PART FOUR

*** *** ***

The three of them lay in a heap, Stan audibly struggling for breath. "Oof, Frase. Um. Could you--"

Ben shifted up to look down at the man beneath him. "Ray? What are you--? I'm terribly sorry." Ray chuckled against his back; Stan flashed him a grin and slipped out from under.

"You okay, Fraser?" Stan's voice was gentle.

"Ahhh, yes, certainly." Ben sat up, drawing a shaky breath. He seemed to be looking everywhere but at them.

"You sure, Benny?"

"I'm--Ray. I--I--oh." His eyes were closed; he lifted one shaking hand and pushed a fall of hair off his forehead.

Ray shot a look into Stan's face, moved over to Ben and slid an arm around him. "Benny, really. What is it?"

And Ben opened tortured blue eyes, turned them directly into Ray's own. "It was...oh. Oh, dear. I'm terribly sorry, Ray. I'm--"

Ray pulled him instantly into his arms, lying back against a pileup of pillows, cradling Ben's suddenly shivering body against his chest. Stan watched them for a long silent moment; then got up, scooped up his clothes with a quick motion, and padded out of the room.

Neither of the others saw him go. Ray was stroking Ben's back slowly, feeling the satiny warmth of his skin, faintly sheened with perspiration. Ben's shoulders heaved with his deep, unsteady breathing, his face buried against the hollow of Ray's neck.

"Benny, please. Can you tell me? Do you regret--?"

"I regret nothing, Ray. And--and everything. Ohh, God. You--it was--" He tried to shift back, out of the protective circle of Ray's arms, but they tightened around him.

"Benny." Ray's voice was a whisper. "You can tell me."

"It was--it was you, Ray. It was always you. Ever since...ohh, dear, I can't even recall now what day it was, what month. Perhaps--perhaps it began those very first weeks, when you came to me in the North to tell me--well, what I already knew, but it was the thought. Or perhaps it was later, when you couldn't allow me to transport Ian McDonald by myself, even though...even though you claimed to trust me with your car. I thought--I thought it was gratitude I was feeling, Ray. And respect, and admiration. And it was, of course. But there was something else...something I didn't recognize until later. And then I was--I was so frightened."

Ray sighed heavily. "Benny, for god's sake. You don't have to go through--"

"Yes, I do. I do, Ray." He struggled to sit up, and Ray released him, but Ben only reached for one of the rumpled sheets, drawing it up around them waist-high before sinking back into Ray's arms again. He spoke softly against his chest. "You never knew that, did you? That I was frightened? Fraser the Mountie, afraid of nothing but death. And his own heart. I didn't want to be in love with you, Ray. I was in utterly uncharted territory. You were--" He broke off at a sudden sound from the hallway.

Stan stood before them, dressed, keys jingling in one hand. He shot a quick look into Ray's eyes, then dropped his gaze. "We're out of, uhh, coffee and stuff. Gonna go pick some stuff up. I'll be--"

"Ray, that's not necessary." Ben lifted his head, his voice tremulous.

"Stan, you don't need to--"

"Jeez, guys, twenty minutes. Be right back." The door closed behind him before either of them could speak further. Ben put a hand over his eyes.

"He's okay, Fraser. He just took off so--"

"I realize that, Ray." Ben sighed, sliding an arm around Ray's waist. "It's my fault for upsetting you both. I'm sorry. I--"

"Benny, you ain't upsettin' anybody except yourself." He wrapped Ben's solid warmth into an embrace again.

"I need to tell you, Ray. I can't hold--"

"Tell me anything you want, Fraser. I...I got all night."

Fraser rested his head on Ray's chest and closed his eyes. "I was a fish out of water, Ray. And you--you were so knowledgeable. About so much more than police work. You had--you had lived. You belonged to the world you inhabited. You understood so much that I didn't. I very quickly realized how dependent I was on you. And I could accept that, accept the fact that I would need your help and cooperation if I were to accomplish anything in my new home. It was only later, when we began to get close, that things became so complicated."

"Benny, Jesus." Ray sighed, stroking the broad shoulders. "You had me right from the start. I would never have done anythin' to hurt you--not--not on purpose. But I know I did." He closed his eyes.

"You were the best friend I'd ever had, Ray. It took me a while to realize that, as well. I think I came to know it about the same time I figured out that I was falling in love with you. And ohh, I--I could not handle that at all."

"Why, Benny?" Ray's voice was a cautious whisper. "Couldn't...couldn't you see that I would love you back?"

"I didn't want to see it, Ray. Not...not then. My emotions were so strong and so terrifying. I could feel that they would--would take me away from myself. I couldn't give you all that power, Ray. To--to hold my heart in your hands, when I needed you so badly in so many other ways."

"Aahh, Fraser. You couldn't trust--"

"I couldn't trust *myself.*" Ben's voice was shaking. "I had to keep that control, Ray. Back then, it seemed more important than anything. I see now that it was just a manifestation of cowardice." He closed his eyes. "After a while I grew accustomed to feeling the way...well, the way I felt, around you. I could ignore it, for long periods. We had such a solid friendship in other respects. I allowed myself to enjoy that, and to work with you, and I just--I just pushed everything else down, inside myself. And hid it there. And sometimes I was so sure that you knew anyway, Ray. Knew the way I wanted you...desired you. Oh, God, so badly sometimes."

Ray's heart was knocking in his chest; he knew Ben must feel it. He stroked the dark hair, unwilling to break the spell that wrapped them by speaking, just waiting for Ben to go on. After a moment, he did, his voice weak and trembling with emotion.

"It...it worked, Ray, for a long time. It became a habit, a not entirely unpleasant one. I was very happy, actually, for most of the time we were together. We were...we were good together. And then..." Ray felt a shiver of tension in Ben's solid frame. "And then, Ray, just when I might have believed in myself enough for us to--to--"

"Fraser." He felt alarm rising in him, a sudden compulsion to cut off the flow of Ben's words. "Don't. I understand. *Don't*--"

"She found me, Ray." His breathing hitched, caught. "She found me, and I--I lost myself."

Sweet Jesus, here it was. Ray grit his teeth, slipped his fingers firmly under Ben's chin and lifted it to look into his face. "I was *there*, Fraser. I lived through the whole goddamned thing *with* you, and I do not need--"

"*I* need, Ray." Ben's eyes, bright with unshed tears, held his without wavering. "And I know you were there, but you never understood. Not everything. Not all of it. When you--"

"I know she had some kind of hold on you, Fraser, and I know you weren't--weren't responsible for what you did. I get--"

"You don't understand it at all." He closed his eyes, a single trickle of wetness curving down one cheek. "I am always responsible. I knew exactly what she was doing, what *I* was doing. I did it anyway. I *wanted* to do it. I *chose* it." He pushed back, out of Ray's arms, shifted beside him onto the sheet. Lay on his stomach, propped on his elbows, head down. "I chose *her,* over...over you. Ahhh, *God.* You should despise me."

"Fraser, that's enough." Ray's voice was like a knife, but Ben seemed not to hear it.

"We weren't lovers then, Ray, you and I. But we were friends. I knew I could trust you; I never trusted her. Not in my heart. It did not seem to matter." He looked up, stared before him. "When I felt the bullet take me, there was no fear, Ray. No physical pain. No shock. All I could see, was her face. Fading away. Lost to me. I knew I would never find her. That she would never seek me out. It was over."

Ray forced the words past the thickness in his own throat. "You hated me."

"No, I didn't, Ray. I never hated you. I loved you. But my heart was full of pain. There had never been its equal, ever, in any heart, anywhere in the universe." His mouth twitched. "The hyperbole of the brokenhearted. The tritest cliches, the most tired stories. And yet I was unprepared." He closed his eyes, hesitated.

Ray shifted up and placed a hand on Ben's back. Spoke in low, measured tones. "Benny. We are past this. I thought you had forgiven--"

"Oh, God, of course I had!" The Mountie buried his face in his arms. His words were muffled, but every one was an arrow in Ray's heart. "When I woke up in that hospital, I knew that she was gone. And that...I was alone. And at that moment I wished, oh how I wished--" His voice dropped to a broken whisper. "I wished that you had killed me."

Silence, but for the slow, ragged intake and release of Fraser's breath, and the pounding of Ray's heart in his own ears.

Ray closed his eyes. Felt his jaw tightening to the point of pain, one hand closing into a fist. A slow-blooming heat spread inside his chest and through his veins, and he felt himself begin to shake with the old, familiar rage.

"Fraser." He heard the icy steel in his own voice. "I'm sorry, but if she comes near you again, you both had better pray that I don't find her."

"No, Ray. You don't--"

"Because if I do, I will empty an entire clip of semiautomatic rounds into her black, lying heart on sight." His knuckles whitened, the muscles of his arm in trembling knots.

"*Ray*." Ben lifted his head. His face was wet with tears, his voice soft but steady. "She no longer poses any threat to me."

Ray went on as if he hadn't spoken. "For months afterwards, Benny--months--I watched for her. Whenever I couldn't find you--if you were fifteen minutes late for somethin', or not answering your phone, I knew she'd somehow contacted you and you'd gone off, and I'd never see you again. And you told me then, too, not to worry about her, but I didn't believe you, and I don't now."

"I understand, Ray." Ben turned over at last and looked into Ray's face, the drying traces of tears on his cheeks. "I don't expect you to accept my word when I've so plainly shown you that nothing I do can be trusted, where she is concerned. But I will tell you anyway, that things have changed. This is--this is the first time I have been able to say to *myself*, Ray, that if I met her again I would not fall into her power as I have in the past."

Deliberately, Ray unfisted his hands, drawing deep shaking breaths until he felt himself begin to relax. Ben watched him for a moment and then reached out to gather him into his arms. Ray went willingly, resting his hot face on Ben's cool shoulder. The Mountie's voice was a soothing murmur. "You saved me, Ray. You began to do it when you stopped me from getting on that train, and now you have completed what you began. I remember her, and myself, and how I felt--how we felt together. And I don't love her any longer. To--to compare what I felt for her to what I feel for you and Stan is...it feels like an abomination. I cannot call it by the same name."

Ray sighed. "I didn't know, Benny, that it was--that it was that bad for you. That you wanted to--to--"

Ben's arms gave him a reassuring squeeze. "It didn't last long. I'm quite afraid of dying, really. I have too much I wish to do, before I go. I...I only told you all this, Ray, because I want you to understand why I couldn't ever bring myself to show you my real feelings, when we were partners. I didn't know that I could allow myself to love without turning into someone I did not recognize. I didn't believe I had the strength to keep hold of what I most believed in."

Long minutes passed. Ray felt Ben's hands on his skin and the slow, steady beat of the Mountie's heart beneath his chest. "Benny." Whispered.

"Yes, Ray."

"I think you are the strongest man I know."

Ben actually chuckled. "Oh, you're quite wrong, Ray. But thank you for the thought."

They lay quietly together for another minute, breathing slowly, and then Ray sat up, extricating himself carefully from Fraser's embrace. "Jesus, Benny. I feel--"

"Exhausted. So do I, Ray. But...at peace."

Ray spotted his trousers crumpled in a heap and rose to pull them on, slowly. He sensed the Mountie's gaze on him. "What?"

Ben was smiling gently. "Ray, I've told you why--why I didn't feel I could express myself to you...why I couldn't be the one to--to make any move." He blushed slightly. "But since that talk we had, in the park, I've wondered. Why didn't you ever--?"

Ray gave him a rueful smile. He pushed himself up and dropped heavily onto the sofa. "The truth is...I always intended to. I thought...I thought, Fraser, that we'd go on forever. I didn't imagine that one day--without any warning--without even a real goodbye...it would be all over." He shook his head. "I loved being with you, Benny...just being your friend. I wanted more, but I'm--I'm a patient man when I need to be, and you were probably the most important thing that had ever happened to me. I wanted it to be right. I gave up on trying to read your signals after a while--I knew I'd never be able to. But I'd pretty much decided that someday, I would just take the chance." He risked a look down into the Mountie's face. Ben was sitting up, sheet pooled at his waist, just watching him. Ray took a breath.

"I was sure that even if you didn't feel...well...the way I hoped you did, that you wouldn't hold it against me for trying. That our friendship would survive it, no matter what. I was willing to put up with a little humiliation for you, Benny." He winked at him. Ben smiled.

Ray sighed. "But I never took the chance. The moment never came. I wasn't even that frustrated, I was having a good time just wondering when it would happen." He dropped his eyes and smiled. "I came close, couple times. We'd be in the middle of some perfectly irrational logical argument, and I'd be frantically trying to decide whether I wanted to knock the stuffing out of you, or kiss you senseless. I never did either. I--God damn it, Benny. I should have."

"You shouldn't blame yourself, Ray."

"I do. I do blame myself. I took too much for granted. I...I hope you understand how much it means to me to have your friendship back again, Benny. It's like a second chance, and I--"

"May I ask you something rather personal, Ray?"

There was a beat of silence, and then they chuckled at the same moment.

"Ahhh, sure, Fraser. My heart's an open book right about now."

"You seem to have...learned something, from your experience with me. I mean, you've known Stan for only a few months and yet you're--apparently, you didn't hesitate." He was watching Ray's face.

Ray smiled down at his hands. "Actually, Benny, I did. For a long time. But you're right, not as long as I did with you. I guess...I guess I do learn, eventually."

"I'm glad, Ray. Really. I suppose it must be hard for you to understand that, but I'm genuinely happy for the both of you. I just--I just am."

"I'm sorta gettin' that vibe from you, Benny. I--I appreciate it, I really do."

Ben looked thoughtful. "So, I suppose you--how did you put it--kissed him senseless at some opportune moment?"

Ray flashed him a grin, teeth white in the darkness. "No, actually I knocked the stuffing out of him."

Ben blinked.

"You're not...serious."

"Yeah, I am." Ray was still smiling.

"You--assaulted him."

"We assaulted each other."

Ben got to his feet slowly, gripping the sheet around his waist with one hand. Ray couldn't help but be amused by the attempt at modesty. Fraser sat down beside him on the couch and stared into his face. "May I inquire, Ray, as to what the subject of your altercation was?"

Ray cast his eyes in the general direction of the ceiling. "Why don't you use your incomparable powers of deduction, Constable, and take a wild, speculative, hypothetical, flying guess?"

Fraser frowned. "Oh dear. Oh, *my*."

Ray grinned at his bemused expression and shifted closer to bump shoulders with him. "You want a shower? Cuz I'm headin' in."

"You...you go ahead, Ray. I believe I'll...just sit here for a little while."

Ray suppressed a chuckle and slapped Ben lightly on the shoulder. "Okay, Benny. You do that."

*** *** ***

Stan let himself into the apartment slowly, making deliberate keysounds. He padded into the livingroom, cradling a small brown bag in one arm, and stopped just inside the doorway.

They were sitting side by side on the sofa, shirtless. Ben's wet hair feathered damply over his brow. Stan looked into their faces.

They looked back. Ray's eyes were warm; Ben wore his gentle, thoughtful smile.

Stan cleared his throat. "Hey, guys."

"He's back, Benny."

"I see that, Ray."

They shifted apart, creating space between them. Ray patted the cushion, tilting his head at his lover.

Stan moved forward slowly. "So, uhh, did you guys--"

"Come and sit down before we pounce you, Stanley."

He did, placing the grocery bag at his feet. Looked from one smiling face to the other, his eyes uncertain.

Ray slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to whisper against his neck. "Love, thank you." He slipped a hand under Stan's chin, lifted his face, kissed him softly.

Stan sighed against his mouth. "Ray, are you okay? Is he--?"

"Ask him yourself."

Stan stared at him, then turned to look into Fraser's face. "Frase, you all right?"

"Yes, Ray." He smiled. "Quite all right. May I--may I kiss you?"

Stan blinked. He leaned forward slowly and caught the Mountie's lips with his. Fraser took hold of his hand, entwining their fingers. "Thank you, Ray," Ben whispered. Stan looked into the blue eyes, awed, and then he felt warm fingers caressing his chin, turning his face. Ray smiled at him. "I believe it's my turn again." Before Stan could blink, his mouth was captured warmly, his lover's breath sighing against him. Stan was giggling before the kiss ended. Ray released him, winked into his face.

"I could--I could get used to being in the middle, here." Stan squeezed Ben's fingers, nestled more firmly under the circle of Ray's arm.

"Enjoy it while we're on the couch, love. When we sleep tonight, Ben gets the middle. Only fair."

Fraser looked startled. "I couldn't possibly impose upon you to such an extent, Ray. I'll sleep in my own bed, thank you kindly. I'll just--"

"Wrong." Ray's arm tightened around his lover's shoulders as he leaned over to look into Ben's face. "Stanley, tell him he's stayin'."

"Of course he's staying."

Fraser shook his head. "I couldn't do that. You've already been more than hospitable, and--"

"Hospitable?!" Ray looked into Stan's eyes. "We seduce him until he can't breathe, and he calls it bein' hospitable?"

"Well, he's Canadian, Ray. Maybe that's their idea of hospitality, up there."

"Ray. Stan..."

"I think we're going to have to hold him down until he sees reason, Stan."

"I think he *wants* us to hold him down."

"Oooh, devious! That true, Benny?"

Ben held up a hand. "There's no *room* for me."

A brief silence fell. Ray and Stan sat up at the same moment and looked into the Mountie's face. Ray spoke. "Fraser, what we're tryin' to tell you is, yes, there is."

Ben closed his eyes. "I'd--I'd come between the two of you."

"You won't, Benny. You couldn't." Ray's smile was gentle. "Look, Fraser, tonight didn't happen on a whim. We talked about it."

Ben opened his eyes, looked into their faces. "I know that you don't feel for me the way you--the way you feel about each other."

"If we thought you didn't understand that, Benny, believe me, we never woulda touched you." Ray's eyes held Ben's.

"You--you want me here." He looked from one to the other of them.

"Yeah, Frase. We do." Stan's voice was steady.

"It--it overwhelms me. I don't know what--"

"Benny, it's entirely up to you. If you feel--if you don't want--"

"I do want, Ray." His eyes were closed again. "You have no idea how much. But I would never be able to forgive myself if somehow I...I caused--"

"Fraser, really. We wouldn't even be together, if it wasn't for you."

Ben leaned forward slightly and they pulled him into a fierce three-way hug. On impulse, Stan tilted his mouth against Ben's in a quick kiss; Ray followed suit as soon as they'd broken apart.

Ben's genuine smile lit his face; his voice was slightly breathless. "Where are we going to sleep, then?"

"The floor, of course," Ray said practically. He nuzzled into the Mountie's neck, smiling at Ben's intake of breath. "You're used to that, aren't you, Fraser?"

"Well, I--of course, but--ohh." He closed his eyes. Stan was nipping at him on the other side. "Ray, this is--distracting."

"Gee, sorry, Benny." Ray lifted his head, looked across at his lover. Stan's twinkling eyes found his, and they kissed each other through soft giggles.

Ben looked mischievous suddenly. "I wonder if all three of us could do that."

"No, *somebody's* nose would get in the way, Frase."

"Oh, keep it up, Stanley. It's a real good thing you got a Mountie for protection tonight."

"Actually, Stan, I've always thought Ray had a very handsome profile."

"Fraser, shush! Don't let him find out he's gorgeous, there'll be no livin' with him. He's already got an ego the size of--"

"Are we gonna sit here and have a mutual admiration society meeting or are we gettin' to bed? Some of us have got work in the mornin.'"

"We all do, Ray." Ben's voice was quiet. He pulled back from them, still wearing that thoughtful smile.

Stan bent over to rummag in the paper sack at his feet. He tossed a bright red toothbrush in Fraser's direction. "Here, that's yours, Frase." Ben blinked at it.

Stan withdrew another, handed it wryly to his lover. "And that's *yours*. I'm sick of you stealin' mine."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Ray steals your toothbrush?"

"All the time." Stan made a face. "Ain't that disgustin'?"

"As a matter of fact, it's kind of...cute."

Ray rolled his eyes. "He said it again."

*** *** ***

Ben seemed to regard their acceptance of him as some kind of wondrous gift. They were careful not to pressure him, yet at the same time eager to convince him of the depth of their affection and desire.

The evening following their first night together, they'd been puttering around the kitchen preparing a meal. Ray stepped into the living room to watch a tense half-inning in a game on which he had fifty bucks riding.

Ben was at the kitchen counter, deftly chopping celery into precisely uniform slices, when Stan slipped his arms around his waist and brushed his lips across the back of his neck.

Ben started, nearly dropping the knife. Stan smiled against his skin. "Sorry, Fraser."

"It's--it's all right, Ray." He turned slowly within the circle of Stan's arms, looked into the warm grey eyes. Slid his hands around Stan's waist.

Stan kissed him softly, leaning forward into his embrace. Ben pulled back a bit, a slight frown on his face. "Ray, are you--I mean, we're all alone in here--" He shot a significant glance towards the living room. Ray was just out of their sight.

"Doesn't matter." Stan smiled into his face. "It's okay." And Ben looked back at him, uncertainty and longing warring on his features, before melting against him with a soft sigh of surrender, his mouth warm and pliant and eager. Ray strolled in minutes later, finding them in mid-clinch, the vegetables forgotten on the counter while Stan cupped Ben's face in his hands and murmured words of encouragement against his kisses.

"Guys, you're blocking the fridge."

They shuffled sideways while he pulled out a Coke and strolled back into the living room, muttering about botched double plays and vision-impaired umpires.

Gradually, Fraser seemed to internalize the reality of their unique circumstances. He stopped looking startled and bemused at their overtures, accepting the arms that would be casually slung around his waist, the hands on his shoulder, the swift, affectionate kisses.

A week after their first night, they were sitting around the coffee table in the living room, pencils in hand, arguing over a stack of offender profiles recently retrieved from a neighboring jurisdiction. Ben's calm, rational tones counterpointed Ray's dogged insistence on his own theories and Stan's sudden, excited leaps of insight. Brief flares of temper disintegrated into goodnatured teasing and the occasional crumpled paper ball bounced in each other's general directions. After an hour's heated discussion, a tired lull fell over them simultaneously.

Ray was about to get up for a beer when he felt Fraser's hand on his leg, just above the knee. Ray raised an eyebrow at him, encountering unmistakably flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. The gentle smile on Ben's lips was confident and suggestive, and Ray felt the instantaneous response in his own body as Ben's fingers, warm and strong, slid slowly upwards. "Stan," Ray said, willing his voice to a semblance of its usual rocksteady dignity. "I think the Mountie here wants a break."

"See, that's why you're Detective First Grade, Ray. You pick up on stuff like that real good." Stan had missed nothing, his silvery eyes narrowed, his own breathing already accelerating.

Ray kept Jimenez in his sights, finding ingenious opportunities to pursue his leads even while devoting time to the demands of his current workload. One harried afternoon in mid-September, while he and Stan were plowing doggedly through a pileup of reports, he took a five-minute break to phone the next three names on his list of regular informants.

On his third call, he got lucky.

The voice on the other end sounded bone-weary, as well he might after being hounded relentlessly by Ray and the half-dozen colleagues the detective had managed to coax into helping him keep the pressure on. He made a half-hearted attempt to blow Ray off, and then tiredly allowed as how a man strongly resembling one of the Cowboy's known associates had been seen in a particular bar a few nights before.

Rat sat forward, pen in hand. Stan glanced over, picking up his alert expression.

"What was he doin' there, Chico? Was he with anyone? Who'd he talk to?"

"Hey, I ain't Information, man. He was talkin' to the bartender, that's all I heard."

Ray hung up, shooting a look at his partner. Stan was already on his feet.

The bar was a typical dive, sparsely populated at three in the afternoon. The air conditioning was not functioning.

They went up to the bar, watching a nervous-looking darkhaired waitress approach. She wore a nametag identifying her as Estelle. "Yes?"

Ray flashed his I.D. "Chicago PD, ma'am. We'd like to ask you if you've seen this individual in this establishment?" He withdrew a mugshot of Jimenez' henchman and showed it to her.

The dark eyes registered no recognition. "No, but I work only the days."

"Who covers the bar at night?"

"I don't know." Her eyes darted around the smoky room.

Ray considered her. "Who's your boss, ma'am?"

"I don't know his name, only that it is Michael. I don't see him."

"You don't know the name of the man who pays you?"

"No, sirs. I only collect my money."

They exchanged glances. Stan turned a friendly smile on her. "Ma'am, it really is very important that we--"

"I don't know anything, sorry. I must go to work now." She moved away from them.

Ray strode over to the grimy window and plucked the liquor license from where it was taped to the pane. "Says here the establishment's owned by Greenside Properties, Ltd. Nobody named Michael."

Estelle had paused and was looking at them over her shoulder. Ray waved the license in her direction. "This refresh your memory, ma'am?"

"No, I--"

"Well, no problem." He folded the paper and tucked it into his breast pocket. "My partner and I'll just hold onto this for a while. You remember who the owner is, you tell him we've got his license down at the station, won't you?"

Her eyes widened. "You can't--"

"Oh, and shut down the bar, till he picks it up." Ray strode over and dropped his business card on the bar. "You pull so much as one draft without that license in the window, you'll bring down a big ol' fine on this Michael's head, you got that, Estelle?"

"But I--"

They walked out the doors without looking back.

Stan flashed him a grin as they drove back to the station. "Woo, watch him work."

"Aah, that's an old one. Picked it up on patrol, actually. The scumbags that own these dumps, they don't like to answer questions from cops so they train their people to play dumb. See it all the time. Wait, what's this?" His cell was beeping. He pulled it out, flipped it open. "Vecchio." Abruptly, he held the phone away from his ear, his wince of pain rapidly transforming to a grin. "Ahh, yes sir! We do indeed have your--is that so? I'd be delighted to return it at your convenience, Mr. Greenside. Ten minutes?" He snapped the phone closed, winking into Stan's twinkling eyes as he swung the Riviera into a U-turn. "Gets 'em every time."

An irritated Michael Greenside provided them with the names of his night barstaff, and they interviewed them that evening, turning up confirmation of Julio Vasquez' presence in the area.

"He's around somewhere, Stan," Ray said as they headed homewards. "He's sending these guys in to test the waters. He's gotta come back to keep his hand in, even if it's just a flying visit--and we'll nail him."

"I know we will, Ray. God, I love working with you."

Ray was silent for just a moment too long. He shot Stan a look, then stared back at the road. "We--uhh...we do make a good team, Kowalski."

Stan folded his arms, regarded him narrowly. "Ray. You ain't still havin' a problem with--"

Ray steeled himself. "I honestly don't know."

"Jesus Christ."

"Look, it's not that--"

"Jesus *Christ!*" He slammed a fist into the passenger-side door, scowling.

Ray sighed. "Stan, let's not get into a fight. You asked, I told you. I coulda lied."

"Oh, thank *you* for bein' honest enough to tell me you don't trust me. Thanks heaps, Vecchio." He glared out the car window.

"This is *my* problem, Kowalski, not yours, and--"

"You fucking well got that right."

"What do you want from me?! Do you want me to put in for reassignment tomorrow, is that it?"

"Is that what *you* want?"

"No. Jesus, no. Not yet."

"That's just great, Ray. That makes me feel *so* much--"

"Could you fucking *try* to understand this?"

"How can I when *you* don't?"

"Stan, it's temporary, all right? I'll get the *fuck* over it if you'll just--"

"It ain't like it's the first time you been in love with your partner," Stan said bitterly. "Only before, he wasn't even armed. But that didn't bother you, oh no. It's only *me* that you think's gonna--what? Walk blindly into range? Trip over a banana peel and blow our cover? Get in your fucking way and block your shot? What?"

Ray's hands gripped the steering wheel. "None of those things. This has nothing to do with your abilities."

"Police work is dangerous, Ray. You just noticin' that now, or something? Maybe you shoulda thought of that before you fell in love with a cop. Maybe you--"

"It's more than that." His voice was almost a whisper, and Stan stopped his tirade, startled. Ray was staring at the road before them, his eyes intent, his jaw set tightly.

"More than what?" Suddenly, Stan was more confused than irritated, the look on Ray's face twisting his heart.

"More than being in love with you. There's too much to lose. You're more than my lover, Stan...more than my partner."

Stan closed his eyes. "Ray..."

"Will you do something for me?"

He sighed. "Yeah."

"You ain't gonna ask what it is first?"

"No. Anythin'."

"Give it one month. If I don't have my head outta my ass by then, promise me you'll go to Welsh and get yourself another assignment."

"Vecchio, Christ."

"Promise me."

"I--"

"*Stan.*"

He leaned back in his seat, put a hand over his eyes. "All right, Ray. I promise."

"Thank you."

A lengthy silence fell between them, Ray staring moodily at the road. Stan flicked a look at him. "Vecchio, if it means anything--there isn't anyone on the frigging force I'd rather have watching my ass than you."

"Stanley."

"Yeah."

"I'll always watch your ass. Whether we're partners or not."

"Ray--" He felt the smile quirking his mouth. "All right, deal."

Ray smiled at him. "I'm sorry you have to put up with all this crap, Stan. If you were doin' it to me, I'd be--"

"Yeah, you got that right. You're lucky I'm such an easygoin' guy over here."

"You are, you know that? This is like the only thing we fight about, and it's all my fault."

"There somethin' wrong with that?"

"Nope." Ray's smile became relaxed. "We're a lot alike, under the surface, Stan. It's why it works like it does."

"Fraser saw that before we did." He smiled. "Speaking of which--"

"Yeah, let's go pick him up. Unless--baby, you wanna be alone tonight? He won't mind, you know he always--"

"Let's go get him. He takes off around nine anyways, we'll have time later." He winked at Ray. "Somethin' tells me he'd be good for my mood right about now."

"All right, love."

"Some triple chocolate with whipped cream wouldn't hurt either, now I think about it. Pull over at that MaxiMart, wouldja?"

"Sheesh, Kowalski." But he flipped on the big car's flashers and cruised into the lot. "Anythin' else? Cherries? Nuts?"

"I'll get it, Ray." Stan reached for his door handle, but his partner held up a hand.

"Just tell me what you want."

Stan grinned at him as Ray unsnapped his seatbelt and got out of the car. "Make sure it's real whipped cream, not that fake stuff."

"Wrap me around your finger a little tighter, why dontcha, Stan?"

Stan made a kiss-mouth at him through the car window. Ray shook his head, headed into the store, unaware of the satisfied smile on his own lips.

*** *** ***

Saturday again, a mellow, sun-dappled afternoon. Stan shut the apartment door behind himself and Ben as Diefenbaker padded over to his customary spot beneath the window and flopped down. "Days are starting to get cooler, Frase. Summer's over."

"If you say so, Stan." Ben brushed his hair off his slightly damp brow. "I'd still rather open some windows in here."

Stan grinned at him. "You go ahead, if you want, Frase. I'll survive." He strolled over to the couch, dropped into it as Ben cracked the windows.

Fraser came over and sat beside him, blue eyes alight, a simple, honest happiness reflected on his face. Stan shifted closer, snagged one of Ben's hands and used it to loop his friend's arm securely around his shoulders. They turned to look at each other at the same moment, and the movement caused a feathery fringe of Ben's dark hair to fall over his forehead almost to his eyes. He gave a rueful smile and pushed it aside with one hand. "This gets cut *tomorrow.*"

"I like it like that, Frase," Stan said, smiling. "What made you change it, anyway, from the way you used to--"

"I did it for you," Ben admitted. "I thought it made me look less...what is the term...uptight. And I thought you might like to...well."

Stan lifted a hand to slide his fingers through the dense silkiness. "Yeah, Fraser. I do." He smiled. "You have fun today?"

They'd spent the last several hours prowling around the city, stopping in to the gift shop, just enjoying the day. Ray was with his family, expected to join the two of them for dinner.

"Yes." Ben smiled at him. "I enjoy seeing this side of the city. I can almost understand why you feel at home here. Or perhaps...perhaps it's just being with you that makes me feel that. I'll miss it, when I go, Stan. I'll miss you."

Stan looked down at the coffee table. "You, ahh, still plannin' on going."

"Well, yes, Stan. Of course I am."

"Of course." He frowned slightly.

"It's not that I'm not happy here, Stan. This whole summer...it's been one of the most incredible experiences of my life."

"Frase." Softly. "We don't want you to go."

"That's kind of you to say, Stan."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"I didn't say that."

Stan folded his arms across his chest. A quiet ache had settled around his heart.

"Stan." Ben's voice was almost a whisper.

"Whatever--whatever you want, Frase. It's just--I hope we're gonna see you again someday, is all."

"You don't really doubt that, do you? You're part of my life, Stan...both of you are."

"It's just--a lotta miles between us, Frase, I dunno."

"It is that."

He sighed. "I just feel like it's my fault somehow that you feel you can't stay here. I understand, I think, but I wish it didn't have to be this way. I mean, if--"

"You're mistaken, Stan." Ben waited until Stan turned his head, looked into the troubled grey eyes. "I never intended to stay here permanently. Not even before I knew about--well. This isn't my home, Stan. It never will be. It's a place that's been of essential importance in my life--where I've learned invaluable things. But--"

"And this--this idea about gettin' a transfer and being officially assigned to some ice floe, you're tellin' me that had nothin' to do with--"

"I'll confess, Stan. That first night, after I left your apartment...that was when I filled out the transfer papers. I hadn't planned on submitting them quite that early on. But I *had* them, Stan. They were in my room. I had in fact brought them *with* me, when I came."

"But you came back here, Fraser! You came back--for me."

"Yes." Ben was looking at him steadily.

Stan stared at him. "Then why--"

"I spent three months in the villages, Stan. I needed to reestablish myself there, to forge connections with the community that I had abandoned. I felt the need to convince myself--and the local people, as well--that I belonged there, that I could could have a positive effect, could make a difference. And I did so. People...people were distressed when I announced I was leaving. I'd already begun to be a part of the life again. And it was so satisfying to me. I'd been afraid, actually, that--"

"That they didn't want you. I remember." He frowned. "Frase, you never told me all this. I asked you, that first day, why it was you went home. You told me something about finding yourself again, but not--"

"I didn't want to frighten you off right away, Stan." All at once, a soft blush touched Ben's cheeks. "I intended to let you know my plans eventually, after I'd been back for a while...after we'd gotten close to each other again. I--"

"Frighten me--?" Suddenly, Stan's heart was thudding in his chest. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You were...oh, my sweet Jesus. You were gonna ask me to go up there *with* you."

"Well..."

"*Fraser.*"

One corner of Ben's mouth turned up. "The idea had crossed my mind."

Stan rested his head on the back of the sofa and threw an arm over his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ray."

"For cryin' out loud, Frase. You gotta do something about this habit you have of apologizing over nothing."

"I'm--well."

Stan reached for his friend's hand, catching it in a tight grip. "You really want to go."

"I have to, Stan." His voice was gentle but resolute.

"We can't change your mind?"

Ben smiled. "If you think I'm not tempted to stay, sorely tempted, you're quite wrong."

"Will you think about it?"

"I already have, Stan."

"Well, think some more. For me. For...for us." He looked into Ben's face. "Don't we mean anything to you, Fraser? Don't we--"

Ben leaned forward his eyes darkening as one hand cupped Stan's face. The kiss was swift, strong, passionate, taking Stan's breath as it stopped his thoughts in their tracks. "You mean a great deal," Ben said against his mouth. "If I haven't managed to let you know that--" His lips took Stan's once more, his arms sliding around him, "--then I need to correct that omission." He pulled back to look intently into the startled eyes.

Stan looked back at him helplessly, and then Ben's eyes closed, his head dipping gently downwards, his mouth against Stan's jawline and neck. Stan shivered, pulling the solid body firmly against him. "Ray," Ben murmured against Stan's throat. "Would you mind terribly, if we continued this conversation at some...other...time?"

"Uhhh, no, Fraser...ohhh." He tensed all over, arching in the Mountie's arms, and then he was wrapping himself around him, his hands catching at Ben's shirt and pulling it upwards, gliding over the warmth of the skin beneath. They broke apart, already breathing heavily, to peel interfering cotton over their heads with identical movements and come together once more, clinging, caressing, mouths searing each other's skin. With an abrupt, impatient shove, Stan knocked the coffee table out of the way and dropped to his knees at Ben's feet, his shaking hands at his friend's buttons. Fraser looked down at him for a brief, panting moment, then rested his head back, hips lifting just enough for Stan to slide the heavy fabric out of his way, wrap his fingers around the heated, engorged shaft and pull it free.

Hesitating for only a bare second at Fraser's daunting proportions, Stan slid the hot velvet of his mouth down around him, one hand gripping Ben's hip to steady his powerful, instinctive thrusts. It was over in minutes, the Mountie's gasping cries reaching a crescendo, sweat trickling into Stan's closed eyes, his slick fingers stroking through the last rippling shudders of Ben's climax.

Gentle fingers in his hair. Stan rested his head on Ben's stomach, getting his breath back. He was dimly aware that he'd been deliberately distracted, but his mind was too blissfully relaxed to worry at the knowledge.

"Ray."

"Yeah, Frase."

"May I inquire where you learned to do that?"

A sputter of mirth. "Frase, jeezus! It ain't something you get taught, you just--why?" He lifted his head, squinting into Ben's face. "You want to--"

Ben reached out a hand, helped Stan up to sit beside him on the couch. He buttoned his own jeans with practiced movements, restoring his near-immaculate appearance. "Yes, some day, Ray." He smiled. "But for now..."

He placed a hand on Stan's thigh, slid it upwards, his fingers just brushing the taut inseam along the crotch. Stan looked back at him, cheeks flushed. "Fraser, don't think you have to--"

"Believe me, Stan." Ben's smile was a curious mixture of wryness and mischief. "This is something I can do."

"Well I didn't think it wasn't, Fraser, but you don't have to--"

"I want to." Softly. "Here, slide into my lap."

Stan blinked at him, but Fraser's strong hands had caught him around the waist, shifting him sideways between the Mountie's outspread thighs as Ben lay back against the back of the sofa. Ben sighed, pulling Stan against his chest until he was half-reclining in his lap, Ben's hands wrapping his friend warmly around the waist. Stan rested his head in the hollow of Ben's shoulder, his breath catching as Fraser slowly slid his fingers up over his taut stomach.

"Feels...feels nice, Frase--oh." He shivered. The Mountie's hands glided upwards, over his pectoral muscles, his palms brushing whisperlight over Stan's nipples. He could feel Fraser's warm breath against his neck, the slow thud of his heart.

"You like that?" Ben's voice was a husky whisper into his ear. His hands skimmed down Stan's sides, tracing the shape of his ribs beneath the heat of his skin. Stan arched slightly, the movement involuntary. He felt gooseflesh rise as Fraser drew slow, circling caresses over his stomach, his fingers drifting lower with tantalizing deliberation.

"I love your body, Stan," Ben murmured against his neck. "That first night, you--you took my breath away. You're so..." one hand slid downwards, cresting over the rigid bulge in Stan's jeans..."unselfconscious. Un...inhibited."

Stan thrust upwards reflexively, but Fraser's hand had left him, tracing lazy spiraling patterns again on his lower belly. "You mean...you mean I'm an exhibitionist." He chuckled softly, gasping and biting his lip as Ben's palm found his hardness again, rubbed once, firmly, then slid upwards, leaving him bereft.

"I mean you're natural and easy with your own body, Ray." His lips curved in a smile against Stan's neck. "That is, St--"

"Frase, give it up." Stan grinned, pressing his hips downwards against Ben's. "Call me whatever you want to, when we're...you know. You know I like Ray better anyway."

"It's ridiculous." Ben was all but purring into his ear. "Mental block. It's because you...the essence of you...got imprinted onto my heart with that name. Whenever I stop thinking and just purely feel..." and his fingers caught Stan's zipper, drawing it downwards inch by slow inch..."you're always Ray to me."

The zipper reached its stop, Ben's other hand deftly releasing Stan's button. Fraser drew the tips of his fingers along the straining cotton beneath, tracing the shape of it. Stan groaned, lifting his hips against Ben's touch. Felt the Mountie's lips on his neck.

"What, Ray? Something you want?"

"Fraser, Jesus. Will you--" He put his own hand over Ben's, pressing it hard against him, moaning.

Ben laughed into his neck. "Interesting move, Ray. Where'd you pick that up?" And then he was slipping his fingers inside, wrapping them around Stan's hard bulk, his other hand pushing his briefs down slightly, out of the way. Stan shifted instinctively upwards, allowing Ben's hands greater reach.

"Oh." Fraser drew a slow, shivering breath. "You--you feel so good."

Stan smiled. "Not quite the handful you're used to, am I?"

A rumble from Ben's chest beneath him. "Ray, if you're going to make me laugh I won't be able to do this right."

"Sorry." Stan's giggle was choked off into a moan as Ben stroked downwards, then slowly up, palming the tip, spreading the wetness there. He gasped, swallowed, found his voice. "It's just that you're--well--"

"I'm glad I impress you." Ben nipped at his neck. Stan could hear the smile in his voice.

"Frase, you--" He tried to twist his head to look at him, was stopped by the Mountie pressing the side of his face against his own.

"Don't, Ray. I'd rather you couldn't see my face just now." That rumbling chuckle again. Stan tensed as Fraser slid one hand downwards, cupping his balls and the base of his shaft, a counterpoint to the slow, steady stroking rhythm. He thrust upwards, shuddering all over, the warmth of Ben's touch surrounding him.

"Frase," He licked his lips, drew a shaky breath. "You--you sell yourself short. You're one of the--ohh, God, don't stop--one of the sexiest men I ever met, and--"

"I'm Canadian," Fraser reminded him. "We're all like that."

In spite of himself, Stan grinned, turning his head just enough to rub his cheek against the Mountie's temple. "You're less inhibited than you think you are, Fraser. It's just--not on the surface."

"No, I suppose not. You wouldn't think, would you Ray, that I was a smoldering caldron of unfulfilled desires, under that perfectly pressed serge?" His hands never lost the rhythm: squeeze, stroke, glide. Stan bit his lip, his breath coming faster.

"Frase, we didn't even know--" He gasped, bucking harder, his hips pressing firmly back against the Mountie's on every stroke. "We didn't even know you were attracted to--to men."

"I wasn't." Ben's teeth grazed the side of his neck again. "Until Ray, that is."

Stan's breath caught. "Did you--did you tell him that?"

"No." A nip. The pressure of Ben's slick fingers was first light, then firm, then light again around him. "Should I?"

"God, Fraser, you'll blow his mind." He moaned softly, reaching downwards to wrap his own hand around Ben's. He felt the Mountie's lips curve into a smile against his neck.

"Ray, I've got you."

"You're--you're *teasing* me." He tightened Fraser's fingers around him, his hips lifting faster into their combined grip.

"Would I do that?" Ben lifted his own hips, his lips gentling against Stan's neck.

"I don't know any more, Frase." Stan was laughing himself, in between panting groans of arousal. "Right now I don't think--I don't think anything you do would surprise me..."

"Well, I'm glad to see I'm losing some of my predictability." Fraser's breath was beginning to come faster against Stan's skin. Stan could feel the Mountie's hardness beneath his own hips, the double layer of denim between them easing the friction as they slid against each other. He released his hold on Ben's hand and stretched himself back along his friend's body, his muscles taut and singing.

"You're--you're not predictable, Fraser. Never--never did get you figured out, all the time we--" He sucked in a shivering gasp of air. "All the time we worked together."

Fraser stroked him with relentless rhythm, his fingertips slicking themselves with the slippery wetness, then gliding downwards to spread it along the shaft. "It was easier for me." His voice was low, his lips just barely teasing Stan's skin. "You make it so easy, Ray. Easy for people to--to know you."

"Frase..." He stopped, his head far back, his breath becoming ragged. "I can't--can't talk while you're--ohhh, Jesus, so close. Don't--"

"Don't, then. Listen." Fraser kept one strong hand wrapped around Stan's pulsing cock, sliding the other slowly, deliberately upwards over his stomach. His fingertips traced a path along the midpoint of Stan's torso, raising the tiny hairs, continuing upwards, fanning out to whisper over one nipple. "Let me tell you...what I'm feeling right now." His hips bucked up, once, just enough for the man above him to feel the unmistakable bulge of his arousal. "This takes me back, Ray." Stroke, thrust, counterstroke. "Nights...long nights. Alone, always alone. And sometimes..." His left hand slid down Stan's side, feeling the skin shiver and twitch beneath his touch. "Sometimes, I thought about you."

"Fraser." Breathlessly, desperately. "Please. I'm--"

"Actually, Ray, what you are is beautiful. And honest. And courageous. And trustworthy. How--how glad I was, Ray, when I felt us becoming friends. When I knew you had begun to...to..." His voice trailed to an inaudible whisper.

Stan felt himself thicken and pulse in Ben's grip, his balls drawing up, liquid ecstasy coiling and rising in his groin. Fraser's left hand slipped downwards, cupping him once more, the palm applying gentle circling pressure just at the root of him. Stan felt his muscles bracing themselves, his hips involuntarily lifting into the tight, slick warmth of his friend's hands. He felt the spasms start, drew in a panting lungful of air--and then warm fingers squeezed him deftly, just beneath the swollen head of his cock. The building tide of sensation receded slightly, dropping him back to the teetering edge. "No, not yet, Ray. Soon. I just need to tell you..."

"Fraser, *please*...I need to--"

Ben's voice was breathless suddenly. "You need to trust me."

A groan escaped Stan's lips. He lifted one arm above his head, the fingers curling over to glide through the Mountie's thick, feathery hair. Ben pressed his face into his neck, his stroking once again strong and steady. "Ray. Ohh, God. If you knew what you do to me. What you always did. I love you. I love you. I *love*--Stan, do it for me. Please, now. Let me give this to you."

Stan could not have held back to save his life. His climax rushed at him like an express train, tearing a cry from his throat, sweet hot sensation exploding out of him, soaking his chest and stomach, his friend's caressing hands. Ben's fingers held him until the jerking spasms passed, then he released his grip to slide strong arms around him, his heart knocking against Stan's back.

Stan allowed himself to be enfolded for a few panting moments, then twisted himself deliberately in Ben's arms, turning to face him, rearranging his limbs so that he sat in a loose sprawl across the Mountie's lap. Ben gave him a sweet smile, but his eyes held something deeper.

Stan shifted against him, one slim thigh pressing the rigid bulge beneath Ben's zipper. Fraser closed his eyes. He was breathing heavily but slowly.

"Fraser, can I ask something?"

Ben's smile deepened. "If you ask me where I learned to do that, you're going to find yourself on the floor."

Stan cracked a grin in spite of himself. "Fraser, really. Are you all--"

"Yes, Ray. Don't worry."

Stan pushed back slightly to gaze into his friend's face. "I do worry, a little, Frase."

Ben pulled Stan's slim form more closely against him. "Ray, shhh. You must understand how happy you've made me. The...the both of you, that is. You've given me more than I ever knew to want...more than I knew existed. I know what you're offering me, the two of you, and it overwhelms me. And, Ray." Ben looked directly into his eyes, his own suddenly serious. "I know what you're *not* offering me."

Stan held Ben's gaze with his own. "Frase, we do love you."

"I know that, Stan." He smiled. "That's the trouble with you married couples. You think everyone else should be in the same state."

Stan felt an absurd blush rising in his cheeks. "Ray and I are *not*--"

"Well, not yet." Ben winked at him.

Stan would have protested further, but just then they were startled by the sound of a key in the lock. Ray strolled in, stopping inside the doorway to smile sardonically at them. "Dinner in the oven? No? Why am I not surprised? No no, don't get up, I got it--" He held up a hand, turned towards the kitchen.

"*Ray.*" Stan scrambled up, giggling as he offered a hand to the smiling Mountie and pulled him up. "Wait, we'll help--*Ray.*"

*** *** ***

"Stanley."

"What?"

"You're askin' for it."

"Askin' for what?"

The tone was innocent, but the eyes were not. Neither was the smile, which flashed at him and then disappeared. Stan flicked a dustcloth over an endtable, scattering random crumbs to the floor.

Ray narrowed his eyes and said nothing, just pushed the broom across a strip of grimy kitchen floor, watching his partner from over the half-wall. Late Sunday afternoon, and the two of them were making one of their periodic slapdash efforts to clean the apartment. Stan's t-shirt was nearly translucent with age, his jeans faded almost white, clinging, the fabric sheened to softness. Ray was not even attempting to concentrate on his task of corralling errant dustbunnies, his attention entirely focused on the way his partner moved.

A crouch. A stretch. A flick of the cloth behind the CD rack. Flash of silverblue eyes in Ray's direction, away again. Squinting stare at something in the corner of the ceiling--cobweb. He reached for it, t-shirt pulling free of the jeans, revealing a strip of smooth pale flesh.

Ray laid the broom against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, watching. Stan knew now, unerringly, every move, every pose, every look, to bring him to a fever pitch of need. The accord between them had only intensified with the expansion of their relationship beyond the purely physical. Even with Fraser, whose sensuality fed their own, whose beauty spurred the desire that drove all three of them to dizzy, panting heights of pleasure and release, there was not this uncanny intuition, this effortless meshing of need and want that rendered verbal communication unnecessary.

Ray stood watching his lover, sensing him, feeling him, outwardly motionless, inwardly a volcano of emotion and lust. He did not have to wonder where this familiar game would lead them; he had only to indulge his own arousal, letting it build, knowing Stan was picking up the heat in his slitted eyes. Waiting his moment.

"Hot in here." Stan straightened up and rubbed the back of one wrist across his forehead. He strolled almost casually into the kitchen, past Ray, to the refrigerator. Pulled it open and bent for a plastic water bottle. Shot a glance at Ray as he untwisted the cap, then closed his eyes and drank. A single trickle of moisture ran down his chin and dropped onto the faded tee.

Ray stepped toward him, waiting while the other man wiped his lips with the back of his hand and turned to look into Ray's face. "You want some--"

"What do you think?"

Ray took the water bottle out of his lover's hand, set it on the counter, grabbed Stan roughly by both wrists and pushed him backwards towards the doorway, feeling the strength and resilience in the man's body as he resisted him. Stan gave him his lazy cat-smile, his breathing already rapid, his feet braced against Ray's advance. They moved into the living room in a series of shoves and retreats, until Stan felt the sofaback behind him and leaned back against it, hips forward, head tilted, eyes warm.

Ray surveyed him, the high color, the deliberate slouch, the tensely knotted muscles in the whip-lean frame. Their eyes met and held, Stan's mouth twitching up at one corner.

Ray was on him in an instant, his mouth at Stan's throat, his hands skimming the flimsy fabric of the shirt upwards. Stan lifted his arms and pulled back, shaking his head free of the interfering garment. Ray's fingers spread themselves on the heat of his skin, holding him, turning him; he felt Ray's weight draping itself against him, his breath on the back of his neck.

Strong, sure hands cupped him through the worn fabric, stroking and pressing, sending Stan's hips shuddering forward. Ray moaned softly behind him, his fingers shaking as they worked his lover's zipper, as they struggled to slide the layers of clothing off his slim hips. Stan put up with a few moments of this and then shifted back, toeing his boots off, slipping the jeans downwards. He turned, reaching out, his hands swift to assist his partner; and then there was nothing between them, nothing but the silken, heated glide of skin against skin, as Ray leaned into him, his breath rapid and warm.

"Bedroom..." Stan whispered, chin lifted as Ray nipped his throat.

"Couch," Ray gritted out against his neck, eyes closing. "Oh, baby."

Stan's pulse rate soared, his grace deserting him as he shifted awkwardly back and around, sprawling back onto the cushions, watching Ray's approach. His lover stood looking down at him, gaze sweeping his entire length. Stan arched and stretched before him, no longer inhibited by Ray's penetrating stare or the mix of emotions that flashed across his lover's face at these times: desire, ownership, pride. He slid caressing fingers around his own cock, stroking and teasing, his slitted eyes holding Ray's, waiting.

Ray's passion-husky voice. "Turn over, baby."

Stan raised an eyebrow but complied instantly, kneeling on all fours on the sofa, hands braced on the arm. He felt the dip of the cushions as Ray slipped behind him, and then there was nothing but the feel of his lover's hands on his body, sliding upwards along his stomach and over his chest, skating over his hips. He lowered his head, trembling, cried out at the first touch of Ray's slick fingers, his weight already shifting back to meet his probing touch. Gasping, ecstatic moments later, his lover's cock was hilt-deep inside him, Rayıs hands gripping Stan's hips, holding them together, their rhythm instinctive now, utterly synchronous, effortless, involuntary. Ray draped forward, Stan's breathless groans of need driving his thrusts, his fingers just teasing his lover's pulsing, leaking hardness.

The tempo increased, Ray's breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps, control slipping away, the need to somehow merge into his lover's body overriding thought and reason. He drove into the welcoming heat, his hips slamming forward, his fingers tightening around Stan's cock as he shifted the angle of his thrusts, setting off an unstoppable cascade of sensation, his partner's climax triggering his own with splitsecond accord, their raw, gasping cries floating upwards even as Stan sagged forward onto his collapsed arms, drawing air into his lungs in great heaving bursts.

Ray's shaking hands were cupped against his lover's taut stomach. He groaned softly against Stan's sweaty back. "Love."

"Mmmmph."

"Your--" He panted, swallowed. "Your shirt's on the back of the couch."

Stan reached up blindly, snagged it, slipped it beneath him. Clumsily, they mopped up the mess before too much of it could stain the cushions. Ray shifted backwards, pulling Stan's shivering weight into his arms, his back against Ray's chest.

"Like old times, Vecchio." Stan didn't turn his head, and Ray frowned slightly. With a faint blush of guilt, he realized they had not even kissed.

"Stan." The words were whispered into his partner's neck. "Hey, love. Tell me. Do you not want it like this any more?"

"Vecchio, don't even ask. I want it any way you give it to me." Stan was slightly breathless, but his words were sure and immediate.

Ray felt a surge of hot, trembling excitement that threatened to reawaken his arousal, so recently exhaustively released. He locked his arms fiercely around Stan's chest, his lips finding the sweatslick curve where his lover's shoulder met his neck. He nipped at the tender skin, running his tongue along the tiny bites, soothing them. Stan's muscles tensed slightly. "Hey, Ray. No marks." But his voice was weak and shaking.

"Jesus, baby." He rested his chin on Stan's shoulder lightly. "What the hell is it between us, anyway?"

Stan laughed shakily. "You hear me complainin'? I don't know, Ray. I don't understand it any better'n you, but--Look. I never had nothing like this before, with anyone, not ever. I don't really feel like analyzin' it." He relaxed heavily into Ray's enfolding arms.

Ray smiled against his neck, nuzzled softly at him. "No analysis, love. I was just wonderin' if it was ever gonna dawn on us that we're not eighteen any more. I mean, sometime *before* we kill ourselves."

A chuckle. "Sure it will, Ray. In fact, I think your hairline's got that message alrea--OW! Oh that hurts--*Ray*!" Lightning-quick, the caressing hand on Stan's wrist had closed around it like a vise, whipping it behind his back and pinioning it securely at the level of his shoulder blades. Laughing throatily into his partner's ear, Ray leaned forward, forcing Stan onto his knees, braced on his one available arm. Stan's cries of pain were interspersed with bursts of laughter that escaped whenever Ray eased up slightly on the angle at which he held the captured wrist.

"Ray, I didn't--ow! oh, you bastard--mean anything by it. It's, uhh, actually--" He tried to tug his wrist out of Ray's grip, his efforts hampered by alternating whimpers of pain and hilarious giggles. "It's actually a sign of--*ow*, dammit, who taught you the fuck how to wrestle anyway? A sign of, uh, increased masculinity, or something."

"Flattery will get you absolutely nowhere, Stanley, so give it up. You're mine until I decide to release you."

"Why the fuck isn't there ever a Mountie around when you need one?"

Ray chuckled behind him. "You think he can get you out of this?" But he relented, easing Stan's wrist downwards and wrapping it once more against his chest, folding his lover in his arms, pulling him back to sit beside him. "I'll teach you that move if you don't know it, baby. You should."

Stan shifted around and gave him a wry smile. "Yeah, Ray. It'll come in handy next time I'm in a schoolyard brawl." He flexed his shoulder, wincing.

Ray lifted a hand to ruffle it through his lover's abundant spikes of hair. "You just wait a while, till this stuff starts to go, and then we'll see who's--"

"Ain't gonna happen." Stan flashed him a smug smile. "My dad's still got all his."

"Aahh, that don't mean nothin'. Ten years from now, Stan, we'll see who has the last laugh. I'll be pickin' that blond fluff of yours outta the drain, and you'll be--" He broke off.

His lover was staring at him, a startled look in the blue-grey eyes. He did not speak.

The silence was suddenly very loud.

"Somethin' the matter, Kowalski?" Ray felt a faint blush touching his face.

"Ten years, huh?" Stan shifted back slightly, squinting at him with his head on one side. "You plannin' on bein' around that long?"

Half a dozen easy, joking replies rose in Ray's mind. But suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to know how his lover would react to the simple truth.

"Maybe I am."

Stan looked back at him, still wearing that considering expression. He was silent so long Ray slid towards him, a concerned look in his eyes. "Hey, love. Didn't mean to scare you. I was--"

"I'm terrified, Vecchio." Stan's mouth quirked in a smile. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Ray's. Slow, gentle fingers slid themselves around Ray's neck, gliding upwards into the silkiness of his dark hair.

Ray swallowed the flutter of nervousness in his belly. "Baby, listen. I spent most of my life not sayin' how I felt, not tellin' people--people that needed to hear it--till it was too late or not enough. I'm--" He closed his eyes. "I'm thirty-eight years old and I feel like--I feel like I've learned more about what it takes to be happy in the last six months than I have all the rest of my life. And ninety-five percent of that is you."

Stan said nothing, but his fingers caressed the nape of Ray's neck with infinite gentleness. Ray drew a slow breath.

"If this ain't--ain't what you wanna hear you gotta tell me now, babe, really, because I'm--" He stopped, shaking his head. "Jesus, I'll shut up. I'm sorry, love. Will you--dammit, Stan, say *something.*"

"Was waiting to get a word in edgeways, Vecchio. Sheesh."

Ray smiled at him, but he was trembling under Stan's touch. "Well?"

His lover brushed his lips across Ray's softly. "I think I'll make cracks about your hair more often if this is what I get out of it."

"*Stanley*--I'm trying to be serious here." He was chuckling, but his partner heard the intensity in his voice.

"Ray, really. If you--if you don't know by now how I feel about us you ain't half the detective you think you are."

Whatever reply Ray might have made was lost in the swift claiming of his mouth, Stan's tongue darting inside without preliminaries, his breath warm and already quickening. Rough-gentle hands slid around Ray's body, pulling him forward, against lean muscled heat.

They melted together, warmth seeking warmth, arms wrapping each other, tongues duelling for dominance within the breathless ecstasy of the kiss. Stan pushed forward suddenly, shifting his weight; his lover found himself on his back on the cushions before he knew what was happening, the other man's body blanketing his own, pinning him. Ray's moan of surprise was muffled by his partner's hot mouth; he broke the kiss with effort, lifted one hand to catch Stan's jaw, gazing into the darkening eyes. "H-hey, Kowalski. He'll be here in less than an hour...you wanta save some of this for him?"

Stan's teeth flashed in a grin. "I may not be eighteen, Ray, but I don't gotta save nothing up." He shoved his hips against his partner's for emphasis, his smile widening at the look in Ray's eyes. "Don't worry."

Ray slid warm, slightly trembling hands down Stan's sides to rest them on his lover's slim hips. "Well, I kinda had the idea Fraser had plans for you tonight." He winked. "Didn't want to disappoint him."

"Hey, Ray." The blond head lifted. "*You* want a ride?"

He snorted laughter. "Are you out of your mind? Stan, I couldn't take him in a million years. I don't know how the hell you do it. He--"

"Vecchio." The grey eyes were dancing. "Who said anything about *him*?"

And Ray's mouth was suddenly full of his partner's tongue, his wrists caught and lifted and held above his head. His mind made an abortive attempt to process what was happening to him, but rational thought was fast being rendered impossible by the desertion of ninety percent of the blood in his body to a region considerably south of his brain. Stan finally broke the kiss, gazed down into his dazed, panting face. Ray struggled to shift up on his elbows, his heart kicking into overdrive even as his partner lowered his head, nipping at the hot smoothness of Ray's throat. "Jesus, Kowalski. Am I--am I ever gonna figure you out?"

Stan smiled against his neck, closed his eyes, thrust his aching erection against the comparative softness of his lover's belly. His tongue flicked against the velvety hollows of Ray's skin, drawing gasps from the man beneath him. "I dunno, Ray." Whispered. "Give it ten years or so, you just might."

*** *** ***

The payoff for the weeks of dogged, patient persistence came unexpectedly, as it so often did, one evening when the three of them were seated at a window table in La Trattoria: checkered tablecloths, candles in Chianti bottles, pasta bowls the size of small birdbaths. In the midst of a giggling conversation with the Mountie, Stan sensed a sudden keen alertness come over his partner. He looked across the table into his face. "Ray?"

The green eyes were trained with pinpoint intensity out the window.

"Julio Vasquez." He was already getting to his feet. "Walked right by."

The other two rose instantly. "Ben." Ray's voice was quiet. "Call it in. But no lights, no marked units. I don't want him spooked off; he's gonna lead us right to the man."

"Understood, Ray." He accepted the cellphone Ray handed him, stepped away from them.

"Another of your hunches, Vecchio?" Stan flashed him an excited smile as they moved towards the exit, the familiar exhilaration of a chase tingling in his veins.

"Been feelin' it all week," Ray replied, low. "This is it."

They hit the sidewalk, scanning, all senses on. Vasquez was a block up, moving fast, purposefully. "He'll make the Riv in a heartbeat, Ray. We gonna--"

Ray was already flashing his shield at the driver of a yellow cab which had just pulled up to the curb to discharge two passengers. "Police officers, require use of your vehicle." Stan gallantly opened the rear door, smiling at the flustered couple as they emerged in front of the restaurant. He hopped into the back seat and pulled the door shut just as Ray was sliding behind the wheel. The driver, a sandyhaired man with a drooping mustache, stood forlornly in the street looking after them.

"All right, we're rolling. Try to look passenger-like back there, Stanley."

Stan made a face at him in the rear-view. "What, I got 'cop' written all over me or somethin'?"

"No, you got street urchin written all over--heads up, he's around the corner." Ray took the turn, grimacing at the way the cab listed to one side. "Geesh, Stan, this thing handles like your old clunker."

"You're just jealous cuz mine has managed to stay in one piece."

Ray was grinning at the traffic around them, at least fifty percent of which appeared to be made up of yellow taxicabs exactly like the one in which they were riding. "We oughta make these the designated tail cars, Stan. Who'd make any one of them in a sea like this?"

They kept Vasquez in sight, passing him on occasion and circling the block to come up behind him again. Half a mile south of the restaurant, he paused at the entryway to a small three-story apartment building, flicked a casual glance around him, and went in.

A block behind him, they parked the cab and got out, guns drawn. Barely ten steps down the sidewalk, the sound of an approaching vehicle spun them around.

Another yellow cab had pulled up behind theirs to discharge a single passenger. They watched as he bent down to peer in at the driver and offer him a smile and a thank-you. Ray closed his eyes.

Stan's voice was amused. "Well, we didn't *tell* him to stay put."

"No, we didn't."

Ben trottted up to them, eyes scanning the area. "Not a bad neighborhood. Did I see him enter that dwelling up ahead there?"

"Yeah, Benny, but you're gonna keep your head the fuck *down*. You wanna do something, cover the back exits in case he comes out. Now let's move before someone reports suspicious characters on the street with guns." They moved off down the sidewalk. Ray's narrowed stare counted lighted windows in two apartments as they approached, one on the first floor, one on the third. "All right, fifty-fifty shot. We'll give them a listen."

Ben sprinted to the rear of the building as the other two took the main steps and entered through the glass doors. Ray paused at the first door on the right, cocked his head. Raised voices, a man and a woman. He and Stan strained their ears to pick up intelligible words, but both were speaking Spanish. And then, clearly, the woman said, "Julio."

Their eyes met. "It's him. All right, Stan. Let's back it on out and keep the place surveilled. No point in takin' him in without Jimmy. Give it a few hours, he might lead us somewhere else."

Stan nodded, and the two of them began to move quietly back along the corridor towards the exit. And then, a piercing feminine scream and the sound of a gunshot from behind the apartment door.

Instantly, they were on either side of it, weapons raised. "Police officers! Open the door!"

The woman was shrieking. Abruptly, the sound was cut off into a muffled cry.

Ray tried the knob, stepped back, raised a foot to the lock with a well-placed, forceful blow. The cheap wood splintered inwards, and they were inside, back to back, weapons raised.

Vasquez was seated at a dining table, pointing a .38 at their heads.

"Drop it!" Ray shouted as they converged on either side of him. Vasquez started to rise, his eyes shifting from one to the other of them. "Vasquez," Ray said, his voice like tempered steel. "You have until I count three."

Hesitantly, the man lowered his gun and laid it down on the table.

"Hands in the air. Up against that wall." Ray gestured with the muzzle of his revolver.

Vasquez didn't move. Ray's eyes narrowed. "I said--"

A moan floated from the vicinity of a narrow corridor behind them. Stan flashed a look into Ray's eyes, jerked his head in the direction of the sound. Ray nodded brusquely, turned back to Vasquez as Stan moved off, weapon upright. Ray heard him sidling down the hallway. He stepped closer to the man at the table, his eyes menacing. "Julio, if you're not against that wall by the time I count--"

Another piercing scream, choked off into a strangled wail. Ray's blood ran cold at his partner's shouted words. "Freeze, Jimmy! Drop the gun or I'll take you out!"

Ray took an automatic step in the direction of the corridor. Vasquez lunged for the gun. Instantly, Ray advanced on him, weapon braced in both his shaking hands. "I'm through dicking around with you, Julio. The next screwup you make will be your last." His ears strained themselves for further sounds from behind, but there were none. Vasquez finally moved up against the wall, and Ray swept up the weapon, tucking it into his holster; then reached for his cuffs. "Stan, talk to me!"

But the voice that answered him was not his partner's. "What's going to happen, copper," said a harsh whisper/purr from the corridor, "Is that you're going to lay down your gun, and move right on outta here."

Ray turned to face the sound, keeping Vasquez in the corner of his eye, his heart thudding in his throat. Stan was backing down the hallway towards him, his own gun aimed before him at a tall swarthy-skinned man with long, greasy hair in a ponytail. He wore pegged jeans, steeltoed shit-kickin' dingo boots, a silver-tipped bolo around his neck. One arm was securely around the shoulders of a petite darkhaired woman, her body held before him as a shield. The other hand was digging a snubnosed .22 into her flushed cheek. "I mean it, copper." The snakelike eyes were fixed on Stan's face. "My finger's real...itchy, tonight."

The woman was hyperventilating. Her eyes rolled wildly.

"All right, Jimmy." Stan's voice was low. "What I'm gonna do, I'm gonna just kneel down and put the gun down. You don't gotta hurt nobody, all right?"

Jimenez smiled, revealing strangely canine teeth. Stan knelt and laid his weapon close to his own feet, his eyes never leaving Jimenez' face.

"Jimenez." Ray was aiming over the woman's head, directly between the Cowboy's flat and glittering eyes. The woman kept moving in his grip, the top of her head rising and falling with her ragged, gasping breaths. "Let her go."

The wolflike grin widened, but Jimenez did not look at Ray. He drew the gun away from the woman's cheek, not releasing his hold on her heaving shoulders. Ray saw the tiny red mark where the muzzle had pressed her skin, noted the dull gleam along the barrel as it turned in the Cowboy's hand, as he extended his arm and pointed the weapon directly into Stan's upturned face.

Time stood still.

"I know you, blondie," Jimenez purred, looking down into the steely grey eyes. "You're the hotshot dick that punk Mendoza almost blew away. Too bad he didn't finish the job. Or maybe not. I'll enjoy doin' it myself." He tilted his head, squinted along the barrel.

Ray heard the softspoken words as if from the far end of a long, echoing tunnel. His blood pounded in his ears. "I can take you out from here, Jimenez."

"With this lovely in my arms? I think not." Instantly, the muzzle of the .22 was pressed again into the woman's cheek, and for the first time Jimenez turned his lupine grin towards Ray. "But I'll tell you what, detective. You put down your weapon, I won't grease this lady here. Can't make any promises about your partner, now." The muzzle of the gun began to move back and forth between the woman and Stan, Jimenez' eyes boring steadily into Ray's own the whole time, the grin never leaving his lips. "See, I like the ladies. The pigs now, I can't stand."

There was not enough oxygen in the room. Ray's knees shook, his shirt was soaked with sweat beneath his jacket. For perhaps ten seconds, the five of them were frozen in silent tableau. Vasquez against the far wall, Ray trying to watch him and Jimenez simultaneously; Stan in a tense crouch on the floor, weapon at his feet; the killer and the hostage, locked in terrible embrace.

And then Jimenez' eyes narrowed. "Make up your mind, detective. You can't save blondie here, so don't think about it. You can give the lady a break, though, if that revolver hits the floor within the next ten seconds. Ten..."

"I can take you out!!" He heard the harshness and desperation in his own voice. Jimenez glared, lifting the woman a few inches off the floor, her head now almost completely blocking his own, the gun digging into her face.

"*Nine*, copper. Yeah, I think I'll enjoy putting a slug right between those blue eyes of his. But see, it's entirely up to you whether I use the senorita here as a warm-up. Entirely up to you. *Eight*--"

Ray blinked stinging sweat out of his eyes and leveled the gun, forcibly stilling the tremors in his hands. His aim was steady and true, every iota of his concentration honed on the bare inches of Jimenez' skull he could sight above the woman's head.

He knew he had the shot.

Knew it with certainty.

Knew it with--

"Seven." The voice was picking up an angry growl.

The woman had gone still in her captor's arms, her face a mask of panic. Her swimming eyes were locked on the barrel of Ray's gun.

He had the shot. He *had* it. He was ninety-eight percent sure.

Her eyes. Her rolling, staring eyes.

Stan's rigid, crouched body.

Jimenez' husky, menacing voice.

"Six."

Ninety-eight percent.

"Five."

//Ten years, huh? You plannin' on bein' around that long?//

"Four."

//Maybe I am.//

"Three."

Ninety-eight percent.

"Two..."

Her eyes.

Stan's face.

Her eyes.

Something trembled and died in his chest as slowly, Ray brought down the gun.

The woman sagged against Jimenez' body.

"That's real, real good, copper." The feral grin was back. "Drop it to the floor and kick it over here to me, now."

Not looking at his partner, Ray did so.

Jimenez lifted one thicksoled boot, placed it on Ray's gun and swept it down the corridor behind him. His teeth flashed. "I'm not quite as stupid as you coppers think, detective. The other piece, too."

Ray stared uncomprehendingly into his face for a split second and then he felt the weight of Vasquez' gun in his holster. He withdrew it, holding it carefully in two fingers by the grip, dropped and kicked it. Jimenez caught it with one booted foot as he had the other.

Abruptly, he released the girl and gave her a rough shove in the direction of Vasquez. She gave a cry of shock and stumbled forward. Keeping his gun hand trained steadily on Stan's chest, Jimenez bent to scoop up the .38 and toss it underhand to his associate. "Now." He pointed the snubnose, his voice deceptively good-humored. "Say goodnight, blue-eyes."

"Hey, Jimmy." Vasquez had his own weapon pointed at Ray, but he was frowning. "Hey, you ain't really gonna--I mean, let's just blow--"

"Shut up, Julio." All traces of amusement had vanished from Jimenez' tone. "Just shut up. You don't wanna off yours, don't."

The woman gave a little gasp. She was staring out the window. "What--what is--"

"Shut your whore up too, Vasquez. She's breakin' my concentration, here." Jimenez was swaying the muzzle of the gun back and forth in tiny, looping patterns before Stan's eyes.

And then the window shattered inwards with a reverberating crash, glass shards flying in all directions, the girl screaming anew. Vasquez and Jimenez jerked their heads around.

Stan's body pistoned upwards, his fists raised. He knocked Jimenez' gun hand aside with a swift blow, sending the .22 flying, and jumped him, grappling him to the floor amid grunts and yells. Ray had Vasquez disarmed equally quickly, training the man's own weapon into his chest. The girl's highpitched cries went on and on.

"Maria, you don't shut up that caterwauling, I'll kill you myself!" Vasquez snarled from his face-down position on the table. Ray was snapping cuffs around his wrists. Stan had Jimenez on his stomach and was straddling him, attempting to secure his hands behind his back. Jimenez bucked beneath him, almost unseating him, a stream of vicious curses on his lips.

"You ain't killin' nobody, Julio." Ray looked up at a clattering sound from the broken window. The sash was being lifted, a tall body climbing into the room. "Good of you to join us, Benny."

"I apologize for the broken glass, ma'am," Ben smiled at the whitefaced Maria, whose shrieking had stopped abruptly at the sight of him. "But it did seem to me a diversion would be rather opportune."

"You use a hand, there, Kowalski?" Ray strode over, casually pointing Vasquez' gun at Jimenez' head.

"No, I got him, Ray." Stan's grin was wide. "Hold the fuck still, you chickenshit. Don't make me reach back for my gun." He got the cuffs on and lifted himself off the Cowboy's body with a grunt. Started to walk away, then turned back as if in afterthought. "Oh, this is for my partner, here." He swung one booted foot, connecting with the back of Jimenez' head with a satisfying thudding sound. The man groaned, his eyelids fluttering.

Ray sighed. "Stanley, how many times I gotta tell ya? You ask questions *first*, and kick 'em in the head *after*."

"Sorry, Ray."

Ray stood still, head cocked. "Cars pulled up out front." A chill of alarm ran down his spine.

"I presume that will be the backup you requested, Ray. Ahh, yes. Here they are."

"Perfect--perfect timing, Benny." But Ray could hear the tremor in his own voice. He glanced over at his partner, who was reciting his own peculiar version of Miranda rights to the detainees in his typical jaunty tone. All at once Ray's heart was knocking in his chest; there was an icy sensation in his lower belly. The room tilted and began to spin. He stepped in a panic to the apartment door, drew it open just as the patrol officers swarmed the outer hallway. "In here, boys." He shouldered his way past them and sprinted down the building steps.

He stood on a weed-choked patch of lawn outside the building, dragging great whooping gasps of air into his lungs. His stomach clenched and heaved, his skin clammy with sweat. He shut his eyes tightly and saw Maria's white face behind his lids; then, an image of his partner, frozen in the path of Jimenez' gun. He swallowed, bent over, gripped his shaking knees.

"Hey, Ray, they're looking for you. Patrol captain needs to know if--hey, you all right?" Stan trotted down the steps and to his partner's side, put a hand on Ray's trembling shoulder.

"No," Ray panted, straightening up with tremendous effort. "Oh, shit."

"Vecchio, what the fuck!? Everything's okay, what's got to you?"

"I had the shot and I didn't take it." He clenched his jaw as soon as the words were out, as if he wished he could have stopped them.

Stan stared at him and a slow smile touched his lips. "You didn't have anything. He had a hostage in the way. If you'da fired, it coulda meant your shield, even if you didn't hit her. I was wondering what was taking you so long to put the fucking gun down."

"He said he was gonna shoot you no matter what I did." The shakes were back, his knees threatening to drop him to the ground. "The only chance I had, was taking him out. Didn't--didn't take it--oh God. Was only luck--"

"Oh thank *you*, Vecchio. Luck! I had it covered, Ray." He was smiling with infinite tenderness into his lover's face. "Was only waiting for him to let her outta range. Knew he had to at some point. It's not your job to cover my ass at the risk of a civilian's life, Ray," he said, his voice steady, implacable. "It's not...your...job."

"Fuck the job," Ray said, but his voice was weak and shaking. Stan was having none of it.

"You kidding? When we finally got it working right again? No way, Ray. Whatever the fuck was wrong, you fixed it. The cop's back."

"That--that the way you want it?"

"Ray."

Ray looked into his eyes.

"It's the only way it can be."

Somewhere inside him, Ray knew he was right.

"You're not upset with me." It was a statement.

"What, are you nuts? I'm practically turnin' cartwheels here, Vecchio. We can stay partners, everything's gonna be okay for us. Don't you--don't you see that?"

"You don't think I...let you down."

Stan leaned close, his voice intent. "If you'd shot at that girl you woulda let us both down in a big fucking way, Ray. You didn't. I *knew* you wouldn't, man. You just had to be faced with it, to see what would happen."

Ray shivered, wrapped his arms around himself. "Fucking teeth are chattering--"

"It's seventy degrees out, Ray." Fondly.

They looked up as Ben approached. "Hey, Frase. Ray needed some, uhh, air."

"I quite understand." He smiled. "How do you feel, Ray?"

"I feel--"

"Yes?" Two pairs of eyes were regarding him.

"I'm gonna be--oh God." He bolted, all but stumbling around the corner of the building out of their sight, hunched over into a patch of knee-high grass.

Stan grinned into Fraser's perturbed expression. "I *told* him not to get the fettucine."

And Fraser raised an eyebrow. "Now I think about it, you did at that."

*** *** ***

"It'll get easier, Ray." Stan's voice was gentle against his partner's neck. They lay fully dressed on the sofa, Ray's arms enfolding him. Fraser had insisted on leaving the two of them alone for the evening.

"Yeah, I guess it will." Ray rested his cheek against his lover's hair. "Maybe next time I can manage not to lose my lunch."

"Well, you do insist on eating at all these hash houses."

"I was *trying* to spare your budget, Stanley. It was your turn to buy, and you're always complaining about--"

"Ray."

"Yeah."

Stan hesitated. "It'd sure make things easier on my, uhh...budget...if I had someone to share the rent around here."

Ray closed his eyes. "Love..."

"I know I shouldn't complain--we spend all day workin' together. But that's not enough any more. It's the other side of it we're missing."

"Stan." Slowly. "You know why I live at home, with--with my family. I feel--"

"I do know, Ray." He lifted his head. "I respect that a lot. I really do. I mean, I dig it. That's why--that's why I'm thinkin' we might find another place. Someplace closer."

Ray blinked. "You'd leave here?"

"Ray, we can move in right next door to them if that's what you want, I don't care. All I want--all I need, is to have us together like we're...like we're supposed to be."

"Jesus, Stan." His arms tightened around him. "You'd really do that for me?"

"How many times do I need to say it? You think I got some kinda special attachment to this place, that's more important than you?"

"Well, I didn't think..." He sighed, nuzzled Stan's hair. "I didn't think I had any right to ask you, love."

"What, you crazy or somethin', Ray? Of course you gotta right."

Ray felt the tremulous smile touch his lips. "All right. Let's do it."

Stan shifted upwards to look into his lover's eyes. He leaned forward and touched their foreheads together, his voice low. "You an' me, Vecchio."

"That what you want?"

"Apparently I'm whacked in the head or somethin', cuz yeah, it is."

"We need a bigger bedroom."

"We need a bigger *bed.*"

"We need lots of--"

"Closet space, Ray, yeah, I *know.*" He rolled his eyes.

"Ben'll help us move."

"If he's still around by then."

"Yeah, if he's around."

Stan slid back down and allowed Ray's arms to enfold him. "He's...he's really gonna go." He sighed.

"Yes."

"I'd thought...I mean, I'd hoped--"

"Stan." Gently. "We can't keep him like some kind of pet. Believe me, it's hard for me too, but it's not fair to him. We--"

"Ray."

"Yeah."

"I get you. You're better at sayin' it, but I understand all that. I do."

"Okay." He smiled.

"You're...you're somethin' else, Ray, the way you trusted me, with him, all this time. I mean, what if--"

"Babe." Ray pulled him closer. "I was terrified, in the beginning. And then I got over it. And then, something really strange happened. I *wanted* you to spend time with him. I wanted you to *know.*" He closed his eyes. "If you'd told me, love, that you'd decided he was what you wanted, and you were gonna go off and--and--hunt seals with him in the frozen North, I woulda--I woulda gone off the deep end. Got roaring drunk. Maybe trashed my bedroom. Maybe wrapped the Riv around a tree. And I would have--"

"You would have let me go."

"I would have let you go." He sighed.

"Ray."

"Yeah, love."

"I'm not here because I'm afraid I'll hurt you if I go. I'm here because...there's nowhere I'd rather be." There was an almost wondering tone to Stan's voice as he said the last words.

"I know that, you doof."

"This..." He frowned. "This blows me away, Ray. Thinking about that."

"It kinda knocks me on my ass too, Stanley." Ray's gentle smile was back.

Stan sighed, nestling beneath his lover's encircling arms. "If he's around when we move, he can help. But...we can do it without him."

"Figured that out, have you?"

"Ray."

"Yeah."

"You wanna know when I figured it out?"

"Tell me."

"You remember the night I got that letter?"

"Vividly, Kowalski." He chuckled. "That's what did it for you?"

"Not reading it. Just getting it. I knew. I knew before you even came back. I just didn't know if *you* knew."

"I knew, Stan."

"Well, you always were smarter than me." Stan stifled a yawn, blinking.

"That's okay, Stan. You're the pretty one."

"Yeah. I am." He stretched. "I'm...geesh, I'm wiped out."

"You fallin' asleep on me?"

"I might be."

"Okay." Ray smiled.

"I don't wanna get creases in your fancy threads or nothin', Ray." He closed his eyes.

"Don't worry about it, love." Ray wrapped himself around him, sighed softly. "They'll survive."