PART TWO

*** *** ***

Stan lay sprawled on his back in bed, naked but for a sheet, the early greyness of dawn touching the room with light. He stretched his arms up over his head, crossing them beneath it, his gaze wandering unseeingly over the stained plaster of the ceiling.

His mind slid back over the past weeks, marveling at the direction his life had taken. He allowed an honest smile to show on his face.

His work absorbed him, held him, demanded the best of his wits, intellect, tenacity, and toughness. He gave them willingly, and now, as never before, he was being rewarded. Over the past two weeks, things were falling together, connections being made, successes achieved. Stan felt eerily invincible, as if he might never again encounter the familiar frustration of the maddeningly elusive perp, the unfindable murder weapon, the critical piece of evidence suddenly gone missing. They were enjoying an unprecedented run of luck.

He admitted freely that this was due in large part to his partner.

Vecchio was deceptively intelligent, possessing a far-reaching storehouse of knowledge of past cases and histories. He had mental dossiers on countless criminal figures, an impressive ability to make obscure connections between the facts of a current case and events of the past. Stan was awed by the way he worked, the surface appearance of casualness masking the fiercely focused mind. He was always 'on' the case; and during the weeks since they'd returned from the West Falls stakeout, he'd allowed Stan to know the experience of being his partner in every sense.

He depended openly on Stan's backup and assistance, bounced ideas off him, listened to every thought and theory and idea Stan had. He let his partner in on the way his vision of the case was progressing, in striking contrast to Stan's experience with Fraser, who had customarily kept his partner in the dark until such time as he would choose to come out with some convolutedly brilliant exposition of the case.

Fraser. Stan drew an arm across his eyes and sighed.

He'd heard nothing from his friend during the month of his absence. The events of the past weeks had occupied him, and he'd had little time to spend dwelling on speculative thoughts of what Frase might be doing. But he missed him, simply and hurtfully, and being reminded of him was a bittersweet feeling.

He could not help but puzzle over the cryptic words and actions of his former partner at their last meeting. He'd gone over it again and again in his mind, but there were no answers, and lately he had made a conscious effort to stop worrying at the memory and to trust that he'd find out what was in Fraser's mind, someday.

Stan turned over onto his stomach, his slight frown unconsciously smoothing out as his thoughts returned to his current partner and their developing relationship.

He smiled slightly at the recollection of their night in the motel and its aftermath. The nervy, coiled anticipation in his belly, the rush of exhilaration as he'd realized they were going to deal with it at last, release the strangled, curdling emotions poisoning their interactions. It was what he'd wanted, needed, and Ray had known it.

Finding out the truth about each of their past histories with Fraser had been only a small part of the revelations that night. He'd found out Ray could be trusted, and that knowledge had released the admiration, liking, and affection that had been stifled behind a wall of anger and bitterness in his heart. He'd been giddy with it, the sudden breakdown of the carefully erected barriers between them, the relief. Combined with the residual effects of sleep deprivation and alcohol, these emotions had translated themselves into a simple, frank physical desire that he knew, at some level, Ray had returned.

The smile deepened at the memory of his fumbling, insistent advances towards his partner; and he released a slow sigh when he recalled the way Ray had handled him. Or not handled him, as had been the case. His favorite, and clearest, recollection from that blur of a night was Vecchio's gentle, affectionate, but firm refusal, as they lay wrapped together in the darkness. "No, Kowalski. We ain't."

He'd felt an inexplicable surge of gratitude at those words, and after lying in his own bed for a moment he'd figured out why. //I can *trust* him. He looks out for me, for *us.* It matters to him.//

It mattered to Stan, too. More every day.

That first day back after the stakeout, they'd plunged into the wrapup of the drug bust, which went down two days later. The revitalization of their partnership was apparent immediately in the way they worked, and Stan had reveled in it.

After the case resolved, there was a letdown. Stan had felt at loose ends the first day that five o'clock rolled around and he'd realized there wasn't a reason to stay late at work. He'd been casting about in his mind for something to do with himself when his partner had appeared beside his desk, his face casual.

"Shoot some pool?"

Stan had grinned up at him. They'd gone out together, and Stan had had his first truly relaxed and enjoyable evening since Fraser's departure. It set a pattern, and they began to see each other every couple of nights, sometimes heading out to movies or pool halls, more often just picking up takeout and holing up in Stan's apartment, watching the game or talking shop.

After two weeks Stan felt as if they'd known each other for years. They were so comfortable in each other's presence, similar in so many ways, that it made both their work and leisure time together smooth and effortless. Vecchio often seemed to know what he was thinking; Stan more than once found himself finishing the other man's sentences.

They fitted.

Stan turned over onto his back again, idly running the fingers of one hand over his chest and stomach. He recalled being in the car with his partner the day before, watching Ray as he drove, not really listening to what he was saying. He'd found his gaze traveling over the man's profile, marking the full lips, the changeful eyes which at the moment, in full sun, were almost light green. The deep olive tone to his skin, the smoothness of his throat above his collar.

Ray had broken off suddenly and shot a look at him. Stan had felt a slight blush touch his cheeks, but he hadn't looked away. After a moment the corner of Ray's mouth had twitched up in a smile, and he'd looked back at the road without comment.

An undercurrent of sexual awareness of each other ran beneath the surface of their interactions. Stan recognized it as objectively as he did any other aspect of their relationship, with no particular embarrassment or discomfort. He knew Vecchio felt it as well, but as yet neither man had made any move to address it.

Stan knew they would. It was inevitable.

He knew what he wanted from Ray, and somewhere inside him he knew that Ray instinctively understood this. It was another aspect of the way they complemented each other. He trusted and depended on Ray's judgment; knew the ultimate determination of when and how they would act on the undeniable chemistry between them rested in his capable hands. He was more than content to wait, to let his partner lead.

Stan closed his eyes, drew a shivering breath, and slid his hand downwards, tracing the smooth firmness of his stomach. His fingers curled around the hardness of his cock, silken, heated, heavy and erect with the early morning hour and his own thoughts.

He stroked himself slowly, amazed at the ease and casualness with which he could contemplate a sexual encounter with his current partner. He recalled the intense turmoil of mixed emotions he had felt when he had first admitted to himself that he was physically attracted to Fraser, wanted him with a primal, animal lust. Stan knew men, had had his share of fleeting, faceless encounters, half-hearted attempts to blunt the pain and confusion of his broken marriage and his frustrated attraction to the inscrutable man who was his partner. They had been easy for him. Yet somehow his natural flirtatiousness deserted him when confronted with Benton Fraser's cool, imperturbable, curiously pure aspect. His desire, as undeniably intense and real as it had been, had seemed on some level profoundly wrong when directed at the Mountie, and he had experienced what almost amounted to shame when he found his mind drifting into erotic fantasies involving the two of them. When this happened at work, as it sometimes had, he'd been utterly unable even to look at Fraser, irrationally certain the man would read his desires in his eyes.

He felt no such inhibition about Ray. Remembering the feel of Ray's breath on the back of his neck, the nearness of his body the night they had spent in the same room, he felt deepening shivers of arousal down his spine. He gripped himself harder, his hips beginning to lift in a slow, bucking rhythm, his breath coming faster.

He reached his solitary, panting release seconds before his alarm shrilled on the nightstand. He knocked it quiet with his free hand, chuckling a little breathlessly at his own timing, and rolled to his unsteady feet, ready, even eager, to face the day.

*** *** ***

Ray signed his name to the last of the paperwork before him, feeling the deep, increasingly familiar satisfaction of a case well handled. He was enjoying his job, enjoying his family life, enjoying his friendship with Stan Kowalski. For the moment, everything seemed to be going right, and he was smart enough to appreciate it while he had it.

Stan had surprised him over and over again in the days they'd worked and hung out together, and he'd felt privileged to discover each new aspect of his partner's personality. He'd known that Kowalski was a smart, tough street detective, reliable and tenacious. But he was impressed by Stan's willingness to lend the fullness of his talents and effort to assist Ray, even if it meant Ray took a lead role in the investigation and accordingly garnered a larger share of the credit. Credit seemed to be something Stan wasn't interested in, or was uncomfortable with. When Ray tried to compliment him on a piece of particularly canny sleuthing or thank him for his contributions, Stan would look away, frequently developing a noticeable blush, muttering under his breath that it was nothing.

Ray was troubled by this, but it didn't prevent him from taking full advantage of the willing talent put at his disposal. The results of their teamwork were apparent even in the relatively short period of time they'd worked together, and people were noticing.

Then there was the other side to their relationship. Vecchio was quietly surprised at the depth of the affection he'd developed for his partner and how much he enjoyed being in his company. Surprised, and a little bit disturbed.

His mind sent up flares of warning when he considered their increasing closeness, the strength of the emotional bond he felt developing. There was danger in those waters, clearly foreseeable potential for hurt and disillusionment.

He was determined not to let that happen.

The physical attraction between them was something he could deal with. He'd caught his partner's eyes on him from time to time, plainly picked up on the unspoken connection between them. He knew Stan was simply waiting for him to make the first move; and further, that his partner was depending on him to keep things clean and uncomplicated between them in a way Stan perhaps did not trust himself to do. Ray accepted this responsibility without question. What he did not know was how much longer he could hold out.

Rubbing his eyes to clear his head, Ray shoved the papers on his desk into an untidy pile and looked around for his partner.

*** *** ***

"This line ain't movin, Vecchio."

"What's your pants-wetting hurry, Kowalski? It's worth it. I'm telling you, you can't get chicken like this anywhere else in the city."

Stan hid a grin. He enjoyed taking good-natured pokes at Ray's famed temper, goading it into tiny flareups. Mostly for the realization that Ray couldn't seem to stay actually mad at him for more than sixty seconds.

The line shuffled forward a fraction. Stan looked around the gloomy interior of the takeout restaurant, the air hazy with rotisserie grease, the flickering overhead fluorescent casting harsh shadows. The dinner rush was on, a line of ill-tempered, hungry businesspeople waiting at the counter for grease-spotted, crackling brown bags of roaster parts and tubs of homemade coleslaw.

Near the front of the line, a tall, red-haired youth with freckles standing out starkly on his pale skin shifted nervously. Something in his attitude caught Stan's attention and he felt his focus narrowing, honing itself, his well-developed sense for the out of place and irregular registering a quiet alarm. Shooting a glance at Ray, he saw that his partner was well ahead of him, having moved several steps to one side, giving himself a clear line perhaps six feet behind and to the left of the redhead. Stan copied his movement on the other side, the three of them creating a tense, silent triangle.

The patron ahead of the kid accepted a heavily laden bagful and stepped away from the counter. Stan's hand began to move quietly downwards.

The kid cleared his throat, danced on the balls of his feet. The woman behind the counter regarded him, her harried face reflecting impatience and then a faintly dawning fear as the youth reached into his unzipped jacket. Over the hum and murmur of the customers, Stan picked up his high-pitched, edgy voice.

"Open the regist--"

"POLICE OFFICERS! DROP YOUR WEAPON!"

The shout came in stereo, resounding in the small space, echoing off the walls. A woman screamed; several others gasped audibly. The patrons stared around them, attempting to comprehend where the two armed detectives had suddenly sprung from, their bodies flanking the perpetrator, weapons trained directly at his chest.

Apparently the kid couldn't figure it out either. His gun, a snubnosed .22, clattered harmlessly to the floor. A pink blush of fear spread over his face as his pale hands quivered into the air.

Ray turned him against the counter, kicked his feet apart, yanked his hands behind his back. "You have the right to remain silent. If you give up this right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford--"

The woman behind the counter tumbled to the floor in a dead faint.

*** *** ***

Ray pulled the car over in front of Stan's apartment building and killed the ignition. He sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel, shaking all over with an inexplicable reaction. He shot a glance over at Stan in the passenger seat.

"Don't know what's with me, man. That was nothing. I just can't seem to lose these stupid shivers." He clenched his jaw against a sudden chattering of teeth.

Stan looked back at him, spots of color standing out on his cheekbones, his eyes glittering. Ray could hear his labored breathing, sense the tension in the slim frame. Stan said nothing. His lips parted, his tongue flicking across them unconsciously.

The sight of him did nothing to settle Ray's nerves. He turned his gaze determinedly out the windshield, drew a slow, calming breath. Gathering the shreds of his control, Ray was marginally relieved to feel a modicum of clarity returning. He risked another glance into his partner's face.

Stan's pale eyes all but blazed at him, full of an unspoken plea; his chest rising and falling with each rapid, shuddering breath. He released his seatbelt and leaned back slightly, spreading his knees apart. As Ray watched him, he ran a deliberate hand over his crotch, caressing the obvious bulge.

Ray closed his eyes. "Stanley--"

"Upstairs."

Ray's heart galloped up another notch. There had not been a trace of teasing or flirtatiousness in his partner's voice.

"Kowalski, look--"

"*Upstairs.*"

Ray Vecchio swore under his breath and bolted out of the car.

*** *** ***

He stared at his partner, unable to look away, drawn as if by inexorable force. Stan had leaned back against the door of his apartment after he'd slammed it shut behind them, and he stood visibly trembling, legs apart, hips thrust blatantly forward. Eyes dark blue with desire, he watched Ray's face, yet made no overt move.

Waited.

Ray heard his own voice, a low, ragged whisper.

"Do you know how you look, Kowalski?"

Stan gave him a shaky, diffident smile. One hand snaked down over his belly, rubbed at the taut muscles, tugged his t-shirt free of his jeans. "Yeah. Slut of the department, right?"

Ray stood watching him, arms crossed over his chest, so aroused he could barely stand. Not a trace of this showed on his face.

He gave his partner an answering smile.

"No, Kowalski. I think that'd be Tom Dewey."

Stan chuckled raggedly, and Ray detected the glint of admiration in his eyes. He stepped closer, and heard the sharp intake of breath.

"Vecchio. I need--"

"I know what you need."

Stan closed his eyes, opened them again. His hand slid down, grabbed the aching hardness between his legs, squeezed. "You gonna--" He licked his lips, panting. "You have what I need, Vecchio?"

"What do you think, Kowalski?"

Stan was now beyond speech. He stood trembling before his partner, and waited.

Vecchio took hold of his wrist almost gently, lifting it, looking into his partner's eyes. Then slowly, his grip tightened, the fingers digging into Stan's skin.

He pulled his partner sharply towards him. For a vibrating second, they were nose to nose. Ray felt the heat of the man through both sets of clothing.

He took Stan by the shoulders, spun him around and pushed him against the back of the sofa. Stan fell heavily, strong hands bracing themselves. His breathing sped up with a high keening sound.

Vecchio was behind him in an instant, his hands finding the narrow hips and pulling them back sharply, roughly, against his own. Kowalski moaned, the pleading note in his voice filling Ray's ears as Ray draped himself against the curved back, his cock pressed against the other man's ass. Mustering every ounce of control he possessed, Vecchio resisted the urge to buck against those hips.

"Easy, Kowalski. I gotcha, all right?" Ray's hands slid off the narrow hips, forward and down to cup the hot, bulging hardness beneath the thin denim. Stan groaned, pushed forward into Ray's grip.

Ray's hips slid forward, and when Stan pressed back into him he could not suppress a moan. They moved in a slow, shuddering back-and-forth rhythm, while Ray slid one hand upwards, across the taut stomach, the other squeezing firmly, rhythmically at Stan's cock.

When his fingers brushed Stan's chest, finding an erect nipple beneath whisperthin cotton, Stan staggered forward with a gasping moan. Pulling away, he turned around slowly, Ray almost falling against him. Vecchio regained his balance swiftly, and drew up to his full height, watching him.

"Enough, Vecchio. *Now.*"

Ray looked directly into the dilated eyes. His brows drew together slightly, his chin lifting a fraction.

Stan dropped his gaze immediately. His voice was barely audible. "Please."

Ray felt a spike of hot, liquid arousal. He waited until his partner lifted those glittering eyes to his face, and jerked his head once in the direction of the bedroom.

*** *** ***

They faced each other in the darkness, Stan audibly panting, Ray's breathing deep and uneven but quieter. Stan hooked his fingers under the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head one-handed, his compactly muscled and corded body outlined in the light of the moon.

Ray put his hands on his own hips, his look a command. His partner stepped forward and reached for Ray's shirt buttons with trembling fingers. Vecchio suppressed a shiver, his heartbeat rapid, his hips threatening to buck forward with the pure overload of arousal. Stan undid the last button, his breath hot against Ray's exposed skin as he leaned close.

Ray took hold of his partner's shaking hands, pushing them downwards. Stan began on his belt buckle, his gasping breath becoming louder. Ray's slacks and briefs were pushed down with a faint jingle of keys.

Kowalski moaned. He straightened up, fingers wrestling with the button and zipper on his own ratty jeans. He skimmed out of them with a jerking, clumsy motion of his hips.

Vecchio stepped out of the puddle of clothing and stood naked beside the bed.

Stan approached with slow, animal grace to stand before him, their bodies separated by inches of heated air. Leaning infinitesimally forward, his mouth almost hovering against his partner's, Kowalski looked a question into Ray's dark eyes.

Steeling himself, Vecchio gave a quick, negative shake of his head.

The faintest ghost of a smile touched Stan's lips, and he pulled back, bending his head gracefully downwards, his breath feathering Ray's neck. Vecchio grabbed his forearms with gentle strength, turning him towards the bed, pushing him onto his back. Stan sprawled with sensuous grace, shifting back to make room, spreading himself out before Ray's passion-darkened gaze.

Ray slid up on top of him, settling his weight slowly, his upper body propped on his arms. He pressed his hips down in a slow roll, his hardness thrusting against his partner's lower belly. His mind flashed on the motel room, the way Kowalski had felt writhing beneath him; looking down into his partner's face he saw his own thoughts reflected back at him.

Stan raised his eyes to Ray's, his breathing becoming more regular. "Hey, Vecchio."

"Hey, Kowalski." Ray thrust forward again, felt the hot iron length of Stan's erection against his own.

"I...I need this. Need you--"

"I have what you need, partner. Don't I?"

Stan's eyes closed. "*Yes.*"

Ray shifted downwards slightly, running his hands over Stan's chest, down his sides, feeling the incredible heat of his skin, the way his muscles moved beneath it. He listened as Stan's breathing became harsh, his hips lifting against Ray's insistently, triggering an answering urgency. Controlling himself with effort, Ray sat back onto his haunches, watching the man beneath him, waiting.

Stan stared up at him and then closed his eyes, the silent communication between them again in evidence. He thrust out a clumsy hand, pawed through the bedside table, tossed a small tube and packet in Ray's general direction. Vecchio sensed rather than saw the movement in the darkness, his hand coming up instinctively, catching the items in midair. He tore open the packet, reached for one of Stan's hands, pressing the small latex circle into it.

Stan drew a trembling breath, curling his body upwards enough so that his hands could reach his partner's satinhot, pulsing cock. His fingers steady and sure, he rolled the sheath downwards over it, eyes flickering to Ray's face. Vecchio nodded at him, and Stan closed his fist around the straining shaft, moaning deep in his throat, sliding his grip downwards in an almost brutal stroke.

Vecchio lifted his head back and cried out.

All at once Kowalski's need was upon him, his hands shaking, his eyes wild. He groped for the small bottle, clawed at the cap, spilling the contents over his trembling fingers. He felt Vecchio take it from him, placing a firm hand on Stan's chest, pushing him back onto the sheets.

"Vecchio. C-christ, please. Now. *Now--*"

"What do you want?"

"Oh, Jesus! Need it! Need--do it. *Do it.*"

Ray slid two fingers into him with a single stroke.

Stan's hips lifted off the bed, his left hand coming down to wrap around his own cock. His body was hot around Ray's fingers, tense, yet there was no resistance.

Ray slipped a third finger inside, clinging to the last shreds of his control. The expression of wanton abandon on his partner's face threatened to strip him of all reason. Stan was given utterly over to lust, thrusting himself back against Ray's fingers, pulling at his straining erection without restraint.

Vecchio fought the almost overpowering urge to stroke himself. It would be all over in minutes.

Abruptly he withdrew his fingers from Stan's body, leaned forward over him. Waited until Stan's black eyes lifted into his face. "W-what?"

"Turn over."

And Kowalski tilted his head, almost quizzically. Regarded Ray through wide, warm eyes.

With a single, fluid motion stunning in its effortless grace, he drew up one knee directly against his heaving chest.

Wrapped the other around Vecchio's hips and all but pulled him forward.

Ray felt a groaning breath tear out of him as he watched the man beneath him with undisguised awe. Stan lifted his arms above his head, his body arching like a bow against Ray's, every muscle outlined.

Waiting.

Vecchio felt himself fitting against his partner's body as if they had been created for this moment, this act. A breathless second's hovering hesitation as he watched Stan's face, then he was pushing inwards, Stan's heat enveloping him, Ray's hips stuttering forward, burying himself to the hilt.

Stan's fingers twisted together above his head. He shuddered under Ray's slow, driving thrusts, his eyes closed, his breath coming in short, rhythmic gasps.

Vecchio moved against him using every ounce of concentration he could summon, resisting the almost blinding need to ride hard, fast, relentlessly. He watched the naked desire on Stan's face, the way he bit at his lower lip, the tense rippling of the muscles in his upper arms.

The warmth of the man's skin drew him and he draped forward over Stan's chest, breath gusting over him, the heady scent of sweat and arousal floating upwards. Ray slid one hand over Kowalski's taut stomach, feeling the twitch of the skin against his fingers, his touch slinking downwards to wrap itself around his partner's engorged shaft. Stan moaned loudly, thrusting up into Ray's grip in time with the other man's rhythm.

Vecchio felt the unstoppable buildup of sensation gathering itself inside him. Compelled by sudden impulse, he lowered himself as far as he could against his partner's body, dipping his head, his hot breath bathing Stan's neck. He released his grip on Kowalski's cock and slid his hand upwards, along the man's arm, finding Stan's tangled fingers and tugging them free.

Kowalski wrapped an arm around Ray's shoulders with a harsh cry and Vecchio allowed his tongue to flick against the heat and sweat of Stan's neck, unable to stop himself. Stan reacted violently, arching beneath him, his hips picking up a frantic, driving rhythm, his slim legs wrapping tightly around Ray's hips.

Vecchio thrust forward, warring with himself to resist the almost uncontrollable desire to slam into the heated tightness. He sensed a rising frustration in the man beneath him, Stan's fingers digging with cruel force into his back.

"Vecchio. *Vecchio.* I can...*I can take you.* Let me--" he swallowed a ragged, panting moan. "Let me have it, please, let it go--"

Ray tore his mouth away from his partner's neck and raised his head, giving in to the encompassing need. His hips drove forward with punishing, relentless urgency, over and over, carrying them both to the delirious edge of sanity. Stan drew a hissing, desperate gasp and locked his legs around him. A final harsh thrust, a shudder, and Ray felt the hot flood rising in him, his cock spasming deep inside his partner's body. Stan clutched at his shoulders, releasing a strangled, choking cry and a thick, spattering warmth between them.

Silence, broken only by their ragged respiration. A faint awareness of the coolness of the night air against his sweatsheened skin.

Ray collapsed into his partner's enfolding arms and lay for a moment panting heavily, his mind reaching for control, for calmness. He needed every shred of his will to push upwards, slide himself out of his partner's body, gently ease back out of the arms that tried to pull him closer.

Stan looked at him wildly, shifted up on his elbows. Ray closed his eyes against the naked emotion in the man's face, deliberately slowing his ragged breathing. "Hey, Kowalski."

He felt a hand cupping his jaw, lifting his face. Opening his eyes, he stared directly into Stan's troubled, seeking blue ones. Then they closed suddenly, and his friend leaned forward, his lips parted, his breath warm.

Ray turned his head as gently as he could manage and rested his hot face against Stan's neck. Kowalski drew a breath that was almost a sob, his fingers lifting Ray's chin with sudden force, his mouth seeking his partner's.

Ray pulled back unmistakably. His eyes filling with pain, he placed a hand on Stan's chest and pushed them apart. "*Stan.* Don't do this. Hey."

"Oh, god." Stan subsided, shaking, drawing a slow breath. He reached to cup Ray's face again, not attempting to pull them closer. Ray closed his hand gently around Stan's wrist and looked into his eyes.

"Ray. S-s-sorry. I wanted--want--"

"So do I. You think I'm made of stone? But we--hey, Kowalski. Hey, look at me." Stan had dropped his eyes, frantically trying to compose his expression. Ray mirrored his partner's movement of a moment before, taking Stan's chin in gentle fingers and lifting his face.

"It has to be this way, Stan. You--"

"I know it, I know that. You don't have to tell me. I get you--"

But Ray pushed on, mentally gritting his teeth.

"You're *in love* with another man, Stan. I won't--can't--get mixed up in that. There's too much at stake. I thought you understood--"

"Vecchio. I did. I do. Just give me a second, here, all right?"

Ray shut up, easing away from his friend gently. He got up from the bed and headed into the bathroom, disposed of the condom, washed his hands. He stood for some seconds in the darkness, counting to twenty, feeling his breathing and heartrate slow to normal before returning.

Stan was sitting propped up against the head of the bed, fully dressed. Ray was startled, but when he glanced at his partner's face he found it composed, the expression wistful but open. He bent quickly, pulling on his briefs and trousers, shrugging into the silken shirt.

Then he sat down at the foot of the bed and looked at his friend.

Stan reached out a hand and Ray took it. "Can you stay for a little while?"

"I can stay as long as you want. But I can't sleep here."

Stan nodded. "Okay. We should...Ray. We need to talk about him."

Ray nodded.

"There's some...some other stuff I want to say first."

Ray smiled. "Okay, Kowalski. Shoot." He made himself comfortable at the foot of the bed, leaning back, resting his head and shoulders against the wall. He kept Stan's fingers in his.

"First..." Stan drew a breath, laughed shakily. "Before I lose my nerve. Thank you for tonight. It was...you always..." He looked away, his cheeks warm. "You always seem to know what I need, Vecchio." His gaze flicked to Ray's face almost shyly.

Vecchio tipped a wink at him.

Stan squeezed his fingers, his tone suddenly becoming serious. "I like you, Ray."

Ray returned his friend's gentle pressure. "Stan. I like you, too. A lot. That's why this is so important. I don't--"

"I get that, okay? I really do. I was expecting it. We were on the same wavelength, Ray, right up until the very end, and then I just kinda forgot. Thanks...thanks for not getting upset with me."

Ray sighed. "Of course I'm not upset with you. Jeez, Stan, you don't have to be afraid of me. Is it because I yell at you sometimes at the station? I don't mean nothing by it--"

"Don't you dare stop yelling at me at the station. People will talk."

Ray grinned at this and Stan grinned back. "We make a hell of a team, Vecchio."

"I agree, Kowalski."

Stan withdrew his hand, rubbed his fingers over his face tiredly. "Okay. Jesus..." He sighed. "I don't know where to start."

"How about if I ask you some questions and you answer them?"

Stan looked at him gratefully.

Ray glanced down at his hands, lacing his fingers together. Feeling a strange calmness, he pulled his thoughts together and spoke.

"First off. *Are* you in love with him?"

"Yes."

"You're sure."

"Yes."

Ray waited.

"I mean--" Stan scrubbed a hand across his tousled head. "Oh, goddamnit. I'm--obsessed with him, I guess. I can't honestly tell you any better than that what my feelings are because when I try to think about him they...it's like they drown me and I can't be sure of anything, all I get is this jumble that pulls at my heart and my gut...I can't explain it any better. I--I love him." He broke off and drew a fast breath, his forehead tight.

Ray's voice was gentle in the darkness. "Hey. Hey, Stan. Relax, okay? I know...I know it hurts. I'm not trying to make you feel bad."

"I know, Ray. I want to talk about it." He sounded a little stronger.

Ray smiled at him. "Okay. Now--"

"Ray."

"Yeah."

"Can I--do I get to ask you the same question? Are *you* in love with him?"

Ray grinned broadly at him. Stan looked back at him, confused. "What?"

"Nothing, Kowalski. I'm just impressed you had the guts to say that. And happy. Who the hell am I to run this whole show? Yeah, you get to ask me. Anything you want."

Stan blushed.

Ray drew a breath. "Okay. I was his partner for two years, Kowalski. We went through--we did some incredible shit together."

"And did you love him? Were you--in love with him?"

Watching him, Ray said, "Every day of my life from about a week after we'd met."

Stan closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "You're sure."

Ray had to smile. "I had a year away from him to think about it, Stan. Yeah. I'm sure."

Stan slit one eye at him. "Ray. What about...what about now?"

"You're a sharp one, Kowalski. Don't let anything get away. That's why we been winning all these cases."

Stan just watched him.

It was Ray's turn to close his eyes. "You know...if you'd asked me that a month ago, or even two weeks ago, I would have known the answer."

Stan looked confused, and then suddenly faintly alarmed. "*Vecchio.* You're not telling me you think you're in love with *me.*"

Ray cracked a grin at him. "You're real cute, Stanley, but no, I'm not."

"Then what's going on? Did you--did you two have some kind of fight?"

"You could say that."

Stan sighed. "I can see where he'd be...upset with you."

"Yeah. I handled that real good, didn't I."

Stan looked at his friend as Ray stared morosely down at his twisted fingers. "Oh, Jesus, Ray. Would you listen to us?"

"I have been, Stan. Deep down inside, I'm laughing."

And suddenly Stan lost it. He curled forward, shaking, arms wrapping his stomach, silent hysterical giggles floating up. Ray watched him a moment and then moved over, smiling, snaking an arm around his friend's shoulders.

"Stan. Pay attention, here. I'm cuddling you. I'm technically not supposed to be, so you better enjoy it while it's happening."

Stan lifted his head and kissed Ray on the cheek, then returned to his hilarity.

"Whoa! Dammit, Kowalski, you Poles are fuckin sneaky."

"Sorry, Ray."

"You *better* be."

Stan stretched out on the bed, wiping his eyes, shaking his head. "What a fucking night. What a fucking day. What a fucking *month*--"

"Jeez, you got dirty mouths, too--"

"Vecchio. Enough. I'm dying here."

"I can see that, Stanley."

Ray moved gently off the bed and drew a blanket up over his friend. "I'm outta here, partner. Ma'll put out an APB if I don't get home."

"'Night then, Ray." Stan gave him a tired but genuine smile. "Are we...are we okay?"

"We're better than okay, partner." Ray's voice was soft. "We still got some shit to talk over, but we can do that tomorrow. I want to see you tomorrow after work, that all right?"

Stan closed his eyes, hoping his expression wasn't as dreamy as it felt. "Yeah, Ray."

*** *** ***

Stan groped for the remote control, dug it out from between two sofa cushions along with a scattering of potato chip crumbs, and flipped off the post-game analysis in mid-flow. The room suddenly darkened and silent, he lay back against the sofaback and propped his feet on the littered coffee table.

Ray's quiet voice beside him. "Officiating reeked. Again."

"Wasn't *that* bad."

"Aaah, they're all on the take." Ray's frown smoothed out suddenly and he shot a smile at his friend from the opposite corner of the couch. "Hey, thanks for dinner, partner."

Stan folded his arms behind his head and smiled back. He looked relaxed, happy. Ray drew a slow breath and hoped he wasn't about to change that.

"Kowalski...about today."

Stan lifted an eyebrow at him. Ray plunged on.

"That was brilliant, what you pulled off today. I still don't see how you came up with the connections you made, but you advanced the investigation about a friggin' week's worth in one afternoon. I was really--"

"Ray, jeez, cut it out. Was doing my job."

"Your job and half of mine."

"Aww, I'm no different than anybody else, Vecchio. We got a lot of good people."

"I think you are."

"I think you're biased." Stan leered at him. Ray couldn't resist an answering grin, but his tone was serious.

"I'm going to tell Welsh exactly what I think of the work you've been putting in, Stan. Just in case it hasn't penetrated that skull of his just who's been responsible for our solve rate the last month."

Stan sat forward, swinging his feet to the floor. "*Vecchio.* You are *not*."

"Watch me."

"Damn it, Ray! I get my paycheck same's you do. I don't want anything else. I don't care about--about my name in the papers."

"This isn't about that, Kowalski! Jeez! Although, what's wrong with your name in the papers? *I* don't mind my name in the papers. My picture either. Unless they don't catch my good side..."

"Vecchio."

"Stan, I'm serious. You're starting to make me feel like half of us is invisible, or something. Why cantcha accept a little credit once in a while?"

Stan was looking down at his knotted fingers. "I just want to do my work. I really could care less about a lot of fuss, Vecchio."

Ray sighed, watching him. "You gonna get all uncomfortable if I tell you you're the best partner I've ever been assigned with?"

Stan raised astonished eyes to Ray's face.

"That's thirteen years' worth of them, and I've had some of the best ever to wear the badge. Nobody ever fit with me like you do. I reach out for what I need and it seems you're always right there, handing it to me. And I'm *not* biased, Kowalski, not about this. This is a professional opinion. I knew it way before...well, before last night." Ray resisted the impulse to drop his eyes, needing to see his partner's expression.

Stan was shaking his head slowly. "You're frigging nuts, Vecchio. I'm a competent officer, I don't do anything that any other guy on the force doesn't. But--" He held up a hand, sensing that Ray was about to launch into another embarrassing diatribe. "It makes me--it makes me feel real good that you think that. That you're happy with...with the way we work together. I am too. Okay? Can you--can you knock it off with giving me a swelled head?"

Ray slapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, I can knock it off. For now. You just get used to the idea that I'm going to be making sure from now on that I'm not the only one that notices your contributions."

"Well...well, okay, you doof. If you gotta." He lay back and closed his eyes, but he was smiling.

Ray stretched out, propping his feet on the table. The quiet darkness surrounded them, broken occasionally by faint traffic sounds from the street below.

"Ray."

"Yeah."

"About...well, about--"

"If you say 'about last night' I'm going to hit you over the head with this pillow, Kowalski."

Stan giggled. "Well, okay, but, um...we need to..."

"I know, partner. I'm teasin' ya. What do you want to talk about?"

"Well..." Stan cracked one eye open and looked at his friend. "What exactly are we doing, Vecchio? I think I want--" He stopped, frowning.

Ray grinned at him. "Ground rules."

Stan considered that. "Like...like what?"

"I have a few suggestions."

"I'm listening."

"Okay, number one. This is very important--"

"Oh, I know what number one is."

Ray cocked an eyebrow at him. Stan looked into his eyes, and they said at the same instant: "No foolin' around at the fucking precinct!"

Ray snorted laughter and Stan winked at him. He assumed a hurt expression. "Sheesh, Vecchio. I don't believe you even thought you had to tell me that. What d'you think I am, anyway?"

"You were looking at me at work today."

"Yeah, so?"

"I mean *looking* at me."

"What? Oh, I was *not.* You got a hell of an imagination, there, Ray. Or a hell of an ego. Or *both*..."

"I wasn't imagining it."

"Ray, *I* was doin' my job. It's not *my* fault you're horny."

"It sure as fuck *is.*"

Stan snickered at that and Ray reached over and messed his hair. "Hey! Watch the spikes, they were all perfect! Jeeeez!"

Vecchio waited while Stan fluffed his locks back into their customary chaos. "All right. I'm beautiful again. Where were we?"

"We were trying to figure out what the hell we think we're doing."

"Oh, yeah. Well, what is it? What are we, anyway, Ray?"

"We're friends, Stan. Partners. I want us to stay that way. It's...important to me. These past few weeks...it's just been..."

Stan was smiling gently at him. "Yeah, I know. Somethin' else."

"You happy, Kowalski?"

"Yeah."

Ray fiddled with an imaginary thread on his cuff. "What I'm tryin' to say here, partner, is I don't want to screw this up."

Stan felt a wave of relief in his chest. "I don't either, Ray. I don't--we won't, will we?"

"We're sure as hell gonna try not to."

Stan hesitated for a moment and then laid his hand on the sofa cushion between them. He flicked a glance at Ray's face. His partner smiled and took Stan's hand warmly in his.

Stan sighed and rested his head back. "Okay, Ray. Tell me what we're gonna do."

"I'll tell you what we're *not* gonna do. Or...well, what I'm not. We're both...we're both really mixed up, Stan. I am, I know you are. If I were smart...really smart...I'd probably--" He sighed, squeezed the fingers he held. "Probably I'd stop coming over here, Kowalski."

Stan closed his eyes. "I'd miss you." It was all he trusted himself to say.

Ray chuckled softly. "Well, I can't do it. I've thought about it. Tried to ask myself why the hell I was doing this anyway."

Stan peeked at him again. "What was the answer?"

"Because I want to. So much."

Stan was silent. Ray drew a breath, shifted a little on the couch.

"I like being with you, Kowalski. Whatever...whatever we're doing. It works. It fits. Last night...it's just part of it. You don't want to mess around any more, you just tell me, you got that? It's not why I'm here. It's--"

"*Vecchio.* For cryin' out loud. I--last night was special to me. I want you...that way. That is, if you do--"

Ray had to smile again. "All right, I get you. Was just checkin. Yeah, we seem to be on the same wavelength in that department." Stan lowered his eyes, his face touched with a shy smile.

Vecchio rubbed a hand across his forehead. "What...what I can't do is be your boyfriend, Stan. There's just no way I'm ready for something like that...now."

"I understand, Ray."

"I mean..." He chuckled softly again. "You know what's funny? If I didn't like you so much, I probably *would.* I know that doesn't make any sense. If you were just some pretty guy I'd met somewhere, and we hit it off like this, I'd probably take the chance. Because it wouldn't matter so much if it--if we--"

"Oh god, Ray. You're--we think so much alike sometimes it's spooky."

Ray gave him a wistful smile. "So, partner. Since we're not lovers, we can't--we shouldn't act that way. None of the, you know, the hearts and flowers stuff. We don't need it, anyway. You know how I feel about you. And it...it'll keep things cleaner. Easier."

Stan cast a significant glance downwards to where their hands lay entwined on the sofa cushion. He tilted his head at Ray in time to catch his partner's sheepish grin. He waited, a question in his eyes, but Ray didn't release his fingers.

"Okay. So I'm going to cheat a little."

Stan grinned at him.

"You think we can do this, partner?"

"I know we can, Ray."

Several companionably silent minutes passed. Ray glanced over at his partner, raised an eyebrow. "You're thinking about something."

"Me?"

"Stanley. I can tell that look you get when you're trying to work something out. I'm getting so I can almost hear you thinking." He smiled to himself at the truth of it.

"Okay. I was just wondering. Is it...realistic? To think we can see each other, and enjoy it so much, and just because we don't act like we're anything more than friends we...won't be? Won't...feel it?"

"Stan. I already do feel it."

"Well, so do I." He smiled.

"I'm not trying to pretend there isn't something between us, partner. I'd have to be a blind idiot. Now, I may not be as deductively brilliant as my co-pilot here, but even I can see that. But, Kowalski...can you tell me you don't think about him? Like every night? Before you fall asleep? Because I do, Stan. Still. And I don't know exactly what it means, but it means something. I'm not--we're not free. Either of us. The way we'd need to be." He stopped. "Christ, I'm making speeches. Sorry, Stan."

Stan drew a long, quavering breath and Vecchio shot him a concerned look, but his face was composed. "You're right on the money as usual, Ray. I'm...god, I'm lucky you understand this shit so well. I'm so confused right now that I'd be really miserable if...if I weren't so happy." He chuckled suddenly at the way that had come out.

"We're doing the only thing we can, Stan. And believe me..." He paused, searched carefully for words. "Six months from now, when we're still friends and still partners, we're going to be really glad we were never anything else. It's--you can't go backwards. I know. I've tried."

Stan sighed. He looked over at his friend in the darkness. Ray returned his gaze, his eyes serious.

"Vecchio."

"Yeah."

Stan drew breath. "I want you to kiss me."

Ray closed his eyes. "I can't. I can't do that."

"I know that, you doof. I just wanted you to know...that I wanted it."

Ray closed his fingers around his partner's almost to the point of pain. "Kowalski. You have no idea."

"Yeah. I think I do."

They sat together for another minute, each sensing the nearness of the other. Ray knew he had to get going, it was late. He squeezed Stan's hand and released it, sitting forward, rubbing a hand across his face.

"Shit, Vecchio. I upset you? I didn't mean to."

"You didn't, Stan. I'm okay."

Stan sat forward, looking into his friend's eyes. To his relief, Ray gave him a real smile.

"Ray, I trust you with more than my life. I believe in you...in us. We're not going to lose this, and I'm not going to make it into more than it is. I promise you."

Ray's smile deepened and he thrust out his hand. Stan took it in a firm grip as if they were being introduced over a table spread with case files.

"We're gonna wrap that securities theft tomorrow, partner. Got a feeling."

"Yeah? Well, if I show you what the hell you're doing, and all, we might at that."

Ray's smile warmed him long after he'd shown his friend to the door and listened to the sound of his car as it drove away.

END PART TWO