Secrets    Secrets by Elisabeta Almasy

  

 Fraser was with a woman. Nothing too unusual in that, really - his buddy
was the kind of man who could have any woman he wanted and Kowalski knew
it. Only he knew this girl and the emphasis was most definitely on 'girl'.
She was barely eighteen, barely legal. Surely Fraser knew that. 

 He backed up out of the apartment before Diefenbaker had had a chance to
utter one single protestation. The wolf did, however, hold Kowalski in a
steely warning gaze until he was out in the hallway and the door was
closed. Stan knew better than to challenge Dief; there could be only one
winner and the thought of that overgrown mutt gloating ever time he came
near was more than enough to hasten him from Fraser's room. He would've
gone anyway - Dief just moved him along a little. His partner wasn't with
women all that often and when he was it was surely a private matter. Only
Fraser's taste in women didn't usually run to eighteen-year-old college
students. This was something new. Since when had Benny gotten kinky on
him? 

 Kowalski smiled a wry smile as he slid down the wall outside Fraser's
apartment. //I wonder if he knows who she is...// he thought, then gave
himself an immediate mental slap. Of course Fraser knew who she was! That
whole code of chivalry thing surely couldn't allow this Mountie to bed a
girl and not even know her name... could it? 

 He sighed, running a hand back over his spiky wheat-blonde hair and
pulled his knees up to his chest. His gun felt like a lead weight - and a
spiky one at that - against his knees and pressed into his torso so he
reached into his faded old jacket and pulled it from the holster, resting
it on his knees with a hand on the top. The old woman going down the
stairs gave him a wary and disapproving glance then hurried on her way.
Kowalski barely even noticed her. 

 //How in the hell did Fraser meet her?// he asked himself. //I mean, it
ain't every day that a chick from MIT comes to town... especially her...//
His thoughts were cut short as he registered noise from inside the
apartment - his ears tuned back in and he knew it was more than the wolf
padding around the room. Someone was up. 

 He leaned closer to the door, hoping to catch a snatch of conversation,
but the was none to catch. Just background noise that he couldn't work
out. He moved back and rested his head against the old plaster wall,
sighing again. //What the hell am I doing?// he thought. //I'm spying on
my best friend for Christ's sake! And why? Because of her...? Because of
him...?// He didn't know. He genuinely had no clue. 

 "Let go, Ben". He heard a voice. A feminine voice. From inside the
apartment. An American voice, with not a Chicago accent as might have made
at least a little sense to Stan but a Southern one, the accent of
Mississippi or Alabama, even. His brow knitted in confusion. 

 "Must you leave?" the male asked. Stan recognised Ben's voice even
through the door and the wall. "You're sure?" Kowalski held his breath. 

 "Yes, Ben, I'm sure". The click of heels on floorboards. She was moving.
Moving... toward the door! Suddenly Kowalski panicked. He had no idea what
to do, where to go, what he was even doing there - all he knew was he
shouldn't be there, shouldn't see her, shouldn't've listened in... but he
had. It was too late. He hauled himself to his feet and reholstered the
gun, realising too late that he'd messed up his hair even more by running
his hand through it. He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his top pocket
and put them on not because of the sun but to over his eyes. She reached
the door. She pushed it open... 

 "Fraser!" 

 "Ray!" Kowalski almost grimaced, covering his mouth with one hand, barely
able to look up. So, it wasn't her after all. It was Ben. That was both
better and worse at the same time. 

 "I wasn't expecting you so, um, early", Fraser told him, a deep red flush
spreading upward across his clean-shaven jaw into his usually snow-white
cheeks. "Would you, uh, that is, would you like to come in?" Stan
shrugged. 

 "No, thanks all the same", he said. "Maybe if I didn't know you had a,
um, err... if I didn't know you had company. No - I should be going. I
guess you won't be needing a ride...?" Fraser shook his head slightly, but
enough to displace a small lock of smooth brown hair which he swiftly
tucked away. It was the first time Stan had ever seen him with a hair out
of place. "See you later, Frase". He gave the tall, edgy, fully uniformed
Mountie a brief nod, turned on his heel and was gone before Fraser knew
what had happened. 

 //Man, could I have handled that any worse?// he asked himself, running
down the stairs and out of his partner's embarrassed gaze so fast he
almost tripped. //I mean, it's not like you don't know the guy gets laid
once in a while... even a Mountie needs a little company sometimes. But
geez, I sure wasn't expecting her!// Ray stepped out of the building and
made his way down to the GTO in a stunned silence. His morning had
definitely started out a little different to the way he'd imagined it -
little did he know there was more to come.   * *  

 The girl's face was still in his mind as he made his way to his desk in
the office, coffee in hand. Pulling off the heavy black leather jacket he
sat down, piece after piece of her remembered and reassembled inside his
head until she was there, whole and astoundingly beautiful. Yes, it was
her; it had to be. But just what in the hell was she doing in Chicago?
And, more to the point, just what was she doing in Benton Fraser's bed? 

 Ray pulled the case file that was lying on his desk closer to him, opened
it and began leafing through the pages, almost knocking his coffee from
the table in the process and without even realising he was doing it. He
wasn't seeing the faces of the suspected murderers but her face, pale,
framed by that long, fine, straight blonde hair and inset with two
star-like cobalt-blue eyes. He knew that hair was black now - he'd seen it
not ten minutes before walking through the door - but it made no
difference. She was still beautiful. Quite shockingly so. //Perhaps she
belongs with Fraser, after all// he couldn't help but think. //The most
beautiful girl I know together with the most beautiful man...//
"Kowalski!" Lieutenant Welsh's scream, undignified yet accepted amongst
the officers of the 27th District, dragged Ray from his reverie by the
scruff of the neck. He looked up from the file he wasn't really looking at
and blinked at his boss. 

 "Don't you mean Vecchio?" Detective Dewey muttered under his breath,
passing across the room. The Lieutenant just glared at him with his lips
pressed together for a few seconds as if deciding whether to make a reply
or not then turned back to Kowalski. He knew it should be getting easier
by now but calling a man Vecchio who wasn't Vecchio just never seemed
right to him, and especially since the two were so different. 

 "Ray!" he almost bellowed, taking the easy option. Ray Vecchio, Ray
Kowalski - who knew which man he meant! He got to be right and save face.
"I've been calling you for the past five minutes - get your butt in my
office. Now!" He turned and marched with almost military precision back
into the room from whence he came. Ray just sighed, picked up his cup,
closed the file and began to trudge after him. 

 "What've you been up to this time, Ray?" Dewey questioned with a grin
from his new position perched atop Francesca's desk, stirring his own cup
of coffee. Kowalski gave him his best fake smile and the finger as he
passed by and into Welsh's office. 

 The lieutenant closed the door behind him, crossing the room to his desk
and leaving Kowalski to eyeball the pair of dark-suited persons seated to
his left with a wary glance or two. There was a man and a woman, both
immaculately groomed, in long, dark trenchcoats. Just from that he could
tell they weren't cops. Unless it was internal affairs or something... 

 "Ray, sit down", Lieutenant Welsh commanded from behind his desk.
Kowalski obeyed, seating himself across from the pair and although he was
no longer looking at them he could tell they were there. Their presence
was almost tangible. "I'd like to introduce you to Special Agents Mulder
and Scully of the FBI". He rolled his eyes. He should've known. Feds. The
mere mention brought a bitter taste to his mouth - he put the cup to his
lips and took a mouthful. "You'll be working with them for the next week
or so". 

 "I'll be what?" he spluttered, coffee going everywhere. "I'll be doing
WHAT?"	

 "You'll..." Lieutenant Welsh began, only to be cut off. 

 "I think I should explain, Lieutenant", the female agent said. Kowalski
raised his eyes to find her looking at him as he wiped away the coffee
that had worked its way from his mouth, down his chin and was now dripping
from his jaw into his lap. "A girl has gone missing and out superiors have
suggested we ask your assistance on the case, Detective, as you have..." 

 "You're pulling me off a double homicide for this?" Kowalski questioned,
turning to Lieutenant Welsh. "You're pulling me off the biggest case I've
had in months to, excuse me, babysit a couple of Feds on a missing
persons?" Welsh nodded, almost glaring at Mulder and Scully. 

 "I guess that's what it amounts to, Detective", he said with more than a
touch of disgust. After all, he'd just pulled one of his best cops off of
their big case to help find some teenager just because the FBI came
a-calling. "Huey and Dewey will be taking your case. You'll be working
with the agents here". Kowalski grimaced, stood, shrugged, then moved for
the door all in one swift movement. He stopped at the exit. 

 "Well, come on you two", he said with another fake smile. "I can't sit
around all day when there's a girl to find, surely". He left the room and
left Mulder and Scully staring after him. 

 "Is her always like that?" Mulder asked Welsh with his eyebrows raised in
a mix of shock and amusement. Welsh nodded. 

 "Every second of every day", he said, smiling an evil smile. "Have fun,
won't you". The two agents rose and followed Kowalski from the room,
sharing a glance of mutual amusement as they headed for his desk. This was
going to be some assignment.   * *  

 "So, tell me about this girl you're chasing, agents, uh, I'm sorry - what
were your names again?" He said it in such a sickly-sweet tone that Scully
felt like slapping him and maybe wiping that smug smile off his face in
the process. It wasn't often people got to her but when they did... 

 "Mulder", her partner said. "Special Agent Fox Mulder. And I can assure
you - we want to be here as little as you do, Detective". Scully frowned.
Since when was Mulder so, so, downright nice? "And we wouldn't be if our
superiors didn't think it was so important". Kowalski nodded, dropping the
grin. 
 "Dana Scully". Both men turned and looked at her oddly; she sighed and
leant on the desk behind her, wishing it could open up and swallow her
whole. She glanced back up at the men who were still watching her. "You
were saying, Detective?" He nodded again, leaning back in his chair. 

 "Yeah", he said. "As I was saying. So, who's the girl and why me?" 

 "Well, the why part's because you've met her", Scully said, cutting in
just as Mulder's mouth was opening to speak. 

 "That is, the FBI has you on file as having been present during an
operation concerning the missing girl", Mulder said, glancing at his
partner who was now sitting on the desk behind them, swinging her legs
distractingly. "And as for who - well, she's the daughter of Henrik
Giger-Dahmer, director of the FBI". Ray froze completely, eyes riveted to
Mulder even after he'd spoken the words. She was missing? 

 He couldn't speak. His throat felt suddenly tight, like it was closing up
so he couldn't breathe. She was missing! He blinked. Once, twice; a third
time as his gaze shifted to the redhead sitting across from him atop the
desk with her hands shoved underneath her thighs, swinging her legs like a
schoolgirl. For some reason that almost made him angry. He turned back to
her partner, the tall dark-haired man with the serious face and the
smiling eyes that usually made him seem appealingly happy but they just
served to anger Ray further, through no fault of their own. He closed his
eyes, took a deep breath, counted to ten and hoped to God that the pair of
them would be gone when he looked up. No such luck. They were still there,
as girly and as smug as ever. 

 "Darcy?" he questioned, although his voice was more of a squeak than a
voice. He took a mouthful of lukewarm coffee, swallowed, coughed and
started again, running a hand through his hair, not noticing how they were
both watching him like hawks. "Darcy Giger-Dahmer? You mean Darcy, right?"
Mulder nodded solemnly, his eyes smiling. Scully nodded slowly, swinging
her legs. 

 "Yes, that's her", Mulder said. "Darcy Giger-Dahmer". Scully cocked her
head and narrowed her eyes. 

 "Do you know her?" she asked. Ray's eyes dropped to the desk and he
picked up a pencil, tapping it what he hoped looked like absently against
the back of his hand. 

 "Who?" he questioned. "Darcy?" 

 //Who the hell else could I mean?// Scully thought, but replied: "Yes,
Darcy". She stopped swinging her legs, suddenly serious. 

 "No", Kowalski said, eyes rooted to the desk and its many coffee stains
that he was adding to as he spoke. "I mean yes. We met a couple of times a
year or so back - we were protecting the house. But I suppose you knew
that, right" His clear blue eyes flickered up and met Scully's green ones.
"Right?" 

 "We knew about the protection", she said. "We didn't know you'd met her".


 The ensuing silence was awkward and seemed to Ray if no one else to last
forever. Finally he stood, scraping his chair back and lifting up his
jacket, eyes everywhere in the bustling office but on the two agents. 

 "I'll see you outside", he said. "I'd suggest we take my car and I
presume we have someplace to go". And he left the room at that. Mulder
turned to Scully with his eyebrows raised in that same weird look of
shocked amusement. 

 "What do you make of him?" he asked in a low, almost conspiratorial
voice, leaning toward his partner. 

 "I don't know", she replied, easing herself from the desktop. "But one
thing's for sure. He's not telling us the whole truth". Mulder nodded his
agreement and they began their walk to the exit. "He knows something. And
I'm going to find out what it is".   * *  

 Scully caught up to Kowalski as he reached his parked GTO and wasted no
time in climbing into the passenger side. Mulder arrived moments later,
sighing loudly as he let himself into the back, making a silent promise to
himself to get his partner back for stealing his seat. Not that it was
really his seat, of course, but there had always been a sort of unspoken
agreement between the two of them that he got the front seat if someone
else was driving; at least, that's the way Mulder saw it. In reality, he
just usually made sure he got there first. 

 Stan turned the key in the ignition and his treasured possession sprang
to life under them - he revved the car violently, speeding away from the
kerb and the station with a loud squeal of tires that helped illicit
protestations from Mulder, only they didn't so much slow him as amuse him.
Gunning the engine, a smile broke out over his lips. He wasn't really sure
why, but Scully guessed it was a mix of velocity and her partner's
discomfort, something she was almost ashamed to say she understood. Before
she knew it and before she could stop it, her perfectly made-up lips were
smiling, too. 

 Things hadn't been going well between the agents for the past few months.
For a start, Mulder's constant leanings to the paranormal to the point
where every case they saw just *had* to be an alien abduction or an act of
magic was grating on Scully's professional,
logical-explanation-for-everything scientific nerves; but that wasn't all.
He'd started to take her so much for granted - phoning her at all hours of
the day and night and expecting her to drop everything just because he
said so, sending her to see his creepy 'friends' or to a whole other city
on some silly wild goose chase. Well, she'd had enough, and she was
seriously considering asking for a transfer; working closer to her medical
roots had never before seemed such an appealing option. At least then
she'd be away from Mulder's selfishness, not to mention his new
girlfriend. Meddling little interfering bitch... 

 Mulder, meanwhile, was almost blissfully unaware; as far as he was
concerned things couldn't have been better between them if they'd won the
lottery or actually proved the existence of extra-terrestrials. Sure,
Scully seemed a little moody, but she did exactly what he asked without
complaint just like always so he put it down to PMS. And his love life was
great - not only was Kelly the barmaid from down the block a complete
stunner, but they actually had more in common than he'd thought at first.
After all, he liked football and before she'd started working at the bar
she'd been a football cheerleader... 

 Scully finally took the hint and fastened her seatbelt after the third
time she almost fell out of her seat due to Ray's high-speed cornering. As
the belt snapped fast she took a peek in the rear-view mirror and stifled
a giggle as she saw Mulder flung from one side of the back seat to the
other then quickly straighten himself, his clothes and his hair up again
only to have it all done over with the next corner. Ray had noticed, too,
and that only made his cornering even harsher. It probably wasn't doing
his suspension any good, he reasoned, but it sure as hell was fun to see
that greasy-haired weasel of an FBI agent flung all over like that From
now on, everywhere they went he'd be driving like that. It was all worth
it for the look on the guy's partner's face alone. 

 The car screeched to a halt outside the apartment block, sending Mulder
flying with his whole body weight against the back of Scully's seat. His
right shoulder took most of the blow and he winced momentarily though more
from embarrassment than pain; his weight against the seat gave Scully
quite a jolt but it still wasn't enough to wipe the smile off her face,
Stan noticed. In fact, it was all she could do to keep from collapsing
into a fit of laughter, and he found himself frowning at her, wondering
what exactly the guy had done to make her so mad. But then, as if sensing
his eyes on her, her head snapped round toward him, all traces of the
smile vanished. He had to admire that professionalism. 

 "Shall we, Detective?" she more stated than asked, her gaze as crisp as
her words. He nodded twice, turned, and the two of them exited this
vehicle simultaneously then gathered on the sidewalk. They waited as
Mulder recovered his composure from his recent connection with Kowalski's
passenger seat then the three of them - Kowalski, Mulder and Scully - made
their way inside. The search had begun.   * *  

 Detective Stan Kowalski's reluctance to give any sort of aid other than
as a chauffeur had begun to find Scully mildly perplexed by the end of
their first day together, and what made it even worse was that judging by
everything everyone she'd talked to had said about him, he should've been
the best damn officer she'd ever met. The profile she'd read was a
veritable treasure trove of brilliant references for this man, the guy who
had a stunning number of citations for bravery and a number of closed,
completed cases to match, yet there he was, virtually mute, and when he
did speak it was merely to utter some sarcastic comment or other under his
breath. The contrast between report and reality was something Scully
couldn't help but recognise. She began to doubt whether this was actually
the same man at all - okay, so he wasn't Detective Raymond Vecchio as the
file had said but that file had been altered to accommodate the new guy
anyway. The file she had may have said 'Detective Raymond Vecchio' on the
front in that smudgy Chicago PD typewritten ink, but it was supposed to
tell her about the man posing as Vecchio, Detective Stanley Raymond
Kowalski. That night, she began to doubt that it did. 

 As he drove her and her near catatonic partner back to their hotel that
night, Scully found herself sneaking a peek at him from the corner of her
eye; he sure looked like the guy in the file - short blonde hair, blue
eyes, 5'10 1/2", kind of skinny - but pretty soon that wasn't what she was
looking for anymore. She was completely captivated by the way each
streetlight they passed lit up his oddly angular face, how his brow seemed
to furrow in concentration as he drove, how his skin seemed almost ghostly
white against the dark upholstery. The alternating darkness and light
playing across his features was fascinating, exposing then quickly hiding
every little imperfection in that near perfect skin, highlighting his
sweeping cheekbones and hard jaw with shadows unlike anything she'd ever
seen. Or perhaps she just hadn't been looking. 

 "Agent Scully, wouldn't you mind telling me why you're staring at me?"
Kowalski's voice broke the silence along with Scully's stare. 

 "I wasn't staring", she said, just a little too quickly, her voice just a
little too strained. Kowalski smiled. 

 "Yes, you were", he told her. "You have been for the last five minutes at
least. So, what's so fascinating about me that you're staring like that?"
Scully swallowed, giving herself a quick mental slap and tried to come up
with a good excuse for all he attention she'd been paying. She concluded,
after a brief reflection, that there wasn't a *good* excuse. 

 "Oh, no reason", she said, almost wincing at her own words. Lately every
time she opened her mouth something silly slipped out, and she was sure
her good reputation was suffering because of it. "I just, well, I was sure
I'd seen you somewhere before". Stan almost laughed it was so trite, and
Scully herself couldn't believe what she was saying. 

 "Well, I'm sure you've seen my file", he said with a conscious effort to
keep his amusement to himself. Even so, Scully heard it. "Maybe that's
where you've seen me". Stan knew he was teasing and expected her to snap
back but all Scully could do was nod, her short red hair falling into her
eyes. 

 "I guess so", she said dully, pushing back the stray strands of hair from
her cheek with one pristine white hand and knowing she'd come off sounding
like the silly schoolgirl she'd acted earlier. She almost hung her head
she felt so degraded. Still, that for Scully was the perfect end to a
perfect day - caught staring at a Chicago police officer who she really
wasn't interested in despite her best efforts to convince herself to the
contrary. Try as she might she just couldn't raise her interest above the
admission that Detective Kowalski was rather cute in his own way. It was
fairly depressing, really, to think that nowadays she had to make a
conscious effort to feel any attraction at all. It wasn't that she didn't
get offers - hell, she got them all the time - but not a one of them was
what she wanted. The few people she counted as friends told her she
shouldn't be so picky, trying to feel lightning strike on the first
meeting, and deep down she knew they were right; the only problem was that
unless a man could raise more than a 'he's fairly cute' from her, she just
could not be bothered. 

 The really strange thing was that a couple of years ago, she would've
jumped at the chance to date any number of the guys who were asking her
out now, and perhaps she might even have considered Kowalski even though
he wasn't exactly her type. Now all she felt like was a TV movie and
chocolate cake instead of dinner and sex, but she just put it down to
hormones. 

 They pulled up outside the hotel at quarter past ten; Stan gave her a
hand with extracting the semi-conscious Mulder from the back seat of the
GTO and as she hauled him through the entrance and into the foyer she gave
the cop a nod of thanks. He left soon after, quite unsure what he thought
of the strange female agent. She was a mystery.   * *  

 Things had not gone at all well that day, all things considered. Aside
from the fact that she and Mulder had been paired with a frustratingly
inept cop (although she had a feeling he was just acting the part), their
trips about town had led them precisely nowhere. None of the girl's old
school friends had seen her since they graduated except for two or three,
all of whom had heard nothing from her for at least the past six months.
Then there was the mysterious disappeared ex-best friend, and even better,
the old ex-boyfriend. Andy, she though his name was, or Sandy or Randy,
but whatever he was called, after a fairly indelicately phrased question,
her partner had found himself in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Andy/Sandy/Randy had been a wrestler in high school as well as a football
player which he was still at college. Mulder got a beating and Scully was
torn between pulling her gun and laughter. In the end, Kowalski had had to
stop it, but not before giving her one hell of a weird look. So now, after
a day on the case, she had a headache from the number of people they'd
seen, spent what seemed like hours in a car, been teamed up with a less
than forthcoming cop, been caught staring at said less than forthcoming
cop, had to fly in from D.C., and had her partner hit by an overgrown
musclebound schoolboy. Oh, and Kowalski probably thought she was an
immature psycho but hey, what did that matter? 

 In reality, however, Stan did not think she was an immature psycho. Sure,
she was a little eccentric, but by the time he'd reached his apartment and
made it into bed, he'd already decided that he liked her - after all, she
was the first even remotely human Fed he'd ever had the pleasure of
meeting after so many robots and sleazeballs. She looked perfect with all
that red hair, green eyes and stark white skin, even if she was a tad on
the short side, but all that aside the woman obviously had some problems.
He liked knowing she was flawed and he liked it even better because she
knew it. And it was fairly plain to see that she knew he knew more than he
was letting on. She was perceptive, he'' give her that. 

 Her partner, on the other hand, that slimy greaseball Fox Mulder, seemed
just like every FBI agent he'd ever met. Tall, handsome, obviously quite
well built, which wasn't all quite the norm, but there was that quality
about him that just screams 'I know more than you do, I'm better than you,
stay out of my way'. He was cocky, far too self-assured for Stan's liking.
If this assignment had been just with Scully he might've been able to
cope, but no. It appeared it was Scully with Mulder or no Scully at all. 

 Stan Ray tried to go to sleep thinking about Scully's green eyes, her
hair, the endearing schoolgirl-like way she had of swinging her legs that
he'd found so infuriating earlier, but just as he was drifting away there
was a crisis. The attractive, short and superficially flawed FBI agent was
pushed aside and in her place stood a tall young woman, a girl in her late
teens, black-haired, blue-eyed with a smile like sin. He dreamt that night
that he held her in his arms, felt her lips on hers, his fingers in her
hair, or rather all the other way around. She was there in his dreams all
night. That night, he dreamt of Darcy.	 * *  

 The next week was pure hell for Stan; it was that simple. Days of endless
boredom, clocking up more miles on the precious GTO whilst chauffeuring
his two temporary partners fairly pointlessly about the city, or spent
more time in the office or in the agents' hotel room on the phone. They
found absolutely nothing - much as that little fact surprised Mulder and
Scully, it wasn't exactly a revelation to Stan. He'd been convinced since
the moment he knew she was missing that they wouldn't find her. Scully
knew it and he knew she knew it but neither of them said a word; besides,
even in Scully had said something he would've denied it. He couldn't tell
her. He just couldn't... 

 The three of them, Kowalski and the two agents, had met on Wednesday and
it was now late Sunday night as Stan polished off his fifth beer and
somehow managed to drag himself from his sofa into the bedroom, knocking
the remnants of a three-day-old take-out pizza onto the floor as he did
so. Ordinarily he would've cursed out loud as the semi-gelatinous mess
collided with his floorboards but that night he was too exhausted to care.
The long day spent sitting stationary in the corner of Mulder's crummy
hotel room while he and Scully took turns to phone all the hospitals in
Chicago and the surrounding area had been less than thrilling to say the
least, and had somehow left him completely drained. He guessed it was that
horrible recurring image he got in his head every time they dialled a new
number, of Darcy lying stone cold on a slab somewhere. It was terrifying.
But not so terrifying as to keep him from sleep - he was too far gone for
anything to bother him, exhausted from all the crap he'd endured. 

 Thursday, the day after Mulder had been battered by Darcy's musclebound
ex, the three of them spent at Ray's desk in District 27, phoning round
all the friends Darcy had had who didn't live within the reasonable
driving radius, and as expected, nothing. Ray suspected Scully had guessed
they'd find nothing and it was obvious, to him at least, that she thought
the whole exercise was a complete waste of time. But he could also tell
that her partner was in no fit state for a day-long drive around the city.
The realisation struck him as funny. 

 Friday came and Ray spent most of it behind the wheel of his car ferrying
the redhead and her black-eyes partner around from hotel to hotel around
the city. Another pointless exercise, it seemed to him, but who was he to
question the authority of the FBI? Especially not if he wanted to keep
both himself and his partner out of the investigation. 

 The routine for Saturday played out like the day before, only this time
with the three of them doing the rounds with hostels and hospitals. They
all ate cheeseburgers in the GTO before he dropped them off and he caught
Scully half wincing half grinning as Mulder's bruised jaw gave him grief.
Ray was pretty amused himself, but definitely not for the same reasons as
his strange car buddy. Then Saturday had merged into Sunday and brought
with it the new joy of phonecalls from the hotel room all day. All day!
But at least the whole fiasco had given him a chance to think. By Sunday
night he was pretty sure he understood Scully, even if Mulder was as yet a
mystery, and what he'd realised was enough to make him have to forcibly
remove the smile from his lips with images of Lieutenant Welsh naked or
other similar shudder-inducing horrors every time he saw her. He got
Scully. He really got her. That was a triumph in itself. 

 He'd just kicked off his boots when something occurred to him and he was
almost angry with himself that it hadn't occurred to him before. He still
had on old photo of her - Darcy - left over from the short time he'd known
her. She'd left it in his glove box so he hadn't found it until the
morning after he and the other guys from the Chicago PD had discontinued
their guard on the Giger-Dahmers' home and he'd known he'd never see Darcy
Giger-Dahmer ever again. He'd switched on his radio, tired quickly of the
same insipid pop trash and reached into the glove box to retrieve some
semblance of what he'd hoped would be good music, and what he'd found just
sitting there amidst the cassettes and gloves (!), de-icer and various
pairs of glasses was that photo. Just her sitting on the front steps of
her house in a black long-sleeved T-shirt and faded blue jeans with holes
in the knees. And on the back was written in her strange inimitable hand -
'Stan - I'm sorry and I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me
one day. But most of all, thank-you. Thanks for an incredible fortnight
and thanks for keeping me safe. I'll never forget you - don't you dare
forget me. Darcy'. 

 He found the photo in the bottom of a box, tucked into the back of the
copy of American Psycho she'd given him the night they met. He fell asleep
that night with Darcy beside his heart.   * *  

 It was the phone that woke him on Monday morning, wrenching him from a
nightmare that he was glad to be rid of, but the sense of dread that had
come with it lingered as he picked up the receiver. 

 "Hello?" he said, his voice tired and strained. He covered the mouthpiece
and coughed as he waited for an answer, listening to the background noise
at the other end of the phone. Whoever was phoning, it was busy where they
were; there was a constant hum of activity with an occasional bubble of
conversation he couldn't work out. 

 "Detective Kowalski?" asked an unfamiliar male voice above the commotion,
louder than Stan had expected to the point where he almost dropped the
receiver. He was just a little edgy, he guessed, but then he thought about
the words. No one was supposed to know he was Stan Ray Kowalski - he was
still posing as Ray Vecchio... "This is Doctor Mark Greene down at County
General calling for a Detective Stan Kowalski". Stan's breath caught in
his throat. County General? That was one of the hospitals he'd seen with
Mulder and Scully a few days earlier, and he was sure, absolutely *sure*,
that he'd given his name as Detective Vecchio. He hadn't even given a
first name, never mind his own full name... so how did this doctor know?
Was he even a doctor? Had someone broken Vecchio's cover? 

 "I'm sorry", he said, eyes narrowing. "Detective Kowalski isn't here at
the moment. Can I take a message?" He'd decided that was the safest
policy. 

 "Sure", the caller replied. "Just tell him there's a Mountie down at
County's ER who's asking for him. Thanks". And the doctor hung up, leaving
Stan stunned. A Mountie? Surely he couldn't mean...? But how many other
Mounties could there possibly be in Chicago asking for Detective Stan
Kowalski? No, it had to be Fraser. God, Fraser was at the hospital! 

 He virtually sprang from the bed, pulled on the same clothes he'd taken
off the night before and sprinted out of the building up to his GTO.
Gunning the engine, he was there within fifteen minutes. 

 Stan was cursing himself already as he slammed his car door and ran flat
out up to the ER's sliding doors. He hadn't seen, hadn't even called, his
partner in the five days since he'd met Mulder and Scully, since he'd seen
Ben and... Guilt flooded him as he made it to the busy front desk, he
hadn't even thought about Fraser (except when he'd thought about that
morning) since God knows when, either. He'd thought that was a good thing,
after all those months of having nothing else on his mind, but now...
well, now he wasn't so sure. 

 "Can I help you?" he big guy at the desk asked as Stan stood there,
panting but fairly controlled. He was leaning forward against the desk on
one hand, running the other through his hair in some kind of repeated
nervous action, and he nodded. 

 "Yeah, maybe", Stan told him. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. Benton
Fraser". The guy looked at him, blank. Stan sighed. "You know, the
Mountie". The guy nodded with a small smile. 

 "Oh, the Mountie". He didn't like the sound of that, that small voice and
almost apologetic tone, or the smile. His eyebrows raised almost
involuntarily. 
 "So, where is he?" he demanded, standing up straight. The guy shrugged
and turned away. 

 "Carol, have you seen Doctor Greene or Carter?" he asked a tall brunette
in a nurse's uniform. She shrugged, picking up a couple of clipboards. 

 "Sorry, Jerry", she said. "No - I think Carter's with the Mountie in
Trauma One". 

 "Thanks", Jerry said. "I don't suppose you'd show Detective Kowalski
through, would you?" Carol turned to Kowalski and nodded. "Sure", she
said. "So, you're Kowalski. Come on through". She moved away and Stan
followed her, down a hall away from the desk and through a set of double
doors into what he could only guess was Trauma One. 

 "Here you are", she told him. "Carter, Detective Kowalski". The guy
opposite Stan by a phone on the wall turned and put up one hand, muttered
a few more words then hung up as Carol vanished. 

 "Doctor John Carter", the young doctor said, extending his hand. Stan
shook it, quite aware of Carter's youth and clean-shavenness, as well as
the sombre look he gave him. "So you're Kowalski. Well, Constable Fraser's
been asking for you. I presume you know..." Stan heard nothing more. He'd
already turned and seen the form lying bloody and motionless on the table,
and the person next to it. Before he knew it, he was staring at the scene,
slack-jawed, caught between relief and despair. The form on the bed wasn't
Fraser - he was the one beside it - but Darcy.	 * * Kowalski couldn't
bear to be in the room any longer, seeing his partner there with the
bloody girl beside him - he backed out through the swinging doors and
Carter followed him into the corridor.	

 "Is everything alright, Detective?" Carter asked, a look of genuine
concern on the younger man's face. "Can I get you anything?" 

 //No, everything's not all-fucking-right!// he thought, wanting to scream
it but finding himself totally incapable; instead he just leaned back
against the wall behind him, hanging his head. "No, Doctor", he managed to
choke out. "Everything's fine but I don't want anything. What happened?"
Carter moved closer to him to avoid people passing between them, Stan's
eyes staying bolted to the floor. 

 "There was apparently some kind of argument in Constable Fraser's
apartment building which led to three shots being fired", Carter said,
studying Kowalski's face as he said it. He didn't need a psych consult to
know he'd lied to him - the detective wasn't alright. In fact, Carter
could tell he was far from it. "Constable Fraser left his apartment to
investigate and found Miss Yearwood had been shot - he brought her here".
Stan nodded, eyes still on the floor, until it hit him and then his head
snapped up so fast it almost hit the wall. 

 "Miss Yearwood?" he questioned, his eyes narrowing. Carter nodded,
surprised by his reaction. 

 "Yes, Miss Yearwood", he confirmed. "The woman who was shot. The one that
Constable Fraser's..." Ray cut in. 

 "Yes, I know who you mean", he told him. "But that's not her name".
Carter frowned, his smooth skin wrinkling across his forehead as if for
the first time. He really was young. 

 "I don' understand", he told Ray, jamming his hands into his white coat's
pockets. "Constable Fraser said... She's not Annabelle Yearwood?" 

 "Does she look like a Southern girl to you, Doctor?" Ray questioned,
almost incredulous. Carter shook his head, not even looking at the
detective anymore. "Good, because she's not. Her name's Darcy, Darcy
Giger-Dahmer, not Annabelle Yearwood. And she's not even really American,
let alone from the South". Now Carter nodded, wordlessly, stunned, as if
false names were a whole new concept for him. "Do you have a phone I can
use?" 

 "Huh?" 

 "A phone. Is there one?" Carter nodded, pointing. 

 "There's a payphone down the hall", he said. If he heard the thanks
Kowalski muttered then he didn't show any signs of it. He just stood
there, leaning against the wall as Stan jogged away down the hall to phone
Mulder and Scully. He was still there when he returned. 

 "It's okay to talk to them, right?" he asked Carter, standing beside him
with a cup of coffee from the machine that he thought the doctor could do
with more than himself. Carter shrugged. 

 "Well, I can't guarantee either of them will listen to you", he told Ray,
finally meeting his eyes. "Miss Year - I mean Miss Giger-Dahmer, is
unconscious waiting for a bed in Intensive Care and Constable Fraser -
since he explained what happened it's been impossible to get a word out of
him". Kowalski nodded. 

 "But I can go in, right?" he questioned, more to himself than for Carter.
It was almost like he was convincing himself that he could see them, that
he should see them and that he would see them. Carter nodded his response
and Kowalski walked away from him into the room. 

 The journey from the double doors to his partner's side seemed to Ray to
take forever, each moment drawn out to it's fullest and filled with pain
before moving into the next. Fraser sat there, his head bent forward
before the wounded girl, her pale hand in his, both figures unmoving. He
cast his eyes briefly over Darcy, taking in the sight of the blood stains
and the tubes and machines all around her, then snapped his attention
quickly to the man by her side; he knew he couldn't've looked at her for
much longer without crying and he knew that a hysterical partner was
exactly what Fraser did not need right now. 

 "Frase?" he said softly, drawing close enough so he could lay one hand
across his partner's shoulder. He felt Ben tense beneath the red serge and
under his touch and it took quite a time for him to even begin to relax.
"Frase, are you okay?" He almost regretted the question as soon as he'd
said it, knowing already what the answer would be. 

 "I'm fine, Ray". Fraser's voice sounded in contradiction to his words.
That shaking was not fine. That almost-whisper was not fine. The way
Fraser's perfect fingers were twined in hers was not fine. Benton Fraser,
he knew was far from fine. But even so, there was something he knew he had
to do. 

 "There's something I have to tell you, Frase", Kowalski said in that same
soft voice as he pulled up a stool and perched himself atop it. "It's
important". Fraser nodded slowly, his head barely moving and his eyes
glued to the girl's face, to the bloodstain across her jaw and over her
temple where two of the bullets had hit. If it hadn't been for him she
would've died, but somehow that fact offered very little comfort. 

 "Go ahead, Ray", he murmured, barely audible. Ray sighed. 

 "I don't know how you're going to take this", he said, took a sip of hot
coffee that burned his mouth then coughed before taking another. The heat
felt good. As long as he could feel it he knew he was still alive.
"Perhaps we should go outside...?" 

 "NO". The volume of Fraser's voice startled him in itself, and the
detached decisiveness chilled him. That was the first time he'd heard the
man by anything less than perfectly civil. Despite the fact he knew Fraser
wasn't watching him, Stan nodded. 

 "Sure, Frase, we'll stay", he said. "But I have to tell you this no
matter what. I don't want them to just turn up and shock the hell out of
you. You see, Frase, for the last few days I've been working with these
two FBI agents, Mulder and Scully. Not exactly the friendliest people on
Earth but I suppose..." 

 "Ray, what's your point?" Fraser cut in. Ray stared at him. He wasn't
just a little off now, he was being downright rude. That was something he
hadn't ever imagined the Mountie capable of, let alone that he'd do it. 

 "The point is, Fraser buddy, that these two FBI agents have been looking
for this girl for the past week, the one lying in this bed here, full of
bullets. It doesn't take a genius to tell that they're gonna want to talk
to you". Fraser suddenly turned to him, frowning slightly, and when Ray
looked at him he was astounded to find tears in his big blue eyes. The
Mountie squeezed shut his eyes and one solitary tear spilled out over his
snow white cheek; he was almost as white as Darcy, Ray noticed, and before
he'd had chance to even think about it he'd reached out and wiped away
that tear with his thumb. Fraser flinched and he pulled back his hand. 

 "But why would they be looking for her?" Fraser asked at last, breaking
their awkward silence. "She'd never do anything to hurt anyone". 

 "I know", Stan said with a sigh. "But she's not who you think she is,
Frase, believe me". 

 "What do you mean, Ray?" he asked, that old innocent tone he recognised
in Ben's voice, and suddenly he couldn't look him in the eye. His gaze
found the cupboards and worktops and trays and trolleys and all the
medical equipment peculiarly fascinating. He knew there was no way to say
it but to come straight out with it. 

 "It's not what she's done", he told him. "It's nothing to do with her,
really, but her father. The agents haven't said it to me but I'd say her
father's been getting death threats again". 

 "How can that be when her father's dead?" Ben asked, frowning again,
looking so fragile and vulnerable that Ray could barely believe it. The
Mountie had always been so strong, seemed so strong... 

 "He's not dead, Frase", he said. 

 "But she said..." Ben started, looking down, beginning to realise there
was more to the situation than he knew. She said he's been dead for
years..." His voice trailed to nothing. 

 "He's not dead, Frase", Ray repeated softly. "He is, in fact, very much
alive. He's the director of the FBI". 

 "How can he be? He's Henrik Giger-Dahmer and she's Annabelle Yearwood..."


 "Do you really believe that?" Ray asked. 

 "Yes". Fraser paused, thinking. "No. Oh, I don't know! Ray...?" It was a
plea, in his voice and in his eyes as they met Ray's. "My God, Ray, who is
she?" 

 "Darcy Giger-Dahmer", he said. "Henrik Giger'Dahmer's eighteen-year-old
daughter". Fraser shuddered suddenly, deeply, squeezing his eyes shut,
screwing up his face into a pained expression. He sucked in a short, sharp
breath and held it, rocking back and forth just as shortly and sharply.
Stan had no idea what to do, but it was killing him to see Ben like that,
to see his best friend like that. So he stood up, put down the coffee on
his stool, reached forward and pulled him into his arms. 

 To his surprise, Fraser didn't pull away. In fact, as he started to rock
him slowly backwards and forwards, he felt his partner's strong arms
around his waist, his head resting on his chest, eyes closed. It was a
strange feeling, the Mountie's weight against him, but not in a bad way,
just different. He could feel Ben's muscles slowly relax beneath his
hands, the tension relieved. He sighed slowly, looking down - his chin
brushed against Fraser's hair and he found himself wondering exactly where
his Stetson was. 

 "It's gonna be fine, Ben", Kowalski said, not really believing it himself
but hoping Fraser would. "It's all gonna work itself out, you'll see..."
He felt the smile through his T-shirt and hoped that meant agreement.	*
*  

 The two be-trenchcoated agents walked in out of the rain that had started
up an hour or so earlier and looked at each other. Mulder's usually
immaculately-styled hair was plastered to his head with water and there
were rivulets running from it down his neck and face, soaking the layers
under the soaked trenchcoat. Scully's mascara had started to run, but
thanks to a handy newspaper her hair was mostly dry - her coat, on the
other hand, was not. Both shed their sodden outerwear and headed for the
desk. 

 "Agents Mulder and Scully for Detective Kowalski", Scully told the tall,
overweight clerk. 

 "Sure", he replied, almost leering at her. "He's expecting you. Jeannie?
Could you take the agents Mulder and Scully down to Trauma One?" The woman
standing behind him turned, nodded and smiled at the rainsoaked agents. 

 "Just follow me, please", she said, and led them away down a hallway. 

 Mulder and Scully had got there as fast as they could after Kowalski's
call, but it had still taken them half an hour - the traffic was murder
and neither of them had any idea where County General was. Still, finally
they'd found it, and when they got to Trauma One, they found the girl on
the table with tubes and wires and monitors everywhere, and Kowalski
standing off to the left, a seated and upset Mountie in his arms. Mulder
shot his partner a questioning glance and she shrugged. 

 "Detective Kowalski?" she said, breaking the silence. It wasn't an
uncomfortable one any more, at least not for Fraser and Kowalski. 

 "Yes, Agent Scully?" he replied, not moving and inch, not even looking at
her. 

 "What happened?" 

 "I'd suggest you pull up a stool", he said. "Fraser here's gonna explain,
right Frase?" Ben nodded and sat back slowly out of Stan's warm embrace,
glancing over Darcy before rubbing his eyes and turning to them. 

 "Mulder, Scully, this is my partner, Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal
Canadian Mounted Police. Ben, this is Special Agent Dana Scully and her
partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder. Guys, I'm gonna leave you now and go
get some more coffee - Fraser'll tell you what happened to Darcy and don't
push him, please. Anyone want coffee while I'm gone?" Both agents nodded,
he gave Ben a quick pat on the shoulder then vanished out into the
corridor leaving the three of them (plus the unconscious Darcy) alone. 

 "So", Mulder said, sitting and turning to Fraser. "Let's start and the
beginning".   * *  

 Fraser told Mulder everything he knew about the shooting but when
questioned further he would say nothing. Mulder asked if he'd met her
before - he was silent. Mulder asked if he'd known who she was, why she
was there, what she was doing in the building - he plain ignored him. He
just turned to Darcy, took her hand in his and started to cry. 

 Scully had left Mulder to it and gone after Kowalski, finding him at the
coffee machine just like he'd said. She wasn't sure whether she'd really
expected he'd lied or not, but she knew there were things he wasn't
telling her, things important to the case. But then, there was no case
now; she and Mulder had been pulled off the X-Files to find a missing girl
and now they'd got her she was hoping they could get back to D.C. and she
could begin begging for a transfer. 

 Stan passed her a cup of steaming black coffee and she smiled gratefully
- she hadn't even known he'd known she was there but in her line of work
you kind of get used to the unexpected. She muttered some thanks, told him
she was going outside to use her cellphone then left, dropping back into
Trauma One to give Mulder his coffee before stepping out to dial AD
Skinner back in D.C. He picked up on the third ring and the conversation
lasted a maximum of five minutes. He called her back fifteen minutes later
with the bad news she'd been dreading. 

 "You and Mulder are going to have to stay out there a little longer", he
told her, dashing all her hopes to pieces. "The director wants to know who
shot his daughter and since you two are there... Well, I told him I
thought you're capable of doing it and he agreed. He is, however, sending
over another agent just in case..." She'd pretty much tuned out at that
point, knowing it would all just be Skinner babbling about how important
this case was, how if she did a good job she might impress the director
and maybe even get a promotion, but she was beyond caring. Her career
didn't seem like her career anymore; it was like she wasn't even herself,
like there was a whole big part of her missing... She sighed as she bid
Skinner adieu and walked back into the hospital to tell Mulder. Needless
to say, he wasn't going to be pleased. 

 "Oh God, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, standing back with wide eyes fixed on
the huge wet brown coffee stain across the otherwise bright white coat.
She whipped out a tissue and began to dab at it frantically, babbling all
the phrases of apology that sprang into her head. The doctor's hand on
hers stopped her and she looked up as he smiled and took off the coat. 

 "Don't worry about it", he told her. "I've got a spare". She returned the
smile although somewhat sheepishly. 

 "I really am sorry", she said. "I should've been watching where I was
walking..." 

 "Really, it's okay", he said. She was smiling in earnest now and looking
straight into his eyes, those big liquid brown pools, deep, soulful. She
couldn't take her eyes off him. "I'm John Carter, by the way". He held out
one big, strong, yet magically soft hand and she shook it gladly. 

 "Dana Scully", she replied, then took a deep breath. "Look, I hope you
don't think this is too forward of me, Doctor Carter, but could I take you
out for a coffee sometime? I'd try not to spill any on you". She was
joking but jabbing her fingernails into her palms inside her wet coat's
pockets with the tension of it all, consumed by nerves. 

 "That's not too forward at all", he told her. "You know, if you hadn't
asked me I would've asked you. I get off work around eight tonight - how
about I meet you then? And call me John". 

 "That sounds great, John", she said. "I'll be here. And call me Dana". 

 "Then I guess I'll see you at eight". She nodded and they went their
separate ways, both feeling completely elated. She was still smiling when
she got to Trauma One and as Mulder explained what was going on. In fact,
she was *still* smiling as she told him they'd be staying in Chicago a
little longer than planned. Suddenly that didn't seem like such a bad
thing after all.   * *	

 Fraser lay in bed that night exhausted but unable to sleep - too much had
happened for it to let him, too much was still clattering around in his
mind unresolved and he had no idea what to do about it. Annabelle had been
shot, she wasn't really called Annabelle but Darcy, she was only eighteen,
she'd nearly died in his arms, that FBI agent had asked him about her over
and over until his head throbbed and still all he could feel was the
warmth he'd felt in Ray's embrace. 

 "I know, Dief, you're hungry", he said into the room in reply to the
wolf's whining. "But not right now. I'll feed you in the morning, I
promise". The whining ceased and the wolf just lay down by Fraser's bed.
If Ben had had the energy to look down he would have seen the concern in
Diefenbaker's eyes. Sometimes he was more human than either of them liked
to admit. 

 Somehow, after sitting with Darcy for most of the day as she was moved
from the ER to Intensive Care to a private room paid for by Director
Giger-Dahmer himself, Kowalski had managed to pry his partner away and get
him home where he'd practically had to force him to go to bed. Fraser knew
he'd just upset Stan more - and he could tell despite multiple
protestations to the contrary that he was upset - if he didn't do as he
asked. So he was in bed but restless and Stan was on his couch, also
restless, almost sure that the cellphone borrowed from Mulder would ring
any second. When he'd told the agents he'd be staying with the phoneless
Fraser they'd insisted he take one of their phones but Scully had insisted
she needed hers so Mulder's it was. It was about 2:30am when the two of
them finally succumbed to sleep. 

 Scully's coffee date with Carter turned into a drinks date then finally
into a dinner date. She found they got on well, even if he was younger
than her, but they had so much in common and she hadn't failed to notice
that warm, tingly feeling she got every time he smiled at her. He had an
incredible smile. He was incredible! Definitely above the 'he's fairly
cute' level. More like 'my God he's gorgeous!' Between his slightly
tousled light brown hair, deep brown eyes, magnificent smile and graceful
form, Scully was captivated, and it was the exact same thing for Carter.
He'd never in his life known a woman like Dana Scully - he didn't even
care when she told him she was an FBI agent. As far as he was concerned
she could've been an international superspy and he would still have been
begging for a second date. But as it turned out, he didn't need to beg; by
the end of the evening they had that second date planned, dinner at a
fancy Italian restaurant a few days later. They parted ways at midnight,
reluctant but content. 

 Mulder was still awake by the time Scully got back to the hotel - he felt
a little uneasy but he couldn't tell whether it was because she'd gone out
without him, because he had no idea where she'd been or because he knew
she'd been there with a man. He picked up the phone and dialled his
girlfriend, Kelly, got her out of bed on her night off and was telling her
exactly how much he loved her when Scully walked in. She just glared at
him, mumbled something about the hotel phone bill and made a swift exit
into the bathroom. Mulder wasn't sure whether that was a victory or not.
He said goodnight to Kelly and put the phone down while she was still
talking, then retired to his bed to ask himself repeatedly why that had
been necessary. He was asleep half an hour later when Scully came back in.
She fell asleep fifteen minutes after that, angry at him but pleased about
Carter. 

 Darcy's condition worsened overnight and by midnight she was in a coma.
The defenceless eighteen-year-old was put under a 24-hour police/FBI guard
in her private room, and all night Doctor Greene, one of the team who'd
seen her when she was brought in, kept popping in to see how she was
doing. Technically she was Carter's patient but somehow he felt an
affinity for this girl as she lay there, not even looking a girl but a
woman, with no one to be with her then except a troupe of armed guards and
the odd nurse. She was alone, she was wounded, and it was fully possible
that she may never recover. All he could do now was keep her safe, keep
her looked after and hope to God that they caught the bastard who did this
to her. 

 The next morning, the investigation began.   * *  

 Part 2 

 When the alarm sounded at 7am, Ray had already been awake for an hour or
more just thinking about Darcy and trying not to think about Darcy and
Fraser. He kicked off the blanket, shivered quite violently, pulled on a
sweater and jogged through into Fraser's room, the scene of the crime so
to speak. It was quite difficult to be there, all things considered. 

 "C'mon, Frase", he muttered, giving the Mountie a little shake through
the duvet. He mumbled something wholly unintelligible into the pillow and
pulled the duvet up over his head. Stan sighed. On the couple of rare
occasions he'd actually had to wake the Mountie it had been so much easier
- he'd just called his name and he'd woken right up. This was a whole
different matter. 

 Several more equally unsuccessful attempts at shaking Fraser to life
later, Stan had had enough. He just grabbed the bottom of the duvet and
yanked the whole thing right off the bed. The look on Fraser's face told
him his efforts had not been appreciated. 

 "I'm not going into work today", Ben said, not even looking up from his
position curled up on the bed in just a pair of grey boxers. Ray's
eyebrows raised on impulse. Ben wasn't going to work? Did not computer...
He was so straight-laced and precise that Stan doubted he'd ever missed a
day of work in his entire life. Except when he was injured, of course. 

 "Damn you, Fraser, you're getting up and going to work if I have to drag
you", he said in a loud but otherwise completely calm voice. Ben's eyes
opened and he sat up cross-legged on the bed. Slowly, he shook his head. 

 "You just don't understand, Ray", he said with equal composure. "I can't
go to work. I don't deserve to wear the uniform. I'd feel like... like I
was masquerading as an officer. I can't do it". Ray shrugged. 

 "Sure", he said. "But do me a favour. If you're not going to go, give
Thatcher a call and let her know". Fraser froze. Inside, Ray smiled. He
pulled out Mulder's cellphone from his jeans pocket and tossed it onto the
bed. "Go ahead. I'm sure Agent Mulder won't mind". Ben looked down at the
small black plastic object on his bed like he'd never seen a cellphone
before in his life, then up at Ray with the same look. He reached out and
picked it up, pulled it to him and started t dial unsurely. Finally, he
lifted the phone to his ear. 

 "Hello? Inspector Thatcher?" he questioned. "Yes, good morning to you
too. Yes, I'm fine - but no, I won't be coming to today. No, I can't
explain it, Sir, I just can't. Yes, I understand. No! You can't mean...
oh. Yes, Sir, of course. Thank-you. Goodbye". He finished the call and put
the phone back down on the bed. 

 "Well?" Ray questioned, crossing his arms with an amused smile. 

 "It seemed I'll be working with you for the duration of the case, Ray",
Fraser replied. He couldn't look up. He wasn't sure he could even get up.
Or walk. Or put on his uniform. But on the inspector's orders, he had to.
He was an RCMP officer, no matter how undeserving, and he had to do his
duty. He swung his legs to the floor, stood, teetered and actually made it
to the doorway before his knees gave out and he fell into Kowalski's
waiting arms. 

 "Thank-you kindly, Ray", he muttered with none of his usual vigour. 

 "Think nothing of it", Ray replied with a crooked smile that looked
slightly out of place on his face. He returned Fraser to a standing
position and the Mountie detected an odd look in his partner's brilliant
blue eyes; he left Ray's warm and oddly inviting arms and actually made it
to the bathroom all by himself, leaving Kowalski to stare after him. He'd
be seeing Ben's body in his mind all day, even if he didn't know it.   * *
 

 Mulder and Scully were already waiting at the hospital when Ray and
Fraser got there, sitting at Darcy's bedside, staring at her blankly.
Neither agent could recall ever seeing such a beautiful girl in their
lives before, although to call her a girl was hardly fair. She was a good
six feet tall with waist-length black hair and a magnificent figure, her
pianist mother's fine hands and a bone structure any model would die for.
She was strikingly good looking, almost disturbingly so, and if they
hadn't known she was eighteen, Mulder would've guessed she was somewhere
in her early twenties. She was a magnificent creature, but at the moment
also magnificently ill. 

 Fraser went totally numb the very second he saw her - he could tell there
was something even worse now than just her original injuries and he would
vaguely recall someone saying something about a coma when he finally tuned
back into reality about three hours later. He sat down wordlessly by her
side, took her hand in his and remained just like that for the duration,
even through the arrival of the third agent. 

 The man walked in after a brief knock just fifteen minutes after Ray and
Fraser, let the guards on the inside of the room go then turned to its
occupants as its occupants (save Darcy and Fraser who were away somewhere
else entirely) turned to him. Ray stopped himself when he realise he was
giving the man a glare usually reserved for the lowest scum-of-the-earth
criminals he came across and Scully had to stop herself from staring. The
guy could be a goddamn posterboy for the FBI! Perfectly slicked back hair,
dark hair and eyes, immaculate suit, shoes and beige overcoat. He gave
them a nod and walked over. 

 "Special Agent Dale Cooper", he said with a smile. "And you must be..."
he pointed to each in turn, "Agents Mulder and Scully". He held out his
hand and both agents shook it, first Mulder, then his partner. They both
nodded. He turned to Ray. "And... Detective Kowalski?" Ray nodded, jamming
his hands awkwardly into his jeans pockets to avoid having to shake the
man's hand, a fact that did not escape either Cooper or Scully for an
instant. 

 "Yeah", he said, looking him over quickly. "But it'd be easier if you'd
call me Vecchio. I don't want to... well, it's complicated". Cooped
nodded. 

 "Yes, I know", he said. "I read your file. So, I know who you three are,
and I presume the girl in the bed is Darcy. But who is he?" He motioned
over in Fraser's direction. Stan could see Mulder's mouth open to speak
but he butted in quickly. 

 "Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP", he said. "My partner". 

 "And what's he doing here?" Cooped questioned, out of genuine confusion
and not in any sort of rude tone he might have used but rarely did. Again,
Mulder tried to speak, and this time Stan let him. 

 "Yes, Detective, why is he here?" he asked, shooting Fraser a weird
glance across the room. "Maybe you can tell us since he won't". He seemed
half surprised that Ray had let him speak and a slow smile spread across
his face as he noticed. 

 "Well, he's here today because he's been assigned to the case by the RCMP
and the Chicago PD", Stan said. "He's my partner, he was around when Darcy
was shot - what can I say? The guy just got lucky". Mulder gave him a
small sarcastic smile but Stan ignored him. It seemed the tall, bruised
(still!) agent hated cops just as much as Kowalski hated the FBI. Stan
couldn't help but wonder if their reasons were at all alike. 

 "Okay then", Cooper said, whipping out a small hand-held tape recorder
and switching it to record. "Diane, I'm here in Cook County General,
Chicago, and having just met agents Mulder and Scully and Detective Ko...
Vecchio and his partner Constable Fraser of the RCMP, I think we're about
ready to get this investigation underway". He clicked off the recorder.
"So", he said, turning back to the three bemused people in the room, each
wondering what the hell had just happened. "Let's go to work".	 * *  

 As it turned out, Cooper was already quite well-informed about the case
but even so, they spent the rest of the day at first in the hospital and
then in Mulder and Scully's hotel room bringing the third, more
experienced and ultimately older agent completely up to speed. They
explained all the reactions they'd had from Darcy's old friends,
everywhere they'd been, each place they'd checked to try to find her,
exactly what her injuries were and what had happened according to Fraser
on the day that she was shot. Cooper made it abundantly clear that he
wanted to know everything Fraser knew, near enough stating that the
ordinarily clean-cut Mountie knew more than he was telling despite the
fact he'd never even so much as talked to him. Ray wanted to stick up for
his friend but since he knew Cooper was right, he kept quiet. Their day
finally ended at 8:30pm when Copper returned to his own hotel room and
Kowalski swung by the hospital to pick up Fraser before retiring to the
Mountie's apartment. 

 Fraser hadn't wanted to leave the hospital when Ray came for him - it
took almost half an hour of out and out pleading for him to even let go of
her hand, let alone move from her bedside. Ray just couldn't understand
his partner's attachment to the girl, after all he'd only known her for a
week at the most. It was strange. He'd never seen Fraser show even half
the emotion he was showing now, and he sense that there was more to it
than just the fact Fraser had been the one to find her when she'd been
shot. He barely slept that night, thinking about it. Ben didn't sleep at
all. 

 Darcy's things were still in his apartment, stuffed under the bed where
ray couldn't see them; but as that night wore on, Ben became more and more
aware of their presence until he left the bed and pulled it all out. He
sat down on his bare floorboards and sorted through it all, folding the
clothes and letting his fingers linger on the soft fabrics that he felt
were almost as soft as her skin. There were two bags - a large sports bag
that held her clothing and a smaller Nike rucksack that he found contained
a few books, a couple of magazines, some paper and pens, her wallet and a
walkman. Suddenly curious, he opened the walkman and pulled out the tape -
in the girl's own fair hand was written 'Darcy's favourite freaky music'
on the sticker on the side. He finally had confirmation beyond the spoken
that she really wasn't who she'd claimed to be. 

 Half an hour later he'd put most everything back under the bed and was
back on top of it, curled up under the duvet with the tape playing in his
ears. He'd rewound it to the very start and started it at a low volume as
a soft song began, something slow and guitar-based. In fact, he found that
most of the first side was made up of similar songs - all guitars and
mournful vocals. He only recognised one which was an old Bruce Springsteen
song Ray had made him listen to once. There were a couple of French songs
there, too, that seemed fairly soulful and weepy, and lastly a classical
piece, all chords, in a minor key. Heavy and slow, layers upon layers of
notes, strangely not out of place amongst the rock songs at all. The side
ended. He pulled out the tape, turned it over and pressed play all in the
dark. 

 The music hit him like a slap across the face. It was heavy metal, not
something Fraser had ever really listened to before, but before long he
was upping the volume and getting lost in it all. The first two songs were
the same artist, he could tell, and just pure anger; he knew he'd heard
better but also that he'd heard worse. And then came the biggest shock of
all. Eight whole songs voiced by the same man, a stunning contrast between
each but the sentiment remained the same - this man sang and screamed and
yelled and whispered loss, anger, lust, fantasy, death, denial. This music
was the bleakest Ben had ever heard. Tainted music, stained, almost empty.
He wanted to turn it off but he was frozen. He was lost in the words. 

 Benton Fraser had never ever in his life cried at a piece of music before
that night; when he heard this song, the last on the tape, all reserve he
had left in him just broke away. He knew it so well, only he had never
admitted it to himself. He'd never dared. 

 I still recall the taste of your tears//Echoing your voice just like the
ringing in my ears//My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore//Scraping
through my head 'till I don't want to sleep anymore//Come on tell me//Make
this all go away//You make this all go away//I'm down to just one thing
and I'm starting to scare myself//Make this all go away//You make this all
go away//I just want something//I just want something I can never
have//You always were the one to show me how//Back then I couldn't do the
things I can do now//This thing is slowly taking me apart//Grey would be
the color, if I had a heart//Come on tell me//Make this all go away//You
make this all go away//I'm down to just one thing and I'm starting to
scare myself//Make this all go away//You make this all go away//I just
want something//I just want something I can never have//In this place it
seems like such a shame//Though it all looks different now I know it's
still the same//Everywhere I look you're all I see//Just a fading fucking
reminder of who I used to be//Come on tell me//Make it all go away//You
make it all go away//I'm down to just one thing and I'm starting to scare
myself//Make it all go away//You make it all go away//I just want
something//I just want something I can never have//I just want something I
can never have.   * *  

 Mulder flew to Massachusetts early the following morning, leaving Scully
caught between emotions and alone in the room with Cooper until Kowalski
finally got there (late) at 9am. He took one look at Scully and decided
against the lame excuse he'd been going to give, just shrugged and seated
himself in the chair in the corner which was by then becoming like his
second home. 

 "Where's Mulder?" he asked after fifteen whole minutes of complete
silence. 

 "Flew to Massachusetts thins morning", Scully replied, her eyes remaining
fixed to the papers in front of her. Ray sighed. Another fifteen minutes'
silence. 

 "What's he doing in Massachusetts?" 

 "Visiting Darcy's room at MIT". 

 "He should be calling in sometime this afternoon", Cooper added, although
not exactly much cheerier. He, too, was leafing through some papers, and
he returned to it quickly after glancing over at Kowalski. "Detective, why
don't you go check on Miss Giger-Dahmer?" Ray nodded semi-enthusiastically
and rose stiffly, flashing Cooper a grateful smile. 

 "I might just do that", he said. "Give me a call at the hospital when
you've talked to Mulder". 

 "Sure", Cooper said and thirty seconds later no signs that Kowalski had
ever entered the room remained. 

 After a quick stop by the coffee machine, Ray went straight up to Darcy's
room where he'd left his partner earlier on that morning. And there he was
- a Mountie in full uniform sitting by the comatose girl's bed with her
hand in his. Fraser was unmoving even when Ray came in, not that that was
surprising in the least; for about the past month or two the two of them
and Fraser especially had gradually become less and less responsive to
each other, and both were clueless as to why. All they knew was their
every meeting felt awkward somehow, their relationship fake, conversation
laboured. They'd even started to doubt their friendship and that fact had
both of them down; strangely enough, their least awkward moment in what
seemed like an age had been that morning in the ER, when Ben had called
for Ray and Ray had held him. But neither of them could bring themselves
to think of that now, now that Darcy was as good as dead... 

 The morning wore on slowly, the only noise in the room the humming and
clicking of Darcy's monitors with the occasional entrance of a nurse just
to check - Stan wasn't sure whether they were checking she was alive or
dead and as he thought about it all he had to choke back the tears. She
wasn't really living but she wasn't really dead - she was just there and
that unresponsiveness scared him. In a way it was like the girl in that
bed wasn't really Darcy, but she was. At least last time she'd still been
herself... 

 Around 2pm in the dreary, rainy afternoon, a doctor came in and woke Ray
from a light yet troubled doze. All at once alert, his eyes followed the
man around the room, noting that this wasn't a man he'd seen before, and
definitely not Doctor Carter who he guessed was still supposed to be
looking after Darcy. He was tall and almost bald with an almost beard-like
stubble and glasses - Stan frowned as he turned to him. 

 "Detective Kowalski?" Stan nodded cautiously. The man almost-smiled and
held out his hand. "Doctor Mark Greene. I was one of the doctors who
treated Darcy when she came in". 

 "I was wondering who you were", Stan admitted, his tone and his look
still guarded. 

 "I know - that's why I introduced myself", the doctor told him. "You
seemed a little nervous. Then again, I guess I'd be nervous in your shoes.
Is she really the daughter of the director of the FBI?" Again, Stan
nodded, relaxing a little. 

 "She sure is", he said with a sigh. "For all the good it's done her".
Doctor Greene frowned. 

 "How do you mean?" 

 "I mean some psycho who hates her father probably did this", he told him.
"A guy tried to kidnap and kill her last year - that's what the scar on
her left shoulder is. There was a fight, a guy stabbed her, tried to kill
her. Maybe this time they've done it". 

 "It almost sounds like you were there", Greene said. 

 "I was". 

 The silence which ensued was mercifully brief as Doctor Green absorbed
what the cop had told him. He'd been around for two attempts on this one
girl's life, so there was really no wonder he looked so worn out and
anxious. But the other guy, the Mountie - what was his excuse? 

 "Was your partner there too?" he asked, eventually. Stan's head snapped
up quickly. 

 "Huh? Oh, no. As far as I know, he only met her a week ago". Greene
frowned. 

 "But he seems so... uh..." How could he put it tactfully? "He seems so
*attached* to her". Kowalski smiled a small wry smile, glancing over at
Fraser. 

 "I know, Doctor", he said. "Trust me, I know". 

 "Then do you think there's anything we could do to help?" 

 "Like what?" 

 "Well, I could send him a Psych consult, if you think it might do him any
good". Ray smiled. 

 "Shouldn't you be the one to tell me?" Greene returned the smile and
nodded. 

 "I guess so. I'll send up Lucy Knight - she's with us in the ER but she
just came off her second Psych rotation. She should be able to help". 

 "You really believe that, Doc?" Greene shrugged. 

 "It's worth a try". And with that, he as gone.   * *  

 There was a knock at the door just under fifteen minutes later and after
a call of 'come in' from Stan, in walked a young blonde med-student that
he could only assume was Lucy Knight. 

 "Hi", she said with a smile and glanced down at the clipboard she held in
her hands then back up at Stan. "Detective Kowalski?" He nodded. "Lucy
Knight. Mark Greene from the ER sent me up. If I could just ask you a few
background questions...?" 

 "Go ahead". 

 "Your partner's name?" 

 "Ben Fraser. Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP". 

 "RCMP?" 

 "Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He's a Mountie". 

 "Ah - I guess that explains the uniform. How long's he been like this?" 

 "Since after he brought her in, pretty much; he'll tell us as much as he
thinks we need to know but that's all". 

 "And how does he know Miss Giger-Dahmer?" 

 "I have absolutely no idea, but he can't've known her much over a week".
Lucy put down her pen and smiled again. 

 "Thank-you, Detective", she said. "Now, I'll give it a try but I don't
promise anything". Stan shrugged and she walked over to Ben as he sat
beside Darcy, totally motionless. 

 "Hi, Ben", she said. "Is it okay if I call you Ben? I'm Lucy Knight -
call me Lucy - and, well, I'm here to talk to you, Ben. Do you want to
talk to me?" Silence. "Would you like to talk to me, Ben? Wanna tell me
about Darcy?" Silence. "How are you feeling, Ben? Okay? Angry? Sad? You
can tell me". 

 "I'm afraid the patronising tone is not going to help you, Miss Knight",
Ben said suddenly, making both Lucy and Ray jump. 

 "Call me Lucy", she replied. 

 "And no, Miss Knight, I don't want to talk about Darcy". His gaze didn't
move one inch; nothing moved which wasn't necessary for speech. 

 "Are you sure?" 

 "Yes". 

 "Is there anything you'd like to talk about at all?" 

 "No". 

 "Do you want anything?" 

 "Yes". Pause. "I want you to leave me alone". Lucy smiled. 

 "Sure, Ben", she said. "I'll go and come back in a little while, okay?"
Silence. She rose and was about to leave when he turned and caught her
wrist, stopping her. It was the first time he'd moved in hours. 

 "Miss Knight?" His usual politeness appeared to have returned. Ray was
relieved. 

 "Yes?" 

 "Are you a doctor?" 

 "Yes". 

 "Then could you tell me something?" 

 "I'll try, sure. What is it?" 

 "These marks", he said, holding up Darcy's wrist and turning it over then
back again. "What do you think caused them?" Lucy frowned and stooped to
get a closer look. Ray stood and walked over, pulling on his glasses so he
could see, too. 

 "I don't know, to be honest", she told him. "But I could get Doctor
Carter or Doctor Greene to take a look". 

 "Please do". She turned and began to leave. 

 "And Miss Knight?" 

 "Yes?"
 "I noticed more marks while we were... I noticed marks and bruises over
her ribs and her ankles". She nodded as Ray stopping himself from
grimacing. 

 "I'll go get Doctor Greene", she said, vanishing from the room; Fraser
returned to his previous position and Ray frowned as he looked at Darcy's
wrist. There were marks alright - he was no doctor but they didn't all
look exactly fresh, either. They circled both wrists, some almost
raw-looking, some faded to bruises, some just raised marks almost like
scar tissue. It confused him just as much as it concerned him, but he had
no idea what to do. 

 Doctor Greene came and went, leaving promises of various tests which he'd
have arranged and he had no real ideas on what had caused the marks,
either. Still, Ray didn't get to hear most of Greene and Knight's
conference as a couple of minutes after their arrival, he was called away
to the telephone and a call from Agent Scully. Mulder had checked in and
even though there wasn't exactly much to report, she kept him talking
almost half an hour before she hung up and went back to whatever it was
she was doing with Agent Cooper, allowing him to return to Fraser, Darcy,
Lucy and Greene. He caught the tail end of their conversation then was
asked to take Fraser home. Obviously he didn't want to leave but they had
tests to perform and Lucy noted that Kowalski somehow managed to persuade
the stubborn Mountie to leave - a task she doubted she herself would have
been capable of.   * *	

 Morning came all too soon. Scully had barely slept a wink all night just
going over it all in her head, never actually getting anywhere at all
except into confusion. They had no leads. She just hoped Mulder could come
up with something over in Massachusetts that'd put them onto something.
And speaking of Mulder - she missed the late night tte--tte, even if they
did usually turn into arguments. The room felt empty and she was chilled
to think he was in a whole other state working without her. Still, she'd
just have to get used to that if she was going to apply for that transfer
and she knew it - suddenly it all came clear. She may never see Mulder
again and she couldn't be sure that was something she was ready for...
yet. 

 The alarm went off at seven and she realised she'd already been awake for
almost two hours. A small smile on her face with the realisation even if
she didn't quite understand why, she proceeded into the bathroom; Mulder's
razor was lying on the counter beside the sink, an old sweater of him
hanging from the towel rack. When she returned to the bedroom she wasn't
smiling anymore. 

 Chicago's streets were busy that morning, as indeed was the case day in
and day out. Kowalski scarcely noticed anymore but he began to think about
it as he, Scully, Fraser and Cooper made their way across town at was
essentially rush hour and Scully made a comment about how busy cities
always are at that time, and at most every other time of the day. Cooper
agreed and proceeded to tell them all about Twin Peaks, population 51,
201, the site of his last case; he made it sounds idyllic, like the most
exquisitely perfect place on Earth, in a stark contrast to the vast
wasteland that was Chicago. Ray was tempted to agree with them both but
stopped himself short and somehow wound up thinking about Fraser and the
Northwest Territories. All that unblemished land, untouched by human
hands, a perfect place from which had come this perfect man... because he
was perfect. Beautiful, strong, intelligent, creative, but so, so naive! 

 "Benny, tell them about where you come from", he said before he'd known
he'd said it, but was grateful he hadn't had time to think because
contrary to his recent actions, Ben actually replied. 

 "If you say so, Ray", he murmured, then paused; when he began again the
tone was wistful and so low that each other in the car had to be
completely silent and listen extremely hard just to make it out. "I was
born in Tuktoyaktuk; that's in the Northwest Territories although I don't
expect you to know that. It's as far north as you can go and still be in
Canada. My grandparents raised me there, in the great frozen north, and I
miss it, you know. I miss the cold. I miss the snow there that's so white
it can dazzle you if you look for too long. I miss the trees, the great
vast forests, the rivers - I miss the open spaces that last as far as the
eye can see and I miss knowing there's no one but me for ten square miles.
It's all so pure and unpolluted. If my father had not been murdered, I
don't think I would ever have left". He sighed, breathed back in slowly,
and added, almost to himself; "Now I don't know if I can ever go back".
His eyes met Ray's for an instant before he returned to catatonia and the
car plunged into silence. 

 Ray's GTO pulled up in the parking lot outside County General at near
enough 8:30am on the dot but Kowalski didn't much feel like congratulating
himself on his new found punctuality. There was a terrible heavy feeling
in his head and chest, and as they entered the building he felt almost
queasy. He put it down to a combination of not having eaten that morning,
another semi-sleepless night on the sofa in Fraser's freezing apartment
and the nightmare he'd had of not only Darcy dying but Fraser, too. But
somewhere inside him he knew that feeling meant more than all that. He
just wasn't willing to admit to his intuition. 

 Doctors Greene, Carter and Knight were all waiting by Darcy's bedside as
the troupe of visitors went past the troupe of guards and into the room.
Kowalski noted with dull amusement the smiles that were exchanged quickly
between Scully and Carter, but there were too many other things on his
mind for him really to pay it attention. Doctor Green turned to the
arrivals, specifically to Kowalski, and started to speak; Ray guessed it
was probably because he had no idea who the others were except Fraser and
rather than find out, he'd decided he needed to get whatever it was off
his chest and so he told him. Rather a complicated deduction for the few
seconds it took but correct nevertheless. 

 "Detective, I told you yesterday that we'd be running some tests
yesterday afternoon and perhaps during the night", Greene said. 

 "Yeah, you did", Kowalski confirmed. "Go on". Greene nodded, the faces of
all three doctors now as solemn as humanly possible. 

 "Well, we got the results back from the lab this morning". He paused,
swallowing, then taking a deep breath. "And it seems Miss Giger-Dahmer had
more done to her than just the gunshots". Kowalski glanced over at the
others briefly who were all more or less thanking their lucky stars that
the doctor hadn't chosen them to speak to, to take the news. Scully was
frowning slightly as if perplexed by the whole issue and trying to figure
out what else had been done to the girl just by looking at her. Cooper had
maintained his all-purpose cool exterior, unsurprisingly. Fraser had
frozen. 

 "What do you mean she had more done to her?" Kowalski questioned
cautiously. "What did you find out?" Doctor Greene took off his glasses,
rubbed his eyes then replaced them, frowning slightly not in confusion or
concentration but the difficulty of the task at hand. 

 "She was raped, Detective", he said. He paused, deathly silence filling
the room. "And not only that, but the lab could distinguish four distinct
sperm types. There were four men". Kowalski felt all the blood draining
slowly from his face, as had happened already to the three doctors and was
also happening to the two agents and Fraser. Fraser, in fact, was now
looking so bad that none of them would have been surprised to see him pass
out right then and there. Still, somehow, he managed to remain on his
feet, if a little unsteady. 

 "Darcy was raped?" Stan squeaked, barely able to believe it. Greene and
Carter both nodded simultaneously. "Uh, okay. Anything else the tests
showed up of importance?" He'd suddenly switched back into police mode -
he knew it was now the only way he'd be able to get through it without
breaking down. 

 "Carter?" Greene stepped aside to let the younger man take the floor,
which he did awkwardly. 

 "Well, I'm not sure how important it is to your case, Detective", he
said. "But she's had just about every bone in her body broken at some
point, except her legs and with the exception her left arm we're pretty
sure it all happened within the last twelve to eighteen months. And before
you ask - we got her medical records through this morning". Ray nodded. 

 "Thanks, Doc", he said. "You've helped a lot. If you find anything else
then give us a call - you've got Agent Scully's cellphone number". And one
by one they all filed out, even Fraser as Ray took him firmly by the
shoulders and led him out. But then, just when they thought he'd go
quietly, the unsteady six-foot Mountie turned back to the doctors. 

 "What do you think caused the marks on her wrists and ankles?" he asked,
looking between the three of them. Lucy shrugged and Greene just gave him
a pretty blank look but both Ray and Scully didn't fail to notice the
strange look in Carter's eyes before he, too, shrugged. 

 "To be honest, all we can say is some kind of tie", Greene said. "We'll
let you know if we come up with any more ideas". And then they left -
Greene, Carter and Knight for the ER, Kowalski, Fraser, Cooper and Scully
for the Chicago PD. It seemed the plot had thickened.	* *  

 "Ray, message for you from someone called Darcy", Fran called as the four
of them walked in and each of them froze instantly. Francesca's eyebrows
raised involuntarily. "Did I say something wrong?" 

 "No, Frannie", he told her, walking over as she eyed Fraser with all her
usual vigour. "But did'ya say Darcy?" She nodded, still not looking at
him. "When did the message come through?" She shrugged, still not looking
at him. "Fran, it's important. Look at the note". She glanced down briefly
then back up at Fraser. 

 "Last Saturday", she said. "Geez, that's a while ago - sorry Ray, but I
wasn't in on Saturday, it was that temp. Anyways, a girl called Darcy
phoned, didn't leave her surname 'cos she said you'd know who she was, and
said to tell you she really needed to talk to you and was staying at the
Sunnydale Hotel over on... hey, Ray? You with me?" Snapping out of his
reverie, he nodded, realising his pretend-sister had actually dropped her
gaze of Fraser. 

 "Sure", he said. "Thanks. Let me have that note, okay?" she passed it
over. 

 "You okay, Ray?" He nodded, already walking away, not in hand, dazed. 

 "Great, Fran", he muttered. "Fan-fucking-tastic". 

 The agents and Fraser followed him over to his desk, Cooper glancing
furtively over Ray's shoulder to get a look at the note but failing. Ray
wasn't reading it - he was holding it to his chest until he reached his
desk, then hooked on his glasses and smoothed it out on the wood. 

 "What does it say?" Scully burst, unable to contain herself, hoping this
note might signal what would be just about the first clue of the case. Ray
glanced up at her for a second then continued to read, deflating her
excitement completely. He read it through twice, then a third time, then
rested his forehead down against the palm of his hand as he passed over
the note to Scully. She almost snatched it away, barely able to keep
control for the second time since they'd entered the building. Cooper
managed to avoid giving her the strange look he knew was creeping onto his
face and frowned instead. 

 "So, what *does* is say?" he asked, with none of her overboard
enthusiasm. Scully cleared her throat. 

 "'Ray, it's Darcy'", she read. "'You don't need my surname - you know who
I am. And I need help, Ray. There're guys following me. I'm staying at the
Sunnydale Hotel. Help me, Ray. You're the only one who can'". Scully
turned to the motionless Ray, her eyebrows knitted. "Detective Vecchio,
just how well do you know this girl?" He didn't like her tone; it was all
suspicious and accusing and didn't suit her at all. He almost cursed
himself for his stupidity in showing her the note then realised it really
didn't matter - he'd known all along that Scully would find out, and even
now this had happened he had no intention of telling her the truth. Well,
not the *whole* truth, anyhow. 

 "She trusts me", he said, not looking up, eyes rooted to the desk. "I
saved her lift once". Scully wasn't fully satisfied with his answer, but
for the moment she was appeased. There were other more pressing matters
than the exact nature of Stan Ray Kowalski's 'relationship' with Darcy.
Like what else the note had told them... 

 "So she knew there were men following her", she said. "She must have
found out that her father had been receiving death threats and fled the
campus. But why? Surely she knew that her father would send agents to
collect her". 

 "Maybe that was the problem", Stan said, still staring at his desk, his
hands now in his hair. 

 "And what do you mean by that, Detective?" she questioned, almost
insulted. She could tell what he was insinuating and didn't like it one
bit. 

 "She hates Feds, Agent Scully", he told her. "Sorry to say it, but there
it is. The last time something like this happened, a bunch of your guys
almost got her killed". 

 //And you saved her// Cooper thought. So now he got Kowalski. 

 "Anyway, the main thing is that she knew there were guys after her and
instead of going home she came right into the centre of the city", Scully
said, shaking off the professional insult. "So, why did she do that? To
ask you for help?" Stan shook his head slowly. 

 "No way. If she's wanted my help that badly she could've stopped by the
station or called me some more. There's more to it than that". 

 "But what if there was something preventing her from contacting you,
Detective?" Cooper asked, startling both Stan and Scully. He'd been so
quiet that they could almost have believed they were alone. 

 "Like what?" Stan asked, his head snapping up in surprise. 

 "She may have believed that contacting you would put you in danger,
also". 

 "From some psycho who wants to cap her father?" 

 "Perhaps". 

 "Perhaps my ass". 

 "Unlikely as it may seem, Detective, it's a possibility". 

 "Unlikely like me getting elected president or Saddam fucking Hussein
finding world peace. You bet it's unlikely". 

 "Then perhaps there is more to this than we might imagine". 

 "Again, like what?" 

 "I don't know, Detective. But trust me, I'll find out".   * *	

 "So, what did the Dean have to say?" 

 "Darcy's a model student and he's sad to hear about what happened". 

 "Anything else?" 

 "He knows her boyfriend's family well". 

 "So there's a boyfriend...?" 

 "James Lauritson-Hetfield, 19-year-old Physics undergraduate. All he had
to say was she's not around much at weekends, she got him into his frat,
she's a good lay and she's pretty distant most of the time. Sounds to me
like he's using her to get his homework done as much as anything". 

 "Have they let you into her room yet?" 

 "I'm on my way now". 

 "Hold on. I'm putting you on speakerphone". Click. Scully switched the
phone setting in Lieutenant Welsh's office so the others would be able to
hear Mulder's evaluation of Darcy's dorm room. Kowalski, feet propped on
the lieutenant's desk, yawned and stretched, prompting Scully to do the
same; Ray had had a late night thinking about Darcy and worrying about
Fraser; Scully had had a late night out with Carter. Now she was feeling
guilty - she'd only just realised now that she'd heard Mulder's voice that
she'd talked about his practically all night. But it wasn't like he'd been
any more original - they'd got on so well because not only had she moaned
about Mulder but he'd moaned about Lucy Knight. Still, they had another
date arranged for that night and Scully wasn't about to break it just
because of Mulder. He'd already spoiled so many of her relationships - she
wasn't going to let him spoil this one, too... 

 "Okay, I'm in her room now". Mulder's voice boomed through the office,
taking them all by surprise, even Fraser and the seemingly unflappable
Agent Cooper. Ray almost fell from his chair mid-stretch. Cooper very
nearly got a lapful of coffee. Fraser broke his stature-like stance.
Scully was torn from her thoughts of Carter. 

 "Okay then, Mulder", she said. "What do you see?" Pause. Crackle of
static. 

 "Well, I just picked up an unopened letter and a note from... a girl
called Lindsey at the MIT Drama Club. Seems out girl's quite the thespian
- she's supposed to be in rehearsals playing the lead in Romeo and
Juliet". Pause. "This is a nice room! I wish mine'd been this nice...
Posters - Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, Evil Dead, Sean Connery as Bond,
think that's Steve McQueen in Bullitt..." Pause. "Yeah, it is. Books - ooh
the classics! American Psycho, The Shining, Interview with the Vampire...
shouldn't she have some Shakespeare or Dickens or something?" 

 "Well, she's a genius, Mulder, not a geek". Sigh. 

 "Uh-huh. Textbooks. Folders of... physics. A guitar. CDs, sheet music;
wonder what she's got in the wardrobe..." 

 "Clothes, perhaps?" 

 "...clothes". 

 "What a surprise". 

 "Sarcasm doesn't become you, Scully". Sigh. "Desk drawers - pens, paper,
physics. Bedside cabinet - oh. Now this is interesting". 

 "What?" 

 "Handcuffs. Steel handcuffs. Scratched. Nice. I wonder what she gets up
to with..." 

 "Agent Mulder; the letter". Cooper broke in just before Mulder could
complete his less than intelligent sentence and before Scully could give
him her less than intelligent response. He also managed to save Ray the
trouble of bawling out the less than sensitive agent for his less than
pure thoughts about Darcy, and saved Fraser from blushing. 

 "Sure, the letter". A sound of ripping paper. "Right, here we go. 'Dear
Darcy, I'm writing to inform you that I have dispatched two agents to
collect you and return you home safely to Chicago - I have received a
number of threats against my life during the past two weeks and I believe
that I am acting in your best interests, recalling you from university.
Henrik Giger-Dahmer'. Man, that's cold. Anyone'd think they don't know
each other". 

 "They don't, really", Ray muttered. "She hates her father". 

 "What was that?" Scully repeated him over the phone without the usual
questioning. "Oh". Pause. "Well, I guess that's it here. I should get
going and I'll see you all tomorrow - I'll call you if anything else...
wait, I've got something". Crinkle crinkle. "An address". 

 "Well, give us it!" Mulder read it out and his inexplicably irate partner
scrawled it down. 

 "Thank you, Agent Mulder", Cooper told him. "You've been most helpful.
We'll let you know if anything turns up". 

 "Sure. Bye". And he hung up. Scully looked up at Cooper who was hanging
up the lieutenant's phone. 

 "Well, that was productive", she muttered. "That told us nothing we
didn't already know". 

 "Yes, it did", Cooper said, sighing. "In fact, it told us something
incredibly important. And your partner's right, Agent Scully; sarcasm
doesn't become you". 

 Reduced to an ashamed six-year-old by Cooper's words, Scully asked what
he meant was important. He turned to Ray and Ray nodded. 

 "I think I know", he said. 

 "Then by all means..." 

 "The letter. It was from her father, telling her the agents were coming
for her". 

 "Yes?" 

 "It was the only communication Henrik Giger-Dahmer made to Darcy about
it". 

 "Still, what does that mean?" 

 "It was unopened, Scully. She didn't know the guys were coming for her.
She didn't know about any of it. She wasn't running from the FBI at all -
she was running from someone else".   * *  

 As the GTO slowed, Ray was the first to notice just what the place was
that Mulder had the address for - delicately put, an 'Adult' store, not so
delicately titled 'Private Parts'. He wasn't, however, incredibly
surprised. Five minutes ago earlier he'd been surprised when they'd turned
into the red light district, but not anymore. And besides, he'd got to
know a whole different side to Darcy over the past few days. It almost
made sense. She must've been in some kind of trouble and this place had
something to do with it. 

 He was, however, the only one of them that it made the slightest sense
to; Cooper was uncharacteristically clueless, Fraser was still in his
state of virtual catatonia and Scully, even if she sensed that Ray
understood more than he was letting on, was herself at a loss. It was like
he was psychic or something, or at least he understood Darcy better than
the rest of them put together. 

 Scully and Cooper left the car and Ray and Fraser watched them walk away
into the shop. They came out less than five minutes later, Scully blushing
the colour of her hair; Cooper nodded, looking over at the car, pointing
to a curtained window above the shop and the pair headed to the alley that
led behind the building. Ray amused himself with imagining what had
happened inside to make Scully blush such a vivid shade of red. Fraser
didn't notice either of them. 

 Cooper walked behind Scully the whole way, giving her the space he
understood her to need after their encounter with the store's proprietor.
He was, as usual, right. It had been that way ever since his return from
Twin Peaks; after all of that he'd been left with an uncanny sort of muted
sixth sense. Not the weirdest experience he'd had up there by any means,
but it ran pretty close. 

 Scully knocked as Cooper came to a halt behind her; they waited maybe a
minute or so, listening to much rustling and scurrying coming from inside
the apartment, then the door opened onto a scene of chaotic clutter. And a
man. 

 25 at the very most, about 6'2", incredibly pale skin, Paul Newman blue
eyes and Scully guessed there was a build very similar to Mulder's lurking
behind his ultra-baggy black jeans and faded white T-shirt adorned with a
print of a Botticelli angel. Scully, in her cynicism after seeing the
place, knowing what it was above and noticing his blue-black hair, almost
expected the angel to be smoking dope or something - in fact, she assumed
it was until she got a better look at it later on. Cooper, on the other
hand, had no doubts that the shirt was that of a Botticelli fan, an
art-lover. In his mind the chaos of the apartment made no sense, nor did
this guy living in it. 

 "Agents Mu... sorry, Scully and Cooper, FBI", Scully stuttered, producing
her badge, feeling her cheeks redden for the second time since they'd
arrived. "We'd just like to ask you a few questions if that's..." A
carefully-placed hand against Scully's chest toppled her into Cooper and
sent them both to the floor - before they knew it, their guy was over the
railing, crashing into a convenient pile of empty boxes and making off at
top speed. They scooped themselves up and followed but he already had a
massive head-start. Their only hope now was Fraser and Ray. 

 "Stop him, Vecchio!" Scully yelled, rounding the corner at full pelt.
Ray, already out of the car surreptitiously gazing into the shop window,
turned to them and with a swift nod was off, followed closely by Fraser. 

 Cowboy boots are all very good for riding horses, walking, looking cool,
but what they're definitely not designed for is chasing a guy on the
streets of Chicago, and especially not if he's younger and healthier and
wearing sneakers. Stan cursed his choice of footwear but continued to run,
seeing Fraser pass him, pounce and take the guy down in one utterly
graceful movement. He came to a stop, slapped on the handcuffs and gave
Cooper and Scully a less than impressed smile as they stopped, panting. 

 "Thanks, Vecchio", Scully wheezed. He nodded. 

 "Anytime. Got away from you, huh?" She glared at him briefly then hauled
the handcuffed guy to his feet with Fraser's help. She was almost
impressed with the Mountie. He may have been almost constantly catatonic,
but she got the feeling he was usually very good at his job, an
above-and-beyond-the-call kinda guy. So at least her intuition was working
even if her brain wasn't.   * *  

 The ride back to the 27th was taken in complete silence, the guy wedged
in between Cooper and Scully in the back seat, but as soon as they had him
in an interview room, it was a different matter. At first he wouldn't say
anything. Then he managed to choke out, as Ray pressed him to the desk,
that his name was Brett Wolf. Not impressed with the answer, Cooper asked
a few questions of his own, and that only served to convince him that the
guy's name wasn't Brett Wolf, nothing more. Scully tried and got nothing.
Ray felt like smashing 'Brett's' face against the table. No one would've
stopped him. 

 Scully disappeared to fetch coffee, taking Ray with her, and almost as
soon as they'd made their exit, Fraser sprang to life. 

 "I'd like to apologise for pouncing on you like that, Mr Wolf", he said,
taking the chair opposite him. "You'll probably have a large bruise on
your shoulder and lower back". He shrugged. 

 "You were just doing your job, Constable". Fraser nodded. 

 "Yes, that I was". He took a deep breath and placed his Stetson carefully
on the desk. "And another part of my job is, from time to time, to give
people bad news. I'm afraid Darcy is in a coma". The guy stopped rubbing
his eyes. He stopped completely, abruptly, utterly motionless. Cooper
congratulated the Mountie mentally - he definitely had a way with
suspects. 

 "Is, uh, is she going to be okay?" His voice was ragged, almost out of
control. 

 "There's no way to tell, I'm afraid". 

 "Can I see her?" Fraser glanced up at Cooper who was lurking by the
window. 

 "If you answer a few questions, I don't see why not", Cooper said. The
guy nodded awkwardly, his head in his hands. 

 "Sure. Ask away". Cooper smiled and walked over, taking a chair next to
Fraser as Scully and Kowalski returned, bearing coffee. 

 "Thank you, Agent Scully", he said, taking his cup and taking a sip. "Ah,
now that's good coffee. I only wish we had coffee like this back at the
Bureau. Are you a coffee drinker, Mr Wolf?" 

 "Can't get enough of the stuff". 

 "Well then, we've got more in common than we thought. Have a cup - you'll
enjoy it and you look like you need it. But let's drop the assumed name,
huh?" 

 "My name's Alexander Rowan McKay". He took the coffee, sipped and sighed,
looking at Cooper. "You're right, Agent Cooper, this is good coffee".
Cooper nodded. 

 "I didn't think you looked like a 'Brett Wolf'", Scully said. 

 "That's because I'm not". He smiled, almost. "Y'know, it's nice to be
able to say that. I'm not Brett Wolf. I'm Xander McKay. Or, more
correctly, Corts, although technically I'm still Calento... Brett Wolf is
a hell of a lot simpler than going through all of that. I'm not sure which
is my legal name anymore..." Ray froze. 

 "Calento as in Tony Calento? Calento as in the Calento Family?" Xander
nodded. 

 "The very same. I'm Tony's adopted nephew. Long story". 

 "We're not going anywhere", Scully said, and he nodded. 

 "Okay. I was born in LA - hence the accent - and my mom was a Las Vegas
showgirl who'd married my dad to get out of all that crap, but he died
when I was two or something and she had to go back. We lived with her
sister for a few years before we moved in with some other showgirls - you
can tell I had an ideal childhood here - and by the time I was twelve she
wasn't dancing anymore, she was singing. And she was good; I guess that's
how she met Johnny Calento. They got married, Johnny adopted me, and for a
few years it was great, living at the Calento place, all the money - but
Johnny and my mom died. The cops said it was an accident but I don't know
- there was always someone out to get Johnny. I had no idea what I was
going to do, seventeen and on my own in Vegas, but Johnny's brother Tony
from Chicago took me in, accepted me as part of the family. He let me stay
on in Vegas until I was out of high school, and I finally came to Chicago
when I was almost nineteen, only to find Tony Calento's like a real-life
Michael Corleone. So here I am". 

 "How old are you now?" 

 "Twenty-two. I've been here a little over three years". 

 "How long have you been living over the porn shop?" 

 "It's an Adult Sex Shop, and just over two years. Maybe two and a half". 

 "How come you live there when you're a Calento?" 

 "You mean, shouldn't I be living in a mansion or something with my Mob
family?" 

 "Something like that", Scully agreed. 

 "I used to. I could if I wanted to. But I'm in less danger at the shop
and it pays surprisingly well. Besides, it keeps Tony happy, too". 

 "Why's that?" 

 "If I wasn't there he'd have to get some other guy to run it, a guy from
the family, and some middle-aged Italian-American in an Armani suit behind
the counter of a shop called Private Parts might freak out the clientele.
It just so happens that I'm part of the family *and* I look the part, so I
got the job". 

 "The shop's owned by the Mob?" 

 "Pretty much everything in my world is owned by the Mob, Agent Scully,
including my apartment, my dog, and yes, even the shop". 

 "What about Darcy?" 

 "What *about* Darcy?" 

 "Is she owned by the Mob?" Xander smiled, leaning back in his chair,
smoothing down the Botticelli angel across his chest. 

 "Like I said, Agent Scully, everything in my world".	* *  

 Scully and Cooper were called away for a phone conference with AD
Skinner. Constable Turnbull turned up and whisked Fraser away (somewhat
reluctantly on Fraser's part) to the Consulate for cakes and tea with a
visiting dignitary. Ray was alone with Xander. And when Xander began to
speak, what he said terrified him. 

 "Detective Vecchio". 

 "That's me". Xander shook his blue-haired head slowly, his eyes never
leaving Ray's. 

 "But it's not", he said, frowning. "I've met enough Italian-Americans to
fill a football stadium three times over - enough to know you're not one
of them. Even less so than I am". 

 "How d'ya know I'm not adopted?" 

 "I heard you talking to the Italian woman - I saw her badge. The civilian
aid, Francesca Vecchio. Wife? I don't think so. Sister? More likely, but
no family resemblance..." 

 "Your point?" 

 "I don't think you're Vecchio at all". 

 "Yeah?" 

 "Yeah. I think he's probably off somewhere doing some cop thing, and
you're pretending to be him for whatever reason. I don't care about that,
though. You want to know what I do care about?" Ray swallowed, hoping his
poker face remained intact, although despite the conversation he was
pretty sure Xander wasn't a threat. At least not to Vecchio or the
assignment, but perhaps he could do some damage elsewhere... 

 "Sure. Why the hell not". 

 "You want to know who I think you are?" 

 "Shoot". Stan leaned down over the desk, looking into Xander's eyes. 

 "Ray", he whispered. Ray sat down, heavily, almost missing the chair.
"Darcy's Ray. Stanley Ray Kowalski. I saw a picture of you once, taken at
night in bad light, but it's still you. She talks about you sometimes, you
know, but only when she's too doped up to even know she's talking". 

 "Doped up? You're saying she's a junkie?" Ray's head crashed down into
the desk and Xander winced in sympathy. 

 "Yes, I guess I am". He sighed. "She'd have to be to get into the shit
she's into". 

 "She's in trouble?" 

 "That's not what I meant but that too". 

 "What kind of trouble?" Ray's voice was frantic. 

 "Trouble with the Mob. Trouble with Tony..." 

 "Go on..." 

 "She's been his number one girl for almost a year. He takes her
everywhere, like a pretty little showpiece. He swears blind he loves her
but with what he lets her, makes her, do - the bastard doesn't know what
love is". 

 "And you do?" 

 "Yes, I do. I love her. I'd do anything for her". 

 "Oh really? Like what?" 

 "Rat out the Calento family voluntarily?" Ray sighed. 

 "Point taken. You'd either have to love her like hell or be completely
insane". 

 "Both. But Tony's killing her slowly. Oh God, this wasn't supposed to
happen! We were going to leave, run away, make a new life somewhere, maybe
go to England where her family is or stay in the States - I may be a
worthless son of a bitch but Darcy deserves so much better than this, and
she could've taught, or done her PhD in peace. We could've got out of this
with our money and contacts or we could've sent the Calentos down for
their damned illegal porn racket. I wouldn't've had to live above and work
in that bastard porn shop, feeling sick every time one of Tony's guys came
in and I had to hand him a tape with my girlfriend on it... being there
when they recorded that shit... Tony and his guys are one twisted bunch or
fuckers, believe me". 

 "Uh, stop. Rewind. Did you just say Darcy was in a porn movie?" Xander
nodded, wiping tears from his big blue eyes. Ray wanted to feel sorry for
him but there was something in the way - probably how he'd let all this
happen and done nothing. But he'd been going to, and now he was betraying
the Mafia to do it. This weird-looking guy before him really must love
her, and that in itself was reason enough for Ray to dislike him. 

 "She must've been in twenty by now", Xander told him, sighing, sad. "I
saw a couple and couldn't believe it was her, the things she was doing.
But then I saw them shoot a couple and I talked to her, and I saw her
around - I believed it. She shouldn't be doing this, man, no way, and she
knows it, but how do you say no to the Mob? And she only does them for
Tony, for Tony and his damned cronies. But they're sick, and I mean *sick*
with a capital 'S', some of them. I'm sure Tony's mental. God, they even
made me do one with her once..." 

 "Why the fuck did you do it? Couldn't you've said no or made up some
excuse or some-fucking-thing?" Ray knew he was grasping at straws. 

 "The alternative was worse, trust me", Xander said with a glance that
struck Ray as completely honest. "Better me than that... him... Better me
than him... Better me..." 

 Xander couldn't cope - he just broke down and cried, sobbing, heaving,
uncontrollable. He'd never told anyone before. He'd never dared to open
his mouth - he'd been so scared to say a word to anyone for what they'd
think of him and of Darcy and what they had together. But Ray was
different. Ray had known Darcy before any of it happened, and he could
understand this, how he wanted to get her out of it, away from it. Away
from feeling constantly dirty, away from the crime, away from the
sickness, somewhere he could hold her in his arms and for once not feel
like he was sinking. 

 Ray understood. He understood the pain of seeing someone you know hurt,
of wanting to help them so bad it consumes you. Fraser was killing him in
just that way, had been for over a month now. He rounded the table and
laid an arm across the boy's broad shoulders. 

 "I used to be a surfer, you know", Xander mumbled into his hands. "I used
to have long blonde hair and a tan, I used to have girls falling at my
feet. I used to be an artist, too - I had the talent to make it. All the
colleges and art schools wanted me. And look at me now..." Ray sighed as
Xander sobbed, pulling him into his wiry arms. The boy practically
collapsed on him, his muscular frame eclipsing Ray completely, making him
feel tiny. But right then, Ray was in control. What he said could affect
this boy, for good or ill. He had much more influence over Xander than he
could even begin to comprehend right then; he sought his forgiveness, his
absolution, his blessing. 

 "I understand", he said. "I understand and everything's gonna be alright.
For all of us. I promise it will".   * *  

 Scully walked into the restaurant - a fancy Italian deal complete with
authentic Italian waiters, she noted - at a little after 8pm that evening,
and met Carter in the foyer. They were escorted to their table, Carter
ordered wine, then the pair of them struggled with the incomprehensible
Italian menu until they gave up and ordered Spaghetti Bolognese. The meal
was nice, the place expensive and fairly nice, and the conversation fairly
standard for the two of them. But as the dessert arrived - a concoction
that Scully couldn't figure out for the life of her - their tack changed. 

 "You know, what's bothering me most about it, apart from being *sure*
that Vecchio knows more than he's telling, is how disturbed the Mountie
got by those marks on her wrists and ankles", Scully was saying. They'd
been talking about work, and gradually her current case - also one of his
- had come up. "I mean, it bothered him more than when he found out she'd
been raped or she was in a coma. I just don't understand it". Carter
nodded, swallowing a mouthful of his dessert. He had no idea what it was,
either, but it tasted good. 

 "Maybe he knows what they are", he said. "He might know what they are buy
not want to believe it so he asked us". Scully shrugged. 

 "I don't know. Maybe he does. I wouldn't put it past him to have more to
do with this than any of us realise, but Vecchio seems to trust him". 

 "But you don't trust Vecchio?" 

 "No, I don't. How's the, uh, dessert?" 

 "Quite good, actually. Try some". He watched as she put a small piece
into her mouth and smiled, nodding. 

 "Yeah, that's nice. How did you know we'd like it?" 

 "Well, I had an Italian girlfriend once", he said. "She used to have me
tasting all these weird things and I never knew what they were. She was a
weird person. A wild person. But she knew what she wanted. And it usually
involved handcuffs". Scully smiled. 

 "I didn't have you figured for a bondage freak", she laughed. He
shrugged. 

 "It's okay in moderation. But she, uh, had these... okay, I think I know
what caused the marks on Darcy, and I didn't want to have to say because
then Greene and Benton and Lucy and everyone'd be talking... She was
probably into some heavy-duty bondage or S and M. My ex-girlfriend had
been into all that for a while and she had marks just like those". Silence
ensued, and eventually Scully nodded. 

 "Makes sense", she said. 

 "How so?" 

 "Her boyfriend manages a sex store. He said she'd gotten mixed up in
something she shouldn't have and so it makes sense. I think. Thanks for
telling me". 

 "Anytime. But you're not going to tell anyone?" 

 "Like Greene or Benton?" 

 "Or Lucy". She shook her head. 

 "No. Of course not. I'm a professional, and they have no need to know how
I know how she got the marks". 

 "Thanks. I could do without her - them - knowing all the sordid details".
Scully smiled. 

 "I know exactly what you mean. I'd die if Mulder knew half the things I
keep from him... you love her, don't you". Carter frowned, but soon it
melted to a smile to mirror hers. 

 "And you love him". 

 "I guess I do at that". 

 "Then we're both fools". 

 "For love?" 

 "For love. What else is there to be a fool for?" 

 "You know, I'm glad I met you". 

 "Yeah, me too".   * *	

 When Fraser finally arrived home after his tea and cakes date at the
Consulate, he opened the apartment door to find his partner asleep on his
sofa, Diefenbaker on the floor just below him. And Fraser smiled. The
moonlight coming in through the window caught Stan's hair and made it glow
like a halo. His long black coat was wrapped around him tightly and Ben
watched as he shuddered beneath it, in his sleep - soon he was tucking a
layer of blood-red serge around his partner's shoulders and ten minutes
later he left the room, almost guilty. If felt like an invasion of privacy
to watch him sleep, so vulnerable, under his own red coat. 

 It was 1:30am when Ray woke to a cold tongue lapping at his forehead. He
pushed Diefenbaker away with a disgusted 'yeuch!' and settled back down
under the coat, wondering why it smelled of Ben until he realised it was
his uniform jacket - he barely had the time to note how considerate his
partner was before Dief was about to strike for the second time, and he
heard it. A low mumbling, whimpering, groaning sound, coming from Fraser's
room, and a damned disturbing noise at that, catching on his heart. He
gave Dief a quick pat on the head and made for Fraser's room. 

 He wasn't entirely sure what to do - he stood there, paced, glared at
Dief who was giving him that 'do something' look, then sat down on the
side of Ben's bed and laid his partner's head in his lap, stroking his
hair, hushing him and wiping the tears away with his fingers. Gently, Ben
woke. 

 "Ray?" he questioned, looking up in the darkness through tear-blurred
eyes. 

 "Yeah, Frase, it's me", he murmured. His voice was so near... inches
away, soft, safe. 

 "Ray, what are you doing here?" 

 "You were having a bad dream, Frase, no big deal. Okay?" 

 "Yes, I'm okay, Ray". But Ray didn't believe him. It was something
between the tone of his voice and the tears and those heart-wrenching
noises he'd heard - he couldn't believe him. 

 "You're a liar, Frase, but that's okay", he said. "Still, I wish you
wouldn't lie to me - I mean, we're partners, Fraser, *partners*. We're not
supposed to have secrets". 

 "I'm just scared you'll hate me if I tell you this one, Ray. I don't want
you to hate me..." 

 "Jesus, Ben! I couldn't hate you if I tried. And you need to get this out
in the open. You've been so closed off lately, you're like a robot or
something. C'mon, Frase, tell me, and we'll both feel better. I promise". 

 "You promise?" Ray looked down into his partner's hopefully wide blue
eyes and nodded. 

 "Sure, Frase. I promise". Fraser sighed. 

 "Okay. I, uh, well, Darcy, that is - Ray, I slept with her, with Darcy".
Ray nodded, stroking back Ben's hair. 

 "I know", he said. "And trust me, buddy, it's not such a big thing.
People are sleeping together all over the world. Hell, there're probably a
couple of hundred at it right now here in Chicago. It's not that big a
deal". Ben shook his head. 

 "Maybe not for everyone else, but for me... how could I do it? My God,
Ray, she's only eighteen... and we didn't, I didn't, you know, use any..."


 "Protection", Ray supplied. "I guessed. But Frase, everyone makes
mistakes. And God knows I've made a few, so has Darcy, so have all the
rest of us in this world. It's about time you did something you regret.
But you know, it gets easier. Mistakes are things we all have to deal
with, even you. But at least you haven't made the major fuck-ups I have.
Count yourself lucky". 

 "I don't feel lucky, Ray". 

 "You're alive, Frase. That's lucky enough". 

 "What if I don't want to be?" 

 "You'd kill yourself over sleeping with someone? C'mon, Frase, you're so
much smarter than that". Ben sighed. 

 "If I can't tell when a girl's still a teenager, when I sleep with her, I
don't feel all that smart". Ray sighed and tilted Ben's head in his lap so
that their eyes met. 

 "Let me tell you something, Fraser", he said, leaning closer. "Darcy
Giger-Dahmer is stunning. There is no way on Earth anyone could believe
she's only eighteen. And she's an astounding actress. Her boyfriend told
me that for the first five months he knew her he thought she was from
Chicago, her accent was so good. And she's a genius. She's doing a PhD or
an MA or something at MIT - not all that many eighteen-year-olds are doing
that. By all rights she should be in her twenties. But she's not, okay.
She's eighteen and she's beautiful and you made a mistake. God, at least
you're not divorced!" 

 "No, but I'm verging on child molestation". 

 "She's eighteen. It's legal. If you were in England it'd've been legal at
sixteen, damnit!" 

 "That still doesn't make it right, though, does it Ray?" 

 "No. Okay Frase, no. It doesn't make it right. You were wrong. She was
wrong. I'll probably clich you to death one day, but it takes two to
tango. She was there too". 

 "She's a drug addict, Ray. She's running from the Mob. She probably
thought sleeping with me was the only way I'd help her". 

 "Ha! Two seconds with you and she'd've wanted to get you into bed, Mob or
no Mob", Ray sighed. "You underestimate the effect you have on women.
Hell, there are even guys out there lusting after you, Frase! Darcy
would've wanted you anyway. And as for that being the only way you'd help
her, that's bullshit and you know it. All you have to do is bat those baby
blues and even the most suspicious guy in the world'd be eating out of
your hand. You exude trust, Fraser. You're just trying to blame yourself".


 "That's not true", he murmured and closed his eyes, squeezing out twin
tears that Ray brushed away lightly. Ben was mystified. He'd been sure Ray
would be horrified to find he'd slept with Darcy, but he'd said he'd
already known. And even when Ray had raised his voice, when he should've
hit him, all he'd done was stroke back his hair, calming him. And Ben
started to cry. Mostly because of Darcy but also because he was sure he
didn't deserve a friend like Ray Kowalski. 

 "I just don't think I can forgive myself, Ray - I don't think I can
cope". 

 "Sure you can. I know what it's like. I'll help you through it". Ben
frowned. 

 "How could you know what it's like?" he almost moaned, trying to contain
his anger. He didn't want Ray to hate him. He didn't want Ray to leave -
he knew he'd just give up completely if he did. "Slept with any
eighteen-year-olds recently, Ray?" Despite how he felt, he couldn't resist
one dig, one shot, and he cursed himself as soon as it left his mouth. But
instead of hitting back, Ben found himself listening to him take a long,
deep breath, and feeling it on his cheek as he exhaled, warm, close. 

 "Oh, I know what it's like", Ray said, whispered. The pain in his voice
was so raw that Ben could barely bear to listen. "It's worse for me, Ben,
so much worse. There's not a day goes by that I don't think about what I
did, believe me - not a single hour, a minute. You see, she was the most
beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Tall, blonde, legs up to her neck, and,
breasts like, uh, fuck, she was pretty. And I couldn't believe my luck
when she liked me, too - jeez, a thirty-something Chicago cop and *that*?
No way. But she liked me, and God help me, I liked her. I slept with her,
three times, before she told me she was seventeen. Y'know, I cried the
night I found out. I thought I loved her - I think maybe I do now. She was
just so beautiful that I couldn't believe she was only seventeen, and boy,
did that ever kill me. I thought we could've had something, really *had*
something, but she was so young... I would've given up everything for her.
I almost did. So don't you tell me that what you did was bad. Darcy's
eighteen". 

 "That's only a year younger, ray - yours was only twelve months younger.
What's twelve months?" 

 "Oh, but that's not all, Frase". The tone of Ray's voice chilled Ben to
the bone. 

 "What is it, Ray?" He was almost afraid to ask, a sense of dread in the
pit of his stomach. 

 "I'd just divorced Stella", he said. Ben sighed, relieved. "That's not
it. I'd just divorced Stella. It was just over a year ago now. I was
helping to protect a family, and I slept with the seventeen-year-old
daughter. Darcy, Frase. I slept with Darcy. In her bed, under the same
roof as her parents, in the room she'd had since she was a child. I slept
with a seventeen-year-old girl, Fraser, and I was her first. She lost
her... innocence... because of me. Now say it's okay".	 * *  

 Fraser wasn't mad at him. Stan couldn't believe it. He had to keep
reminding himself that he'd told him his biggest secret and he didn't hate
him. He was still smiling when he woke up... but not for long. He was
lying back against the bed but what was under his head wasn't bed and sure
didn't feel like pillow - he looked up tentatively and met Fraser's blue
eyes. 

 "Morning, Ray". He was up like a shot, off the bed, over by the window
and running a hand stiffly through his hair in a vain attempt to regain
composure, his face strangely contorted. "Ray?" 

 "Why the fuck didn't you wake me up, Fraser?" he demanded. "For Christ's
sake, it's... 6:45, but that's beside the point. I was..." 

 "You just looked so comfortable, I didn't have the heart to wake you,
Ray", Ben told him, sitting up cross-legged on the bed. "And it wasn't
hurting me, so... Are you okay, Ray?" Ray sighed, ran his hand through his
hair one last time and shrugged his shoulders. 

 "I don't know, Frase. I guess I'm just not used to , uh, well, could we
just not talk about it?" 

 "Whatever you say, Ray". Ray paused and looked at his partner through
narrowed eyes for a moment. "Ray?" 

 "You're talking, Frase. In well-constructed, coherent sentences. You've
been smiling. Are you okay?" 

 "Why do you ask, Ray?" 

 "Oh, no reason. Just that for over a week I've practically had to slap
you to get you to string two words together, that's all. Nothing, really".


 "Point taken, Ray". 

 "And why the hell are you ending every single sentence with my name? It's
disturbing". 

 "Just making up for all the times I haven't said it over the last week".
Fraser smiled. 

 "That's cute, Frase, real cute. Now I'm gonna make coffee, presuming you
have some..." 

 "I always have some, in case you drop by, Ray", Fraser interrupted.
Kowalski mock-glared at him. 

 "Don't do that, Fraser", he warned. "And as I was saying, I'm gonna go
make some coffee. Then I'm gonna come back in here and you're gonna be
dressed, okay?" Fraser nodded, reluctantly. "Okay, what's wrong with that
plan?" 

 "I was thinking about having a shower, Ray", he said. "I seem to have
neglected my personal hygiene somewhat and a shower might do me good". 

 "True, it might, but you smell fine to me". 

 "Ray, what do you smell like to you?" 

 "I don't know, not especially nice, I guess, but okay". 

 "My point exactly, Ray". 

 "Are you saying I smell?" 

 "Well, I didn't actually say that, Ray..." 

 "The words weren't there but the meaning definitely was. You think I
smell. Thanks for telling me!" His voice was raised but he was smiling.
"Okay, change of plan. I'm gonna go take a shower, then make coffee. You
have until I've finished that coffee to get your butt out of bed, take a
shower and dress. I'm leaving now". He turned to leave. 

 "Oh, Ray?" Ray stopped and turned back to him. 

 "Yeah, Frase?" 

 "Take a T-shirt from the closet. I find the coffee stain on your stomach
a little... disturbing". Flashing him a dazzling lop-sided grin, Ray
grabbed a white v-neck affair from the closet and was off to the shower.
Ben just lay back on the bed and tried not to think about how good his
partner's head had felt against his bare stomach just minutes before.	*
*  

 It was 9am by the time Fraser and Kowalski finally arrived at the
station, having showered, drunk coffee/tea, eaten at a tempting-looking
caf they'd passed and dropped in to see Darcy briefly, and when they got
there, a shiny black rental car was just pulling up. Ray parked the GTO,
they both got out and at the same time Mulder exited the rental car. 

 "Well, Agent Mulder", Ray exclaimed, the two of them walking over.
"Haven't you missed a lot while you've been away. I mean, if you'd been
here, maybe you could've had another of Darcy's boyfriends knock you out".
Mulder smiled a small sarcastic smile and turned to Fraser. 

 "Is he always this obnoxious, Constable?" he asked. 

 "Only on weekdays, Agent Mulder". 

 "It's Saturday". 

 "Then perhaps he just doesn't like you". Ray guffawed at Fraser's deadpan
delivery and Mulder stalked off alone, leaving Fraser smiling. "Was it
something I said?" 

 "Damn straight it was something you said! You just insulted an FBI Agent,
Fraser. Are you feeling okay?" 

 "I'm feeling strangely fine. Thank you kindly for asking, Ray". Fraser
was back. Ray smiled, clapped his partner across the back and walked into
the building. 

 Scully wasn't there - according to Cooper, she'd taken off about fifteen
minutes earlier saying there was something she had to do that just
couldn't wait, and that was that. Mulder relentlessly checked his watch
and the door from then until her return, but the rest of them were a
little more concerned with Darcy's attackers. 

 "And you're sure the boyfriend told you everything he knows?" Cooper
asked. Ray nodded. 

 "Absolutely. By the time he'd finished I could've written his life story.
Xander's told us all he knows". 

 "Then where do we go from here?" Mulder asked, looking at his watch.
"What sort of leads do we have?" 

 "Tony Calento", Ray replied. "Tony and his illegal porn". 

 "Then we should pay Tony Calento a visit". 

 "Not likely". 

 "And why not?" 

 "Fraser?" Mulder frowned and looked at the Mountie. 

 "Tony Calento is the head of the Calento family, one of the top Mob men
in the city, and has been known to make his problems just 'disappear'. You
go after Tony Calento with no evidence and you might just find *you*
disappear". 

 "Fraser..." 

 "Oh, yes Ray. Allegedly of course". Cooper smiled. He guessed he'd known
all along that there was a person under the catatonia of the Mountie -
there had to be for Kowalski to demonstrate such faith in him. He just
wondered what exactly it was that the cop had done to bring his partner
around. But no, in fact, if he never got to know it wouldn't've bothered
him. He was just glad they were okay again. They had a partnership, and if
Cooper knew anything, it was the value of partnership. 

 "So we don't go after Calento?" 

 "Oh, we do". 

 "But you just said..." Mulder was thoroughly confused. 

 "No, Fraser just said", Kowalski replied. "I'm much more in favour of the
direct approach; we go over to Tony's place, knock on the door and ask
nicely if he tried to have the daughter of the director of the FBI shot to
death. I don't see any problems with that". 

 "But Ray..." 

 "No buts, Fraser. We're doing this. I mean, he couldn't possibly have a
cop, a Mountie, and three FBI agents murdered in broad daylight in the
centre of Chicago, right?" 

 "I don't know, Ray..." 

 "Well, you don't have to come, Frase". 

 "You know I will, though, Ray". 

 "I do?" 

 "I always do". 

 "Wait a minute", Mulder broke in. "Three agents? I see two". 

 "And the third you don't see is Special Agent Dana Scully, currently MIA
somewhere in the greater Chicago area", Kowalski told him, more than a
little sarcastic. "Away for a couple of days and forgotten her already?
Must be that new girlfriend we've heard so much about". Mulder blushed. 

 "She told you about Kelly?" Each nodded in turn. 

 "'Fraid so, Mulder". 

 "Does she have to go?" 

 "Yes, she has to go. You don't want her to?" 

 "Well... Are you sure?" 

 "As sure as I'm gonna get". 

 "But she's not here". 

 "She will be". 

 "But she..." 

 "Mulder, we wait for Scully".	 * *  

 The red-haired agent resurfaced at midday, about three hours later, and
by the time she arrived, her partner was no longer worried about her being
shot by the Calentos. There was something bigger now, something not a one
of them would ever be able to forget, that had arrived during her absence
- the evidence they needed to convict Tony Calento and numerous members of
his family, even if their arrests would not be firmly connected to the
attempted murder of Darcy Giger-Dahmer. Instead, they had, caught on tape,
something which could mean a big bye-bye to the Calentos and their alleged
illegal porn. 

 But the tape wasn't just the illegal porn they took it for at first,
after reading the attached note. It was something else. Something that
would give Mulder yet another reason for needing therapy, give Cooper
nightmares for months, almost make Scully physically ill and terrify both
Ben and Ray. It was vile, it was dirty, and it was snuff. 

 The note read: 'Ray, I hoped you'd never have to know about any of this,
but it's too late for me to get all worried about what you might think of
me; all I want you to know is I'm ashamed, I'm sorry, and I'm scared. But
I think you need to see this, because these men need to be stopped - it
should never, ever happen again to anyone else, and if anyone can put an
end to it, Ray, you can. Please, do this for me, and show as many people
as you can, tell people - the more people who know, the safer you'll be.
Expect to hear from the FBI. And remember - whatever happens to me, I'll
always love you. Darcy. P.S. The other girl's name is Monique Loder, and
her parents live somewhere in Nashville. If you find them, tell them I'm
sorry - I never meant for any of this to happen'. 

 Naturally, no one assumed there would be anything other than pornography
on that videotape, but when they saw Monique Loder handcuffed to a cellar
wall side by side with Darcy, slowly bleeding to death from the slashes at
her wrists inflicted by Tony Calento even before she was strangled during
the act, they knew what it was. Tony, the guy smiling, thrashing the hell
out of Darcy's thighs as he watched one of his men strangle a girl to
death, was going down.	 * *  

 Stan brought the GTO to a stop outside the Calento offices about 2:30
that afternoon, nodded to the other and left the car. He quickly checked
his gun and walked, flanked by Mulder and Cooper and followed by Scully
and Fraser, to the door. 

 The legal front for the Calentos was a small chain of nightclubs dotted
around Chicago, Miami and Las Vegas, in addition to their casinos - Stan,
Fraser and the others had ended up at one of them which was known to also
house Tony's headquarters. And they had it on the good authority of a narc
squad who'd been observing the family on a suspected drugs charge that the
boss was in the house. 

 Stan knocked on the door. They waited, the five of them alone in the
dirty alley. A slot opened to reveal only a pair of sunglasses-covered
eyes. 

 "Who are you and what do you want?" a rasping Chicago-accented voice
demanded, blowing out smoke as he spoke. Stan stepped forward, holding up
his badge. 

 "Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD", he said. "FBI Special Agents Mulder, Scully
and Cooper and RCMP Constable Fraser to see Tony, thanks". 

 "Don't move". The slot closed with a bang and Scully jumped. Ray sighed
and ran a hand somewhat unsteadily through his hair. Cooper and Mulder
exchanged a glance that both understood to mean that the other wasn't the
least bit happy at their current situation. Fraser looked around, stroking
one eyebrow with his thumb, and began to wish he had a gun, having noticed
he was the only one without. The slot opened. 

 "The boss says he'll see you". The faceless goon opened the door, and all
five walked in, not quite shaking but almost there. 

 Tony's musclebound doorman led them down a long, dark corridor, past an
entrance to the bar, and through to a poorly-lit back room set up as an
office where lurked seven men. Ray felt sick to his stomach as he looked
at them - three of them he knew as Tony's and his two favourite cronies
from the video, and each was certainly hiding more under the desk or their
coat than knees or a pen. He swallowed and walked straight up to Tony
Calento's desk. 

 "And what can I do for you today, Detective?" the balding, ageing
second-generation Italian-American asked. Ray suppressed a shudder as he
spotted a photo of this ogre with Darcy on the filing cabinet behind him,
but he forced himself to look away before turning to Tony. "Come to
inspect the place? Want to book us for your birthday? Someone got too many
unpaid parking tickets? What?" Ray cleared his throat. 

 "Tony Calento, you're under arrest for the murder of Monique Loder. You
do not..." 

 "What?" The man's voice was so loud and unexpected that Mulder almost
went for his gun. "You're doing what?" 

 "I'm arresting you for the murder of Monique Loder, Mr Calento", Ray
repeated calmly, almost indifferently. "We have evidence which places you
at the scene, and which states that her death was ordered by you. We're
also gonna charge you with assault on Darcy Giger-Dahmer, and on a
personal note, I hope you burn in hell for what you did to her". Scully
thought about stopping him, but changed her mind as she realised she
agreed with him. "Now, are you gonna come quietly or am I gonna have to
get me agent friends here to 'cuff you?" Tony shrugged, the shoulders of
his immaculate blue Armani suit crinkling. 

 "What if I don't want to go at all, Detective?" 

 "Then I'll take great pleasure in pulling my gun, 'cuffing you at
gunpoint and wrenching your arms out of joint on the way out, okay?" The
door-goon turned to his boss, wide-eyed, as if to say 'let me at him!',
and Mulder almost grinned at how much the overweight 6'4" bouncer reminded
him of Scrappy Doo. Tony shook his head and the good unwillingly returned
to his previous position. Another had his hand hovering close to one
lapel. A third moved around to flank the boss on the other side beside the
door-goon. Two on one side, Tony, four on the other side. Three seated,
four standing, all with severely itchy trigger-fingers. Ray and Cooper
broke out in a cold sweat simultaneously. Mulder had already started a
minute or so earlier. Scully and Fraser remained icily calm and detached,
statue-like. 

 "Then I suggest you pull your gun and try it, Detective", Tony said, the
slightest hint of a smile on his lips. "You'll be dead before you've moved
a muscle". 

 "Threatening a police officer? How big of you, Tony". 

 "Oh, not as brave as coming in here and trying to arrest me for murder, I
admit", he said. "But don't I at least deserve some credit for killing a
Chicago Police Officer, three FBI agents and a, um, a Mountie? What the
hell's he doing here?" 

 "He's my partner, scumbag. Leave him the fuck alone". Tony smiled. Ray
bristled. 

 "Your partner? Is that what you call it?" He leaned forward over his
desk, closer to Ray, conspiratorial. "Tell me, Detective; which one of you
plays the woman? Is he good in bed? You make a lovely couple". And Ray
snapped. The gun was out in a flash, directed at Tony, his jaw set. 

 "Like it or not, you're coming with us", he spat through clenched teeth,
seething whilst blushing furiously. "And one day I'll see you pay for what
you've done". Tony just smiled and yawned loudly. 

 "I think you've outstayed your welcome", he said, leaning back in his
leather swivel chair. "I thought we might be able to reach an agreement
but clearly I was wrong. I'm sorry to have top do this, but... Boys, kill
them". All six goons drew guns. The three agents drew guns. Ray's backup
entered the building to the melodious cracking of gunfire.   * *  

 Harding Welsh was a hard man to work for but ultimately fair, and he
cared for the welfare of his officers. That is why he walked into that
room with such dread and apprehension, having heard those shots ring out
through the deserted nightclub. He had an officer in that room - one of
the best masquerading as one of his best. Ray Kowalski. His damn fool
unofficial Mountie partner was probably there, too, not to mention those
three FBI agents whose deaths could cost him his career... But his career
wasn't what made his heart beat double-time as his team rant through the
building - he had more important things on his mind. Five lives and a
murderer. 

 They burst through the door all guns and bulletproof vests, and his
stomach sank as his eyes adjusted and took in the scene. Blood - so much
blood. Guns. Bodies. But who was who? He couldn't tell, except for the
Mountie in red serge crumpled in the corner... God no, not Fraser! 

 Something moving caught his eye, away to the right, and as he turned he
came face to face with Dale Cooper. 

 "Agent Cooper, is everything alright? We heard gunshots". Cooper sighed,
motioning to the corner, then behind him to the bodies. 

 "If you're asking if we 'got the bad guys', Lieutenant, then yes -
everything's alright", Cooper said, deflated. "If you're asking if
every*one* and not every*thing* is alright, then the answer is no". He
looked around and caught the eye of an officer who he asked to call an
ambulance then back to the lieutenant. "Two of Tony Calento's men are
dead, one is well on his way, two were shot through their shoulders, Mr
Calento and the seventh man are disarmed and cuffed, Agent Scully was
grazed by a bullet and, well, see for yourself". 

 Lieutenant Welsh nodded, then turned slowly to face the corner where
Fraser lay crumpled, his back to him. But as he drew closer, he noticed.
Fraser was moving, his shoulders shaking, and he was whispering almost
inaudibly. He lay one hand on his shoulder and the Mountie jumped. 

 "Constable?" Fraser moved, looking up at him. 

 "I should not have let him come here", he said simply, tears in his eyes.
And the lieutenant saw as he shifted that in his arms lay his partner,
bleeding red blood onto blood red serge, pale and unmoving. 

 "Kowalski", he whispered. And he left the room, running, calling for the
ambulance or a doctor or a paramedic. He had an officer down. And he'd be
damned before another good man went to his death under his command. 

 Scully wanted to go to them, to try to help, but Mulder pressed her
firmly into her seat and pressed a handkerchief to her cut forehead.
Scully's vision was blurry from the blood in her eyes and Mulder felt like
he could cry but knew he wouldn't. He'd be strong for her. 

 Ben held Ray in his big, strong arms and rocked his slim body back and
forth, feeling the coldness of his skin against his blood-slick hands. He
couldn't let him go, he wouldn't let himself. He knew he could never live
without him, his best friend; all he wanted then was for Ray's eyes to
open, his lips to smile and his mouth to say that everything would be
alright. But none of that happened. Instead, he lay motionless on the
office floor, cold and bleeding. 

 "Please don't go, Ray", he whispered, folding his partner in against he
chest, his lips moving against blonde hair. "You can't - you can't leave
me like this. Please don't go, Ray, please don't go..." And once his tears
had begun to flow, it seemed they would never cease.   * *  

 No one bothered the Mountie as he sat waiting in the corridor - they saw
the tear-stained porcelain-white face, the crumpled and bloodstained coat
and hands, and they let him be. And if he hadn't been away in a world
completely his own, Fraser might have been grateful. But all he could
think was how he wished it could have been him and not Ray, how his life
would mean so little without him. And all he could see was blood. 

 He'd been so cold when the ambulance had arrived, so cold and pale and
limp there in his arms. The paramedics had taken him away, left him alone
in that office with the blood on his hands and the tears in his eyes, but
it was only seconds before he'd stood and run after them to climb into the
ambulance alongside them and hold his partner's hand all the way to the
hospital. 

 He'd been taken straight to surgery from the ER, where Dr Greene assured
Fraser, Dr Corday would take great care of him. He'd followed them up and
taken a seat in the waiting area. And all he did from then on was wait.
After all, for the last few months that was all he'd done, so surely he
could wait a little longer... 

 Panic was something Fraser had never been able to deal with in any sort
of rational way, and as he sat there, he felt panic rise in him, tearing
down his self-control. He wanted to cry, to release it all as he had tried
to do as he had sat by Darcy in the ER, but no tears would come. The
situation was totally different now with Ray than it had been with Darcy,
and he knew it. This was infinitely more complicated than his relationship
with Darcy had been, or could ever have been. 

 As the minutes ticked by, he started to notice something else. Every
minute that passed he was becoming more and more empty, and that emptiness
was slowly consuming him. It was something he'd felt before, almost
constantly for a couple of months now, but the intensity scared him. It
was like he had a black hole inside of him, sucking away al emotion and
feeling and thought until he was left with nothing but the one thing he
didn't want to have to face up to. He knew it was true and keeping it
inside had him completely crippled, but he was scared. This was a part of
himself that he could never accept or even acknowledge, but the situation
was pushing him to it... 

 Scully, complete with bloody, unbuttered forehead, took the seat beside
him when an hour had passed and he couldn't even acknowledge her presence.
She looked at him and in an instant she'd understood. She'd taken a few
minutes whilst waiting for a doctor in the ER to visit Fraser; she told
him Tony had confessed and everything had worked out, but Fraser said
nothing. 

 "He's going to be fine, Constable", she said. "You'll see. Don't give up
yet". She rose, bent to press her lips to his forehead, then left. The
tears came.   * *  

 Scully was just finishing up being suchered when Mulder returned from
making his brief phone report to AD Skinner, and she motioned for him to
come in as she noticed him loitering near the doorway. 

 "Well, Skinner seems satisfied", he said, leaning back against the wall,
looking over at his partner who was perched atop a bed with a dark-haired
tall male doctor cutting the thread he was stitching with. "Maybe now we
can get back to DC and get back to some real work". Scully sighed. "What
is it?" She thanked Dr Kovac and Mulder was relieved as he let go of her
and left the room. 

 "This isn't the way I wanted to have to tell you, Mulder", she said in a
clear, calm voice, her eyes on his. "But it's probably a good idea to get
this out in the open. I've requested a transfer and Skinner's looking into
it for me. I'm going back into pathology, Mulder - I'm leaving the
X-Files". He just stared at her, dumbstruck, a look of awe on his face.
She jumped down off the bed and almost went over on her heel - Mulder
appreciated the imperfection of her as she stood there, hair ruffled,
bloody forehead, off balance. He caught her arm as she was about to open
the door. 

 "Why are you leaving me, Scully?" he asked, peering down into her big
green eyes that refused to meet his. "What's wrong? I thought you were
happy on..." 

 "That's just it", she snapped, pulling her wrist away. "You *thought* I
was happy, Mulder, but I'm not. I haven't been for about a year now, and I
want to get away from all this, okay?" 

 "From all what?" She sighed, exasperated. 

 "All *this*! The X-Files and all your lunatic theories. From alien
abduction and government conspiracies. From vampires and werewolves and
fat-eating monsters". 

 "There were werewolves?" 

 "Yes, there were. Those guys in the cabin in the middle of nowhere and
the Indians. Yes, there were werewolves". 

 "So you're leaving me to dissect corpses for a living?" 

 "Simply put, yes. I've had enough". 

 "Isn't there any way, anything I..." 

 "No". 

 "What did I do that was so terrible?" Mulder was frowning, an almost
wounded look on his face 6that made him seem so vulnerable that Scully
almost couldn't do it. She fought against herself - the side that loved
him and the side that hated him fought it out and in the end her rational
self decided it. She had to go through with it. She had to leave. 

 "You take me for granted", she said. "Every time you call you expect me
to drop everything and do exactly what you say. You take me on wild goose
chases half way across the continent, you almost get me killed, you help
jeopardise my career, you make me talk to those three freaky friends of
yours, you stole my Christmas Eve to take me to e haunted house! And you
can't shut up about your damned girlfriend. I mean, what do I care about
your little slut of a girlfriend? But you talk about her, you flaunt her.
I'm fed up of hearing Kelly this and Kelly that..." 

 "Stop". And she stopped, shocked. He'd had the audacity to stop her? And
she was terrified of what he might do next. He kissed her. 

 Suddenly she was in his arms, close to him, his lips soft on hers. She
couldn't believe it. After so long only dreaming of it, it was happening;
she melted inside, all resolve turning to mush with the rest of her as her
partner held her to him, strong. She frowned as he pulled away. 

 "What was that?" 

 "A kiss, Scully". 

 "I know it was a kiss, Mulder, but why did you do it?" He smiled a small,
tentative smile and settled his perfect hazel eyes on her. She'd always
thought that every little piece of him was perfect. Now she knew his kiss
was, too. 

 "Because I just realised something", he said. 

 "And what's that?" She was back to her bristly, cold tone. 

 "You love me". She froze. "And what's more, you know you love me. You're
leaving because of that, aren't you. Damn it, Scully, you're leaving
because you love me!" His tone was incredulous - he was almost oblivious
to her blushing as he stared at her in open disbelief. Slowly, she nodded.


 "You're right", she said. "I'm leaving because of you, because I love
you. But before you get all triumphant about this, you're also the most
insensitive, egotistical pig that I've ever met, and I hope I never see
you again after my transfer comes through. You really have no idea what a
living hell you've made of my life, Mulder. I'll never forget that, and I
hope you won't, either". Again, she tried to leave, and again, he stopped
her. 

 "Don't leave like this, please", he said, his tone almost begging. 

 "And why should I stay? So you can gloat about your pretty young thing of
a girlfriend?" 

 "I never meant to hurt you - I want you to know that". 

 "No, you were just being insensitive". 

 "Sure I was. But I was also trying to make you jealous. I don't even like
Kelly. The whole thing was to make you jealous". 

 "Mulder, what are you saying?" 

 "I'm saying that I'm an idiot, I guess", he said. "How didn't I notice?
God, Scully, I'm sorry. I had no idea how you felt or that I was taking
advantage of you like that. I wouldn't blame you if you never speak to me
again, but you should know something". 

 "And what's that?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, still in a
hostile stance, hands on hips. 

 "You're always the first one I call, the one I ask along, because I know
I can trust you. And because it's not the same without you with me. I want
you with me because you're everything I'm not and you ground me, balance
me. I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm nothing without you. I love you
too, Scully". And as her eyes met his, in that moment she knew it was
true. And that moment was the longest of her life, the moment before she
forgave her partner everything he'd ever done to her as he took her in his
arms, hers at last. Forever.   * *  

 "Fraser". The low voice beside him and the hands shaking him gently by
his shoulders woke him from his dreamless sleep. His eyes opened slowly
and met with those of Lieutenant Welsh. 

 "Leftenant?" he muttered, frowning and rubbing his eyes. Welsh took the
seat next to him. 

 "The doctors say you can see him now", Welsh told him in a soft voice
Fraser didn't know he possessed. He almost didn't hear him. 

 "Did you say...?" 

 "You can see him", a doctor who had appeared as if from nowhere
confirmed. "Follow me, Constable". Fraser glanced at the lieutenant who
just gave him a solemn nod; Fraser rose and followed the doctor. They
stopped outside a door with a window in it, and Fraser couldn't bring
himself to look through. 

 "Will he recover, Doctor?" he asked simply. The doctor, a woman with long
curly hair, changed her stance and looked at him. 

 "Well", she said with an English accent. "I'll be honest. There's a
slight chance that complications may arise, but we're pumping him full of
antibiotics to prevent that. He lost a lot of blood. He went into shock.
But the gunshots themselves missed all of his major organs, so that's
something to be grateful for at least; he's stable for the moment is all I
can really say and even though the anaesthetic shouldn't wear off for a
while, you can see him". She paused. "If you want to, of course". 

 "Oh, I want to", he said. "I do want to. Thank you Doctor..." 

 "Corday. I'm the one who operated on him". 

 "Thank you kindly, Dr Corday". 

 "That's fine, Constable", she said, smiled then left Fraser standing
outside Ray's room. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the
doorframe, breathing deeply. He wasn't sure he could do it, face it, but
he knew he had to. His partner was in there, Ray, the one who had forgiven
him what he had thought to be his worst mistake, and right now, however
Fraser himself was feeling, Ray needed him. He opened the door and stepped
into the room. 

 The feelings Ben got as he looked at his partner were mixed - he began to
pull them apart as he took the chair at his bedside. One was unmistakable
- anger. Anger at himself for letting it happen, for not being there in
that bed instead of him, and at the men who had done this. Another stood
out, also - sadness, that all of this had happened at all and that there
was nothing he could do, and he knew another from the previous night - the
guilt of watching him sleep in that vulnerable state, so like a total
invasion of privacy. But none of that really mattered then; it was the
fourth that scared him, and even though it really did terrify him beyond
all reason, he wasn't going to pretend anymore. 

 Taking a deep breath, he took he motionless partner's hand in his,
smiling inwardly at how much warmer he felt, but that wasn't exactly his
primary concern. There was something he had to do, something important,
that he knew he had to do. 

 He shuffled forward closer to the bed, clearing his throat nervously. His
nervousness confused him; it wasn't even like there was a chance Ray could
hear him while he was under the anaesthetic, so what was wrong with him?
Finally he decided that since there was no outward reason for his nerves,
he was nervous about saying it aloud and finally admitting it to himself.
That had to be it. 

 "Ray", he said, whispered, as close to the bed as he could be without
actually sitting on it, his knees pushed up uncomfortably against the
side, now with both hands around one of his partner's. "Ray, there is
something I have to tell you. And it's important, so all I want you to do
is lie there and listen. You see, uh, this is so incredibly hard for me. I
never thought I'd be saying this, but I know I have to. I don't want you
to die not knowing, and I don't want to die knowing you don't know. You
scared me this afternoon, bleeding and cold and motionless, and I knew I
had to - yes, I know, I should stop babbling and get to the point, so here
goes. I, uh, why is this so hard to say? I'm just going to come out and
say it. Now. Ray, I think I love you". He took a deep breath, looking away
from his partner's face to the sheets, and sighed. "No, damnit, I know I
love you. I don't know - I think maybe I have since we met - but these
last few months, I've been so distant because I can't trust myself around
you, not feeling like this, and I didn't want you to know. I'm not ever
sure I want you to know now, but I have to say it. I love you, Stanley
Raymond Kowalski. There. I've said it". And he left in tears.	* *  

 The one day in the next week that Fraser visited the hospital was not to
see Ray but Darcy - he hadn't been able to bring himself to go up to Ray's
room, and found himself outside the girl's instead, knocking then
entering. 

 "Hey, Constable", Carter greeted him. "Good to see you. How's you
partner?" 

 "Recovering well, I believe", Fraser almost mumbled, confused why Carter
was there, and Lucy Knight as well. "Could I just ask why you're here,
Doctor? Is everything alright?" Carter shrugged. 

 "Sure. Lucy and I came to thank Darcy. Without her, Agent Scully would
never have come here and without Agent Scully I don't think Lucy would
ever have found out how I feel about her". 

 //So that's where she was for those three hours//, Fraser thought,
everything suddenly dropping into place. //Telling Lucy that Carter loves
her//. He looked at the two of them, both smiling as Carter reached for
her hand and planted a kiss on her forehead. 

 "And thank you too, Constable", Lucy said. "You saved Darcy's life. We're
all grateful for that". Fraser nodded. 

 "I'm glad to see the two of you are happy", she said. "Agent Scully would
be happy also, now her and her partner are partners in, um, more way than
one". Carter grinned. 

 "She and Mulder are together?" Fraser nodded again. "Good. Dana deserves
to be happy. And thanks again. Without you and your partner and Dana and
even Mulder and Cooper, I guess, we wouldn't be together". 

 "And I wouldn't be alive". The clear, beautiful English voice shocked
Fraser more than it is possible to describe, words coming as if from
nowhere, but he knew immediately who it was. Darcy. She was awake. 

 "We ought to be going now", Lucy said, seeing the shock in Fraser's face
and pulling Carter with her toward the door. "Nice seeing you again. Thank
your partner for us when you see him..." And as quick as that they were
gone. Fraser was alone in the room with her, with Darcy. 

 "You didn't know I was awake?" Ben shook his head, unable to look at her.
"I thought that was why you were here". She paused, taking a deep breath
and turning to sit on the edge of the bed facing him, wincing and groaning
with the pain. "So, why *are* you here?" 

 "I, uh, well, that is..." 

 "Ben, just tell me". 

 "I came to see my partner, but I came here instead. I don't know why. I
should leave". 

 "No!" Darcy's voice stopped him as he was turning to the door; it was
different to the last time he'd heard it but in some ways the same,
despite the English accent in lieu of the Southern US one. "Don't go, Ben.
I want to apologise first". He frowned. 

 "Apologise? What do you want to apologise for? I'm the one who took, uh,
took advantage of you, made love to you, and you're only eighteen... I
should be apologising, not you". 

 "Ben, look at me. I said look at me". His eyes flickered up and met hers.
She smiled. "Thanks. Now listen to me. In no way, shape or form did you
take advantage of me. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I was the one
who did all the advantage taking, believe me - you were kind to me and I
talked you into bed, got you involved in all of this, almost got your
partner killed, Ray... If I'd known he was your partner I would have left
you alone. I'm sorry, Ben. I didn't mean to get you involved in all this
but I couldn't help myself. So I'm sorry". 

 "I'm sorry, too". 

 "From what I've been told, you saved my life. You have nothing to be
sorry for. But thanks. And now, I don't want you to think I'm trying to
get rid of you, but isn't there someone else you should be seeing? I know
he wants to see you". Fraser nodded, looking down but feeling a little
better for talking to her, especially as she didn't blame him. 

 "I guess so", he said, turning again. "Thank you kindly, Miss
Giger-Dahmer". 

 "Call me Darcy", she told him. He opened the door. "Oh, and Ben?" 

 "Yes?" 

 "You were great, by the way". 

 "Great? How do you mean?" He turned back to her, standing in the doorway.
She grinned mischievously, dark eyes shining. 

 "You are *so* naive. Don't take that as an insult - I love it, it's
adorable. And I mean in bed, Ben; you were great in bed. Ray's a very
lucky man". 

 "He is?" he questioned, blushing deep red, the colour of his uniform. 

 "Yes, he is, and so are you. You'll be happy together". 

 "Oh? Oh! No, no, there's nothing like that... we're just, well, Ray and I
are just, uh, good friends, and..." 

 "Sure, Ben, sure. I believe you. Now go!" And noting her mischievous,
knowing grin once more, Fraser did exactly as he was told. He left the
room.	* *  

 Ben wasn't sure exactly what she'd meant as he ran the conversation over
in his head, walking down the corridor, but he did and didn't like what
she'd implied. Then again, all that mattered was she was okay and Ray
wanted to see him, he reasoned. And he did want to see Ray, despite his
nerves, which grew more fraught with each step he took. Then he was there,
suddenly. He turned to the door, sighed, coughed a little, breathed
deeply, and knocked. 

 "Yeah, come in". Ray's voice brought a smile to his lips, and he turned
the handle, swinging the door forward, stepping in then closing it behind
him. Only then did he dare look over at the bed, at his partner. 

 He was lying under a blanket, pale, blonde hair sticking up every which
way, his back turned and as far as Fraser could tell, wearing a flimsy
hospital gown. He still looked ill but definitely better than the last
time he'd been there, unconscious, near death. 

 "Hello, Ray". Fraser's voice cut through the silence and Kowalski
flinched, then turned quickly but awkwardly, his multiple dressings
apparent under the gown. 

 "Frase?" Fraser nodded, removing his hat and playing with the rim as he
held it in his hands, unable to look up. 

 "Hello, Ray", he repeated. 

 "Ya haven't seen me in a week, I coulda died and all you've got to say is
'Hello, Ray'?" 

 "Sorry, Ray". 

 "Don't be; you're here now". 

 "Yes, it would appear that I am". Pause. Silence. "Well, uh, how are you
feeling, Ray?" 

 "Like I got shot. But I'll live. You?" 

 "Me, Ray? Oh, I'm quite well, thank you". 

 "Fraser?" 

 "Yes, Ray?" 

 "D'ya think you could look at me and not at the hat? I know it's like
sacred and stuff but you're talking to me, not it". 

 "I quite honestly don't know, Ray". 

 "Don't know what?" 

 "Whether I can look at you and not at the hat, Ray". 

 "Is it really that fascinating?" 

 "No, not at all, Ray. It *is* quality craftsmanship, but..." 

 "So am I so repulsive you can't look at me?" 

 "No, not at all, Ray". 

 "So look at me already!" Fraser nodded. And he looked up into his
partner's smiling blue eyes. "Y'see, wasn't that difficult". 

 "No, Ray". 

 "Frase, what's wrong?" 

 "Nothing, Ray". 

 "You sure? Nothing bothering you at all?" 

 "Nothing at all, Ray". 

 "Then why are you backed up against the door? C'mon over and sit down - I
won't bite". Fraser mentally slapped himself at the image that conjured
and walked over to take the chair by Ray's bed. 

 "I'm sorry, Ray". Ray frowned. 

 "For what?" 

 "For all this. You shouldn't be here. It's my fault, Ray. I should have
stopped it". 

 "There was nothing you coulda done, Frase. Trust me - I was there". 

 "Well, maybe you shouldn't have been, Ray". 

 "Frase, I'm a cop. This is what I do. It's dangerous. Things happen,
okay?" 

 "No, Ray. It just should not have... I should have... It should've been
me". 

 "Ya think I woulda let that happen to you?" 

 "Like I let it happen to you, Ray?" 

 "That's different". 

 "How, Ray? How is it different?" 

 "Well, I was the one with the gun. Being able to defend myself with
something other than politeness is how it's different". 

 "This should..." 

 "Stop it. Just stop it. It's not your fault, I don't blame you. Get it?" 

 "Understood, Ray. Perhaps I should go now..." 

 "Don't you dare". 

 "But I..." 

 "I said 'Don't you dare'". 

 "I heard you, Ray, but..." 

 "I said 'DON'T YOU DARE'!" 

 "Understood, Ray". 

 "I mean, God, Frase, the first time I've seen you since the night I had
the operation..." 

 "You saw me then?" 

 "Sure. I mean, that was you, right?" Fraser took a deep breath, a very
deep breath, suddenly petrified. 

 "Did you, uh, do you remember anything I said at all?" 

 "I don't think so". 

 "It's important. Do you remember anything? Anything at all?" Ray shook
his head, slowly. Fraser watched, relieved and mesmerised by the muscles
in Ray's neck, under his skin. He just felt like he could reach out and...
no. Not a good idea. 

 "Why, Frase? Was it something important?" 

 "No, no, nothing important, Ray". And he smiled. He'd got away with it.
he didn't remember. 

 "Oh good. I'd hate to think I'd forgotten something important like..." 

 "Like what, Ray?" Fraser wasn't really listening, lost in relief, staring
out of the window at the park across the street. He felt happier than he
had in a long time, but... 

 "Like, oh, I don't know, that you love me?" 

 "Oh my God". 

 "You honestly think I'd forget something like that?" 

 "But you were under anaesthetic!" 

 "I was coming out of it. And that kind of thing tends to stick in your
mind". 

 "Oh God, God... I'm sorry, Ray". He stood and made for the door, almost
running. 

 "Fraser. Frase. Frazoor. Goddamnit, BEN!" Fraser stopped dead, facing the
door. Ray moved awkwardly, gasping with pain, but made it to the floor and
over the room to him. "Turn around". Fraser didn't like that tone one bit.
Ray was really angry. "I said 'turn around'". He did as he was told,
looking down. "Look at me. Don't make me ask you twice". Fraser looked up;
Ray's blue eyes were blazing. 

 "I'm sorry, Ray - I..." 

 "Shut up". Fraser closed his open mouth, just as Ray's hands connected
with his chest and shoved him with surprising force into the wooden door.
"Did ya think you could just leave after that? Jesus, Fraser!" Ray leant
forward, one hand either side of Fraser's shoulders. 

 "I..." 

 "For God's sake, Frase, shut up". Fraser nodded, sadly; Ray shifted his
weight so he stood even closer. Fraser could feel his breath on his cheek
as he leaned in toward his ear. "I didn't say I didn't like it". 

 "Ray?" 

 "Shh". He could feel Ray's stubble against his cheek now, rough but not
unwelcome. "You're making me lose my train of thought. Aw, fuck it". And
he kissed him. Suddenly, taking him completely by surprise, off guard. A
tongue swept his lips, entered his mouth, scalding, a body pressed full
against him - Fraser was overwhelmed. Ray pulled back and left him
gasping. 

 "Y'okay, Frase?" A slow, goofy grin spread across his partner's face to
mirror his own and he nodded. 

 "Oh, I'm quite alright, Ray. Could I ask a favour?" Ray shrugged. "Kiss
me again". So he did. And this time Fraser kissed back, tugging Ray to
him, gentle enough not to hurt him but rough enough for surprise. The full
length of their bodies touching, pressed to the door, together, hot,
desperate, needy - Fraser moaned into his partner's mouth as Ray's thigh
brushed past his growing erection and Ray smiled. 

 "You know I love you too, right?" he whispered. 

 "I do now". Ben kissed the pulsing vein in Ray's neck and brushed the
hair back from his forehead. 

 "And you know I want you?" 

 "I'd guessed, yes". 

 "Then what do we do about it?" 

 "Well, nothing as long as you're ill and in hospital, Ray". 

 "So, I'll get myself discharged". 

 "You really shouldn't..." 

 "You're saying you want to wait another week, two weeks, three?" 

 "No. Definitely not". 

 "Then you're saying you won't take care of me?" 

 "Of course I will, but..." 

 "Then go get a nurse". Fraser nodded, Ray stepped back. "Don't be long".
He nodded again and blushed as his eyes swept over his partner. "I know -
they leave nothing to the imagination. But that's your fault..." Fraser
smiled. 

 "I know, Ray. And trust me, I intend to do something about it". And he
left, leaving Ray astounded, aching and eager to leave, all thoughts of
Darcy and her closed case vanished - all he wanted now was Fraser, Ben. he
smiled to himself as he dressed, his mind wandering over all the things he
could do now, knowing they both felt the same, relieved, excited - he
wouldn't have to make do with fantasy anymore. Ben was his now, not
Darcy's, and he was Ben's. It was unbelievable, but it was real. 

 And as they left the hospital that day, happier that they could ever
remember being, Darcy watched from her window and smiled. They were in
love. And if anyone deserved it, after all they'd been through, it was
them. Ben Fraser and Ray Kowalski, together at last, partners in more ways
than one.