Thanks to Debbie Hann, for the coin tosses, the online beta reading, and the ever-encouraging words. Thanks also to Rhiannon Shaw for the reactions, the inspirations, and the questions I feel compelled to answer. Without their help, this might have ended up in the recycle bin.

Niles, Illinois, for those of you not in the know, is one of the cities in the vicinity of Chicago.

Pairings: Fraser/Kowalski, Kowalski/male, Vecchio/female
Series: Lost Chance Trilogy, part three
Warnings: Death fic, slash, and major angst ahead. (::hands over virtual box of facial tissues::)
Rating: a very strong PG-13.

"Congratulations!" a digitized female voice greeted. "This is a recording to let you know that you have won a Caribbean cruise for two. Please call 800-555-5555 to claim your prize within the next twenty-four hours, and have a great day!"

"Great," the man in the bed muttered, "my answering machine is talking to another machine."

Wide awake now, the apartment's dweller sighed resignedly and swung his legs out of bed. He was clearly underweight; the faded gray Chicago PD T-shirt he wore hung loosely on his thin frame. He moved slowly, stiffly, with the care of a much older man. From a prescription bottle on his dresser, he shook out a couple of pills and swallowed them dry, grimacing at the taste. Sudden chills caused goosebumps to appear on his flesh, but he gamely ignored his body's desire to crawl back under the covers. Determinedly, he went through what was clearly a standard ritual: turning on the coffee to begin percolating, collecting what he needed to change into after a shower, making a half-hearted attempt to straighten up his bed, wincing at the late afternoon sunlight as he pushed back the heavy drapes that had kept the room unnaturally dark.

The virus that ravaged his body was worse now than it ever had been, and he knew it wouldn't be long for him. In a way, he welcomed the end, and was glad that his death would be relatively swift. He felt a pang of regret for the woman who'd quickly become his closest ally against those who guessed at the truth, and who had accepted him not only as a partner, but as a friend. He closed his eyes and sighed, reminding himself that his course had been set long before he'd met her. It was far too late in his life for dreams of things that would never be; he'd had that lesson courtesy of a man with gray eyes. Resolutely, he headed for the bathroom.

After a shower that seemed only to worsen the chill of his body, he pulled on a black T-shirt, jeans and a pair of socks. Almost immediately, he began sweating profusely, and he swore.

"Not today, damn it," he vowed, closing his eyes as if in prayer. "God, get me through this day."

As always, the pain seemed to intensify as soon as he'd finished speaking. Chuckling bitterly at the irony, he rode out the wave of pain with his arms clutching at his stomach, somehow managing to make it to the bathroom before he vomited. It was a long time before he shakily rose to his feet, and staggered out of the bathroom.

Maybe I ought to get something to drink, he thought. He drew a deep breath and managed to make his way to the kitchen.

Opening the refrigerator revealed he'd forgotten to go grocery shopping. Swearing, he started to reach for his keys, then remembered he didn't have a car. He considered his options, contemplated his body's current condition, and decided he could walk the eight blocks to the nearest convenience store. He'd walked it before...okay, maybe a long time ago, but he felt relatively safe.

Still, he was a cop. Habit had him donning a bulletproof vest, his gun in its shoulder holster, and a lightweight jacket to conceal it all, before leaving his apartment, clipping his cell phone to his belt as he strolled out of the door. He was halfway to the store when a rapid burst of machine gunfire rang out, shattering the stillness of the late summer day.

"Thought I might find you here."

Jennifer East turned at the sound of the voice, and rose gracefully from her kneeling position in front of the grave. She smiled, the sadness in her heart easing with the recognition of the sharply dressed Italian-American who stood a few feet away. "Ray," she greeted, and found her breath catching in her throat as she spoke the simple name.

Understanding glimmered in the other man's hazel eyes. "You could call me Vecchio," he suggested gently. He gestured to the grave. "He did." Smiling wryly, Ray added, "Sometimes I swear he did it just to annoy me."

She took a deep breath, pulled her shoulders back, and stiffened her spine. Blinking past the sudden rush of tears, she shook her head, her brunette hair brushing her shoulders with the movement. "I--I have to get used to this sometime. Ray Kowalski's not the only guy around with the name of Ray." She smiled shakily, and looked at the other man. "You were looking for me?"

Ray didn't return the smile. "We got a problem," he informed her grimly.

She studied him a moment, instinctively assessing the potential threat. There was only a handful of things she had in common with Ray Vecchio, and out of those, only one could be considered a problem. "Sergeant Fraser," she declared.

"Yeah," Ray answered, surprised. "You talk to Benny lately?"

"Three days ago," Jennifer confirmed. "What's up?" She'd been grateful for Ray's help with the aftermath of her partner's death, but it had been a few days since they'd last talked. She didn't think there was much they had left to say to each other, though a part of her hoped their relationship went beyond the facts that he was Frannie's brother and he had been friends with Ray.

She began moving away from the gravesite, down the slight hill towards the road; Ray fell into step beside her. They made an interesting pair: a slender, athletically built, casually dressed woman with a face too sharply defined to be called conventionally pretty, and a taller, balding, rangy man who wore Armani with the ease of familiarity. Both walked with the same measured, ground-eating stride that belied their police training.

"He's like a dog with a bone," Ray remarked, sounding disgusted and yet resigned at the same time. "He won't let Kowalski's death go. He wants to know the truth."

"Like that's gonna help?" she retorted angrily. "The truth isn't going to give me back my partner."

"I know." The words were quietly spoken, but they held a wealth of emotion. "It's not going to give me back one of the best friends I've ever had, either, but Benny wants to know, and when he wants to know something, he's not going to stop until he knows it. Used to drive me crazy when he and I worked together."

A comment Ray Kowalski had made to her now fell into place. "You're the guy he covered for."

Ray chuckled. "You guys must've been something, solving cases together," he commented. It didn't escape her notice that he didn't directly confirm her suspicions. "I owe Kowalski a lot. I don't want anyone thinking he killed himself."

"He didn't," Jennifer protested swiftly as she and Ray stopped at their vehicles.

Ray looked at her steadily. "Don't kid yourself, Jennifer. You know damn well that there was no good reason for your partner to go walking alone on a Saturday night into a neighborhood known for gangs armed with automatic weapons. Even when he was doing his charity stuff with the kids, he took you as backup. I know; I checked." He smiled briefly. "Seems you're the mag cop chick with the Miss America legs."

Jennifer could feel the heat of her blush stain her neck and cheeks. "Yeah?" she challenged.

Hazel eyes swept down and then up in a thorough assessment. Jennifer resisted the urge to tug at the hem of her khaki shorts. Something wholly feminine fluttered inside her in reaction to the inspection, and she shoved her hands into her pockets, suddenly uncomfortable. She didn't want Ray Vecchio looking at her in that way. It made her think of how she'd offered herself to another man named Ray and been turned down. Thinking of that, however, reminded her of how the conversation had gotten started, and she was able to push her uneasiness aside.

"I'm not kidding myself, Ray." She paused, mildly surprised the name came easily to her lips. "I know my partner wasn't supposed to be there. You think I don't blame myself for not being there?" She didn't wait for a reply. "I keep my promises, especially to my partner. I promised I'd be there for him. This is one time he didn't let me, and I wish to God I'd gone with my gut and stopped by to see him before I got groceries."

"It's not your fault, and I'm not blaming you." Ray gestured, clearly frustrated. "I just wanted to warn you: Benny's not a quitter."

"Is that all you came to tell me?" Instinctively, Jennifer sensed there was something more.

Ray smiled and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. "That, and that you forgot to get your phone back from Frannie yesterday when you two were shopping." He handed the palm-sized unit over to her, which she quickly clipped to her belt. "Your mom called. I answered the call, thinking your phone was mine; they look alike. You, ah, might want to correct her impression of me. I think she thought I was Kowalski."

She groaned. "Sorry about that. She's heard me talk about him, but I always used his first name."

Ray flashed a quick grin. "Wouldn't be the first time someone mistook us for each other."

"I don't see how," Jennifer noted dryly. "You look nothing alike."

Ray only chuckled and changed the subject. "You have any plans for this afternoon?"

Jennifer crossed her arms and pretended a seriousness she didn't feel. "The Laundromat and I have a hot date," she informed him gravely.

"The Laundromat, huh?" Ray questioned, nodding his head in understanding. "Sounds like you got yourself a lengthy commitment there."

She stuck her hands in her pockets. "Yep," she agreed. "It's all a tumble how things will turn out, you know, but it's been every week now and I don't think it's gonna stop anytime soon." She smiled wickedly, and Ray groaned at her dry humor. "You have a better idea?"

"Why don't you come over tonight, do laundry at my house, and take a drive with me instead? I'm going up to Niles to meet the guy who bought Ray's GTO." The ex-cop shook his head. "Can't believe he willed it to me, and forgot to update his will when he sold it. Guess I'm just lucky the guy hasn't registered the title yet."

Jennifer smiled wryly. "You should've seen me when I found out he sold it. I was furious. Ask Frannie; I bitched her out for asking Ray for money."

Ray looked at her as she leaned against the driver's side of her black 1977 Firebird Trans Am. "I wondered who gave her the money for the computer training classes she's taking. I know she didn't ask me."

"Well, now you know. So how are we going to do this?"

"Why don't we drive to your place, drop off your car, and go from there?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," Jennifer agreed. "And on the way up to meet this guy, we can talk about your Mountie friend."

Seated at his desk in the Consulate, Sergeant Benton Fraser tried to concentrate on the pile of reports on his desk, but he was discovering an uncommon inability to focus. Though he'd had three days to get used to the fact that Ray Kowalski was dead, there was a part of him that half-hoped (perhaps a bit irrationally) Ray was still somewhere around. He was almost tempted to say Ray's name, testing a theory, but knew his new superior officer wouldn't appreciate the distraction, nor would he understand his reasoning. Silently, Fraser reminded himself that even when his father was a ghost, he rarely appeared when Fraser had called him.

Funny how Fraser had never really considered Chicago to be home until Ray had left him. Caught up in the excitement of his return to active duty, a return that had been accompanied by a promotion for the work he'd done while technically on extended personal leave, Fraser hadn't stopped to consider the ramifications of his reactivation. Somehow, he'd assumed Ray would continue to be his friend, sharing living quarters with him, and perhaps obtaining employment locally wherever and whenever possible. Thanks to an assignment that had taken him out into the field, a few weeks passed before Fraser realized that Ray hadn't been kidding when he'd said he was headed to Toronto. By then, Ray had been gone, with only a note saying he'd call.

Afraid to push Ray into something he wasn't ready for, Fraser had waited for that call, only to miss it when another assignment took him back into the field. He'd later tried the number, only to discover it had been disconnected. In the wake of receiving the medical report for Ray, Fraser had researched the number to find it had been associated with a studio apartment in a lower-class section of Toronto, within a few blocks of a large, well-patronized bar. Taking a chance, Fraser had inquired at the bar, and found that Ray had indeed been working there, but that had been at least four months ago.

It had taken some finagling, but Fraser got his wish: to be reassigned to the Canadian Consulate in Chicago. He wasn't entirely sure why it was so important that he return, after seventeen months of being away. A large part of it, he knew, had been the urge to find out exactly why Ray Kowalski had left so abruptly, and to discover if Ray's departure had anything to do with the report Fraser had, until recently, possessed. That report had been reduced to a pile of confetti by Jennifer East shortly after he'd shown it to her.

Instinctively, Fraser knew that what he'd seen in the report -- that Ray Kowalski had been diagnosed with AIDS -- was true. What he didn't understand was why both Ray Vecchio and Jennifer East seemed determined to conceal that fact. Though he'd heard that some people would believe the worst about Ray Kowalski, Fraser didn't believe anyone could be that cruel to a fellow officer of the law, especially one who'd performed his duty above and beyond the requirements of his job. The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. He didn't know yet all the details of Ray's death, and the thought that his friend would have deliberately taken a walk into danger with the intent not to survive struck Fraser as being extremely out of character.

Then again, Fraser reminded himself, what happened at Fortitude Pass with Ray was out of character for both of them. Abruptly, he remembered the very odd conversation they'd had a week before Ray's announcement he was headed to Toronto. In the middle of Fraser's account of what had happened at the RCMP station earlier in the day, Ray had blurted, "How come you don't wanna do it with me anymore?"

Fraser had blinked, caught off guard by the non sequitur. He'd then very carefully explained that they had been merely sharing body heat, expressing the kind of emotions two people trapped in a death situation might be inclined to express. Nor did Fraser feel it was appropriate to continue that kind of relationship for fear of losing the strong friendship he shared with Ray.

Ray had stared at him for a long moment, then grinned, as if he'd been relieved. "Yeah, sure, Fraser, whatever you want," he'd replied. "Glad to know that you're still my buddy."

"Of course," Fraser had assured him, thinking that Ray had been worried that Fraser might want more than Ray was willing to give. That, Fraser had concluded, had to be why Ray had been so quiet since the night they'd left the pass.

In hindsight, though, Fraser wasn't so sure. What if, Fraser wondered, Ray had been the one who'd wanted more? Jennifer had accused Fraser of breaking Ray's heart. Both Ray Vecchio and Jennifer seemed convinced that Fraser was somehow responsible for what happened to Ray Kowalski. Fraser's eyes focused on the dream catcher he'd given his friend. He was missing some piece of the puzzle here, and he was certain Ray Vecchio and Jennifer knew what that was. What he didn't understand was how Ray's death had been his fault.

If I am responsible, Fraser thought grimly, then I need to know what I did.

That decided, Fraser resolved to stop by the station as soon as he was off duty, and see what answers he could find there.

"Something wrong, Ray? You've been extremely quiet this afternoon."

Ray smiled, but Fraser wasn't fooled. "Just tired, Fraser. So you got your orders, huh? No more vacation for you."

"No, I'm afraid not. I'm sorry we never did find the Hand of Franklin, Ray."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Fraser," Ray returned casually. "It was just an idea I had, no big deal. I just wanted to do something different, have an adventure, you know?"

"So you said," Fraser confirmed. "Have you given any thought to what you'll do when we get to my new post?"

Ray shrugged. "Figured I'd play it by ear, see what's around, if anything. Maybe head east, check out Toronto. I've never been there."

"If you do head east, I won't be able to accompany you," Fraser cautioned.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm a big boy, Fraser, I know how to take care of myself," Ray shot back hotly.

"Yes, well, I--"

"I said I can handle it, okay? You just worry about whether your new commander's gonna be like the Ice Queen or not, you know, do Mountie things."

Fraser looked at him, sensing something was amiss from the way Ray was using his full name instead of his usual "Frase", but unable to pinpoint why. He started to ask, but Ray had turned his back and moved away. Frowning, Fraser decided that perhaps all his friend needed was some space. No doubt, whatever was bothering Ray would pass, and Ray would explain or apologize or both as soon as he was ready to do so.

"Fraser!" Frannie exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?" A nudge of her knee shut the bottom drawer out of which she'd pulled her purse.

"I was looking for Detective East," Fraser replied.

She glanced at her watch. "Come on, Fraser, it's almost seven o'clock. You know everyone's usually out of here by now. I'm headed out the door myself." She paused. "It's Jen's day off anyway. Something I can maybe help you with?" Her eyes danced with innuendo.

"Perhaps you can," Fraser answered, startling her.

"I can?" she repeated, flabbergasted. "I mean, of course I can! Whatever you need, Fraser."

"The individual who shot Ray, has he been caught?"

"Yeah, why?" Frannie looked puzzled. "There was a whole investigation and everything."

"Oh, it's nothing," Fraser answered. "I just was curious."

Frannie started walking to the door. Fraser followed. "Yeah, you should've seen it," Frannie reminisced. "Everyone pulled together." She paused, then added quietly, "I miss him. He was annoying, disgusting, and --" she sighed "-- the best substitute brother anyone could've ever given me. You know, he really grew up, thanks to you. Came back and he was different. You could just tell by looking at him something had happened. He was actually not so disgusting anymore. He even paid for the computer training classes I've been taking. I was just talking, you know, about maybe taking some, and he gave me the money. I think he might've sold his GTO just for me; I don't know for sure. Jen's been driving him everywhere."

The Italian-American woman blinked back tears and took a deep breath. "Okay," she muttered, half to herself, "not going to cry now." She waved a hand in front of her face, as if to dry her eyes. "Ma will kill me if I spend one more day crying over him." She sniffled, then swore quietly, and dashed down the hall.

With that, she was gone, leaving Fraser standing in the deserted squad room. For a long minute, he stared after her, struck by a sense that she'd said something he needed to analyze. Then he hurried after her.

He found her emerging from the ladies' restroom, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "Are you all right, Francesca?"

She smiled tremulously and exhaled heavily. "I'm okay," she assured him. "It's just-- I can't believe he's gone."

Nor I, Fraser added silently. "Did you happen to speak to him before he was killed?"

"That Friday," Frannie confirmed. "Nothing earth-shimmering or anything like that, just routine police stuff. He and Ray talked for a while -- they went out for drinks after work, I think."

"So your brother was the last person to speak to Ray before he died."

Frannie shook her head. "Jen talked to him." She paused, her voice hitching. "Can we please talk about something else?"

"I'm sorry," Fraser apologized swiftly. "I must be keeping you from getting home."

"Would you like to come over?" Frannie asked impulsively. "I'm sure Ma would love to see you. She's been worried about you, you know."

It was on the tip of Fraser's tongue to refuse, but then he thought better of it. His new apartment was nice, but it was empty; Diefenbaker was still in quarantine, and Fraser had never relished cooking for himself. "I'd like that," he agreed. "It's been a while since I've had your mother's cooking."

Frannie smiled brilliantly. "Great."

The small house was RCMP issue, not much different from the one they'd been staying at while Fraser awaited word of his orders. In the mid-morning light, the house looked as tired as Ray felt. He stared at it a moment longer, then sighed resolutely and hitched his backpack more firmly across his shoulder. For half a heartbeat, he wished Fraser was waving him goodbye, begging him to stay, anything other than the terse missive of a day before, scrawled on a note tacked to the refrigerator door: "On assignment. Not sure of return date. If it's more than five days, contact Constable Morrison for assistance."

For the thousandth time since he'd gotten an answer from Fraser about the nature of their relationship, Ray found himself asking why he hung around so long. Was it because he was such a loser, any relationship was better than none? He thought he knew the answer to that question, and just barely shied away from accepting it.

There wasn't anything in this outpost for an American ex-cop to do except wait for Fraser to return, like some significant other or spouse. The only problem was that Ray was neither, and he had to do something before all the things swirling around his head took on greater importance than they already seemed to have.

No, Ray thought, it's better this way. He turned his back on the house and started walking down the street. He had a hundred dollars in his pocket, courtesy of the bank account Fraser had set up so that Ray could purchase whatever he needed for the house since Ray wasn't working. Ray knew it wasn't enough money, but he didn't feel right in taking more. Somehow, some way, he was going to get to Toronto, and he wasn't going to wait any more, not when waiting meant a little more of his heart got broken with each passing day. He couldn't believe Fraser hadn't noticed his feelings, but after talking with Vecchio on the phone about Victoria, Ray thought he understood why. Even knowing that, Ray couldn't stop wishing for something he knew he would never have.

"So you think your friend's gonna poke around till he finds out the truth?" Jennifer questioned halfway into their trip, having exhausted the usual topics of conversation.

Ray sighed. "Yeah, that's Benny."

"So what if we do tell him about Ray? What do you think he'll do?"

Ray glanced over at her. His expression was bleak. "I don't know," he admitted. "I thought I knew him. But the guy who lost it, who didn't see how Kowalski felt...I mean, c'mon, Kowalski walked away from all the commendations, the offer of a promotion, all the glory (and yes, I did hear about that; it was all Frannie could talk about for days), for what? To go adventuring in Canada with Fraser. Hell, I thought Kowalski was crazy for thinking that would be fun, but I figured maybe he was just blind. Didn't know he was in love with Fraser, or maybe I did, but I didn't think anything would ever happen, so I didn't think about it." Ray paused and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"I gotta tell you," he continued, "I'd heard some wild things about Kowalski from his ex-wife. She and I got to know each other pretty well sometime ago. Figured she was just ranting, blowing off steam you know? But now, knowing what I do, I have to wonder how much of what she said was true."

"Like what?" Jennifer prompted.

"Said he wouldn't let go once she'd said things were over, that he'd trashed some bar, stalked her, and she was sure he was about ready to kill the guy she was dating."

"Ray?" Jennifer scoffed. "I can't see that. He wouldn't risk his badge like that."

"I only knew him a little bit before he went up to Canada. Most of what I knew initially I heard secondhand. It was only after he went to Canada that I got to know him better; he needed someone who understood Fraser to talk to, and he was close to my family." Ray stared at the road ahead, turned the wheel slightly to account for the S-curve, and then, when the road was straight again, he spoke. "Not that he called all that often, but I figured him out pretty quickly. He was always so full of energy, so quick to just jump into something and think about it later."

"You sure we're talking about the same guy? Because the guy I was partnered with wasn't anything like that. Of course, that could be just because he was sick."

"Could be," Ray allowed. "But I don't think that was the only thing."

"No," Jennifer admitted. "You could tell his heart wasn't really into much. Sometimes I wondered why he was hanging on, but then we'd crack some case and then I knew." She was quiet a moment before adding in a low voice, "Sometimes I wondered if he was just waiting for Fraser to come to town."

"You think maybe he got advance warning somehow?"

"And got so depressed he walked into a shootout?" Jennifer shook her head in an emphatic negative. "I don't think so." She bit her lip. "Least, I'd like to think not. There were Kevlar fragments on the bullet, which proves he was wearing a vest when he got shot." She paused, then added, "I just don't understand why he was out there that morning. We got the guy who shot him, but I guess I'll never know why he was out there."

Ray grunted. "Fraser'll find out. Probably drag everyone through the wringer all over again, probably ruin another one of my suits, and probably give you a new case you didn't really need to work, but one that'll result in a commendation for you."

"Are you trying to tell me not to encourage Fraser or what?" Jennifer asked wryly.

"I'm not telling you anything. I'm just asking you to think about what you do and don't say to him. He's gonna go off on a tangent anyway, trying to find out the truth."

"I promised Ray I wouldn't tell Fraser."

"Then we won't."

"Why won't you?"

"Insurance," Ray stated. "They get wind that maybe it wasn't an accidental shooting, they don't pay out, and then we have all sorts of problems. Vultures." He practically spat the word. "Kowalski was a good man. He doesn't deserve any of that crap."

"Agreed."

Ray slanted a glance her way and found her eyes locked on him. "Agreed," he echoed. In that instant, Ray knew a vow had been made.

The snowstorm ended as abruptly as it had started. The stillness woke Fraser, and he carefully disentangled himself from Ray's embrace. Automatically, Fraser dressed and began the arduous process of clearing the ice-encrusted snow from the front of the tent. The task cleared any remaining sleep-induced cobwebs from his mind, and he emerged from the tent to see the sun shining off the thick carpet of snow.

Déjà vu washed over him in a tidal wave as he remembered what had transpired the last four days.

"Oh my God," he swore, staring at the tent as if he could see the sleeping man within its protection. "Oh no."

Ray had kissed him.

Just to shut him up, because he'd been beyond the point of reason. Fraser hadn't intended to go through Fortitude Pass, but with the course they'd been on when the storm had hit, the pass had been the only logical path to take. What Fraser hadn't anticipated was how he'd react to being trapped for the second time in his life near that particular geographical location. In hindsight, Fraser didn't know how to explain his actions, and with that hindsight came oceans of regret. He had used Ray, taken advantage of Ray's willingness to love him, not for the warmth Ray's body generated but for the love Ray so eagerly shared. Fraser had wanted Ray's love to erase Victoria's memory for good.

When Ray woke up this morning, Fraser knew he couldn't face him as a lover. He had to figure out some way of dealing with this new chapter of their relationship. For a moment, another Ray's words came back to haunt him: "What do you know about love, Benny? You're no good at this stuff."

No, Fraser thought quietly, I'm not good at relationships. However, I don't want to lose the few that I do manage to keep. Ray Kowalski is important to me. It's better if we stay friends.

Sighing quietly, Fraser decided to wait and see how Ray acted, and go from there.

By the time Fraser and Francesca arrived at the Vecchio house, Fraser knew everything about Francesca's activities and then some he wished he didn't know. Gladly, he escaped the confines of her car, only to be smothered with effusive affection by Mrs. Vecchio the instant he walked into the house. In desperation, Fraser inquired about Ray's whereabouts, only to be told he had called and had said that he was going to be late for dinner.

Stuck with the situation, Fraser did his best to cope, but he'd forgotten just how boisterous the Vecchio clan could be. He found himself feeling as out of place as he had the first time Ray had invited him over to dinner. Francesca's continued (though often interrupted) flirting with him throughout dinner didn't help much either. Silently, he prayed for Ray's arrival and the opportunity to go home, even as he enjoyed the pleasure of Mrs. Vecchio's cooking.

"So," Francesca drawled towards the end of dinner, "did you fall in love with anyone while you were back home?"

"I can't believe you asked him that," her sister Maria noted, rolling her eyes.

"Well, if no one asked, how am I supposed to know?" she shot back reasonably. "So what's the answer, Fraser?"

"Fraser, what are you doing here?" Ray exclaimed at that moment, saving Fraser from answering. Silently, Fraser breathed a sigh of relief. "Ma, did you know he was coming to dinner?"

"Francesca brought him home," Mrs. Vecchio replied, sounding amazed that Ray would even question Fraser's presence at dinner. "How could I turn him away, after he's been eating God knows what up in Canada? Sit, Raimundo, eat, before the food gets any colder."

"Benny, you let Frannie drive you?" Ray was incredulous.

"Actually, she is a very good driver," Fraser stated honestly. Just then, he noticed the woman who stood behind his friend. "Good evening, Detective. I'm sorry, I didn't see you standing there."

"Evening, Sergeant," Jennifer returned coolly. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get my laundry started."

"You're not going to eat?" Mrs. Vecchio fretted.

"No, thank you," Jennifer replied. "I'm not very hungry." She looked directly at Fraser with her last words, clearly blaming him for her loss of appetite. Without waiting for a reply from the group, she turned and walked away.

Concerned, Ray glanced at her departing figure, then at Fraser, who appeared stunned by the silent accusation. Slowly, Fraser regained his composure.

"Perhaps it would be best if I left now," Fraser suggested.

"Let me take you home," Ray offered quickly. "We need to talk anyway."

"I'll do it," Francesca volunteered. She shot a significant look in the direction of the laundry room. "You stay here and eat, and make sure Jen eats. Right, Ma?"

"But--" Ray protested.

"It's all right, Ray," Fraser assured him, rising to his feet. He suspected his old friend wanted to ask him questions Fraser wasn't yet ready to answer, and if that happened, Fraser knew he was going to return the favor. The last thing Fraser wanted was a confrontation, and it was clear to him that Ray had feelings for Jennifer. "As I said, Francesca is an excellent driver, and I know your mother has been waiting for you."

Francesca beamed, Ray scowled, and Mrs. Vecchio smiled. "Then it's settled," Mrs. Vecchio declared. "Francesca, you take our guest home, and come back before midnight."

"I'm not Sleeping Beauty, Ma. I'm not going to turn into a pumpkin," Francesca complained, getting her fairy tales mixed up.

Mrs. Vecchio sent a telling look her daughter's way. Francesca sighed, and rose. "Come on, Fraser," she said, moving away from the table. "Too bad you're not a frog," she muttered as Fraser joined her.

"I beg your pardon?" Fraser returned, puzzled.

"Yeah, a frog, you know, so I could kiss you and I could turn into a queen and we'd live happily ever after."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand," Fraser began as their voices trailed off down the hall.

"Ma, she's gonna get him all confused," Ray began in protest.

"He is a smart boy. He will be fine, Ray," Mrs. Vecchio assured him. "Now, sit, eat." Her voice rang with unmistakable authority.

Unable to think of a suitable counter reply, Ray did exactly as he was bid.

Twenty minutes later, he went in search of Jennifer. He found her tossing a load of clothes into the washing machine, sorting as she went.

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't know Fraser was going to be here," he apologized.

"It's okay," Jennifer told him, shrugging. "You're old friends. It's only reasonable he might be here." She smiled and threw a sock onto a pile of similar items on the floor. "I'm a friend of Frannie's, and I'd like to think that in the past few weeks, you and I have gotten to be friends as well."

Ray returned the smile. "We are." His voice made the simple declaration into a verbal caress full of promise and hope.

Hearing that made Jennifer look up from the clothes she was sorting. Abruptly, she realized he stood within an arm's distance from her, close enough that she had only the washer behind her while piles of sorted laundry blocked her path to the door. Startled, not quite sure why she suddenly had the urge to run, she clutched an ivory satin camisole to her breasts, unaware of the picture that made.

Ray's grin widened. "That's very pretty," he drawled, his gaze dropping slowly and seductively from her face to the camisole, taking in every inch of the fabric as it lay against her T-shirt-clad breasts as if he was seeing her in the camisole instead of the T-shirt before returning to meet her eyes.

She looked down, then flushed as the implication sent waves of excitement through her. Hastily, she stuffed the camisole into the washer, forgetting that she didn't want that article of clothing going into the wash just then. "Yes, well," she stammered as her heart pounded in her ears. "Thank you." She cleared her throat, desperately trying to ignore the rush of feminine pleasure at his appreciation. She didn't want the attraction, yet she couldn't deny it. The air seemed thick with desire. Unconsciously, Jennifer licked her lips and watched Ray's eyes follow the movement. A thrill shot through her at the realization of his awareness, and she stepped forward.

The washing machine kicked on at that moment, breaking the spell. Shaken, Jennifer took a hasty look around her surroundings. "I-- I think I want to be alone, if that's okay with you." She forced a smile. "You'd better go see if your sister's back yet."

Ray blinked. "What-- oh. Yeah." He gestured towards the door, the movement jerky and uncoordinated. Jen hid a smile; it soothed something inside of her to realize that he'd been as enthralled by the spell as she had. "I, ah, I'd better do that, make sure she hasn't gotten any ideas." Ray spoke quickly, almost sounding relieved to talk about something normal. "After all these years, you'd think she'd have a clue that he's not interested."

"She's been after him a long time?"

"Since she first laid eyes on him," Ray informed her. "Surprised she hasn't told you about him."

"He hasn't been around," Jennifer pointed out.

"Yeah, that's true." Ray took a deep breath. "You, ah, going to be okay here?"

"It's not like the Laundromat," she returned, trying for levity. She could still see traces of desire in his eyes, and it was enough to make her feel uncomfortable. "Unless your machine's just as hungry to gobble socks as the ones there?"

"Not sure," he answered. His expression told her that he understood what she was attempting to do. "Ma usually does the laundry." He headed for the door, stopped. "Would be a shame if it ate that camisole of yours," he added in parting.

Jennifer's jaw dropped. It was a long time before she recovered enough to decide that perhaps a date with the Laundromat wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"I haven't been here since the funeral," Frannie admitted quietly a day later, standing next to a hatless Fraser in front of Ray's headstone. She took a deep breath and fought back tears. "Seeing his grave...God, it just brings it all back. The city honored him as a hero. Funny, I never thought of him as one." She glanced over at Fraser and smiled shakily. "I'll be back at the car when you're ready."

"Thank you kindly, Francesca. I appreciate you bringing me here."

"I promised last night I would, didn't I?"

"Yes, so you did," he agreed.

She flashed a quick, more confident smile, then turned to descend the slight incline towards the road.

He waited until she was out of earshot before clearing his throat. "Wherever you are, Ray, I hope you can hear me," he began. "I'm sorry I couldn't be who you wanted me to be. All I can say is that I was shocked you wanted me that way. I was afraid we'd lose our friendship, that you'd want more than I could give you." He closed his eyes, feeling the sharp pang of regret. "I seem to have lost anyway."

For a moment, Fraser was almost certain the air turned abruptly colder, carrying with it the unmistakable otherworldly sensation he'd come to associate with the presence of ghosts and invoking a bittersweet memory of the land of his birth. He opened his eyes, only to realize that the wind had picked up, carrying with the faint traces of an impending storm. Hope he hadn't admitted to harboring fell, and he unconsciously straightened his shoulders.

"I don't understand how your death is my fault, but I will find the answer," Fraser vowed. He stepped back from the grave, set his Stetson back on his head, and then walked to where Frannie was waiting.

"What's your hurry, man?" The whiskey- and cigarette-roughened male voice held amusement and desire.

Ray smiled and made a play for the tall man with dark brown hair and gray eyes. The semi-dark hallway left the other man's face in shadow, and then Ray's body blocked the view as he leaned in for a long, involved, brutal kiss. Two sets of ungentle, roaming hands left the observer with no doubt as to the outcome of the evening as the stranger was pressed hard against the door. Then the stranger flipped the blond-haired man with almost careless ease, reversing their positions. The force with which Ray hit the wood registered as a dull thud, but Ray didn't seem fazed. If anything, he seemed to relish the pain, grinning the cocky grin that dared the stranger to do more, and the observer wondered why.

"Stop playing games," Ray demanded roughly. "Open the damned door before I fuck you right here in the hallway."

"Promises, promises," the stranger teased, only to shudder as the sound of a zipper echoed in the hallway and skilled fingers gripped the cock trapped behind the denim. The observer closed his eyes, not wanting to watch such an intimate scene, but the memory of being touched in precisely the same ways rushed to fill in the gaps he refused to see. Sighing, the observer opened his eyes in time to catch sight of the face of the stranger as the door to the apartment was flung open.

The stranger's face was his own.

Fraser woke in darkness, startled by the vividness of his dream. Then he shook himself. With sudden conviction, he knew it hadn't been a dream. He looked at the dream catcher he'd set on his bedside table, and felt a cold chill run down his spine. He'd had visions before, but nothing like this.

Slipping from bed, he crossed the small, pre-furnished studio apartment to the kitchen, feeling more alone than ever. Had he been wrong to wait for a cue from Ray? Fraser had been so sure it had been the right decision, but now he wasn't so sure. The vision was fading, yet the feeling of wrongness, of something off kilter, remained.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep now, Fraser brewed himself a pot of tea. Once the tea had steeped to his preferred strength, he poured a cup and, taking a chair from the kitchen table, moved to the east window of his apartment. He did not sit, but instead placed the chair directly beside where he chose to stand while sipping his tea, as if he was expecting someone to join him at the window.

Hours later, Ray Vecchio breezed into the apartment. "Sheez, Benny, when are you gonna ever learn to lock your door? You're in Chicago again, for crying out loud, and in a nicer apartment, and you still don't--" Ray stopped short, seeing the Mountie leaning against the window, the chair beside him. "Fraser? You okay?"

Fraser exhaled slowly, heavily. Turning, he faced his friend, then crossed the room to set the cup he'd been holding in the sink. "I'll be fine," he assured Ray. "We'd better get going, if we want to be on time to pick up Diefenbacher from quarantine."

"He still sulks if you're late?"

Fraser rolled his eyes. "You don't know the half of it. Ever since I told him we were coming back, he's been impossible."

"Let me guess, he missed his jelly donuts."

"It's a sad thing, Ray, when a wolf begs for them when you remind him that the nearest jelly donut is at least three days away, never mind the fact that they're unhealthy for humans and wolves."

Both men knew that beneath the casual banter, neither was fooled by the other. True to form, Ray spoke first. "You sure you're all right, Benny? I know you gotta be rattled by Kowalski's death; hell, everyone was. You know if you got a problem, I wanna know about it. You can talk to me about anything."

"Except your sister," Fraser reminded him.

"Except Fran-- hey, whaddya mean?"

Behind the mask Fraser wore, he smiled grimly, grateful that Ray had taken the bait and was now pursing the tangent Fraser had offered by introducing Francesca into the conversation. The sleepless night weighed on him, as well as the promise he'd made to himself. He had to find the stranger with his face, the one he was certain had hurt Ray Kowalski.

"If I didn't know you," Jennifer began as she sat down in the seat across the table from Ray Vecchio. "I'd be inclined to say something crass like 'You look like someone died,' but since I know that already happened to both of us, I'll just go for nosy and ask what happened."

He glanced up at her arrival, then pushed the coffee he'd been contemplating to one side of the table. "What are you doing here?" he asked instead of answering her.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question? You are a retired officer, last I knew," she pointed out. "Last place for you to be hanging out is the station cafeteria."

He shrugged. "Wanted to do some thinking, and had a sudden craving for bad coffee."

She chuckled. "You've been a cop too long," she accused him gently. "Anything I can maybe help with?"

Ray studied her for a moment, then started to deny her offer.

"Ray," she countered sternly. "I'm a good listener. Talk to me."

He shook his head. "It's nothing. Just helped Fraser pick up his wolf from quarantine today. Reminded me of the first time I helped him get Dief. Seems like a million years ago now."

"And?" she prompted, reaching across the table to lay a comforting hand on top of his.

Ray released a breath and looked away momentarily before meeting Jennifer's concerned eyes. "Fraser's the straightest guy I know, but I can't help thinking he fucked up when he turned down Kowalski. I think he realized that too, and that's why he moved back to Chicago."

"This bothers you?"

"It's crazy. I keep thinking Fraser should've come back because he missed my friendship, and not for some guy he knew for less time than he did me. After all the sacrifices I've made for him, all the suits I've ruined, all the dry cleaning I wasted...."

Jennifer stared at the man seated across the table from her for a full minute, her jaw open in shock. "You're jealous. I don't believe it. You're actually jealous Fraser returned because of someone else?"

"Told you it was crazy."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a conceited, self-centered, arrogant--"

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Ray interrupted her, but he was smiling as he said it.

She started to form a retort, but whatever she was going to say was halted by the appearance of a single yellow rose, placed on the table in front of her by Ray.

"What's this for?" she asked warily, surprised. Unable to resist, she picked up the rose and smelled its delicate fragrance.

Ray smiled enigmatically and rose from his seat. Automatically, she stood as well, clutching the rose, and closed the distance between them.

"Tell me," she demanded impatiently.

He shook his head, still smiling. "What? I can't do something just because I want to?" he countered. "You can't be having a great time trying to go solo on all those cases you and Kowalski were working on."

"I can handle it fine, thanks. Come on, Ray, something brought this on," she said, still suspicious. "You're the original I-don't-do-anyone-favors-just-because-I-feel-like-it guy. I knew that much even before I met you, thanks to your sister."

Faced with the truth, Ray dropped the act. "Maybe I just got reminded today that it doesn't take much effort to be kind to someone," he informed her quietly. "No reason necessary."

She looked at him, reading a wealth of emotion behind his words and seeing its shadow reflected his eyes. "Thank you," she told him.

He smiled, though not as broadly as before. "You're welcome. It was my pleasure. I'll see you tonight?"

"Tonight?" Jennifer blinked. "What's tonight?"

"Dinner," he replied. "I'll pick you up at seven. Unless you had other plans, maybe another hot date with the Laundromat?"

She giggled, her shoulders caving in slightly with her laughter at the reminder of her words of a few days previously. "No, seven is fine. If I get this one murder case wrapped up before then."

"You'll have to tell me about it, then. Wear something nice." With that, Ray walked away.

Jennifer watched him depart, not quite believing just what had transpired. It was one thing to know he was interested in her, that the attraction was mutual, but this was the first time since the evening in the laundry room that he'd acknowledged it still existed. Some part of her brain that wasn't Taser-tagged noted that Ray was wearing tan khakis, and wondered what he'd look like in a pair of tight jeans. As soon as the thought registered, she forced herself to turn and head in the opposite direction.

Rose or no rose, date or no date, she had work to do.

"May I help you?" Jennifer asked the redheaded, heavyset woman who stood uncertainly in front of her desk three hours later.

"Detective East?"

"That's me," Jennifer confirmed. "Something I can help you with?"

"I was looking for a friend of mine."

"Is he lost? Missing?" Automatically, Jennifer started digging through the stack of paperwork on her desk for a blank sheet of paper so she could take notes. Part of her brain groaned at the thought of a new case, and hoped that whatever this woman's problem was wouldn't take long. Jennifer glanced at the rose she'd put in a plastic cup on her desk and thought of how, for probably the first time since Ray's death, she wanted to be anywhere but at work.

"No, nothing like that," the stranger assured her. "My name is Gabrielle Duncan. I was told you knew Ray Kowalski."

"He's my partner. What do you need?"

"Can I speak with him? It's private, and I've come a long way -- from Toronto actually -- to deliver it in person."

"I'm sorry," Jennifer said as gently as she could. "Ray's dead. Were you a friend of his?"

Gabrielle sighed. She seemed to have been expecting news of Ray's death, and Jennifer wondered why.

"As much as a friend he'd let anyone be to him," Gabrielle informed Jennifer. "There were places in him he wouldn't let anyone touch; you could see it in his eyes, but if you asked him about it, he'd just laugh it off, tell you that you were seeing things that didn't exist." She glanced at Jennifer. "Guess he didn't change much when he came back, huh?" Seeing confirmation in Jennifer's face, Gabrielle continued, "Anyway, he and I worked together at Milley's Bar and we used to hang out together when we weren't working."

"So you came down from Canada to tell Ray something?"

"Yes," Gabrielle agreed. "Though if he's dead it doesn't matter anyway." Abruptly, Gabrielle's body stiffened and her mouth dropped open as she looked over Jennifer's shoulder.

There was only one man Jennifer knew who could produce that kind of reaction, and she turned slowly. Fraser was the last man she wanted to deal with right now, but Fate wasn't that kind to Jennifer today. Sure enough, Fraser was making a beeline to her. Sighing, Jennifer turned her attention back to Gabrielle. "Oh, that's just Sergeant Fraser," she told her, even as she wondered what in the world he wanted with her. She thought she'd made it clear to him there was nothing more that she wanted to say to him.

"Sergeant Fraser?" Gabrielle echoed faintly. She looked stunned. "What's that Mountie doing here?"

"He came down to Chicago some years back on the trail of the killers of his father, stayed around a while for reasons I'm not quite sure of, and now he's back." Jennifer took a second look at her guest. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Maybe," Gabrielle said shakily. Taking a deep breath, she reached into her purse and withdrew a photograph. Setting it down on Jennifer's desk, she explained, "This is -- was, I should say -- my second cousin Calvin."

Jennifer looked at the photograph. It appeared to have been taken at a birthday party for Gabrielle. She grinned at the cameraman while hugging a tall, dark haired, handsome man Jennifer would've said was Fraser, if Fraser smoked cigarettes and drank whiskey. Somehow, given what Jennifer knew of Fraser, that behavior seemed highly unlikely.

"What happened to your cousin?" Jennifer inquired as dread slithered up her spine.

Fraser chose that moment to walk up. "Excuse me ladies, but may I have a moment of your time, Detective?"

"Not now, Sergeant," Jennifer snapped.

"Of course," Fraser replied, unruffled. "When shall I return?"

"How about never?" Jennifer shot back curtly. Her hand slapped over the photograph in an attempt at damage control, but she forgot about Gabrielle.

"You look a lot like my cousin," Gabrielle interjected, clearly assuming that Jennifer was merely teasing Fraser.

"I do?"

"Here, let me show you."

Reluctantly, Jennifer lifted her hand from the photograph and slouched back into her chair. Gabrielle shot her a grateful smile, then handed the photograph over to Fraser.

Fraser stared at it for a long, wordless moment. Swallowed almost imperceptibly, but Jennifer was watching for his reaction and caught the movement. Then, very carefully, he handed the photograph back to Gabrielle. "Given the possibilities for genetic combinations, it is a very uncanny resemblance. However, I do not smoke nor do I drink. Thank you for sharing that, Miss--?"

"Duncan. Gabrielle Duncan."

"Miss Duncan. Again, thank you kindly. If you'll excuse me?"

Fraser didn't wait for an affirmative.

"I always wondered what Ray saw in Calvin," Gabrielle murmured, half to herself. "Calvin was my cousin, but he was my gay, cop-hating, abusive cousin. He shaped up a bit when he got sick, but...." Gabrielle's voice trailed off.

"You came to tell Ray about Calvin."

"I didn't know what Ray's phone number was," Gabrielle admitted. "He used to talk about Chicago sometimes when he was drunk, how he used to be a cop, how much he missed it, and how he was going to get the hell out of Canada as soon as he got enough saved up for it. Sometimes, I'd put a little bit of liquor in his drinks just at closing time, just so he'd stay and talk to me. I don't know if he ever figured out I was doing that; if he did, he never said."

Jennifer stared at Gabrielle in growing horror. Just what kind of people did Ray work with at that bar? Jennifer wondered. "Ray is dead. He died in a shootout. I don't know the person you're talking about."

"Maybe not," Gabrielle conceded, correctly sensing she'd overstayed her welcome. "But I did. So did your Mountie friend, and if I were you, I'd ask him when his last test was. Maybe you don't care, but I know Calvin wasn't sick until after Ray left." The Canadian woman stared at Jennifer, accusation in her eyes, then nodded grimly before she rose and walked out of the squad room. Jennifer could almost read "mission accomplished" in neon lights from the way Gabrielle strode out of the room.

All Jennifer could think of were vile names for Gabrielle and her family; her stunned mind simply wouldn't come up with anything more constructive. She felt as blown away as when she'd received the fateful call from Ray, telling her he'd been shot. Her mind flashed back to a conversation she'd had with Ray before his death, shortly after she'd gone for her own required physical exam. She'd wondered how he'd managed to get back on the police force despite being HIV positive. He'd explained to her that he'd gotten his exam done before he'd become infected, since he'd initially planned on immediately returning to Chicago after he and Fraser had parted ways. Bureaucracy had slowed his return, and his available funds had dwindled, forcing him to look for work until he had enough saved up to return and wait for reactivation to his old precinct.

And that's when trouble started, Jennifer thought bitterly.

Thinking of that made her remember Fraser. As she went to find him, she told herself she was merely performing damage control, that she wouldn't be human if she didn't at least see how he was. She didn't really believe in Gabrielle's accusations; Fraser was a fellow law enforcement officer and would be subject to routine physical exams. Moreover, Fraser struck her as someone who was very conscientious about everything, and would not be remiss in letting his partners know what happened if he had been diagnosed with AIDS. Still, what she knew of the RCMP and of Fraser amounted to a less than what would be on a first-time offender's rap sheet.

As it turned out, she didn't have far to go. He sat alone in one of the interview rooms. For a moment, Jennifer didn't think he was breathing.

"You okay?" she asked, slipping into the room without knocking. His back was half-turned to the door, and he jerked at the sound of her voice.

"I'm fine, thank you." He turned away, clearly expecting her to take the gesture for the dismissal it was.

She didn't buy that line for an instant; the shudder of breath that rippled through his back betrayed him. Stepping to one side, she could see that his hands were braced on his thighs, as if he needed the extra support; his arms were nearly rigid. His head was bowed, and it struck her suddenly that she'd never seen him less than confident. Even when he'd been trying to find out about the validity of the medical report he'd received, he'd seemed unquestionably positive that he knew the truth.

Fraser lifted his head, and Jennifer caught the first glimmer of tears in his eyes. She found herself blinking as if the tears were her own, and firmly reminded herself that she had no reason to be kind to Fraser. He was the reason Ray Kowalski had been a shell of a human being.

Jennifer watched Fraser swallow painfully, open his mouth, then shut it almost instantly. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what was it he meant to say, but then she thought of her vows to both Rays. She didn't say anything for fear of revealing too much. Taking a deep breath, she crossed her arms and half-sat on the scarred table.

Fraser stared at her as if she could answer some question, then, reading her refusal in her body language, shook his head, and turned away. Some part of her wanted to scream "Yes, I can tell you everything!", wanted to erase the pain she could see in Fraser. Never one to hold back her emotions, Jennifer barely managed to retain control.

Clearly, Fraser was taking the implication of the photograph hard. The realization made him vulnerable in a way she hadn't anticipated, made him seem less like the villain who'd broken Ray's heart. The bitterness she'd felt towards him for his part in the chain of events that had led to Ray's illness eroded in the face of the new awareness. Feeling awkward, she started to say something, but abruptly realized there was nothing she could say that wouldn't break her vow.

Silently, she started to reach for Fraser's shoulder, wanting to comfort him.

"It's my fault," Fraser admitted quietly, his voice breaking on the last word.

Jennifer dropped her hand. Unconsciously, she lifted her chin as she answered Fraser. "Yes, it is. You're more than a few days late and a dollar short, Sergeant, if you came back to town looking for Ray's love-- or his forgiveness."

She started to walk towards the door, then stopped. Keeping her back turned away from Fraser, she added, "But you didn't kill Ray. We got the punk who shot him."

There was no reply, and she hesitated a moment longer, moved to a kindness she wasn't entirely certain she believed was appropriate.

He's strong; he'll live, she reminded herself sternly, and tried to ignore the prick of her conscience. He deserves all the pain for what he did to Ray. You have better things to do. Taking a deep breath, she walked out of the room.

When the door shut behind Jennifer, Fraser let go the breath he'd been holding and closed his eyes. Slowly counting to a hundred, he fought for calm and the poise to leave the station without anyone noticing that, inside, he'd just shattered into a million tiny pieces. Up until he'd seen the photograph of Calvin, Fraser had believed that Ray had merely made the kind of random chance mistake people can make. He didn't believe that had entirely been the case now.

Unbidden, Diefenbaker appeared and nosed his way into the room. Fraser met the wolf's eyes a minute. With a soft whine of sympathy, Diefenbaker laid his head on his master's lap. A shuddering breath escaped the Mountie.

"I'm fine," Fraser told his companion. "I--I just need a minute."

Diefenbaker nudged his head until it was under Fraser's hand. Almost compulsively, Fraser began rubbing the wolf's head. Then, breathing deeply, Fraser bowed his head and fought the urge to lose control.

I have to get up. I have to leave. I don't belong here. The words echoed in his head, but Fraser couldn't bring himself to move.

Ray's dead because he wanted me, and when I turned him down, he went looking for someone who looked like me. The sniffle that resounded in the room startled Fraser, and he realized abruptly that he was crying.

Suddenly, a familiar voice spoke. Startled, Fraser jerked his head in the direction of the voice, and flushed with embarrassment over his loss of control.

"Ah, there you are, Fraser. I've been looking all over the station for you."

Fraser stared at the man whom he'd come to see as an unofficial commander. He swallowed and tried to speak. "Sir," he managed, and hoped it was enough to serve as a greeting. He didn't trust his legs to stand, especially with Diefenbaker right in front of them.

"I was hoping I could --" Lt. Welsh began, then stopped. "You didn't know, did you? About Kowalski."

Fraser shook his head. "Not until a few days ago." The words came out raggedly. Hating the way he sounded, wanting to be alone, Fraser drew upon his training and rose to his feet. Diefenbaker moved just enough to allow the movement. "If you'll excuse me, Leftenant, I must be going. Unless you needed something from me?"

"Nah, this" the older man gestured to the file in his other hand, "can wait until tomorrow."

"Thank you kindly, sir." Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Fraser bolted from the room. Frowning, Lt. Welsh watched him go.

"Jen?" Ray reached across the table and took her hand. "Everything okay? You're pretty quiet tonight."

She smiled sadly. "Sorry to be such a drain on your plans," she told him. She gestured to the intimate table for two in a secluded corner of the restaurant. "This goes beyond being nice."

He shrugged easily. "Wouldn't be the first time my life didn't go like I wanted it to go."

"Yes, but...." She gazed into his eyes and found compassion mixed with desire there. "Something tells me you were hoping for more."

Now it was his turn to smile. "I'm patient. Not all the time, mind you, and if you tell someone I am, I'll deny it, but for you, I can be." He paused and took a sip of water. "Let's just say that we're two friends having dinner and nothing more. I can't help it if this is a little too...romantic for now."

She chuckled. "No, I suppose not." She took a sip of her soda and breathed deeply, then dropped her gaze to her hands as they cupped the tall glass. "Ever been married?"

Ray leaned back in the booth. "Yeah. Twice. Last time was to Kowalski's ex-wife." At Jennifer's incredulous look, he elaborated, "Long story, takes about three hours to tell. Trust me, you're better off not knowing. Let's just say if the Feds ever ask you to go on an undercover assignment, tell them 'hell no.'" He studied her for a moment before stating quietly, "Trying to figure out what happened with Kowalski?"

She looked up at him, her eyes widening with surprise before she remembered how perceptive he could be. "I've never known anyone I wanted to die for, not like he did."

"Fraser's one of a kind. There's a lot I'd do for him I wouldn't do for anyone else. I can't say I'd do what Kowalski did, 'cause I'm not that way."

Jen sighed. "I just don't get it. You said Fraser's a smart guy, right? How come he couldn't see Ray was in love with him?"

"He's Canadian, and he's always been oblivious when someone's interested in him. Except one bitch, and she was beyond wrong for him." Ray brooded, remembering. "She did a number on his head, and I was right not to trust her. But Benny wouldn't have listened to me if I'd told him, and I was a little blind about the whole thing myself. I'd never seen him with a woman before. Hell, if some guy admitted to loving me, I think I'd freak. I can't imagine what Fraser would be like. And for Fraser and Kowalski to get snowbound in the same damned place Fraser had been stuck with that bitch all those years ago.... " Ray's voice trailed off and his eyes widened. "Oh shit. No wonder he never understood what Kowalski meant."

"What? What are you talking about?"

Ray impatiently signaled for their server. "Benny wouldn't trust love like that. It nearly killed him once. He'd give it up for the friendship, which he could trust. If he realizes Ray deliberately went out and found someone who looked just like him, and then got sick, Benny will blame himself. I gotta go and talk to him."

"But what about what you said in the car the other day?" Jennifer asked, watching Ray get to his feet.

Ray looked at her. His eyes were troubled. "I'll figure out something to tell him."

"I'll go with you," Jennifer volunteered impulsively as their server arrived, and Ray quickly dealt with the check.

"No," Ray decided. "You probably won't be much help. He'll talk to me if it's just me and not you."

Jennifer started to protest, then remembered her attempt in the interview room earlier. "You're probably right," she conceded. "I guess I blame him for what happened, even if Ray did tell me it's not Fraser's fault." She took a deep breath. "I can't help thinking that maybe there was something he could've done that wouldn't have driven Ray to such heartbreak."

"I don't know," her companion replied. He looked at her and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'll call you."

Jennifer nodded her acceptance. "Thanks for dinner."

He smiled crookedly and started to turn away. Then, just as swiftly, he turned back, closed the distance, and pressed a quick, hard, emotion-packed kiss on her lips. Stunned, Jennifer could only stare at the space he'd vacated, her fingers rising to touch her mouth in an unconscious gesture.

"Ray?" Fraser's voice echoed through the empty house as he tiredly sat his pack down in the space just to the left of the doorway and stepped into the small living room. Diefenbaker headed immediately for Ray's room, then emerged a heartbeat later to return to the living room. The wolf barked sharply, then laid his head over his paws as if sad.

"He's not here?" Fraser asked.

Diefenbaker stared accusingly at him as if to say it was Fraser's fault that Ray wasn't in the house.

Frowning, Fraser looked around and realized that a thin layer of dust coated everything, which was unusual since Ray had taken to keeping the house tidy while Fraser was on duty. A quick check of the kitchen revealed that the dishwasher was devoid of its usual jumble of dishes and the coffeepot was clean. Taped to the refrigerator was Fraser's note of two weeks prior, when he'd been called to emergency duty to track down an escaped convict. Beneath Fraser's note was a new one, scrawled in Ray's almost illegible script.

"Gone to Toronto. Will call when I'm settled. Ray."

Stepping back out of the house, Fraser checked the mailbox and found it overflowing with bills and other correspondence. Using the earliest date of postmark as a basis for calculation, Fraser figured Ray had been gone for at least a week and a half. Buried in the stack of mail was an envelope without a return address and a Toronto postmark. The only thing it held was a house key wrapped in a note written on a white cocktail napkin that reeked of whiskey and cigarette smoke.

"Sorry, forgot to give this back to you. Ray."

Slowly, Fraser put the key and the rest of the mail down on the table in the kitchen and moved to check Ray's bedroom. The room looked obsessively neat, something Fraser would not have thought was in Ray's character until their adventure had ended and Ray had been left with little to occupy his time. Still, Fraser's sharp eyes noticed subtle differences in the room, and it dawned on him that Ray must have just taken what would have fit into a single rucksack. A check of the account Fraser had set up so that Ray could purchase groceries and other sundries revealed that Ray had withdrawn a hundred dollars eleven days earlier.

Fraser's frown deepened as Diefenbaker continued to sulk. Briefly, Fraser contemplated calling the authorities in Toronto to see if Ray had arrived safely, but didn't want to cause unnecessary concern. Then the phone rang.

Thinking it might be Ray, Fraser snatched it off the hook. "Good afternoon, Sergeant Fraser speaking, may I help you?"

"Listen, Fraser," came the brisk male voice of his commanding officer, "I know you just got off an assignment, but we've got a situation here that needs some of your expertise. Can you come down and see what you can contribute?"

"Certainly, sir." Pushing his concerns over Ray to the back of his mind, Fraser went to answer the call of duty.

Ray would be all right, Fraser told himself as he picked up his pack and headed out the door. He wasn't a green American in Canada anymore; he had survived the rigors of the wild.

"Coming, Diefenbaker?"

Diefenbaker stared at his master as if Fraser had grown a set of horns. Couldn't he see that something was wrong? Ray was supposed to be here.

"Diefenbaker, if you're waiting for Ray, Ray is in Toronto. He is not coming back. We have to go now; we have work to do."

Diefenbaker refused to move.

Fraser looked at his companion with aggravated patience. "All right, do what you want to do. But if I don't come back, you're going to have to fend for yourself again."

Diefenbaker watched Fraser leave. Maybe Fraser's going to find Ray, the wolf thought. Excited about the idea, he quickly ran to catch up to Fraser, but as the weeks turned to months, Diefenbaker realized that would not happen. He knew what that meant, and resolved to help his master when the tears started to fall.

Fraser was never certain later how he managed to get back to his apartment. He was vaguely aware of Diefenbaker guiding his every move until he had sunk into the couch in his apartment. There, in the privacy of his home, Fraser let go of his control. The tears, so easily shed before, now refused to fall, and he was left with silent, body-shaking sobs that tore at his gut and ravaged through him like poison until he began to wonder when they were going to snap his back or cramp his abdominal muscles. The feeling unnerved him, for he couldn't remember when his body last convulsed like that. All the pain seemed to be clawing its way of his flesh and bone, ripping for the surface no matter what it took to get there, like a full-size dragon imprisoned in an eggshell.

Suppressed for so long, the memory of the words he'd spoken to Ray one fateful evening echoed through him with the clarity of the sound of loneliness. His mind had been elsewhere, occupied with the demands of his duty to the RCMP, and he'd slowly become aware that Ray had been staring at him for some time.

"Is something wrong, Ray?" he'd asked.

Ray's mouth curved into a grin. "Nothing wrong, Frase, just watching you. Ain't like I got anything else to do, you know, here in this place." Ray gestured to the small living room. "No TV until next week, right? That's what you said."

"That would be correct, Ray. The TV I requisitioned is on its way."

"Good, that's greatness," Ray said. "Though I can't help it if I like staring at you."

"Why?"

"I love you."

Ray's words were met with stunned silence. In the sudden, awkward breach, Fraser answered, "I see," but he didn't, not really. He didn't know what to think; he'd assumed that they were past the incident at Fortitude Pass. Unable to say anything more, Fraser stared at Ray.

Ray blinked first. Fraser gave his head a little shake, unaware of how closely Ray was watching his movements, and of how that action would be interpreted. For a moment, Fraser could have sworn that he saw Ray flinch as if he'd been hit, could have believed that Ray's confidence slipped visibly. Then Ray's body relaxed and he smiled.

"I mean," Ray continued as if the silence never happened, "I gotta love you if I'm crazy enough to follow you around all of Canada and not go back to Chicago, right?" A desperate edge entered Ray's voice, and he spoke more rapidly. "Either that, or I gotta be a really good friend. We're good friends, right? And friends love each other."

"Yes, Ray." Fraser smiled in relief, thinking that perhaps he'd mistaken the meaning of Ray's words.

"That's cool, man, that's just... greatness." Ray had then turned the conversation to something else, and Fraser had put the declaration out of his mind.

Looking back now, Fraser knew he hadn't mistaken the meaning. He'd heard them exactly as Ray had intended them to be: a declaration of intimate love. It had backfired, and Ray had reacted instinctively to cover his mistake. Fraser had forgotten that Ray was skilled at undercover work, and knew how to make people see what they wanted to see.

No wonder Ray left me; he didn't think I loved him the way he wanted. Fraser wasn't sure he could put a label on the depth of his feelings for Ray, nor was he sure if it extended past the boundaries of a standard friendship. However, if it had meant losing Ray, Fraser was certain they could have come to some sort of agreement that they both could have lived with Except...Fraser realized abruptly, Ray had wanted all or nothing. In Fraser's rejection of Ray's love, Ray had obviously concluded that a platonic friendship was the agreement, the terms of their relationship, that Fraser wanted.

Maybe that was my mistake, Fraser thought.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. For a long moment, Fraser debated not answering it, but Diefenbaker whined, and the ingrained politeness that was so much a part of Fraser refused to allow him to ignore the sound. Reluctantly, he rose, crossed the room, and opened the door to find Ray Vecchio standing on his doorstep.

"Something wrong, Ray?"

"Maybe," Ray allowed. "You gonna let me in or you gonna make me stand in the hallway all night?"

Fraser opened the door wider and allowed his old friend entrance, aware that Ray would not go away easily. "So what brings you here tonight?" he inquired as Ray tried, unsuccessfully, to keep Diefenbaker from jumping on him.

"You see, I got a problem," Ray began, taking a seat on the couch.

"If I can be of any help--"

"Just listen, and maybe you can," Ray assured him. "You see, I got this friend. He's a good cop, used to be madly in love with this one woman, but women ain't all he's ever been interested in. There's this one guy he's in love with (and I'm not talking about me, here, don't get any ideas), and he's given up everything for this guy. Something happens, and things aren't the same between them anymore. Except my friend isn't all that great at talking to people; he's a hothead, acts on impulse where you and I might think about it a bit first." Ray's hands underscored his words.

"I see," Fraser said carefully. "So this friend of yours, what happens to him?"

"He gets it in his head that his love isn't returned, that he was just used to wipe out a memory of someone else. You wouldn't know anything like that, would you, Benny?"

Fraser closed his eyes, unable to face the truth. "You think I would do that?" he whispered hoarsely.

"I don't know, Fraser. There's a lot about you that it took me two years to discover, and I can't say I've always been big on surprises." Ray's voice lacked warmth, and Fraser could swear he could almost hear how still Ray was standing. "Oh, hell, Benny, of all the places in Canada, why'd you have to lose it at that-- that damned pass?"

Fraser couldn't answer that, didn't even know where to begin. He could feel Ray waiting impatiently for his response, but all Fraser could do was sigh and shake his head. "I don't know," he admitted quietly.

"Come on, Benny, you have an answer for everything."

"I'm not perfect," Fraser retorted, annoyance cracking the mask of calm. "I never said I was."

"No? Could've fooled me and a lot of other people." Ray closed the distance between them until he was nearly in his friend's face. "You had me believing you could do just about anything, that I could do the same. I can only imagine what Kowalski had to have thought, and he was crazy enough to follow you up to Canada and stay with you." Ray snorted. "He thought the world of you. Didn't take a rocket scientist for me to figure out he was in love with you, but I didn't think anything would ever come out of it, so I forgot about it."

"You thought he was...." Fraser froze, shocked at the realization that a man who had been thousands of miles away might have seen what was happening more clearly he had.

"Hell, Fraser, who wouldn't be? You're damned near perfect. You got looks, brains, talent, and on top of all that, you're polite even to scum." Ray shook his head. "I never had a chance with any woman that walked into the room when you were around, but you acted like you didn't know what to do with them. Got to a point where I thought maybe you just liked guys better, but I didn't think that whole scene was you. Figured Kowalski would've realized that too. Wasn't until I talked to him that I knew the truth."

"You...talked to him?"

Ray looked at Fraser oddly, not quite certain he was comfortable with seeing this side of his friend. "He called a couple of times, mostly to make sure someone took care of his apartment and see how the family was doing. I happened to pick up the phone once and we got to talking. He was bitching because you'd spent a week chasing down some drug dealer for fishing out of season."

Ray waited a beat for the explanation he was certain to arrive. When none did, Ray realized just how shocked Fraser was. Taking a deep breath, Ray continued to speak. "Anyway, maybe it was something Stella had said to me about him, maybe it was just me wondering what he thought about you running after windmills that shoot back, but I started listening to how Kowalski talked about you. He would've walked on fire for you, Benny, in a heartbeat."

Fraser closed his eyes, trying to gather strength. "If that's the truth, then why won't you explain everything?" His voice held pained frustration as he stared at his friend.

"Geez, Benny, do I have to spell it out for you?" Ray complained. "If there's any doubt about Kowalski's death, if someone gets the idea that he committed suicide, that maybe the reason he and Stella broke up was because he was into guys, everything he ever did is gonna look suspect. I'm not saying that's right or that I agree with that, but a lot of cops don't trust anyone who's not one hundred percent straight. From what I hear, Kowalski didn't exactly make friends with everyone while he was pretending to be me; he pissed off some people when he helped you during a bout of blue flu. He might've made up for it when he came back from Canada, but the fact remains, people remember that shit. And you've made some enemies in the 27th who'd love to tear that Perfect Mountie image apart, along with anybody associated with you. Hell, there's some people who probably still think you and I were closer than best friends."

"We're not," Fraser stated, offended anyone would believe such lies.

"I know that, you know that, half the world knows that, but people talk. Information is power, Benny, and false information can be a ticket to better things for some people. Doesn't matter if it's true or not. Look at me -- I was someone else for a year, and the Feds got to nail a lot of bad guys. Kowalski got to be me and he got to meet you, if you consider meeting you to be a good thing."

"I would hope so, Ray. You don't regret meeting me, do you?"

"Some days, yes." Ray straightened his suit coat in a telling gesture.

"I'm sorry about your suits, Ray." Fraser looked genuinely apologetic.

"Forget about it, Benny," Ray said, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. "What's a suit compared to saving the world? Anyway, we're not talking about me. We're talking about Kowalski."

Ray gestured impatiently. "Look, I didn't want to tell you this. I thought you couldn't handle it, but I guess the not-knowing is making things worse. Kowalski told me he was in love with you, that you turned him down and he didn't handle the rejection very well." Uncomfortably, Ray recalled the last conversation he'd had with the man. Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember it as Kowalski had told it, aware that he needed to relay it as precisely as possible so that Fraser could understand what happened. "Said that he was pretty messed up when he left you and went to Toronto. From what Stella told me, I guess he's not the kind of guy who handles rejection well."

Fraser looked away then. "I should've talked to him. I knew something was wrong, but he kept telling me he was all right. I chose to believe him."

"Look, Fraser, things happen. I don't pretend to understand Kowalski, but I know he didn't blame you for what happened to him after he left you. Please, don't blame yourself."

"What am I supposed to think, Ray?" Fraser demanded, turning to face his friend. "A friend I hurt deeply, too deeply for words, moves away while I'm on field duty rather than wait until I returned to say goodbye. Ray had talked about moving to Toronto, but he wasn't definite about his plans, and I didn't think he'd actually go through with them. He seemed to have no objections to the arrangement we'd devised once I'd returned to active status, and I honestly didn't think anything more about it."

Ray sighed. "We can spend all night talking about this, but the fact is, he made it very clear to both me and Jen that he didn't want you thinking his death was your fault. Jen might've gone a bit overboard trying to protect his memory, and I'll talk to her about that, but Kowalski was a good cop. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and got killed. There's nothing anybody could've done to stop that."

"I should have--"

"Damn it, Fraser, quit that, okay? You're scaring me, and I don't like it. There's not a goddamned thing we can do to change the fact that Kowalski is dead, a hero to the city, and anything we do now might change the way people view him. I'm not afraid to kick your ass until you believe that."

Fraser blinked. "You think I would-- that I would --" He couldn't complete the sentence and had to start again. "I would not do anything to hurt Ray's memory."

"Then just do this favor for both of us and don't go asking questions about whether he was dying or not." Ray stared meaningfully at Fraser. "Don't go doing anything stupid, either."

"According to you, that would be a lot of what I do, Ray," Fraser pointed out.

"Yeah, well," Ray returned, "what I mean is, I don't want to lose another friend. I might need a best man sometime, and I'm already out one."

"I see," Fraser murmured, and this time, he was certain that he did.

"Everything all right, Constable?"

Fraser looked up from his paperwork and saw Lt. Welsh standing before him. Surprised at his unannounced visitor, Fraser set down the highlighter he'd been using and rose to his feet.

"It's Sergeant, Leftenant --."

"Ah, yes, I did see that in the paperwork I received, notifying me that you were going to be our official liason again."

"-- and yes, everything is all right," Fraser continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Unless there is something wrong, of course, in which case, it would not be right. Please, have a seat."

"Er, yes, you're absolutely right." Thrown off-balance, as he almost always was by the Mountie he'd come to consider as much a part of his command as his own officers, Welsh tried to regain his composure as he took the seat Fraser suggested.

"May I be so bold as to presume that since you're here, that there is something wrong that requires my assistance or the assistance of the Canadian government?"

"Ah, no, nothing's wrong," Welsh stated hastily. "I just wanted to be certain that you were doing okay. It's been a while since you were in Chicago, and I imagine the news of Kowalski's death must have come out of left field. It's not your fault; these things happen sometimes, and we just have to learn to live with them as best we can."

"I see." As he did when confronted with someone whose authority he respected, someone whose compassion he didn't know how to handle, Fraser retreated behind duty. "Well, I can assure you, I'm fine. If you have nothing else for me....?"

Welsh narrowed his eyes. "I may be a lot things, Benton Fraser, but stupid I'm not. You can run from the things that hurt you, bury them inside until they become a festering wound on your soul, but there comes a time when you gotta face those demons, talk to someone about them before it's too late. You're not Superman, and even he cried over Lois Lane."

"I know that, sir." Fraser rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly tired of the not-so-subtle hint to confide in Lt. Welsh. After his talk with Ray Vecchio the previous night, Fraser felt comfortable he had the answers he'd sought. "I assure you, I'm fine. I'll admit, the news of Ray's death was a surprise. I was not expecting that, but he died in the line of duty, and from what I understand from Detective East, his killers have been brought to justice. They have been formally charged and are awaiting trial, correct?"

Welsh blinked. "That's right, Sergeant." He took another look at the Mountie and decided that perhaps his concern had been misplaced. Then he remembered that this was the same man whose intensity for justice had known no boundaries. "Let's drop the rank and titles for a moment, shall we?"

Cautiously, Fraser nodded his agreement.

"I don't pretend to understand a lot of things, but I've seen a lot of things that defied understanding. Kowalski was always a good cop, but just like Vecchio, he got better the moment you two met. Maybe it wasn't always what I wanted and maybe it wasn't always the kind of thing the brass upstairs approved of, but whatever it was, it got results. When Vecchio retired and Kowalski left, I not only lost two of my best cops, I lost their partner, who was a damned good cop himself."

"Thank you kindly, sir."

Welsh nodded, accepting the gratitude. "I always figured Kowalski would come back eventually. He's a cop like me, not much good at being anything but a cop. Except the guy I got back wasn't the guy I was expecting to get."

"In what way, sir?"

"He was...." Welsh sighed. "Better than I gave him credit for. Officially, where duty was concerned. And worse than I'd ever expected, when it came to all sorts of other things. I don't think the delay over his paperwork helped; when he was ready to come back, he was ready right then. By the time he reported in to work, you could tell something had changed him, and it hadn't all been good. I asked him once how he'd liked Toronto, and he just looked at me like I'd just ordered him to jump off a cliff. I never asked him again."

The heavy-set man tilted his head and sighed. "On one hand, he was dead serious about being a cop. Made him the best cop I had, and he got his due for that. But he was too intense. Not like he'd been before." Welsh chuckled softly. "Figured he'd learned that from you. You never gave up when you thought you were right, and damned if you weren't right a hell of lot more than not."

Welsh wagged a finger at Fraser. "That kind of behavior I'd expect out of you, not Kowalski, and that doesn't mean that I think it's a good behavior all the time. Kowalski couldn't turn it off. I knew that wasn't the only thing that was keeping him up nights, but he wouldn't talk to anyone. He just got quieter and quieter, and the look in his eyes gave me chills. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was looking into the eyes of a man who had nothing left to lose, but as far I knew he wasn't in any kind of trouble. I swear I had to get him a new partner just to get him to talk about work. Hoped East would be the trigger for whatever was eating him alive, but instead, she covered for him. I didn't think it was worth arguing about; they did their work, and they did it well. I don't argue with results."

"Understood, sir."

"The point I'm trying to make is that Kowalski was different because of the time he spent with you up in Canada, and it made him a better cop. I wanted to thank you for that. Whatever happened after you two parted ways, God only knows, but if someone messed with him, I hope God punishes them before I get a chance to get my hands on them. I wish Kowalski was still around; I need all the good cops I can get." Welsh paused and straightened his posture, looking suddenly more official. "That's why I'm assigning Detective East to work with you. Kowalski was her mentor in the department, and I'm sure you two will work well together."

"I appreciate you telling me that in person, sir. I was wondering who would be working with me."

"Good," Welsh declared. "Then I'll see you at the station tomorrow morning."

The next morning dawned gray and raining. Diefenbaker refused to accompany Fraser into the rain, and after a quick step outside, Fraser had to agree. It wasn't weather to walk to the station in. He was about to consider alternatives when a knock resounded on his door. He opened it to find Ray Vecchio standing on the threshold.

"Man, it's a mess out there," Ray complained, shaking off an umbrella in the hallway. "That stuff better quit before I go pick up my dry cleaning or I'm going to have a fit."

Fraser hid a grin at the familiar complaint. "Good morning, Ray. I was just about to leave for work."

"Thought you would be," Ray remarked. "Figured you didn't have a phone and that you'd probably be walking in the rain, so I thought I'd come over and give you a ride into work. "

Diefenbaker woofed approval.

"See, even he approves."

"I suppose that means I'm outvoted."

"I suppose so, Benny," Ray said genially, and gestured to the hallway.

The rain cleared as they headed across town to the Consulate for a brief stop for Fraser to report in for formalities' sake before they proceeded to the 27th Precinct. Before departing, Ray promised to meet Fraser, Diefenbaker, and Jennifer for lunch.

To say that Jennifer was not happy about her new partner was an understatement. Upon being informed by Fraser that he was assigned to her, Jennifer marched into Welsh's office and demanded a reassignment.

Just as Welsh started to explain the wisdom behind Fraser's assignment, Fraser, who had not been invited into Welsh's office, took a seat at Jennifer's desk. He waited patiently, his mind drifting and his soul feeling oddly comforted by the familiar sounds and scents that permeated the room.

"You!" a woman screeched, bringing the entire room to silence.

Fraser turned in the direction of the voice. He found a heavy-set redhead pointing at him as she stalked across the room towards him. He looked at her quizzically as he tried to remember who she was. Finally, the face and the name clicked.

"Yes, Miss Duncan? Is there something I can help you with?"

She stopped just short of arm's reach while everyone around waited like living mannequins awaiting the cue to move. "You killed Ray Kowalski."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken." Fraser spoke the words, not quite sure he believed in them, but unwilling to reveal that weakness.

Gabrielle sneered at him. "You fucked him and you made him sick."

"If you have proof," came a steel-edged female voice Fraser recognized as Jennifer's, "then provide it now. Otherwise, what you speak is slander, and is a criminal offense."

Gabrielle and Fraser turned to see Jennifer push her way through the crowd to stop in front of them. Gabrielle stared at the other woman with undisguised hate in her eyes. Fraser noted that Jennifer appeared to be fighting for calm, as if she was barely holding in her anger and shock at Gabrielle's actions.

"I got pictures," Gabrielle sneered. Taking them from her purse, she started waving them.

Almost immediately, the crowd started talking.

"Of your cousin," Jennifer shouted above the din.

The room went silent, but the damage had been done.

"You're from Toronto, are you not, Miss Duncan?" Fraser asked. His voice betrayed none of his anger at her grandstanding, but Lt. Welsh, who stood in the doorway of his office, looked as outraged as Fraser felt. Fraser took strength from that even as some part of him was grateful he'd hadn't lost control.

Warily, Gabrielle answered. "Yeah, so?"

"I believe the pictures you hold are six months old, judging from the timestamp on the front of the photographs. I was not in Toronto on that date. I only met you a few days ago, by accident. Therefore, as Detective East pointed out, what you have said constitutes slander."

Gabrielle turned slowly, eyeing her suddenly hostile audience. "You'd believe a Mountie?" she demanded disbelievingly. "You're Americans."

"This is one Mountie who doesn't lie," someone in the crowd declared.

"Care to press charges, Sergeant?" Jennifer drawled, looking at Fraser.

"Yes, Detective, I believe I would. Thank you kindly for the suggestion."

Jennifer flashed him a smile, then turned to the now-furious woman. With quick, efficient movements, she handcuffed Gabrielle. In a cheerful voice, as if she was pointing out tourist attractions, Jennifer began, "Gabrielle Duncan, you're under arrest...."

"You knew," Fraser announced quietly, not turning from his careful polishing of the marble that formed Ray Kowalski's headstone some hours later. He leaned back on his haunches and studied his handiwork critically, trying to see if any traces of the hateful words someone had spray-painted onto the marble remained.

"Yes, I knew." Jennifer wasn't surprised he had heard her footsteps in the grass. Having spoken to Ray Vecchio in the wake of arresting Gabrielle, Jennifer now felt she had a better understanding of the Mountie. "I had a promise to keep." She laughed hollowly and folded her hands together. "Guess I didn't count on someone like Gabrielle breaking it for me."

His self-imposed task complete, Fraser rose and faced the woman who'd been the person closest to Ray Kowalski. He studied her, seeing the strength within her that Ray must have drawn upon, and the grief that had yet to fade. "You loved him."

She shook her head quickly, denying the statement. "I cared about him," she corrected him. "Love?" She half-laughed, remembering a bumbling attempt at comfort one morning in what seemed forever ago. "Maybe. If a million other things hadn't been the way they were, but they were, and I can't change that."

"You blame me for what happened."

She held his gaze a long moment. "I wanted to," she answered at last, sighing. "It was easier to blame someone than to accept that Ray was shot multiple times by a slew of machine gunfire. It wasn't your fault. I knew that, I told you that, and still a part of me found it easier to blame you. Hell, I was five minutes away, and I couldn't save him."

"So you said." Fraser's voice was carefully neutral.

They stood, awkward in the sudden silence. "I, uh, I guess I wanted to say I'm sorry. You cared about Ray, and I was less than nice to you."

"You were honest with your feelings," Fraser told her.

"So was Gabrielle." Jennifer cleared her throat. "I should've realized she was going to make a scene. She wasn't afraid to make one at my desk a few days ago. Guess she thought she'd better make sure everyone knew that Ray hadn't been well when he left Canada. Now everyone at the precinct is talking." She shook her head. "That's the last thing Ray or I wanted."

"You didn't want people thinking Ray committed suicide."

"He didn't," Jennifer stated forcefully. "Yes, he was dying, but he wanted to live. I didn't understand why he hung on when it was pretty clear he wasn't in any shape to be standing up, let alone trying to chase down perps, but then we'd get the guy and I knew." She took a deep breath. "I asked him once if he loved being a cop. He said it wasn't about being a cop. It was about making sure justice was served. Said that lesson could be blamed on a guy in a red suit and a Stetson hat." She brushed a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes and looked at Fraser. "I think that's the only thing he blamed you for when he came back."

Fraser didn't speak as he digested this information. Finally, he looked directly at Jennifer. "Thank you kindly."

She smiled. "You're welcome." With a wave of her hand, Jen started them both moving away from the gravestone as she asked curiously, "So, tell me, what exactly does a liason officer do, and why is Ray Vecchio warning me not to follow you down any sewers?"

©April 13, 2000 Alice in Stonyland
Comments welcome
Stonyland Fiction