You are the most annoying man in the world, and I could never deny you anything you wanted.

You'd nag me, cajole me, hound me, haunt me, stay in my face, always reasonable but always persistent, citing logic, duty, human decency, sense of justice, obligation to truth, wielding them like a sledgehammer, badgering me with laser-fine precision, until I give, inch by unwilling inch, retreat, step after reluctant step, into whatever molasses of inconceivable human absurdity you have ordered up for the day, running desperately after you, grabbing you when you trip, holding you when you slip, catching you when you fall, all the time my heart pounding in my mouth for fear that next time I will be too late.

Why do I let you do this to me? How can I stand this a moment longer? Yet everytime you turn your back to me, start walking away, or worse, running away, into yet another crazy, totally unfathomable situation, single-mindedly pursuing one of your addlesome noble causes, I start running, gripped by fear. I cannot think, not of the thousand reasons why I shouldn't be doing this, not of the hundred things I could be doing instead, not of the several dozen nasty consequences that would fall on my head because of this, because I simply cannot let you go, not by yourself, not on your own, not alone. My heart stops beating, my breath freezes in my lungs, and I have to start running, just so I can keep living.

Yet, despite the fact that you will put yourself through the wringer, crawl through shit up to your neck, jump into the deepest and hottest parts of hell, with me trailing you the whole length along for the ride, for any sorry excuse for humanity that happens to cross in your path, trying to get you to agree to something nice for yourself, a little extra luxury, an innocent indulgence, is harder than budging the Rocky Mountains with a golf club.

Come on, Benny, I say. It'd be nice. I know you'd like it. Hell, you know you'd like it. Dief'll love it. God knows you deserve it.

It's too expensive, Ray, you say, I can't afford it.

I said I'll pay for it, I say.

You shake your head. Not vigorously, but with crisp, definite movements, like you always do. It's excessive, Ray, you say. There's no reason for you to do this.

I want to, isn't that reason enough? I say.

You just look at me, calmly considering my face, leaning casually against a corner between the refrigerator and the cupboards. Ray, you say, I know you love me, but that's not reason for you to do this.

My mouth drop open, my eyes bulge widely, I cannot believe what I heard, and even worse, I cannot reconcile your calm, casual demeanor with the wild bomb of a statement you just dropped.

Wha-wha-what did you just say? I manage to stammer.

You smile at me, cool as a cucumber, and say, I said, even though you love me, that's not...

Hold it right there, I roar into your face. I love you?!?!? You're telling me that I love you?! Whatever makes you think such a thing?!?

You manage to look befuddled, like you can't see quite where the uproar is coming from. Why Ray, you say, I'd think it was fairly obvious.

Obvious! I shriek, You are saying it's obvious to you that *I* love *you*? Well, explain it to me, because it's not so obvious to *me*!

Ray, Ray, Ray. You say, holding a hand up to press on my arm like you always do when you are trying to calm me down. You lean forward conspiratorially, like you always do when you are trying to talk to me about something important, something private, even though there's nobody but the two of us here and there's no need to be discreet. Just think, you say, consider the facts.

I look at you expectantly, and you look at me expectantly. Finally, I give in and say, what facts.

Well, you say, cocking your head a little, like you always do when you are concentrating, what about the fact that, since I met you, I've endangered your life 40, or was it 41, times, ruined countless articles of your clothing, caused you to almost lose your job at least a dozen times, got you shot, got you seriously injured by a booby-trap I failed to detect, made you blow up your car, failed to keep your other car from being blown up, in the process causing the death of a fellow officer, trashed your house, caused you to fall under suspicion of murder and robbery, and almost jumped bail, thus almost causing you and your family to lose your home, and you are still not only talking to me, but as far as I'm able to ascertain, you consider me to be your best friend?

You look at me intently through your fingers, on which you have been counting your misdeeds.

Oh, I say, pushing away from you and taking a deep breath, those facts.

You nod solemnly.

There's a sinking feeling growing in my stomach as I realize that you are right, as always. For some irrational reason, that irritates me. Your being so right, and so calm, about this. Telling me that I love you in the same tone of voice you would have used to say that the sky is blue. But that's exactly it, isn't it. My loving you is a fact, just as the sky is blue. And that just makes it so much more damn annoying, to have you point it out to me like this. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, inhaling this revelation with the air. Then I spin, rounding on you, trapping you into that corner of the cupboard and refrigerator where you've been standing. You look a little startled at that, which pleases me no end.

So, I love you, huh? I say, edging into your personal space, crowding you into the corner.

You manage to get hold of your calm again. Yes, you do, you say.

Ah-huh, I say, pushing ever so slightly forward, and what about you?

Me? You try to look innocent, and don't quite succeed.

Yes, you. I poke a finger into your chest, Benton Fraser. Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Do you love Raymond Vecchio?

You look down. I see your throat tighten, you swallow convulsively, your lips twitch, you fidget with your hands. Finally you look up, and I can tell your mouth must be dry, from the way you keep licking your lips and swallowing. When you speak your voice sounds hoarse, and it halters, threatening to break. I think that should be obvious, you say.

Say it, I say. My mouth has gone dry too.

You open your lips. They tremble, no sounds come out. I lean in closer, put a hand on your cheek.

Say it, I say.

I-, you lick your lips, I love you, Ray, you manage to get out.

The warm growing feeling rising in my stomach surprises me. I smile, happy and unabashed, like a child who has just been told he can have the entire cake to himself. Gently I brush my thumb against your lips.

How? I ask.

Your eyes flicker in surprise. How? you murmur against my thumb. Your tongue flickers against it for the barest moment, sending shivers down my spine.

Yes, how, I say.

You just look into my eyes, not sure what I want, begging for some help. I relent.

Well, for instance, I say, would you die for me.

Your lips turn down, accompanied by your eyes, as you genuinely seem to reflect over that question. Yes, I believe I would, you say, your voice back to a matter-of-fact tone. But then something else strikes you. A glimmer of amusement comes into your eyes, and it's in your voice when you say, but you would be upset at me if I do.

I laugh. You are so right in that assessment. I lean closer into you, sliding my hands onto your shoulders, feeling your hands slide loosely over my hips.

But you'd do it anyway, I say.

You think about that for the barest moment before bursting into giggles. I chuckle. I clasp your chin in my hand and hold it up so I can look into your eyes.

Benny, I say, you know I'll die for you, don't you?

You look back into my eyes, and nod.

And you'll let me, even though you'd wish it was the other way around?

You think about that, then nod again, albeit reluctantly.

So, I say, leaning forward, until our lips are almost touching, our breathes mingling in each other's mouth, you going to let me get the microwave oven for you?

As you wish, you whisper, your lips brushing against mine, and I catch them with my tongue, our lips close on each other, and we are together, tasting each other, holding each other, loving each other.

You are the most annoying man in the world, and I love you, even though some days I could just strangle you with my bare hands.