by Sihaya Black,
inspired by Meg & Rusty

And a special thanks to Ardent Muse. A more supportive cheerleader one could never have. She contributed mucho! For those who waited patiently (and not so) and those who never even heard of it...we hope you enjoy. Please send all thanks and comments to Sihaya, who so richly deserves them. *toasting Sihaya*

**************

“You sure I can't drive you to the airport?” The wall's hard under my shoulder. I twist around and cross my arms.

Fraser lifts his pack and narrows his eyes. Probably can tell what it weighs to an ounce, or whatever they use up in Canada. “Thank you, Ray, but Inspector Thatcher insisted that we call a cab.”

I shrug. No skin off my back. I hate the trip out to the airport anyway. He looks around, and I grab his hat from the top of the filing cabinet and hand it to him. “You got everything you need?”

“Yes.” He doesn't roll his eyes, but I can see him *thinking* about doing it. “And if I've forgotten anything, I can purchase it in Ottawa. It is a major city, Ray, and well-stocked with—”

“Just checking.” I fumble in my pocket and pull out an almost full pack of gum. Spearmint. “Here. For the plane, if your ears get clogged.” I toss it to him, and he catches it easily, then stares at the pack in his hand. “It's sugar free, so you don't have to worry about cavities.”

A longer stare, then Fraser blinks and puts the gum in his backpack pocket. “Thank you, Ray. I'm sure it will be very useful.”

Which is Fraser-speak for “I'm humouring you, Ray, you cheese-brained idiot.”

“Hey, you never know—”

“Constable!”

Fraser's head jerks up and for a second he frowns, then his face smoothes out and he turns to the door where the Ice Queen's standing, tapping her foot.

“Ready, sir.” He slings the pack over his shoulder and I follow him out.

Dief's got his front paws up on Turnbull's desk, but he gets down as soon as he sees Fraser. He tries to look guilty, but I've got his number.

Fraser squats beside him. “Behave for Constable Turnbull, Dief. If I hear of any untoward—”

“Constable!”

Now she's tapping her foot by the front door, her big-ass suitcase beside her. Jesus, lady, give it a rest. Fraser gives Dief a quick pat, nods to Turnbull, says “Good-bye, Ray. Enjoy your weekend,” grabs the big-ass suitcase as well as his pack, and tries to open the door.

Thatcher heaves a sigh so big you'd think her buttons would pop, and opens the door before I can get there. She lumbers Fraser with her shit and then complains because he can't play the gentleman? Fuck that. I help Fraser get the thing down the steps – what's she got in there, a dead body? – while she gives Turnbull more instructions.

We wrestle the suitcase into the cab's trunk, Fraser's pack huddled in the corner like a foster kid at a family reunion. “Have a good trip.” I keep my voice low.

“There's little chance of—” Fraser straightens and his cheeks turn pink. “May I get your door, sir?” And he does the doorman routine for Thatcher. Not that she thanks him or anything.

I lean against the cab after Fraser gets in. “See you on Monday.” Close the door on Fraser's thank you, and watch them disappear down the street.

I check my watch – time to get to work. The Lieu won't thank me for being late. The next four days'll fly by, and Fraser will be back, and I won't feel like ants are crawling up my spine, or that I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Wonder who I'm trying to kid, here.

~~~~~

I've got two guys in tutus in the interrogation rooms, half-a-dozen reports waiting to be typed, acid stomach from too much break-room coffee and not enough food, and it's only 10:15 on Monday morning.

And the worst thing?

Fraser's not here yet.

Thought about calling the airline to see if his plane got in on time last night, but decided that was pathetic.

Besides, there weren't any plane crashes, and Fraser's always on time for a flight, so no way would he miss it. And the Ice Queen probably had him playing porter with her suitcase all the way back.

So he'd come in when he could.

Okay. When he doesn't show up by lunch-time, I call the Consulate to check that everything's all right. Just my luck, Turnbull answers.

“Canadian Con—”

“Hey, Turnbull. How're you doing?”

“Very well, thank you, Detective Vecc—”

“Great. Would you put Fraser on?”

“I'm sorry, but Constable Fraser isn't here at the moment.”

Jeez. Thatcher must've sent him out for her dry cleaning or something. “Well, when he gets in, would you have him call me?”

“Of course, Detective. I'll leave a note on his desk so that when he returns next Monday he'll see—”

“Wait a sec. What do you mean, next Monday? He's supposed to be back *today*.”

“According to his original itinerary, yes. But while in Ottawa, he apparently requested a week's leave, which the Inspector kindly granted. Therefore, he'll be returning *next* Monday.”

Fraser? Asking for leave? At the last minute? That shocks me almost as much as the fact that Thatcher actually said yes.

“Uh, so what's he doing on this leave? Hitting the sights, museums, libraries, that stuff?”

“Camping.”

“Camping?”

“Camping. Constable Fraser said that he missed the wild majesty of the untouched wilderness, and although that's not readily available in Ottawa, he said that he'd head out to the north-north-west, into Quebec, and do the best he could.”

You could knock me over with a feather. Not that Fraser missed the wilderness – hell, I knew that almost from the very start. No, what makes my jaw drop is that Fraser decided at the last minute to do this. This doesn't seem like Fraser, who likes to plan stuff so far in advance he has to buy next year's calendar. Unless he's been thinking about doing this for a while, and just hadn't bothered to tell me.

That isn't buddies.

I put down the phone and stare at the report I'm working on. Fraser would have it finished in two minutes flat.

“Detective?”

I jump about six inches out of my chair. “Sh--- Jesus, Lieutenant! Way to give a guy a heart attack!”

Welsh just looks at me for a minute while I slump in my seat and let my heart slow to normal. “Isn't the Constable due back today?” he finally says.

I rub the twinge in my chest and pretend to read my report. “Yeah, but he decided to stay on another week and go camping. He'll be back next Monday.”

“Ah.” He makes it sound like one of those vacuum cleaner moments – when the light bulb at the top of your head lights up. “I assume that you'll be able to manage on your own until then.”

“Sure. No problem. I'm good to—”

“I'm sure you are, Detective Vecchio.” He turns away. “And I want those reports on my desk by the end of today.”

“Sir.” Fuck. I hate reports. If Fraser were here, I wouldn't be stuck behind my desk, finishing them. And Frannie would be hanging around, and I could convince her to get me some coffee.

I start typing. Life without Fraser sucks.

~~~~~~

I grab a pen and jab it into the pad of paper on my desk. “Listen, Charlie, I kept the feds off your ass. You owe me one.” My other hand's tight around the receiver. My eyes burn, my back and neck aches, and I can't remember my last meal.

Charlie's got that damned whine in his voice, the one that grates on my nerves. “I'd help out if I could, Ray, but—”

“Vecchio!”

What now? Charlie keeps making excuses as I look up. Welsh stands in the door of his office and points at me.

With a sigh, I wave at the pile of folders on my desk. I've got enough to do with all these bank robberies to keep a dozen detectives busy, and Welsh wants to give me more? Shit. “Yeah, yeah, Charlie, you told me that before.”

Welsh taps his watch, then turns and walks back into his office.

I'm not making any headway here. “Listen, I gotta go. I'll catch you later.” Feels good to slam down the phone. What the hell is bugging Welsh now? I'm so tired I have to lever myself out of the chair.

Welsh closes the door behind me. “Vecchio, you heard anything from Constable Fraser today?” He waves me to a seat, and I land with a thump. “Inspector Thatcher just called, wanting to know, *if* you please, whether we could send him back now, as he was *not* on permanent loan to the precinct.” He sits down, leans back and glares at me. “From the sound of it, she has some kind of fancy party tonight and she needs his services.”

Yeah, right. "She probably wants him to park cars and handle coat check."

Welsh almost cracks a smile. "In either case, he does work there, Detective. Theoretically. Have you seen him?"

"Not since he left for Ottawa.” I let my head fall back against the cushions. “Turnbull said Fraser was supposed to fly back last night, but he didn't call and ask for a ride from the airport, and I haven't seen him this morning." Which is weird, because Fraser usually lets me know when he's back from a trip.

Welsh nods. "Check up on him, detective. The last thing I need is the Inspector on my ass."

And *there's* a mental image I don't need. I heave myself out of the couch and go back to my desk. Jesus. On top of everything else, Welsh orders me to track down Fraser, of all people. I know I should be pissed off -- God knows I don't need anything else on my plate -- but at least I can *do* something. It's not like Fraser to not be back when he says he's going to be.

Sure, Fraser deserves a vacation. He works harder than any two guys I know. But I feel kind of... kind of peeved that Fraser hadn't bothered to let me know he was going to ask for vacation, or even to give me a call and say “Ray, my friend, I just wanted to let you know that I'll be taking a week's vacation. So don't worry when I don't show up on Monday.”

Is this Fraser's way of avoiding me? There's a thought that sucks. Could he have sensed that I want something he can't give? Not that I do want that. Want Fraser. Much.

But whatever his reasons for asking for vacation, Fraser isn't the kind of guy to shirk his duty and not be back when he says he will. Nope, not a shirker. Which means that maybe something's really wrong.

I push the files to the side of my desk and pick up my jacket.

~~~~~~

"So, tell me again what happened before you lost Fraser up in Canada?" If I'm going to track down Fraser, I need more to go on, and that meant driving over to the Consulate.

"I did not *lose* him, detective." Thatcher's eyes are so cold they could freeze hot coffee. "We finished our meetings in Ottawa and he asked whether he could have a week of leave instead of returning here to the Consulate. I agreed, of course."

There's no 'of course' about it, but I have more important things to do right now than argue with the Ice Queen. "And he was supposed to be back last night, right?”

“Yes, as I told you—”

“He didn't call you whole time he was gone?"

Thatcher sniffs. "I didn't expect to hear from him while he was on leave, Detective. He said he wanted to get away from the city and spend some time camping. He said he needed time alone."

Ouch. That hurts. I pull out my notebook and pencil. "I need to know everything you can tell me about where he said he was going."

~~~~~~

Okay, another day passes with no sign of Fraser. Now I'm worried. Officially *and* unofficially.

Thatcher's been cooperative, thank God, and between us we've notified the RCMP and the park rangers in the area where Fraser said he'd be camping, and they organized search parties. The Canadian media's been told he's a lost hiker who may've had an accident, so that's what they're broadcasting.

Fraser? A lost hiker? That's a laugh. When they find him, the poor guy's going to be *so* humiliated.

*If* they find him.

No. They'll find him. Soon. He's probably just had a minor accident. I don't want to think about what kind of accident would keep Fraser from finding his way back home. Or at least to Ottawa.

The thought of Fraser lying out in the woods, hurt, suffering, *alone*, makes my head ache. And my chest. Damn him! No, I don't really mean that, but the guy won't let anybody get close. He has to do it all alone, be Super-fucking-Mountie, even on vacation, and this is the result.

I rub my eyes. Don't go there. That train of thought has no friendly stops. Dammit all, anyway.

Welsh has assigned most of my cases to others, so I can stay close to the station. I've been working the leads and catching up on overdue paperwork. Every time the phone rings I hope it's news of Fraser.

Good news.

~~~~~~

“Jesus fucking Christ!” The door slams so hard posters on the hall walls flap in the breeze and I kick a trash can as I round the corner.

"Watch it, Ray!" Dewey dances out of the way of the rolling can and follows me back to my desk. "You're definitely not going to win the Miss Congeniality award this year."

I grab a file and open it. “Shut the fuck up.”

But Dewey never can take a hint. He picks up one of the M&M wrappers on my desk and drops it into one of the empty Styrofoam cups.

"Too much bad coffee? Or is it a sugar high?"

Maybe I'm being too subtle. "Dewey, I'm going to the can, and when I get back, I expect you to be way the fuck away from here."

Good thing the john's empty, because I do *not* want to see anyone right now. I take a leak, splash water on my face, and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Shit, I look like a freak. A jittery freak. Pale face. Dark circles. Even my hair's gone way past experimental and into electrified. No wonder everybody but Dewey's had the sense to steer clear of me today.

I can't help it. I'm worried. Nobody, except maybe the Lieu, understands just how worried I am, because nobody knows how much Fraser means to me. And the worst of it is, it's probably all my fault. I've tried not to give off anything but friendly vibes, partner vibes, but I must've been giving off Do Me vibes, too. No wonder Fraser needed some time alone.

Where the hell are you, Fraser? And how come I'm not there with you? I walk back to my desk and no one says a word.

Welsh opens his door. "Vecchio! My office."

Thatcher and Dief stand in the doorway with Welsh.

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

I take a couple of deep breaths and push down the panic that punches my chest. The buzz of voices behind me rises as I step into Welsh's office.

Welsh's face is blank as he closes the door and flips the blinds shut. Thatcher and Dief look stunned. It can only mean one thing.

My knees give out and I slump into a chair.

"So they found a... a body?" My voice wavers, and I clear my throat. "Where?"

Welsh shakes his head.

Fuck. This is the worst. "No body? Then how..."

Thatcher looks at Welsh before she opens her mouth. "He's not dead, detective. We think… Actually, we don't know *what* to think." She rubs her forehead and frowns.

I stand up and start to pace. "God, he's alive? Where? Is he hurt?" My heart races, and words echo crazily through my head: notdeadnotdeadnotdead.

"We want you to watch something. It may answer some of your questions." Welsh stands by the TV monitor and presses a button on the VCR. "Sit down."

The screen fills with the fuzzy gray image of a bank lobby as I land back in the chair.

"This tape was sent to the Consulate this morning. Robbery in the sleepy hamlet of Ottertail, Quebec."

Thatcher starts to interrupt him, but Welsh stops her with a look.

"Security camera caught them." He leans against his desk and looks at me. "I can't make heads or tails of it."

I squint at the TV, and finally pull out my glasses.

There, on the screen. Fraser. Alive.

The time stamp says last Friday, around eleven. Two guys in black shirts and cammo pants wave guns and people have their hands raised as they back away. But Fraser just stands there. Lounging, like he hasn't got a care in the world.

I want to scream, get down, dammit! Don't be a hero. Does Fraser have his gun on him? He's in Canada, after all. He's allowed to carry a gun...

What the hell? I lean forward.

Fraser pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one.

"What the fuck?"

Then Fraser pulls a pistol from his belt, and points it... at the teller.

Dief yelps.

My stomach turns over, and my hands are shaking so hard I squeeze them between my knees. My legs are shaking, too.

Fraser's smiling now, sweeping the gun in an arc around the room. Too bad the tape doesn't have audio so I can hear what Fraser's saying.

Then he gestures to the floor, and everyone drops. Except for one old lady.

She stands next to the counter, holding her purse to her chest and swaying. Fraser lowers the gun and steps forward, smiling. He tucks one hand under her elbow and helps her to a chair against the wall. Turning back to the room, he says something and the people on the floor cover their heads with their hands. The old lady hides her face.

Then Fraser saunters -- that's the only word that fits -- over to the counter, his back to the camera, and leans toward the bank teller.

And damn, even from here, even on a grainy black and white video, Fraser's ass in his tight jeans is... amazing. I can't believe I'm checking out Fraser's ass at a time like this. But then again, it's a pretty unbelievable ass.

The teller's young, maybe mid-twenties, and tall, with messy blond hair and black glasses. Kind of a nerd. But even the glasses can't hide the fear in his face.

Smoke from Fraser's cigarette swirls around them both as he leans across the counter. The teller freezes.

Fraser eases closer, right up to the guy's ear. Whatever he says must do the trick because the teller starts moving like the freaking Energizer Bunny. While the clerk's stuffing bills in a canvas bag, Fraser turns to the robbers and nods.

The bank teller holds out the full bag, hands trembling. His shoulders slump when Fraser takes the bag.

"This is crazy." I can't take my eyes off the screen, off Fraser holding a canvas bag full of money. "This can't possibly get any weirder."

Then Fraser leans across the counter, grabs the clerk behind his head, yanks him forward, and plants a hard kiss on him.

"What the fuck?" Someone makes a noise, and I turn to the others, but they're staring at the screen. Thatcher looks hurt, and Welsh loosens his tie. Even Dief's watching closely, head cocked to the side. I turn back to the video.

Fraser takes his time, doesn't hurry the kiss. The teller melts, his hands clenching on the counter.

At last Fraser breaks away, runs a finger down the teller's nose, and turns toward the camera, smiling. The look on Fraser's face makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. God, he looks like... like all my fantasies come true. Hungry. Hot. Wild.

The teller falls back into his chair, panting.

Then Fraser looks up, directly at the security camera, and tilts his head to one side.

With one last puff, Fraser takes the cigarette out of his mouth and blows a cloud of smoke at the camera. He reaches over to a metal ashtray next to the teller and crushes the butt.

Still looking at the camera, he raises his gun in a salute to the lens - and then, with one lightning fast movement, he fires. The screen goes black.

Nobody says anything.

I can't stand it. "That's... that's *impossible*. You know that can't be Fraser, no *way* in *hell*!"

Welsh shakes his head. "I know it doesn't make any sense, detective, but you saw the tape. It's him. What I want to know is how this could have happened."

"Fraser'll have a good reason for this. No way would he rob a bank for real!” I look at Thatcher. “Is he undercover?"

“I'm afraid he received no orders to that effect.” She looks more sad than angry.

“How about a double? If this isn't the real Fraser—”

“You're grasping at straws, Ray.” Welsh's voice is as kind as it ever gets. “You saw the tape. It was the Constable.”

I don't know what to say.

"Listen.” Welsh gives my shoulder a pat, and that rattles me almost as much as what's on the tape. “Whatever's going on, you're his partner. Go up there and find him. Find out what's happened to him. Inspector Thatcher's cleared it for you to assist in the investigation."

I turn to Thatcher, and she nods. “You seem to understand how Constable Fraser's mind works, Detective. Which is more than I can say for myself.”

Welsh pops the video out of the VCR and slips it into a manila envelope.

"And Ray?" Welsh picks up a folder from his desk. "Watch out for this woman. In any connection."

He hands me the video and a file folder.

I flip open the folder. I've seen this dark haired chick before, from one of Vecchio's cases, the one where Fraser was shot. There'd been some rumor about Fraser crossing the line, but I'd never heard the whole story. The pages inside are marked "Confidential."

Welsh clears his throat. "I'd rather this not get around the station, Vecchio. Not until we know the exact circumstances of what we saw on the tape. Understand?"

I nod. "Yeah... yeah, I gotcha." I flap my hand toward the closed blinds. "What are we gonna tell them, though?"

"That there's a lead up north and you're going up to investigate. They'll probably assume it's to identify a body, but that can't be helped. Just… go. You're on detached duty for now, until you can find him. Or figure this out."

Fraser.

Dark stubble shadowing his cheeks, big hand expertly holding the gun, half-smirk as he leans on the counter and threatens the clerk.

Fraser, looking at the camera, cool as McQueen, before raising the gun in a mocking salute and firing, destroying it.

Impossible.

And yet... I can imagine Fraser that way. Dark. Wicked. As hot as.... I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry, and close the file.

Fraser's alive. That's all that matters.

"Yeah, well, I'm on it. I'll be outta here tonight."

“Report back as soon as you know anything definite.”

Dief whines and puts a paw on my knee.

I ruffle his fur and look at Thatcher. "Any way you can clear it so he can come with me?"

She nods and Dief barks.

"Be careful," says Welsh. "And Ray? Bring him back if you can. He's a good man. Or he was.” He runs a hand over his face. “Hell, just find out what's happened."

“You better believe I will, sir.” I open the door. Everyone in the bull pen is staring at me, like they're expecting me to blow up, or crack into little pieces. I glare. "What? You people got nothing to do?"

I go to my desk, get my coat and the file Welsh gave me. When I turn, I catch a few sympathetic looks before Dief and I make tracks out the squad room door.

I let Dief into the GTO, then get in. I sit there for a long minute, my head in my hands, and try to calm down while Dief licks my cheek and ear.

It's impossible. Crazy. Unbelievable.

Fraser. A criminal. Robbing a bank, shooting out the security camera, kissing the clerk. Sexy as hell in that dangerous, untamed way.

Am I going to have to arrest the guy who's my best friend? The guy who I want so bad my bones ache? Shit. And I thought the unreachable clean-cut Mountie was hard to resist.

~~~~~~

I spend the flight to Ottawa reading Fraser's confidential file. Damn. I knew it'd been bad, but never figured Fraser would do that to Vecchio, would try to *leave* with that bitch. Looks like his dark side's a lot closer to the surface than I expected. I stare at her picture until my eyes blur.

Hope she's not involved with this, or I'm not taking any bets on keeping my hands off her scrawny neck.

A tall, gangly Mountie, who reminds me a lot of Turnbull, meets me at the gate. We wait for Dief to be unloaded, and then, after Dief lets me know just how damned uncomfortable his flight was, and I remind him that *he* was the one who wanted to come along, and the Turnbull-clone tries not to look shocked, we pile into a car and he drives us to a big office building.

Up on the seventh floor, Dief and I get ushered into a big room full of charts and phones and people, and I start to relax. Just like home.

Introductions all round, and I don't remember any names except for Sergeant Pierre Millipied, who's the guy I'll be working with. We get coffee and I grab a sandwich and everyone sits down for the briefing. Dief snags a donut and settles at my feet.

And it turns out that Fraser's bank robbery is one of a bunch that were pulled around Ottawa last Friday. None of the robbers have been caught yet, and, to make things worse, these robberies look like they're connected with the ones I've been investigating in Chicago. To make it much worse, they all look like they're connected to the Russian mob, which is why the Mounties are taking such an interest. Fuck. I wipe my hands on my legs. Only a nutcase would go up against the Russians without a hell of a lot of backup, because those guys are vicious. Even the FBI hates dealing with them. They make the Costa Nostra look like a little old ladies' tea social.

Sure, I need to know the overall picture, but I also need to know more about the one robbery I'm most interested in. “So what about these guys with Fra-- With Constable Fraser. You know who they are?”

Millipied, who's got a French accent, picks up a photo, a mug shot. “We've identified one of the robbers: Jay Blu, a petty crook who was released from prison last year. We're still working on the other one.”

I nod. “Any sign of them since Friday?”

“No. As soon as we became aware of Constable Fraser's involvement in the robbery, we called off the civilian searchers and spread word amongst the media that our 'lost hiker' had been found unharmed. The last thing we want is for an unarmed civilian to stumble upon the robbers.” Millipied gestures to a map pinned to the wall. “Of course, we are following all possible leads.”

“Good.” I like this guy. For one thing, he doesn't look like he believes Fraser's sold out, unlike a couple of the others. “I'd like to question the bank clerk and some of the witnesses. When can we get up there?”

Millipied smiles. “Tonight, unless you think it necessary to remain in Ottawa longer.”

“Nah.” I stand up, and Dief heads toward the door. “We're good to go.”

~~~~~~

It's dark by the time we reach Ottertail, but Millipied's called ahead and drives up to a neat house with lace curtains. “This is the home of the bank clerk. He's expecting us.”

The door opens before we're out of the car, and I recognize the guy from the tape standing on the stoop. Dief wanders off to check out the bushes, and Millipied leads the way.

“Detective Raymond Vecchio of the Chicago Police Department, this is Mr. Thomas Gay.”

I blink. Tom Gay? And I thought I had it bad as Stanley Kowalski. I stick out my hand and Gay takes it, firm shake.

“Come on in.”

We get settled in the little living room, Dief at my feet again, and a pretty lady pokes her head around the doorway. “My wife, Jeanette.” She nods and disappears.

So, Mr. Gay's married. Wonder what his wife thinks of the kiss, or if she even knows about it.

I pull out my notebook. “I've seen the tape of the robbery, Mr. Gay, and would like to ask a couple questions.”

Of course, he wants to know why I'm involved in investigating a robbery of a little bank in Quebec, and Millipied jumps in with a whole bunch of 'international cooperation' and 'confidential information' stuff, which seems to satisfy him.

“Call me Tom. What would you like to know?”

I ask him a few easy ones first, just to let him warm up and relax. Jeanette brings in a tray with coffee, and sits beside him on the sofa. Damn. I don't really want her here, not with what I want to ask next, but I can't tell her to leave. I wait until we've all got coffee, and Dief's chewing on an oatmeal cookie.

“When the…” God, I hate this. “When the robber leaned over and spoke to you, what did he say?”

Tom swallows, and reaches for his wife's hand. “'Please hand over the money. My friends are very nervous, and I wouldn't want them to start killing people.' Or words to that effect.”

Fuck.

Millipied frowns. “Did he speak in English?”

Tom nods and squeezes Jeanette's hand. “All of the robbers did.”

“And after you gave him the money.” I pretend to look at my notes. My throat's dry, my palms are wet, and I feel dirty. “He—”

“He kissed me.” Tom speaks all in a rush. “He grabbed me and pulled me across the counter and kissed me until I thought I'd pass out.”

“Right,” I say, and write down his words in my notebook. When what I really want to know is what was it like? Did your bones melt? Did you get hard? Was it as good as it looked?

“Then he shot out the security camera and they left.”

“Yeah.” Tom wipes his hand over his face. “But I'll tell you what I told Sergeant Millipied – this guy wasn't like the others. He was obviously the brains of the outfit.”

My heart sinks. Got to nip that thought in the bud. “We don't know who planned the robbery yet. Did you see which direction they took when they left?”

Tom chuckles. “There are only two paved roads out of Ottertail, Detective. If they had any sense, they'd have robbed a big bank in a city. Or at least a place at a crossroads.”

“They could have taken one of the trails up to the lake.” Jeanette lets go of Tom's hand and refills his cup. “A lot of old fishing cabins up there aren't used much.”

I look at Millipied, and he shrugs. “We're searching the area, but even an aerial search takes time. There are a lot of hectares to cover.”

I'm finished for the moment, so we say our goodbyes at the door. Jeanette looks at me, then Tom, then back at me. “Do you have any family in eastern Canada, Detective?” I shake my head, and she smiles. “You and Tom look very similar. You could easily be brothers or cousins.”

“Uh, no, I don't.” Now that she's pointed it out, I can kind of see a resemblance between us. Shape of our faces, build, hair, glasses. Did Fraser see that, too? He had to. Fraser doesn't miss stuff like that. And that leads to a thought that scares the shit out of me, namely, did he kiss Tom because Tom looks like *me*? My heart pounds and I feel like I've been sandbagged.

Millipied shoots me a look as we get in the car, but all I can think about is Fraser holding a gun, smoking a cigarette, shooting out the camera, kissing a guy who looks like me…

We stop for dinner in town, and stay the night in a little hole-in-the-wall motel. Millipied's on the phone with headquarters most of the evening, Dief stretches out on one of the beds, and I pretend to go through my case files. But I keep wondering what Fraser's doing, how the hell he got himself mixed up in this mess, and how the hell I'm going to find him and get him out.

It's getting late, and we're about ready to turn in – that is, if I can get Dief off my bed – when there's a knock on the door. Millipied and I exchange a look, and he pulls his gun, while I go answer the door. I feel kind of stupid when I open it and there's this little old lady, all white fluffy hair and pink fluffy sweater. She says something to me in French, sounding all pissy and annoyed. I step back. “No habla espagnole,” I say as I let her in.

Millipied laughs and takes over, and the French flies fast and furious. When it's over, the little old lady crosses her arms over her pretty impressive chest, nods once, and leaves.

Dief's gone out to check the tires, so I sit on my bed. “What was that all about?”

“Apparently,” Millipied's so excited that he's almost bouncing off the walls, “Madame's family owns a cabin in a remote area of the lake, and when her son went up there yesterday morning, he noticed that there was movement at the supposedly abandoned fishing camp nearby. He didn't get back until late this evening, and she came right over.”

“You think it could be them?” I'm up and pacing. “What the hell are you doing?”

Millipied stops dialing his phone. “Calling it in, what else? We can use the darkness to send in a—”

“No way. No fucking way are you sending in armed Mounties!” Millipied looks shocked, so I lower my voice. “Listen. Fraser could be a hostage, no matter how damning the tape is. What d'you think will happen if a bunch of armed guys shows up? One bullet to the head, and Fraser'll wake up wearing a halo and wings.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?” His voice is frosty, but at least he puts down the phone.

Shit. I'm thinking, I'm thinking… “Let me go in, check it out.” He opens his mouth and I raise my hand. “I'll stay in the trees, stay hidden, see what's going on. If Fraser's… gone bad, I'll know. And I'll come back and we can try it your way. But he's my partner. I gotta *see*…”

I wait while he thinks. And wait. There's a scratch at the door, so I let in Dief, who goes right back to the bed and spreads out on the bedspread. “Will you take the dog?” he says at last.

“Half-wolf. Yeah. Dief knows Fraser better than almost anybody.”

“What will you do if they spot you?”

“Give myself up.” That's a no-brainer. “Fraser and me, we work together like this.” I hold up two fingers side-by-side. “If he's a hostage and they get me, we'll get out together.” Dief whuffs. “With Dief's help.”

“And if he's *not* a hostage?”

“Then…” I turn away and clench my hands into fists. “Then you'll have to kill me, 'cause I'll never believe it.”

~~~~~~

We don't get on the road until early afternoon. Spend the morning talking to headquarters, and trying to convince them not to do an Entebbe. I finally, after a lot of pleading and swearing, get the head honchos to agree to let me do it my way – at least for 24 hours. They'll set up shop at Madame's family's cabin, and keep tabs on me and Dief from there. I've got to carry a radio, too, but I'm planning on just turning it off once I get away from here. Hell, it's going to be hard enough to keep quiet getting over there without having some impatient jerk making a racket with it.

Madame's son guides us to the cabin, and points out where the abandoned camp is. It's on the other side of a broad inlet, and I can just barely see the roof of one of the buildings because of the heavy woods. It'll be hell to walk through, but I'll have cover, and should be able to get close enough to see… someone.

Millipied fits me out with a pack with food, water, a flashlight, a knife, a pair of handcuffs, flares, and one of those space-age shiny blankets, because he says I'll probably have to hide in the woods tonight. He also gives me a gun.

I hope to hell I won't need to use it.

Just before I leave, Millipied gets a call from HQ. They've IDed the other robber – one Carroll Conway, former shrink who'd been disbarred or whatever it is they do with doctors, for bedding more than a couple of his female patients. They think he's been involved in a few burglaries, nothing as big as the bank job.

Great.

That explains a lot. I didn't think there was anyone in the world who could figure out how to crack Fraser, but maybe this shrink has some special inside knowledge, or got to Fraser in a weak moment. Whatever the case, it'll give me some leverage when I talk to Fraser, 'cause you can bet your bottom dollar that's what I'm going to try to do first off.

The sun's moving down behind the trees by the time Millipied drives me to the turnoff for the camp. Dief and I'll walk in from here, about two miles or so. I turn off the radio. Millipied's not happy about it, but agrees not to make a fuss.

The second time I stumble into a bush, Dief gives me one of those 'what the fuck' looks and decides that he's the guide. Fine with me. And as much as I hate to admit it, the trail he blazes avoids stuff like prickly bushes, mud holes, and insect swarms.

So? He's had more practice.

The light's starting to go, so I put on my glasses. It's dim, not dark, and they help me see rocks and tree roots. Finally, Dief gives a soft whuff and stops. I take a careful step forward and look around a tree trunk.

The camp's a bunch of small buildings clustered around a rocky clearing. There's a fire pit in the middle, but nothing's burning tonight. I check out each building, and most of them are dark and deserted. One, over on the left… I stay still and just watch. Two, no, three figures against the grey wood of a cabin. They're sitting, talking softly. Two little red dots swing around – one of them doesn't smoke. And I can't get the picture of Fraser, puffing a cigarette, out of my mind.

I don't know how long I wait, but my feet are starting to ache, when the guy who isn't smoking gets up and turns on a flashlight. The beam hits the tops of the trees and makes all the leaves glow in the darkness.

Fraser's curse takes me by surprise. I've never heard him say 'fuck' before. That, and something about keeping the goddamn flashlight beam *down*. So the beam's down on the ground, and the other smoking guy gets up, too, and says something to Fraser, who laughs.

All the hairs at the back of my neck stand up, and Dief presses close to my leg.

That is one *wicked* laugh.

Flashlight guy and cigarette guy cross the clearing and disappear into two of the far cabins. Faint light shows in their windows, but it's steady, not like the flashlight. Lanterns, maybe. After a minute or two, the glowing tip of Fraser's cigarette falls to the ground and goes out. I can hear him get up and go into the cabin where they've been sitting, the door slamming behind him. A light goes on.

My pack's at my feet. I take a quick drink of water and stow it away, then hide the pack under a bush. The gun's in my hand. Take it? Or leave it behind? No way am I going to shoot Fraser, but those other scumbags? No guarantees.

I put the gun in my belt and the handcuffs in my coat pocket, then squat down and take Dief's muzzle.

“Listen, fur face. You've gotta watch my back. Stay here, but if it looks like there's trouble, go get help. *Don't* try to be a hero, you hear?”

He snorts and then licks my chin. I give him a pat and stand up. It's time to go in.

I don't hurry. It's damned quiet out here, with just enough noise to keep me jumpy and on edge. Which is a good thing. Fraser's got ears like a hawk, so if I want to sneak up on him, I can't go crashing through the woods. So I try to channel Davy Crockett, who's always looked like Fess Parker to me, ever since I watched the show as a kid. I almost laugh, remembering one summer and how much I wanted a Davy Crockett cap with a tail down the back, so I borrowed my mum's really good Easter hat with the flowers and ribbons and rubbed mud on it to make it brown. I ate dinner standing up for a week.

But I must've learned something from the show, because I make it to Fraser's cabin without him coming to the door or calling out a warning. I creep around to a window. The glass panes swing in, leaving just the screens in place. I peer in.

Fraser. My mouth goes dry. He's sitting on a bed, looking at something in his hands. Got those tight jeans on, and a worn white tee-shirt. Barefoot. I reach down to adjust myself, and he looks up.

Shit.

I freeze.

He doesn't spot me, 'cause he shifts on the bed and I can see he's holding a couple of photos. Stares at them a couple seconds, then puts them on the bedside table and stretches. His shirt rides up over his belly.

Holy Mother of God.

I adjust myself again, and he strips off the shirt, then undoes his belt and the top button of his jeans. His fingers run over his chest and belly, and then head…

Oh, fuck.

I close my eyes and lean against the side of the cabin. I *can't* watch him, not when he's on the inside and I'm on the outside, not when he doesn't know I'm there, watching him, wanting him so bad I think I'm gonna die of wanting…

A twig snaps and a hand clamps over my mouth and before I can even think “what the fuck?” my arms are twisted behind my back and I'm being half-marched, half-dragged around to the front of the cabin and shoved inside.

I stumble and grab the table, look up and see Fraser standing at the door, closing it behind him. He smiles and I can see the darkness in his eyes. I shiver.

“Hello, Ray.” Takes a step toward me, like a hunter stalking his prey. “I wasn't expecting to see you.”

“Fraser.” I get behind the table and ease the gun out of my belt. “What's going on? Why the hell are you robbing banks?” I point the gun at him, and hope he doesn't notice how much my hands shake.

He glances at the gun, gives it the same look my grandma would give my grandpa when he'd wear his muddy boots in the house. “It's what I do, Ray. You know that.”

“Bullshit! It's *not* what you do!” I can't believe what he's saying. “You're a Mountie, dammit.”

A shrug. “Every man needs a hobby.”

“Hobby?” I pull out the cuffs. They clink in my hand. This is so fucking bizarre, Fraser talking like this. There's gotta be a reason; maybe aliens have taken over his body? “Robbing banks isn't a hobby, Fraser. And until I figure out what the hell's going on, you're going to put on these cuffs and sit over there.” I motion toward the far corner with the gun.

“Understood.” He catches the cuffs and snaps them around his wrists. “But why should I sit on the hard floor when there's a comfortable bed at our disposal?” he says, sitting on the bed. Lounges, really. Legs wide. His zipper's half-way down.

He's coming on to me. *Fraser's* coming on to me. I didn't think he knew how to flirt, to be suggestive with anyone, much less a guy. But then I remember him kissing Tom, and damn, he knew what he was doing.

I tear my eyes away from that zipper and catch his grin. My face heats up, and I shrug off my coat. Leave it on the table. Keeping the gun on him, I sit on the table, put my feet on a chair.

“Okay. Tell me what's going on.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I don't know why you're so upset. I've done the same thing for years.”

Definitely aliens. “No, Fraser. I know you. You'd rather cut off your arm than rob a bank.”

“Then I guess you don't know me as well as you think.” His hands rest on his belly, and he moves them, sliding them slowly down to the bulge in his jeans.

My mouth's so dry I can hardly swallow, and it's a good thing I've got on loose Dockers, or else I'd be hurting for certain. But Fraser's wrong, somehow. Out of focus. Like someone who's never met him is trying to *be* Fraser. A familiar stranger in Fraser's body. “Nope. I *know* you. You're the most lawful guy I've ever met. You believe in justice.” Well, except for that one time with Victoria.

He looks away for a second, like he's puzzled about something, then smiles. Dark and smooth, like good chocolate. More than a hint of wicked puts me on my guard. “I'm tired of this conversation, Ray. Why don't you come over here and we'll do something more interesting.” And he pulls his zipper down the rest of the way.

Wanted him even before I got a glimpse of the bad guy, want him even more now. And no, Barbara and Damian Kowalski didn't raise an idiot, but I'm so fucking tempted. Especially when it's obvious that Fraser's going commando. If that isn't a reason to have a hard on, I don't know what is. I take a deep breath, push down the need that's building inside me. “Sorry, but I think this conversation is really important.”

“Whereas I'm just getting bored.”

Fraser swings his legs off the bed and gets up. He's looking at me like he's trying to burrow inside me, or maybe just like I'd make a tasty meal. My belly clenches at that look. Want him so fucking *bad*. I raise the gun.

“Sit down, Fraser. Don't make me *do* this.”

He just keeps coming. I might as well be talking to the wall.

I stand up and sight down the barrel. At Fraser. My partner. “Stop, God dammit! I don't want to shoot you, but I will if you make me.” My voice cracks. Feels like I'm cracking deep inside, too.

Fraser takes another step. “I don't think you'll pull that trigger, Ray. Not at me.” His eyes half-close, dangerous, daring, and he rubs himself. “Not with all we've shared over the years.”

Oh, fuck. Sweat trickles down my back. Fraser looks like sex on a stick, just standing there, opened jeans, cuffs around his wrists, bare chest so damned smooth that my fingers itch to touch, to see if he feels as good as he looks. Want to taste him, let him pull me under…

“Doesn't…” I clear my throat and try to get a better grip on my gun. My hands are so sweaty I'm having trouble holding onto it. “Doesn't matter what we've shared. Take one more step and I'll-”

“You'll what? Kill me?” He takes a deep breath, smooth muscles moving, and tilts his head to one side. “Kill your lover?”

Huh? My… Whatthefuck? The bastard jumps while I'm replaying his words in my head, and before I can even blink, the cuffs are off, he's got his hands on the gun and it's pressing into my side.

Well, *shit*.

But his arms wrap around me, holding the gun, holding me, and he's pressing against my back and I can feel him, warm and hard against my ass. And I'm hard, too. For a second I'm scared, then I remember that this is *Fraser*, and I know how he felt when I held the gun on *him*. He won't hurt me. No matter how weird he's being, he's still my partner.

My partner. Who's licking my neck.

I shiver as his tongue slides along my jaw. He feels it and his chuckles fill my ear.

“Like that, do you?” Another lick, and he grinds into my ass. I bite my lip and try not to moan, but he knows. “You like it rough.”

“No!” I gasp as he rubs his free hand over my dick. “Listen, Fraser, I don't know what's happened, but I don't want—”

“Your mouth says no, but your body says yes.” He squeezes, and my dick throbs in his grip. God, his hand feels good, great, and any other time I'd be naked and on the bed by now, but this…

“So my body's stupid, what else is new.” I can't catch my breath. His hands are everywhere, and somehow he's got my zipper down and, oh *fuck*, he's stroking me, hard and fast and then he goes back to licking my neck, *tasting* me. My heart's battering my chest, because I want this, want it *bad* but not this way, not when he's all taketaketake instead of letting me -- goddamn it -- just wait, let me catch my -- oh shit -- I can't hold on…

And I'm coming, gasping, held up by Fraser's arms, his hand still stroking and I shudder, feeling dirty underneath the feelgood haze of coming.

My bones ache, and I try not to think about the echoing ache in my chest. Suddenly my knees buckle. He almost carries me across the floor and tosses me on the bed before I can pull myself together. Jerks my arms up, and I struggle, but he's got the cuffs and fuck! I'm cuffed to the iron bed.

I kick out, trying for his crotch, but he straddles my thighs and I can't move my legs at all. Fraser leans forward and catches my mouth in a kiss, and God, it's good, it's great. He uses his teeth and tongue and I want to fight back, push him away but I can't. All I can do is let him kiss me, hard at first, and then it softens, grows more tender.

Fraser's kiss, Fraser's body pressing mine into the mattress is torture, hot and sweet. My hands twist, trapped by cold metal, and I can't help pushing my hips against Fraser, trying to get him to touch my dick again. Fuck. What am I doing? Turn my head, pull away from Fraser's mouth. I need control, need to stop this craziness.

“We can't.” I pant, try to suck in air that's not Fraser-scented. “Not like this.”

Fraser's lips shine in the lantern light, wet and swollen.

“No?” Soft. Husky. Wired straight to my dick.

I swallow hard. Fraser can feel me, sees how much my body wants this, even if my brain keeps screaming that I'm fucking nuts and will regret it not just in the morning, but for the rest of my life.

He lifts up and flips me over like I don't weigh anything. I get a mouthful of blanket while he yanks down my trousers to my knees. I gasp and try to roll over, but his hands are already rubbing my ass. Christ, this is going to be bad.

“Fraser! Stop it, dammit!”

He gives my bare ass a swat and I yelp, then he's on top of me, pressing me hard into the bed. His dick's poking into my ass, and I can't fucking *breathe*, and oh shit, not this way, please, no.

But my legs try to spread more, and my hips angle up, and God, I want him so fucking much. I'm so far gone I don't care how. Want him to touch me, stroke me, burrow his way into me so far that we'll be one person.

Fraser grunts and moves, and his dick slides down my ass and between my thighs, bumping my balls. He leans over and reaches out, scrabbling in his backpack next to the bed. Comes up with a little jar.

Ointment.

Thank God, at least he's not going to punch his way into me dry. He grunts again and fumbles with the jar, and I wait, dizzy from excitement and lust and yeah, a lot of fear. Then his finger slides right into me.

Christ, it's cold. But that doesn't last long, he doesn't let it stay cold. I suck in a breath and close my eyes, seeing lights flaring in the darkness. He moves his finger in and out, sparks going off deep inside me. Then he does something, twists it, I think, and my dick perks up and starts to take notice again. A little more of that and I'm gasping, rubbing against the bed.

All of a sudden, he pulls his finger out and just leaves me hanging.

I jerk on the handcuffs. “Please, Fraser…”

“A 'please,' even.” He doesn't even try to hide his smirk. He strokes my damp ass, gentle, soothing. The bastard. “Very nice, Ray. Very good. Taking those few extra seconds to be courteous.”

“Fuck courteous!”

A smack and a pinch make me snarl, but he moves over me and I take a deep breath, know what's coming. Relax, don't tense up…

His dick nudges me, and then slides inside, as hot and sweet as a kiss.

Feel like I'm gonna be split in two, but I don't care. I'm burning up, sandwiched between Fraser and the mattress, covered in sweat and panting so hard I sound like Dief on a hot day. Then he starts to move.

My whole body jerks and I let out a moan. Fraser tastes the back of my neck, licking behind my ears and it's too much, I can't fucking stand it. I push back and then forward, and come with a grunt. My muscles turn to jello, my whole body humming it feels so good.

Fraser's moving, making me shudder, but suddenly he goes deep and I moan again. “Ray.” So soft I almost miss it. “Ray.” And then he's coming, his dick pulsing inside me and I lie there as still as I can, waiting to hear him say my name again.

But he doesn't.

Fraser pulls out and rolls off me with a groan. Flops down on the narrow mattress.

I'm so tired I'm almost comatose, but I came here to do a job and that's keeping me going. I'm flashing the room, bare-assed and sticky, my hands still cuffed to the bed. Shit. I roll to my side, facing Fraser. He's got his eyes closed and looks so fucking beautiful that I almost forget that he's not the Fraser I know. And love, says a little voice inside my head, but I ignore it. No time to think about that now.

I keep watching him, and finally he opens his eyes and smiles at me and my heart does a little polka beat. But I breathe slowly and let everything calm down. It wasn't all Fraser's fault, I'd wanted him, even asked for it, but it wasn't what I'd dreamed. That's dream's gone, burned into ashes.

“We're not lovers.” Keep my voice hard. “We never have been and never will be.”

A little line appears between his eyebrows, and he looks confused for a second. Then he smiles again and leans over me, nuzzles my neck. I bite my tongue and try not to moan. When Fraser sits up, he's holding a couple of photos.

“Explain these, then.”

I squint at them – who knows where my glasses are – as Fraser shows them to me.

One's me and Fraser, side-by-side, looking at each other. Frannie must've taken it when Ma Vecchio had us over for dinner about a month ago. I'm laughing and Fraser's smiling, and holy *shit*, we do look like we're fucking each other. How'd Fraser get that? When I asked Frannie about the photos, she said that the film was bad and they didn't turn out.

You better believe I'm gonna say something to her when I get back.

The other one's of me sitting at a chess board in the park, my glasses on. I look a mess, my shirt riding up, my hair caught by the light, all bones and skin. Nothing special.

“Yeah? So I play chess. What about it?” I wish he'd pull up my Dockers. I'm getting chilly down there.

Fraser shakes his head, but that look of confusion's back. “Don't be coy, Ray. The photo shows what we are to each other, as plain as the nose on your face.”

“Fraser, you're full of—” Wait a minute. He doesn't *know* we're not doing it. But he knows who I am. “What's on the other side?”

Sure enough, my name's on the back of my picture.

Well, that explains a lot.

“Listen, you went camping last week, and something happened so that you lost your memory.” I'm talking fast, 'cause I need to get this all out at once. “Maybe you hit your head or something. And then you hitched up with these guys, and they talked you into helping them rob the bank, and—”

Fraser shuts me up by clamping his hand over my mouth. “I'm afraid I can't allow you to continue this palaver, Ray. It's important to—”

I hear a whine and a yip outside the cabin, and try to call out, but Fraser's fingers just tighten.

A questioning whuff. Another.

“Don't be ridiculous, Diefenbaker. Ray's perfectly…”

His voice trails off, and he looks down at me, his eyes suddenly *huge*.

“Ray?” Barely a whisper. His eyes flicker over me, over the cuffs and my bare ass. My face gets hot. He snatches his hand from my mouth like it's been burned and starts backing away.

“Get me outta these cuffs, Fraser.” I rattle them. “It's time for us to get going.”

“My God,” he says, and I can tell he's starting to beat himself up over what happened. But we don't have time for that, not now.

“Fraser! The cuffs!”

And then Dief starts to bark.

Oh *fuck*.

“God dammit, Fraser, get me outta here!”

Outside, Dief's going crazy, and someone's yelling. Fraser's just standing there, staring at me.

“I swear I'm gonna hit you, Fraser, if you don't get me outta these damn—”

“Understood, Ray.” He blinks, swallows, then comes over and pulls up my Dockers. “Where did you put the key?”

“Coat pocket.”

Fraser grabs my coat and starts to dig through the pockets. I keep jerking the cuffs, wishing I could get out of them like Fraser did. Fucking magician.

More barking, more yelling. Sounds like both of the guys are out there, chasing Dief around. I'm thinking fast.

“Listen, Frase. I got stuff stashed outside camp and the cavalry are waiting. Dief'll lead these guys off, and we'll slip away—”

My heart stops at the sound of the gun going off. A yelp of pain. A guy's high-pitched laugh. “That'll teach you to try and outrun a bullet, you white bastard.”

I can't believe it. They shot Dief? “Son of a *bitch*!”

“Diefenbaker!” Fraser drops my coat and heads for the door.

“Fraser! Get your ass back here and—”

The cabin door slams open. “Hey, Ben, you deaf or some…” His voice trails off as he sees me. “Well, I'll be.”

He's a little guy, balding, looks like he could be a college professor or something, except for the gun in his hand. The guy behind him almost fills the doorway. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde on a reunion tour. “Look at that, Jay. Ben's got his bitch here. No wonder he didn't hear us.” His lips curl up, and it's the nastiest smile I've ever seen. Makes me feel dirty just looking at him.

My face burns. I'd call him on the bitch thing, but since I'm still cuffed to the bed and Fraser's spunk is dripping out of my ass, I decide to keep my mouth shut on that one.

Fraser's just standing there and I start praying. Praying, and trying to send him a mind message. Okay, now's the time to pretend to still be the bad guy. Please, *please*, just do it. Pretend, Frase. Just until we can get away.

He straightens and my heart sinks. “I'll have to ask you both to hand over your weapons and—”

The little guy's fast on the uptake, I'll give him that. He's got the gun up and pointed, not at Fraser, but at me. Good call, you bastard.

“I don't think so. Now, why don't we all get comfortable, and then you can tell me when your memory came back and how you got your boyfriend up here.”

Fraser looks at him pointing the gun at me, and at me, *still* cuffed to the goddamn bed. I can't even roll out of the line of fire.

He caves.

Baldy – he must be Conway – laughs. “Sit down on the chair, Ben, hands behind you. Quickly, or I might become impatient and take it out on your little fuckbuddy.”

Shit.

So Fraser sits down on the wooden chair, and Jay gets a hank of rope and ties him to it. Even I can see his knot-tying skills suck, but it doesn't matter as long as I'm stuck here with Conway's gun pointing at me.

At least I can talk. “What'd you do to Dief, you assholes?”

The bed creaks as Conway sits down beside me, too high up for me to kick him. “Dief? What a peculiar name. Was he your dog?”

My heart sinks and I can't even be bothered to set him straight on the whole dog-wolf thing. “You didn't have to shoot him.”

“Jay needed the practice.”

Jay props himself on the table and laughs one of those laughs that would fit right into some cheesy vampire movie. “Got him good. Easy mark, all that white fur.”

God dammit! I should've left Dief at home, where he'd be safe. “Bastard.”

Conway nudges me with the gun. “There's no need to be rude.”

Fraser's head's bowed, and I can't see his face 'cause of the shadows from the lantern. I feel bad enough about Dief getting shot, but he and Dief were tight. No wonder he's taking it so hard.

I turn back to Conway and try not to shiver at the look he's giving me. Pale eyes gleam in the light. He snorts. “I don't know what you see in him, Ben. I suppose the adage that love is blind is true.” One eyebrow goes up. “Or perhaps his talents aren't immediately apparent.”

A coldcold knot twists in my belly. I don't like the speculative look in his eyes. One finger trails over my mouth and I'm really tempted to bite it. But the gun's right there, and he could shoot me in a lot of places that wouldn't kill me. At least, not right away.

“Does he have a sweet ass, Ben?”

He slides his finger down my chest and I try to keep breathing normally. In. Out. In. Out.

Jay rubs the front of his jeans. “I'd fuck him. Specially if he fights it.” He laughs again. Nails on a blackboard. “Bet it'd be fun, me fucking him, him sucking you.”

Conway makes a humming noise, like he's thinking about it, and I'm trying to beat down my panic with a stick. His finger slips under the edge of my Dockers and the panic's winning. Can't breathe, and I twist away.

“Have you forgotten to ask how Ray found us and why he's here, Connie?” Fraser lifts his head, and his face looks like he's been carved out of marble. “That's certainly the more pertinent question at the moment.”

With a frown, Conway pulls away. “How right you are, *Benny*. We mustn't become sidetracked by such seductive thoughts. At least,” and he licks his lips, “not yet.”

If my stomach had anything in it, it'd be on the floor right about now.

“It might interest you,” Fraser says, his voice as cold as a lakeside wind in winter, “to know that Ray is a detective in the Chicago Police Department, and that law enforcement officers stand ready to storm this place.”

“Shit, boss!” Jay looks scared.

But Conway's not rattled, at least, not that I can see. “They might be ready to move, Ben, but they won't. Not when we have two hostages.” He checks his watch. “We were going to leave today, anyway. It's a simple matter of bringing our schedule forward.”

Jay takes a deep breath. “So we're gonna see the big guy?”

“Indeed.” Conway looks at Fraser. “You thought you were so intelligent, didn't you, Ben? Big bad scary Benton Fraser. Well, you'll be meeting a man who will make your pretensions look laughable. You weren't even aware of his existence. He'll appreciate our gift of not one, but two law enforcement officers. Especially one who so ably assisted in carrying out his plan.”

Fraser's face goes red, and I pipe up. “Maybe you didn't understand, dickhead. The Mounties have the road under surveillance. You're not going anywhere.”

Conway's calm starts to fray. “Tell your bitch to shut up, Benny. Or I'll find something to gag him with.”

Jay sniggers and rubs his jeans, but stops when Conway glares.

“You have to admit,” Fraser says, “that this will put a crimp in your plans.”

Conway stands up, and I breathe a little easier without him right next to me.

“That shows how much *you* know. You with your orders and clever ideas.” His hand shakes; he's really skating close to the edge. “*I'm* the one who's been entrusted with Grigori's location! Not you.” He straightens and smiles. “You didn't know about the boat, did you? We'll be well away from here by the time your Mounties storm the place. And by tonight, you'll be enjoying the hospitality of our Russian friends.” He leers at me and my stomach flip-flops. “They like pretty toys to play with.”

Jay mutters something about wanting to play first, and I hope to God Conway doesn't decide to let him. Not only for my sake: Fraser might be inclined to do something even more crazy than usual.

“I'm afraid there's no time.” Conway presses the barrel of the gun to my forehead. It's cold and hard and my bladder starts screaming. I hope to God I don't piss in my pants. Unless that would be a turnoff for horny Jay over there. Knowing my luck, he'd get off on it. Conway smiles at me. “So, Benny, where are the keys to the handcuffs?”

I get there first. “In my coat.”

“Good bitch.” He pats my cheek and I close my eyes and breathe hard through my nose. Don't move, don't react. For God's sake, don't puke. “Jay, find the keys, if you please.”

Jay sniggers. “He's a poet and he don't know it.”

“Idiot.” Real soft, but when I open my eyes, Conway sneers. “Even idiots have their uses.”

“Here they are.” Jay holds up the keys. “Want me to uncuff him?” He gives me a look that makes my balls crawl up to my stomach.

“No.” Conway moves the gun to my chest. “Untie Benny and let him do it.”

Jay glares. “But—”

“Don't argue with me!” The gun pokes me right by my heart. I wince. Gonna have a bruise there tomorrow, if I make it through this. Conway takes a deep breath. “I'll cover lover boy, and you cover Benny. If there's even a hint of anything untoward from either of them, shoot to kill.”

“Gotcha.”

Jay unties Fraser and prods him with his gun. “Go on, Ben. Here are the keys.”

Conway's gun doesn't move as Fraser slowly gets up and walks over to me. I watch him like a hawk, just in case he has anything in mind. Can't think what, because my arms are numb from being stretched over my head, and Conway'll blow my chest apart if we try anything. Still, you can never tell with Fraser. He looks pretty shell-shocked, though. Wish I could say something, anything, to help him out of the guilt he's gotta feel, but not here, not with these assholes listening.

“Just unlock the one cuff,” says Conway. “I want his hands cuffed behind him.”

Shit.

So Fraser just unlocks one of the cuffs, gently rubs my raw wrist, and helps me lower my arms. I almost pass out from the pain as the blood starts to flow, and man, do I have a bad case of pins and needles.

“Very nicely done, Benny. Now, hands behind him, and put them back on.”

I hiss as Fraser pulls my hands behind my back, and then I hear the snick of the cuffs. Wait a second… He pushes my hands together, taps my wrist – the one that was uncuffed – and squeezes my fingers.

What the fuck?

Then his hands are gone.

“Sit down, Ben.” Conway pokes my chest again. Same spot. Fuck, that hurts. “Jay, tie his hands behind his back.”

“Ray's become chilled,” Fraser says, as Jay grunts and ties his hands. I'm not taking any bets about how long those knots'll last. “Could he put on his coat?”

“Oh, no.” Conway snorts. “No, Ben, you've had your chance. I'm not going to release him again, just to put on a coat.” His eyes move down to me, cold grey, like some kinda machine. “But I wouldn't have you catch a chill, lover boy. At least, not until Grigori decides what to do with your charms. Stand up. Jay, bring lover boy's coat.”

I struggle to my feet, clumsy, and feel my hand coming free of the cuff. So *that's* what Fraser was trying to tell me – he didn't lock the cuff again. Must've pushed the ends together somehow so they look locked but aren't. Catch it just in time and hold my hands together at my back. When I'm standing, Jay slings my coat over my shoulders. It hides my hands, so as long as I keep them back there, they won't know I'm free.

Fraser, I could kiss you.

No good trying to get the jump on them in here. Too cramped, and someone, mainly me and Fraser, could get shot. We'll wait until we're on the way to this boat Conway talks about. It's still dark outside, and we'll have a better chance to take them by surprise and get away.

A plan. A goddamned plan.

I feel better already.

One thing I've gotta know before we get moving. “Hey, Conway?”

He raises one of his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“You must be pretty smart to be able to talk Fraser into being a bank robber.” I hate to flatter the bastard, but I don't have the option of kicking him in the head. Not yet. “How'd you do it?”

Man, he falls hard. If he was a bird, he'd be fluffing his feathers and preening himself. “Why, it was quite easy. Jay discovered Ben snooping around our camp, and was, perhaps, a tad too vigorous in subduing him with a blow to the head. I perused the contents of his wallet, discovering his RCMP identification and those revealing photos of you. When Ben woke up, I could tell in a moment that he had lost his memory. It was a simple matter for a man of my expertise to convince him that he was a colleague of ours.”

Yeah, that's kinda what I figured.

“Does that answer your question, detective?” He's gloating, and it's not a pretty sight. But at least I'm not bitch or lover boy.

“Sure does. Fraser? You remember any of this?”

Fraser looks up, but his eyes don't meet mine. He's as white as a sheet, and looks like he hasn't slept for a week. Something's eating him alive inside, and I'm pretty sure I know what. “Most of it, Ray. There are still some parts that are hazy.”

“Well, after a crack on the noggin, it's no wonder. I bet Jay here packs a wallop.”

Jay grins and swings his arm, miming hitting someone. “He was trying to sneak up on us, but I had to take a leak and found him. Wham! Benny boy went down.”

“I hope that satisfies your curiosity.” Conway gestures toward the door. “At least, for the moment. We have an appointment with our leader that I would be loath to miss.”

And Conway leaves another opening for my next question. “He must trust you a lot to give you his location.”

He chuckles. “I hope, after delivering the two of you, he trusts me with more than his location.”

Smug, satisfied son of a bitch.

“So what happens if you and Jay get separated? He trust Jay, too?”

Jay grumbles, but Conway shuts him up with a look. “No. And now, no more questions. I shall just say that the boat is only the first part of our journey.”

Okay. Not helpful. That just means the boat lands near a road or landing strip. And then who knows. For a second I'm tempted to go along, find out where this Grigori's located. But one look at Fraser and I deep six that thought. Poor guy's just about holding it together, but I can see him grabbing onto the edges, trying to stop them unraveling, trying to keep everything solid, together. It's not working.

Hell, no wonder. He's been hit on the head, lost his memory, fed a pack of bullshit by that creep beside me, been more than a little rough with the guy he thinks is his lover and then finds out he isn't, gets his memory back, loses Dief, and gets tied up, waiting to go see Mr. Big. Anyone else would be counting beetles in the corner and drooling on their shirt.

“Right.” Conway looks around the room, like he's talking to some big audience. “Let's be on our way. Jay, I'll go first with the detective, and you follow with Ben. Watch him carefully, and shoot him if he gives you the slightest cause for alarm.”

“You behave,” says Jay, and he pushes Fraser to his feet.

Conway sticks his gun in my back, and shoves me toward the door. “After you.”

I go down the stairs carefully. Don't want to trip land on my face, or reach out to catch myself by mistake. That'd blow the whole operation.

“This way.” Conway points in the opposite direction to where Millipied and the troops wait. After we leave the clearing it's slow going. I'm trying to find my way in dark, not trip, and not do anything to piss off Conway before it's time to make our break.

Wish I could see Fraser, but I can kind of sense him behind me, waiting, just waiting for the right time. I make sure my hands are loose under my coat and worry for a minute about how Fraser's going to deal with being tied up. Who'm I kidding? He probably held his arms some special way so that Jay's knots didn't work or something. We'll have to act fast, though.

I start through a little clearing, Conway huffing and puffing beside me. Guy must've figured he was a brain and didn't need to worry about being in shape. That'll help, because Jay's bigger than Fraser and looks like he bench presses small cars.

Before I reach the trees on the other side, I hear a howl.

Dief?

It's enough to make Conway pause and Jay curse and then I let go of my hands and swing around, arm raised, and my fist hits Conway's jaw.

Fuck, that hurts.

But he's down, stunned or knocked out – I don't care which – and I grab the gun and turn to see Jay digging the barrel of *his* gun into Fraser's chest.

“Drop the gun, *bitch*,” he says, and then he laughs. “Drop your pants, too. I need some—”

A white blur races from the trees and catches Jay's arm, the one holding the gun. He lets out a screech as Fraser stumbles back. Jay's arm's up, Dief's teeth around his wrist. He fires at the trees, and then he drops the gun and I raise mine. He and Dief struggle for a second, and Dief's got him down on his knees. What the hell, I could use a good fight right about now, so I grab his gun and wade in. The guy's like a big oak tree, tough to get down, but once you've got him started, he hits the ground hard.

That done, I look around. Fraser's on his side, hands still tied behind him. Oh, shit. My belly turns cold. I know Jay didn't shoot him, I *know* that. But I land on my knees next to him and run my hands over his face and chest. “Fraser? You okay?”

His breathing hitches, but he sounds calm enough. “I'm fine. I simply stumbled and fell when Diefenbaker,” his voice cracks then, “sprang from the forest.”

Relief feels like a warm wave washing over me and it's a good thing I'm not standing, 'cause my knees would knock together like castaways. “Yeah. Surprised me, too. Here, lemme get your hands.”

Jay's knots come apart like a hooker's thighs, and I rub Fraser's wrists and hands until Dief growls. Uh oh. Sleeping Beauty is blinking and raising his head. I turn Conway over and tie his hands behind his back, not too tight, but not making him too comfortable, either. Payback for all the 'bitch' comments.

Then Dief stands guard as I rifle Jay's pockets for the handcuff key and get the other cuff off my wrist. Rolling Jay over is more like shifting heavy furniture, but I finally get him on his face and cuff his hands, too. Dief snorts and walks over to Fraser.

I sit back for a minute and enjoy the sight of those two bastards getting a taste of their own medicine.

“Well.” I stand up, my knees popping, and turn to Fraser and Dief. “Time to…”

The words stick in my throat. Fraser's sitting on the ground, head bowed, his arms around Dief like he'll never let go. Dief's licking his ear and looks like donuts and pizza are the furthest thing from his mind.

I can't think about what's going on inside Fraser yet, because if I do, I won't be able to stop and that's not an option right now, but that damn wolf's I-don't-care cover is blown sky high. He cares for Fraser as much as Fraser cares for him, and don't think I won't bring it up if he gives me any attitude from now on.

Payback is sweet.

Then Dief licks Fraser's face and turns to me. Fraser's hands are still buried in his fur, stroking and scratching, but Dief cocks his head and looks like he's smiling.

“Yeah, you did good, fur face. You sure you didn't get hurt earlier?”

Dief barks, sounding disgusted at the idea, and I don't need Fraser to translate his answer. Snow White grunts and tries to turn over, and before I can threaten him, Dief walks over and plants his paws in the middle of Jay's back. Jay whimpers and stops moving.

Way to go, Dief.

~~~~~~~

We drive back to Ottawa with Millipied, me and Fraser and Dief.

After the cavalry'd arrived and took Jay and not-so-silent Conway into custody, and Fraser and me got our wrists bandaged, I had a couple of minutes alone with Millipied and filled him in on the whole Fraser-getting-hit-on-the-head-and-having-amnesia-and-being-jerked-around-by-Conway thing. Not a word about what happened between me and Fraser. That was private, and as far as I was concerned, nobody's business but ours. Not that Fraser would see it that way, but I figured I could play on his sense of honour if it looked like he was going to spill. And, if worse came to worse, guilt.

When we were finished, Fraser stepped up to Millipied and held out his hands, wrists together. I took one look at his face and shut my mouth, because arguing with Fraser when he thinks he's so goddamn right is a waste of breath. Not that I haven't done it before, plenty of times, but this time I was too tired and, yeah, I admit it, too worried about what Millipied would do to get started.

Millipied just looked at Fraser's hands and turned toward the car. “Constable, Detective, would you please ride back to Ottawa with me?”

So we're sitting in the car, me riding shotgun, Fraser and Dief in the back. I'm wracking my brains trying to come up with a way to keep Fraser out of jail. A way that the Mounties'll listen to, and, more importantly and a lot harder, a way that Fraser'll agree with. After a few miles of tire hum, Fraser clears his throat.

“Sergeant,” he says, and my heart sinks. Here we go. “I would like to confess my—”

“Confess?” Millipied keeps his eyes on the road ahead. “Do you have a particular priest in mind?”

I look from Millipied to Fraser and back again. Maybe things aren't as bad as I thought.

“Ah.” Fraser does the eyebrow thing. “Not that kind of confession, sir. I would like to—”

“Allow me to ask you some questions first, Constable.”

Fraser doesn't look happy, but he just nods. “Of course.”

“Do you remember the events leading up to your capture?”

“They are a little hazy, sir.” Fraser's frowning, and Dief rests his head on Fraser's knee. His hand starts stroking Dief, and the frown slowly disappears. “I remember coming to Ottawa with Inspector Thatcher and… asking for a week's leave.” He doesn't sound real sure of himself, though.

“Go on. Just the events you remember, Constable. Nothing you've inferred from subsequent conversations.”

“I remember taking a bus to… somewhere. And hiking through the forest.” Fraser pauses, like he's confused. “Or perhaps that was afterward. There was a car, and two men talking about a robbery. And then…” He's white-faced, and his lips look like a paper cut. “I'm sorry, sir. I don't remember much.”

Millipied's got this ghost of a smile, and I think I might like what he's gonna say.

“That's not surprising, given the circumstances. I'd be happy to fill in the blanks for you.”

“Please, sir.” Fraser sounds more than a little desperate. “I'd appreciate that.”

“Constable, almost two weeks ago I received word that a petty criminal, one Jay Blu, had made contact with the Russian mob. He had been sighted briefly in the small town of Ottertail, but then disappeared.”

“Ah.” Fraser looks as confused as me.

“Your reputation, Constable, is well known to the members of the RCMP.” Millipied glances in the mirror and smiles at Fraser's wince. “Many of us, especially the younger ones, feel that you were treated…” His smile fades. “I needed someone to track Blu, someone who wasn't local. We were introduced at the conference, and I confided my difficulty to you. You offered to find him, attempt to join Blu and his colleagues and discover what he was planning.”

“The conference… I'm afraid I don't remember meeting you.”

Millipied nods. “As I said, that's not surprising. You asked for leave and went to find Blu. I was worried when I didn't hear from you, but when I saw the tape from the bank, I understood what you were doing.”

God, the man's a fucking *genius*! This might work. “So Fraser was undercover at your request.”

“But, Sergeant!” Fraser looks like he's going to cry. “I don't *remember*. And when I helped rob the bank, I—”

“You were assisting with my investigation, Constable.” Millipied's sounds like Welsh when he doesn't want to hear you. “That's what my report will say.”

Fraser's chin sets in that stubborn angle that makes my fist itch. “Sergeant, I explained to you earlier that I firmly believed I was a member of the gang during the robbery and had no recollection of being an undercover officer.”

“Constable, regardless of your *beliefs*, you were still operating under my orders.” Fraser opens his mouth, but Millipied keeps going. “I don't care what your intentions were; good, bad or indifferent, they are of no interest to me. The critical issue is that you successfully infiltrated the robbers, not the purity of your motives at that moment.”

It takes the entire drive back to Ottawa and a direct order from Millipied to get Fraser to shut up about wanting to be arrested. Fraser sure isn't happy about it, but Millipied turns out to be even more stubborn than Fraser, as well as being his superior.

So now Fraser's left with his guilt.

~~~~~~~

We report in. Our sleepless night starts to catch up with us, and things get blurry about lunch-time. I haven't slept worth a damn for the past couple of nights, and the same's true for Fraser – I can see it in his face. Bruises under his eyes, that pinched look he gets at the corners of his mouth. Finally Millipied tells us to go get some shut-eye, and Fraser quietly freaks.

“I'd rather stay here, sir. Ray will be more comfortable by… That is, I can nap in a chair—”

“Don't be ridiculous, Constable.” I don't know what Millipied suspects happened between me and Fraser, but from the look in his eyes, he's probably pretty close to the truth. “You both have your own rooms, and the hotel is only a block away.”

“*Thank* you, sir.” Fraser really means that.

I know he's hurting and feeling guilty, but it kinda stings that he doesn't want to bunk together after all we've been through. He's going to try and shoulder all the blame and make out that he raped me, but from over here it's not that simple.

Nothing ever is.

I hang back for a private word with Millipied. “Thanks for everything, Pierre.” I'm not sure how exactly to say this, but I really gotta know. “Did you really meet Fraser at the conference and send him undercover?”

He raises his eyebrows and looks surprised. “But of course. My attendance at the conference is corroborated by many others, and I have my dated case notes to document my request to Constable Fraser.”

That's all he's going to say, I can tell. I'll just have to be happy with that.

So Fraser and I grab our bags – well, in Fraser's case his backpack – and walk over to the hotel with Dief. Millipied's even cleared it with the management to have Dief there. Our rooms are next to each other, and there's a connecting door. Bolted. Kinda like what's happened to me and Fraser. That connection used to be open between us, and now it's not. And the longer I let it stay closed, the harder it'll be to get Fraser to open up again.

As my mom would say, there's no time like the present. I unbolt my side and knock on the door for a while, until the other bolt slides back with a click.

The door opens a crack. “Yes, Ray? Is there a problem?”

I give the door a shove and Fraser steps back, looking pretty surprised.

“Yeah, there is, Fraser.” I barge right in and cross over to the hall door. I bolt it and slip on the safety chain. If Fraser wants to run, he'll have to go through me. “I think we've got a couple of things to say to each other. Don't you?”

His face goes pale and then red. “Ray. I am… That is…”

“Dief,” I point to the connecting door. “Privacy. Now. You can use my room.”

Fraser waits until Dief disappears, then turns stiffly and looks out the window. “I know that any apology I offer cannot come close to making amends for the violence and trauma you suffered at my—”

“Stuff it, Fraser.” I shove my hands into my pockets and wince when my bandaged wrist catches on the cloth. “I'm not asking for an apology.”

He crosses his arms and bows his head. The light from the window catches his hair, an ear, the side of his neck. The guy looks like he could crumble at a word. “Ray, I treated you abominably. Brutalized you.” He sounds disgusted with himself, and breathes hard, like he's trying not to puke. “Raped you.”

Okay. The word's out in the open now. I come up behind him, curl my fingers in my pockets, 'cause I want to touch him and he won't let me do that. Not now. If I don't do this right, maybe not ever. “It wasn't rape.”

“Of course it was.” Fraser lifts his head and straightens his spine. There's a faint bruise under his right ear. From when Jay jumped him? “You repeatedly asked me to stop and I didn't.”

I was hoping he wouldn't remember that. “It's not like I didn't enjoy myself.”

“That's not the point, Ray, and you know it.” He faces me.

I don't think I've ever seen him look so… hollowed out. Like he's the shell of Fraser wrapped around nothing. I take a shaky breath, and all the hairs on my arms stand up. Looking at Fraser like this scares me more than being with that nutcase Conway, and that makes me mad. Not sure at who, but it doesn't really matter.

“Shit! What do you want? You'd been hit on the head and brainwashed by Dr. Floyd!” I dig my fingers through my hair. Maybe if I pull hard enough, my brain'll work better and I'll figure out how the hell to get through to him.

His lips get all thin. “Regardless of the circumstances, what I did was unconscionable, and—”

“Fraser!” I get right in his face, right up against him, so close that he tries to take a step back and can't because the bed's in the way. “For God's sake, you weren't yourself!”

Then he goes very, very still, just his chest moving up and down as he breathes, and he looks at me. Something changes in his face, only it doesn't really *change*. It's like one of those pictures that shifts between two faces and a cup; the only thing that's different is the way I see him.

“I *was* myself, Ray.” Voice dark, soft, and the sound goes right to my dick. He leans toward me, his lips by my ear. Almost scalding me, even though we don't touch. “Very much myself. So much so, I could do everything I always wanted, make my dreams a reality.”

My mouth's suddenly as dry as a Salt Lake City bar. Shit. How'd he do that? Stay Mountie Fraser – the Fraser I know like the back of my hand, the one I fell for – and still be the dangerous Fraser who turns my crank so hard I'm liable to strain something.

I lean into him, brush against his chest. “Fraser?” Almost a croak. My hands slide up his arms, feel him hot and solid, standing there right in front of me.

“However,” and he turns, slipping away, leaving my hands empty, “they were simply dreams bought at too high a price.”

I rub my eyes with the heel of my hands. Red dots float through the black. “You're not the only guy with dreams.”

“Remember the *price*, Ray.” He sounds like someone's gutting him with a knife.

“Yeah, the price.” I look at him, square my shoulders. “I paid it, same as you. And you know what? I'd pay it again if it meant we could have our dreams.”

Fraser looks like he's going to cry, and he bows his head. “But I can't.”

“Can't? Or won't?” I'm getting angry again, and step away before I punch him. “Because it's easier to keep beating up on yourself than to say 'hey, it sucked and I'm sorry' and to try something that could be really good, really great for the two of us? Shit, Fraser. You getting hit and losing your memory sucked. You being brainwashed into helping out a couple of sleazeballs sucked. You and me not getting away earlier sucked. In fact, the whole fucking situation sucked!” I glare out the window, picking at the bandages around my wrists. Remembering Fraser's hands on me, the heat of his body, the hungry look in his eyes. I wanted him then, without the weirdness and the guns and the fear. But if that was the only way I could have him, then I'd take it. I want him now, so much that my joints ache with the wanting.

“Indeed it did,” Fraser almost whispers. “Except…”

My anger cracks into little pieces like a shattered windshield. “Except for us, together. That didn't suck.” The picture in my mind from the words 'us' and 'suck' makes my throat dry out. “Not that we had time to—”

Fraser makes a choked sound, and I guess he has the same picture. I adjust myself and hope he doesn't notice.

“When I was in my right mind, I had hopes, Ray. But I never truly expected you to reciprocate.”

Sighing, I turn away from the window. Fraser's standing at parade rest, which looks stupid when he's dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt.

“Yeah, well, same for me.” I'm tired and this feels like it's going to go on for a while, so I slump on the bed. “C'mon, sit down before you fall down.”

“But—”

“For Christ's sake, Fraser! Can't you take a suggestion once in a while without arguing?” I flop back and stare at the ceiling. It's so bright it looks like it was just painted, and it makes my eyes hurt. I close them and sink into the mattress. It's a damn sight more comfortable that the one at the camp.

The bed shifts and dips, and Fraser lets out a groan as he lays back.

“Ray, I didn't want our first time to be that way.”

“Yeah. I could've used less guns and more foreplay.” I reach out, touch his hand. “But parts of it were great.”

His fingers are warm on mine. “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

“Already done.” I squeeze his hand. “The question is, will you ever be able to forgive yourself?”

We lay on our backs for a while, holding hands, our feet still on the floor. I'm drifting off when Fraser shifts on the bed, and something brushes my forehead. “Ray, let's get under the covers.”

He helps me pull off my boots and we crawl into bed together. Dief's probably staked a claim on the other bed, and I'd rather share with Fraser anyway. Besides, it's all part of my nefertiti plot – get him all comfy and relaxed, and then take advantage of him.

Fraser turns off the light, and we're asleep in seconds.

~~~~~

I wake up and squint at the alarm clock. Almost eight. Evening, I guess, because it's dark outside. Fraser's on his side, facing away, and I'm ready to roll over and give him a hug when my bladder sends up a warning flag.

Might as well have a shower while I'm at it, brush my teeth and all, just in case there's going to be some kissing. Maybe even more. I grab my shaving kit from the other room. I was right, Dief's all over the bed.

The hot water eases a lot of my aches, and I stand there for a long time, just letting it run over my skin. My fingers get all pruny before I step out. Dry off, then shave and brush my teeth. Rinsing my mouth, I leave the toothbrush on the side of the sink. I open the bathroom door and stop, the breath I'm about to take catching in my chest, like a bubble in a glass paperweight.

Fraser sprawls across the bed, naked, the soft yellow of the bedside light spilling over his back and ass, gilding them like the plastic St. Christopher my dad used to keep on the dashboard of his car. Legs spread wide, face buried in his folded arms, Fraser's ribs move as he sighs.

"Your turn."

I'm hard so fast that I feel dizzy, all that blood rushing away from one head to the other.

"Fraser, don't—"

"Please, Ray." Fraser's voice cracks. "It's only fair."

Every nerve in my body buzzes as I watch Fraser unfold his arms. He rests his hands on his ass, two fingers shining wet. The little jar of ointment's on the bed beside him.

"I've prepared myself for you."

My stomach twists, and my dick bobs like a divining rod.

I take a step toward the bed.

Then another, until I'm next to him, staring down at Fraser. Naked. Asking me to fuck him.

He spreads his legs more, and the muscles in his ass and thighs quiver. He's as tight strung as a high wire in a circus. I bite back a moan, reach out, and smack him on the ass. Hard.

“Bathroom's free, Frase. Take a shower and let's get something to eat. I'm hungry.” I grab some clean clothes and start getting dressed.

“But, don't you want to…” He twists around, sits up, and frowns at me. Looks to me like there's relief behind the frown. “I thought you could…”

I check him out and yeah, I was right. His dick's as soft as a politician's promise. I shrug on my shirt. “Fraser, I'd be pissed at you for pulling a stunt like that if I didn't know how your freaky Canadian mind works. Yeah, I could do you right now.” I adjust my jeans, 'cause I may be decent but I'm not *dead*. “But, long term, that won't fix anything and will end up making things worse.”

Fraser sighs and rubs his eyebrow. “As a matter of fairness—”

“Fuck fair. I'm talking about what's *right*.” I open the connecting door and flip on the light. Dief raises his head. “Dinner in ten, Dief. Soon as Fraser gets his ass into gear.”

Dief barks and climbs off the bed.

When I check, Fraser's still sitting on the bed, staring at the floor. “Hey!” I clap my hands and his head jerks up. “Dinner. Food. Chow. Substinance. Now, before I fade away into the really ugly wallpaper.”

He's fighting a smile on his way into the bathroom, so I know things are okay for the moment. Once the door closes after him, I let out a big breath and rub some of the tension out of my neck. Talking with Fraser right now is like walking through a mine field: testing the ground, taking a step, waiting to see if it's safe or going to go kablooey and ending up getting fitted for a halo and pair of wings.

I had to throw out the bandages around my wrists after my shower and now blood's seeping out of the cuts, so I grab some of the extra gauze and tape and fiddle with putting new ones on one-handed. By the time I'm finished, Fraser's done in the bathroom and comes out, all damp and pink, wrapping a towel around his hips.

It's not like I haven't seen his dick before, but if the towel makes him more comfortable, that's okay with me. He gets dressed and we're out the door in five. Two guys and a half-wolf hitting the streets of downtown Ottawa at quarter to nine on a weeknight, in search of food and fun.

Our chances of finding either turn out to be slim.

We end up ordering Chinese and taking it back to the hotel. I pull the table up to the end of the bed, and Fraser and I sit side-by-side, Dief on the floor at Fraser's feet. The food's good and we're hungry, so everyone's too busy eating to talk much.

I dump the rest of my kung pao chicken onto Dief's plate and flop back on the bed. Close my eyes against that bright ceiling and enjoy being clean and full and safe here with Fraser. And Dief.

Don't move as Fraser cleans up and pushes the table back, but when he sits down beside me, I snap my fingers. “Yo, Dief. Vamoosh.”

He growls but trots into the other room, and the bed squeaks. Dief's no lightweight. Wonder if he needs to go on a diet when we get back?

Shake off the laziness and open my eyes. Fraser's just sitting there, elbows on his knees, back bent and head bowed. Like he's been beaten down or defeated, and I hate seeing him like this.

Freak probably thinks I've blown him off or something, and not in the good way. I've already added 'blow Fraser' to my mental list of things I'm going to do to my dumb ass Canadian partner, and believe me, it's a long and detailed list.

But right now I have something else in mind. I sit up and scoot over, hip-to-hip, and throw my arm around his shoulders.

“You want to toss away that guilt trip you're taking?” I don't whisper, but keep my voice quiet. “'Cause it's seriously cramping my style.”

“I don't understand, Ray. You refuse my offer of…” He swallows, hard and looks at me. “Of myself, and yet it seems as if you're still interested.”

“I am. Interested, that is.” Give his shoulders a squeeze, and lean forward, so our lips are almost touching. “How about you?”

Fraser's an action guy. He kisses me. Gentle, soft, like he's afraid to let go. And I understand that, since I was on the receiving end when he *did* let go. He'll get his confidence back, as long as I have anything to say about it, and yeah, I'm looking forward to it. Dangerous Fraser's a wild ride. But right now, after the last two weeks, gentle's good, soft's great.

Kissing him's total greatness. Fraser's mouth's warm and wet and he does things with his tongue that would be outlawed in some states. Someone's groaning, could be me, don't really care. I get a hold of his shoulders and twist and push. Follow him down, keeping our mouths together because there's a lot of Fraser to get to know.

His hands run up my back and he's making noises as we kiss. Finally we have to grab a breath and he tugs on my shirt. “Off, Ray.” All desperate and scorching and almost-losing-it. Then his eyes go wide and he gets a grip again. I'm kinda sorry that he didn't lose it, but nah, I got plans for Fraser, and that means keeping control. I strip off my shirt and fumble with the buttons on his, kissing him quickly, between buttons.

As soon as I see skin, I go for his chest. He wiggles under me, hot and hard, but I'm not ready for that yet. Nope, not by a long shot. Fraser's gonna pay for last night. Could take hours. Days, if I have the stamina.

Torture's outlawed by the Geneva Convention, but hey, I'm not Swedish.

I get his shirt open and start in on his nipples. They're small and flat and I lick them a little, then suck the left one, then the right, not sure how he'll react. Fraser's gasping and moving under me, though, so I guess he's enjoying it.

He tries to pull me back up, but I give his nipple a bite and let go. “Nuh uh, Frase.” I grab his hands and press them into the mattress on either side of his head. “I got plans for you. Now, stay.”

Fraser opens his mouth. I give him a look and he shuts it again, but his eyes get hot and he licks his lips. Shit. My dick tries to muscle its way out of my jeans, and fuck, that hurts. I won't be able to do what I have planned if my dick breaks. He groans again when I reach into my jeans and adjust stuff.

That's better.

I move up and work on his throat and along his collarbone. He likes that, if panting and sweating are anything to go by. Smooth skin curves away and around, and I trace it with my tongue and lips. Salty, Frasery goodness. Up along his jaw, under his ear. There's a patch of skin right next to his hairline that begs to be licked, so I do.

“Please, Ray.” A whimper. Makes me feel like a god.

So I dispense a couple of kisses as a reward. He gets into the kisses, testing me, seeing if he can take control, so I back off. I got other places for my mouth to go, and slide down the bed.

I unhook his belt, and Fraser's belly shakes. Careful with the zip, because his dick's as hard as mine. When I get his jeans down to his thighs, and pull those stupid boxers over his dick, he lets out a sigh.

Fraser's not a huge guy, which is damn lucky for my ass. But he's got some girth and heft to him, and his dick bobs against his stomach as he breathes. More smooth skin. Damn, I'm looking forward to checking out his ass again.

I wrap my hand around the base and give him a friendly squeeze. Fraser shudders and flexes his legs and arms. His hands curl into fists, but he doesn't move them. And if his eyes were any hotter, he'd be burning.

It's been a while since I've done this, so I lick my lips and start off with a couple of kisses along the shaft and tip. The guy smell, Fraser's smell, goes straight to my dick and I have to unbutton the top button of my jeans one-handed, while I slide the kisses into licks and the licks into sucks. Fraser's shaking like he's that boiler on the African Queen, steam up and ready to blow, and yeah, there's an idea. Like I haven't thought of that already.

I lick up the side of his dick and then slip it into my mouth. Fraser lets out a grunt of surprise – where the hell did he think I was going with this? It takes me a couple of seconds to figure out what to do with my tongue and teeth, but then it all comes back to me and I get into the groove. Get my free arm across Fraser's belly and lean on his thighs to keep him down. He's trying not to jerk his hips and push into my mouth, but it looks like that's a losing battle.

A couple more sucking slides and then I hum.

Might as well have hit Fraser with 4 million volts. He yells so loud they can hear him in Quebec, arches his back, and lets loose. I pull off, swallowing what's in my mouth, and pump him until he finishes.

“Oh, God.” He slurs his words, a good sign. All the tension in his body drains away, his dick starts to get soft, and he lays there, panting, his lips red and swollen from being bitten.

It's a good look for Fraser.

I let him rest for a couple minutes while I get a drink of water and wipe up the worst of the mess. It's not easy to walk, though, so I finally unzip my jeans and almost go cross-eyed from the release of pressure.

Fraser's coming round, blinking and looking confused. My turn. I pull off his hiking boots and slide him out of his jeans and shorts. He tries to help, and it's funny to watch Fraser fumble with his clothes, but I finally get him naked.

What a sight.

I shuck my clothes and spend half a minute looking for the jar. Find it next to the bed and put it on my nightstand. Only then do I climb back into the bed and feel Fraser's skin next to mine.

This is what I want.

Wrap my arms around him, pull him close to me, as tight as I can. Fraser makes a noise, a contented sound, and it gets me right under the ribs. I kiss his neck, his shoulders, taking my time. He tastes salty and warm. Rub my dick against his hip – God, that feels good – and moan when he pushes back.

“Want you, Fraser.” My voice is hoarse. “Need you.”

Fraser moves against me, rippling like a snake. He weaves his fingers through mine and pulls our hands against his lips. “Yes…” He kisses my knuckles and lets my hands go, rolls onto his stomach, spreads his legs.

Oh, *fuck*.

My hands shake as I pick up the jar. Fraser's still slick from earlier, but I don't care. I want to be the one who gets him ready, gets him hot. And he is hot, inside, hot and smooth and I rest my forehead between his shoulders and watch my fingers disappear inside him, feel him grip me, slowly relax as I stroke him.

He's noisy. Lots of sighs and soft groans, gasps and groans. He says my name, over and over. Not like he's trying to get my attention, not this time. More like he's chanting, or saying his prayers, which I know is blasphemous, but I always figure that God made sex so good for a reason, and that we're supposed to enjoy it. And I *am* enjoying it, and it sure sounds like Fraser's enjoying it, too.

All of a sudden he reaches back and grabs my hand. “Ray.” He looks over his shoulder, and yeah, his eyes are dark and hot. “*Please*.”

I slick myself up, it's hard to breathe, hard to think. Gotta go slow, not rush, not wreck this for either of us. Move against him, *into* him, and Fraser sighs, like something's broken loose in his heart.

Hold onto Fraser on the outside, while he holds me deep inside. I keep still as long as I can, hanging there, until I have to move, kiss him, slide my hands over his arms, chest, every part of him I can reach.

He catches one hand, kisses my palm, each finger. Fire burns up my arm, down my spine. I fuck him, slow and sweet, close my eyes and open them again, 'cause I don't want to miss anything, not a drop of sweat sliding over his skin, not the way he shivers under my hand, not the look in his eyes when he turns his head and whispers “Ray…”

That's what tips me over the edge, Fraser saying my name. I fall hard.

God, I love him.

I'm as careful as I can be as I pull out, but Fraser winces. Damn. I wanted him to feel good, not hurt. Not after everything else we've been through.

“Ray?” Fraser rolls over and faces me. He looks… confused.

It takes me a couple of seconds to figure out what I said. Out loud.

Shit.

“Yeah?” I don't think my voice shakes.

He holds out his hand, and I take it. Fraser smiles, then pulls me to him and kisses me.

“As do I.”

I smile like a loon, and Fourth of July fireworks burst in my heart, like some soppy movie. Funny how we only found each other when Fraser was a stranger to me and to himself. Freaky, but that's par for the course with Fraser.

I don't know what'll happen next, how things'll go down for us, but me and Fraser? We're good. We're the best.

FINIS

Be sure to write Sihiya!!