Thanks to Maxine and Megan for encouragement, helpful commentary and
fine beta.

All mistakes are mine. All comments, good or bad to
necessary_angel@yahoo.com

He doesn't like this. He really doesn't like this.

Ray shifts and stretches his legs. It helps the cramps a little; not much, but
some. Of course, what would really help would be getting out of here. The
world's smallest surveillance truck.

Not much chance of that happening.

His babysitters are between him and the doors. They're two of the biggest
guys he has ever seen in his life. These guys make Turnbull look... well, short,
and not far off skinny. What the fuck did they feed Canadians anyway?

Surveillance sucks, especially when he has no chance of actually doing
anything. He had to check his gun, and Fraser's pointed look had ensured
that he'd had to hand over his boot gun as well before they had left on that
two-bit helicopter ride over the border, from Port Huron. How the hell Fraser
had known he was packing more than one piece was beyond him.

Ray sighs loudly and shifts in his seat again, earning a pissed off glare from
the black clad Mountie on his left. Ray lifts his chin and stares John down.

"They're moving the passengers in the target car." Andy, the other Mountie,
turns his head, to look at Ray, for the first time since the operation started.

Fraser is out there, with the rest of the Mounties. Ray's newly acquired
partner looks very different in his borrowed SWAT gear. Sorry. Make that,
RCMP Armed Response Team gear. All black, state of the art body armor,
even the damn badges that they seemed so fond of plastering all over their
uniforms are black. They look like they know what they're doing. Make that,
they know exactly what they're doing even if it seems to be taking them for-
fuckin'-ever.

The Mounties stopped the train a few hours ago just outside...where was it...
Stratford... in the middle of fuck knows where, anyway. Markham was on a
car near the end of the train, so it had been a snap to separate it.

"The VIA guys on the train say Markham and the woman have been knocking
back the booze most of the night, so that'll help." Andy flashes a grin at Ray.
"Got to love the fact they've got a bar on the train. Makes it easy."

Yeah, real easy.

Ray snorts, earning himself a sharp "Ssh" from Andy.

"So, is it the one shotgun Markham's got?"

Ray jumps. Jeez, he's on edge, too much sitting, and too much waiting. John
hadn't spoken since the op had started, hadn't done much except glare at
Ray.

"Looks like it, John. At least, the train staff haven't spotted any other
weapons. He shot a bank teller in Chicago, right, Vecchio?"

"Yeah, and a customer."

Ray squints at his watch, 3:30 a.m. They're still no closer to getting their
hands on Markham. Christ. He should have known this day was going to be
bad when he'd got the tip that Markham was on the train. Who the fuck uses
a train as their getaway vehicle? Okay, it really wasn't that, but he can think
of better ways of getting out of the country.

Faster ones, anyway.

Not that it made much difference. Getting an armed man, especially one as
trigger happy as Markham, off a train takes organizing and time. Too much
time. Somehow, it ended up with the Canadians doing the work. Maybe the
train idea wasn't quite so dumb after all.

He really doesn't trust SWAT guys, trigger-happy macho freaks at the best of
times, and Fraser's way too keen on leaping before he looks. A guy who goes
into a burning house, and insists on staying in a burning car, isn't going to be
real cautious about dodging bullets. Somehow, all in black, without the silly
pants and the day-glo tunic, Fraser looks even less careful than normal.

The radio crackles and buzzes. Ray doesn't need the whispered confirmation
from John to know this is it.

They're going in.

Over Andy's broad shoulders he can just make out the shadows of the
perimeter team surrounding the train car. Fraser's among them somewhere.

He is apparently a crack shot, good enough to be seconded onto the
Response Team, though not the boarding party, for the night. Ray had picked
up enough to know that it had been a scramble for the Mounties to muster a
team together for this op; something to do with provinces and other stuff that
Ray hadn't even tried to make much sense of.

"They're in," John mutters.

Ray nods, and tries not to let the fact that he is the only cop here without a
gun bother him. There are lights moving in the train car now; any second
now, and they should have Markham.

Several heartbeats later, a group of dark shadows appears in the doorway of
the train car and Ray feels, rather than sees, Andy relax next to him.

"Got 'em." The quiet satisfaction in Andy's voice makes Ray grin.

"Smooth as fucking silk." John adds from behind Ray and slaps him on the
back. Ray winces as his chest, still bruised from taking that crazy chick's

bullet, makes contact with Andy's elbow, but the truck door is open and he's
following him out into the cold darkness.

Fraser materializes next to him as Ray moves forward on still stiff legs.

"Markham is traveling on a Canadian passport, as is his companion." Fraser
sounds, just as usual, calm and clear, and Ray feels the last of his worry drain
away.

"That means more paperwork, right?" Ray rubs his chest and follows Fraser
as he walks towards the train station, where they had left their borrowed
RCMP car.

"At the very least."

They are getting closer to Stratford proper now. There is light enough to see
Fraser's face and the wry twist of his mouth.

"Great."

Ray pushes away his plate and leans back in his chair. Fraser is dealing with
his pancakes and bacon with every sign of enjoyment. Not that Ray can
blame him; the food is great and the coffee even better. It is going some way
towards making Ray feel human again, after several hours of paper shuffling
and aimless hanging around while the RCMP interviewed Markham and Holly.
Finally they'd run out of forms for him to fill out, and Fraser had pulled him
out of the station after a quiet conversation with the desk clerk.

Fraser's still wearing the remnants of his SWAT gear at least the pants -
and he appears to have acquired a black sweater from somewhere.

Ray's own clothes feel kind of funky; maybe he should have borrowed some
stuff. Not that the local Mounties seem to come in any other size other than
extra large... or female. Still, he can cope; Stratford has stores.

To Ray, the unrelieved black and tired creases around Fraser's eyes make him
look as if he has been up all night in some smoky jazz-fuelled dive rather than
waving big guns around in the quiet Canadian countryside.

Ray barely represses a snicker. Neither image seems to fit with the glass of
milk that Fraser has chosen to accompany his breakfast, or was it dinner?
Neither of them had eaten since well before the op started the previous night.
Still, the glass of milk seems more in keeping with the red tunic and weird
boots than this tired, somewhat tousled version of his new partner.

It's a bit like looking in a fun house mirror and trying to spot the real man.
Odd enough to see him without the wolf, let alone the rest of it. Ray shakes
himself; he barely knows the man. One startling day in his company, and
what he has gleaned from Vecchio's files, is not enough to enable him to pick
out the real Fraser.

Ray glances around the diner; it is a nice place, lots of soothing green and
plain pale wood, certainly a step or two above the diner next to the 2-7, but
nothing fancy.

The waitress pauses in her task of clearing the table next to him. "More
coffee?"

"Yeah, please."

Fraser looks up at the sound of his voice as if it has finally broken the trance
his food seems to have cast over him.

"So, what are our escape plans?" Ray nods his thanks to the waitress, and
takes a soothing sip from his freshly filled mug.

"Escape plans? Oh, yes, I see."

"What? I'm not going to like this, am I?

"Oh dear." Fraser rubs his thumb over his eyebrow. "I took the liberty of
enquiring about flights from Toronto, and the earliest we can get one is late
tomorrow night."

"So we're stuck here until then? Fuck. I know another helicopter trip is out.
I'm kinda surprised they sprung for it in the first place."

"Not exactly. There is a train that leaves for Chicago tomorrow morning."

"How long does it take...forget it. I guess the train is our best option. At least
I'll be able to catch up on some sleep."

Fraser's eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth and then closes it quickly.
Something that looks suspiciously like surprise flickers across his face before
he nods.

"Speaking of which, Constable Williams was kind enough to find us rooms at
a local hotel. She says it is clean and quiet, if somewhat on the basic side. Of
course, we are lucky to find anything at this time of year."

"Why? I mean, it isn't that small a place. It must have motels or something."
He finishes his coffee, and looks over at Fraser's empty plate. "You done?"

"Yes, I am." He pauses while Ray signals to the waitress. "Of course! I'd
forgotten you wouldn't know. Stratford is home to one of the biggest theatre
festivals in Canada for part of the year. Shakespeare mainly, but they perform
works by other playwrights. It is particularly busy during the summer and any
accommodation tends to get booked up quickly."

"Oh. Well, as long as it has a bed and a shower I really don't care."

"Understood." Fraser pushes himself to his feet, and smiles slightly. "I must
admit that I share your sentiments at the moment."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Ray follows Fraser out into the sunny square.

They have almost made it back to their car, which they'd left by the riverside,
before Ray thinks to ask, "So, where we gonna hang out tonight? Some wild
Mountie celebration party?"

Fraser licks his lower lip and shakes his head. "It's a pity that it is almost
certainly impossible to obtain tickets for one of the plays tonight."

Ray raises his eyebrows, taken by surprise at the wistful note in Fraser's
usually steady tones. "They have theatres in Chicago, Fraze."

Fraser's face changes, smoothes into the blandest mask Ray has yet seen
from him. "I must admit that I've taken shamefully little advantage of that
aspect of city living."

"They must get returned tickets and stuff here." Ray is almost as surprised to
hear his own words as Fraser obviously is. He feels more like sleeping for a
week than a night at the theatre.

"So...I mean, do you...?"

"Where's the box office?" Ray can't help but grin at this flustered version of
Fraser.

"Well, the Festival Theatre is just up there. I could see what they have. Do
you have any...?"

"Anything, Fraze. Gimme the keys. You go and see what you can get."

Ray watches Fraser lope off up the hill to the oddly tent-like theatre with
more energy than seems natural for someone who has been up for almost
two days straight, certainly more energy than Ray knows he has himself.
Fruitcake artists, holding up trains, and Shakespeare. Life around Fraser isn't
dull, that's for sure. Maybe Vecchio went undercover with the mob for a quiet
life. Ray chuckles; shit, he's tired, too tired to make much sense. He yawns
and heads towards their car.

"And Constable, please ensure those are dispatched today. It is very
important. Dismissed." Inspector Thatcher turns her attention back to the
stack of files on her desk.

"Yes, Sir."

Fraser leaves the Inspector's office, and shifts his own pile of files so that he
can carry them comfortably under his arm. The pace of work at the Consulate
has been unrelenting in the few days since his return from Stratford.

Turnbull is making headway with the backlog of routine paperwork that had
built up during the Consulate move, but it is still slow going. The additional
paperwork the move has caused, together with some extra and very sensitive
demands from Ottawa, would be more than enough to deal with without the
burden of the mountain of paper that the incident in Stratford has spawned.
He has barely left his desk for the last few days, but he seems to have made
almost no dent in the pile of papers in his in-tray.

The truth is, his mind isn't really on his work. It is hard to settle into the
placid routine of form filling and the quiet rhythms of the Consulate. It's not
enough. It never has been. It used to be easier to bear. It was easier to bear
before his vacation.

Whatever the limitations of his personal relationship with the real Ray
Vecchio, it hadn't affected the way they worked. Victoria, or more accurately
Fraser's own conduct, had cracked their friendship more deeply than either of
them had been able to paper over. It'd been increasingly difficult on a
personal level, especially in recent months, but they worked well together.
They balanced each other. Fraser knew exactly what Ray Vecchio expected
from him, and most of the time they got the results they needed. It had been
easy and Fraser missed that, a great deal.

Stratford has just added to the unsettled feelings that have been plaguing
him of late. He'd forgotten how much he missed working as an authentic
RCMP officer. Or, at least he had become inured to Consulate life, to working
within the limitations of his role as Deputy Liaison Officer. The incident with
the dumped chemicals while he'd been on holiday, and then Stratford, had
reminded him how very different his work could be. However much he
stretched and twisted the limits of his job description, it just wasn't the same
here.

"...Fraser, Fraze." Fraser starts, and looks up to find Ray watching him with a
frown.

"I'm sorry. I was, uh...."

Fraser is still standing in the corridor outside Inspector Thatcher's office, and
he has no idea how long he has been there. Some time, judging by the
amused, impatient look on Ray's angular face.

"Spaced out, eh?"

Ray smiles, and moves confidently ahead of Fraser towards his office.

"What brings you here?"

Ray is perched on the edge of his desk, swinging his foot. Fraser is suddenly
very sharply aware of how small his office is as he moves past Ray to deposit
the paperwork on his desk.

"More paper." Ray taps the file he is holding. "Surprise, huh? This lot was
waiting for me when I got back from court. I thought I'd bring it over. Welsh
is on a report binge, and I couldn't face that."

Court. Ah, that explains Ray's slightly rumpled dark grey suit and the
loosened tie.

"Thank you, Ray." Fraser can't stop the edge of sarcasm from coloring his
voice as he takes the proffered file.

"You know me, have to share the joy." Ray winks. "So, do you want to grab
something to eat with me later?"

"Unfortunately, I don't think that is going to be possible. These have to be
completed and dispatched today."

"That sucks. You Canadians sure love your paper."

"Well, Ottawa does."

Fraser hadn't meant to say that. He seems to be developing a habit of letting
things slip out in front of this man. "What I mean is... it is all very
necessary...."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Ray slides off his desk. "Well, a rain check then? You gonna
be at the 2-7 tomorrow?"

"Yes; we could have dinner another night, and I hope to have some time
tomorrow afternoon."

Fraser hadn't had any such intention but his liaison duties are, after all, an
important part of his work in Chicago.

"See you then." A quick bright smile, and Ray is gone.

Fraser opens the first file, trying to ignore how small and quiet his office now
seems. He listens for the thud of the front door closing, which seems to
happen all too soon.

"He's a good man."

Oh, great; that's just what he needs. Fraser looks up and finds, as he had
expected, his father sitting in the visitor's chair on the other side of his desk.

"Indeed he is. Dad, do you mind? I've rather a lot to get through here."

"So I can see. You really shouldn't let your paperwork build up like that. It's
inefficient, son."

"Inefficient!" Fraser takes a deep breath. "Well, if you would let me get on
with it, then."

He starts working on the first file; he doesn't have time for this.

"All in good time, don't rush me. He's a good man."

"You said that."

"A wise tracker knows all the habits of the prey he is following."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Fraser stops his attempt at work; he obviously isn't going to get anything
done until his father has had his say.

"Just what it says." His father smiles, somewhat patronizingly.

"Which is?"

"Really, son, I shouldn't have to spell it out. He is a good man but what do
you know about him? I taught you better than that." Another smile, very
definitely patronizing.

"He is undercover, Dad. You remember what that means, don't you?"

Fraser bends his head, and attempts to return to his work.

"If you would just listen, son."

His father was truly impossible. Fraser closes the file. "I'm listening."

"All I'm trying to say is that you need to know the mettle of the man you're
working with."

"He is undercover."

"So you keep saying."

"Which means his file isn't going to be accessible." Fraser tries for patience.

His father shakes his head. "You're forgetting everything I taught you. You
are getting soft behind that desk. You have the means and you should know
the ways."

"Fraser." Elaine greets him with a weary smile. "You're something of a stranger round here.
If you're looking for Ray, he's in with the Lieutenant."

"Elaine. Thank you. I'm afraid we've been...."

"Hey, Fraser. You made it out of report hell. Have a seat. I'm almost done
here." Ray is moving towards his desk as he speaks.

"Hello, Ray." Fraser sits down. "I must apologize. The workload at the
Consulate was rather more than I expected and I was unable to come over as
I promised."

"Fraze. Fraze. So you said on the phone. Chill. It's okay, really. Well, it's not
okay. I mean, being stuck there instead of out getting the bad guys must
suck. At least, it would for me. But stuff happens, right?"

"That's very understanding...."

Ray's desk phone shrills, and Fraser stops babbling with an inner sigh of
relief.

"Vecchio."

This is ridiculous.

It isn't as if the new information he has uncovered about this man is
damaging. Far from it; Ray has a fine record. Despite outward appearances,
the Chicago Police Department made an excellent choice in providing Ray
Vecchio's cover.

It doesn't help.

It doesn't help at all. He still feels disconcerted... disconnected. Despite the
tedium of the Consulate workday, Fraser is almost tempted to return there.

Almost.

Ray slams down the phone.

"Problem?"

"Nothing that won't wait until tomorrow. It's been a long day, that's all. How
about dinner?"

Fraser shakes his head and then stops. Dinner might be what he needs to
settle him down, to allow them to pick up the tentative threads of their
partnership. "Dinner sounds good."

"Sure about that?" Ray is smiling despite the sarcasm.

"Perfectly sure." It takes much more effort than it should to keep his face
straight.

Damn.

Would his phone ever stop ringing? This must be the fifth phone call in the
last twenty minutes. Fraser sighs, and drops his latest attempt at completing
his report into the wastebasket, before picking up the receiver.

"Canadian Consulate. Deputy Liaison Officer, Constable Fraser...."

"Yeah, yeah. I know who you are Fraze."

"Ray. What can I do for you?" Fraser manages to keep his voice casual.

There is a slight pause.

"Umm. Just checking in, you know. Making sure you haven't drowned under
all that paper."

Ray sounds hesitant, much more so than he had the last time he called
Fraser. He has spent very little time with Ray actually working in the last ten
days. The odd hour or so here and there, mainly to deal with the extradition
of Markham and his girlfriend from Canada. He'd thrown himself into his work
at the Consulate.

It is easier that way.

"Not quite Ray. It's still pretty heavy going here."

Fraser carefully keeps his gaze away from his almost empty in-tray. He has no
real excuse for avoiding the 27^th Precinct, at the moment. He has caught up
with his backlog of work.

"I guessed as much. Okay. Just thought I'd check in. And, oh, Welsh tells me
that the extradition is going ahead for Markham. Should have a hearing in a
couple of weeks, maybe sooner. Looks like it'll be very smooth unless
Markham's lawyer is a real piece of work. Might have even been worth all that
paper chasing."

"That is very good news. We don't have any more work to do on that do we?"

"Nope. All done and dusted until they are back in Chicago. All out of our
hands now, at least until the trial."

"Good. Ray, I really must...."

"Yeah, I should let you get back to it. I, umm, never mind. See ya." Ray's
voice sounds odd, very tranquil, very flat; nothing at all like his normal
staccato inflexion.

"Goodbye, Ray."

Ray is very quiet.

Fraser studies him out of the corner of his eye. Ray is slumped in the driver's
seat, staring at the apartment building that houses the subject of their
stakeout. It is still early in their shift and Ray's silence and stillness seem odd,
to say the very least.

Ray had been as animated as ever at the station house when Fraser had
arrived there. All was very much as usual as far as Fraser could tell. But Ray's
vibrancy had deserted him almost as soon as they had taken up their
surveillance position.

This could be Ray's normal modus operandi for a stakeout, but it seems
unlikely. This is the first real operation he has been involved in since their
return from Stratford. Their telephone conversation, yesterday, had been the
spur Fraser needed to resume his liaison duties. Of course, he has never been
on a stakeout with Ray, but given Ray's behavior during their train journey
from Stratford....

Several hours on a train with Ray had been less of a trial than Fraser had
feared. Ray's emphatic opinions on the performance of "As You Like It" that
they had seen the previous night pulled Fraser into a wide-ranging debate,
which had made the first half of their journey vanish. When they finally
wound themselves down, Ray had armed himself with coffee and disappeared
into the book on acting he had acquired the previous evening. Fraser had
been startled and bemused by his companion's complete absorption into his
somewhat unexpected reading material. He'd paid scant attention to his own
book of Shakespearean critical theory, simply content to observe Ray - even
while reading, Ray wasn't still - and the passing landscape in equal measures.

Ray still hasn't moved or spoken. Fraser shifts in his seat and coughs, but
there isn't even a flicker of a reaction from Ray.

Something is very wrong with his companion.

"Ray. Ray. Ray."

"Hmm, yeah, Fraze."

Ray glances at him, quickly, and then returns to watching the apartment.

"Is everything all right? You seem somewhat distracted."

"I'm good. Everything's good." Ray's tone is curiously flat.

"I must admit that I find that hard to believe."

"I'm good."

Ray turns his head to look at Fraser. His mouth is quirked but it isn't a smile.

"Ray!"

"I'm just tired, okay?"

Fraser nods. There is not a lot he can say to that. Ray tilts his head,
scrutinizing Fraser for a few seconds, and then stares straight ahead through
the windshield.

He has seen Ray tired before, enervated and worn out after working almost
forty-eight hours without a break. This is very different.

"Ray."

"What? You aren't going to let this drop are you? Fuck, Fraser, there are
times when you should just let it go, you know."

"So, there is something wrong?"

"You tell me." Ray takes a sip of what by now must be cold coffee and

grimaces. "You tell me."

Ray's tone is startlingly aggressive.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Oh, you don't, do you?" Ray finishes his coffee and shudders. "It's okay you
know. I just wish you'd said something."

"I really have no idea what you are referring to."

"You really don't have a clue, do you?" Ray's surprise is evident but the
aggression has vanished.

"No, I don't, so I wish you would elucidate." Fraser's voice is tart despite his
best intentions.

"Okay, okay. I thought you were taking the out. You know - backing off. Not

that I can blame you, I'd rather you'd said something but I could deal. Then
you turned up tonight and...."

"Ray, I meant what I said that first night."

"I know you meant it at the time."

"I meant it then, and I mean it now."

"Okay." Ray looks at him very carefully, and then nods. "Okay." He pours
himself a fresh cup of coffee. "You want some of this? I don't think he's going
to make a move tonight."

"I don't usually drink coffee but yes, I will, thanks. Why don't you think

anything is going to happen?"

Ray shrugs "Just going with my gut, you know."

"Hmm." Fraser takes the cup Ray offers him.

"But seeing as Welsh doesn't think that's 'a reliable method of investigation' I
guess we'll have to stick it out."

"This is Detective Huey's case, isn't it?"

Fraser doesn't really listen to Ray's reply.

He has made several missteps and, unexpectedly, that matters; it matters a
great deal. Ray is doing a difficult job and he has made it less than easy for
him. Unnecessarily so.

They need a fresh start, or rather, he does.

So how?

Yes.

Yes, that could very well work. The real Ray Vecchio's birthday would provide
the perfect cover.

"I don't suppose you happened to see him before he left this morning?"
Fraser drops the newspaper back on the counter.

Ray's landlady is an observant woman and obviously intrigued by him. She
looks like the type of woman who would keep an eye on her tenants. It's an
avenue worth exploring. Ray had circled an obituary notice, but he is sure
that Ray isn't attending a funeral. There would have been little need for this
disappearing act in that instance. However, he ought to make certain.

"Not to speak to, so I don't know where he was heading."

"But you did see him. Was there anything unusual...?"

"I thought you said you were a friend."

Dief growls slightly as if picking up on her hostility.

"Yes, yes I am. We work together. Even the smallest detail may be helpful. I
really do need to get hold of him."

"Well..." She assesses him for a long moment, her sharp eyes narrowed. "I
think he was going away, he had a bag with him. That help?"

"Thank you kindly. It does."

"Good. Well, I must be getting on. Make sure the door locks properly behind
when you leave. And don't take anything."

Fraser waits for her to leave.

He has no excuse to remain. He has all he needs to track Ray down. Ray is
very definitely up to something. Something Lieutenant Welsh knows nothing
about, that much is obvious. However, once Ray learns of the situation at the
27^th Precinct, he will undoubtedly wish to head straight there. There is plenty
of time. He has until five o'clock.

He should leave, but he isn't going to. He is invading Ray's privacy, but
somehow that matters less than taking this opportunity. Ray, for all his
apparent openness, is still very much a mystery to him, and Fraser is
evidently becoming as shameless as Diefenbaker. He may, of course, have
missed something vital... Dief whines and Fraser realizes he is thinking aloud.

"It's all very well for you to take that morally superior tone."

Dief merely blinks at him and Fraser sighs. "Yes, I know. I'm being a nosy
parker. It is with the best of intentions, I assure you." With that he turns his
back firmly on the wolf.

This wasn't what he had expected at all. He'd thought about it. Rather too
much. Living arrangements had been on his mind a lot recently. The loss of
his own apartment, probably.... That didn't explain why he had taken to
walking past Ray's apartment building while walking Dief before work. The
first time had been curiosity; after he'd acquired Ray's file it had seemed the
natural thing to do.

Ray's apartment is cosy. Very eclectic and somewhat cluttered. No signs that
a woman lives here, or spends any length of time here, despite the
photograph of Ray with a blonde woman on the desk. The details of Ray's
record had suggested that he wasn't married or involved. That made sense,
given his current assignment. His next of kin is given as a Damien Kowalski,
who has an Arizona address. Arizona is odd, though, Ray has Chicago written
all over him and all through him, no doubt.

The photograph seems to have been taken a few years ago. Ray looks
younger, happier, unfettered. He doesn't smile like that now and Fraser can't
help but wonder why.

He moves across to the bicycle hanging from the ceiling. It is a new bike,
judging by the style, but is evidently well used. Well cared for as well; the
chain runs smoothly when he turns the pedals. Ray looks like a cyclist, lean
and wiry and energetic. It suits him.

The large collection of records and CDs doesn't surprise him. Ray's musical
tastes are evidently very wide ranging, but that fits.

The dancing had given him momentary pause, but having seen, been
fascinated by, the way Ray moves the fact that his partner enjoys dancing
and is evidently good at it slots smoothly into place. Ray shouldn't have to
dance alone in his apartment at night. It doesn't seem right that that
particular pursuit should be solitary.

An equally eclectic collection of books; Fraser can't find the book on acting
Ray bought in Stratford amongst them. There is some Shakespeare, though;
some crime novels, science fiction, general contemporary fiction, together
with reference books on art, boxing, cars. Even some poetry not a lot of the
latter but the volumes seem well thumbed, particularly the Whitman.

Dief pads past him, moving towards the open bedroom door.

"Dief!"

The wolf has his back to him and continues moving, into the bedroom. Fraser
follows him with an exasperated sigh. He really doesn't want to have to
explain away wolf hairs on Ray's bedding. And Dief is indeed ensconced on
Ray's unmade bed when Fraser finds him. The bed is large. It dominates the
room. Fraser blinks away an image of Ray sprawled amongst dark blue
sheets.

"Off."

Dief huffs in an ill-used fashion but deigns to obey. Fraser picks off the long
white and grey hairs Dief has left behind and hesitates. He really has no
business staying in here. Dief is off the bed and walking back into the living
room, his claws clicking on the hardwood floors. He should follow him. They
should leave.

He looks around.

Ray's bedroom is untidy, far more so than the other areas of his apartment. A
few discarded clothes on a chair, which is surrounded by yet more clothes
that obviously failed to make it far enough. The nightstand is scratched and
battered, the after effect of having a badge and handcuffs dropped on it
every night. The book on acting is on the nightstand. Ray's almost finished it.

The closet contains a couple of suits, the dark grey one Ray had been
wearing last week, and another dark blue one. There are several shirts, all in
various shades of grey, blue and green, apart from two white evening shirts.
Yes, and there was the tuxedo that was their obvious partner. He would have
needed that for dancing, if nothing else. Half a dozen ties. Several sweaters
and some jackets. Ray's dress uniform. The closet is surprisingly well ordered.
All the clothes are neatly hung and arranged in order of color. The floor of
closet is littered with shoes, boots mainly, and running shoes, a pair of hard
sports shoes that are probably for cycling.

Fraser pauses with his hand on the handle of top drawer of the large wooden
dresser. The bedroom had been open; the closet door had been open. He had
taken advantage of that to indulge his curiosity. His prurience is taking over.
He removes his hand from the handle and stares down at it. He has gone this
far.

Dief whines from the doorway.

"You are, of course, right. We do need to find Ray."

Fraser turns away from the dresser, relieved, and trying not to think about
what else he might have discovered.

There is no sign of Ray in the graveyard.

Fraser examines his surroundings. Ray isn't here to attend a funeral, which
leaves...?

There is a crypt that overlooks the area where the internment is to occur. It's
as good a place as any to start.

Ray has set himself up near the windows. It is a good place to observe the
graveyard. A stakeout, then, judging by the equipment Ray has surrounded
himself with - but not an authorized one.

Fraser frowns.

Ray seems to have put a great deal of planning into this. What connection
does he have with the woman in the obituary notice?

He moves closer.

Rats scuttle in the darkness. Small sounds, but enough to alert Ray. Damn.
He had wanted an opportunity to observe him for a little longer.

Fraser pats his pocket. The dreamcatcher is still safely there. This is perhaps
the best opportunity to give Ray his gift. Events at the 27^th Precinct this
morning suggest that once they do return there they will have little
opportunity to talk.

Ray is pointing a gun at him, or rather at the shadows where he is standing.

"Hi, Ray." Fraser turns and moves into the light.

"...bent nail named Marcus Ellery. Until I do that I am not leaving. Dot it. File
it. Stick it in a box marked done. Okay." Ray looks at him steadily for a long
moment, and then turns to attend to his prisoners.

Ray isn't listening. He isn't amenable to reason, or reminders of his duty. He's
quite the most stubborn....

He means it.

Ray is absolutely serious, Fraser is certain of that. Ray is telling him the truth,
is utterly sincere.

Every word Ray has spoken, since he'd interrupted Ray's solitary vigil, has
been honest. His real name, for instance. That had been risky and, no doubt,
against protocol. His parents ought to be shot for that particular piece of
cruelty. No wonder Ray had expunged his first name from his records. His
reasons for taking the assignment. Ray has left a lot unsaid, but what he has
said has been without subterfuge.

Ray trusts him.

Fraser swallows. That means as much as Ray stepping in front of Greta
Garbo's bullet did.

Ray's undercover assignment depends on him taking on Ray Vecchio's life, in
all its guises. His refusal to return to the station has to mean that this is
deeply important to him.

Ellery is the name of the woman in the obituary notice. The pieces are still
refusing to fall into place. There'd been no mention of an Ellery in Ray's files.

Ray is moving the prisoners to the crypt. Fraser should help but he doesn't
move.

Despite his words in the crypt, Ray is a dedicated police officer. A good police
officer. His record is excellent, yet he needs to "start over"? Why on earth?
What had Ray done? Nothing that has been officially noted in his files. Fraser
knows only too well that such matters are rarely made official.

Fraser feels his stomach twist with a familiar ache. His exile in Chicago is still
very hard to bear at times.

Maybe Ellery is Ray's Gerrard?

It's possible.

Ray does seem very intent on whatever course of action he has planned. That
kind of determination is very familiar to Fraser. It is, perhaps, time to make a
more concrete fresh start.

Fraser glances at his watch. They have time, not that he has much choice. It
isn't any wonder that Dief and Ray have bonded so well; they have a
surprising amount in common.

"Fraser, a little help over here?" Ray is standing in the doorway of the crypt,
impatience evident in every line of his body.

Fraser swallows the last of his piece of cake. It has been a successful party.
There is very little of today that he would change. Ray and he had barely
made it back to the Precinct in time. He should regret that. The tension in the
Squad Room had been almost palpable.

He should regret it but he can't. Not when he can still see Ray's face as he
looked up at Fraser from the open grave. Not when he can still see the
dreamcatcher soaring through the air. Not when he can still feel Ray's hand
clasping his own. Not when he can still hear Ray's oddly husky, intimate tones
asking him if he thinks Ray is attractive. He hadn't been able to misdirect,
could only be honest, in his first response....

"Thank you Constable."

"For what, Sir?" Fraser makes room for the Lieutenant, to lean against the
desk next to him.

"Tracking him down." Lieutenant Welsh's hair is wet but he seems to have
suffered no other ill effects from his attempts at bobbing for trout.

"Thank you. The line up was an inspired idea."

"All his, Fraser, all his. I told you he was a good policeman. Shouldn't have
fooled a cadet, but IA doesn't even have half a brain to rub together between
them."

"May I ask, Sir, the evidence against Ray Vecchio - was it substantial?"

"Awkward. Circumstantial. Loose ends, Constable, and loose ends in the
wrong hands can be damaging. Vecchio isn't corrupt. He walked close to the
line a few times, before you came along, but that bust was straight up."

"I see. I knew..."

"I don't believe it, he's gone and done it." Lieutenant Welsh points at the fish
tank and a triumphant if very wet Ray.

"Hey Fraze, you know how to cook this thing?" Ray is standing in front of him
in what feels like the next heartbeat.

"Indeed I do."

"Well, it's yours then." Ray hands him the plastic bag containing the fish.
"Shall we split? Cake's gone. Cabbage has disintegrated under Huey's attacks.
Trout is won, and the janitor is looking menacingly in this direction."

"And dry clothes would probably be a good idea, Vecchio."

"Yes, Sir." Ray grins at Lieutenant Welsh. "Gimme a couple of seconds, Fraze,
to find a clean T-shirt, and then we'll get going. Okay?"

"Certainly."

"I never said thank you, Fraze."

Ray pulls up at a stoplight. They had been driving in a companionable silence
since they had left the Precinct.

"For what?"

"The dreamcatcher. It's beautiful. You really made it for me?"

"Of course. I'm glad you like it."

Ray smiles, with something like the unfettered joy that Fraser had seen in the
photograph with ... well, it could only be Stella.

"It flies, Fraze. It flies."

"It does, Ray. Indeed, it does."

END

Additional notes

Some of the events depicted in this story are loosely based on an incident
that occurred on board "The Canadian"; the train that runs between Toronto
and Vancouver, whilst I was on the train at the end of May.

There is a regular train service between Chicago and Toronto, which is jointly
run by Amtrak and VIA. I have used the actual route in this story but I have
played around with the timetable for my own purposes. I have no idea how
likely it is for Ray and Fraser to actually have been involved in such an
incident but it is no more a stretch, in my opinion, than the scenario used in
"Perfect Strangers" for example. Talking of which, I am assuming for the
purposes of this story that Ray's first visit to Toronto, just not to Canada,
occurs in that episode. Otherwise you could consider this story an AU of sorts.

The café/diner in Stratford is based on one I visited whilst I was there. I have
no idea what plays might have been showing in Stratford at the time Ray and
Fraser would have been there. I chose "As You Like it" because I can imagine
Ray and Fraser having a really good conversation about it <g>.