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      	  Lucky in Love 
 by belmanoir  

 Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine and I'm not making any money off
this.

 Author's Notes: So many people to thank! dessert_first for a fantastic
prompt, mrs_laugh_track and snoopypez for feedback and cheerleading above
and beyond the call of duty, and most of all inseriatim for a truly
kick-ass beta. Seriously guys, she went through the entire massive thing
with me on chat AND was really insightful and amazing and enthusiastic. 

 Story Notes: Written for ds_harlequin, for this prompt: "80. Character A
isn't much of a gambler, but seems to have either skill or dumb luck
whenever s/he does happen to play. When a high-stakes poker game ends, A
finds him/herself the lucky winner. of Character B. B's significant other,
C, got carried away on betting fever and too much alcohol, and gambled
him/her away. From the way C spoke, A had thought C was betting a
racehorse or a beloved pet or a car or something, and is horrified to find
B is actually a person. A of course immediately releases B from the
conditions of the bet, but to no avail. B is so furious to have been
gambled away like so much property, s/he proclaims s/he will honor the
terms of the bet, and spend six weeks (or however long a span of time was
wagered) with A. Over the course of the following six (or however many)
weeks, B makes him/herself a general nuisance to A, hanging around,
refusing to leave, offering to do nice things for him/her, freely offering
his/her opinion about A's wardrobe, home, dating habits, diet and general
lifestyle, rearranging things A didn't want rearranged and messing up
things A didn't want messed up--in short, turning A's orderly life upside
down. Meanwhile, a hangdog C tries desperately to court B into forgiving
him/her, but is it too late? Can insufferable but charming and
kind-hearted B win A's heart? Will A realize s/he's won the bet of a
lifetime before it's too late?"

 

 Prologue 

 Spring 1995. 

 "Jesus, Kowalski, did you tie that thing in the dark?" Vecchio asked,
flapping a hand at him. "Come on, come over here and let me fix it." 

 Ray shuffled across the bullpen floor to Vecchio, fighting the urge to do
a little twirl, a little softshoe in the shiny shoes that went with his
rented tux. He hadn't tied his tie badly on purpose. It wasn't like he
actually knew how to tie a bowtie right. But when he'd looked in the
mirror and seen that crooked, sad knot, he'd thought, Vecchio will want to
fix that. He tilted his head up and let Vecchio touch him, trying not to
shiver at the casual brush of Vecchio's fingers against his neck. 

 "There," Vecchio said with satisfaction, giving his tie a little pat. "Is
the wire in place?" His hand hovered over Ray's chest, where the
transmitter was taped under his clothes along with his badge. 

 Come on, mind on the job. Not your partner's fingers and all the places
you wish he'd put them. "Yeah," Ray said distractedly. 

 "Did you have any problems with the cufflinks? Because those were my
grandfather's, and if you lose them I will kick you in the head." 

 "Hey, that's my line," Ray said with mock indignation, holding up his
wrists for inspection. Ray was pretty sure Vecchio's grandfather had been
in the mob. The cufflinks were kinda tacky, smallish rubies set in the
shape of a V on large gold ovals. They'd have gone better with Vecchio's
ridiculous tan suit and purple shirt, which made it even more pathetic
that wearing them gave Ray a thrill. 

 "Oh, no," Vecchio said. "You are not wearing that." 

 Ray followed Vecchio's eyes to his ball chain bracelet. Shit, he'd meant
to take it off at home. "Hey, it's classy," he said, trying to hide his
wrist behind his back. 

 "Yeah, and I got two Ferraris at home and another one in the shop,"
Vecchio snorted. He sighed. "Here, give it to me. I'll keep an eye on it
for you." 

 Ray undid the clasp reluctantly. He hardly ever took the bracelet off
anymore, even to sleep. It wasn't even that it had been one of Stella's
first presents for him. It was just that he'd worn it for so long, it had
started to feel like part of him. He didn't want to lose that. He couldn't
lose that. Fuck, you're a loser, he told himself, jerking it off his wrist
and dumping it in Vecchio's outstretched palm. Vecchio started to put it
in his pocket. "You lose that, I will kick you in the head with my stupid
shiny shoes," Ray said gruffly. 

 Vecchio looked him over, frowning. Then he rolled his eyes and wound the
bracelet around his own wrist, fiddling with the clasp for a second before
it snapped into place. "There," he said. "Perfectly safe. You happy now?" 

 Ray looked at his bracelet gleaming against Vecchio's smooth Italian
skin. "Yeah," he said. "I am." 

 ### 

 It became apparent about half an hour in that the guy Welsh wanted Ray to
schmooze with wasn't gonna show. But Ray couldn't leave, because their guy
always played poker with these tools and Ray needed to be invited to come
back. So there he was, in a fucking rented tux, playing poker with a bunch
of sketchy rich assholes. At least he wasn't stuck in the fucking
surveillance van with Huey and Louie, like Vecchio. He grinned to himself.
He waved over a waiter and asked for a glass of wine. 

 Playing poker was really a lot like undercover. You had to hide how you
felt about stuff, and you had to watch everyone, pick up their tells,
figure out their hand and how they'd play it. Ray was great at the
watching, not so great at the hiding--which was funny, because Vecchio was
exactly the opposite. If you kinda smooshed them into one guy, you'd have
the best undercover agent ever. 

 Or, if you didn't, you'd have the best fucking team in Chicago. 

 Ray leaned back, let his eyes travel around the table. Yeah, these guys
were good. Not a lot of tells at all. Take the guy across the table from
him, for example. Broad-shouldered, clean-cut, looked like butter wouldn't
melt in his mouth. Tux perfectly pressed, face like the fucking
chalkboards after the nuns made Ray wash them--blank and just begging you
to write something on it. Preferably something obscene. But knowing this
crowd, he probably imported third-world children for prostitution and sold
the ugly ones to glue factories. 

 He saw Ray looking. Most guys would have narrowed their eyes, but his
actually widened, going extra-extra-blank. The waiter appeared with Ray's
wine, and he quietly ordered the guy a brandy, just to see what he'd do. 

 When it came, the guy did the whole brandy thing. He swirled it, he
sniffed it, he sipped it. He looked right at Ray, the corner of his mouth
curving up a little. Then he put the glass down and didn't touch it again.


 Ray leaned forward. He wanted to see what kind of poker player this guy
was. Because all the signs said he should be great. 

 ### 

 Midnight. Just the two of them now. Ray knew he was right about this guy.
Fucking great poker player. Didn't matter, 'cause Ray had a fucking
straight flush. 

 "I see your ten, and I raise you fifteen." 

 That was a big pile of money. Was he bluffing? Ray squinted. Hard to
tell. Too blurry. Should have eaten dinner. Should have worn his glasses. 

 "If you don't have the stake--" Fucking reasony voice. Fuck him. 

 "I got it, I got it." Fuck. What could he stake? What else did Ray have?
Gold cufflinks swam into view, but Vecchio would hurt him. Vecchio. He
grinned to himself. Vecchio's smart mouth and warm smile and fuzzy head.
No one could refuse that bet. And Ray had a fucking straight flush, and
the department could use that money. "Vecchio," he said. 

 ### 

 Ray froze. God, like this evening wasn't awful enough. Kowalski was such
a fucking lightweight. Two glasses of wine and listen to him, he was
totally sloshed. 

 "Did he just bet you?" Gardino asked, a look of dawning delight on his
face. 

 "Maybe...maybe it's a code," Ray said desperately. 

 "None of his code words are your name, Ray," Huey said. "That would be
stupid. Kind of like your partner." 

 "You guys are so lucky the rest of those goombahs are too drunk to notice
this," Gardino crowed. He was right. There were guys in that room who
might have recognized the name Vecchio, if they hadn't been too busy
passing out or feeling up hookers by now. 

 "Shut up so I can hear." 

 I'll stake a week of Vecchio, Kowalski's voice came through again,
static-y but unmistakeable. 

 Er...Vecchio? The other guy, the unknown who wasn't in any of their
files, sounded as confused as Ray felt. 

 Sleek lines. Italian. 

 Jesus, Ray hadn't heard Kowalski this smashed since the night his divorce
went through. Actually, this might be preferable to listening to him cry
and talk about Stella's legs. 

 I'm not sure that-- Thank God, someone was going to say something that
made sense. 

 But Kowalski didn't give him time. Hey, are you insulting Vecchio? You
stupid mother-- Kowalski was going to make a scene, again. And Ray and
Huey and Louie were gonna have to bust in and save his ass, again. 

 "Aw, he's defending your honor," Gardino said. "I think that's sweet." 

 But the unknown didn't want a scene either, and he was taking the fucking
bet. 

 Kowalski had just bet him in a hand of poker. Ray tried to think of
something more humiliating and failed. At least when his dad had pulled
shit like this Ray wasn't surprised. 

 Two minutes later there was a stream of cursing from Kowalski like
Vecchio had never heard from him. 

 ### 

 By some miracle Kowalski made it out to the street and around the corner
to the van on his own power. "Fucking royal flush, fucking fucker," he
said. Then he threw up on the sidewalk. Ray held him up, smoothed his hair
back from his forehead, and thought, I hate you. 

 Kowalski looked at him, his eyes blurry and unfocused. "I'm not gonna let
him take you," he slurred. 

 "You are such a jackass, Kowalski," Ray said. "I can't believe you
fucking staked me in a poker game." I don't fucking belong to you. But
maybe Kowalski thought he did. 

 "Hey Jack, didn't some guy in Jersey get whacked for doing that to his
wife?" Gardino asked, obviously enjoying this hugely. "Made her fuck the
guy." 

 "Yeah," Huey confirmed. "Her brother was connected." 

 Gardino grinned, and Ray gritted his teeth. "Hey, Kowalski, was this guy
good-looking? 'Cause I wouldn't want Vecchio to have to do anything
unpleasant." 

 Shit. Did Gardino know about him? Ray's stomach knotted. 

 "Fuck you!" Kowalski lunged sloppily at Louie, the arm he had around
Ray's shoulders pulling painfully at Ray's neck. 

 "Shut the fuck up, all of you," Ray said. "Kowalski, you're about to fall
over. I'm taking you home so I can kick the shit out of you in the
morning." 

 "Okay," Kowalski mumbled and fell against his side, warm and trusting and
mostly passed out. 

 I hate you. 

 "Oh yeah, he's crashing at your place now, isn't he?" Gardino asked,
cracking his gum. Ray imagined it was the sound of the asshole's neck
snapping. "It's gonna be hard for him explaining to your mom how he
gambled you into a week of sex slavery." 

 "No more manicotti," Huey said, shaking his head mournfully. 

 "If I wasn't holding up Kowalski right now, you would both be digging
pieces of recording equipment out of every orifice you got," Ray snapped.
 
 "Hey, look on the bright side," Gardino said, sniggering. "At least
you'll get some action. 'Cause I'm thinking Kowalski here is the closest
you've gotten to second base in a long time." 

 Ray's heart pounded. Did Gardino know what a fool Ray had made of
himself? Had Kowalski told him? Was it a joke to him? Or was Gardino just
talking about the way Kowalski was clinging to him right now? Ray smirked.
"Jealous, Louie?" 

 "You got my bracelet, Vecchio?" Kowalski mumbled. God, the guy had
unerringly shitty timing. 

 "He gave you his bracelet?" Gardino said. "Are you guys going steady
now?" 

 "Yeah, his letterman's jacket's waiting in the Riv," Ray told him. He
burrowed his left hand deeper under Kowalski's arm, praying they wouldn't
see the bracelet. Why the hell had he put it on? "Have fun tearing down
the van." 

 
 Day One 

 For the ten millionth time Ray smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper
he'd found in Kowalski's pocket. In painfully neat cursive, it said,
Canadian consulate. Ask for Fraser. Kowalski had gambled him away to a
Canadian, go figure. Hoping his nerves weren't showing, he picked his
suitcase back up and walked into the consulate, past the uniformed Mountie
on duty by the door. "Hi," he said to the attractive redhead behind the
front desk. "Is--can I speak to Fraser?" 

 She smiled at him, but it wasn't a nice smile. It was a private-joke
smile. "Well, you can, but he won't answer you. Not for another two and a
half hours, anyway." 

 "Ohhhkay. Can you just tell me where he is?" 

 "He's out front," she said. "Guard duty." 

 Ray did a double-take. "Guard duty?" He ran back outside, looked around,
and--yeah, there was only one person out here. The Mountie in full dress
uniform, standing absolutely still on the sidewalk to the left of the
steps. "You're Fraser?" he said to the guy. "You're Fraser?" 

 The guy didn't answer, didn't move, didn't even look at him. Ray
remembered what the woman had said. He went back inside. "The Mountie? The
Mountie is Fraser?" 

 "Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP," the woman confirmed with a little smirk.
"Deputy Liaison Officer." 

 Goddamn undercover cops. This was dumber than the time he was doing a
major buy-bust, buying a dirty bomb from the biggest schmuck he'd ever
met, and when the money changed hands they both pulled out their badges at
the same time. He'd cultivated that ATF asshole for weeks. 

 Ray went and stood in front of the guy. "Look," he said, "I know you're
not supposed to talk, but you won me in a poker game last night, so here I
am. And look, I know the rules about turning all winnings over to your
department but I'd really rather not be official Mountie contraband, okay?
But I'm sure as hell not going home because Kowalski needs to learn the
error of his dumbass ways. You won me, you're stuck with me for a week. So
maybe you could just give me your address and I'll go wait for you there?"


 No response. Was the guy even blinking? Oh good, yeah, he was, which
meant at least there wasn't any direct evidence he wasn't human. Ray set
his suitcase down and sat on the steps next to it. "I'll just wait, shall
I?" he asked. 

 "Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but there's no sitting on the steps." The
redhead had poked her head out the door and was giving him a politely
implacable look. 

 He flashed his badge and grinned at her. "What are you gonna do, call the
cops?" 

 "This is technically Canadian soil," she informed him. "You have no
jurisdiction." 

 He shrugged. "You gonna call him?" 

 She looked at the Mountie, sighed, and ducked back inside. 

 Ray watched Fraser. The guy really was standing perfectly still. How the
hell did he do it? Ray thought about Kowalski given an assignment like
that and almost cracked up. The guy couldn't sit still for five seconds,
and as for keeping his mouth shut--Ray resolutely didn't think about
Kowalski. 

 "God, how can you take this?" he demanded after fifteen minutes of
thinking about Kowalski and completely destroying the structural integrity
of a couple of paperclips he'd found in his pocket. "Are Canadians trained
from birth to like being bored? And why can't you guard the consulate and
talk at the same time? This is worse than Mass! At least in church there
were pretty girls to look at!" 

 Nothing. 

 Just then a couple of kids came over and stood in front of the Mountie.
They started by making faces and rapidly descended into poking, jeers, and
waving hands dangerously close to the guy's eyes, which remained firmly
focused on the middle distance. At first it was kind of funny, but then it
just started to seem unfair. The guy was just doing his job. 

 Then one of them pulled his chewing gum out of his mouth and bent down
like he was gonna stick it on the guy's boots. That was some really
well-kept leather. 

 "All right," Ray said, getting up and flashing his badge at the little
fuckers, "Break it up, Chicago PD, that's enough." They took off running.
He shouted after them, "I see you here again and your mothers are getting
a visit from the truant officers!" 

 The guy still hadn't moved. But his jaw was clenched so tight he was
gonna need dentures before he was forty. 

 "Hey," Ray said, because by now he knew he wasn't getting an answer, but
he couldn't help himself, "you okay? Kids are assholes." 

 Nothing. Two hours later Ray was bored and chilly and really, really
annoyed. So when Kowalski pulled up in his crummy motor pool Ford and got
out, looking hang-dog and defiant and a little desperate, there was a part
of Ray that wanted to run down the steps into his arms. Except that
Kowalski didn't want Ray in his arms, so that would be a stupid thing to
do. He stood up, though. No way was he having this conversation with
Kowalski taller than him. 

 He opened his mouth to say something biting as soon as Kowalski got
within hearing distance, but Kowalski was quicker on the draw. "What the
fuck is wrong with you, Vecchio?" he demanded. "Sneaking out of the house
while I was asleep, not telling me where you were going--" 

 "I didn't sneak," Ray pointed out. "I kissed Ma goodbye and talked her
down to only giving me one frozen lasagna to take with me. It's not my
fault you were sleeping off the worst hangover in three counties!" 

 Kowalski shaded his eyes as if the sun hurt them. He probably did have a
hell of a hangover. Ray didn't give a shit. "I had two glasses of wine,"
he said. "I don't know what the fuck happened, but--" 

 "Maybe if you ate occasionally you wouldn't be such a goddamn
lightweight," Ray snapped, then realized that worrying about Kowalski's
weight wasn't proper angry detached partner behavior. "How did you find
me, anyway?" 

 Kowalski glared at him. He hadn't bothered to do his hair that
morning--it was flat and lifeless and probably really soft without all
that gel in it. "I spent the entire morning listening to the damn
surveillance tapes over and over. I realized the guy talked like a Canuck.
Thought they might know who he was here." 

 Ray raised his eyebrows. "That's him," he said, pointing at the Mountie. 

 Kowalski stared. "Jesus," he said after a minute. 

 "Yeah," Ray said. "Plus he's on guard duty and won't talk. But he's off
in fifteen minutes, and I figure then we can go back to his place, get me
settled--" 

 "What do you mean he won't talk?" Kowalski demanded. "He'll fucking talk
to me." He stepped right into Fraser's personal space. "The deal is off,
okay? Just tell me what you want instead so we can get this over with."
The Mountie didn't answer. 

 Ray hid his grin. Kowalski hated being ignored. It was like torture for
him. "Look, stop harassing the guy," Ray said. "he's off shift soon,
and--" 

 "You think this is funny?" Kowalski got right up in the Mountie's face.
The guy didn't even blink. "'Cause funny is gonna be your face after I
shove my fist through it! So cut the crap and talk to me!" 

 "Kowalski--" 

 Kowalski shoved the guy on the shoulder, hard. The Mountie rocked back on
his heels, but apart from that he didn't budge, didn't even look at him. 

 "Kowalski--" 

 "You fucking son-of-a-bitch, look at me!" Kowalski said, and drew back
his fist. 

 He pulled his punch the second Ray got between him and the Canadian, but
his knuckles brushed Ray's cheek anyway. Ray flinched back and
Kowalski--shit, the look on his face. For a second they were frozen there.


 "Just come back," Kowalski said at last, real low, and Ray couldn't stand
how much he wanted to. 

 "Why the fuck should I? Look, you want to stake me like a fucking poker
chip, like something you own, then fine. Don't be a sore loser. I'll be
back in a week." 

 "Vecchio, I was drunk." Kowalski reached out and grabbed Ray's sleeve. 

 "I've been drunk before, Kowalski, and I don't remember gambling you
away." 

 Kowalski gripped his sleeve harder--Ray could feel the strength in his
fingers through the thick wool of his coat. "No, but you did--" 

 "We don't discuss that!" Ray took a step backwards and walked right into
the Mountie. Solid chest against Ray's back, and then Ray regained his
balance and stepped to the side, resisting the urge to brush the guy off
like maybe Ray got a wrinkle on him. "Sorry," he said, momentarily
distracted from his desire to throttle Kowalski. 

 "You can't do this!" Kowalski said weakly. "We--we have paperwork!" 

 He just looked so helpless and unhappy, like he had no idea what to do
but he'd do anything to make Ray change his mind--it was hard not to let a
note of softness creep into his voice. "Great, maybe you can use this week
to learn to spell." 

 "What am I gonna tell Welsh?" Kowalski said, obviously not sure what his
advantage was but trying to follow up on it. 

 "That you have a gambling problem?" Ray suggested. "Come on, Kowalski, it
won't be that bad. And you can learn a valuable lesson about not treating
your partner like a marketable commodity." 

 Kowalski lunged forward, grabbing the front of Ray's coat and hanging on.
The scent and heat of him slammed into Ray like a tidal wave. "Vecchio,"
he said urgently, "you can't do this. We don't know who this guy is or
what he wants--" 

 Ray highly doubted the guy wanted him, despite Huey and Gardino's
wisecracks the night before. No one had wanted him in years.
Straight-as-an-arrow Kowalski sure as fuck didn't, not the way Ray wanted
him to, so where he got off telling Ray what to do-- "Get your hands off
me," he said, raising his chin. "I can do whatever the fuck I want." 

 "No," Kowalski said, pulling Ray closer as the clock started to chime the
hour. "Vecchio, listen--" 

 "I'm sorry," a voice behind them said, "but if you continue to assault
this man on Canadian soil, I'm afraid I will have to place you under
arrest." Ray looked around, and the Mountie had come to life and was
standing--really quite close, looking at them with apparently genuine
apology and embarrassment. 

 "Fine," Kowalski snapped, bristling like a pissed off cat and not backing
off one step. "Vecchio, come down to the sidewalk with me." 

 Ray stepped back, prying Kowalski's hands off his coat and trying not to
feel anything, even when he saw the bracelet he'd taken off and refastened
around Kowalski's wrist last night. "No," he said. "I think I'll stay
here." 

 "You heard the gentleman, Detective Kowalski," Fraser said. "Now I must
ask you to leave the premises, unless you have urgent questions about
Canada, the RCMP, or Canadian-American diplomatic relations." 

 "Uh, okay, sure," Kowalski said stubbornly. "What do the different grades
of maple syrup mean? I always bought the Ambers, 'cause they sounded like
beer, but Stella said neither of us could taste the difference anyway so I
should just get B cause it was cheaper." 

 Ray covered his eyes with one hand. 

 "A very good question," Fraser said. "The grades give a rough guide as to
when in the season the syrup was produced. The lighter syrups, of which
Grade A Light Amber is the lightest, are from earlier in the season,
whereas Grade B is made later. The darker grades are generally used for
cooking and baking rather than eating raw--for example, with flapjacks. Of
course Canada uses a different grading system, running the gamut from
Canada #1--which includes AA or Extra Light, A or Medium, and--" 

 "Oh, for God's sake," Ray said. "Beat it, Kowalski." 

 "Vecchio--" 

 He narrowed his eyes. "Now." 

 To his surprise, Kowalski went. "I'm keeping an eye on you," he called
back from the curb. 

 "Stalking's what you do best, isn't it?" Ray called back, just to see him
flinch. "I'm not your fucking ex-wife, Kowalski." If I was, maybe you'd
want to kiss me. Then, Shut up, brain. 

 "Nah, she's got more hair," Kowalski yelled back, and Ray flinched too,
started down the steps to-- 

 "Detective Vecchio." Something in the tone stopped him, held him there.
Kowalski must have seen it, because he slammed his car door and drove off
with a squeal, taking the corner way too fast. 

 Ray turned around, slowly. "That's me," he said. "Constable Fraser,
right? Okay, so we were calling each other by name, but how'd you know I'm
a detective?" 

 "You're both wearing badges, but you're not in uniform. Besides, I
guessed that your partner was an undercover detective a couple of hours
into the evening." 

 Ray felt a thrill of fear mixed with indignation. "Kowalski's good," he
said. "How could you tell?" 

 "His wire deformed his tuxedo by 3 millimeters," Fraser said. 

 Ray stared. 

 Fraser stared blankly back. 

 "Okay," Ray said. "I can't cope with this on an empty stomach. You want
lunch? I know a place." 

 ### 

 "You're sure my suitcase will be safe at the consulate?" Ray asked. 

 Fraser just nodded. He was probably getting tired of that question. But
jeez, just leaving a suitcase in an empty office, even if it was an empty
office that was technically part of Canada--it seemed wrong. 

 "This place used to have the best bird's nest soup in Chicago," Ray said
wistfully as he dug into his spareribs. "That was before the Tong took
over the neighborhood. I think Mr. Lee kind of lost his enthusiasm after
that." 

 Fraser didn't say anything, although he was methodically eating his way
through a plate of pig intestines. Kowalski had a weird stabby skill with
chopsticks--waiters tended to wince when they saw the way he held them,
but he could clean every grain of rice off a plate. Fraser, on the other
hand, looked like he'd been trained in proper technique by Buddhist monks.
If Kowalski moved to an imaginary soundtrack of jazz or eighties punk or
maybe eighties punk covers of jazz songs, then Fraser was definitely
hearing classical. 

 "Come on, Fraser, I know you know how to talk. You did it before." 

 Fraser swallowed, and Ray felt low-class for talking with his mouth full.
"I don't mean to be rude," the Mountie said with a look on his face that
suggested he meant to do exactly that, "but I fail to see what we are
doing here. I'll be happy to release you from the terms of Detective
Kowalski's wager, and then--" 

 Suddenly Ray was almost as annoyed with Fraser as he was with Kowalski.
"You took the bet," he said sharply. "No one made you do that." 

 "I was undercover, in a delicate situation, and to be perfectly frank I
thought you were a car." 

 Ray blinked. "A car?" 

 Fraser lifted an eyebrow in a gesture that was almost sarcastic. It was
pretty much the first sign he might be a normal human being. Well, maybe
not normal, but Ray felt reassured anyway. "'Sleek lines, Italian'?" the
guy quoted back, and Ray had to admit that yeah, that sounded like a car. 

 "You wanted an Italian car?" He didn't seem like the type, but then, who
could resist fine Italian automotive expertise? 

 "I don't drive," Fraser said. 

 Ray almost choked on his tea. "You don't drive? What, you take the el to
work? Dressed like that?" 

 Fraser looked suddenly uncomfortable. "As a matter of fact, I'm staying
at the consulate," he said. 

 Ray did choke on his tea that time. He recovered quickly, but not before
he discovered that Fraser's idea of a hearty back-slap was much, much
harder than his own. "You're staying at the consulate? So, what, they have
like, little Canadian hotel rooms upstairs or something?" 

 Fraser mumbled something. 

 "What?" 

 "Not exactly," he said clearly, glaring at Ray. "I have a cot in my
office." 

 "You live in your office? Does Canada not pay you or something?" 

 "Oh no, my salary is quite adequate for my needs," Fraser said. "Of
course, it's in Canadian funds, but--" 

 He kept going, but Ray wasn't listening. He was trying to imagine living
at the precinct. Actually, he had spent a night or two there when things
were really bad with Angie. The pitying looks from the guys on morning
desk duty were the worst, but the cricks in his neck, the ache in his
back, and the way he never really felt clean or comfortable the next day
were a close second, third, and fourth. And living there? Not--not having
a home? 

 This guy needed help. 

 "Is there room for me?" he asked. "Because Kowalski is living at my place
right now, so I'm staying with you." 

 "On the cot? Doubtful." 

 Ray felt himself blushing. "Not on the cot. In your office." 

 Fraser looked dubious. 

 "I'm gonna go make a phonecall," Ray said. 

 When he got back, Fraser was standing by the window, watching the street.
When he saw Ray he came back immediately. "I just wanted to check on
Diefenbaker," he explained. 

 Ray rolled his eyes. How the hell did Fraser get away with not just
living at work, but keeping an enormous dog there? Wolf, he corrected
himself, just like Fraser had in the car on the way over. 

 Well, Ray would find out. "A hundred pounds of muscle and teeth, anything
happens to him I think we'll hear the screams." 

 Fraser nodded reluctantly. 

 "You got family back in Canada?" 

 The riot gates came down over Fraser's face. "No," he said shortly. 

 Ray sighed. "Fine, then you wanna tell me why you were at that poker
game? We weren't informed that a Canadian undercover guy was gonna be
there." 

 Fraser flushed slightly. "I apologize. However, I wasn't really there in
an official capacity, so I thought--" 

 "Wait a second--you weren't there in an official capacity? Does that mean
you didn't have a backup team?" 

 "I prefer to work alone." Fraser's voice was hard. 

 "Good way to get yourself killed," Ray commented, ignoring the fact that
he'd worked alone for years before he and Kowalski were assigned together.
Well, and he'd almost died a bunch of times. "The guys at that table don't
fuck around." 

 "I know that," Fraser said, his voice even harder. "I have reason to
believe that one of them is responsible for the recent shooting death of a
Canadian tourist." 

 Ray blinked. "A Canadian tourist with connections to the mob? Because
shooting random tourists isn't really those guys' thing. It tends to
attract attention." 

 Fraser shook his head. "Mrs. Marcotte assures me her husband was clean." 

 "Oh, well, if the guy's wife said it. What makes you think it was one of
those guys?" 

 Fraser took a small sip of water. "I found a pawn stub on the sidewalk
outside Mrs. Marcotte's brother's apartment building. Acting on a hunch, I
spoke to each of his neighbors in turn. Mr. Badawi in Apartment 101
frequents a different pawnshop and showed me several stubs, both redeemed
and unredeemed, as evidence. Mrs. Gagarin in Apartment 103 told me she
never visited pawnshops as she considered pawnbrokers--I believe her
phrase was 'greedy bloodsucking'--" He coughed. 

 "Yes?" Ray asked impatiently. 

 "Well, she used an anti-Semitic slur," Fraser said. "I told her I
believed the pawnshop in question was run by an Armenian, but she--" 

 "Okay, tell me later," Ray said, giving up. "I don't get it, Fraser.
You're a liaison officer, right? Doesn't that mean you're supposed to, you
know, liaise? I think Huey and Gardino have the Marcotte case. I'm not
saying they're geniuses, but they could at least access the database for
you, get you a backup team, all that." 

 Fraser sucked on his lower lip. "Yes, I'm sure that Detectives Huey and
Gardino would make the death of a Canadian their top priority." 

 Ray thought about the stack of unsolved cases on Huey and Louie's desks
and cringed. They'd gotten that case because it was low priority and
everyone knew it. A year ago, before Kowalski, it would have been Ray's
case. 

 Wait a second. Fraser...Fraser..."Oh shit, the dead Mountie thing--what,
nine months back? That guy was related to you, wasn't he?" 

 Fraser's gaze dropped. "He was my father." 

 Shit. "That was Huey and Gardino's too, wasn't it? Did you come in to
talk to them?" 

 "They assured me that they would look up my list of suspects in their
database the very first moment they had a chance." 

 He was pretty sure he already knew the answer to this next one. "They
ever call you?" 

 "No. To be fair, they did seem very busy." 

 Ray felt like crap. Before Kowalski that would have been his case too.
Would he have been any better about it? Probably not. "Look, no one likes
Huey and Louie," he said. "Do you still need the information?" 

 Fraser smiled a little. It wasn't a nice smile. "No, all the men involved
in my father's death have been brought to justice. Well--the ones that
didn't end up going over a cliff." 

 "You killed them? You?" 

 Fraser looked shocked. "Of course not. They were pursuing my dogsled on
snowmobiles and failed to notice the sudden drop." 

 "Did you go over the cliff?" 

 "Fortunately I was able to turn aside in time," Fraser said, which Ray
was betting wasn't the whole story, but hey, they killed the guy's dad, he
was entitled. "I concluded the investigation with only minor gunshot
wounds." 

 "Only minor gunshot wounds?" 

 Fraser coughed. "Well, and a few abrasions and cuts from the explosion." 

 "The explosion?" 

 "I suppose I did have to wear a sling for a few weeks, but it was only a
hairline fracture. It's quite healed now." 

 Ray buried his face in his hands. 

 "Is everything all right?" 

 "No, Fraser, everything is not all right! That is exactly why you should
not work alone! I'm sorry about Huey and Louie, but there are other cops
out there, you know. Having a partner is great. I mean, I'm not gonna get
all mystical about it like Kowalski and his duet crap, but knowing
someone's got your back--it's the only way to stay sane in the job." 

 Fraser blinked. "I wasn't aware Detective Kowalski had a mystical side."
And that was the most sarcastic he'd sounded all evening. 

 "Yeah, well, there's a lot you don't know about Kowalski, so shut your
trap." 

 "Understood," Fraser said dryly. "I'm sure he's a lovely person." 

 Ray had to laugh. "Yeah, his mother probably thinks so. But he's a good
cop, and I'd be dead a hundred times over if it wasn't for him." 

 "You would also be at home," Fraser pointed out. 

 He shoved down the sick feeling in his stomach. "Look, this whole
mess--it's my fault, not Kowalski's. I maybe gave him the wrong
idea"--right idea--"about some stuff." 

 "The wrong idea about how the law views bartering human beings in games
of chance?" 

 "Well, no, but--just drop it, okay? It's all working out, right? I'm
thinking maybe the whole thing was a sign." 

 "A sign?" 

 "A sign that I'm supposed to help you get over this whole working alone
thing. Show you how to be partners." 

 "There's no chance I could persuade you to drop this idea?" 

 "No chance in hell, Fraser." 

 "Do you always live with your partners?" 

 Ray flushed. "I don't--I don't live with Kowalski, exactly. He's just
been crashing at my place since his divorce. He and his wife, they were
together since they were kids. He's still kind of a wreck about it." 

 "I see. How long ago was the divorce?" 

 "A year." 

 "Hmm." 

 "What is that supposed to mean, hmm? I should just kick the guy out, is
that what you're saying?" Ray knew he sounded defensive, but that was fair
because he was defensive. So he liked having Kowalski around. Was that so
wrong? And yeah, maybe it wasn't healthy to live with the guy you had a
thing for. Maybe it wasn't healthy to go down to the kitchen every morning
in hope and fear that today might be one of the days Kowalski didn't
bother to put a shirt on for breakfast. Maybe it wasn't healthy to get all
mushy and miserable while looking at the guy's toothbrush in the bathroom.
So fucking what? Fuck healthy. 

 "Of course not. I'm simply saying that that is rather a long time to
trespass on the hospitality of a colleague." 

 "We're not colleagues, we're partners," Ray said. "And he's not
trespassing. We got an extra room." 

 Fraser said nothing. 

 Ray swallowed nervously. He got the feeling Fraser saw too damn much.
"You done eating?" 

 "Yes." 

 "Okay, pick your fortune cookie--hey, don't open it!" 

 Fraser looked at him like he'd lost his mind. 

 "The fortune cookie game is the best part," he explained. "It works like
this: you ask the cookie a yes-or-no question, and if the cookie answers
it, cookies get a point. If the cookie doesn't answer it, humans get a
point." 

 "I see," Fraser said like he didn't see at all. "Do you keep a running
tally?" 

 "No point. Kowalski says the cookies always win." Kowalski had probably
been sitting in that exact same chair when he told Ray that, leaning
forward and tapping his finger on the table like he was about to share the
location of J. Edgar Hoover's personal collection of incriminating
photographs. 

 "Ah. Very well. Perhaps you might go first, so that I can see how it's
done." 

 "Sure." Ray looked at his cookie. He could never resist the urge to ask
it something he really wanted to know, like this was for real and not just
some dumb game. "Is Fraser gonna get that partners is the way to go?" He
opened the cookie. Well, fuck. That was embarrassing. 

 "What is it, Ray?" 

 "It says, 'The mood is right for a friendly chat to lead to romance,'"
Ray said, handing the fortune across to Fraser. 

 "Ah," Fraser said, examining the tiny piece of paper closely, and then
looking right at Ray. Ray couldn't remember what color his eyes were. They
looked dark in the dimly lit restaurant, and Ray caught his breath. For
the first time he noticed that Fraser was actually a pretty attractive
guy. "Does that answer the question?" Fraser asked. 

 "Of course it doesn't! Jesus." 

 "One point to sentient beings, then." 

 "Humans, Fraser." 

 "Don't be silly, Ray, I certainly plan to bring a cookie down for
Diefenbaker." Fraser picked up his cookie and eyed it seriously. "Is
Canada the world's largest producer of zinc?" 

 Ray slumped in his seat. How was it possible for one guy to be this
clueless? 

 "'You will soon receive an unusual proposition,'" Fraser read. 

 "What is this, sex night at the cookie factory?" 

 ### 

 It was weird, having Fraser in the passenger seat instead of Kowalski.
And the wolf kept practically trying to climb over the gearshift. "Hey!"
Ray said. "Don't make me buckle you in!" 

 "He can't hear you, Ray, he's deaf," Fraser said, twisting around and
giving the wolf the evil eye. "Diefenbaker, you're embarrassing me in
front of a fellow officer." 

 "What, so he reads lips?" 

 "Certainly. All right, Diefenbaker, I'll give you the cookie, but you
have to promise not to get crumbs on Detective Vecchio's upholstery." 

 The wolf whined. Fraser raised his eyebrows. After a suitable pause, he
pulled a fortune cookie out of his pocket. Ray hadn't even seen him ask
for an extra. 

 "You have to ask it a yes or no question, Diefenbaker," Fraser explained.
There was another pause. "It's an American custom." 

 The wolf barked. 

 Fraser opened the cookie and read the fortune aloud. "'For a good cause,
wrongdoing may be virtuous.' Well, that certainly doesn't answer the
question." 

 The wolf barked again. 

 "Oh, for heaven's sake. Doughnuts are not a good cause!" 

 Ray shook his head. This guy really needed to get out more. 

 "I thought you said the cookies always won," Fraser said, and then they
turned the corner and the Consulate came into view. Ray grinned when he
saw what was happening on the sidewalk. 

 Fraser coughed. Several times. 

 "Well, you did tell me there wasn't room on your cot," Ray said
innocently. 

 "I was planning to take the floor," Fraser said dryly. 

 "And now you won't have to." Ray parked and walked up to the knot of
Canadians and bed deliverymen, Fraser close behind him. 

 "No one here ordered a bed!" a guy who looked like some kind of glorified
accountant--round, gold-rimmed glasses and a three-piece suit--was saying.


 "It's okay, fellows, I ordered the bed," Ray told the deliverymen. "If
you'll just carry it inside, Fraser here will show you where to put it." 

 "Who--who are you?" the accountant guy sputtered. 

 "Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD." Ray smiled and flashed his badge. 

 "And you have ordered us a bed because..." 

 Fraser stepped forward. "I'm afraid that was my fault, sir." 

 The guy sighed, a not-this-again kind of sigh. Looked like Fraser was
real popular with his superiors. "Ah, Constable Fraser." 

 "I am currently liaising with Detective Vecchio on the Marcotte case,
sir." 

 The guy waited. 

 "Oh, I'm sorry," Fraser said with a charmingly embarrassed smile.
"Detective Vecchio, this is my superior, Inspector Moffat." 

 This guy was a cop? "Pleasure to meet you," Ray said, sticking out his
hand. 

 Moffat shook it. "Likewise, I'm sure." He turned back to Fraser with an
expectant look. 

 After several silent moments, the redhead from earlier said impatiently,
"And the bed, Constable?" 

 Something crossed Fraser's face, and suddenly Ray was sure--the more he
annoyed these people, the more Fraser was gonna want him around. 

 "Well, you know," Ray said easily. "Fraser said he had an extra cot, but
my back goes out on me if I sleep on one of those things. We're all
getting older, right? I figured it's just a twin, you can fit it
somewhere." 

 "Yes, but it's hardly usual for--" 

 "I felt that the reputation of Canadian hospitality was at stake, sir,"
Fraser said. "And of course Detective Vecchio paid for the bed out of his
personal funds." He fixed that blank gaze on his boss, and the guy just
wilted. 

 "Oh, well, in that case," he mumbled. 

 Fraser smiled. "Gentlemen, do you need any assistance lifting the bed?" 

 The three guys built like trucks snorted and chewed their gum. 

 "Then if you'll follow me, please." 

 
 Day Two 

 Fraser eyed him. "Please remember that Mrs. Marcotte is recently bereaved
and unused to Chicago." 

 Ray snickered and slapped him on the back. "Yeah, yeah, Fraser, I won't
embarrass you." 

 Fraser didn't look comforted, which sort of annoyed Ray. He'd been
talking to next-of-kin since he was twenty-two. It couldn't be that
different in Canada. 

 They stepped over a couple of junkies and edged past old Mr. Rossi, the
bookie, who was talking to a terrified loser in front of apartment 267.
"I'll do better, just give me a few more days, I've got something big
going on," the guy was babbling. Rossi seemed unimpressed, which was bad
news for someone. If you didn't know better, you'd think Rossi was just
someone's grandpa, but he had a rep for not fucking around--and this
neighborhood was crawling with guys who made him look like Glinda the Good
Witch. Ray was glad he'd come along. Fraser stuck out like a sore thumb
with his crisp brown uniform and his perfect posture, but this was Ray's
turf. 

 "What the hell are Canadian tourists doing here anyway instead of in a
nice crummy motel?" he asked. 

 "They're staying with Mrs. Marcotte's brother," Fraser explained. "He
rents apartment 276." 

 "He got any quarrels with anyone?" 

 "Not that I can discover. Ah, here we are." He bent down to talk to a
junkie who was slumped against the door. "I hate to inconvenience you, but
I need to speak to someone on the other side of this door." 

 "Fuck off," the guy mumbled. 

 "I'm afraid I can't do that. Are you in need of any assistance?" 

 The junkie's eyes opened. "Yeah. If I could just get to my sister in
Springfield, I could get clean, but I ain't got the money for bus fare." 

 Ray rolled his eyes. "Yeah, pal, I never heard that one before. Now move
before I bring you in for loitering." 

 But Fraser was pulling a twenty out of his--out of his hat, and handing
it to the guy. "Good luck," he said seriously. 

 "Hey, thanks, man," the junkie said, heaving himself to his feet and
putting a hand on Fraser's shoulder, God only knew what kind of germs the
guy was carrying. "You're one of the good ones." 

 "He's one of the stupid ones," Ray said, taking a ten out of his wallet.
"The bus to Springfield costs twenty-six bucks. Buy yourself lunch
and--don't touch me." 

 ### 

 Ray was trying to figure out how to spell "trafficking" and trying not to
think about Vecchio with about equal success when Vecchio just breezed
into the bullpen with the Mountie and a mousy woman--and a giant white
dog, what the fuck--in tow. Ray watched him grab the mugshots from Elaine.
He watched him introduce the Canuck and the woman--Constable Benton Fraser
and Mrs. Marcotte, and the wolf was named Diefenbaker, what the fuck,
'cause hating Ray hadn't made Vecchio talk any quieter, and Ray was
running background checks on all of them including the damn wolf the first
chance he got, did they even make wolf licenses in Chicago? Then he
watched Vecchio lead them in the direction of an interrogation room. 

 He couldn't not watch, it was like Vecchio was wearing Ray's-eyes-magnets
or something instead of a truly awful green and yellow shirt. Meanwhile,
Vecchio--Vecchio did not even look at Ray. Not once. He sure looked at
Elaine though, at the way she was eyeing the Mountie like he was a
double-dipped fudge cone, and he looked pissed. Snapped his fingers in her
face, told her to focus and everything. 

 Well, fuck that. 

 Ray caught up with Vecchio just as he was ushering the two Canadians and
their wolf into the interrogation room. It was easy because they'd been
going slow to allow for the women hitting on the Mountie with every step.
"I'm doing great, Vecchio, thanks for asking," he snarled, pushing him
against the wall. 

 Constable Fraser looked at Ray like he was two inches from
citizen's-arresting him for being unworthy to talk to Vecchio. Ray glared
back and shifted onto the balls of his feet because yeah, come on, just
try it. Christ, a fight would feel great right now. I'll bash your pretty
little nose in. 

 But Vecchio just gave a long-suffering sigh under Ray's hands and said,
"It's okay, Fraser, I'll be in in a minute." 

 Fraser stayed where he was for a long moment, and then he went into the
interrogation room and shut the door. 

 Ray let go of Vecchio, but he kept a hand on the wall by his head in case
he tried to make a run for it. 

 Vecchio straightened and looked at Ray like he didn't even know him. Ray
hadn't even realized how much that look of exasperated loyalty meant to
him until it was gone. "You wanted something, Kowalski?" He sounded--fuck,
he sounded like Stella, like from now on Ray just saying hello was gonna
get a back off or a drop dead. 

 And Ray felt lower than dirt, all of a sudden. Felt like just slinking
back to his desk with his tail between his legs, and no way in hell was he
gonna do that, so fuck Vecchio and his self-righteous bullshit, and fuck
the supermodel Mountie. "A bed?" he hissed. "You bought a fucking bed?" 

 Vecchio's face contorted into one of his expressions of sneering
incredulity, and Ray pressed his hand into the wall until his wrist ached
to keep from kissing him. "How the hell do you even know that, Kowalski?
Putting a tracker on my credit card? Staking out the Consulate? Does
Stella know you're cheating on her?" 

 "Fuck you!" Ray snarled. "You put it on your undercover credit card. I
had to cover it to keep Welsh from flipping out, so you do not get a rent
check from me next month. And he was already pretty unhappy about you
being MIA." 

 Vecchio at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "Oops." 

 "Yeah, oops. So you wanna explain what vital policework you and the
Mountie needed a bed for? For that price it had better be a king-sized
waterbed with Magic Fingers and a built-in porn soundtrack." 

 Vecchio glared at him. A serious glare, like he was actually hurt. Like
Ray was trampling on the pure flower of his and the Mountie's love. Ray's
stomach twisted. "You think you're so damn funny, don't you? Not that it's
any of your business, asshole, but it was a twin. He didn't have an extra
bed." 

 "So? Two people can fit in a twin!" Like he hadn't spent hours thinking
about where Vecchio would fit in his own twin at the Vecchios'. About how
they'd have to sleep real close. About the way Vecchio's stupid silk
pajamas would feel pressed up against his back. Or his chest, he wasn't
picky. 

 Vecchio closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. "Yeah, I'm sure
you spent half your childhood in Stella's twin, but--" 

 "Shut the hell up about Stella!" Ray exploded. 

 Vecchio went still. "Yeah, okay, I wouldn't want to profane the sacred
flower of you and your ex-wife's ex-love. Are you done with your little
meltdown? Because if you are, I should probably go talk to our witness
with my partner." 

 God, the way he said partner, all sharp and mean and bright-eyed like he
knew exactly how it made Ray feel that he was talking about someone
else--for a second Ray couldn't think of a thing to say. 

 "Great," Vecchio said, adjusting his jacket. "I'll tell Benny--" 

 And that was just it, the last fucking straw. Ray's other hand shot out
of its own accord and slammed Vecchio into the wall so hard Vecchio drew
in a sharp breath, wincing. "Benny? You call him Benny? You don't even
call me by my first name!" Which was stupid, because Ray loved the way
Vecchio said his last name, the long A and the full L, like his name was
drunk and drowning in Vecchio's mouth. 

 "Yeah, well, you tend to get upset when I call you Stanley," Vecchio
said, rubbing his shoulder and weirdly sounding less pissed off. Sounding
kinda distracted, actually. "Look, Kowalski, can you do me a favor? See if
you can get the Marcotte case from Huey and Gardino?" 

 He sounded so normal about it that Ray instinctively calmed down a
little, stepped back and ducked his head. "Yeah, okay." 

 "Thanks," Vecchio said, still sounding distracted. "I'll--" 

 The door of the interrogation room opened and the Mountie stuck his head
out. "Ray," he said, perfectly politely. Ray and Vecchio's heads both
turned, before Ray realized that of course, he meant Vecchio. 

 "Yeah, Benny," Vecchio said easily, and shit. Maybe Vecchio'd missed
being called by his first name. 

 "Mrs. Marcotte recognizes a face. A Mr. Canavacciuolo?" He didn't have
Vecchio's sexy accent, but the competent way he said the name--not
stumbling over it the way Ray would have--it had its own sexy. No wonder
Vecchio's neck stretched towards him like Turtle when Ray brought over the
bag of crickets. 

 "Oh, shit," Vecchio said, not even noticing Ray anymore, and went into
the room with Benny and shut the door. 

 So Ray went off to harass Elaine about looking up who the hell this
Canavacciuolo guy might be. Luckily Elaine was better at spelling in
Italian than Ray was. Or maybe she's just heard of the guy, Ray thought as
he looked at the printout. Well, shit. 

 
 Day Three 

 Ray set down his cross on the empty desk he'd been using for a dresser,
next to Kowalski's spare glasses. Ray always carried a spare pair with
him, since Kowalski's track record for being able to locate his own at key
moments wasn't the greatest. He ran his finger over the thick black
plastic, feeling a twinge of--guilt? Nah. Worry, maybe. What if Kowalski
got hurt, out there by himself and too stupid to know when to call it
quits? 

 Someone knocked on his door, and Ray jerked his hand back. "Come in!" he
called. At this hour he was pretty sure there wasn't anyone at the
Consulate but Fraser. And really, it was kind of nice not having to vet it
first to make sure it wasn't Frannie wanting him to program the VCR or one
of his nephews with a toilet training emergency or, worst of all, his ma
because there was no saying no to Ma. 

 Fraser opened the door, opened his mouth to speak, and then just kind of
stood there for a minute. He licked his lip, his mouth curving a little at
the corners. 

 Ray deflated a little. "It's okay," he said. "You can make fun of my
pajamas." He'd never realized there was anything ridiculous about them
until Kowalski moved in. But man, Kowalski didn't shut up about them, and
then when Ray'd finally given in and started getting dressed before
leaving his room in the morning, Kowalski had had the nerve to look
disappointed. Like making fun of Ray's pajamas was the highlight of his
day. Which was kind of sad, really. 

 Although not as sad as having your sleepwear mocked by someone wearing a
union suit. 

 "Actually, I was wondering if you were really going to use all of those
pillows," Fraser said with a small, private smile. He closed the door and
came around to Ray's side of the desk, leaning on it. 

 Ray tried to look indignant, but he couldn't help smiling back. "Hey,
those are vital to my continued well-being," he said. "Pardon me if I
don't want to get my guts clawed out by foxes." 

 Fraser looked confused by that for a second. "Oh, spartan," he said
finally. "I always thought it was too bad the boy's bravery was in the
service of breaking the law." 

 "You would." Ray tried not to be distracted by Fraser's nearness. "So,
tomorrow, another exciting day of trailing the mob's most fearsome hitman?
'Course he doesn't seem to vary his routine a lot, likes the Marcottes'
neighborhood, but hey, that corner shop's got great pastries so--" 

 "I like stripes," Fraser said, something low and thrumming in his voice. 

 "Figures. I mean, you've got that long one on the side of your pants,
right?" Not that Ray'd been noticing. Okay, maybe Ray'd been noticing.
Fraser had nice legs, which was not really something Ray'd ever thought
before about someone who wasn't wearing a skirt at the time, but there it
was. 

 "Yes, Ray," Fraser said. "Dark blue trousers with yellow-gold strapping
is traditional in the British cavalry. Many urban Canadian police forces
likewise wear a red stripe in imitation of infantry uniforms." While he
was talking he reached out, slowly, and ran his thumb along the edge of
Ray's ear and down the side of Ray's neck, a long stripe that should have
tickled but actually set Ray's entire body tingling. He stopped with his
hand resting on Ray's shoulder, and looked at Ray. 

 Ray looked back, heart thumping loud enough to make paperwork sit up and
take notice. He scanned Fraser's face for some sign this meant something,
that he was as nervous as Ray, but all he could see was quiet intent. And
hell, that was great too. It was great to have something he didn't have to
work at, didn't have to fight tooth and nail for. This just was. This was
right. 

 Fraser must have read it in his face--must have read something in his
face, anyway--because he leaned in and pressed his lips to Ray's. His
mouth was purposeful and his hand heavy and firm on Ray's shoulder, and
Ray couldn't move closer, couldn't get Fraser to speed up the kiss,
couldn't do anything but follow Fraser's lead. Long, focused kisses, until
Ray was shaking with it, until he didn't care what Fraser's plan was, he
would back it. When Fraser finally sent his tongue darting out in a silent
question, Ray was ready with his yes. 

 He opened his mouth under Fraser's, couldn't believe Fraser's tongue and
the things it could do. Fraser tasted like toothpaste and...jerky?
Whatever. He reached up to grip the back of Fraser's neck, hold him there
where he couldn't get away. When his fingers burrowed into Fraser's hair,
Fraser moaned into his mouth and suddenly it wasn't enough. 

 Ray shoved hard enough to dislodge Fraser's hand holding him in place. He
ignored Fraser's sudden tension, turned and grabbed and pulled and yeah,
that was it. Now Fraser was holding onto the desk for balance, sorta
sitting on the edge, and Ray was between his legs, pressed up against him,
nothing separating them but thin layers of cotton and cotton-silk blend. 

 Somewhere, Dief started to bark. "Ignore him," Fraser said. 

 "You got it." He grinned at Fraser from a few inches away, intoxicated
with the ease and heat of this, and yanked Fraser's mouth to his.
Deepening the kiss, he clutched at Fraser's bicep with his free hand,
rubbing up against Fraser. He could feel Fraser's erection bumping against
his, and it was enough to make him almost lose it. It had been way too
long since anyone had a hard-on for him. 

 "Ray," Fraser murmured against his mouth, a big hand on the small of his
back suddenly, pushing them together, and yeah, Ray was pretty sure this
meant something. 

 Which was of course when Kowalski slammed open the door and said, "I knew
it!" Dief erupted into the room on his heels. 

 The sudden attack of killer seagulls in Ray's stomach was so ferocious he
almost didn't notice the way Fraser's hand tightened possessively on him,
or the way Fraser sighed before letting go. Ray backed up a couple of
steps, tried to cool down, tried to calm the seagulls. 

 He finally looked up at Kowalski, but Kowalski wasn't trying to meet his
eyes. Kowalski was staring at the way he was tenting his pajamas with this
look on his face, this look of horror that sent the whole thing tangling
in Ray's gut, the seagulls and the heat and something else he was pretty
sure was love and fuck, he was gonna throw up. 

 "You don't get to look at me like that, Kowalski," he said furiously.
"What I do on my own time is none of your damn business!" 

 "What own time?" Kowalski snapped. "Before this week you didn't have own
time! If it weren't for him we'd be watching baseball right now!" 

 "You seem to be conveniently forgetting that it was you who offered
Detective Vecchio as a stake," Fraser said, his voice deep and steady and
at the same time pissed off, and Ray took an instinctive step closer to
that support. 

 Kowalski's fists started clenching and unclenching. He didn't say
anything. 

 Suddenly Ray was pissed. He left Fraser behind, rounded the desk and
faced Kowalski. "You wanna hit me, Kowalski? Is that it? You wanna do a
little queer-bashing? Well, here I am, come on, show me what you got!" 

 Dief pushed between them and shoved at Ray's legs. "Ray. Ray!" he heard
from behind him, coming closer. But his world had narrowed down to
Kowalski's hands. 

 Kowalski stared at him. "Queer-bashing? Are you outta your fucking mind,
Vecchio? Yeah I wanna fucking hit you! I wanna hit you because
you--you--we're partners! I didn't queer-bash you after Christmas, did I?"


 "Christmas?" Fraser asked. 

 "Nah, Kowalski, you were a real gentleman about the whole thing." Which
had hurt more than the rest of it put together. Kowalski hadn't mocked him
at all. Which for Kowalski was a huge concession. Like maybe Kowalski felt
sorry for him. "Look, I already apologized for that. I said I was too
drunk and stupid to know what the fuck I was doing. You gotta keep
throwing it in my face?" 

 Kowalski did try to punch him then, would have punched him if Fraser
hadn't grabbed his wrist, quicker than thinking. "I do have jurisdiction
here," he said. 

 Kowalski turned on Fraser and fuck, this was possibly the worst moment of
Ray's life plus Dief was barking like he might actually eat Kowalski, but
Fraser's hand on Kowalski's wrist and the way they were glaring at each
other--it started something going deep inside Ray. 

 "So I'm the embarrassing mistake and you're something to take home to Ma,
huh?" Kowalski snarled. "Fucking freak!" 

 "Why wouldn't anyone be proud to introduce you to their parents?" Fraser
said in his driest voice. Shit, that was not a good place to go with
Kowalski, not after Stella. Ray had to put a stop to this because in a
second they were both gonna be bleeding. 

 "Shut the fuck up, both of you," Ray said, low and hard, and felt a grim
satisfaction when they both snapped around to look at him like he had them
on fucking strings. He hated that voice, the voice old man Zuko always
used when Mr. Finelli was late with his piece of the action, he avoided it
like the plague. But man, it worked. "Let him go, Benny. He'll be good,
won't you, Kowalski?" 

 Kowalski eyed him sullenly. 

 "Perhaps Diefenbaker and I should simply escort Detective Kowalski from
the premises," Fraser said. "He doesn't seem inclined to listen to
reason." 

 Kowalski jerked on his wrist. Fraser's hand didn't budge, and Kowalski
hissed in a pained breath, his fingers spasming. 

 Ray sharpened his voice. "Won't you?" 

 Dief head-butted him, and Kowalski slumped in defeat. "Yeah," he mumbled.


 Fraser didn't look like he wanted to, but he let go. 

 "Back off, Dief," Ray said, and to his amazement Dief did. Even bumped
his head into Kowalski's hand in apology. "Come on, Kowalski, what are you
even doing here? I know I always say you need a babysitter, but I kinda
thought I was exaggerating for comic effect. You really can't do without
me for one week?" 

 "Yeah, I can do without you for a week," Kowalski said, rubbing his
wrist. Fraser'd grabbed him right over his bracelet. "If you come back at
the end of it." 

 "Well, of course I'm coming back at the end of it!" Ray said, shocked.
"Jesus, Kowalski." 

 Kowalski's eyes darted to Fraser, and he gave a feral grin. "Don't think
he knew that," he said. "Anyway, asshole, I'm here 'cause you told me to
get the Marcotte case, and I did, and I have some info I was gonna share
with you, and no one answered the fucking door." 

 Ray wasn't listening for the second half of this. Because he had looked
at Fraser after Kowalski grinned, and Fraser looked--yeah, like he hadn't
known that. Jesus, he looked like a kid whose parents had just told him
that not only was there no Santa Claus, but Christmas was cancelled this
year. 

 "Thanks, Kowalski," Ray said. "Can we talk about it tomorrow? Lunch,
maybe?" 

 "No." Fraser collected himself with an obvious effort. "If it's
information pertaining to the case--" 

 "Tomorrow," Ray said. "Twelve o'clock, Joe's Diner. Now scram, Kowalski."


 Kowalski looked like he was gonna protest, but Dief just kinda bared his
teeth. Not even a growl, just a reminder that he was there. Kowalski
pointed two fingers at Ray. "Partners," he said. 

 "Yeah," Ray said, because he couldn't not, even though Fraser's jaw
tightened visibly. "Partners. If I don't kill you in the next five
minutes." 

 Kowalski took a deep breath. "Yeah. Okay. And you need more security in
this place. 'Cause I just broke in with a credit card." 

 "Thank you kindly," Fraser said in a suffocated voice. 

 Dief followed Kowalski out, and Ray shut the door behind them. He could
hear Kowalski talking to the wolf--hey boy, I know it's not your fault,
he's your human, right?--and Dief wuffing, his collar jangling like
Kowalski was scratching behind his ears. 

 Finally the front door of the Consulate slammed, and then he said, "Look,
Benny--" 

 Fraser flinched. "Understood," he said quickly. 

 "What's understood? Listen, I--me and Kowalski are partners, okay? I
can't just tell him to fuck off." 

 "What are we, Ray?" 

 "I--I don't know," Ray said. "Something. Maybe even something important."
He didn't know how to talk about the kiss. "But that doesn't mean I'm
gonna just leave Kowalski." 

 "What happened at Christmas?" Fraser asked, an edge in his voice. 

 We don't talk about that, Ray almost said. It was instinct by now.
Instead he went over and flopped down on his bed. The softness of
everything comforted him a little, made it easier to say. Looking at the
ceiling instead of at Fraser helped too. "I got drunk," he said. "I kissed
him." 

 "Did he kiss you back?" 

 "No!" Ray exploded. God, he could feel the humiliation of it crawling all
over his skin, just like it had that night. Even drunk out of his mind,
he'd felt it. "No, he just fucking stood there and stared at me! Like he
was too shocked and appalled to even push me away." Ray ran a hand over
his face, but since Kowalski wasn't actually there, it didn't do a lot to
block out the image. 

 "So--it wasn't a mistake?" 

 Ray sat up. "Look, we don't gotta talk about this." 

 "I think we do." 

 Ray bit his cheek. "It was a mistake, because it could have fucked up
everything I got with Kowalski. But I did it on purpose. I woulda done it
sober if I had the guts." 

 Fraser nodded. Then he said, in this voice like he was walking on broken
glass but he just had to keep going, "Detective Kowalski--that is--he
doesn't seem entirely indifferent to you." 

 Ray felt like he was melting. "Come here, Benny," he said. 

 Fraser eyed him warily. "I think perhaps I should remain where I am,
Ray." 

 "Come on." Ray waved him over. 

 And yeah, he'd known Fraser would. When he was close enough, Ray tugged
him down to sit on the edge of the bed. "You're too nice for your own
good," he said. "Unless you're having second thoughts about earlier." 

 Fraser sucked on his lower lip. "What do you mean?" 

 Which wasn't an answer, but fair enough. No reason the guy should go out
on a limb for Ray after the last half-hour. "Fraser, Kowalski is straight.
He just doesn't have any friends 'cause his wife got them all in the
divorce. He's freaking out 'cause he thinks if something happens with us,
I won't bother with him anymore." 

 Fraser looked skeptical. "Ray, he very clearly stated--" 

 "Shh," Ray said. "I'm not gonna lie to you--I got a thing for Kowalski. I
have for a long time now. But I got a thing for you, too." 

 Fraser's eyes darted to Ray's. "A--a thing?" he repeated, sounding
noncommittal and nervous at the same time. 

 "Yeah," Ray said. "Look, I'm not really in the mood for much after that,
but--you wanna sleep here? I think we could both fit." 

 The corner of Fraser's mouth turned up. "I've shared significantly
smaller bedrolls over the years," he admitted. 

 "Is that a yes?" All at once, Ray's heart started to pound, like he'd
just realized he really cared about the answer. 

 Fraser hesitated a moment longer, and sighed. He nodded. "I'd like that."


 Ray's heart just got louder. "Great," he said, and moved over to pull up
the covers. 

 
 Day Four 

 Since he wasn't meeting Vecchio and the Mountie for lunch until noon, Ray
decided maybe interviewing the Marcotte brother-in-law would be a good
idea. Lean on him a little. Sal "Slug" Canavacciuolo hanging around the
neighborhood right before Marcotte got shot might be a coincidence, but
the odds were it wasn't. Maybe the brother-in-law would know more about
Mr. Marcotte's shady doings than the wife. 

 Ray glanced at his watch, then rubbed his exhausted eyes--hadn't gotten
much sleep last night, what with the agony and the drinking and the
possibly drunk-dialing Stella but he was hoping that part was just a
nightmare. Christ, he wanted to talk to Stella. She'd have something smart
to say about this whole fucked-up situation. After she'd explained to him
in great detail how it was all his fault, of course. He stared at the
watch until he could actually bring the hands into focus and walked a
little faster. Didn't want to be late for lunch. He passed the mouth of an
alley, glanced down it by habit--and froze. 

 Vecchio was at the end of the alley, three blocks down, and someone who
looked an awful lot like Slug Canavacciuolo's mugshot had a gun on him. 

 Ray ran. Vecchio was alone, why the hell was Vecchio alone? He was alone
with his hands up and Canavacciuolo was on the other side of him, maybe
four feet farther away. Ray didn't have a clear shot and anyway he wasn't
wearing his glasses, why the fuck wasn't he wearing his glasses? He
fumbled at his jacket pocket and picked up speed, but he knew already he
was going to be too late. Vecchio was supposed to have backup. Vecchio was
supposed to have Ray. He shoved his goddamn glasses onto his nose, and
while his eyes were refocusing he heard the gunshot and the thud. 

 He jerked up his arm, ready to smoke the motherfucker since the shot must
be clear now--don't think about it 'til he's down--but Vecchio was still
standing, and on the other side of him was a crumpled heap of arms and
legs, and a rapidly spreading red stain. 

 ### 

 Ray hated hospitals. Fucking hated them, especially the last year,
because they meant either he was in pain or Vecchio was. 

 Turned out he hated them almost as much when it was Fraser. It was no fun
enjoying a guy's pain when he got it saving Vecchio's life. 

 Dilated blue eyes blinked open and focused on him--and Fraser's drugged,
vague look shifted in about .2 seconds to absolute horror. "Ray," he
croaked. 

 "Hey, hey," Ray said, scooting his chair closer without meaning to.
"Vecchio's fine. Not a scratch on him." 

 Fraser's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where is he?" 

 "I ain't lying to you," Ray snapped. "He'll be back soon. I sent him to
get you something better to eat than hospital food. Feeding people calms
him down." 

 Fraser's whole body relaxed. He even smiled a little, like he thought
that was cute. Shit, the guy really cared about Vecchio. Which maybe the
jumping out of a second story window onto a hitman with the safety off
should have tipped Ray off. "And he left you to watch over me?" Fraser
asked with what Ray thought was just the faintest hint of sarcasm. 

 "Sure, we're partners, right? Plus it wasn't like you were gonna pop off
while he was gone. A few stitches aren't usually fatal." 

 Fraser sighed. "Is that all it is?" 

 Ray laughed. "Well, that and a fuckton of bruises. Feels like more, huh?
It always does." 

 Fraser gave him a rueful smile that reminded Ray forcibly that, if he was
honest, he'd chosen Fraser to go up against in the poker game because the
guy had sex appeal that could knock you out at twenty paces. Even in a
hospital gown you could see it. 

 Ray sighed. "Vecchio's gonna be bummed," he said. "He really wanted to
sell you on the whole partner thing, and now..." He gestured at the
hospital room. 

 Fraser looked at the ceiling. "I've been injured before while discharging
my professional responsibilities," he said slowly. "But this is the first
time anyone has come to the hospital with me." 

 Christ on a unicycle, that was fucked up. Ray'd been a cop for thirteen
years now, and he'd never once woken up alone in the hospital. Stella even
still came to see him when he got really hurt. "Do you want me to scream
at the nurse until she doubles the morphine drip?" he offered. "Vecchio
did that for me last time I was in the hospital and it made me feel all
warm and fuzzy inside. Or maybe that was the morphine." 

 Fraser smiled again. "No, thank you." 

 Ray scooted his chair closer. "Look," he said real fast. "You saved
Vecchio. I owe you. So you ever need anything, you got it, no questions
asked. Okay?" 

 Fraser didn't answer. Instead he looked at Ray very carefully,
like--fuck, like he could see inside him. Ray squirmed. "I don't want to
take him away from you," he said at last, gently. "I don't think I could."


 "Hey, I don't own Vecchio," Ray said, feeling ashamed. "I know that. I
just...you ever feel like who you are, it's--well, like you don't know who
you are? Like that's all tied up in someone else, and if they were gone,
you wouldn't be you anymore? You ever feel like that about somebody?" And
why the hell had he said that? To Fraser, of all people? There was just
something about the guy and his deep blue eyes that pulled it out of him. 

 Fraser tilted his head and gave Ray a tiny crooked smile. "No." 

 Which made Ray feel even more lonely and stupid than he already did, but
it was sad, too, because from the look on Fraser's face Ray had the
feeling it meant Fraser'd never had anyone he coulda even begun to feel
that way about. "You, uh, you want me to read to you or something?" 

 ### 

 "This asshole oughta be in jail for sexual assault!" Ray was saying when
Vecchio walked into the room carrying an enormous paper bag. 

 "You got something on the case?" Vecchio wanted to know. 

 "No, Ray," Fraser said, and Jesus, the look on Vecchio's face. Like he
just realized Fraser was gonna be okay. Ray jumped up and took the bag of
food away before Vecchio dropped it, ignoring the sudden stinging in his
own eyes. 

 Inside the bag were nestled a carton of minestrone, four soft Italian
rolls, a cheeseburger, French fries, and an entire bag of doughnuts. 

 "Doughnut fan, huh?" Ray asked Fraser. 

 Fraser gave Vecchio this soft little eye-crinkly smile. "No, I imagine
those are for Diefenbaker." 

 The wolf liked doughnuts? 

 "Hey," Vecchio said, with a soft little smile back, and Ray was gonna
vomit, he really was. "This has to be stressful for the furball too." 

 "Thank you," Fraser said. 

 "So fill me in--who's sexually assaulting who?" 

 "Whom, Ray," Fraser corrected. 

 Was this guy for real? "No one, I was just reading Fraser this book I
stole from Frannie," Ray explained. "This guy, it's like he's supposed to
be the hero, but the girl kept saying no and he just--" 

 "Of course, studies have shown that many women do enjoy fantasizing about
rape, in a purely imaginary context," Fraser said, but he'd been disturbed
too, Ray knew it. "Perhaps this is merely a healthy expression of female
sexuality." Yeah, the guy sounded unconvinced. 

 "This isn't porn, Fraser, it's a romance novel," Ray said, pointing to
where it said Romance right on the cover, right over the--okay, the ripped
bodice. "It's supposed to be happily ever after." 

 "Yes, but pornography is a resource more readily available to men,"
Fraser pointed out. "Whereas a novel such as that can be purchased by a
woman in any supermarket without raising an eyebrow." 

 Vecchio was looking back and forth between them like he didn't know what
to make of this, the two of them not fighting. Hey, Ray was sure they'd be
back to it in a minute, but if it made Vecchio look this confused maybe it
was worth it to draw it out. 

 "Why don't you ask Frannie?" Vecchio suggested finally, then looked like
he'd eaten a lemon. "Wait, no, don't ask Frannie, I don't want to know." 

 Ray grinned at him. "What, you don't want to know if your little sister
has a thing for cuffs?" he asked. "Hey, Fraser, you want soup or a
cheeseburger?" 

 Fraser licked his lip, looking indecisive. "Soup is more nourishing,
don't you think?" 

 "Cheeseburger it is," Ray said, handing it over. "Ketchup?" 

 "Ray--" Fraser sighed, and Ray felt a stupid little tingle, because that
was the first time Fraser'd used his name. "Yes, please." 

 Ray snagged the minestrone, which left Vecchio with the hospital lunch
and the doughnuts. Hey, served the asshole right for this entire week, and
also for scaring the shit out of Ray this morning. 

 Fraser didn't start on his cheeseburger right away, though. "Ray," he
said abruptly. "How is Mr. Canavacciuolo?" 

 If anything could have told Ray how much he was the third wheel here, it
was that. Because he knew just as well as Vecchio what had happened to
Canavacciuolo and Fraser'd obviously been wanting to know. He could have
asked Ray. But he'd waited for Vecchio--his partner--instead. 

 Vecchio glanced up from negotiating with the wolf over how many doughnuts
he could eat and bit his lip. Ray tried to look absorbed in breaking his
roll into chunks and dumping it in his soup. 

 "He's dead, Benny," Vecchio said at last. "His own bullet went right
through the artery in his thigh and he bled out." 

 "I see." 

 "But listen, you got nothing to feel guilty about. He woulda been whacked
anyway. Dumb enough to try to shoot a cop and botch the job? We knew his
name. Incompetent and indicted is not a good combination in his line of
work." 

 Ray looked up. The line of Fraser's jaw was hard and his eyes were lost.
Ray dropped his eyes. Fraser didn't want him seeing that. 

 "I know," the guy said quietly. 

 "Plus the guy was a junkie," Ray offered, not taking his eyes off his
soup. "Getting worse all the time. Botching jobs. Maybe skimming to pay
for his habit. The feds were pretty sure he was gonna get offed soon
anyway." 

 "How do you know that?" Vecchio demanded. 

 "Called a feeb I know," Ray said smugly. "Still almost a stand-up guy. We
used to be on a team together back before he started talking in unison." 

 "Of course, now we can't question Mr. Canavacciuolo about his employer's
grudge against Mr. Marcotte," Fraser pointed out. 

 "None of this makes sense!" Vecchio threw his head back and stared
angrily at the ceiling. "We've spent the last two days interviewing
everyone who knows anything about Marcotte and he was clean. No
connections to the mob, no shady loans, no history of gambling even. Not
him, not the wife, not the brother-in-law. How many times have you licked
his passport and spare underwear by now? A hundred? A thousand?" 

 "Licked his passport?" Ray interjected, startled. 

 Vecchio waved his hands. "It's a Canadian thing. The point is, there is
nothing connecting Canavacciuolo to Marcotte, except that he was hanging
around the neighborhood. Maybe this wasn't a mob hit at all. Maybe it's a
coincidence." 

 Ray sat bolt upright. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, wait a second. Why was
Cana-whatsit even there this morning? What the hell would he be doing
still hanging around if he already got his guy?" 

 "The two twenty-two caliber bullet wounds behind the ear are
characteristic of a mafia assassination," Fraser pointed out. "And while
it's become something of a truism, it's a widely documented phenomenon
that criminals return to the scene of their crime." 

 "Maybe in Russian novels, Fraser, but not in the mob," Vecchio said,
rolling his eyes at Kowalski, and yeah, this was great, they were on the
same page again, they were partners. Ray could feel things clicking and
whirring, their detective mojo working again, finally. "What, you think
he's wracked with guilt?" 

 "Yeah," Ray said. "He musta been on a new job." 

 "In the same neighborhood? On the same block, even?" Fraser asked
skeptically. 

 That was it. Fuck, that was it. "Or--" Ray grinned, drawing it out till
they were both looking at him expectantly. "What if it was the same job?
You said the first day you went over to the brother-in-law's place, you
passed Rossi harrassing some schmuck, right? What did you say the
apartment number was?" 

 "267," Fraser said promptly. 

 "And the Marcottes live in?" 

 There was a pause. "276," Fraser said slowly. 

 Ray leaned back in his chair triumphantly. 

 "No," Fraser said firmly, but he didn't look firm at all. "Surely no one
would be so careless as to carry out a contract on the wrong man." 

 "I think Kowalski's right," Vecchio said. "He said Canavacciuolo was a
junkie. Anyway, these guys are scumbags, not rocket scientists. It's
happened before. In Donnie Brasco, he talks about these guys--" 

 "God, could you have more of a crush?" Ray interrupted snidely. He turned
to Fraser. "We were introduced to Joey Pistone at a conference a few
months ago and I really thought Vecchio here was gonna faint. Or else ask
him for his autograph." 

 Fraser glanced at Vecchio. The corner of his mouth twitched. 

 "Hey, Joey Pistone is an Italian-American hero," Vecchio said, grinning
at Fraser. Fuck, they were flirting. Ray was sitting two feet away and
Vecchio was flirting with an injured man. "Now which one of us is gonna go
over and get Apartment 267 out of there until we can get ahold of Rossi?" 

 Ray thought about making Vecchio do it. But just then Fraser shifted in
his hospital bed and took in a sharp breath. 

 Vecchio's head snapped up. "Does it hurt, Benny?" 

 Fraser smiled at him, raised an eyebrow a little. "Yes, Ray." 

 Fraser needed someone to take care of him, and fuck if he'd want that to
be Ray. Plus, it wasn't like they could get up to much with Fraser feeling
the way he did. 

 "I'll go," he said. "And I'll call the feebs. You take Fraser home. But
you owe me, Vecchio." 

 Vecchio gave him a sharp look. Jeez, he looked almost--disappointed? It
faded after a second, though, and he just looked grateful, making Ray's
stomach twist. "Thanks, Kowalski," he said. "I'll come over at seven and
relieve you so you can get some sleep before we take on Rossi. And I'll
keep my cell phone on. Check in every hour on the hour, yeah?" 

 "No fucking way," Ray said. Like he wanted to spend every phone call
listening as if he could hear what Fraser and Vecchio had been doing
before he called. "Fraser needs his sleep. I'll call you if I get shot,
how's that?" 

 "Yeah, Kowalski, you're real generous," Vecchio said. "And you don't
check in every hour, I'll flush your turtle." 

 "That's not funny, Vecchio! The turtle is sancti--sacked--sa--" 

 "Sacred?" Vecchio suggested, starting to smirk. "You want I should build
him a shrine?" 

 "I believe he means 'sacrosanct,' Ray," Fraser said. 

 "Yeah," Ray said, jabbing a finger at Fraser. "See, he gets it. The
turtle is sacro-whatsit. No jokes." 

 "Good, 'cause I wasn't joking." 

 ### 

 "Ah, fuck--uh, sorry--okay, just a little to the left--you got it?" The
Canadians hadn't exactly been eager to help Ray move his bed to the ground
floor so Fraser didn't have to climb the stairs or sleep on a cot, but
after Ray'd made a few meaningful gestures in Fraser's bandaged, bruised
direction and also a few meaningful threats, talking right over Fraser's
polite demurrals, they'd come round. The inspector asshole had already
almost dropped his corner on his foot, but the redhead was holding up her
end pretty good. 

 "This really isn't necessary," Fraser said for the eight millionth time. 

 "You say that now," Ray said, "but believe me, you'll be grateful
tomorrow morning." 

 Actually, Fraser was already looking pretty grateful by the time Ray had
explained to the Canadians that no, Fraser wasn't making up the rest of
his shift tonight, he was taking a sick day, Canadians had sick days,
right? And they left the two of them alone in an unused office. Fraser'd
been standing ramrod straight while his countrymen were in the room, but
now he let himself sag a little, lowered himself gingerly onto the bed
with a few quick gasps, and Ray was overcome with--something, that Fraser
was willing to let him see that. Tenderness, maybe. Shit. 

 Ray opened his mouth to say something, probably something sappy. Thank
him for saving his life, all that crap. 

 Luckily Fraser started on the case instead. He'd clearly read a lot about
the mob, but he hadn't grown up in Ray's neighborhood. He didn't get it.
He didn't understand why the cops couldn't just bring them all to justice.


 Ray tried to explain it, how they were everywhere and how there was no
evidence because who was gonna testify against them? Who was gonna sit on
that jury? "You think it's bad now, you shoulda been here when I was a
kid," he said at last. 

 Fraser's eyes focused on his face. 

 "My pop, he wasn't the greatest husband and father in Chicago. I always
thought my ma deserved better. Yeah, okay, we're Catholic, but Catholics
get divorced. Even then there were cases. But--there were these girls,
they lived down the street from us. Northern Italian, blond girls. Faces
like Botticelli paintings." 

 Fraser's eyebrow went up a notch, like he was surprised Ray had heard of
Botticelli. 

 "So their ma leaves their father, right? And this guy, everyone knew he
was a made guy. He drove a Cadillac. No one in my neighborhood had a
Cadillac. And they fixed it somehow, maybe they owned the judge or bribed
him or threatened him, but this guy got sole custody. No visits for her,
no nothing. He didn't even want the kids, sent 'em both to boarding school
as soon as the papers were final. Just didn't want her to have them. So I
figured maybe my ma had her reasons." He glanced at the clock. Nine
minutes to five. Kowalski should be calling soon. 

 "Your father was a made man?" 

 Ray snorted. "Nah. He wanted it, but somehow when it was time to send in
names, it was never his turn." 

 Fraser thought about that for a minute. "My mother died when I was six,"
he said finally. 

 "That's rough." 

 "I don't think my father made her very happy," Fraser said slowly. "He
didn't--he was never there. He was always out on patrol, usually not even
within radio distance. He had a partner--Buck Frobisher. Their territory
covered thousands of miles. They were apart for months at a time. But he
told me that they always knew they were partners, even so. Lately I've
wondered if he and my mother felt the same way. If it didn't matter to her
that he was gone so much because she knew. If I've been angry at him all
this time for nothing." He laughed a little. "I'm sorry, that wasn't very
relevant." 

 "It's not a deposition, Benny, it's a conversation." 

 "I suppose." 

 Ray didn't think Fraser even noticed what was missing from his story.
"Hey, anyone ever tells you they aren't angry at their parents they're
either lying or a robot," he said. "Besides, you didn't know." 

 "What?" 

 "You were his kid. You shoulda known. If a kid can even know a thing like
that." 

 Fraser didn't answer that. Instead he stared at his bandaged hand.
"That's how he died," he said quietly. "He went out alone. He couldn't ask
for help. He didn't call his partner." 

 Ray's phone rang. Five o'clock on the dot. "Kowalski?" 

 "You getting confused over there, Vecchio?" Kowalski's staccato voice
came over the line, amused and steady, and Ray relaxed. "I'm Kowalski." 

 "Wiseguy. Where are you?" 

 "I got Mr. 267," Kowalski said. "His name's Mario Lombardi. We're at the
Super 8 on I-94. No one followed us, plus I flashed my badge around a bit
at the apartment building so hopefully they'll back off." 

 Ray listened to Kowalski's voice, took a couple notes, but there was no
big news. Mostly Kowalski bitching about how Lombardi smelled like garlic,
and how the guy who invented Pringles should get a Nobel Prize. 

 "How's Fraser?" he asked finally. 

 "He's okay. He's resting." 

 "Yeah, he looked pretty worn out." Kowalski sounded weirdly relieved.
"Stella always said sleep is the best thing for letting the body heal
itself. Well, sleep and vitamin C. Man, she used to force-feed me oranges
whenever I was sick, she'd buy like twelve of them and--" 

 "Yeah," Ray interrupted. "I don't got any oranges." 

 By the time he hung up and made his way back to Fraser, the Consulate had
closed and emptied. There was no one around but him and Fraser, and they
had an hour before they'd be interrupted again. Ray started to sweat. He
knew what he was going to do, he just couldn't decide if it was stupid or
not. 

 But he was tired of waiting around for Kowalski. They were partners,
Kowalski maybe even loved him in a partner-y way, but--he still hit on his
ex-wife every time he saw her. He'd gambled Ray away. He'd sent him home
with Fraser. If that wasn't giving them his blessing Ray didn't know what
was, and if Kowalski could do that there was nothing to wait around for.
Here was something new and perfect and Fraser'd risked his life for him
today. Ray was going for it. 

 He went in and sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey, Benny," he said. 

 "Ray," Fraser said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "How
are things with Detective Kowalski?" 

 "Good," Ray said. "He's got Mr. 267 in the Super 8 on I-94. They should
be good for the night." Ray didn't think about Kowalski alone in a motel
bed, doing their job while he was sitting here warm and cozy with Fraser. 

 Fraser relaxed, but only a little. "Did he seem in good spirits?" 

 "Fraser, stop talking about Kowalski," Ray said, reaching across him for
his right hand because the left one was covered in surgical tape. He'd
never seen a guy wrapped in so much bandaging--any excuse to keep their
hands on Fraser had seemed to be the policy of the nurses at the ER.
"Look, last night I let him mess things up for us, and I'm sorry." He
heard the gunshot again, saw the tangled bodies and the blood. "You coulda
died today," he said. "And--we're cops, right? We could die any day. But I
gotta feel like if it happened--I gotta feel like I wouldn't have done
everything different if only I'd known it was coming. And today I felt--"
His hand clenched around Fraser's. "I'd have been sorry we hadn't--" He
couldn't keep going, didn't know what to say to explain, to make Fraser
understand his urgency. So he bent down and kissed him, just went at it,
the want and the incredible rush he felt slipping into Fraser's mouth
along with his tongue. 

 And Fraser moaned and gave it back, opened under him and gripped his hand
hard enough to hurt. Ray was drowning in Fraser's need and it was a good
way to go. He was so lost in it, it took him a minute or two to realize
Fraser was shoving at him. Both their fists were pressing into his chest
hard even though Fraser was still kissing him. 

 Ray pulled back, gasping. "What is it?" 

 "Ray," Fraser said raggedly. "You don't have to. If one of us had been
killed, I would have been sorry for any number of things we hadn't done.
Sex is the least of them." 

 Ray raised his eyebrows. "Really? What's the most?" 

 Fraser blushed, hard, and looked away. 

 "Is it sappy?" 

 Fraser glanced back, smiled a little. "As you say, Ray." 

 Ray grinned at him. He waited a second, but Fraser didn't elaborate, and
Ray could always dig it out of him later. "I know I don't have to," he
said. "I want to. Are you gonna let me?" 

 "I'm not--" Fraser gestured at himself. "I can't do much, Ray." 

 "I know," Ray said. "I wasn't figuring on anything too athletic. But your
gut's okay, right? The only time I ever really had to stop having sex with
Angie or, you know, doing myself, it was 'cause I got hit in the gut. But
this, I figure I can kinda work around. Unless you really don't feel like
it. I mean, if you don't, we can just talk. Or I can try to lug the TV in
here from the conference room. Or I can just bring the cot down and we can
get some sleep, you've had a long day--" 

 "Ray," Fraser said, his voice amused but his eyes intent. 

 "Yeah?" 

 "I feel like it. I--I don't think I've ever felt like it more in my
life." And now he was blushing again and Ray felt like he'd just won the
lottery. What had he been doing, thinking of this like it was second best?


 He leaned down again, kissed Fraser. Softer this time, holding back just
enough to manage Fraser's buttons without fumbling. Undershirt underneath,
but Ray slid his fingers down and under the hem, and he was touching
Fraser's stomach. That was all, just his hand resting on Fraser's flat,
smooth skin, but Fraser's breath came shallow and fast. He panted into
Ray's mouth, kissing Ray with short, urgent, distracted kisses like
begging without words. 

 "Yeah, Benny," he murmured. "I got you." He'd been planning to go slow,
let Fraser know he meant it, but if Fraser was already this worked up--he
slid down the bed, tugging gently on the waistband of Fraser's sweatpants
until Fraser lifted his hips with a tiny, strained grunt. Ray pulled down
his pants and boxers together, and Fraser dropped back onto the bed with a
gasp that sounded more like surprise than pain. Ray just took a second to
stare at Fraser's dick, big and uncut and curving along his stomach. 

 "Ray," Fraser said, sounding uncertain and impatient. 

 "Sorry, Benny. You're--you're bad for my concentration." 

 Fraser raised an eyebrow at him. "Thank you," he said, and then he took
Ray's hand in his, brought it to his mouth and started licking it.
Careful, slow strokes of his tongue, getting it nice and wet so--so Ray
could jack him. Jesus. His eyes were on Ray's the whole time, dark and
solemn and open, his breath still coming fast, and Ray couldn't remember
the last time he was this hard. 

 The second Fraser let go, Ray's hand was on him. Fraser's dick was solid
and heavy in his hand, and Fraser made these noises, these tiny bitten-off
moans like he was trying to be quiet and just couldn't, that was how good
it was. Ray went hard and fast, watched Fraser's face. Tried to show
Fraser with his hand that it was okay to want it, it was okay to make
noise, that Ray got it. God, he could do this for hours--except that
Fraser was already biting his own fist and spurting all over his stomach
and Ray's hand, Jesus, he'd lasted maybe a minute and a half. 

 "Been a long time, huh?" Ray asked, feeling warm and flattered and
really, really turned on. 

 Fraser's chuckle sounded semi-hysterical. "Yes, Ray." 

 "For me too," Ray said. He leaned down and kissed him. 

 When he pulled back, Fraser was watching him, his face blank and his eyes
big and kind of nervous like he had no idea what to do next. Like he had
no idea what he was supposed to do or if he was doing the right thing and
it was making him crazy. Sure, Ray had no idea either, but maybe he was
more used to that. 

 "I--your hand--I believe there is a box of Kleenex on the front desk." 

 Ray looked down at his hand, still resting on Fraser's softening cock. It
was pretty covered in Fraser's jizz, and yeah, he didn't want to wipe it
on his clothes. He met Fraser's eyes and knew suddenly what Fraser would
do in his place. And it sounded gross, sure, but--he looked at Fraser and
something inside him started to vibrate like a plucked guitar string at
the idea. He raised his hand real slow, keeping his eye's on Fraser's
face, and then he licked a drop of come off his index finger. 

 Fraser drew in a sharp breath. 

 Okay, that hadn't been so bad. Ray took another lick, his thumb this
time, got a bigger taste of the stuff. It tasted weird, sure, but not bad
by any stretch of the imagination, and the look of awe on Fraser's
face--that was great. Ray kept going, slow and surer, now. Then he took a
deep breath, balanced himself with a newly clean hand on the bed, and
leant down and licked Fraser's stomach. 

 Ray hadn't even realized Fraser was tense, but at that the guy's entire
body relaxed into the bed, like maybe things were okay after all. "Ray,"
he murmured. The stuff still tasted weird, but his tongue was on Fraser's
stomach--his tongue was on Fraser's cock--and Ray's dick didn't seem to
think this was weird at all. It seemed to think this was a fantastic idea.
Shit, Ray wasn't gonna be able to sleep without taking care of that, and
there was no way Fraser was up to anything else tonight. 

 Ray gave Fraser's stomach one last lick, regretfully, and sat up. He gave
Fraser a crooked smile, his heart swelling with pride that he'd done it,
that he'd done it and it was fine. "You feeling okay? Didn't pull
anything?" 

 Fraser smiled at him and yeah, Ray had to do something about his erection
now. "You took excellent care of me." 

 Ray ran a finger down Fraser's cheek. "I'm--I'll be right back, okay? I
gotta get the cot." 

 Fraser grabbed Ray's arm. "Stay," he said. "Please." 

 "There's no way we can both fit in this bed with you all bruised up,
Benny," Ray said. "I'll elbow you in the night, damage something. I'll be
fine with the cot, I promise." 

 "That's not what I meant, Ray," Fraser said. "That is--I assume you also
plan to take care of that while you're out of the room." He gestured at
Ray's--okay, at Ray's extremely tented slacks. "And I'd like you to do it
here." 

 Ray's heart stopped beating for a second. Which sure didn't seem to stop
blood from rushing to his cock. "With--with you watching?" 

 "Well, I certainly don't plan to shut my eyes, Ray. Although you can, if
it makes it easier." 

 His heart was back now and it sounded like a jackhammer. "I--I don't
know, Benny, I never--" 

 "You watched me," Fraser pointed out quietly. 

 "Well, yeah, but that was different, I mean, we were having sex and
anyway that was you! I mean, you're fun to look at!" 

 Fraser frowned. "So you believe that I want to have sex with you, but not
that I enjoy looking at you? That hardly seems like an indicator of a
healthy self-image, Ray." 

 "Hey, you want to psychoanalyze me, buy a couch," Ray snapped. "The bed
is mine. I just--" He looked at Fraser uncertainly. "You really want to
see that?" 

 Fraser swallowed hard and nodded. "If you wouldn't mind." 

 It was that swallow that convinced Ray. "Okay," he said. "Okay, but if I
feel too stupid I'm gonna stop." He put his hand on the button of his
slacks, and Fraser's eyes shot there so fast Ray grinned. He pulled down
his zipper slow, real slow, watching Fraser's look of concentration. He
waited for a second after that, stroked a finger up himself through his
pants. He hissed through his teeth at how damn good it felt. 

 Fraser shot him an annoyed little glance and Ray grinned wider. "Hey, I
like to take my time," he said. "Unlike some people." 

 At that Fraser smiled sheepishly and put his hand on Ray's thigh, and
fuck but Ray's dick liked that. Ray had his hand inside his pants and his
dick out so fast they should probably put him in the Guinness Book of
World Records. He'd been watching Fraser's face, but now it was hard to
tear his eyes away from Fraser's hand, warm and heavy and pale against his
slacks. He stroked himself a little too hard, not caring if it wasn't
comfortable because it just felt so good, and Fraser's hand was right
there, his fingertips were on Ray's inner thigh, and when Fraser stroked
along the seam of Ray's slacks Ray almost came then and there. He sped up,
and Fraser made a hungry little noise like that was the hottest thing he'd
ever seen. 

 Ray looked at Fraser's face again and man, he looked like he didn't just
want this, he needed it. Ray twisted his wrist, let himself moan and
thrust into it because fuck, this wasn't anything like doing this alone in
his room. Fraser's fingers tightened on his thigh and Ray spread his legs,
bringing his other hand around to cup his own balls. 

 Fraser's eyes widened and Ray got this, suddenly. It wasn't just about
seeing. It was about being allowed to watch, about trust, about being
partners. He pictured things being flipped, pictured Fraser taking himself
in hand, stroking himself, letting it all go with Ray watching, Fraser
showing that to Ray and liking it. It was dirty and hot and Ray felt this
yearning. He let go of his balls to brace himself on the mattress, leaning
forward and kissing Fraser--sloppy, lots of tongue. When he pulled back,
Fraser followed, trying to lever himself up before gasping and falling
back against the pillows. Ray braced himself above Fraser, just far enough
away that Fraser could look down and see if he wanted to. "Jerking off
should not feel this good," he gasped. "But Jesus, Benny, the look on your
face, I could come just from that--" 

 "I like the look on yours too." His voice--and then Fraser slipped his
fingers off Ray's thigh and between his legs and pressed, right behind his
balls, and Ray's orgasm took him completely by surprise. Fraser was saying
something else, but Ray had no idea what it was, he just knew he wanted to
hear Fraser's voice when he came for the rest of his life. 

 When it was over, he was still braced above Fraser, his face maybe six
inches away. He took in a deep breath, and another, staring into Fraser's
eyes, and then it was maybe a little too much, all of this. Too much, too
fast, too--too something. He leaned in and kissed Fraser, a gentle peck,
and then he sat up. "This time I am gonna go get the Kleenex," he said. He
looked down at the wet spot. "Or maybe a towel or something." 

 He was pushing himself off the bed when Fraser said, sounding tired and
relaxed, "Ray?" 

 "Yeah, Benny?" 

 "If either of us had been killed today, I would have been sorry not to
have told you that I find I do enjoy working as a team." 

 Ray opened his mouth to tell Fraser not to get all mushy--except Ray was
a firm believer in romantic mushy crap in relationships, always had been,
plus what Fraser had said wasn't actually all that mushy. "I'd have been
sorry not to hear it," he said instead, embarrassed by the hitch in his
own voice, and hurried out of the room in search of something to clean up
with. 

 He was just considering a cupboard full of Canadian flags when he heard
his phone ring. Shit, Kowalski! He'd actually forgotten Kowalski. It
seemed like a bad omen, like if he'd forgotten his partner then maybe his
partner would be taken away. He snatched a box of Kleenex and sprinted
back into the room, conscious of Fraser's eyes on him as he fumbled with
the phone, almost dropping it in his guilty haste. God, he was a mess.
"Vecchio," he said. 

 "You getting confused over there?" Kowalski asked, sounding way too
amused by himself. "You're Vecchio." 

 The sound of Kowalski's voice, the way he said Ray's name--Ray's eyes
shot involuntarily to Fraser. Fraser was watching him with the saddest
expression of understanding Ray had ever seen, and Ray didn't want to know
what was on his own face. He went over and plumped down on the edge of the
bed, gripping Fraser's hand hard and not looking at the wet spot, not
looking at Fraser's face, knowing it wasn't fair to ask for Fraser's
support through this but needing it. "Yeah, Kowalski," he said. His voice
was shaking. Shit. "Maybe I am getting a little confused. You still okay?"


 "Hey, I'm fine," Kowalski said. "How are you? You don't sound so good." 

 "Just tired," Ray said. "It's stupid early but I think we're gonna call
it a night soon anyway." 

 "I hear you. You sure you want me to keep calling? I don't expect
anything to go down tonight." 

 "Keep calling," Ray said shortly. 

 "Your funeral," Kowalski said, and the expression sounded suddenly
ominous. "Talk to you in an hour," and he hung up. 

 Ray folded up his phone and now, finally, felt like he could meet
Fraser's eyes. Fraser was watching him, frowning and thoughtful. Ray
didn't have anything to say, so he started wiping at his own drying come
with the Kleenex, feeling suddenly like he'd gotten Fraser dirty. "Sorry
about the mess," he said. 

 "It's quite all right, Ray," Fraser said. "I don't generally toss and
turn much at nights, so it is unlikely to bother me." His politest,
blankest voice, like he didn't know Ray was talking about more than just
the wet spot. 

 "I'm gonna go grab the cot," Ray said, too tired to get into it. By the
time he got back, Fraser was already asleep, or pretending to be. He
looked beautiful and defenseless, with the cut on his forehead and the
bruises on his arm. Seized by a sudden surge of affection, Ray went over
and kissed him on the forehead. Fraser's breath hitched--he was only
pretending after all, but Ray didn't say anything, just pressed another
kiss to the tip of his nose and stretched out on the cot. He wasn't sure
what to do with the phone--Fraser needed his sleep, but Ray wanted to be
in the same room in case Fraser needed anything in the night. 

 In the end he slept with the phone under his pillow to muffle the noise,
and all through the night he started from sleep to the sound of Kowalski's
voice. 

 
Day Five 

 When Ray got to the Consulate at seven-thirty, under strict orders from
Vecchio to keep Fraser from overexerting himself, he was surprised to find
the Mountie fully dressed and alert behind the desk in the downstairs
office. The bruise around the cut on his forehead was already shading to
yellow to match the brown and gold of his uniform. "Detective Kowalski,"
he murmured without looking up from his paperwork. 

 "Morning, Fraser," Ray said. "Shouldn't you still be resting?" 

 "Continued exercise is the only way to prevent stiffness from setting
into the joints and muscles," Fraser said, glancing up. 

 Ray was startled by the total lack of friendliness in his face. What the
hell had happened to friendly hospital Fraser? What happened to "Ray"? But
he was too tired to care. "I'm just gonna crash for a few hours," he said.
"Is it cool if I take the cot?" 

 "You're welcome to use the bed," Fraser said. "I put fresh sheets on it
for you." 

 Ray's eyes narrowed. "Fraser, Vecchio would kill you if he knew you were
fucking around changing sheets when you should be resting." 

 Fraser's head snapped up, his blue eyes meeting Ray's so coldly he could
have sworn it let off sparks, like steel ringing on steel. But the effect
was ruined by how he sucked in his breath as the muscles in his neck
protested. "Please, Detective, I would appreciate it if you would watch
your language on Canadian soil. Your concern is quite unnecessary." 

 "Yeah," Ray said sarcastically. "I can see that. I'll take the cot. If I
get in the bed I'll be out for the count." 

 Four hours and three fuzzy phone calls from Vecchio later, Ray was pretty
sure he'd got all the sleep he was gonna get. He closed the phone and sat
up, rubbing at his eyes. Fraser was still doing paperwork with the same
fierce calm. 

 "Is there coffee around here anywhere?" Ray asked. 

 "There should be a pot in the breakroom," Fraser said. "Would you like me
to show you where?" 

 Seriously, what was the guy's problem? Was he just trying to spite Ray
for telling him to take it easy? "Stay in your chair, I got it," Ray said
shortly. It wasn't until the first few jolts of caffeine hit him that he
realized this must have something to do with Vecchio. Man, he must have
been tireder than he thought because that had been staring him in the
face. He chugged the last couple inches of coffee and went to get some
answers. 

 Fraser still didn't look at him when he walked in, so Ray just went right
over, spread his palms on the desk, and leaned into Fraser's face. "Okay,
what's got your panties in a bunch?" he demanded. 

 Fraser glanced up, his face a mask of polite confusion. "I'm afraid I'm
not familiar with that expression," he said. 

 Ray pointed two fingers right in Fraser's face. "Do not give me that,
Fraser!" he snapped. "You know damn well what I mean. Yesterday you were
all normal, or not normal because you're obviously a freak, but you were
not acting like this! Did Vecchio tell you something about me, is that it?
What did he say about me?" 

 Fraser didn't even flinch back, just watched him, mouth tight, and Ray
started to feel that flare in his gut like from a really good
interrogation, when he knew he was gonna have to go all the way. "No,"
Fraser said. "In fact, he requested that we not speak of you at all." 

 Sucker punch. It hurt like hell, but that just revved Ray up more. "What,
then? 'Cause I thought Canadians were supposed to be polite, and this is
the shittiest hospitality I've gotten since my great-aunt Louise served us
one unopened can of tuna for dinner!" 

 Fraser straightened with an almost audible twang, his eyes glittering.
Yeah, Ray still had it. "The Inuit have a story," he said, "about a young
man named Irniq." 

 Ray narrowed his eyes. This sounded completely off the wall, but if there
was one thing he knew, it was that once you made the perp start talking,
you shut up and listened. He waited. 

 "Irniq was from a very rich, proud family. His father, however, made many
poor decisions and lost the family's entire fortune--all except one thing.
On his deathbed, Irniq's father gave his son a beautiful puzzle-box of
birch and green dolomite. 'This box will restore the family's fortunes,'
he told Irniq. Now, Irniq was a well-meaning young man, but he was neither
industrious nor given to deep thought. He puzzled over the box for an hour
or two, and then simply put it in his knapsack. After all, he thought, it
would be there waiting when he was ready to solve it. One year after his
father's death, Irniq was tracking a polar bear through the forest--" 

 "Wait a second," Ray interrupted. "He wasn't particularly industrious,
but he tracked polar bears? How does that work?" 

 "In the winter, pregnant females experience a sort of walking
hibernation, during which their heart rate drops significantly," Fraser
said. "It makes them easier to kill, if you can find their den. Irniq came
upon a man sitting in the middle of the forest. 'I am Amaruq,' the man
introduced himself. 'Will you play at dice with me?' Irniq agreed at once.
He lost his money, then his rings, until all he had left was the puzzle
box. He knew he shouldn't stake his family's last great treasure, but he
told himself he was sure to win on the next throw. 'Perhaps this is how
the box will restore our fortunes!' he thought." Fraser paused. 

 "Well?" Ray asked impatiently, caught in spite of himself. There was
something hypnotic about Fraser telling a story. Ray wondered if he liked
kids. "Did he win?" 

 "No," Fraser said flatly. "He lost. Furious, he seized the box, hoping to
run and escape payment, but the box flew out of his hands and into
Amaruq's. It opened at the man's touch, and from within stepped the most
beautiful woman Irniq had ever seen. He loved her as soon as he saw her.
What was more, she wore a coat of the rarest seal fur there is and enough
gold bracelets and rings to restore Irniq's father's fortune a hundred
times over. Irniq stretched out a hand to her, begging her to stay with
him. 'I was with you for a year,' she said. 'And in all that time you
never looked for me.' And she and Amaruq vanished without a trace." 

 "That's it?" Ray asked incredulously. "That's the story?" 

 Fraser said nothing, only gazed at Ray, his eyes hard. 

 "So you make a mistake and boom, you're fucked? No second chance? I see
why you got a job as a cop and not a guy who writes after-school specials,
Fraser." 

 Fraser frowned. 

 "I mean he didn't look for her? 'Cause maybe that wasn't the end at all.
Maybe that was a sign he should go on a whatchamacallit, a quest." 

 "Your ex-wife doesn't speak to you any more, does she?" Fraser said.
"Perhaps there is a value in knowing when to quit," and there was another
sucker punch, bam! 

 Ray's adrenaline spiked, his mind working overtime. Yeah, the story was
about him and Vecchio, you snooze you lose, yadda yadda, he knew that. But
he also knew this wasn't usual behavior for Fraser. He'd stake his shield
on it. (Not Vecchio, though, he was never staking Vecchio again.) The guy
was kind. Polite. And Ray remembered uneasily the stories he'd heard when
he called up North, that first day, looking for dirt on the guy. Seemed
like everyone had some crazy story about Constable Benton Fraser. He never
fucking gave up, he tracked a guy over a frozen pass on a dogsled for
fishing over the limit, he dragged some bank-robber chick out of the snow,
almost froze to death himself, and the bank wasn't even in Canada. 

 So Fraser didn't believe the story. He didn't care about the story. He
was just telling Ray to back the fuck off. He was fighting for Vecchio,
pulling out all the weird-ass Canadian stops, and Ray got that. 

 During the story he'd relaxed. He'd gotten out of Fraser's face. But now
he went right around the desk, sat on the edge with his boot on the arm of
Fraser's chair, and leaned right into his space. "Vecchio's pretty fucking
amazing, isn't he?" he said softly. 

 The mask slipped for a second, surprise and loneliness and burning
determination twisting Fraser's mouth and shit, what was wrong with Ray?
Because now he couldn't take his eyes off Fraser's mouth and this was
fucked up. But Ray couldn't help it so he went with it, rode it, leaned
right in and murmured in Fraser's ear, feeling Fraser's unwilling shiver
in his own skin, "We both know he's gonna have to choose. Don't be so sure
it'll be you." 

 Fraser's arm came out of nowhere, knocking Ray's foot off the chair so
hard Ray teetered wildly, grabbing at the edge of the desk to keep from
tipping over onto the floor. By the time he regained his balance, Fraser
was standing several feet away, his breathing even but too deep and a hand
on his arm where there'd been the worst of the bruises. 

 "You hurt yourself?" Ray asked. 

 Fraser turned away. "Perhaps," he said. "It's time for us to meet
Detective Vecchio." 

 ### 

 They didn't talk on the ride to the motel. Diefenbaker, in the backseat,
didn't even make a sound. 

 "Hey, Kowalski," Vecchio said as he opened the door. His eyes softened,
turned shy. "Hey Fraser." 

 "Good morning, Ray," Fraser said. 

 "How ya feeling?" 

 Fraser smiled. "Excellent," he said, his voice low and smooth and Ray
looked at them, really looked at them as Fraser passed Vecchio to walk
into the room. 

 No. Nonononono. 

 The door shut behind Fraser. As soon as he and Vecchio were out of
earshot, alone in the parking lot, Ray stopped. Didn't grab Vecchio. He
couldn't stand to touch him right now. "You fucked him," he said. 

 "Who, Mr. Lombardi?" Vecchio said, and he said it so natural Ray almost
believed it for a second. "Yeah, you know I got a kink for poor hygiene
and compulsive gambling." 

 It felt like Vecchio'd kicked him in the ribs. "I do not have poor
hygiene!" 

 Vecchio grinned. "Did I hit a nerve there, Stanley? I was talking about
our guy in the motel room." 

 "Do not do this to me, Vecchio," Ray said quietly. "Do not fucking do
this to me. You fucked him." 

 "He tell you that?" 

 "If he had, he'd have a hell of a lot more bruises. The two of you--the
way you stood. The way you looked at each other. I can see it." And yeah,
he kept seeing it, fuck. The two of them, body to body. Vecchio's eyes
fluttering shut. Fraser's mouth framing a moan. Stop. 

 "Yeah," Vecchio said finally. "Yeah, okay, you win, Mr. Detective. We
fucked. What the hell do you care? You don't want me, but you don't want
me to be with anyone else? What is that, Kowalski? What the--" 

 "I don't want you?" Ray shouted. "I don't want you? I want you so bad I
am dying!" 

 Vecchio stopped mid-rant, his mouth hanging open. "What?" he got out,
finally, sounding completely stupid and dazed. 

 "What the fuck planet are you living on, Vecchio? Has your brain gone on
vacation to Canada? Of course I want you!" 

 "But I kissed you," Vecchio said. "I kissed you, and you just stared at
me, and you never tried anything--" 

 "I was staring because I wanted it so bad! Usually when shit that good
happens to me, I wake up! You're the one who said you were too drunk to
know what you were doing. You're the one who decided we could never talk
about that again! I wanted to talk about it. I wanted to fucking blow you
in the supply closet every day for the rest of our lives! I had plans for
us!" 

 Vecchio was still staring at him like he'd sprouted an extra head. "Yeah,
well, your secret plans are real useful now," he muttered, finally. 

 "Do not put this on me. I was working on it! I was taking it slow. I was
giving you time to warm up to the idea. You're the one who never gave a
single goddamned sign that you--" 

 "I figured if I did, you'd ask for another partner," Vecchio said, and he
said it like it was the worst thing he could think of. Shit. Ray knew this
about Vecchio, knew Vecchio couldn't read signs but somehow he'd thought
Vecchio must know anyway. Ray felt it so strong it must fill the entire
world, right? 

 "Vecchio," Ray said. "Yeah. Come on. This is us, we're a team, we're
perfect together--" 

 Something unhappy scuttled across Vecchio's face. "I know," he said in a
low voice. "But Fraser--" 

 "But Fraser what?" Ray demanded. "You've known him for five days!" 

 Vecchio's face set. "Sometimes it doesn't take that long," he said. "I
can't just--he needs me." 

 "Yeah?" Ray said. "Like that gun runner needed you? You got a history
with shit like this, Vecchio. You're lucky I recognized her from the ATF
before you did something stupid." 

 "That wasn't real, Kowalski," Vecchio said, and he still sounded--sad,
and certain, and that scared Ray more than anything. "I knew that. That
was just to distract myself from you. This is--I don't know what it is,
but it's real." 

 Ray had nothing to say to that. Because maybe his bluff this morning had
been for nothing. Maybe Vecchio had already chosen. 

 Fraser was right, he'd taken Vecchio for granted. He'd thought Vecchio
would be there waiting when the time was right. He'd never really thought
Vecchio would leave. Just like Stella. And shit, he couldn't do this
again. "Vecchio--" he whispered, and hated the pleading in his own voice.
"Don't. Please." He reached out a hand, finally, and Vecchio actually
flinched back. And yeah, there it came, the gaping black hole inside him,
begging to be filled with cheap jack and a new role, a new job. And he
didn't want it. He wanted Vecchio, the softness of his skin waiting for
Ray to discover it. Vecchio wanted him, he did, and Ray would be so good
to him-- 

 "I don't--" Vecchio bowed his head. "I don't know, Kowalski. I can't
choose." 

 "Well, you gotta. We all know that." 

 Vecchio nodded slowly. "But--we're partners no matter what. I'm not going
to give up on that." 

 It was more than he'd expected, really. More maybe than he deserved. But
it would be stupid and a half to take it. "I dunno, Vecchio," Ray said,
looking at his boots so he didn't have to see Vecchio's face. "I don't
know if I can do that. You saw what happened with Stella. Partnering you
when you're in a duet with him? I don't think--" 

 "Kowalski, I love you," Vecchio snapped. 

 Ray sneered so hard it almost hurt. "Right back atcha," he said. "But you
got a lot of nerve saying it now. I'm not doing this to myself. We talk to
Rossi and then you make a fucking decision." 

 ### 

 "He simply agreed to forgive Mr. 2--that is, Mr. Lombardi's debt? Just
like that?" Fraser asked when they were all of them back at the Consulate,
Lombardi safely dropped off at his apartment and Dief eating wolf kibble
in the breakroom. 

 "Well, nah, not just like that," Ray said. "Me and Kowalski had to throw
our weight around a little." God, it had felt good after the week they'd
had. The two of them again, working like a smoothly-oiled machine. It
would be like that in bed, he just knew it, the two of them in tune,
always knowing exactly where the other one was, moving into each other's
empty spaces with perfect grace. How could he let that go when he'd never
even had it? And he could have had it, all this time. Kowalski wanted him.
Even now it felt like a goddamn miracle. 

 "So after a few judicious threats, he agreed as how if he were to be
involved in any kind of illegal bookmaking operation, he certainly would
not want to invite the closer involvement of the police, and that if Mr.
267 was hypothetically his client, then refraining from betting with him
again would hypothetically be accepted in lieu of payment." Kowalski
sounded satisfied, too. It killed Ray's high more than out-and-out
sulking, because he knew that sooner or later the other shoe would explode
on impact. 

 Fraser looked unsatisfied. "We still haven't gotten justice for Mr.
Marcotte," he said. 

 "Yeah, Benny, I know," Ray said softly. "But Slug's dead. We got nothing
tying him to Rossi and not much chance of getting it, and even if you get
Rossi--guys like that are like goddamned cockroaches. You can't expect to
take down the entire Chicago mob." 

 Fraser smiled at him a little. "Perhaps not in a week," he said. And
shit, Ray thought he might really mean it. 

 "You better not take 'em on alone," he said. 

 "I don't want to," Fraser said. 

 Suddenly there was absolute quiet in the room. They were both looking at
him, Kowalski and Fraser, they were waiting for him to choose and he
couldn't. "I can't do this," he blurted out. "I mean, it's like that
training we had at the academy, right? About how to deal with hostage
situations and what to do if the guy asked you to choose who he'd kill and
who he'd let live. I don't remember what you're supposed to do anymore but
you're not supposed to just choose and anyway I can't." 

 "Don't make it sound like this is some fucking charity, Vecchio,"
Kowalski said. "You're not taking pity on one of us. You're telling us who
you want to fuck more. So make up your fucking mind." 

 Ray looked at Fraser, but Fraser was raising his eyebrows at Ray with a
he-said-it expression. 

 "Shit," he said. "I just--it's only been a few days! How am I supposed to
know what I want?" But he knew what he wanted. He wanted both of them. 

 "Cry me a river, Vecchio," Kowalski said viciously. "You don't get to
feel sorry for yourself, because either way you end up with someone and
one of us wanders off to die alone." 

 Fraser was watching him now with that look of bottomless understanding
that just killed him, every time. "There are," he said hesitantly. "There
are cultures where situations like these are not unheard of." 

 Ray's heart felt like it had come unglued, bouncing its way up his
throat, and any second now it was gonna pop against the top of his head.
"Yeah?" he croaked. 

 "Well," Fraser said. "While reports of non-monogamous cultures among
native peoples have been systematically exaggerated by researchers who
failed to fully explore the complexities of native interpersonal relations
and the semantic nuances of their sexual vocabulary, there are undoubtedly
plenty of cases where strict monogamy such as is generally practiced in
Western-European-influenced societies is not the norm. Even within those
societies there are examples--the Mormons, for instance, although--" 

 "Yeah, Benny, I get the idea," Ray interrupted, his heart sinking again.
Fraser subsided, turning his hat over and over in his hands. God, he was
so greedy, two amazing guys and Ray just felt sick. 

 "Polygamy, huh?" Kowalski asked, eyes narrowed. Sounding like maybe he'd
actually consider it. "Like, we get joint custody?" 

 "Technically the term would be 'polyandry,'" Fraser said, watching his
hat. "Or I believe the popular term these days is 'polyamory,' as it has
fewer connotations of the official sanction of marriage." 

 "It just--it doesn't seem fair," Ray said. "I mean, the two of you would
be alone half the time and I'd be--" He paused, not sure how to say it.
Not sure, either, if it would be okay for him to bring up how he got hot
just looking at the two of them standing next to each other. 

 "Drowning in cock?" Kowalski suggested. 

 Ray snorted. "Not quite how I woulda put it, but yeah." 

 Kowalski looked him over, that careful, focused look Kowalski hardly ever
gave anything. Then, to Ray's surprise, he did the same thing to Fraser. 

 He stepped up to Ray's shoulder so it was the two of them facing Fraser,
like they were in a tight spot and he was letting Ray know he had backup.
"You know, Vecchio," he said with a smirk, "if you wanted a threesome,
maybe you should have picked a number three who wasn't quite so vanilla." 

 Fraser's head snapped up. "Vanilla?" 

 "Yeah, you know, the boring ice cream flavor. Means you're not
adventuresome in bed." 

 Fraser's eyes narrowed. "Actually, vanilla was once considered an exotic
and rare spice. Even today, it's rarer than most people realize. Nearly
ninety-five percent of supposed 'vanilla-flavored' products are actually
made with synthetic vanillin." 

 Kowalski rocked on his heels, tilted his head, gave Fraser a challenging
grin. "Okay then," he said, as if Fraser were making any sense at all, "I
got a little proposition for the two of you. I got us into this mess,
right? Treated Vecchio like a poker chip. Turnabout is fair play, I
figure. So the two of you, you play a few hands of poker. For M&Ms, maybe.
Winner gets to fuck me." 

 The idea slammed into Vecchio like a full-body tackle. "Jesus, Kowalski,
what is wrong with you? That's--" He swallowed. "The hottest thing I've
ever heard, actually." 

 Kowalski bumped shoulders with him, casual and buddies, and somehow that
just made the idea more perverse. More seductive. "I got my moments.
Fraser, you in?" 

 Fraser licked his lip. The rest of him was still as a stone. "Two wrongs
don't make a right." 

 "This isn't a wrong," Kowalski said, gentler than Ray'd expected. "I'm
offering." 

 "Kowalski," Ray said slowly, "have you ever--have you ever been with a
guy before?" 

 "Nah," Kowalski said easily. "But I been fucked before. Stella had a
plastic dick." He smiled. "I been missing it, if you wanna know the
truth." 

 "Wow," Ray said, meeting Fraser's eyes. Fraser's darkening eyes. "That
would be even hotter if you'd ever seen Stella. She's tiny and blonde and
very...no-nonsense." 

 "The two of you can't be serious," Fraser said, sounding frustrated and
almost--almost desperate. "You'd really stake your futures on--on a card
game." 

 "Hey, Benny," Ray said softly, putting a hand on Fraser's arm. Fraser
jumped. "We're not staking anything, okay? It's just a game. And it's not
our futures, either. It's the next couple hours. Just to see. Doesn't it
sound...fun? At all?" 

 "Of course it sounds fun," Fraser said tightly. "That doesn't mean it's
right, or wise." 

 "Yeah," Kowalski said firmly before Ray could answer. "Tonight, it does.
Who's it gonna hurt?" To Ray's complete surprise, he leaned forward and
brushed Fraser's lips with his own. "Come on, Frase," he said softly.
"Live a little. We're offering." 

 Fraser drew in a sharp breath, his muscles tensing under Ray's hand. "And
what does the loser get?" he asked. 

 For a second Kowalski looked nervous. Then he gave Fraser his cockiest
grin and said, "He can negotiate that with the winner." 

 And that was starting up pictures in Ray's head that were dirtier than
anything he'd ever thought he could produce, plus he loved Kowalski, he
couldn't stand how fucking brave he was, how he could stand there and
offer himself like it was no big thing when Ray knew that Kowalski wasn't
the least bit casual about sex. 

 "Benny," he said, "I need to talk to Kowalski for a minute, okay?" 

 "Of course, Ray," Fraser said, his face suddenly blank. 

 "We'll be right back," Ray emphasized, and yanked Kowalski into the
hallway with him. "Come on," he said, "he's got superhearing." So they
ducked into a room across the hall. 

 "What?" Kowalski demanded. "Isn't this what you wanted?" 

 "Yeah," Ray said, capturing one of Kowalski's fidgeting hands with his
own. "It's what I wanted. But you want out, you say the word, because--" 

 Kowalski pressed his cheek against Ray's hand, looked at Ray and Ray
couldn't believe what he saw in Kowalski's eyes. Shit, he was looking at
Ray the way he looked at Stella, except not--not unhappy. Kinda
just--shining. "I am not ever gonna want out," he said. 

 Ray closed his eyes for a second, felt Kowalski's stubble against the
back of his hand. "But you and Fraser--" 

 Kowalski smirked and let their hands drop. "Come on, Vecchio, you looked
at the guy? Who's gonna say no to that?" 

 "This isn't--he's not a pro we brought in for the evening, Kowalski! You
do this, we do this, then we're giving it a real shot, the three of us." 

 "Yeah? Dinner with your mom and everything?" 

 Ray shuddered, because that was not going to be a fun conversation,
but--"Yeah," he said. "If it works out and you guys wouldn't rather do
traffic duty for the rest of your lives than have anything to do with
family holidays, yeah." 

 Kowalski let out a breath, went still. "I like him," he said, looking at
their clasped hands. "He's crazy but in a weirdly addictive way. Plus he
likes you so I figure that's a point in his favor." 

 "Don't get all mushy on me," Ray said, squeezing Kowalski's fingers.
Their gazes met and held, and then Kowalski tugged, gently. Ray leaned
forward and their lips met--slow kisses with no tongue. Ray was tingling
and hot all over when Kowalski pulled away. 

 Ray licked his lips. "You know I gotta let him win, right? 'Cause you and
me, we're already--" 

 "Yeah, course," Kowalski said with a little eye-roll. "But if you make
him want to win he'll do all the work for you. Guy's competitive as hell
and fantastic at poker." 

 ### 

 "Everyone knows Canadians suck at poker," Kowalski said, slouching in his
chair in a way that was somehow more suggestive than a giant neon sign
saying Kowalski's Crotch Here! Ray wasn't sure because Kowalski was still
in his old, baggy jeans from the day before, but he thought he might be
hard. Fraser slid off his jacket. 

 "Shut up, Kowalski, it's not his fault," Ray said, ignoring the beads of
sweat forming on his own forehead. "It's genetic. Probably something in
the water." 

 "I beat you, didn't I?" Fraser asked, a hint of steel in his voice and
his eyes on Kowalski's zipper. "Besides, if it's something in the water,
it can't be genetic." 

 "I was drunk," Kowalski pointed out, pulling out a toothpick and sucking
on it. "Otherwise you would have had to bow to my superior American
know-how." He leaned so far backwards in the chair the front two legs left
the ground. Fraser took off his tie. 

 "Yeah, Benny," Ray said. Jesus, he felt like he'd been hard for hours and
the two of them were not helping his concentration. Better make this
quick. "We got Vegas and the Wild West and you got what? A bunch of
salmon." 

 "Poker is just as common in Canada as it is in the States," Fraser said,
and went into this long speech about the Yukon Gold Rush, his father, and
Canadian professional poker players that Ray ignored while he discarded
his highest card and one of a pair of eights. 

 ### 

 Ray dragged the desk chair around to the side of the bed and sat in it.
Then he took off his tie and toed off his shoes. Waited. Fraser and
Kowalski were eyeing each other more like circling dogs than like guys
about to have sex. But they had to figure this out themselves, and Ray had
faith in Kowalski's ability to seduce pretty much anything if he was
motivated. 

 Turned out he should have had faith in Fraser, because Fraser didn't say
anything, just cocked an eyebrow at Kowalski and pushed his suspenders off
his shoulders. He started unbuttoning his shirt, and Kowalski went still
and watched his hands like they were a Blackhawks game, the World Series,
and Bullitt all rolled into one. When Fraser started to pull the shirt
off, he winced a little, and then Kowalski was right there, easing his
arms out of the sleeves. "You sure you're up to this?" he said. "'Cause we
can wait. I just figured you would be, since you and Vecchio--" 

 "You know about that?" Fraser asked, looking startled. 

 Ray froze, waiting to see what Kowalski would say. 

 Kowalski made Fraser sweat a little, eyed him up and down, lifted his
chin. "Hey, me and Vecchio can wait," he said finally, leering a little.
"Just think of it as an initiation rite." 

 "Into what?" Fraser asked. 

 Kowalski shrugged. "The partnership. You're the new guy." 

 Ray let out a whole lot of breaths he hadn't realized he was holding.
From the looks of it, so did Fraser. "I see," he said. "Anyway, I assure
you there's nothing wrong with me but a little residual soreness. I am
quite up to this." 

 Quick as lightning, Kowalski stepped into Fraser's space, cupped him
through his pants. Ray bit back a moan. "Guess you are," Kowalski said,
and snickered. 

 Fraser raised both eyebrows now, actually looking sort of amused. "Take
your clothes off," he said. "And get on the bed." 

 "You're the boss," Kowalski said, his voice perfectly steady as he
clumsily toed off his boots and fumbled with the buttons on his fly. He
put his hands on the waistband of his pants, swallowed, and glanced at
Ray. 

 Ray didn't deserve this, both of them, he didn't, oh God. He pressed his
hand helplessly against his dick, swallowing another moan at the
discomfort and the sweet hard jolt of pleasure. After an endless second
Kowalski smiled at him, a shockingly sweet little smile, and shimmied out
of his jeans. 

 Ray's eyes met Fraser's and neither of them said anything but he was
pretty sure they were both thinking Damn, even if Fraser was phrasing it
some more polite way in his head. 

 Kowalski grinned--he'd always loved attention, the asshole--and pulled
off his t-shirt, too. Now he was wearing nothing but gray boxer-briefs,
which were not exactly making it into Playgirl any time this century, but
Jesus, Ray was this close to losing it. He'd wanted to wait until they
were occupied with each other to start jerking off, but hey, he'd done it
last night, right? So now there were two of them, that was all. He owed it
to them to trust them, to let them see how much he wanted this, how--and
apparently while he was rationalizing his hands were being smart and
getting on with it, because he'd already unbuckled his belt and pulled
down his fly and his own hand around his dick right now was one of the
best things he'd ever felt. 

 "Jesus, Vecchio," Kowalski hissed, and tugged off his boxers. Ray's
fingers tightened almost painfully at the sight of Kowalski's cock, as
pale and smooth and beautiful as the rest of him, and hard. Then Kowalski
turned around and crawled onto the bed, hands and knees, and Ray had to
close his eyes for a few seconds, breathe hard, squeeze at the base of his
cock, talk himself down. He didn't want to come before they even got
started. But damn, all that rustling plus his imagination wasn't much
easier to take than the real thing. 

 When he heard the little pop of a tube of slick being opened, he let
himself look again. Fraser'd taken the rest of his clothes off--his
bruises were still visible but they did seem to be getting lighter, and
damn, his legs were even nicer out of the pants. "When did you buy lube,
Fraser?" Ray asked. 

 Fraser glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a flash of white
teeth. "That's not important, Ray," he said, and Kowalski pushed backwards
with a low moan. Jesus, yeah, Fraser had a finger in him, he was feeling
around with this look of concentration on his face like he wasn't hard as
a rock, like this was a freaking science experiment. 

 Like he was calculating angles. 

 Ray's throat went dry. His hand started moving again without any
intervention from his brain. 

 Fraser was driving Kowalski crazy too. He kept squirming and pushing
backwards onto Fraser's fingers--two of them, now--saying, "Come on, just
do it, I am ready, I was ready last week, Jesus fuck Fraser--" 

 Fraser's hand stilled, and his other hand came down on Kowalski's
shoulder. "Stay still, or I'll have to bind you," he said calmly. 

 Kowalski's mouth fell open. It looked like maybe half surprise and half
arousal. Ray was pretty sure his own face looked about the same. 

 "Purely for your own protection, of course," Fraser said. 

 "Cuffs?" Kowalski asked, a hitch in his voice, and apparently Kowalski
liked that idea. 

 "Probably," Fraser said. "I don't think Detective Vecchio would like me
to wrinkle his tie." Didn't even look at Ray when he said it, and just the
idea, that Fraser'd been thinking about tying Kowalski up with his tie,
the strong line of Fraser's shoulder and arms in the light of the desk
lamp, the calm, shadowed lines of his face--Ray'd never felt anything like
this before. 

 He slouched down further in the chair, played his thumb over the head of
his dick, waited to find out what Kowalski would do. He knew Kowalski was
thinking about being stubborn on purpose, just to get Fraser to follow
through, and damn, Ray could see it already. If he slitted his eyes
Kowalski's bracelet and watch flashed silver like cuffs-- 

 But Kowalski didn't. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, relaxing
against Fraser with a low, breathy moan. Patient, face soft and slack with
pleasure while Fraser opened him up. 

 Finally, when Kowalski was trembling all over and Ray had had to take his
hands off himself entirely, Fraser picked up the condom from where he'd
set it down on the sheets and carefully opened the packet with his teeth.
That mouth--at the little ripping sound, Kowalski moaned again and dropped
his head down on his folded arms. Jesus, his hair, the back of his
neck--Ray loved him so much, he wanted to touch them, both of them, wanted
to slide the condom over Fraser's erection and kiss the bruises on his
arm. He gripped the arms of the chair to keep from moving. 

 Then Fraser was pushing into Kowalski, slow and steady, and Kowalski was
talking, his voice harsh and breathless and slipping into a moan every few
words. "Oh, fuck, I forgot how great it feels," he said. "I missed this so
bad. There's nothing like it--oh, fuck, Fraser, there. Yeah, oh. Almost
right--there--" 

 "Like this?" Fraser asked, shifting on his knees and thrusting forward
and up. That voice of his, that crazy voice was tight and there was a
sheen of sweat on his forehead and his back. 

 "Yeah, maybe a little to the left, and harder," Kowalski said. They were
figuring it out, working through it, and then Kowalski reared his head
back and shouted. 

 Fraser actually grinned. He thrust again. Kowalski put up a hand to brace
himself against the headboard and shoved back, and Fraser's grin slipped.
"Touch yourself," he said. "Please." 

 Ray was glad Fraser was talking to Kowalski and not him, because if he so
much as laid a finger on himself he was gonna come. Kowalski didn't look
like he was in much better straits. "Yeah," he murmured hoarsely. "You're
the boss." He reached back and grabbed himself and then, for the first
time since he'd gotten on the bed, he turned his head and looked straight
at Ray. Didn't move his hand, just let his eyes run over Ray, down to his
dick which was sticking straight out of his pants. He probably looked
pretty stupid but Kowalski didn't seem to think so. He stared at Ray's
cock and licked his lips. 

 Ray's hips thrust forward so hard he almost fell out of the chair, and
then Kowalski's hand was moving. Kowalski's head hung down as Fraser
fucked him, the headboard creaking, his whole body strung tight. He gasped
and came all over the sheets. 

 Fraser slowed, his hands gentle on Kowalski's hips, and when Kowalski had
stopped shaking, Fraser stilled. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked. 

 "Jeez, do you hafta be so polite all the time?" Kowalski demanded, still
sounding like he could barely breathe. Fraser tensed, and Kowalski must
have felt it because he reached back, grabbed for Fraser. "Nah," he said
softly. "Feels nice, being close to someone." 

 Ray was gonna have a heart attack, they were gonna kill him, he hadn't
known his pulse could go that fast. Kowalski being sexy and cocky was one
thing, but Kowalski being vulnerable was something else again. 

 Fraser drew in a shuddering breath and looked down at Kowalski for a long
moment. Then he nodded, running a hand down Kowalski's spine. "Come on,"
he said, and turned Kowalski so they were both lying on their sides, with
Fraser wrapped around Kowalski like they were spooning, his hand flat
against Kowalski's belly. Ray could see Fraser thrusting, gentle and slow
and shallow, and then Fraser leaned forward and just nuzzled Kowalski,
rubbing his nose into the sensitive spot under his ear. And Jesus, the way
Kowalski arched gratefully into the touch, closed his eyes and made a
hungry noise like he'd been yearning for someone to just hold him-- 

 Ray wrapped his hand around himself again, because he couldn't wait any
more. 

 Fraser sucked on Kowalski's earlobe, kissed his neck, murmured, "Ray,"
his voice cracking, not talking to Ray at all, talking to Kowalski with
all that tenderness, and that was it, Ray was coming with a groan, and
yep, that'd be two or three heart attacks, right there. 

 For a minute he just sprawled there, spent and dazed. Then he saw
Kowalski watching him, Kowalski's lazy, sweet smile as Fraser fucked him.
"You get off on cuddling, Vecchio? Really?" And Ray didn't care about the
bet anymore, he had to be on that bed now. 

 He climbed in, pressed up against Kowalski's front and kissed him. "Mmm,
Vecchio," Kowalski murmured. "You gotta ask Fraser's permission." 

 "You have it," Fraser said hastily. "Please." 

 So of course Ray had to sit up, lean over Kowalski and kiss Fraser, too.
Kowalski spread his warm fingers across Ray's chest, and Fraser kissed
back, hungry and sweet. Ray ran his hand down Fraser's side, thumbing his
nipple. Fraser started, which made Kowalski moan, his fingers twitching
against Ray's chest, and say, "Do that again, Vecchio." So Ray did,
kissing Fraser deeper and rubbing his thumb over Fraser's nipple in the
small gap between Fraser and Kowalski's bodies until Fraser gasped against
his mouth and shook, spilling into Kowalski. 

 "Ohhh," Kowalski said. "Yeah." Then, "What the hell did you buy a twin
for anyway, Vecchio?" 

 Ray gave him a small shove. "So, Benny," he said, heart still thumping
against his ribs, "you think this is something you could get used to?" 

 Fraser's face was pressed against the back of Kowalski's neck, eyes
closed. At that, though, he darted a tentative glance at Ray. "You
really--the two of you really want--?" 

 "Yeah," Kowalski said. "We want." Ray's heart swelled. He brushed a thumb
over his cheekbone, and Kowalski smiled up at him, looking sex-hazy and
content and warm with Fraser's arm still slung over his hip. "But only if
you buy us a bigger bed, Fraser. And maybe rent an apartment that's not
Vecchio's mom's place." 

 "I think," Fraser said slowly, starting to smile, "I think I can do
that."

  
  

End Lucky in Love by belmanoir 

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