Title: "Future Perfect" Author: EA Karras and Magnes Series: "Mountie Slayer" Disclimers: DS belongs to Alliance Notes: This takes place partially before "Scenes From a Vampire Age", and partially after Lilith and Al. --- He lay on the couch, half asleep and waiting for Fraser to get home. The Ice Queen had dragged him to one of those Canadian Wicca Public Function Dance Recital thigamajigs she always seemed to be in charge of. And Dief was with Ma Vecchio, having practically begged his way into a dinner/dessert type deal. So he was alone. And he felt alone, really alone for the first time in a while. He curled up more on the couch, watching one of the weird psychic hotline commercials. He loved watching those. Sometimes, when he listened really close, he could get some idea of what the "caller's" real problems were. And they were a lot more interesting than those 'My boyfriend says he loves me, but I'm not sure, so I'll call a hotline' problems. Stella had thought that ability weird, which said something about her. If a vengence demon thinks you're weird, it's time to evaluate. Almost on cue, the phone rang. Maybe he'd be lucky, and it would be Fraser saying he was coming home early. No such luck. It was Stella wanting to discuss a case. It took nearly five minutes to get her to leave him alone. He closed his eyes, remembering. ~~~~ He'd been divorced a week now. One week without Stella, and he still felt like crap. He should be feeling great, it wasn't as if their marriage were a bed of roses. Whenever he so much as lifted a finger wrong, there she was with the screaming and the threats of losing bodily appendages. What kind of marriage was that? An emotionally abusive one, that's what kind. And he thought that it should've been him who filed for divorce. Wished it had been him. He loved her, yes. But he also hated her. Hated her for what she'd done to him. There was no esteem left in his body, his mind an emotionally scarred battleground. And he wished that he could hate her. Really, really hate her. But he couldn't. He was dancing on his dance step marks when it happened. A sudden ache in the back of his eyes, then blinding flashes of pain and images. Suddenly, he was trying to hold himself up by grasping the stereo, tiny, pained moans coming out of his lips. Flashing images. A man in red. A Mountie? A vampire. Gun shots. More flashes, faster and faster. A crucifixion. Marcus Ellery. Faster. Stella. A kid with funny hair and a tail. He gripped his skull, falling to his knees on the floor. He could feel blood rushing from his nose in a gush. His breathing came in haggard gasps. "No...what...hap...God..." He fell forward, and the images slowed. The Mountie again. He felt a sense of calm, a sense of happiness in the pain. The Mountie and him. Together. Happy. Safe. When? Could it be soon? Please? He remembered confusion, his own and the look in a pair of dark blue eyes that expected him to be...someone else. There was such disappointment and hurt there, calling to him. //Do something!// he screamed to the image in his mind. If he didn't act now, that dream of the future might not come true. And he wanted that dream. Craved it. As a man in the desert craves water. Safety. Sanctuary in the form of dark hair and pale skin, a smile to live and die for. //Help me to forget her.// Nothing else for it. He felt his arms wrap around broad shoulders, pull a stiff body into a tight embrace. ...Fraser, buddy... //I love you.// Had he spoken those words aloud? He tasted blood. How long had he been lying here? Long enough for his nosebleed to stop and the blood on the floor was a sticky stain. He sat up, shivering and hugging himself, trying to understand what had just happened. Alone and lonely, in a world where nobody cared. ~~~~ He woke with a start when the door rattled, jerking his head off the pillow in time to hear Fraser's keys jingle. He struggled out of the couch and hurried to the door, Fumbling with the locks to jerk it open. Fraser. The Mountie looked wonderful in his uniform and boots. He smiled at Ray's rumpled appearance and the detective felt his heart skip a beat. Suddenly he pulled Fraser into a tight hug, similar to the one he'd given him nearly 3 years ago. But longer, and definetly not one sided. "Ray? Is something wrong? Did something happen?" Fraser whispered, twining his fingers in Ray's hair. ~~~ "Actually, I'm not at all sure he is my friend." The words hurt more than the flash had. Hurt more than Stella ever had hurt him. He frowned, trying not to let his emotions seep through. Why did they hurt this much? He barely knew the guy, and obviously the Mountie had no idea who he was. Hadn't they told him? The Mountie was saying something to him, looking at him with the same confusion that he had before. Something about his house. He followed, quietly. Thinking about the flash he'd had so many months ago. He knew that he needed to be with the guy, by his side. Always. No matter what. *** Later, after the whole fiasco with the performance artist and their conversation on the roof of the Riv, they sat in Ray's apartment eating takeout. Ray suddenly yawned, a long, jaw cracking yawn. Fraser looked surprised, then smiled. "I should go, let you sleep." Ray shook his head, grabbing Fraser by the sleeve. "Where are you staying? Since your apartment went up, I mean." He was so tired, barely able to keep his eyes open, it had been so long since he'd had anyone over though, that he didn't want to let that go. Or Fraser. "I don't know. I suppose my office." "At the.embassy...consular...consulate thing?" "Yes." "No." Fraser blinked, obviously surprised. "Pardon?" "You can stay here. I've got a couch. You can use it...." Not waiting for an answer, he pulled Fraser into the living room, opened the closet and started piling old pillows and blankets on the couch. He noticed Fraser's look of surprise. "What?" The Mountie looked down, stammering in confused astonishment. "I-I-wouldn't want to inconvieniance you that way...Ray." He said the name hesitantly, as if he wasn't totally convinced it was actually Ray's or just borrowed for this role he played. "It's no problem." He looked over at the werewolf. "Yer both welcome ta stay as long as ya need." When he lifted his head, Fraser's eyes were full of wonder that he should be met with such an open, generous spirit here in a land that seemed to trap and supress such trust. When he didn't answer immediately, Ray grew uneasy, as if he'd overstepped some boundry. "Listen, if ya don' wanna, that's fine. I just thought ya might be more comfortable here insteada some-" "Ray." He stopped the skittish American from turning away with a gentle hand on his arm. Ray looked down, trying not react to the warmth, the jolt delivered by strong fingers. "Thank you kindly." "Yeah. It's um...no problem." Ray suddenly pulled away. Something didn't feel right, not at the moment. He wasn't sure what. "I'm gonna go to bed." "All right." Fraser watched Ray go into his bedroom, holding a pillow tightly. He looked at his wolf. "What?" *** It hit him in his sleep, so he thought it was a dream at first. He could see a woman, young and obviously as dead as the ones he had been unprivleged enough to talk to when he was with his old precint. But he wasn't as afraid of her as he had been of those ones. Not afraid at all. She was kind, and she was pure. Happy. Then he saw Fraser and himself, saw the dreamselves falling down some sort of mine shaft. He was wearing glasses, his normal ones. Except they were red. And his hair was...purple? He saw the woman again, and this time he was afraid of her. Saw a dirty looking man, and was afraid of him. He could hear himself screaming as the images came faster, as blood ran. He was curled around one of his pillows clutching it tightly. He'd learned quickly that he needed to hold something while in one of these visions. It was calming, but only moderately so. Through the haze of the flash, he heard an echoey knock on the door. He tried to answer, tried to sit up, but fell back on the bed, his head tossing back and forth as the images intensified. He felt drops of his blood trickle past his lips, and to his dream self, it tasted oddly good. His stomach clenched in fear. More choking screams made it past his lips. He could see very far off, and it seemed to become more painful. A blonde girl, kind and pure. Corrupted. A man who he felt was his father, even though he looked nothing like him. Fighting. Pain. Agony. Burning. He screamed again. Suddenly the door was open, and the bed was moving. Arms were around him, moving him onto his side. Holding him tightly. "Oh God....stop it....I can't take it anymore..." "Sh. It's ok. Breathe. Just breathe..." Pained screams turned into wracking sobs, and he knew he was losing it now. The vision continued, not ebbing at all. Fraser in the snow, looking up at the spangled sky, unafraid of whatever it was that cast a long shadow across the pristine whiteness. Fraser. Fraser. He was talking. Ray could hear him as the images slowly released him and the shivering tremors began. "Shh. It's okay, Ray. I have you. Just breath. It will be all right. Shh." Strong, warm arms held him, slowly rocked him. He had not been so comforted since he was a toddler. It felt wonderful. So right. He was glad he'd hugged Fraser in the precinct if this was his reward. Fraser was alarmed. Ray tried to find his voice to reassure the Mountie. "...f-frase..." "Ray. Can you hear me?" "Mmmm." "Do you need to go to the hospital?" "N-no. S'Flash," he slurred, grateful for concern he heard in that voice. "M'okay." "You were screaming." "Yeah. Do that...s'times." He felt Fraser brush a hand through his hair. Was it still blond, he wondered. Ray leaned into the Mountie, fighting the residual pain and too miserable for anything like pride or shame before such willing aid. He needed this man. That much he recognized from the onset. He could only hope that someday, Fraser would need him as well. "You're certain you don't want to go to the hospital?" "Yeah." He shifted. "Sorry. Didn' mean ta ask ya ta stay and have ta play nurse." "I don't mind. Not at all. Tell me what you need." //You.// "Sleep." "Then sleep, Ray." "Stay?" "Right here." And to his everlasting joy, Fraser curled up around him, still holding him in his arms, still stroking his hair. Ray was disappointed to fall asleep so swiftly. He would have like to have enjoyed this longer. ~~~ "Why are you crying?" Fraser whispered, fingers stroking Ray's hair. Something had happened while he was with Inspector Thatcher. He knew it. He just had to find out what. "Ray, why are you crying?" "M'not..." Ray buried his face in Fraser's neck, hugging him closer. He never wanted to let go. "Happy....Don't go." "Never. I never would." "Thank you." "For what?" "For showing me. You saved my life, I think..." Fraser wasn't sure what Ray was talking about, but it was scaring him. "When?" "Three years ago." "Yes?" "I saw you. A month before I was Vecchio." "I'd remember." "In a flash." "Ah." "I knew...there was something, someone waiting for me. I needed that. Needed you." Fraser smiled gently at the emotion in his lover's voice. Did Ray know? Could he know? The hold he had on Benton Fraser was stronger than silk or steel. He needed Fraser? Fraser needed Ray to live. To go on. To face the world - be it Chicago or the Territories. He lived, he found joy, he laughed, because of this man Ray Kowalski. As he had done for Ray, so Ray had done for him - saved him from the depths of lonliness and despair. A simple hug, a bullet stopped, an offer of everything that he was and could be...How could Fraser not love him? He slipped his arms all the way around the American, pulling him into his own tight embrace. He buried his face in the spikey hair, smiling. "Thank you kindly...." He kissed the top of Ray's head. "I love you." Ray whispered. "And I you..."