the time in faint blue numbers. Now there was nothing but darkness. Ah. Power failure. That explained why it was hot.
        As he sat there trying to decide if he should get up and open the windows or just hope the power came back on soon, he heard a sound from the bedroom, then light flared, erratic and pale. A moment later Ray appeared in the doorway, flashlight in hand, illuminating a long, lean, mostly bare body. All he wore were a pair of thigh-length knit briefs in a heathery gray. Ben's dream flashed back through his mind, his body shocking him with the immediacy of its response. He twitched a fold of blanket across his thighs and lap, heartily glad of the darkness. Ray looked over when he moved, saw he was sitting up, and smiled.
        "Hey. Too hot for you to sleep too?"
        Ben nodded, refraining from adding 'in more ways than one.'
        Ray stretched, yawned, and scratched his chest. "They're probably doing rolling brown-outs to conserve power. They do that when things get bad, wait until after dark so it's a little easier on everyone. Damn. Sorry."
        "It's not your fault, Ray."
        "I know, but I wanted you to be comfortable here. I'm gonna open some windows, you mind?"
        "Not at all, let me help."
        Ray lit a couple of candles for light, and together they got the windows open, both in the living room and the bedroom. A faint cross-breeze stirred the sheers, not exactly cool, but not hot either, and at least the air was moving. Ray put both hands on a window-sill and leaned down, looking out at the darkness. "Man, that's weird. No lights. Not used to that here. Haven't seen it this dark since the last time I was up at. . . well, shit! I'm stupid!"
        Ben looked at him, concerned. "Ray, you're not stupid. Why would you say that?"
        Ray turned toward him, a candle-lit smile curving his mouth. "Sorry. Can't read my mind, hunh? I just realized I have the perfect place to go to beat the heat. My uncle owns some property up in the Dells, it's a little cooler there, and there's a lake . . . well, really it's an abandoned stone quarry. They hit a spring, and the thing just filled right up. It's a great place to swim if you don't mind the water being colder than all get out. It should be just about perfect for this kind of weather. We can go up there tomorrow. . . or, I mean, today since it's about four, by my watch. You up for that?"
        Dief's eager exhalation echoed Ben's own internal response. To get out of the city. . . away from asphalt and concrete and glass, to smell the earth instead of hot tar and exhaust, to feel the cool silk of un-chlorinated water on his skin . . . "It sounds like heaven," he blurted, and was glad Ray didn't look over to see his embarrassed blush.
        "Greatness!" Ray pushed himself upright, raked a hand through his spiky hair. Ben had often wondered if he intended for it to look like that or if it just had a mind of its own. It would appear that the latter was the case. "Hell, we're both awake, probably not going back to sleep at this point, let's just go for it. Cooler driving in the dark anyway. We'll go by your apartment so you can pick up a few things, swing by McDonald's for break. . . " he looked at Ben's face, grinned, and amended his plan on the fly. "Okay, not McDonald's, but someplace for breakfast, and then head out. Sound good?"
        Ben nodded. "Very good."
        "Get dressed then."
        Ray headed for his bedroom, and Ben picked up his jeans and t-shirt from the coffee table where he'd put them before falling asleep. His shirt was regrettably aromatic, but he could change it when he got home. As he pulled on his jeans, it dawned on him that he didn't own a swimming suit. He was still standing there, half-dressed, trying to solve that dilemma when Ray came back out of his bedroom in hiking boots, cargo shorts and one of his ubiquitous bowling shirts over a tank-style undershirt, carrying a duffle bag in his hand. He stopped short, studying Ben.
        "You forget how to work a zipper?" he asked, amused.
        Disconcerted, Ben pulled his jeans the rest of the way up, fastened the button and zipped. "No, not at all. I just remembered I have no swim trunks."
        "No problem."
        "No problem?"
        Ray dropped the duffle-bag by the door and turned to grin at him. "It's private property, Benton-buddy. Nobody's gonna care if you got your Speedo on or not."
        Ben's jaw dropped. He couldn't mean. . . well, yes, he could. Ray was quite a lot more casual than he was, about a lot of things. He cracked his neck with a quick jerk of his head, and ran a nervous thumb across his eyebrow. "Ah, I'm not . . . I don't . . . ." he began, trying to figure out how to say it.
        Ray sighed. "Wear your boxers, Doc. Just don't expect me to."
        Ben stood there for another few seconds, trying very hard not to think about the implications of that comment, then he shook it off and pulled on his shirt. He was tying his boots as Ray opened the closet and pulled out a cooler, then got into the refrigerator and dug around in it taking out various items. "Might as well take this stuff with, so it doesn't go bad if the power stays off. Got some beer, some of those mineral waters you like, some hot dogs. You eat hot dogs?"
        "Not if I can avoid it," Ben confessed.
        Ray chuckled. "You're a snob. Wonder if I have any marshmallows. . . ." he opened a cabinet, closed it again. "Damn, no."
        "I have to say that sounds rather. . . revolting."
        "What? Marshmallows?"
        "With hot dogs."
        "You don't eat 'em together, doofus. Hey! I know. We'll stop at the store and get some, get the other necessary things, too. Graham crackers and chocolate bars."
        Ben looked at him, puzzled. "Ah. . . Will there be children present? If so I really think trunks are not optional."
        Ray looked equally confused. "Just you and me, Doc. How come?"
        "Graham crackers, chocolate bars and hot dogs simply seem more appropriate fare for children."
        Ray laughed out loud. "I can tell you were way deprived up there in the North. Those, my friend, are camping essentials. Along with hamburger, onion soup mix, and aluminum foil. Maybe some potatoes. Yeah. Oh, eggs. Can't forget those. And bacon. Lots of ice. Um . . . anything you want?"
        "Are we camping?" Ben asked tentatively, having thought they were simply going to go swimming.
        "Well, kinda. There's a little cabin, almost more of a shack, but it helps keep the bugs away. I figured we'd hang there tonight, come back late tomorrow, put it off as long as possible. God knows I don't want to be stuck here, I can only imagine it's worse for you and Dief. Come on, help me with this."
        Shaking his head in bemused wonder at this unexpected turn, Ben took one of the cooler's handles and lifted. Together they carried it out to the parking lot. They argued quietly for a few minutes over whose vehicle to take, but Ben finally acquiesced to Ray's insistence on taking his (a sleek, sporty black thing he called a "Goat" for some unknown reason) because it had air conditioning. As they settled in, Diefenbaker sprawled on the back seat, Ray started the car, then looked over at him.
        "Need your address."
        Ben hesitated. Ray noticed, of course, and looked offended. "Look, I'm not gonna come over when you're not home and steal your stuff. It's okay."
        "Of course not!" Ben exclaimed, embarrassed. "I know that. It's just. . . well. . . it's not a very good neighborhood."
        Ray snorted. "Like I live on the Gold Coast? Gimme a break. Where to?"
        Ben sighed. "221 West Racine."
        Ray frowned. "Holy cow! You weren't kidding bad neighborhood. Okay, I won't ask. We'll just go get your stuff, if it's still there."
        "It's really not as bad as all that. My neighbors are quite nice."
        "Whatever you say. Um, how'd you end up at First National Garage if you don't live around there?"
        "It was recommended by one of my students. He said you were the best."
        Ray grinned. "Yeah? Cool. Next time you see him, tell him I owe him a free tune-up for the good press."

* * *

        It only took a few minutes to get to Ben's apartment building. There wasn't much traffic at this hour. Ray pulled up in front of the building, looked around, and whistled softly. "This is home?"
        Ben nodded, looking embarrassed. "Yes. I'll just go up and get my things. You might want to wait with the car."
        Ray nodded solemnly "Yeah, I can see that. Okay. I'll wait."
        Ben got out, looked at Dief, who declined to move from his sprawl on the back seat. "Lazy," he admonished softly, looking amused, and then closed the door, heading up to his apartment. Ray sat for a moment, tapping his thumbs on the wheel. Boy, good thing Ben's old Jeep didn't look like as good a car as it was, or it would be long gone, left parked around here. He shifted a little on his seat, wishing he'd remembered to put a towel down so the backs of his thighs didn't stick to the seat. The only drawback to shorts, in this weather. Shorts. He looked at Dief.
        "He gonna think to grab a pair of shorts?" he asked the wolf, feeling as silly as he always did when he talked to Dief, even though Dief talked back.
        Dief groaned. Ray sighed. "That's what I thought. You wait here. Don't let anybody steal the car, okay?"
        A faint yip answered him, and he grinned. "Thank you kindly."
        He jogged up to the building, stepped into the lobby, and was surprised by how clean it was. Maybe Ben was right, the neighborhood wasn't as bad as he'd heard. He realized he had no idea even what floor Ben was on, and looked at the mailboxes, though he didn't figure they were marked. To his surprise, they were. Neatly, too. And someone had put a little heart and rainbow sticker on the one with Ben's name on it. Cute. Still, it gave him the number, Apartment 3-J. He looked at the elevator . . . the open-cage kind. . . and shuddered. Stairs. Definitely stairs. He didn't run, because the stairs were uncarpeted wood and he knew that would make a lot of noise and after all it wasn't even five o-clock yet.
        He got to the third floor, impressed with his own fitness since he wasn't even panting, and found 3-J easily, partly because the door was standing wide open. He tensed, worried by that open door, until he stepped into the doorway and saw that Ben was okay. He was kneeling on the floor next to a narrow, single bed, rolling up a blanket and sheets into a neat bedroll. Oops, forgot to tell him he didn't need that. There was bedding at the cabin. No biggie, though. Reassured that Ben hadn't stumbled on a break-in, Ray looked around the tiny, airless efficiency and shook his head in amazement.
        The place was clean as a whistle, which didn't surprise him a bit. The single other door in the room also stood open, revealing a closet in which hung surprisingly few items of clothing. He was a little puzzled by the fact that he could see no bathroom door. Was the access inside the closet or something? There was a small table, two mismatched chairs, the bed, and a footlocker. That was it for furniture. No television, no stereo, no bookshelves, though there were plenty of books. Stacks of them, neatly arranged along one wall. No posters or art, either, though there was what looked like a Smokey-the-Bear hat hanging on one wall. He smiled. Ben really did have a hat. Not a fedora. He imagined the odd, pinched-crown, flat-brimmed hat on Ben, and could actually see it. It probably looked great. He cleared his throat
        "Heya."
        Ben spun, startled. "Ray!" His gaze was wide, and wild, then he looked away, a flush spreading across his cheeks. "I thought you were going to wait in the car."
        "Was, but I remembered I should tell you to bring a pair of shorts. Dief's on guard."
        "Ah. Well, then. I ah. . . ."
        Ben seemed oddly embarrassed. Maybe he was ashamed of his place? It was awfully . . . basic. Finally he seemed to get himself together, and looked at Ray.
        "Shorts?"
        "Yeah, shorts," Ray said, tugging at his. "Like this. You know."
        "I'm afraid I don't own any."
        "You don't own . . . ." Ray gaped. "Uh, you wear long pants on your digs?"
        "Generally."
        "How'd you keep from dying of heat prostration all these years?"
        "Most of my fieldwork was done in the Northwest, as that is my focus area."
        "Oh. Guess that explains that. No shorts, hunh?"
        Ben shook his head. Ray sighed, then had an idea. "Got an old pair of jeans?"
        Ben looked down at himself. "These are relatively old."
        Ray eyed the still-dark denim and shook his head. "I mean old-old. Like, you wouldn't wear them except to work on the car or paint the kitchen old."
        After a moment's thought, Ben nodded. "Ah. Perhaps." He went to the closet and took a pair of jeans from their hanger. "Like these?" he asked, holding them out.
        Ray took them, noted that they were nearly worn through in the knees, and nodded. "Yeah, just like these. Now, do you have a pair of scissors, and can I sacrifice these to the Gods of Summer?"
        Ben eyed him dubiously. "Excuse me?"
        Ray grinned. "Can I cut 'em off? Easiest way I know of to make shorts."
        Ben had that look he got sometimes, that sort of embarrassed, 'why didn't I think of that' look. "Of course. That's a good idea, Ray. Yes, I have some shears in the kitchen drawer." He crossed the room as he spoke, opening the drawer, getting out the requested item. Ray followed.
        "Here, trade ya," he said, exchanging jeans for scissors. "Good, now put those on."
        "On?"
        "You hard of hearing all the sudden? Yeah, on. You have to be in them or I won't get 'em the right length."
        "Oh. Oh, yes, of course."
        Ray watched, somewhat bemused, as Ben took them back and walked into the closet and closed the door. He shook his head, laughing softly. Ben had wandered around his living room in his boxer shorts, but once they were both fully awake he had to change in the closet? Funny. A moment later the door opened, and Ben stepped out again, wearing the faded jeans. Ray motioned him over. "C'mere, the light's better in here."
        Ben complied. Ray knelt beside him, steadying himself with a hand on Ben's hip. It occurred to him that someone looking in the still-open doorway might think they were doing something indecent. That thought reminded him instantly of his earlier reaction to being this close to Benton Fraser, and his shorts started to feel a little tight. Damn. He distracted himself by trying to find a little slack in the outseam of Ben's jeans to make the first cut. It wasn't easy. Ben usually wore his jeans a little tighter than Ray did. Of course, he actually had the body to fill them out, as opposed to being a skinny-ass geek like Ray. Still, these seemed like they must've been bought when he weighed a few pounds less. They were snug with a capital S.
        He finally managed to grab a fold of fabric at about knee-level and looked up to find Ben gazing down at him with a strange expression on his face-- almost fearful. He figured he might do the same thing if someone was waving a pair of scissors around in the general vicinity of his family jewels. "Don't worry, I'll be real careful. Take good care of the important bits." He grinned and winked, then turned his attention back to the task at hand and made the first incision, then turned the blades upward and cut along the seam until he got to mid-thigh. That should work. Not too short for Ben's excessive modesty, and not too long for the heat.
        He began to shear the denim horizontally across Ben's thigh. He could feel some surprisingly nice definition there under his hand. Probably from running with Dief. Ben made a soft sound and shifted a little, Ray froze in mid-cut, looking up with a frown. "Hey, stand still or I won't be responsible for your safety!"
        Ben nodded, tongue flickering nervously over his lower lip. Heat that had nothing to do with the room temperature washed through Ray. Damn. Stop it. Just because your nose is about three inches from his crotch does not mean you need to get all fired up. You're doing a favor, that's all. Unfortunately that got him thinking about what other favors he might be able to do in this position. Christ. You were a married man. You're still in love with Stella, aren't you? You. Like. Women. Lay off the horn-dog thoughts about the Canadian and do NOT look at his . . . don't even think about it. Concentrating on the task at hand, he started to cut again. Ben made that sound again. A low, throaty sound, almost a gasp. Ray stopped again.
        "Sorry, that tickle?"
        Something, almost . . . relief, seemed to flicker in Ben's blue-gray gaze, and then his eyes were shifting away as he nodded. "Yes, Ray. A little."
        "I'll try to be more careful."
        Somehow he managed to get the jeans cut off to his satisfaction, and then sat back. "There. Donesky. And you can swim in 'em too, if you want."
        Ben nodded. "Yes, thank you Ray. I appreciate it. Why don't you go back out to the car, and I'll collect my things and be right with you."
        "It's a plan," Ray said, heading back out to the car, faintly relieved that he hadn't managed to completely embarrass himself. It had been a near thing. That was the last time he'd volunteer to get that close to Benton Fraser's crotch. It was just too damned dangerous.

* * *

        Ben was amused. Ray clearly didn't know the meaning of the word 'shack.' The cabin was a sturdy, two-room affair with a wraparound porch. It had a good quality wood stove inside, and a brick fire-pit with a built-in grill outside, which meant they didn't have to get the stove going in order to cook. In this heat, that was a good thing, though he estimated it was a good ten degrees cooler here than in the city. Part of him wondered how much of that difference was due to the asphalt streets and parking lots, black tarred-roofs, and solar-reflective windows of the city. It was amazing how much impact man could have on his environment without even trying.
        The cabin was furnished in what Ray referred to as "early junkyard," mismatched but comfortable, somehow homey. He liked it. Ray threw his stuff down, rolled his shoulders, sighed.
        "Lord, it's nice to be out of there for awhile."
        "Out of the car?"
        "Out of the city. Nicer here. Even without an air conditioner. Speaking of which, help me open things up, okay? You take the bedroom windows, I'll get the ones out here."
        Ben nodded and opened the door to the bedroom. He noted instantly that there was only one bed. His second thought was to imagine Ray there. Oh, dear. This was not going to help the little problem he'd been struggling with since he'd looked down to see Ray kneeling at his feet. As he'd done in his own apartment a few hours earlier, he told himself to breathe. Just breathe. Slowly, deeply. Control. Calm. Yes, there. Some semblance of sanity was returning.
        The transformation of his jeans to shorts had been, without doubt, the most uncomfortable few minutes of his life. He'd had to resort to thinking about the dullest textbooks and lectures he'd ever endured in order to get through it. Fortunately conjuring memories of Professor Gilbert Wilkins had been just about the least erotic thing imaginable, and suitably wilting. Even with that hoary, snarling visage berating him for shoddy scholarship firmly in mind, he'd still been half-hard after being that close to Ray, for that long, in such an inadvertently intimate position.
        He should have refused as soon as he'd realized what Ray intended to do, but he hadn't been able to think of a way to do so that didn't involve confessing why he was refusing. From what he'd learned of American culture, that would not have gone over well at all. Despite his rather conservative upbringing, he knew from his studies that sexuality was more flexible than most people assumed. He'd just never encountered a man who attracted him. Until now. And Ray did. Very much. Yes, he felt friendship, strongly, but he also felt. . . more. Ben was attracted, physically, to Ray. He liked his lean, rangy body, his wild dark-blonde hair, his angular face, his blue-gold eyes, that incandescent smile . . . everything.
        The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had been attracted all along. In fact, the lengths he'd gone to in order to ensure that he could see Ray on a personal, rather than strictly professional basis were nothing short of mortifying. Good lord, filing through his fan-belt . . . a blush burned his face. He'd behaved like a teenage girl with a crush. Well, at least he'd recognized the problem before it really became a problem. He could back off, put a little distance between them before he alienated his friend completely. Sexual frustration could be dealt with in a way that didn't involve embarrassing Ray. Unfortunately there would be no opportunity for that sort of thing in the near future. It was just as well there was only one bed, he'd be more comfortable on the couch which was in an entirely different room.
        Behind him he heard Ray opening windows and shook his head. Windows. Open the windows. He completed his task quickly and a cooling breeze feathered through the fine-mesh screens. He stood for a moment looking out at the trees surrounding the cabin. They were thick, lush, and threw plentiful shade. To be able to look out and see plants, earth and sky; and a hint of topographic relief rather than cars and buildings seemed to ease the homesickness that had been building in him lately.
        "Nice view, hunh?" Ray asked quietly, from far too close.
        Ben jumped, startled, staring at the other man, who stood only inches away, looking out the window, too. Out the window. . . "Oh, yes. Yes, it is, very nice."
        "I know of a nicer one, though. C'mon. Let's go freeze our asses off."
        "I beg your pardon?"
        Ray grinned. "Swim."
        "Ah. Yes, of course."
        "You bring a towel?"
        He felt foolish. "No."
        "'Sokay, got some here. In the bathroom. Forgot to tell you."
        "Bathroom?"
        Ray nodded at one of the two doors off the bedroom. "There. Uncle Josef put in a septic system. There's a well, too, so we got water without too much trouble. Could run the generator if we want electricity."
        Ben smiled, shaking his head. "This is a pretty nice 'shack,' Ray."
        Ray looked a little sheepish. "Yeah. Guess it is, at that. I forget when I haven't been up here in awhile. Stella hated it, she's the one who called it a shack."
        Ah. Stella. Ben almost didn't ask. Every time her name had come up, Ray had managed to divert the conversation to other things. But he wanted to know. Needed to know. "It doesn't sound as though the two of you were very well suited," Ben said carefully.
        Ray sighed. "Yeah, you got that right, in the long run, anyway. I could have done it, stuck with it. Me, I'm kind of a dog when it comes to relationships."
        "A . . . dog?" Ben queried, puzzled.
        Ray gave a wry, lopsided smile. "Yeah, you know. Faithful, loyal, and dumb as a post. Drool a lot," he looked at Dief apologetically. "No offense, Dief."
        The urge to reach out and hug was almost irresistible, but somehow Ben managed not to. A childhood spent with undemonstrative caretakers stood him in good stead. "Ray, I'm certain that's not the case. You're certainly not 'dumb,' nor do you drool. And I don't see how being loyal and faithful could be considered negatives."
        "Yeah, well, it's dumb when your wife has an affair with the local mob boss and you don't know about it until someone rubs your nose in it. D-U-M, dumb."
        Ben looked at him steadily. "I don't believe it's 'dumb' to think that you should be able to trust your. . . " he paused a moment, searching for a word that included his own past relationships as well as Ray's, and came up with a rather awkward but appropriate one, ". . . your significant other."
        Ray stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. "My delusion and welcome to it. Nice to know I'm not alone in the nut-house, buddy."
        "No, you're wrong, Ray. It is, perhaps, idealistic, even naive, but not stupid or delusional. Believe me, I've given a great deal of thought to this, and come to the conclusion that trust is perhaps the single most important aspect to any human relationship."
        "Not love?" Ray asked, his eyes narrowed, almost dangerous-looking.
        Ben shook his head. "No. Not love. Love, that is, romantic love, which I believe you mean, is made of equal parts friendship and lust, but without trust, it is simply inadequate to the task."
        Ray's hard, brilliant gaze seemed to pin him in place for several seconds, then his brow furrowed, and his eyes fell. "Y'might be right there, Ben, you just might. Hell, I know you're right. Trust, that's the hard thing. Especially after . . . after you get burned."
        Ben nodded. "Yes. It is."
        They stood in silent commiseration for a few seconds, then Ray cleared his throat. "Come on, grab a towel and let's go see just how cold that water is. And after we chill, we can swap war stories."
        Ben smiled. War stories. Strangely appropriate. "I'd like that," he said quietly. Trust, indeed. He stepped into the small bathroom and found a towel in the linen closet, then followed Ray outside.
        It was an easy half-mile walk to the quarry, the path through the woods so overgrown it was hard to see, and Ray seemed to be relying more on memory than on vision. It made him feel strangely at home to see maples, along with red and white oaks, hickories, and basswoods. He saw several chokecherry bushes, though the fruit wouldn't be ripe for some weeks. He also noted the position of a good stand of poison ivy, pointing it out to Ray who laughed, and said he remembered from baths in calamine lotion that the woods here were full of the stuff.
        The feeling of something other than cement under his feet was delightful, and Diefenbaker was acting like a puppy, frolicking and chasing squirrels, though he didn't seem particularly intent upon catching one. The land was surprisingly heavily forested and wild. He supposed he should have done a little more investigation about the area outside of Chicago. If there was wilderness within a two hour drive, he'd been unnecessarily depriving himself of something that was completely necessary to his soul. If he could get out, get away like this periodically, he might just survive his appointment at the university.
        "There she is," Ray said, coming to an abrupt halt.
        Ben turned to pay attention to his companion instead of Diefenbaker, and looked past him to the inviting expanse of water ahead. It was larger than he'd expected, roughly twice the size of a regulation Olympic-size pool. The approach to the water was littered with tumbled limestone boulders, their creamy beige a pleasing contrast to the cool jade color of the water and the darker greens and browns of the surrounding trees and plants.
        "Look good?" Ray asked him, a faint smile on his face, a knowing look in his gaze. He knew the answer already. Ben replied anyway.
        "It looks wonderful. How deep is it?"
        "Depends on where you are. I think it's about thirty feet down at the deepest point, over against the west side, but over here it's more like six." He shaded his gaze and peered toward a tree whose branches overhung the water. "Hunh, looks like the tire-swing's gone. Rope probably rotted through. Too bad. It was kinda fun. Watch the rocks, they're not unstable but since they're uneven it's easy to lose your balance. Geez, lookit that, somebody's been up here littering."
        He crossed the rocks and picked up several long-necked glass bottles and what appeared to be old fast food refuse. He looked disgusted as he threaded his way back over to where Ben stood. "They could have the decency to take their trash with 'em when they left." He looked at the bottle and made a face. "Yuck. Coors. I guess if you're gonna drink this crap in the first place, you probably don't have enough class or brains to clean up after yourself." He put the trash down, shaking his head. "Don't let me forget to take this stuff back to the cabin when we go."
        Ben nodded, inordinately pleased by the fact that Ray cared about such things. For some reason it just made Ray even more . . . perfect, to him.
        "Well, time's wastin'," Ray said and sat down to take off his rather disreputable running shoes, and socks. Leaving them at the beginning of the rock field, he scrambled across the rocks with startling grace to a large, squarish boulder right at the water's edge and put down his towel. Ben started to untie his hiking boots to leave them with Ray's shoes, then glanced up to see what Ray was doing and stopped, staring. He found himself mesmerized as Ray pulled off his faded orange bowling shirt and dropped it on the rock, then grabbed the hem of his tank and with a lithe twist pulled it off over his head, letting it fall to join the shirt. When his hands went to the waistband of his baggy cargo shorts, Ben felt heat flood his face even as he caught his breath in anticipation. Suddenly Ray turned his head and looked straight at him. After a moment a wry smile curved his mouth, and his hands dropped away from his waist.
        "Sorry, Doc. I won't embarrass you," he said, then he turned, and jumped. He hit the water with a tremendous splash and went under, only to surface seconds later with a howl of what sounded like pain, followed by unintelligible sounds. Ben tensed, ready to dash across the rocks and dive to the rescue, until he realized Ray was laughing and gasping at the same time.
        "Jeeeeeeesus it's friggin' cold in here!" Ray yelled, grinning. "C'mon in. It feels great!"
        Great? Judging by Ray's reaction, he wouldn't have made that assumption but he supposed it was all relative. He finished untying his boots and after removing them placed them, socks inside, next to Ray's shoes. He made his way across the rocks to the one Ray had chosen as a base of operation and put his towel there too. He removed his own t-shirt, carefully folding it and placing it where it wouldn't get splashed. Leaving his shorts on, he took a deep breath, and jumped, following Ray's lead.
        Cold. Searing, sweet, familiar cold, stealing breath, sending heart-rate skyrocketing, making every square centimeter of skin contract in shock, instantly easing that heavy feeling that had been plaguing him since Ray had knelt at his feet that morning. Yes. Perfect. It did feel good. Delightful. He surfaced, gasping, feeling the water sheet off of him, feeling the sun warm his hair, his face, his shoulders where they broke the water. It occurred to him he should have brought sunscreen. He would have to take care, since his skin was so seldom exposed to the sun that he burned easily.
        "Good, hunh?"
        Ben turned in the water, found Ray just a foot away, his water-flattened hair and cocky grin making him look about seventeen.
        "Wonderful," Ben said, hearing the relief and reverence in his voice, feeling his face crease in an unaccustomed smile.
        "Figured, from that grin," Ray said. "Where's Dief? Does he swim?"
        "Sometimes. He's probably still trying to catch a squirrel, though he's gotten so soft I doubt he'd know what to do with it if he actually managed to do so. He'll be fine, don't worry." Even in the cold water, Ray's proximity was a little disconcerting, and Ben slipped sideways in the water with a little kick and stroke, increasing the distance between them. Better. Looking around the quarry, an outcropping of pinkish stone on the far bank caught his eye, and he swam over to examine it more closely. The faint ripples in its upper surface and the lack of wear on the cut sides exposed by quarrying confirmed his suspicions. He turned, excited.
        "Ray! This is quartzite!"
        "Yeah? So?" Ray called back.
        "To find it occurring in such close proximity to limestone indicates that this area was once an extremely ancient sea-floor. Quartzite is, in fact, a form of sandstone, yet unlike most stone of this type it's incredibly hard, one of the hardest rocks you can find. If you come over here you can even see the ripple marks from duneing, when it actually was sand. "
         Behind him he heard splashing, a lot of it, and he turned to watch Ray awkwardly dog-paddling toward him. He frowned, wondering why he wasn't using a more efficient stroke. He finally made it over to Ben's side and trod water, breathing a little heavily.
        "Okay, doc. Lecture time?" Ray asked between breaths, grinning."
        Ben blushed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't . . . ."
        "No, I like it. I like to learn stuff, watch Discover all the time. Don't tell anybody but sometimes I actually wish I'd paid more attention back in high school. Just couldn't seem to focus then. Hell, still can't, but now I can learn stuff in little pieces and that works better. Now, show me your rock."
        Ben reached up to touch the exposed upper surface of the stone. "See this? The wave-like pattern?" Ray nodded, and Ben went on. "It's fairly unusual to find such perfect preservation of the dune effect. The fact that it's there would seem to indicate that this rock is close to two billion years old, created well before there was much in the way of life on the planet, although the reddish coloration of the stone means that there were probably iron-eating bacteria present which stained the stone. Judging from the extreme tilt of the formation, on the order of twenty degrees, at least, it's also clear that this area was once subjected to tremendous orogenic activity.
        Ray looked at him dubiously. "Oro-what?"
        "Orogenic. The process of folding and uplifting which eventually forms mountain ranges. As I recall from my studies, this area was once on the edge of the continent, so this may have been a subduction zone, that is, created through the movement of one tectonic plate beneath another. I believe this area is too far south to be part of the Laurentian Shield, so we're probably in the Central Lowland here, although I suppose it could be part of the Till Plains . . . and, sorry. I think I'm getting carried away," he said apologetically, noting the slight glazing of Ray's eyes.
        "'Sokay, Doc, like I said, I learn better in little bits and pieces. So this stuff's quartzite, and the paler stuff is limestone, right?"
        "Right," Ben said, hoping he sounded encouraging but not condescending. It occurred to him to wonder if Ray had ever been tested for Attention Deficit Disorder, or hyperactivity, or both. His short attention span and usual frenetic energy level seemed symptomatic. He made a mental note to ask, sometime when the conversation seemed appropriate.
        "Good. Learned something. You earned your hot dog and s'mores tonight."
        "My what?"
        "You'll see," Ray said smugly. "I'm getting cold, I'm gonna go lay on a rock for awhile. You still okay?"
        Ben nodded. "Yes, I'm used to colder temperatures, plus I have a good deal more insulation than you do," he said, smiling.
        Ray snorted. "Yeah, I'm skinny."
        "No!" Ben said, dismayed. "That is, I really only meant to say that due to genetic and other factors, my subcutaneous fat layer is thicker than yours. I meant no offense."
        "Look, I know I'm skinny, you don't have to make a big deal out of it. Scrawny, funny-looking. I got no illusions, Doc."
        "But that's not true, Ray. Not at all. You're not skinny, and you're not funny-looking. You're quite an attractive man."
        Ray stared at him, frowning slightly. "You think?"
        Wondering if he was digging a hole from which he couldn't escape, Ben swallowed. "Yes. I do."
        "Hunh," Ray said thoughtfully, then flashed a shy smile. "Thanks."
        That response was unexpected. Ben was still struggling with it when Ray started to swim away from him, then turned back abruptly.
        "Sometime after I get warm you wanna show me how to do that whatever you were doing when you swam over here?"
        "That . . . you mean the Australian Crawl?"
        "That what it's called? Yeah, that. Never really had much in the way of swimming lessons, just pretty much know how to float, tread water, and dog-paddle."
        "I'd be happy to show you. It's really quite easy."
        "Greatness. But I gotta warm up first." He turned again, heading back toward where their towels lay.
        Ben turned his attention back to the quarry. After a few moments Ray's splashing stopped, and Ben glanced over to see him standing on the rocks where they'd jumped in, toweling off his hair. A moment later he dropped the towel, and his hands went to his waist, unfastening the shorts, unzipping, then the shorts were sliding down, and off, leaving him in the same heather-gray knit boxer-briefs he'd worn earlier that morning. Only now they were soaking wet, and clung to every line and curve beneath them. Every single, not inconsiderable inch, every au-naturel curve. His temperature rose despite the cold water. Lord, the man certainly had nothing to be ashamed of in that department.
        Ray wrung out his shorts and bent to drape them over the rock to dry, and water flooding into Ben's open mouth alerted him to the fact that he'd forgotten to keep treading water. He closed his mouth abruptly and resumed his strokes, and when he looked back Ray was lying back on the rock, arranging himself in the sun like a cat on a cold day. He looked eminently pettable. Ben scowled, annoyed with himself. Now that he'd become aware of the attraction, it was suddenly hard to keep it in hand. . . which was not really a very good metaphor to be using at the moment, even in his own thoughts. This was going to be more difficult than he'd thought. Spotting another striation in the rocks, he swam over to examine it, using geology to keep his mind off Ray.

* * *

        Ray lay in the sun, soaking it up, grateful for the warmth now, after being thoroughly chilled. Sometimes it took a shock like that to make you appreciate its opposite. He heard the quiet slosh of Ben's smooth, graceful strokes through the water, and turned his head to watch as he swam along the wall of the quarry, examining the rock face. He smiled. It had been a good idea to bring him here. Not only cooler, it was. . . natural, at least a hell of a lot more than an apartment in Chicago, and it was becoming very clear to him that Benton Fraser was Nature Boy incarnate. What the hell he was doing in Chicago was the $64,000 question. He was clearly miserable there.
        That thought made Ray a little sad, because he knew it meant that the minute he could, Ben would be heading home, back north, without a backward glance. Not that Ray could blame him for that. It was only natural. But he'd miss him. A lot. Funny how attached you could get to someone in such a short time. He was like that, though. He'd been that way with Stella, too. He'd seen her, and known, right then, that she was meant for him. Of course, it had taken him years to convince her. And he probably shouldn't have bothered.
        No, that wasn't true. They'd had some good years, some good times. It was just, after a while something had changed. He was never enough for her. She always wanted more, and better, always wanted him to be classier and smarter and richer than he was. He'd tried to be what she wanted, but it just wasn't. . . him. And in the end, that hadn't been enough. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes, and watched Ben climb out of the water to examine something over on the other side of the quarry. Wet or dry, his shorts clung like a second skin, and the man had a really amazing ass. Near-perfect hemispheres, just a suggestion of tuck beneath them that hinted of softness beneath the firm curves. Better than most chicks, even.
        No longer tamed by the cold spring-water of the quarry, Ray's cock twitched a little at that thought, and he decided he needed to look at something else. A rustling in the woods caught his attention, and he turned to watch Dief trot out from the underbrush, looking wolfily pleased with himself. Ray wondered if there was one less squirrel in the woods now. Oh well. Survival of the fittest and all that. The animal paused to sniff their shoes where they sat at the end of the trail, then scrambled over the rocks to where Ray lay, licking his face, his ears, his. . . yuck, mouth, then as Ray shoved his muzzle out of his face, moved down to Ray's groin, sniffing there too. Ray pushed the wolf off his crotch with one hand and glared at him.
        "Jesus, Dief, quit acting like a dog! That's private property there!"
        Dief looked offended, and stalked away to sit on a nearby boulder with his back ostentatiously toward Ray. Ray grinned, ridiculously pleased to have gotten the last word with the wolf. He closed his eyes and lazed, not quite asleep, but almost. Sometime later, splashing brought him up from his doze, and made him turn to look toward the sound. Ben had abandoned his geological survey and was swimming back toward Ray. As he reached the near shore and climbed out of the water, Ray couldn't help noticing again what a nice build he had. He was awfully pale, though, like fresh, whole milk. It looked good. He looked good. Especially at the moment, with his skin wet and sleek, dusty-rose nipples hard from the chill of the water. Christ. Just stop noticing things like that, moron!
        "Had enough?" he queried.
        "Yes, for the moment," Ben said, reaching for his towel, ruffling his hair with it, then blotting moisture from his torso. "I'm afraid I'm terribly out of shape. I was getting somewhat fatigued. I thought that the runs I take with Diefenbaker would be keeping me fit, but I can see now they're not enough."
        Ray stared at him, then snorted. "Yeah, right. You're out of shape. On what planet?"
        Ben looked puzzled, as he sat down a couple of feet away. "Well, on this one, clearly, but I suppose I would be equally unfit on any planet, unless the gravity were less than Earth normal."
        Ray laughed, shaking his head. "Doc, I am amazed your students don't eat you for lunch. Do you really not know that 'on what planet' is the same as saying 'you're out of your mind?'"
        Ben looked at him, and slowly a tide of color washed across his face. "Oh. No, I'm afraid I didn't. So that means you . . . disagree with my assessment?"
        "Oh yeah, you could say that. Jesus, Ben, you're . . . well, put it this way. If I was to look up 'perfect' in the dictionary, your picture would be right there next to it." Oops. Well, just go putting your foot right in it why don't you, Kowalski? He prayed fervently that the deeper implications of what he'd just said would go right over Ben's head.
        Ben's color deepened considerably, and he looked down at himself, then over at Ray. "I suppose one's self image is always substantially different from how others perceive one," he said quietly. "Case in point, your insistence that you're 'scrawny,' which I don't see, at all."
        It was Ray's turn to color. "You really think I'm attractive?" Shit. Fine time for his internal censor to go on vacation.
        Ben looked at him, and his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips as if they had suddenly gone dry. "Yes, Ray. I do. Very much so."
         Well, that was blunt. A little disconcerting. This wasn't really a subject that two guys usually talked about. Still, it was kind of nice to know. Or was it? What did it mean? How did you react when someone told you they thought you were attractive. . . when that someone was another guy?
        He wondered for the first time if maybe Ben was feeling some of the same things he was. That . . . well, there was no other word for it, that attraction. He thought back to when he'd been kneeling there, cutting Ben's jeans, and remembered that sound he'd made. Hadn't sounded like he was being tickled. At all. Nope. As a matter of fact, it had sounded a almost. . . sexual. Aroused. It was a sound he suddenly wanted to hear again.
        Ray's fingers curled into fists as he fought the urge to reach out, to touch that pale, perfect skin, to stroke a thumb over one taut nipple, to lick the water droplets off Ben's neck where they trickled from his damp hair, to cup his hand between those thighs and feel the rise of flesh against his palm . . . God! He looked up into Ben's eyes, and saw something there, something familiar, and a little frightening, all things considered. Whoa. He wasn't really ready to go there right now. He sat up.
        "Um, I'm getting a little warm again, gonna hit the water," he said quickly, and then he was sliding off into the water, the cold shock of it stealing his breath momentarily. He knew he'd just been rude and it made him feel guilty, but hell, he had no idea how to deal with what was happening. He'd never before experienced the overwhelming desire to kiss another man, to touch him intimately. He'd never seen that desire reflected in another man's eyes before. It scared him. It exhilarated him. It confused him.
        He swam out for a bit, realized he was near the tree that used to hold the tire sw