Wednesday, 5:42 pm
"You suck." Ray Kowalski glared down at his reflection on the table and took a quick swallow from his mug of hot chocolate. "You suck big fat donkey balls."

The waitress to his left gave him an alarmed look and backed away, but he didn't pay her any attention. He just continued to glare at himself, letting the steam from the cocoa warm his face.

It was chilly out, and most visitors to the café had chosen to eat indoors, but Ray wasn't in the mood to deal with crowds. He was the only one on the patio and that suited him just fine; no one other than the waitress was around to hear his semi-insane mumblings.

"Suck, suck, suck," he snarled again, putting the mug down and burying his face in his folded arms. With his luck, the waitress would tell all of her friends about the crazy guy sitting out in the freezing cold, and one of her friends would know Lt. Welsh, and then Lt. Welsh would finally see him for the crazy screw-up he really was, and he'd get fired and have to move back home with his parents.

He snorted a humorless laugh into the crook of his arm. She wouldn't tell anyone, and besides, how would she know who he was? "Stupid," he muttered, adding yet another fault to the long list he was accumulating in his head.

He was lost in dark thoughts when an unfamiliar voice startled him. "Is this seat taken?"

He sat up too quickly, and some of the hot chocolate sloshed onto the table. "Huh?"

The tall, dark-haired man standing beside the table smiled and gestured to the empty chair across from Ray. "I said, 'is this seat taken?'"

"Oh, uh... I guess not," he answered, frantically searching his memory to figure out if he knew the guy. Could it be someone from high school? Couldn't be from college, he hadn't been there long enough for anyone but a few loyal friends to remember him, so who was this guy?

The man snagged a napkin from a nearby table and handed it to him. He took it gratefully, wiping at the spilled beverage. "Thanks."

"My name's Kris," the man introduced himself. "Kris Carroll."

Ray relaxed slightly. Apparently, he wasn't supposed to remember the guy. "Ray."

"Ray who?" Kris's green eyes crinkled slightly and sparkled with amusement.

"Umm... Vecchio."

"Italian?" Kris raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down critically. "You don't look Italian."

"Black sheep," he snapped, and Kris raised an appeasing hand.

"Alright, alright... sore spot, I see. I'm sorry."

Ray dropped his head back to the tabletop. "Aww, shit.... No, I'm sorry, I shouldn'ta bit yer head off."

"I'll live." Kris was silent for a moment before speaking again. "I noticed you from across the street," he admitted finally, sounding a bit sheepish. "You looked... upset, so I thought I'd join you."

"You were watchin' me?" He raised his head again and eyed the man suspiciously. "Why?"

"I wasn't watching you, exactly," Kris hedged, shaking his head. "I just looked over, and there you were. You see... I'm a photographer.... I notice things...."

"Things like what?"

"Well...." Kris grinned self-consciously as he motioned to the waitress hovering just inside the glass doors. "Some days I just walk around, looking for ideas. Good scenes, you know? I see things as if through the lens of a camera. Not all the time, mind you, just when I go out scouting."

"Scouting." It was more a statement than a question. The waitress approached them and Kris ordered a mug of hot chocolate, then waited until she'd gone before responding.

"Does that bother you?"

"Well, yeah, a little...." Ray frowned, scowling at him. "You sayin' you wanna take my picture?"

"Not if you don't want me to," Kris answered easily. "It would have been nice, but I'm content just to sit here. A friend told me this place has very good hot cocoa."

"Yeah, they do," Ray answered distractedly. His own chocolate had cooled off considerably.

"So...." Kris leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on the table. "What were you thinking about so seriously?"

Ray sat quietly for a moment, trying to decide if the man was sincere. He seemed nice enough, and his green eyes were fixed unselfconsciously on Ray's own, a slight smile on his face. Ray liked to consider himself a pretty good judge of character, and Kris wasn't setting off any of his alarms. The man met his steady gaze and held it, his open expression nothing like the carefully schooled mask Ray was used to seeing upon Fraser's face.

Sighing, he decided to tell Kris everything. After all, it wasn't like he'd ever see him again.

"I had a big fight with my partner."

"Partner?" Inexplicably, Kris looked somewhat disappointed.

"Yeah, I'm a cop, see, and he's... well, he's not really my partner, not officially...."

"Oh." Kris nodded his understanding, and Ray caught a flicker of emotion in those wide green eyes, but it disappeared before he could put a name to it. "Go on," Kris encouraged, sipping at his cocoa.

"Well.... My ex-wife and I.... We don't get along too good, right? An' the other day I kinda got upset, ya know... she said some stuff to me, in front of the whole precinct, an' I just couldn't take it. Fraser--that's my partner--he came out an' just sat with me, and then we had lunch, an' I thought it was over. Only later I found out he went an' talked to Stella about it. I mean, I'm not a kid, I can fight my own battles! I don't need him motherin' me!"

Kris nodded. "So you're upset because he went behind your back and spoke to your ex-wife about her behavior?"

"Kinda.... Well, no, that's not why I'm upset."

"Oh." Kris was obviously confused now. "I'm afraid I've misunderstood...."

"No, see... I was mad about that.... I guess I kinda still am, but.... I blasted him over it. I mean, I really tore a hole outta him, an' all he was tryin' to do was help. I'm such an ass, I just...." Ray scowled fiercely and slammed his fist onto the table. "God, I suck."

"No you don't," Kris argued firmly, reaching over and placing a hand over Ray's. "Don't talk like that, Ray. I'm sure he understands."

"That's just it, he doesn't! He gets this look on his face, this hurt Mountie look, and he just shuts down on me! I hate makin' him look like that, but I always do. I even slugged 'im once, an' he looked at me like I was pond scum, but he looked so sad at the same time, an'...." He realized he was babbling and shut his mouth with a snap. Kris was silent, waiting for him to finish his thought. Ray gave a tired sigh. "He's just so good, I.... I don't deserve to have him as a friend."

Kris shook his head, his fingers tightening over Ray's own. "Don't talk like that. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, really. Everyone deserves friends, Ray, and no one has ever made it through life without hurting one of them. Even your Mountie friend."

Ray frowned. "How'd you know he was a Mountie?"

"You told me," Kris grinned. "You said, 'he gets that hurt Mountie look,' and I took that to mean he was a Mountie."

"Oh," Ray mumbled. "Good guess."

He realized that Kris was still holding his hand. It felt weird, but at the sametime... kinda nice. The man's hand was warm, and large enough to completely swallow his own slender fingers. The callused thumb was moving in slow, lazy circles on the back of his palm, sending tingles up and down his forearm.

"So what's a Mountie doing in Chicago," Kris asked, smiling and winking at the waitress as she placed his cocoa on the table between them.

Ray told him the whole story, inserting himself in Ray Vecchio's place when necessary. It was good to get his mind off his troubles, even for a short time. He threw in tales of some of the more unbelievable cases from Vecchio's files, as well as his own misadventures with the imperturbable Mountie. By the time he finished, both he and Kris were laughing uncontrollably, tears rolling down their cheeks. Kris still held Ray's hand firmly in his own.

"My God," Kris stuttered, wiping the tears away with a napkin. "I never would have thought one man could attract so much trouble!"

"He's crazy," Ray agreed. "I couldn't believe it the first time I saw him lick an electrical socket!"

"The first time?!"

"Yeah," Ray grinned, finally able to think of Fraser without his stomach twisting in anger and frustration. "He does it all the time."

"I would love to meet this man," Kris giggled, leaning back in his chair and trying to slow his breathing. "He can't be for real."

"Oh, he is. He's the realest guy I ever met." Ray paused, pulling his hand away somewhat reluctantly. "I gotta talk to him... ya know, apologize. I do feel better, though. Maybe I don't suck after all." He gave Kris a warm smile. "Thanks."

"Glad to be of service," the other man answered, getting slowly to his feet. "I suppose this is... er...." He ran a hand through his dark hair, glancing at his watch. "Can I call you? I'd like to know how things went...."

"Yeah, sure...." Ray rifled through his pockets until he found a business card. "Gimme a call. Maybe we can, ah... you can meet Fraser sometime...."

"I'd like that." Kris smiled at him one last time before turning away. "And maybe I can convince you to pose for me," he shot over his shoulder.

"Not likely!" was Ray's response.

Kris didn't even turn around. He just laughed. "Goodbye, Ray!"

"Bye." Ray sat back down, grimacing at his now-freezing mug of cocoa. He really did have to see Fraser....

Wednesday, 8:16 pm
Constable Benton Fraser gave a tired sigh and pushed the last of his paperwork to the edge of his desk. A halfhearted glance at the clock confirmed that it was, indeed, after five p.m.--over three hours past, in fact. Diefenbaker glared at him and looked pointedly toward the door as if to say, "Can we go now?" Fraser merely shook his head before lowering it to the desk and burying it in his arms.

"I really don't feel like going anywhere, Dief," he mumbled, knowing full well the wolf couldn't "hear" him with his lips hidden like that. He simply did not feel like making the effort to look the animal in the eyes.

It had been a long day. He had avoided going to the precinct for lunch, afraid... no, not afraid... reluctant to face Ray after their fight. They hadn't fought like that since the Henry Allen case, and he had hoped they never would again. But of course, he had done something wrong and Ray was angry.

Fraser sighed again into his arms and sat up, feeling a heavy tiredness settle over him that had nothing to do with the day's work. "I should have known better, Diefenbaker," he informed the animal, rubbing a finger over his eyebrow. "I should have known that Ray would not appreciate my efforts. I had thought...." He pursed his lips, eyes flashing with pain as he remembered.

He and Ray had come across Stella Kowalski leaving one of the interview rooms, and Fraser had felt a white-hot rush of anger when Ray paled and shrank back from her, stepping backwards and away and muttering something about having to worship the porcelain god, whatever that meant, before disappearing into the men's room. Fraser had decided right then and there that she could not be allowed to treat Ray the way she did. It was ridiculous, and Ray hadn't done anything to deserve her wrath. In fact, as far as he had been able to glean from Ray and other bystanders, Ray had been planning to ask her about a work-related matter the day she had humiliated him here in this very precinct. It was immature of her, at best, not to be able to work with Ray in a civilized manner, no matter what their history. With this in mind, he had gone to her side and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, pulling her into the utility closet and closing the door behind them before she could even make a sound.

She had gasped, momentarily frightened, until he clicked on the overhead light and his features were illuminated in a sickly yellow glow.

"Constable Fraser, what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

She was outraged, ice blue eyes drilling holes into his own. He almost lost his nerve, but an image of Ray, cowering beneath her as she stomped upon his near-nonexistent self-esteem, swam before his eyes. He hardened his resolve and glared back at her. "I'd like to give you a word of advice, Ms. Kowalski."

"Advice? I don't need your advice, Constable. I have work to do." She moved as if to exit the tiny space, but he blocked her way, deliberately squaring his shoulders and making himself look as imposing as possible.

"On the contrary, I believe you do."

Over five minutes later, a very shaken Stella Kowalski had stumbled from the utility closet, unable to meet the eyes of any of the curious onlookers. Fraser had exited a few seconds later, his face unreadable but for an unusual gleam in his normally hooded eyes.

Fraser came back to the present, the slight smile that had formed at the memory rapidly disappearing. "I had thought that speaking with Ms. Kowalski would make things better for him. I had thought that friends did those sorts of things for one another, but it would appear that I was mistaken."

Diefenbaker snorted again and whined, pointing his nose once again toward the closed office door.

"Alright," Fraser snapped, rolling his eyes and getting slowly to his feet. He opened the door and stepped out, muttering to himself as Diefenbaker pushed past him and padded into the hallway toward the front door of the Consulate. "Ingrate."

But despite his foul mood, he knew that Diefenbaker was right. They hadn't been out of the Consulate all day, except for Dief's afternoon walk with Constable Turnbull, and both were in dire need of some exercise, not to mention a good meal. He caught up to the wolf at the front door and dropped to his knees, taking the animal's face in his hands and staring into the warm golden eyes. "I apologize, Diefenbaker," he enunciated clearly. "I am in a terrible mood and I should not have been taking it out on you."

The wolf whined his forgiveness and licked at Fraser's face, causing him to break out in a tiny smile. "Thank you," he sighed, burying his face in the thick fur at the animals' neck. "Thank you for understanding."

Dief "whuffed" and squirmed slightly, though he didn't pull away. Fraser let him go after a moment and stood, opening the Consulate door. "There you are, Dief," he said, looking down, and didn't see the person standing on the front stoop until he'd bumped into him.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry.... Ray...?"

"Hi, Fraze." Ray gulped, his eyes flickering across Fraser's before falling to the ground. He scuffed a toe on the step, wrung his hands behind his back. "Uh.... How are ya?"

"I'm... I'm fine, Ray." Fraser's voice was quiet, hoarse with barely concealed pain. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh... I wanted ta talk to ya, Fraze. See, I kinda went nuclear on ya back there, and... well... I wanted ta say I was sorry."

Diefenbaker let out a frustrated growl, and both men jumped, startled. Fraser recovered first, and managed a tiny smile. "We were about to go for a walk, Ray.... Would you like to come?"

"Uh... sure, okay. Where to?"

"Doesn't matter, Ray." His smile grew into a grin. "Doesn't matter in the slightest."

Thursday, 11:27 am
"Vecchio!"

Ray cringed, drooping the pen he had been twirling between his fingers, as Lt. Welsh's voice echoed throughout the squadroom. "Coming, sir." He stood, stretching out the muscles that had cramped from too much time behind the desk. He had come in early in the morning, only to find a pile of paperwork the size of a small town in his inbox. Now, close to three hours later, he was only half-done. Of course, part of that was due to the fact that he'd been "taking a break" for the past ten minutes or so.

He stepped into the lieutenant's office and leaned against the doorjamb. "Yes, sir?"

Welsh gave a thin smile. "I trust you are hard at work on those forms I gave you, Detective. These things do not write themselves."

"Ah, no, sir. I mean, yes, sir.... That is, I'm working on them, sir."

"Good." Welsh leaned back in his chair and played with a pencil. "I would hate to find that you were out with our friend the Constable again, while there is work to be done here."

"No, he's busy at the consulate today, sir."

"A good thing, too," Welsh nodded. "I want those forms filled out and filed by three, Detective. If Fraser comes in here wanting you to save the whales, you tell him the whales can wait until you finish those forms. If he has a lead on the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa, you tell him Jimmy Hoffa can wait--"

"Until I've finished my forms. I think I got it, sir."

"You do? Good. Get out of my sight." Welsh picked up his phone, obviously considering the conversation over. Ray quickly spoke again before he began to dial.

"Sir?"

"What?" Welsh looked up, his annoyance plain.

"If he helps me finish my forms, then we can save the whales and, uh, find Jimmy Hoffa, right?"

"Leave, Detective."

"Three bags full, sir." Ray turned around and hurried out of the office, closing the door behind him. He returned to his desk and sat down, reluctantly picking up a pen and resuming work on the slowly diminishing pile of papers. An hour later, when a flash of red out of the corner of his eye finally signified Fraser's arrival, it didn't seem as though he'd made much progress. The near-simultaneous arrival of Detectives Huey and Dewey into the squadroom quickly assured that things would be slow-going for a while.

"Hi, Ray," Dewey chirped, sitting on the edge of his desk as Fraser approached. "Having fun?"

"Tons," he snapped in greeting, without looking up. "Don't you have any work to do?"

"Just finishing up a big case," Huey answered, smirking. "Paperwork is done, perps are in the lockup, life is good."

"Ah, good afternoon, gentlemen," Fraser smiled, tipping his hat as he strode to Ray's side. Diefenbaker barked a greeting before trotting off in search of handouts.

"Hiya, Fraser," Huey nodded. "You guys working on something?"

"I'm trying to get some work done." Ray scowled at them, picking up a container of White-Out and applying it liberally to one of the forms, "But some people are makin' it kinda hard."

"Yeah, you probably need all the help you can get, Ray," Dewey chucked. "You been at that, what.... A few hours now? Maybe you oughta think about some night classes, your writing skills are appalling." Then he looked over at Fraser and feigned fear, raising his hands in a appeasing gesture. "Oh! Constable Fraser, I was just kidding! Don't drag me into a utility closet!"

Fraser flushed a deep red and ducked his head, glancing guiltily at Ray as the smaller man jumped to his feet and grabbed at Dewey, who danced away, laughing heartily. Huey gave the two a sympathetic shrug before following after his partner, but he couldn't quite hide his smile.

Fraser ran a finger over his eyebrow, still unable to look Ray in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Ray. I had only meant to help you, but it seems I've caused some trouble with your co-workers--"

"Nah." Ray sat back down with a shrug. "Just forget it, Fraze. Listen, how are ya with forms?"

Fraser looked up at him, his relief evident. "Filling them out, you mean?" Ray nodded. "Well, I'd have to say that I am quite skilled; in fact--" he chuckled. "I once completed a ten-ninety-eight-seven-two-B form in under fifteen seconds. Of course, I was delirious with fever at the time and, in addition, had consumed close to four pots of caffeinated coffee in attempt to--"

"Good," Ray interrupted, handing him half of the remaining paperwork. "Fill these out. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go to lunch."

"As you wish." Fraser nodded agreeably and took a seat opposite Ray at the desk, dutifully getting to work. The two toiled in silence for a few minutes before Ray spoke again.

"Hey Fraze, you know anything about Jimmy Hoffa?"

Fraser looked up, puzzled. "Pardon?"

"Ray made a face. "Never mind."

"Ah."

It was after one-thirty when Ray called it quits. "I gotta eat, Fraser, or I'm gonna pass out."

"I admit to feeling slightly under the weather myself, Ray." Fraser sighed, putting aside his pen and cracking his stiff neck. "Do you think the lieutenant would mind if we took a short break?"

"We gotta. I'm not gonna get any more work done like this. I can't see straight."

"Perhaps you need your glasses?"

"No, I do not need my glasses, Fraser, I am saying that I am weak with hunger and my sight is blurring from starvation."

"Well, while I understand that you are hungry, Ray, I sincerely doubt that you are starving. You see, it takes approximately--"

"Fraser!" Ray cut him off and ran a hand over his face, rolling his eyes and dropping his chin to his chest. "I realize that, Fraser, it's a figure of speech."

"Oh. Oh, yes, of course. Understood."

"You better understand," Ray muttered, starting toward the front door. "C'mon, let's get some sandwiches."

They were halfway to the door when Lt. Welsh called to them. "Where are you going, Vecchio? I don't see those forms on my desk!"

Ray stopped short, flinching. "We were just going to lunch, sir, we're almost done--"

"Three o'clock, Detective, or have you forgotten?"

"No sir, I know, see, we were just going for some sandwiches, an'--"

"Detective," Welsh cut him off with a disapproving glare. "This better not be one of your marathon lunches. Bring your sandwiches back here, you understand?"

"If I may cut in, sir," Fraser asked politely, and Welsh rolled his eyes.

"I would expect no less, Constable."

"Well, sir, I was helping Ray with his forms, and I believe we've finished all but a few. If you will allow us to go out for lunch, and we give you our word that we will return within the hour, I will personally guarantee that between the two of us, Ray and I can finish those forms in a reasonable amount of time."

Welsh stared at him blankly for a moment, then sighed and turned to go back into his office. "I'll give you 'til three-thirty," he tossed over his shoulder. "No later than that!"

"Thank you kindly, leftenant," Fraser called, and someone behind them began to clap.

"Very well said, Constable," said the someone, and Ray turned with a start.

"Kris!"

Kris grinned at him, winking. "Hullo. I was in the neighborhood--"

"Scouting?" Ray smiled back, feeling strangely pleased and shy.

Kris chuckled. "Yes. And this must be the infamous Constable Fraser." He held out a hand for Fraser to shake. "Kris Carroll."

"Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP." He paused, glancing at Ray. "I take it you're a friend of Ray's?"

"We just met yesterday, actually. I wasn't planning to--"

"Kris Carroll?" Detective Tom Dewey's shocked voice interrupted. "The Kris Carroll?"

Ray and Fraser looked on, puzzled, as Kris turned with a smile, holding out a hand for Dewey to shake. "Yes, hello."

"Tom Dewey. God, I love your work! That spread in ID Design a couple of months ago was brilliant!"

"Ah, you flatter me."

"No way! You're one of the best--no--the best photographer I've seen in a long time. Need a new model? 'Cause I've done a bit of modeling in my time."

Kris shook his head, stepping back and casually throwing an arm about Ray's shoulders. "Actually, I came to try to convince Ray, here, to pose for me."

Ray flushed a deep pink as Dewey spoke incredulously. "Him?! You want to photograph him?!"

"Oh yes, he has a most intriguing look. All angles and planes, yet with a natural fluidity and grace--"

"Uh, we were just about to go to lunch, weren't we, Fraze," Ray interrupted loudly, pulling away from Kris and hurrying toward the door. Fraser followed dutifully.

Kris stepped after them, waving at Dewey, who stood stock still, his mouth hanging open as he stared after them. "Mind if I join you?"

"Err, no, I guess.... Okay," Ray agreed, his cheeks still bright pink. "Fraze, you mind?"

"No, I'm actually rather curious to hear about the 'spread' to which Detective Dewey referred." He held open the door as the two men went through, then followed Kris out into the sunlight. "You're a professional photographer, then?"

"Yes," Kris nodded, putting on a pair of mirrored sunglasses he'd pulled from his breast pocket. "That spread was my most recent print job. Not my usual sort of thing, a bit too artsy-fartsy for my tastes, but they paid me a lot of money, so I said, 'Why not?' I usually do dramatic portraits."

"Has any of your other work been published?"

"A few prints here and there. I mostly prefer shows to publishing. There's a lot of politics involved when you publish. With shows, there's no question of who owns what. Much more freedom."

"That's nice an' all," Ray cut in impatiently, "But me an' Fraze only have like a half hour for lunch, so--"

"I won't keep you," Kris promised, smiling warmly at him. Ray had to force himself to keep the stern expression on his face; something about Kris seemed to disarm him, leaving him defenseless and vulnerable. "And I am sorry," Kris continued, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of that Dewey fellow."

"Who says I was embarrassed," Ray demanded, yanking open the door to the GTO.

"The color of your face was a good clue," Kris teased, and Fraser nodded in agreement.

"He's right, Ray. You did go a peculiar shade of pink."

"Who asked you?"

Fraser shot a look to Kris over the hood of the car, but Kris only shrugged, still grinning, as he slid into the passenger seat next to Ray. Fraser coaxed Diefenbaker into the backseat before settling down himself.

"I suppose Ray doesn't like it when I talk about how beautiful he is," Kris remarked, twisting around in his seat to wink at Fraser before he buckled his seat belt.

"No, Ray does not like it," Ray interrupted irritably, gunning the engine. "And Ray would appreciate it if Kris and Fraser would quit talking about him as if he wasn't here."

"Where should we go for lunch," Fraser asked quickly, recognizing the dangerous tone in Ray's voice. "Ming's, perhaps?"

"I'm only speaking the truth," Kris continued, addressing Ray this time and ignoring Fraser's attempt at distraction. "I don't think you realize how very attractive you are." He paused and stared hard at Ray, who clenched his jaw and glared through the windshield at the street ahead, pressing on the gas pedal a bit too hard. "You think you're skinny, don't you, but you're not. Thin, yes, but not unpleasantly so. Your body is compact and streamlined--no wasted space. You have very well-developed pectoral muscles, a small waist and--at the risk of admitting I looked--a very nice butt: well-rounded and most likely firm to the touch. Your face is angular, but not overly sharp, your eyes are... mesmerizing. They're blue, aren't they? But sometimes they look green, or brown, or even gold, depending on your mood. They're absolutely stormy at the moment, and I suppose I should be quiet if I don't wish to risk life and limb."

"That would be a good idea," Ray ground out, once again flushed bright pink.

"You see all this," Fraser put in quietly, "as a photographer, I assume?"

"As opposed to what? A man?" Kris smiled, then turned back to Ray without answering the question. "I would merely like to show you, Ray. I would like for you to see what I see when I look at you."

Ray slammed into a parking lot at Ming's, causing all of the occupants of the car to lurch forward. "Well," he squeaked, clearing his throat. "Here we are." He cracked his neck in an unconscious imitation of Fraser's own nervous gesture. "We only got a half-hour, so pitter-patter." He was out of the car and in the restaurant before the other two men could blink.

After a moment of silence, Kris chuckled. "A bit shy, isn't he?"

"Quite a bit, actually," Fraser agreed solemnly. "Perhaps you were coming on a bit... strongly."

"As I said, I only spoke the truth." Kris got out of the car and stood leaning against the hood as he waited for Fraser and Dief. "May I ask a personal question?"

"Certainly," Fraser responded mildly, "but I cannot guarantee an answer."

"You and Ray.... Are you... together?"

Fraser looked puzzled. "I'm not sure I foll--" He broke off abruptly and his face went an even darker pink than Ray's had been. "Ah... ermm... no. No, we are not."

"Hmm." Kris eyed the door into which Ray had vanished only moments before. "Would you like to be?"

Fraser stared at him, wild-eyed. "As Ray said," he finally managed, "We only have a short time to eat. Diefenbaker...?"

Kris sighed to himself as he stood alone, contemplating Fraser's rapidly retreating back. "I'll take that as a yes."

Saturday, 11:41 pm
Kris sighed to himself as he exited his darkroom, wiping at his chemical-covered hands with a damp cloth. He had hoped the day's shoot would have produced at least a few good photos, but none of them had made the cut. A whole day's work wasted. Perhaps a good stiff drink would--

His musings were interrupted by a knock on his front door. "Oh, what now," he muttered, glancing down at his watch. Who in the world would be coming over now, past 11:30 p.m.? He made his way to the door and peered through the peephole, then gasped in shock. Ray Vecchio stood there, covered in blood, some of it smeared on his face and flattening his normally spiky blond hair. His eyes were set deep in his face, dark and haunted, his mouth twisted into a peculiar grimace.

Kris opened the door immediately. "Ray, my God! What's happened to you?"

Ray didn't answer. He just swayed slightly.

"Never mind, just get in here." Kris took his by the arm and pulled him inside, wondering briefly where Ray had gotten his address, then remembered that he'd given him his card--with his home address and phone number--the other day when they'd had lunch at Ming's. "Let's get you cleaned up."

He pulled the unresisting detective further inside, pulling the door shut behind him, then guided him to the bathroom, keeping up a steady stream of idle and, he hoped, soothing chatter. "I was just finishing up in the darkroom, so don't worry, you didn't interrupt anything. We'll get you out of those clothes and clean you up a bit, alright? I think I have some sweatpants around here somewhere that ought to fit...."

Ray didn't respond to him at all. Kris undressed him slowly, gently, then wet his own washcloth with warm water and began to wash away the blood. Once he felt Ray was sufficiently clean, he wrapped him in a large towel and pushed him to a seated position on the toilet seat. Ray never even looked at him, just stared off somewhere into space, his expression unchanged.

"Ray," he said quietly, staring into those empty eyes, "I'm going to go get those sweats I told you about, alright? I'll be right back and we'll get you dressed." No response. "Ray, I need to know if you'll be alright alone for a few seconds."

Finally, Ray's eyes came into focus with a flicker of gratefulness, and he nodded just slightly.

Kris let out a relieved breath. "Okay, good." Ray pulled the towel around his body a little more tightly and shivered. "I'll be right back."

He made his way to his bedroom as quickly as he could, cursing under his breath. He'd fantasized about having Ray naked in his home, but not in his bathroom, and certainly not under these circumstances. What the hell had happened to him? He wasn't injured, he'd seen that when he'd undressed him, so whose blood was it? And why had he shown up here?

His blood suddenly went cold. Constable Fraser....

No. He shook his head fiercely. No, not him. It has to be someone else's blood. But he had seen how close the two of them were when he had accompanied them to lunch. Ray would have turned to Fraser if he could... wouldn't he?

He hurried back to the bathroom with the sweats and found Ray sitting in much the same way as he'd left him, tears running down his pale cheeks. "Oh God...." He knelt down in front of Ray and put the sweat clothes on the floor, gathering the shaking man into his arms. "Please don't cry, Ray. Tell me what's wrong, I want to help." Please, don't let it be Fraser, he'll never survive it.

"I... I can't...." Ray managed to choke out that much before dissolving into wracking sobs, the towel falling away as his arms encircled Kris in an almost painful grip.

"It's alright," he whispered, cursing his body for responding to the way Ray's bare flesh was pressed up against him. "Tell me, what happened?"

Ray didn't answer at first, just sobbed. But finally, his grip loosened a little and he shifted still sobbing, turning his head so that his face rested in the crook between Kris's neck and shoulder. "He... he was just a little kid...."

Kris let out a sigh of relief despite himself. Not Fraser. So then why had Ray come here, to him? "What happened?"

"He..." A sniffle, the whisper of Ray's breath against his neck. "It was a drug bust, it was supposed to be... routine.... He got in the way.... They didn't even... didn't care, they just.... I tried to save him.... I didn't get there... in time.... I tried...."

"Shhh, it's alright." Kris pulled back slightly, just enough to look Ray in the eyes. "I know you did. It's not your fault."

"H...how do you know? You weren't there...."

"I know you tried, Ray," Kris told him gently, pulling him back into a tight hug. "I know you did all you could."

He held Ray as he sobbed, rubbing his hands up and down the trembling back, whispering comforting words into his ear. Finally, Ray stilled, his arms slowly losing their grip until they fell away, his eyes closing in exhausted slumber.

Kris held him there for a few moments longer, waiting until the harsh and uneven breathing slowed and deepened in sleep. Then he stood, gathered the detective into his arms, and carried him to the bedroom, where he dressed him gently before laying him with infinite care on the bed and tucking the covers snugly around him. Ray whimpered and curled into a ball, clutching the sheets in his fists, but he didn't wake. With a sigh, Kris left the bedroom, turning off the lights and closing the door behind him.

In the kitchen, he located his phone book and dialed the Canadian Consulate. No one would be there at this time of night, but he knew that Constable Fraser would be looking for Ray come morning. After the answering machine picked up--the message spoken both in English and in French--he left a quiet, concise greeting. "Hullo, this is Kris Carroll for Constable Benton Fraser. Your friend, Detective Vecchio, is with me at my home, 36 West Andover Drive. He is physically alright, but shaken from the night's events. I will care for him until you are able to collect him. Please feel free to call me: 555-2847."

Sunday, 5:27 am
Someone was knocking on the door. Kris moaned and rolled over as he woke, forgetting he was on the couch and falling unceremoniously to the floor. "Ouch!" He cursed as he stood, then glanced at the watch he hadn't bothered to take off the night before. Who the hell would be visiting him at five in the--

Then he remembered: Ray. That was why he was on the couch. So the person frantically knocking on his front door had to be--

"Hello, Fraser." He managed a smile as he flung open the door, startling an immaculate, serge-clad Fraser in mid-knock.

"Er.... Hello...." Fraser quickly lowered his hand and shifted nervously on the front stoop. "I got your message. Is Ray alright?"

"Still sleeping." Kris couldn't hold in a yawn, but he motioned Fraser inside with his hand rather than with words. "He's in the bedroom. What were you doing at work at 5 a.m. on a Sunday, anyway?"

"Hmm? Oh, I... I live at the Consulate." He flushed under Kris's incredulous stare. "It's purely a temporary arrangement, I assure you."

"I certainly hope so." He put a finger against his lips as the reached the closed bedroom door. "No need to wake him, is there?" he whispered, and Fraser shook his head in agreement. "Good."

He pushed open the door slowly, letting Fraser inside. Ray lay curled up in the center of the bed, the covers in disarray all around him. His face had relaxed somewhat during the night, and his hands no longer held that white-knuckled grip on the sheets, but he still looked small and vulnerable. Kris felt his heart skip a beat.

Fraser strode toward the bed and carefully rearranged the covers over his sleeping friend, smiling slightly as Ray gave a quiet sigh and rolled toward him, hand reaching out blindly for contact. Fraser took that hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "I'm here, Ray, don't worry about a thing. Go back to sleep." The tiny exhale of air from Ray's lips sounded a tiny bit like "'Kay," and then he was deep in slumber once again.

Kris smiled as Fraser backed slowly out of the room. "He seems fine."

"Yes," Fraser nodded distractedly. "What happened last night?"

"He showed up at my door, covered in blood. Needless to say, I panicked, but I realized quickly that it wasn't his." He hesitated, then decided to tell Fraser everything. "I thought it was yours, at first."

"Mine?" Fraser's brows snapped together in confusion. "Why?"

"He was so distraught, and he came to me, of all people.... I've seen how close the two of you are, and I thought he would have gone to you for comfort."

"I.... I was present at the raid. After everything... went wrong... I lost track of him."

"You were there?" They had reached the living room again and Kris motioned for Fraser to take a seat on the couch. "Tell me what happened."

Fraser sighed and rubbed a finger over his eyebrow. "Ray received a tip that there would be a drug deal taking place at 10:00 p.m. last night, so Ray and I, along with several other officers, were staking out the location. We were preparing to reveal ourselves when one of the perpetrators spotted us and opened fire." He paused, closing his eyes with a sigh. "Apparently, one of the men involved had brought his three year-old son to the deal. The child was frightened by the noise and ran out into the line of fire. Ray tried...." He swallowed hard; opened his eyes but didn't look up. "Ray tried to save him. He left his cover and was very nearly shot... but the child had already been hit several times. He died in Ray's arms."

"Shit." It was the only word Kris could think to say.

"Indeed."

"Did you get the drug dealers?"

Fraser managed a humorless smile. "Yes. Every single one."

"Good." Kris stood and headed toward the kitchen. "Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea, please, thank you." Fraser stood and accompanied him, taking out two mugs under Kris's direction and preparing them with sugar and cream as Kris set the water to boil.

"Who the hell brings his kid to a drug deal?"

"Apparently, he'd done it before. The man seemed... shocked... that the child was hurt. He blamed us, and Ray took that blame upon himself, as he always does."

"'As he always does'? He's done this before?"

"Ray has a tendency to hold himself under intense scrutiny. Any perceived mistake, or 'screw-up,' is cause for days of guilt and self-recrimination. In his eyes, if he had not taken the word of his snitch, had not organized the stakeout, that child would not have died."

"That's crazy!" Kris threw his hands up in the air. "It's that asshole's fault for bringing a kid to a drug deal in the first place!"

"I know that," Fraser countered, his calm betrayed only by the flash of anger in his eyes. "I simply wish that Ray would realize it too."

Kris closed his eyes for a moment, willing his somewhat irrational anger away. The kettle was boiling, so he wordlessly held a hand out to Fraser, who handed him the mugs one by one. He poured the water in and they stood quietly, watching the teabags steep. When the tea had sufficiently darkened the water, Kris handed Fraser his mug and sat down at the kitchen table with his own, motioning to his guest to so the same. The Mountie hesitated, his eyes flickering back to the bedroom where Ray slept quietly. After a long moment of indecision, Fraser sat, wrapping long fingers around his own mug.

"You care for him very deeply," Kris stated, studiously confining his gaze to the steam rising from his tea.

"I.... He is my friend," Fraser answered carefully, his voice low and hoarse.

"I was... interested... in him," Kris admitted. "But I can see that it's you he cares for.... You he trusts."

"He didn't trust me enough to come to me last night, rather than to you."

"He was in shock, Ben," Kris pointed out gently. "He wasn't thinking clearly. It's entirely possible that he went to the consulate looking for you and only came to me when he didn't find you there."

"I suppose." Fraser shrugged, but he didn't look reassured.

"At any rate," Kris shrugged, too weary to continue what would obviously be an argument he could not win, "It's you he wants, not me. I won't pursue him any farther."

Fraser shook his head. "Ray is not... attracted to me."

"Are you sure about that?" Kris finally lifted his eyes, smiling in what he hoped was an easy manner.

"I am... reasonably sure."

"Would you like me to ask him?"

Fraser's eyes widened and he jerked in shock, sending some of the tea sloshing onto the table. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, 'would you like me to ask him?' I think he'll speak to me frankly, especially once he realizes there is no threat to him."

"Threat?"

"I'm gay, Fraser. I'm not going to run away in terror if he admits that he is, too."

Fraser swallowed convulsively. "Do you think he is? ... Homosexual, I mean...."

"No," Kris answered immediately, holding back a grin as Fraser's face fell. "I think he may be bi. Much like yourself, Constable."

Fraser flushed a predictable red. "I'm... you don't...."

"Don't worry," Kris interjected reassuringly. "You're not obvious, I just happen to have a very good gaydar."

"Gaydar." Fraser's voice was strangled as he repeated the word.

"Legendary. I've been wrong on occasion, but...." He shrugged. "There is a good chance Ray may be willing to give you a shot." He grinned, winking. "And the two of you would make a beautiful couple."

Sunday, 10:14 am
Ray woke slowly. It was the kind of waking where it took his brain a while before it realized that his body was moving around.

The first thing he noticed was that he was not in his own bed. The sheets were way too clean and crisp, and, besides that, it didn't smell like home. It smelled like fabric softener and some weird kindsof chemicals he couldn't place, but the chemical smell was enough to make him nervous.

The nerves woke him up the rest of the way and he opened his eyes, noting with relief that he was not in a hospital. He hadn't thought the chemical smell was a particularly hospital-ish kind of smell, but one could never be too careful. As he sat up, he realized he wasn't wearing much. That, too, made him nervous.

He thought hard, trying to remember how he had gotten here, wherever "here" was. He thought he'd remembered Fraser being there, so he decided to take a chance. "Fraser?" He called, but his voice was low and hoarse with sleep. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Fraser?"

"Ray, you're awake!"

He sagged back against the pillows in relief as Fraser appeared in the doorway, a bright smile on his face. "Where am I?"

"You are in Kris Carroll's home. Do you remember coming here last night?" Fraser took a seat on the side of the bad, resting on hand on Ray's shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly.

"No.... What happened, Fraser, what's wrong?"

Fraser shifted closer to him with a sigh and lowered his eyes to the floor. "You came here after the bust last night, Ray. You were very upset...."

"Bust...?" Ray immediately felt uneasy. Something was tickling at the back of his mind, wanting to be remembered, but some primal instinct screamed at him to push it back and away before it could hurt him again. "No...." He pushed against Fraser, turning his face away and stubbornly squeezing his eyes shut. "Don't wanna remember."

"Ray...."

Fraser's voice was infinitely sad, and Ray felt a whimper rise to his throat as the memory of the previous night assailed him. All at once, he was back there, in the alley, the air dry and cold as he cradled the child, begging the still form to please take just one more breath.... The noises of the city were lost, so was the arrest. All he could hear was the death rattle from a bloody throat, all he could see was the steam rising from the wounds and the tiny hand, limp on the unforgiving pavement.

"Ray...."

That quiet voice finally broke through and he realized he was sobbing now, sitting up, his face pressed into Fraser's broad chest, clutched in a strong embrace as he clung to him, wiping his tears on the red serge. "Oh God...."

Fraser was talking to him, murmuring comforting phrases and reassurances in his ear and stroking the back of his head, petting him like a cat. Ray couldn't hear all of the words over his own sobs and hitching breaths, but the voice continued on. "...not your fault...please don't...did your best..." They would have been meaningless coming from anyone else, but from Fraser he knew they were honest, that Fraser truly believed in what he was saying. So Ray struggled to slow his tears and he listened to those words, letting them penetrate his aching heart, soothing him. Slowly, the horrible images faded away, the bloody red covering his body along with the child's lightened and broadened until all he could see was brilliant serge red, all he could hear were those words and the heartbeat that thrummed steadily beneath his ear. He pressed closer to it, his arms tightening around Fraser's waist and his breath catching as Fraser's arms tightened in response, and he was secure now, safe in Fraser's arms and knew he was loved.

Kris smiled to himself as he stood hidden in the open doorway, watching. He didn't realize he was crying until he felt the tickle as a tear rolled down his cheek and kissed the corner of his mouth. Silently, he raised his camera, took one shot, then stepped back and away, leaving them alone.

E-mail: kittiec@starpower.net