Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me, they belong to Alliance, and to each other, forever.

Author's Notes: Thanks to nicci_mac at ds flashfiction for inspiring me to do this. I would never have had the courage without those wonderful pictures.

Story Notes: Some things you can never forget, no matter how hard you try. That's when you really know who your friends are.

He wasn't supposed to be like this...so, yeah Fraser was a freak who spent way too much time putting stuff in his mouth that Diefenbaker wouldn't even stop to sniff at...but he wasn't supposed to be like this. He was the smart one, the clever one, the tidy, organised, well-presented one...Scotch-guarded from birth...who never got dirty, never cussed, never told a lie. Yeah, he was a pain in the ass who'd spout off like a walking encyclopaedia at every available opportunity, with a handy Inuit tale for every conceivable occasion, but he was a Mountie...they were supposed to be like that...weren't they?

They'd gone out to the park in the middle of winter, snow on the ground and everything...three in the damn morning...Fraser with a telescope he'd borrowed from Turnbull...Ray with a flask of coffee...all to watch some stupid lunar eclipse thing and see the moon turn orange. Right! Like it wasn't already orange from all the pollution and shit in the air...they had to go freeze their butts off in the dead of night...staring at it! His neck was aching, his ass was numb and he'd all but forgotten what his toes felt like...

Fraser though, from the moment the first snow flake fell, was in his element...all fur lined boots and thick gloves, not to mention the `Sacred Stetson' that "keeps in 25% of the body's heat Ray"...like he'd ever forget that little nugget of unnecessary information...

"Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray..." He snapped back into focus when Fraser said his name for the sixth time. "Yeah Frase...what?" "You haven't been listening have you?" Oop...there it was...right on cue...the tightly in control but ever so slightly ticked off Mountie voice... "Yeah, yeah...Fraser I heard ya...every word...shadows, volcano rabbits...yeah I got it...I just can't see it!"

Fraser sighed dramatically and started gesturing again, trying to show him how the shadows that fell across the lunar surface could form the image of a rabbit, sitting on its hindlegs, ears straight up, but Ray knew it was pointless. It was like one of those squint-at-the-squiggles-and-see-if-you-can-find-the-picture pictures that he never quite got the hang of either. All he could think about was somewhere warm, like Florida, where women in tiny bikinis and straw skirts served big, brightly coloured drinks with pieces of fruit and little umbrellas in...somewhere warm, like bed, when the sheets were freshly laundered and the pillows fluffed just right...somewhere warm, anywhere warm...anywhere that didn't involve having to listen to Fraser drone on about lunar cycles, umbral shadows and waxing gibbons...er...gibbous...fuck! Whatever...

He just wished Fraser had told him earlier, these things could go on for fucking ever! Then just to add his own contribution to the lunar theme, Dief suddenly got up from their feet and let out a long, mournful howl in homage to the moon. Fraser chuckled softly and scratched his faithful companion's back, but Ray had lost his sense of humour about this ten frozen toes ago...

"Alright...that's it Fraser...enough...I quit...I'm getting outta here `fore I start howling like him!"

The wolf gave him a puzzled stare that seemed to say, "You wanna howl, you go right ahead my friend, see if I care!" and Fraser opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped when he saw Ray's grimfaced expression.

And that had been the fun part of the whole experience! It was tripping backwards over the carelessly discarded corpsicle by the park gate that made things worse...way worse...

The corpsicle, once defrosted, turned out to be one Damian Rushton, an ex-con with a rapsheet that made `War and Peace' look like a magazine. Cause of death: a bullet to the back of the head. It looked for all the world like an execution...something that happened some place other than the park...but Mort's autopsy report showed something else, something troubling, something that didn't appear on autopsy reports every day of the week. Damian Rushton, one time car thief, drug dealer, numbers runner and self-confessed rapist, had in fact himself...been raped.

`Sodomised' was the polite term Mort used, but it still made Ray grimace when he read it. Rushton had apparently been tied up, partially asphyxiated and raped by more than one as yet unidentified male, before being shot and thrown over the park wall into the newly virgin snow.

That was when Ray's perception began falling apart. The crime itself had been remarkably easy to solve. The repercussions were altogether unexpected, and all he could do was watch in badly disguised astonishment, as Constable Benton Fraser, his red serge wearing, annoyingly pedantic, uptight Canadian, weird freak of a friend and partner, began descending to a level of uptight weird freakiness that was...well, it was just too fucking weird, even for Ray.

The Constable was late for meetings, `tardy' as Fraser would say; a very unMountielike quality. He began zoning out of conversations, as though his mind had gone somewhere else and his body just forgot to follow. He started looking tired, dark smudges appearing under his eyes; a sallow, washed out complexion creeping over his normally healthy features. A permanent frown took up residence between his brows and his eyes began losing their bright blue spark of curiosity.

To say it was worrying Ray to death was the understatement of the month, the year, the decade, the century...hell...the entire fucking Millennium! But every time he tried to say something, do something, suggest something, Fraser ever so politely pushed him away, until `I'm fine Ray', `Nothing's wrong with me Ray', `There's nothing going on Ray', `Please don't trouble yourself Ray', `I'll be alright Ray', `Not tonight, thank you kindly Ray', `I think I'll just go home now Ray', `If you don't mind I think I'll just get an early night in Ray', became a litany of excuses he couldn't bear a moment longer.

Nothing he could do or say seemed right. It never seemed enough to get through to the stubborn Mountie who'd rather suffer all by himself than open his mouth and admit he needed someone.

Then Fraser started avoiding him. He wouldn't come by the Station House any more. Oh, there was always a convenient reason, and Ray knew the Ice Queen well enough to know at lease some of the excuses he heard were genuine...but not all of them...no way...fuck! What the hell was going on? If he'd done something wrong, he damn well had to know about it...hadn't they cleared up all this shit on the Henry Allen, somewhere between nearly getting drowned and beating up on gang of would-be pirates?

If he went over and hammered on the Consulate door after closing time, he never got an answer, and there was no point trying to talk to Fraser on guard duty...he'd had more exciting conversations with his turtle! If Fraser picked up the phone, all he ever got was the polite, distant, official Mountie voice...Ray was starting to take it personally...shit, shit, shit!!

So Ray found himself picking the front door lock of the Canadian Consulate, at 1am, preparing to commit an act of trespass that might spark a diplomatic incident. But his reputation was the last thing on his mind. Hell, he wouldn't have agreed to stand in Ray Vecchio's shoes if he was that bothered about his reputation! All he could think of was finally confronting Fraser and clearing up whatever the fuck was wrong...there was absolutely nothing else on his agenda. If Fraser was asleep, he'd wake him up...shit, he'd even throw another punch at that square Mountie jaw if that was what it took to get some attention here!

However, Benton Fraser was not asleep. He hadn't really slept for weeks, not since the incident with the lunar eclipse and the corpsicle, and that case was long since cleared up. He'd tried just about everything, from his grandmother's recipe for hot milk and cinnamon, to long walks with Dief, and Turnbull's dreadful incense sticks that smelt distinctly like fish heads and soap (which succeeded only in driving Dief half crazy for a while, and winning him three hours extra guard duty at the front door for stinking the building out and upsetting Inspector Thatcher's delicate olfactory senses). He'd even tried solitary meditation, which usually worked but failed miserably on more than one occasion, and a couple of evenings in front of his father's fire in the log cabin/closet arrangement that was remarkably comfortable but oddly disturbing. Yet sleep still wouldn't come, as triggered by the frozen body they'd found in the park, the unwanted past he'd managed to bury so well, intruded over and over behind his eyes, in wide screen, glorious Technicolor, complete with surround sound, special effects and stomach churning fear.

He was in fact, standing in the Consular kitchen making cocoa when he heard Ray at the door. He knew it was Ray, only Chicago detectives could be so stealthy and yet fail so miserably. For a fleeting moment he was strangely glad Ray wouldn't find him in his long johns and socks. He'd given up getting changed for bed. It seemed a pointless exercise just lately, but at least his old blue jumper and jeans were more comfortable than kicking around in itchy serge and tight suspenders!

On bare feet, he padded out into the lobby as Ray was closing the front door behind his illegal entry. "Can I offer you some cocoa Ray?" he asked, choosing not to cause a diplomatic incident over what was technically a blatant case of trespass.

That simple, polite invitation was the spark that lit the fire. The cocoa was something of a peace offering, but Ray refused it, he was more interested in his friend...the man he still assumed to be his friend considering he hadn't seen him in weeks.

In the half light of the darkened building, Fraser suddenly looked very human...smaller somehow without the stiff red serge that squared his shoulders and straightened his bearing. Add to that the exhaustion etched clearly across his face, and Ray knew without hesitation something bad was consuming the Mountie.

Getting him to spill it was easier than anticipated, and didn't involve anger, fists, reprimands or raised voices in any form. Though Ray didn't know it at the time, it was his presence that did it. When Fraser looked at Ray and saw only a determined and desperately worried friend staring back at him, he started talking, and didn't stop until everything was said.

Ray felt like he'd been dipped in Lake Michigan. An icy shiver ran down his spine and the heat of outrage chased it straight back up again. The silence that followed deafened both men.

Fraser leaned back against Turnbull's desk, and sipped at his cocoa, but it had gone cold...forgotten in his hands...so he carefully put the mug down by the computer, and hoped it might distract Ray from seeing the tears that were threatening to spill down his face.

"You've never told anyone before?" Ray whispered, his throat tightening painfully.

Fraser swallowed, hesitating, knowing Ray would hear the tremor in his voice if he said anything more.

Ray watched Fraser's shoulders slump and his head drop. He knew his friend was in pain. "Right here Frase, right here in this same spot you told me I was your partner, and your friend."

"That's why you deserved to know the truth," Fraser whispered, unable to look up.

Ray didn't have to be a detective to know Fraser was crying. This wasn't the strong, unbending, dependable Mountie who bugged the fuck out of him on a regular basis, this was Benton Fraser, human being...lonely, humiliated, and deeply troubled. Hearing everything he'd suffered as a teenager being spoken of with such heart-rending honesty, filled Ray with two things...the need to go and kick some Canadian heads for what they'd done to a good, decent man; and the overwhelming desire to hug his friend `til the hurt was gone, just like his own mom used to when he was little.

Fraser had never known a mother's love like that, so Ray took on the challenge, his own petty self-recriminations forgotten, as he stepped up close to his friend and slipped his arms round Fraser's silently shaking shoulders.

"Sh," he said softly, awkwardly patting Fraser's head and trying desperately to think of something worthwhile to say. Fraser would have a convenient Inuit tale for a moment like this if the situation were reversed, and Ray made an absurd mental note to see if there were any `counselling for dummies' books in the city library just in case this sort of thing should ever come up again.

Fraser sniffled, more humiliated by his tears than his confession, but Ray's arms were an unexpected comfort, and he closed his eyes, burrowing into their warmth for a moment before they were gone. No one had ever cared enough to just hug him like that before, and he was suddenly afraid it would be over before he could burn the memory of it into his aching heart.

Ray moved back a little, finding his body acting before his brain could catch up and ask it what the fuck it was doing. If he'd had a chance to interrogate himself first, he probably wouldn't have moved another muscle but as it was, everything he did seemed so perfectly natural, he couldn't help demanding to know why he hadn't done it long before.

With a gentle smile, he took Fraser's face in both hands and slowly raised his head so they were looking at each other once more. Fraser didn't resist him, but blinked rapidly as Ray brushed the tears from his face. There was so much grief and fear in Fraser's cloudy blue eyes, that seeing it so plainly made his heart lurch in sympathy.

Standing there together, close enough to share each other's breath...time froze.

Ray stopped thinking...thinking was bad...very bad.

Fraser wondered if his friend knew how infectious that warm smile could really be.

Ray slowly pulled Fraser forward, and their lips brushed gently in what wasn't so much a kiss as a gesture of mutual understanding...at least that's what Ray told himself when his thoughts rudely intruded again and demanded to know what the hell he was up to.

Fraser gasped, tensing immediately and Ray braced himself for one disgusted, seriously outraged Mountie to kick his ass straight back out onto the street. He couldn't blame him for reacting that way...hell, he'd do the same if it was him being kissed by another man...but he didn't.

Fraser just blinked, wanting very badly to reach up and rub at his right eyebrow. He knew he wasn't breathing, and his heart raced fast against his ribs, like a train full of unconscious Mounties heading for nuclear meltdown.

When he cautiously licked at his suddenly dry lips, Ray wondered why he'd never before seen how devastatingly sexy that nervous gesture could be.

"Ray...?" "No more words Ben," he whispered, kissing him again with greater confidence and a lot less fear.

Fraser knew he should move, do something...anything...but somewhere over his left shoulder he could hear his grandmother's moral outrage yelling loudly `you're kissing a man! you're kissing a man! you're kissing a man!'. He pulled back as though electrocuted, brushing Ray's hands from his face in a moment of panic so intense he thought he might throw up right there on the Consulate floor. Yet the instant Ray's embrace was gone, Ben felt lost, broken.

"Help me," he begged silently, "Oh god Ray, help me!"

He'd called him Ben...not Frase, Frasier, Benny, Bento or any of the other hundred and one insulting derivations on his name that American's loved so much. He'd called him Ben. No one called him Ben. `Ben' was personal, `Ben' was the man he could really be when duty and uniform no longer intruded.

Ray watched him struggle to hold back the tears that glistened in his eyes once more. Fraser was fighting with himself, just as he had when he'd confessed to Ray that one dreadful secret he'd never given voice to before. Ray quashed the powerful desire to run...and never look back...as for a moment he thought he'd stepped over the line and Fraser's friendship was lost to him for good.

"Please..." That one word, spoken aloud, startled them both. Ben could hardly believe he'd said it. Ray moved a little closer and raised a finger to Ben's lips.

Close now, so close he could smell Ray's warm leather coat and spice scented aftershave...so close that all he could see in the other man's eyes was his own reflection looking back...so close, all he had to do was surrender...

He gasped as their lips met for a third time. Unbidden his hands moved up Ray's back, drawing him in, and the tension in his aching body fled so fast it left him dizzy.

Ray sighed, holding Ben tightly as he lowered him down onto the desk, one hand at the back of his neck, heedless of the blotter and Turnbull's pencil cup that threatened to take his left eye out. He ran his other hand over Ben's cheek, wanting, needing, longing so badly for something he never knew he'd desired before now.

Ben flinched as the leather edge desk blotter rubbed against his spine. Flushed and breathless, instantly terrified, Ray broke their embrace, pulling himself up on his elbows.

"Ben? What? What is it?" He knew about the bullet Vecchio had nearly paralysed him with, and realised that making out on a desk...even an antique, hand carved, mahogany desk...wasn't doing much for Ben's back. "God! Shit! Ben I'm sorry!"

He tried in vain to remove the offending desk furniture, but for Ben, that particular hurt was nothing compared to the pain of losing Ray's touch, Ray's kiss, Ray's breath against his skin. Everyone left him in the end, they always did...he couldn't let Ray go...not now...not after this...

He shivered. "Ray..." He hooked his right leg up over Ray's left hip, desperate to keep him close, scared he might evaporate away like some long sought after dream. "Ray..." The voice he heard was no longer his own. "Ray..." This was a strange whisper, low and husky with desire. "Ray...don't stop..." With more courage than it took to leap across tall buildings in pursuit of fleeing felons, Ben ran his fingers through Ray's soft untameable hair, and slowly, deliberately drew his head back until their eyes locked once more.

Ray's brain took a moment to process what Ben was saying, but his body didn't need his brain now. Trembling, nervous, hopeful, he smiled.

One more kiss...deep...strong...and they were lost. Tongues met. This was new ground for both men, but the fire had been lit and nothing could extinguish it now.

"Please God," Ben prayed silently to the Almighty, "Please don't ever let it stop."

*** Inspired by nicci_mac's 'hunterkiss' manips.