I go walking in my sleep
Through the valley of fear
To a river so deep
I've been searching for something
Taken out of my soul
Something I'd never lose
Something somebody stole...
-- Billy Joel
No, Stanley Raymond Kowalski said firmly to himself as he lay in Fraser's bed in the Mountie's little apartment late one night. I ain't gonna do it. Not tonight. Huh unh. No! Then he rolled his eyes. That all sounded about as convincing as a worked-up virgin in the back seat of her boyfriend's car. He didn't even believe him.
Another, distinctly more evil voice deep inside him urged, Go on, do it. You know you want to! You won't be able to sleep until you do...
Okay, okay!
As usual, he went with his instincts. Listened to the evil voice. Took the easy way out. He gave in, sat up, flipped Fraser's bedside lamp on and stared down at his best friend, who lay sleeping on the floor near him. Wow, he thought for the hundredth time, with a rush of something like pleasure. Ben looked incredible when he slept. He was amazingly handsome anyway, but sleep relaxed his already gentle features into a look of peace that had amazed Ray the first time he saw it. He still remembered that night...
They were on an overnight stakeout together. He'd taken first watch while Ben went to sleep beside him. He glanced over at him idly while sipping his coffee in the quiet, shadowed interior of the GTO, and was suddenly struck by the purity of his friend's profile, by the innocence and serenity of the Mountie's sleeping face. If I believed in angels, he thought, that's how I think they'd look: just like that. Strong, kind, beautiful... perfect.
That thought was so unexpected that he blinked. Where the hell did that come from? Did Frannie drop some PCP or somethin' in my thermos before we left the station? He sniffed the coffee suspiciously, but it smelled all right. He gazed quickly around his car to check his eyesight, but other than his minor vision of a Mountie angel, he didn't seem to be hallucinating. He looked outside. No purple elephants or giant snakes or skeletons outside the car. Nothing but a quiet street.
He looked quickly back at Fraser. He'd slept through the whole thing. Good. But he still looked disturbingly angelic. Damn!
Ray blinked again, did a quick shoulder roll/clothing adjustment to shake off the weirdness, and glanced cautiously at him a third time. Finally, his strange moment of perception had passed. Fraser looked like Fraser again, just a dark-haired, good-looking guy who was his best friend.
A Mountie angel! Jeez! Kowalski shook his head at his own delusion. Either I'm tired, or I've been partnered with him way too long, if I'm starting to think about him like that! Angel, my ass! He's a big pain in the butt most of the time. He grimaced, remembering some of the crazy things the Mountie had made him do since they'd started working together. Driving through Chicago in a flaming car, tangling with voodoo freaks, jumping off of four story buildings into Lake Michigan... Fraser was an expert at endangering his life. Hell, he'd almost gotten him drowned twice!
Why is it, then, that I never feel safer than when I'm with him?
Ray hadn't been able to answer that question that night on their stakeout. Now, over a year later, as he stared down at his sleeping friend, he still couldn't. But it was truer than ever now. Being with Fraser was the only place he felt safe at all anymore.
And though he was even further from believing in angels than he had been back then, he still hadn't tired of watching Ben sleep. The past three weeks while he'd been staying with him, after they went to bed and he heard Ben's breathing slow and deepen, he'd flipped on the light countless times, just so he could look at him undisturbed. When Fraser was illuminated by its soft yellow glow, he'd sit up and watch the even, regular rise and fall of his best friend's chest. Study the way his long eyelashes made little black fans on his cheeks, and the way his usually firmly set lips relaxed in sleep. He'd smile at the way Ben always slept on his back, open and trusting as a little kid.
Almost before he knew it, his Fraser-watching had become something of a habit. Ray knew it wasn't exactly normal, but he wasn't into self analysis. Never had been. He acted on instinct. Went with his gut. So at first, he'd excused his odd new hobby by telling himself that since he wasn't sleeping much, and he didn't want to keep Fraser awake, he had to have something to do to while away the hours...
But that was a lame excuse, and he knew it. He had other options. He could've taken enough of his pain pills to knock him out all night, for instance. But he hated taking them. They doped him up so much that he just slept all the time if he took many of them. Plus, they clouded his head so bad that he could hardly tell his left hand from his right even when he woke afterwards.
So at first, he'd tried to read while Fraser was asleep. But he quickly found that his friend didn't have anything but weird books anyway. Surprise, surprise. Stuff like Down the Barrel: A Study in Ballistics; The Characteristics and Habits of Arctic Wolves; A Practical Guide to Canadian Flora and Fauna; The Official Administration Manual of the RCMP; and a bunch of stuff by somebody named Proust that was written in French. All boring, incomprehensible crap only the Mountie would like. No Ring World, no Sports Illustrated annuals, not even a Guinness Book of World Records--and as for Playboy, he'd known better than to even ask.
Luckily, he preferred Fraser-watching to his hopeless attempts at reading.
It took him awhile to figure out why. But as the long, largely sleepless nights passed while he kept his odd vigil over his slumbering friend, he started to get it. The same feelings kept returning while he watched Ben: warmth. Safety. It had to do with the way Fraser made him feel safe. That was nothing new, he always had--but Ray began to see that it hadn't been that important before, when he'd been tough, capable, sure of himself. Now, it was critical. Fraser had found him, rescued him when he was helpless, saved his life--and Fraser wouldn't let anyone hurt him again. Gentle as he was, he would kill to protect him. Ray knew that. And when he slept at all lately, it was only because of that knowledge.
But that wasn't all of it. Fraser was more to him than just a big red bodyguard. Other thoughts crossed his mind while Fraser slept quietly beside him through those long nights. Things he never would've admitted to anyone; but things that mattered nonetheless. Goodness, for one. Ray thought a lot about goodness, watching his partner. Fraser was probably the best human being he'd ever known, bar none. Though he was a cop, though he'd dealt with bad people for years, just as Ray had, he'd never let it affect him. Their smell, that stink of evil that Ray's dad had once warned him of, didn't cling to Ben. And it never would.
But Ray felt it all over him now. No matter how often he showered, no matter how hard he scrubbed, sometimes he still smelled that scent on his skin: the taint of corruption. But Ben was free of that. So as long as Ben slept like a baby beside him, it meant that goodness still existed. That peace was still possible. That someday, his own soul might be clean again somehow.
He used to feel that way when he woke up with Stella in his arms: peaceful. Centered. Whole. He needed that more than ever now--and Fraser was his only link to that feeling. Because in the past year or so, he'd taken some heavy blows. Too heavy. Stella had left him, and months later, he'd been kidnapped and hurt. But as long as Ben slept the sleep of the just, he could see that there were still some things in the world that didn't suck, that weren't evil and twisted. In his shattered world, Fraser was tangible proof of innocence.
Maybe I wasn't so far off with that angel stuff after all, he thought wistfully. Sometimes he wished he could believe in them, now that he'd gotten up close and personal with devils...
Or maybe I'm just losin' my friggin' mind, he thought darkly.
Because sometimes as he watched Ben sleep, he wondered if innocence and safety were all he was looking for in that handsome face. The Mountie might be his guardian angel, but after what Gentry had done to him, he sometimes wondered bitterly if Ben was safe with him.
It always came back to that: to his kidnapping, and the ordeal that followed. He couldn't forget it. The aches in his fractured finger, collar bone and rib were a constant reminder. He hugged his knees with his battered hands, and shivered at the thought of it. Shit. If Fraser and Dief hadn't found me, or if they'd come even a day later, I wouldn't be here. I'd be dead. Dog meat. Finito Benito.
Ben had saved his life. He owed him big time for that.
But for this...Kowalski shook his head helplessly. He didn't know how he was ever going to repay Ben for this, for taking him in after his kidnapping. He'd been a mess when he first woke up in the hospital, a shattered mass of fear, anger and searing hatred. Not to mention how he'd looked after the Gentrys had gotten through beating the shit out of him. Torturing him...His parents had come to see him in Chicago General after his rescue, and his mom had cried when she'd first laid eyes on him. His dad had turned white, as if all his worst fears about his son becoming a cop had just come true.
When they'd let him out three days later, his mom had wanted to take him to the trailer park in Skokie and nurse him back to health. But he'd refused.
The doctors and police shrink had told him he had Post Traumatic Stress, which was their fancy way of saying that his head was completely screwed up. No shit! He'd never felt so bad, like he had snakes crawling around in his brain. He could barely hold himself together. He felt black inside, worn out, used up. He didn't want to get out of bed, didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to do anything. He gave new meaning to the phrase "Officer down." Way down...
Hell, he'd gone nuclear one day when a young nurse was changing his bandages. Lost it completely, just because her long blond hair reminded him of Alison Gentry's. He'd broken out in a sweat, and had to shove her away before he hit her.
Freak! he'd told himself. He'd had hot fantasies about nurses for years, but now he couldn't stand to have one touch him! He'd apologized to her afterwards, but the incident had filled him with self loathing all the same. He didn't like anybody touching him anymore at all--yet he'd never felt so alone. You're so screwed up, you're pathetic. Plus, he had constant nightmares. More like flashbacks. Intense, hideous. So real they made him want to puke. They were almost as bad as being back in that room where the Gentrys had chained him up. He'd wake up sweating bullets and screaming his head off in the dark.
All of which made going to his parents' trailer to recuperate impossible. How could he subject his mom and dad to all that?
And if he'd needed further evidence that he was losing what was left of his marbles, there was the added fact that he kept remembering something Fraser had once told him: The sky isn't just above you, it's all around. If you look ahead, you'll see that the horizon touches the ground. So when you think about it, wherever you go, you're actually walking in the sky.
That gave him the chills. He hadn't understood what the hell Ben was talking about, at the time--he'd just told him he was a freak, and forgot about it. But the horrible thing was, now he got it. Now, he was living it. He didn't know who he was anymore. He had no boundaries, no safety net, nothing to cling to and no solid ground under his feet. He was floating, falling--
Walking in the sky.
Totally terrified.
So scared that when the doctors released him he'd wanted, more than anything, to be alone. The department had given him stress leave for as long as he needed it, and he'd meant to go back to his apartment and hide. Just draw the curtains and lie there in the dark until it all went away somehow. But Fraser wouldn't let him. When he found out he'd refused to let his parents take care of him, Ben had insisted that he go home with him instead.
He remembered his exact words.
"I have plenty of room, Ray; and lots of sick leave coming to me. Over three weeks, to be exact. I'd be glad of your company." Fraser tried to make it sound like some kind of vacation, like he'd be doing him a favor by staying with him.
Yeah, some favor, he thought bleakly. Saddle my best friend with a screaming lunatic who doesn't even know who he is anymore, and who's so fuckin' scary lookin' that his own mother cried at the sight of him...
Some vacation: three weeks at Club Looney Bin.
"No," he said. "No way. Forget about it!"
But Fraser wouldn't. Stubborn as always, he kept at him and at him until they fought about it. After his tenth "no", Ben fixed him with one of his calm, "I'm a Mountie and I Know Best" looks, and said, "You're really being very silly about this, Ray. Surely you can see this is the only logical solution."
"You can shove your logic up your--"
"Besides," Fraser continued calmly, ignoring him, "you're too badly wounded to be on your own yet."
"That's bull," he sneered, defiant. But he secretly knew it was true. He had a bandage around his chest where they'd broken a rib and a collarbone, a splint on his left hand for the finger they'd fractured, and so many other burns, scrapes and knife wounds that he couldn't count them. Internal injuries too, so bad that it hurt him even to piss at first. His legs were so weakened and sore from the repeated beatings and stabbings that he couldn't walk very far on his own yet. Fraser had to help him, or else he used a wheelchair.
But what really pissed him off was knowing that Fraser was even more worried about the screws he had loose upstairs than he was about all that. It made him furious. Fraser used to be his friend. Fraser liked him--at least, he'd thought he did. Now, he looked at him like he was a candidate for a rubber room. Who the hell does he think he is, some kinda RCMP shrink all of a sudden? "I ain't goin' with you, Fraser, and that's final!"
Fraser's mouth set in a stubborn line. Ray knew what that meant: trouble. Fraser could do Stubborn like no one he'd ever seen. He could outdo Stella in that department, and that was saying something. "Either you go with your parents, or you come home with me. It's your choice, Ray. But you're not leaving here alone. I'll carry you to my place bodily if I have to," he said quietly.
"The hell you will!" he roared, furious. Fraser's quiet tone hadn't fooled him for a second; he knew a threat when he heard one. He saw red, wanted to wrap his hands around the Mountie's throat. But luckily for Ben, he was out of reach. So he grabbed his Stetson up off the bed instead, and vented his rage by hurling it across his hospital room in retaliation. "What, did somebody die and make you God while I was out of it? You don't tell me what to do! I'm goin' to my apartment, you got that?" he yelled, doing his best wild-eyed Brando impersonation. "End of story! "
Yeah, right. Even that hadn't deterred Fraser. He just picked his hat up off the floor, set it back on his head, and said firmly, "I'm not telling you what to do. I'm giving you a choice, Ray. Your parents' place or mine. Make up your mind."
"Well, thank you very kindly," he'd snarled, "but you can shove that up your ass too! I'm goin' home! That's my choice, and that's final!"
So he'd ended up going with Fraser instead. Of course. He'd finally given in, out of sheer exhaustion. Let Fraser have his way, let him bring him to the ratty little apartment he'd rented a few months ago, for safekeeping. Maybe because it was easier, because he didn't have the strength right now to stop Fraser from carrying out his threat to kidnap him if he refused. Fraser was so goddamn pigheaded stubborn, he would've done it. Thrown him over his shoulder and carried him out like a sack of potatoes, kicking and screaming all the way, if he hadn't agreed to come home with him.
Even leaving the hospital in a wheelchair was better than that.
He'd told himself it would be better for his parents this way too. They couldn't have put up with his craziness, it would've scared them shitless. But Fraser could--nothing fazed him. Besides, his mom thought the Mountie walked on water. She trusted him to coddle her younger son as well as she could. So for his parents' sake, he'd let Fraser take him home.
At least, he'd told himself it was for their sake. But deep down inside, in that mental hole he'd crawled into since his ordeal, he sometimes thought he'd really done it for his own. Because he was secretly scared of himself now, of being left alone. Of what he might do if he had no one to talk to...
He moved over to the side of the bed, lay down and rested his chin on his hands, and stared down at the sleeping Mountie. "Whaddaya' think, Fraser?" he whispered, feeling chilled. "D'ya' think I'd've eaten my gun if I'd gone home alone? Izzat what you were worried about?"
Dief cocked his ears at him, but Fraser didn't answer. He was deeply asleep. Probably worn out from another day of fun with Ray the Crazy Man, he thought wryly. He didn't know how Fraser stood it: his moodiness, his inability to talk sometimes, his sudden fits of rage--and his nightmares. They were the worst of all, they kept both of them from sleeping much most nights. But Ben never complained. He put up with him, with all of it, without a word of reproach. He'd given him his bed to sleep in, he made sure he got dressed every morning, and fed him regularly even when he didn't want to eat, which was most of the time. He even drove him to his sessions with the shrink.
They'd made him see one after his kidnapping. Department policy, they said. But so far, it wasn't helping much. He hated talking about what they'd done to him, hated it. It catapulted him right back into that room, into the torture, and he'd go back to Fraser's apartment afterwards in moods so bleak he didn't want to talk at all.
Not that he was very perky lately anyway. When Fraser first brought him home, his moods been all one color: black. But the rest of him was more than colorful enough to make up for it. He'd been totally messed up then, his face a lumpy patchwork of jagged cuts and purple, yellow and green bruises, his left eye still half swollen shut. But he hadn't really cared about the visible damage because he'd avoided looking in the mirror much; and Fraser didn't seem to notice it.
But Fraser had noticed him brooding. After several days went by in which he didn't leave the apartment except to visit the department shrink, Ben had tried to cheer him up by taking him on a walk in the park with Dief.
"Come on," he coaxed, leading him outside. "The fresh air will do you good, Ray."
"Okay. Whatever." He agreed just to please him, and followed without comment. His legs had gotten better by then, he could walk on his own without any help. Slowly, anyway. So he'd shuffled along behind Fraser, too depressed to care where they were heading.
But he should have. Because when they reached the local park, he started noticing people shooting weird looks at him when they passed by. They weren't as kind as Fraser. They'd stared at him like he had a sign pasted on his forehead saying, "Freak Show". He ignored them at first, limped stubbornly along beside Ben thinking, Screw them. Fuck 'em all! Like to see how pretty they'd be, if someone worked them over for days with a bat, several knives and some Marlboros!
That worked for a while. Hostility kept him going. He'd concentrated on his boots and on hating everyone they passed, and he'd been okay.
Then, while they were strolling along a grassy path, a little girl had walked by them. He'd always liked kids, and she was really cute. Curly blond hair, wide blue eyes...
He'd forgotten himself completely. Looked at her and smiled.
Big mistake.
One look at his messed-up face, and she'd grabbed for her mother's hand. "Mommy! What happened to that man?" she quavered.
Fuck! That did it. He fled the park, limping as fast as he could, feeling sick inside. Furious and scared. Freak, was all he could think. Freak, freak, freak! He'd once teased Stella: "You're the smart one, I'm just pretty." He hadn't really meant it, he'd always known he was average looking at best, but at least he'd never scared anyone before. Now I'm Ray von fucking Frankenstein. Ray the Wolfman who scares kids, he'd raged silently, heading back towards Fraser's place. Ray the friggin' vampire, who can't be seen in daylight!
He didn't stop to see if Ben and Dief were behind him. He didn't give a damn.
Kowalski the freak! When he'd finally made it back to Fraser's apartment, he was breathing hard and in considerable pain, the barely healed cuts and slashes on his legs protesting the long walk and the effort of climbing stairs at its end. He slammed the door behind him viciously. But that hadn't begun to ease the volcanic pressure inside him, the rising fury and humiliation. Trying to suppress it, he threw himself on Fraser's bed, face down, closed his eyes and knotted his fists in the blankets to block out the sight of the surprised horror on that little kid's face when she saw him. But it wouldn't go away. Her image lingered on the backs of his eyelids, making every cut, bruise, stab wound and broken bone he had ache fiercely.
Unable to banish her from his mind quietly, he started yelling. Lost it completely, and began screaming his head off. "Shit!" he yelled, pulling wildly at the blankets he lay on. And once he got started, he couldn't stop. "Shit, shit, SHIT!" The rage poured out of him along with the screams, and before he knew it, he tore all the blankets off Ben's bed. Then he attacked the sheets. After he'd sent them flying, he threw his pillows and blankets all over the room, for good measure. "I'm never goin' back to that fuckin' park again!" he yelled. "Ever! "
At some point during his tantrum, Ben and Dief had come back in. He expected Fraser to get on his case, tell him to calm down, tell him that he was acting childish. Language, Ray! Some stupid shit like that, that would only make him madder. But he didn't. Ben just waited until he was done throwing things, until he stood in the middle of his pillow-strewn floor, panting and shaking, hunched over to ease the stabbing pain in his chest from his exertions. Then he looked calmly around at the mess he'd made. "All right, Ray," he said mildly. "I'm sorry I took you to that park. I just wanted you to get some fresh air. I didn't mean to upset you. You don't have to go back if you don't want to." Then Fraser quietly started picking up the scattered pieces of his bedding.
That floored him. Took the wind right out of his frigging sails, so to speak. How can you fight with someone who won't fight you back? He stared at his friend, shocked and suddenly a bit ashamed of himself. What had happened wasn't Fraser's fault, but he'd just about wrecked his apartment as a result. He tried to get hold of himself. Swallowed hard, and tried to get his breath back. Tried to think of some way to explain the fit he just had. You didn't upset me, Fraser, he wanted to say. It was that girl, that little kid. She--
But he couldn't admit that. Didn't want to talk about Ray the Monster. Not even to Fraser. "Okay then," he said lamely instead. "Just so you know."
Fraser just said, "Hmm," in that annoying way he had.
Then Ray bent over to pick up a pillow, and they made his bed back up together, without saying another word.
But Fraser hadn't let it go at that. Ray knew his newfound tendency to mope indoors worried him. So when he spent the next day slumped in his apartment bleakly contemplating the incident in the park, he saw Ben watching him closely out of the corner of his eye. Ray had ignored him, reliving the ugly scene in his head remorselessly, frame by frame. He just couldn't get over the fact that his face had scared a kid witless. He loved kids, he wanted kids so bad he'd driven Stella away bugging her about it--and now he was so ugly he'd scared one!
He tried to tell himself that it would get better, that his face wouldn't always be swollen and discolored like it was now, but it didn't help much. Even after the swelling went down, the bruises went away and his cuts healed, he'd have scars on his nose, his cheeks, his neck--and more under his clothes. The doctors had muttered things about plastic surgery, but he couldn't face the thought of that yet. He wanted to stay as far away from doctors and hospitals as he possibly could for awhile--their shiny medical instruments reminded him too much of the knives his kidnappers had used on him. So for awhile at least, he was stuck with Ray von Frankenstein.
He stared at his boots and sighed morosely.
All his brooding must've convinced Fraser that he needed some distraction. So after dinner, he'd suggested they watch an old movie on the TV he'd borrowed from his neighbor. He'd shrugged okay, not caring as long as it wasn't some horror flick. It wasn't. It turned out to be "Brigadoon," some crazy story about these hunters who blundered into this magical old town in Scotland that only came alive every two hundred years or so, and where everybody knew how to sing and dance. Then one of the hunters didn't want to leave, 'cuz he had the hots for this babe...
It all seemed silly to Kowalski. Five minutes into it, he was thinking, "Chick flick." But Ben loved it. He even hummed along with the music, so Ray knew he must've seen it before. And since Ben liked it so much he'd practically memorized it, he didn't have the heart to let on that he wasn't enjoying it too. He sat beside him pretending to be interested, but really thinking about that little girl again. About whether he'd ever be able to have kids now. Would any woman ever want him, the way he was now? He doubted it. He could always go the plastic surgery route, of course, but that wouldn't take care of the scars Alison Gentry had left inside his head. Would he ever be able to stand having a woman touch him again?
Shit! What if I can't ever have sex again?
He didn't want to now. Didn't feel like it. Didn't even think much about it, which wasn't like him. The department shrink had reassured him that he would eventually. Sexual dysfunction was normal after a rape, he said, but his desire would return in time. But Ray wasn't so sure--and that bothered him. Though he wasn't interested now, he still remembered how much fun sex had been before his kidnapping; and he wanted that again someday. So the prospect of eternal celibacy scared him.
He shuddered. I'd rather die. Any day. Just take me now, and get it over with. 'Cuz I don't even wanna think about living the rest of my life without women. Without fucking.
Still, he kept all his worrying to himself. Didn't want to interrupt Fraser while he was happily watching everybody dance their way around Scotland. But Fraser must've sensed that he was secretly fretting about something, because he pounced on him the minute the movie ended.
Before he could get away or hit the sack, Ben pulled him to the door. "Come on, Ray. Let's go out for a while."
Ray knew he meant to take him walking again, and with cheerful memories of their last outing filling his head, he dug in his heels. Grabbed the door frame and refused to budge. "Huh unh. No way, Fraser! I told you, I'm not goin' to that park again! Not even if they have a supermodel convention there!"
"Yes, you did. And I respect that, Ray. But we're not going to the park," Fraser said cheerfully.
"Yer right about that," he muttered sullenly. "We're not goin' anywhere. You can go out if you want. I'm going to bed."
"Don't be silly, Ray! Dief needs some exercise, and so do I. So do you, for that matter. So you're coming with us. Dief!" he called.
Before Ray knew what was happening, the treacherous wolf bounded between his legs, knocking him off balance. He lost his grip on the door frame and swayed. And his dictatorial buddy seized the opportunity. Pretending to steady him, Fraser got a death grip on his collar, yanked him away from the door and proceeded to drag him downstairs. "Just a little midnight stroll, Ray," he said lightly. "This won't take long."
"Lemme go, dammit!" He tried to pull away. But Fraser was bigger and far stronger, at the moment, than he was. He won the wrestling match with ease. Before he knew it, he tugged him down the stairs and out onto the street.
Dief took off, trotting happily away down West Racine. "Ah, well. There you have it! He's already chosen our route," Fraser said, sounding pleased as he finally let Ray go and strode after him.
"I don't care. I ain't goin'," he muttered resentfully, staring at the Mountie's broad back. Free at last, for a second, he considered trying to bolt. Just running off into the night, and never looking back. Then it hit him: it was late. Really late--near midnight. There were no impressionable kids around now that he could scare. There was hardly anyone out on the street at all. Just junkies, winos and bag ladies who looked as bad as he did. Or worse.
Goddamn smart Mountie, he'd groused to himself, realizing Fraser had planned it that way. But after that, he relaxed a little. Pulled his collar up around his neck and shuffled along after Ben and Dief like an obedient little freak. And when a wino passed them, about an hour later, and blinked curiously at his battered face, he widened his eyes and bared his teeth, just to see what would happen. The guy staggered, turned pale, then stumbled off in the opposite direction as fast as he could go.
"Ray, Ray, Ray," Fraser sighed, shaking his head.
But he'd grinned to himself. Hell, he'd almost laughed out loud. For the first time since he'd woke up in the hospital, for a second, he was amused. It felt good.
And after that, nothing anybody said or did when they saw him bothered him as much. Their midnight strolls quickly became a tradition. Ray didn't exactly enjoy them, but as long as no one hassled him about his appearance, he limped along beside Ben quietly. He knew it was Ben's way of looking after him, of seeing that he got a little fresh air and exercise, that he wasn't housebound all day. And his doctors had told him that he'd have to exercise to get his strength back. So he went along with it.
He didn't try to run away, either. And no matter how bad he felt, how depressed or scared or furious he ever got, even if he got mad enough to throw things, he never laid a hand on his partner. He drew the line at hitting Fraser. He couldn't. He owed him too much. Ben the Mother Hen. His own mom couldn't have looked after him any better.
He really did appreciate it. But he couldn't help wondering why Fraser had done it.
Sure, Ben was kind-hearted, always taking in strays, both human and animal, but this... This rescue operation is a bit much, even for him, Ray thought as he watched the sleeping Mountie.
A wave of pure affection swept over him, so strong that it almost hurt. Fraser had taken him in when no one else would have, or could have. He'd fed him, watered him, and put up with his nuttiness with the patience of a saint. He never got mad, not even when he lost it. He'd even held him sometimes at night, when it got so bad he thought he'd lose his mind...
Ray skittered away from that subject. He hated to admit, even to himself, how needy he'd become. Or how, in return for Ben's kindness, he'd ignored him, shouted at him, called him every name he knew and then some, and gone ballistic sometimes when he touched him. Some friend you are, he thought sourly. With friends like you, Fraser doesn't need enemies.
In his saner moments, his black moods embarrassed him. He had no idea why Fraser hadn't opened up his window and tossed his sorry butt out into the street where it belonged. But so far, he hadn't. He'd never had such a good friend in his life, and he had no idea how he was ever going to make it all up to him. But he wanted to. He wanted to give him something great. Hell, he wanted to give him everything he had, just to show how grateful he was that he'd stuck by him through this whole mess.
On impulse, he reached down with his good hand and touched Ben. First his dark hair, cut short but still thick. It was glossy and amazingly soft, as sleek as a woman's hair. Surprise, surprise, he told himself wryly. Benton the Beautiful, Prince Charming of the Great White North. Whadja' expect? Then, without knowing why, he went further, traced the line of his friend's cheek, his strong jaw with his fingers. He swallowed hard, his mouth going dry. He felt strangely excited, but a bit ashamed too. Like he was copping a feel or something. That's impossible, you moron! he told himself. He's a guy, you're a guy--that only applies to women. Still, it made him feel uneasy. He couldn't imagine why he was pawing Ben while he was asleep, but he was so caught up in the unexpected pleasure it gave him that he couldn't stop.
"Thanks," he whispered, trying to tell himself he was just expressing gratitude to his buddy. "Thanks for takin' me in and all..." And he meant that; he was grateful to Fraser, so grateful that he didn't even know how to begin thanking him.
But a little voice in the back of his head said, Oh, yeah, right! Since when have you ever thanked a guy with your hands before? Who d'ya think you're kidding, Kowalski? A feel is a feel, a grope is a grope!
But still, he didn't stop. He watched Fraser carefully as he touched his cheek, ready to pull back if he so much as stirred. When he didn't, it became even harder to tell himself that gratitude was all he felt--because he knew he should quit it, that he'd gone way beyond friendship into something else. Total insanity, probably. But he couldn't stop. Instead, like a man spellbound, he reached out a trembling finger to trace his lips...
I want to guard your dreams and visions...
Fraser wasn't sure what woke him. Not a noise, but something softer. There it was again. Warmth, softness sliding across his skin: a touch. He woke suddenly at the realization, but lay quietly as fingers -- no, the backs of someone's fingers, he corrected himself -- brushed his cheek. Victoria? he thought sleepily, then rejected the idea. She was gone, long gone, and besides, these weren't her fingers. They weren't as slender, and they lacked her supreme self confidence. This touch was tentative, even frightened; these fingers were trembling. And since they posed no threat, he lay permitting it an instant longer as he wondered curiously whose they were.
Then one finger angled outward, and shakily touched the edge of his mouth. He frowned. "Ray?" he breathed sleepily, suddenly remembering who was with him, and why.
As Fraser finally opened his eyes, the bed creaked suddenly above him. The fingers were abruptly withdrawn as a slender hand pulled back hastily, buried itself guiltily among the blankets. "Yeah. It's just me," Ray said. "Sorry I woke you, Frase. I was just--well, I have to go to the can. Musta' stepped on you by accident. Sorry."
"Ahh," Fraser said. But from his pallet on the floor, in the light of his bedside lamp, which Ray had evidently turned on while he lay sleeping, he squinted up at his partner curiously. His hand touched me, not his foot. He's lying, he realized with a sense of shock. But why? Ray never lied...
Ray sat on the very edge of Fraser's bed, staring down at him intently. Ben's first impression was of burning blue eyes in a pale, scarred face, rimmed by heavy blond beard stubble. White skin stretched taut over angular bone structure that had once looked tough, but now seemed fragile, almost frail. He told himself it was because Ray had lost weight rapidly lately, because he'd been eating so little.
But he suddenly wondered if that fragility had always been there. Maybe he'd just never noticed it before because it had been hidden beneath a tough, macho attitude that made Ray seem far larger than the 5' 11'', slender man he really was. For the first time, Fraser wondered if that was deliberate. He'd always assumed that Ray's aggressiveness was innate, but maybe it was actually a learned form of self defense. Had Kowalski's size and slight build brought on abuse from bullies when he was growing up? The thought gave him a pang.
Still... that toughness, whether innate or learned, was all that had saved him from nearly deadly abuse this time.
In the yellow glow of the lamplight, Ray was a study in darkness. Dark hollows shadowed his cheeks, his eyes, and he had a haunted look that worried Fraser, as if his very life force had been dimmed by his ordeal. His spiky blond hair was partially flattened where he'd been sleeping on it, and the tattoo on his right arm, which usually stood out harshly on his pale skin, now was almost lost amid numerous welts and still healing scars that marred almost every inch of his body. Even Ray's characteristic boundless nervous energy had been depleted. It was only natural, since he'd been badly wounded, but it hurt Fraser to see Ray's normally swift, bouncy stride reduced to a slow, limping shuffle as it had been. He was moving a bit faster now, regaining strength rapidly thanks to their daily walks, but he was still uncharacteristically silent.
He looks lost, Ben thought. At the moment, he seemed less like the tough, self confident detective who'd taken Ray Vecchio's place, and more like one of the teenage runaways he'd occasionally rescued from Chicago's mean streets in the past few years. Fraser had seen that bruised, vulnerable look in Ray's eyes many times since his ordeal, but it never got any easier to bear. His sense of Ray's fragility was heightened when the detective flushed slightly under his gaze.
"Uhh... I didn't hurt you, did I?" Ray mumbled, suddenly avoiding his eyes.
"No. Oh, no," Fraser said automatically. But that was only partially true. Puzzling though it was, Ray's mysterious midnight touch certainly hadn't hurt him--but his continued presence in Fraser's apartment, in his life, had become a subtle kind of torture.
"Okay. I'm just gonna go then, Ben."
Ben. Ray had begun calling him that at times lately. Fraser wasn't sure why, when he'd never done so before. Kowalski usually addressed him as Fraser, Frase, even Frazoor when he was teasing--but never as Ben. He'd always seemed unwilling to use his first name, as if it were too intimate, or somehow unmanly. Fraser had even wondered if perhaps he disliked it, for whatever reason, though he'd never dared to ask why. But somehow, in the weeks since his kidnapping, he'd started to use it. Usually it would slip out at night, as if he was too tired to control his tongue. Ben wasn't sure if he even knew he was doing it, or what it signified. But he'd noticed, and it did strange things to his heart.
It reminded him of Ray Vecchio, of the friendship it seemed he'd lost. He hadn't heard anything from Vecchio for months, not since he'd gone undercover, and he missed him terribly. Even missed being called Benny. But Kowalski's newfound habit of calling him Ben also reminded him of how important his new Ray had become to him. He wasn't sure if that nickname meant anything to Ray, if it signified the same depth of affection that Vecchio's "Benny" had, but he hoped it did. He liked to think it was Kowalski's way of reaching out to him, a tiny sign of affection in the midst of his pain and confusion.
But in his darker moments, he realized that it might be a kind of sarcasm instead--a form of mockery. Ray had been hurt very badly indeed, physically and emotionally. So badly that he could hardly bear to be touched anymore. So badly that sometimes when he forgot that and laid a hand on his shoulder, or fussed over him too much, he lashed out and said things he never would have normally. Things that stung, cruel things that Fraser had to force himself to forget. Get away from me, you fuckin' moron! I'm not a baby, goddammit! Leave me the hell alone! I can take care of myself! Who d'you think you are, my fuckin' nurse?
Then later, he'd say, "Ben, I'm sorry. Sorry, Ben."
Apology--or just another, subtler form of jibe? Fraser wasn't sure if Ray saw him as friend or foe anymore, as helper or jailer. Or if that varied from moment to moment.
What's in a name? Shades of dark and light, like so many other things lately.
Ray threw his covers off and lowered his feet to the floor. He was almost naked, wearing only a bandage around his upper torso, his underwear and the gold bracelet he always wore on his wrist. Fraser had recovered it in Alison Gentry's house, and returned it as soon as Ray got out of the hospital. He didn't know what the jewelry meant to him, but since he'd never seen him without it, he'd assumed it was important. Either it had sentimental value, or it was simply part of Ray's persona. It was also somehow sexy. Erotic, even when worn on an arm that was badly bruised, as Ray's was now.
Of course, Ben had long ago memorized Ray's every feature, from head to toe. The more obvious ones were his wild, spiky blond hair, so entirely unlike his own thick, straight dark "pelt" that it seemed to have a life of its own; his light blue, intense eyes, fringed by long blond lashes; and his mouth, with its thin upper lip and full, almost pouting lower one, which was usually set in a tight line but sometimes relaxed into a smile of amazing sweetness. A long, lean body. Slender hands, capable and callused from holding a gun, yet somehow elegant. Ray's whole aura of nervous energy, of restlessness and constant motion... Those things anyone could see, but Fraser had made a study of Stanley Ray Kowalski, and discovered other fine little details that fascinated him: the back of Ray's head for instance, that oddly vulnerable area where his hair was cropped close to his skull. The vein that ran up the side of his temple, from the edge of his eyebrow to his hairline, that throbbed visibly beneath his delicate skin when he was interrogating a suspect, or yelling exultantly when the Hawks scored at a game. Ray's habit of scratching his neck when he was thinking, of chewing cinnamon flavored gum...
Fraser knew it all. And loved it all in the only way he could: silently, in the privacy of his own thoughts, his own heart. He sighed to himself, thinking that his intense attraction to his partner was not only hopeless, but inappropriate under the circumstances. So he averted his eyes as Ray padded past him. He knew Kowalski probably thought it was because he didn't like seeing the still healing scars on his body. But since the truth was even worse--that he couldn't look at him, even wounded and emotionally shaky as he was, and not want him--he kept silent and let him think what he would.
He'd taken him in because it was necessary, not because Ray had asked him to. In fact, Kowalski had adamantly refused to let him do it at first. They'd had a fight about it, but Fraser had insisted. Ray's doctor had hinted that while his physical injuries were healing well, his mental state was precarious; and Fraser concurred. He could see that the detective wasn't capable of caring for himself yet, that he would probably starve to death if left to his own devices. But he hadn't known how truly difficult the task of caring for his shattered partner would be--what a toll it would take on him.
But even if he had, he would've done it anyway. He'd simply had no choice.
While Ray was in the bathroom, Ben closed his eyes, reliving it all in his head.
He'd been in love with Stanley Raymond Kowalski for some time, long before his kidnapping and near death at the hands of James Gentry and his sister a month ago. Fraser wasn't sure exactly how his feelings for his partner had changed from the sort of brotherly affection he'd had for Ray Vecchio, into something deeper and far more frightening. It wasn't as if he'd woke up one morning and just decided to fall in love with another man. His feelings for his new Ray had just intensified over time, into something he'd never wanted or expected.
It had happened so subtly, so gradually that he hadn't even noticed it at first. In the wake of Ray Vecchio's sudden departure on an undercover assignment, which Fraser had tried hard to think of as Duty, and not betrayal, he and Ray had grown close. But that hadn't surprised anyone, least of all him. They'd both suffered losses and were lonely as a result. It had seemed natural--even necessary--that they'd spend a lot of time together. As he'd once told Kowalski, he liked to know the mettle of the men he worked with. And in the process, their friendship had deepened. So Ben wasn't shocked when he realized one day that Ray Kowalski was now the most important person in his life, the one with whom he had the strongest emotional bond. The bond he'd once had with Ray Vecchio remained, but he'd consigned it to a back corner of his heart, where it didn't hurt so much.
He had meant to soldier on in the absence of his best friend. Instead, he'd made a new one. But once he'd privately acknowledged that truth, he'd soon discovered another, far more painful and surprising one: that he wanted their bond to become even deeper and stronger; that his need for his new partner had become physical.
He made the discovery accidentally. While working on a case with Kowalski, he'd put a hand on his shoulder to say good morning one day. Ray had grunted something unintelligible at him while sipping his coffee and staring at some papers on his desk, but Fraser hadn't minded. He'd smiled down at his partner's spiky blond hair, amused by its usual disarray. Then it hit him, like the proverbial bolt out of the blue. He'd realized, with a dawning sense of dismay, that he was still holding onto Ray. Gripping his wiry shoulder, enjoying the tactile sensation of the hard muscles beneath his thin T-shirt, the warmth of his skin...
He enjoyed touching his own partner. Enjoyed it far too much.
Fraser had let go of Ray as if he'd been scalded. Kowalski didn't notice. He usually didn't notice much of anything in the morning until he downed several cups of coffee liberally laced with melted M & M's, a trait for which Fraser was particularly grateful on that occasion. But he was also secretly mortified by his own behavior. He suddenly realized that he'd been touching Ray a lot lately, in the course of their casework. Brushing his hands seemingly accidentally when they were at their desks, putting a hand on his shoulders when they walked together...
I never did that kind of thing with Ray Vecchio, he thought, confused. But the fact was that he'd been doing it a lot with Kowalski--and on some secret interior level, he'd enjoyed it. Once he'd realized that, he stopped it immediately. But the resulting dull aching he experienced confused him even more. Keeping his hands to himself hadn't stopped his desire--or the other alarming changes he began to notice in his attitude towards Kowalski.
He'd found himself wanting to spend more and more time with him, and feeling jealous if Ray made plans with anyone else. He became increasingly protective of him as well. Ray had once complained that he constantly risked his life in weird and unusual ways. Now, he found himself taking increasingly wild risks with his own life instead, while pursuing suspects with him, in order to keep Kowalski safe. When he'd examined the reasons for these unprecedented feelings, he'd finally realized, with a distinct sense of shock, that they sprang from a place deep inside his heart that only one other person in his life had ever managed to touch.
He was in love. He loved Ray Kowalski the same way he'd loved Victoria.
Well, perhaps not exactly the same way. His feelings for Ray were even deeper and more passionate, because he also trusted him; and he'd never been able to trust Victoria.
Still, it was a terrifying realization. Loving had never come easily to him. Victoria was the only woman he'd ever really loved, but after he'd put her in prison, she'd ended up hating him so much she'd tried to destroy not just him, but his best friend too. He wasn't even sure she'd ever really loved him in return. The sad truth was, in his whole adult life, he'd never had a fulfilling, happy relationship where a woman he loved had returned that love. So how in the world was he going to manage loving a man, when it was something he had no experience with whatsoever? At least he knew how to make love to a woman--but a man? He'd never even imagined that. Not to mention the fact that it was a kind of relationship most of the world regarded with repugnance...
Including Ray himself, most likely. Kowalski was so tough, so masculine that Fraser couldn't even kid himself about the possibility of him feeling desire for another man. That seemed laughable. Besides, he was still in love with his ex-wife.
So his love was hopeless, doomed from the start.
At first, Fraser had been in a quandary, with no idea what to do about the situation. If Ray Vecchio had still been there, he could've confided in him, at least on a hypothetical basis. Ray, what would you tell someone who had fallen in love with someone who was, for whatever reason, forbidden to them? He longed to. But Ray was gone, and Lt. Welsh had made it clear that he could not be contacted under any circumstances, for his own protection. And there was no one else in Chicago whom Fraser could trust with such a disturbing subject as his unprecedented desire for another man.
At least, he'd thought so at first. But later, as it became clear that time was only deepening his unspoken feelings and that ignoring them wasn't going to make them go away, he considered trying to discuss it with Francesca, because she'd always been like a sister to him. But he'd eventually rejected that idea as well. He was all too aware of her feelings for him, and though he trusted in her compassion, he also knew she was incredibly outspoken and emotional. He was afraid that if he confided in her, she might become jealous of Ray, and someday "spill the beans" to him, and divulge his secret without meaning to.
And telling Kowalski himself seemed out of the question. He couldn't risk it, for fear that he might prove as homophobic as most cops, and feel so uncomfortable around him afterwards that he'd ask for another partner. Or worse, transfer away, out of his life altogether, as he'd once considered doing.
So the last, and most painful realization he came to regarding his love, was that in order to keep Ray at his side, he had to give up all hope of ever being with him in the way he longed to. It was an extremely difficult decision to make, but since the alternative was to lose his partner altogether, Fraser felt he had no choice. Trust was a two way street; he needed Ray's as much as Ray needed his. If they couldn't depend on each other with bedrock certainty, they couldn't work together; and Ray wouldn't trust him if he knew the truth. Fraser was sure of that. And since he couldn't imagine--didn't even want to imagine--doing anything else with his life but working at Kowalski's side, he had only one option. Secrecy.
So he told no one how he felt. He kept silent, shoved his illogical love for his partner way down into the darkest, most private corner of his heart, and shut the door on it. Strove to forget it, just as he'd always done with emotions he couldn't handle. It wasn't a comfortable feeling, but it wasn't new to him, either. He'd done the same thing when his mother died, then later when his father was murdered, and more recently when Victoria and then Ray Vecchio had left him. He'd learned early on that wounds were easier to bear if you pretended they didn't exist. Besides--love had never been anything but a two-edged sword to him. He was used to it turning in his hand, used to it drawing blood instead of bringing happiness. Everyone he'd ever loved had left him. Everyone.
So he'd kept silent, endured the pain so that for once, he wouldn't have to suffer the loss.
But then Ray disappeared while on a routine investigation in east Chicago, and Fraser's world turned upside down. Even now, remembering the incident turned him cold...
Ray had gone to take a routine statement from a witness. When he failed to report back to the station after several hours, or respond to calls on his radio, the department dispatched Huey and Dewey to go and find him. They'd discovered his GTO parked--and locked--several blocks away from the house of one Shirley Ganden, a witness he'd been questioning about a robbery suspect. The car bore no one's prints on it but Kowalski's own.
An obviously bewildered Shirley told Huey, "Detective Kowalski was very nice. He asked me several questions, then after about ten minutes, he left. Oh, and he asked me to let the department know if I planned to leave town, in case he came up with any further questions for me." She further reported that Detective Kowalski had seemed completely relaxed and at ease to her. She hadn't seen him again, or heard anything out of the ordinary once he left her house. She'd assumed he'd gone back to the station until Huey and Dewey came knocking on her door.
Mrs. Ganden was a pleasant, middle-aged woman with three children, no police record, and no motive whatsoever to harm Ray Kowalski. Fraser had questioned her himself once he learned of Ray's disappearance, and he believed that she knew nothing about it. He, Huey and Dewey had questioned all her neighbors too, on both sides of the street. No one had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary that afternoon.
But Fraser had a bad feeling about the situation from the start. He felt that Ray must've met with foul play while returning to his car after questioning Mrs. Ganden, for several reasons. For one thing, that GTO was his life. He would never have left it behind unless he was pursuing a suspect, which wasn't likely. For another, even if he had spotted a crime in progress and chased someone, he should've called his pursuit in to the station, which he hadn't done.
The last, and most damning reason of all, was that there was an alley along the route Ray had to have taken back to his car that day. An alley in which someone could've hidden to waylay him; an alley in which someone could've had a car waiting to spirit him away, with no one the wiser. As time went by and no one called the 27th with any further information about the missing Detective, Fraser became increasingly sure that that was in fact what had happened to his partner. But no one called the station demanding any ransom for him, either, which was chilling.
Fraser combed every inch of the alley, looking for clues to his disappearance. But all he found were a few strands of blond hair, that were far too long to be Kowalski's.
Lab analysis eventually yielded the information that the hairs were female, from someone young, probably under the age of thirty--but that was all. It wasn't even a lead, since they had no idea who that hair belonged to, or if it even had any connection to Ray's disappearance. Fraser had taken Diefenbaker back to the alley with a sample of Ray's clothing, in the faint hope that his wolf could track Ray's route out of it; but no such luck. Dief had sniffed the clothes, sniffed the alley's entrance, trotted around it in circles for a moment, then looked at Fraser with a helpless, canine equivalent of a shrug. Fraser hadn't really been surprised. If Ray had been forcibly abducted in a car from the mouth of that alley, as he suspected, his scent would've disappeared when he'd entered the vehicle.
Extensive canvassing of the neighborhood of Ray's presumed abduction had proved equally fruitless. No one had seen anything, no one had heard anything. It was as if Stanley R. Kowalski had left Mrs. Ganden's house and simply vanished from the face of the earth.
But Fraser, and the detectives of the 27th, didn't give up. Ray was one of their own, and when someone messed with a cop, they wouldn't rest until that cop was found, and the guilty parties brought to justice, no matter what it took. Every available detective worked on finding Ray around the clock once word of his disappearance spread. He was well liked, and everyone wanted to help.
Fraser was beside himself. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, and he was haunted by thoughts of what Ray might be going through, by the horrifying possibility that he might've even been murdered. He pored over every report on the case until his eyes hurt, looking for clues that might lead them to his whereabouts. But after three fruitless days without leads, he began to despair. Could it be that he'd lost his partner and best friend after all? Even though he'd never told him that he loved him?
Running out of hope, he returned to Mrs. Ganden's neighborhood one more time. He remembered there was one house at the opposite end of the alley whose owners had been away since the date of Ray's disappearance: the home of Mr. and Mrs. Jeff Land. Their neighbors had said they'd gone on a mini-vacation to New Jersey. He'd already left several messages on their answering machine, asking them to call the 27th once they returned, but he decided to go by their house one more time, in the hope that they might've come home, and know something helpful regarding Ray's disappearance.
Finally, he hit pay dirt. Mrs. Land, a pretty brunette in her mid thirties, answered the door. She was in the midst of unpacking after their vacation, but she sat down and talked to him readily once he explained the situation. She said that while returning home from a trip to the grocery store for some film, she'd seen a slender man fitting Ray's description pass by the alley on his way to Mrs. Ganden's house the morning that he'd disappeared. She remembered his spiky blond hair, she said, and Fraser's heart contracted painfully. She hadn't seen him again, but Fraser asked her to call her husband at work, to see if he knew anything more.
Jeff Land, as it turned out, had seen something critical. He told Fraser over the phone that he'd decided, at the last minute, to throw out some trash before they left for New Jersey--garbage that was too large for their small garbage can. So he'd headed for the dumpster in the alley to dispose of it. On his way there, he'd seen two people, a tall, dark-haired man and a younger blond woman, helping a third blond man (who Fraser knew must be Ray), into a white Toyota Camry. Land remembered it because the blond man had been strangely limp. Land couldn't really see his face, but he'd noticed that his head and hands were hanging down while the taller, dark-haired man put him into the back seat of the car. Land had assumed he was sick, or possibly drunk, and that the other two were helping him, taking him home. But he hadn't been sure, so he'd paused and watched them curiously. The blond woman had noted his interest, and as soon as the blond man had been bundled into the back seat, she'd driven the car swiftly out of the opposite end of the alley.
Fraser could hardly believe it. The Lands seemed reliable people, which made their information not just a good lead, but a great one. Possibly good enough to break the case. His heart leapt painfully in his chest as he asked Jeff Land if he'd noticed the Camry's license number, by any chance. "I tried to," Land said regretfully, "but the car was too far away for me to make it out."
Fraser closed his eyes, hugely disappointed.
"But I was curious about the whole thing, so I did take a close look at all of them," Land added. "Just in case."
Fraser felt a renewed surge of hope. "Would you be willing to come down to the station right away and give a description of the man and woman you saw to a police artist, and take a look at some mug shots?"
"Well... does it have to be right now? I'm kind of busy--"
"Sir," Fraser said sternly, "I have every reason to believe that what you saw was the kidnapping of a police officer. We need your help right away. In cases like these, every second counts. Detective Kowalski's life may depend on you."
"Oh. I see," Land said. "In that case, I'll be right there. Can you give me directions, Constable Fraser?"
Land's observations had proved invaluable. While he was on his way to the station, Fraser had a hunch. They knew Ray hadn't been kidnapped for ransom, so what other motives could there be? What about revenge? "Francesca," he asked, "can you compile a list of all of the arrests Ray made in the last ten years for serious offenses, which resulted in jail sentences for the accused?"
"Sure, Frase."
"And can you check to see which of those convicts has been recently been released, and what their addresses might be?"
"Good idea," Frannie said. She started typing away on her computer, eager to help. Fraser knew that, like him, she'd been worried sick about her erstwhile 'brother's' kidnapping.
When Frannie's final list of names was compiled, he had her print their photos out for Jeff Land to examine when he arrived.
It had taken Land less than five minutes to wade his way through the stack of pictures and identify James Gentry. "This one," he said positively, pausing over one of the photos.
Gentry was a violent felon with a long arrest record stretching back to his adolescence: several assaults with deadly weapons, assault with intent to commit murder, and several arrests for suspected homicides. Ray had finally gathered enough evidence on him to make the last one stick. As a result, at the age of twenty one, Gentry had been sent to prison for ten years for the brutal murder of an acquaintance named Tara Lee, whom he'd raped and then beaten to death. That ten year sentence had ended just two weeks before Ray's disappearance. Just long enough, Fraser realized with a chill, for Gentry to find Ray again, and arrange for a safe place to hide him away--if he hadn't killed him already.
Jeff Land and Fraser stared down at his picture. The photo showed a man with long dark hair and a pair of the coldest, blackest eyes Fraser had ever seen. "You're sure this is him? The man you saw in the alley?" he asked, knowing those eyes could be capable of anything.
"Yeah! That's the guy!" Land said excitedly, tapping the picture with his forefinger. "His hair is a lot shorter, and he's got a moustache now, but that's him! That's the guy I saw by my house that morning. I'd stake my life on it. I couldn't forget those eyes."
Once Fraser reported Land's identification of Gentry to Lt. Welsh, he hadn't wasted any time. He'd immediately called a judge to get a warrant issued for James Gentry's arrest. Half the station had volunteered to surround Gentry's last known address, and Welsh ended up sending Huey, Dewey, Brinks, Shallan and Markham there to pick Gentry up and search his apartment.
But Fraser hadn't gone with them. His instincts had told him somehow that Ray wasn't there. It seemed far too easy. Gentry was vicious and violent in the extreme, but he'd been cunning enough to commit several murders without being caught, and he'd had enough run-in's with the police to understand their procedures as well. He would've counted on his apartment being searched if he fell under suspicion; and a small apartment with undoubtedly thin walls would be a stupid place in which to keep a kidnapped cop. Too much risk of the neighbors hearing something they shouldn't, and reporting it to the police. Fraser was betting that Gentry was far too smart for that; and that he'd kept Ray alive, no doubt to exact some long-drawn out, horrible sort of revenge for his arrest.
So while Welsh was busy readying the necessary paperwork and rounding up his posse, Fraser quietly checked Gentry's file for relatives and known associates. He learned that he had a younger sister living in east Chicago, who also had a rap sheet: one charge of assault, another for possession of an illegal substance. Equally significant was the fact that unlike her brother, she owned a house on an older street in east Chicago, which probably had a large yard isolating it from her nearest neighbor. A much safer place to stash a kidnapping victim than James' small apartment. He checked her police file on the computer himself, and wasn't surprised to find that she had long blond hair of a shade that matched the hairs he'd found in the alley where Ray was abducted by Gentry. Odds were, Alison had been her brother's accomplice.
Fraser had considered the matter for a moment. Half of the cops in the station, it seemed, were readying themselves to swoop down on Gentry's apartment, which was the only location for which they had a search warrant. There was no time to try to convince Welsh of his theory that Ray was, in fact, at Gentry's sister's house instead, or to contact a judge to try to get a second search warrant for it. Even if Welsh had listened to him, which Fraser doubted, every moment they delayed might mean the difference between life and death for Ray.
He made his decision. He had to act quickly, without the help of the other cops at the 27th. He took Francesca aside, told her what he was planning, and asked her if he could borrow her car. When she agreed, he also asked her to tell Lt. Welsh where he was going once he'd left, so that if he didn't return, he could send the troops in after Ray if he wasn't found at Gentry's apartment. Francesca's eyes had widened. "Take someone with you, Fraser!" she pleaded. "This Gentry's a real sicko."
"I intend to," he smiled. "Diefenbaker!" he called. "Let's go!"
He didn't ask any of the other officers to go with him because what he was about to do was illegal. He didn't have a search warrant, and he didn't want to get anyone else in trouble. But he wasn't about to let legality stand in the way of saving the life of the man he loved, either. He'd put duty first when he'd fallen in love with Victoria--he didn't intend to repeat that mistake a second time.
This time, Ray came first.
As it was, he'd almost been too late. He didn't like to remember how he'd found him, in a small, dark, sound-proofed room in the back of Alison Gentry's house...
He'd located the address easily enough. Accompanied by Diefenbaker, he'd slipped around back of the house and unlocked the back door with a credit card he'd borrowed from Francesca. It was a trick he'd learned from Ray Vecchio, and which he'd never used before; but he'd already violated the law by coming here without a search warrant. What was a little breaking and entering on top of that? In for a penny, in for a pound, he'd told himself. Whatever charges the Gentrys chose to file after the smoke cleared, he didn't care. If he had to face prison to save Ray, he would.
Once they were inside the house, he'd followed the sound of a television into the front room where he'd surprised a young blond woman whose face he recognized from her mug shot: Alison Gentry. She'd tried to scream, and he'd been forced to subdue her so she couldn't warn her brother if he was also present. He'd pulled her into the kitchen, taped her mouth with duct tape he found in a drawer, then fastened her securely to a chair, and shut her in a bedroom.
After that, with his heart beating a frantic tattoo in his chest, he'd begun a methodical search of the large house. When he'd finally found Ray, he'd frozen in the doorway when he saw him, sickened by the awful scene. It was surreal, like something out of a lurid Gothic novel. He'd been chained to the wall of a back bedroom. Large metal cuffs had been fastened to his wrists and ankles. He hung limply from them, naked and covered with blood and deep, blackened bruises from numerous wounds. Even his hair was stiff with dried blood. He was so still and pale that it took Fraser a moment to ascertain that he was, in fact, still breathing--unconscious, but not dead. His face and chest were badly battered. One eye was swollen shut, and he saw several burn marks under his jaw and around his nipples that looked like they'd been made by cigarettes. "My God," he'd whispered, revolted by the signs of torture.
But there was no time to waste. Alison Gentry had been alone when he'd found her, but there was no telling when her brother might show up; and though Fraser had brought a gun along for Ray's sake, he didn't want to get into a battle with James, since it would delay getting Ray to a hospital. So he'd begun to tear the room apart with shaking hands, looking for the key to Ray's cuffs.
When he couldn't find them, he tore back down the hall to the room where he'd stashed Alison, and ripped the tape off her mouth. When she winced, he felt a flicker of savage satisfaction. She deserves far worse, he thought grimly. "The keys!" he demanded. "Where are they?"
She'd spat at him. "Go fuck yourself!"
He'd felt a surge of rage so strong he could hardly keep from striking her. But he doubted that would be as effective as another kind of threat. "Dief!" he'd called sharply.
Instantly, his wolf stood up on his hind legs, put his paws on her chair and leaned close to Alison's neck, his teeth bared, growling an unmistakable warning.
"Either you tell me where they are, or he'll rip your throat out," he'd said. He'd only meant to threaten her, but after seeing what she and her brother had done to his partner, in that instant while Ray's life hung in the balance, he wasn't at all sure that he wouldn't have set aside his customary chivalry and allowed Dief to bite her if she'd refused.
Luckily, she didn't. Her eyes wide at the sight of Dief's sharp fangs, she whimpered, "In the kitchen. Top drawer, right hand side."
"Where is your brother?" he added, taking advantage of Dief's effective intimidation.
"He's at his girlfriend's."
"Where?"
"129 East Fiftieth," she said sullenly.
"When's he coming back?"
"In a couple of hours," Alison said.
"Good."
For once, he didn't thank her for the information. She didn't deserve even that much courtesy, after what she'd helped her brother do to Ray. He taped her mouth again, then retrieved the keys and freed his partner. He laid him gently on the bed, called Lt. Welsh from Gentry's kitchen, informed him of the situation and Gentry's supposed whereabouts. He also asked for backup in case Alison was lying about that, or he returned sooner than she expected. Then he called an ambulance, and set about cleaning his friend's wounds as best he could before the paramedics arrived. Welsh called him back just as the ambulance got there, to let him know that Gentry had been captured, taken by surprise at his girlfriend's house with only a shot fired, and no one injured.
Fraser felt ambivalent about the news. He was glad that a vicious criminal had been taken off the streets, but part of him had wanted to hear that Gentry had been killed while trying to evade capture.
Ray turned on the water in the bathroom, and the noise brought Fraser out of his reverie with a start. He rubbed at his face with unsteady hands, trying to banish the bad memories. Though Ben was profoundly grateful that Ray had been spared, that he hadn't died at Gentry's hands, he almost dreaded his return to bed. Their constant proximity was hard on him. He wanted him more than ever now, so much that every morning when he woke to find Ray still sleeping in his bed, his heart would turn over with a surge of instant, painful, inevitable hope. Painful because he'd so often been disappointed--inevitable because he still couldn't help how he felt.
He loved Ray so much that it had been all he could do, these past few weeks, to keep from telling him so. But he felt keeping silent about it was even more important now. For the first time in their partnership, Ray was really leaning on him. He desperately needed someone to trust him after his ordeal, and he feared such a revelation might destroy the bond between them. So he had to keep quiet about his feelings.
Ben sighed to himself. He had what he most wanted, what he'd dreamed about: Ray Kowalski living with him, sleeping in his bed every night. But as usual when he got what he'd wished for, it wasn't at all like he'd hoped. Ray was a ghost of his former self, his confidence shattered, his emotions volatile, a stranger who was moody and unreachable--and Fraser wasn't sleeping with him, he was sleeping on his bedroll on the floor beside him. He might as well have been a million miles away.
Except for the times when Ray woke screaming, as he often did lately. When terrified, desperate sounds ripped from his dry throat in the darkness, Fraser would jolt awake, shake him, and call his name over and over to make his terrible cries stop, to banish the nightmares that gripped him. Sometimes Ray would push him away once his eyes opened and sanity finally returned.
"Okay, okay, Fraser," he'd say, though he was covered in cold sweat and shaking. "I'm all right now. Just leave me alone, okay?" He'd turn away, curl up in a ball in the center of the bed, and lie awake for a long time without saying a word, until he finally slept again, or daylight came.
At first, Fraser found those rejections hard to bear. But now he thought that the other times, when Ray turned to him for comfort, might be even worse.
Ray Kowalski was a strong man, and a tough cop. Before his ordeal with the Gentrys, Fraser had only seen him cry once, when he'd discovered he was responsible for Beth Boutrelle's false imprisonment and near execution. But all too often lately, when he woke yelling with horror deep in the night, he'd cry after Fraser woke him. Ben knew it was healthy, that he was venting intolerable fear and pain, which would help him heal, but his sobs were sometimes so deep and shattering that it hurt him to listen to them.
Sometimes, though he knew Ray didn't like to be touched now, he'd risk putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him, to let him know he wasn't alone. And sometimes, when Ray wept and shook so convulsively that it seemed he'd choke, he would forget his distaste for human contact, and reach back. Reach out for him blindly through his tears. Then Ben would soothe him in the only way he knew, by taking him in his arms and holding him close until the awful sobbing stopped. Ray clung to him so hard sometimes, on nights like that, that Fraser would find bruises on his skin the next morning.
There was nothing romantic about their closeness, though. It was a measure of Ray's desperation that he let Ben hold him at all. It was a measure of Fraser's that all he could feel while holding the man he loved was sorrow for his pain, and hatred for the people who'd caused it, who'd made sure that Ray would only seek his embrace when he was in agony. Because of the Gentrys, he was nothing but a spar of wood for a drowning man to cling to, when he longed to be a lover.
Worst of all, they always pretended, on those mornings after, that it hadn't happened. Ray never spoke about his nightmares, and Fraser reluctantly stayed silent too, and never mentioned the tears that often followed them. Ray's doctor had warned him not to try to force him to share details about his ordeal, that any confessions should come from him only when he was ready. At first, he'd hoped that would only be a matter of time, that Ray would eventually break down and talk to him about it. But he never had. Fraser was beginning to fear that he never would.
He and his partner had one flaw in common: they were both almost incapable of discussing deep emotions. Fraser sometimes thought that flaw had cost his father his life; and he wondered if it had cost Ray his marriage as well. He even began to worry that it might cost him his sanity.
Because though three weeks had passed since Ray's rescue, he wasn't really sure if he'd really gotten any better. Lt. Welsh kept asking him about it, anxious to have Kowalski back at his desk solving crimes, but Fraser kept evading him, telling him that Ray needed more time, that he wasn't ready yet. Which was true as far as it went, but what he didn't tell him was that he had no idea when he would be. Or even if he ever would be again.
If he couldn't get him to open up somehow, he doubted that he would.
In the midst of his grim musings, Fraser suddenly felt as if he were being watched. He opened his eyes to find Ray standing at the end of the hallway, his shoulder propped against the wall, looking at him silently. He didn't move, didn't even speak--but Fraser felt the weight of his gaze, palpable as a touch on his bare skin, and he shivered.
He sat up, to cover his telltale reaction. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly, wondering what emotions were moving behind his friend's intense blue eyes. He could never tell lately. Sometimes Ray wouldn't speak, sometimes he'd fly into a rage over the most innocent of questions. The doctor had also warned him that might happen, that volatility was common with post traumatic stress, but it often made him feel as if he were tiptoeing past land mines when he spoke to him.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Frase," Ray said.
He didn't smile, but he hadn't lashed out either. Satisfied with that, Fraser relaxed a little. But Ray's steady gaze made him uncomfortable, all the same. It reminded him of the way he'd touched him while he lay sleeping earlier, an anomaly that he still didn't understand. He didn't know if he should worry about such uncharacteristic behavior, or if he should just ignore it, like they'd fallen into the habit of ignoring so much that was unbearable lately.
"You look cold," he said at last, to break the awkward silence. Then he flushed a bit, realizing he must sound like the worst kind of mother hen. Ray would probably bite his head off for worrying about him unnecessarily.
But to his surprise, he didn't. He actually smiled a little. "Nawww, I'm fine. You worry too much, Ben."
He nodded. "I know. But maybe you should come back to bed. You need to rest," he said, knowing he was doing it again but unable to help himself. He'd fallen into an almost paternal role with his partner lately, due to his injuries. And while he rather enjoyed protecting and worrying over him, he tried not to be too obvious about it. He knew it hurt Ray's pride, which had been damaged enough already.
Ray smiled again. "So do you. Lie down, okay?" he said gently.
Fraser obeyed, surprised and pleased by his friend's unexpectedly mellow, affectionate mood. It was like a breath of sunlight after his storminess lately. He couldn't help but wonder if the way he'd touched him earlier had anything to do with that. After all, he'd lied about it, so maybe the touch had been prompted by affection he was embarrassed to admit to--
He caught himself sternly. Ray had probably lied about touching him because he'd been afraid that Fraser wouldn't believe his reason for it, and that he'd jump to the conclusion that it had been a caress anyway. It would be all too easy to fall into that trap, to indulge in wishful thinking about Ray's motives for the gesture; but he couldn't let himself do that.
Ben sighed to himself. Ray had told him how devoted he still was to his ex-wife, and he'd seen him watching women with distinctly lustful eyes on numerous occasions. Plus, he'd seen him kissing Luanne Russell, and he knew he'd had feelings for her. He was obviously heterosexual, and uninterested in men. So what had felt like caresses to him must've been something else--he just hadn't figured out what yet.
Just because you've gone off the deep end for a man, don't assume that he has too, he lectured himself. Or that he ever will! Especially after what Gentry did to him.
He lay down as Ray had asked, feeling distinctly depressed. Ray strode past him to the bed, and Fraser forced himself not to watch as he climbed onto it. But instead of lying down as he'd expected, he sat on the edge of it and looked down at him again, his eyes oddly intent.
"Ben, I wanna...tell you something," he said at last.
Ben... Something in the way he said it put Fraser on the alert. He searched his partner's eyes. Something disturbing moved in their blue depths, shadows that hadn't been there a moment before--and Ben suddenly knew what it was he wanted to talk about. Hope surged in him. This was what Ray needed most, to talk about his kidnapping, and he'd waited so long he'd begun to fear that he'd never do it. But Ben's hope was mixed with dread. Despite the fact that he knew Ray needed to unburden himself, he dreaded hearing the details of his nightmarish ordeal. Looking at his battered, lacerated body these past few weeks, and listening to his horrified screams when he had nightmares had told him more than he'd wanted to know about what he'd gone through.
But Ray needed him now, as he'd never needed him before; and Fraser loved him. So no matter how much it hurt him, he would listen. "All right," he said quietly.
Ray lowered his head and stared at the floor. "You know how...how I freak out, when I have those damn dreams," he choked out at last. It was a statement, not a question.
Fraser's heart turned over. He swallowed hard, staring down at the bulge of his feet under his blanket. He knew his reaction was important but he also knew that he shouldn't push. "Yes. I know," he said cautiously.
"It's because I keep dreamin' about them. That house--what they did to me."
"That's only natural, I suppose," Ben said gently. "No one could forget a terrible experience like that very quickly."
Ray grimaced. "Yeah, but... I've never... told you what happened," he went on.
"No."
"I mean, you must know some of it. You're the one who found me, and you must've read the reports..."
"Yes. I know about your injuries," Fraser admitted, choosing his words very carefully indeed. He didn't know whether he should tell Ray that he knew he'd been raped or not. He decided that it was better not to mention that detail, in case Ray believed he was unaware of it. He could certainly understand a victim's desire not to discuss such an experience with anyone else--especially a male victim as macho as Kowalski. Rape was hellish for anyone, but for a man as cocky as he...
A long silence fell, and out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Ray pacing restlessly beside him again. "You don't have to tell me any more if you don't want to," he said.
Ray shook his head. "I don't want to!" he burst out. "I don't wanna talk about it, but that damn shrink... He said if I don't, it'll just kinda' fester, and... I'm startin' to think he's right. It's just--It's eatin' me up, Fraser! I can't eat, I can't sleep--I still see 'em. I still hear 'em in my head... laughin' at me --"
Fraser swallowed, his mouth dry. "Then tell me," he said simply.
Ray nodded nervously, then paced some more. Up and down, up and down, until the agitated motion grew hard to watch, until Fraser wanted to grab him and make him stop. But Kowalski had always been a bundle of energy, happiest when in motion. He could understand why he needed to move now, of all times. So he stayed where he was, knowing Ray had to find his own way through this.
Finally, he stopped not far from Fraser, and stared off into space. "It hurt," Ray said at long last, his voice thick with remembered pain. "More than anything I ever felt. Worse than gettin' shot, worse than anything. I couldn't--" He broke off, strode across the room, came back again. "'I mean, I've faced death before--lots o' cops do, sooner or later, but... that was worse," he confessed huskily. "I always thought I could take anything, but that..." He shook his head, blinking as if to dispel his horrible memories. "That bitch with her goddamn cigarettes, she--and Gentry with his goddamn bat. At first, I told 'em to go to hell. But in the end... they made me scream," he said in a small voice, shaking. "Made me beg. Beg 'em to stop."
Ray swung away from him, so he couldn't see his face. Fraser could only imagine what it had cost him to admit that. He swallowed hard, felt the sting of tears in his eyes. His partner's words had cut into him like surgical blades. He didn't need to imagine what they'd done to him to break him. What he hadn't seen for himself, the doctor's reports on Ray's injuries had spelled out: a broken rib and collarbone, a broken finger on his left hand. Numerous severe bruises and contusions caused by repeated blows with a blunt object--undoubtedly Gentry's baseball bat. Bruised liver and kidneys. Multiple cuts and lacerations, knife wounds and cigarette burns. Gentry and his sister hadn't been subtle about taking revenge for his imprisonment. They'd beaten, stabbed and burned Ray so viciously it was a wonder he hadn't died.
"But when I begged 'em to stop... they just laughed. They laughed, then they did it some more. They -- took turns hurtin' me. I tried to tell myself that you'd come lookin' for me, but sometimes... sometimes I thought it was never gonna end. That no one would ever find me. Before they were done, I was beggin' 'em... to kill me," he admitted in a hoarse whisper.
Fraser closed his eyes, had to choke down a lump in his throat before he could speak. It was horrible, monstrous. Worse than he had dreamed. Worse yet, it was partly his fault. If he'd been smarter, if he'd only found him sooner, Gentry and his sister wouldn't have had time to hurt him so cruelly. "I'm sorry, Ray," he said, knowing the words were inadequate. "I'm so sorry they hurt you."
Ray nodded. "Yeah," he said thickly. "I know ya are. Thanks." For the first time in weeks, he reached out and touched Fraser--not looking for comfort himself this time, but trying to give it. He laid a hand on his shoulder for an instant. Moved by his generosity after all he'd been through, Fraser wanted, with an urgency that shook him, to pull him down into his arms and hold him, kiss him until he forgot all the horror and pain.
No one had been there to hold or comfort Ben after his mother died, and he could count the times anyone had held him since on the fingers of one hand. But when he was a very young boy, his mom had held him. Rocked him in her arms when he cried. He still remembered how wonderful it felt to have one's pain soothed by a loving embrace, by tender kisses--and he wanted to do that for Ray. He'd been wanting to do it ever since he'd found him. Not just to support him while he cried, but to stroke him and kiss him all over. But he knew it was impossible. Forbidden. That Ray himself wouldn't understand. So he held himself still, though he had to tense every muscle in his body to do so.
After a moment that seemed all too brief to Fraser, Ray let go of him. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed, trying to hide his tears.
But the sight of them forced Fraser into a confession of his own. "I wish I'd...found you sooner," he grated, the words like ashes in his mouth.
Ray shot him a swift glance. "What kinda' talk is that?" he asked gruffly. "It's not your fault! You're the one who figured it out. You saved me. I owe you my life. If it hadn't been for you, I'd be a dead man."
Fraser closed his eyes again, feeling sick as he remembered the terror that had filled him while he'd searched for him in Alison Gentry's house. Fear that he'd come too late... "Don't say that," he mumbled.
Ray crouched down beside him. "It's true. I don't know...if I ever thanked you for comin' after me," he said earnestly. "For gettin' me outta that hellhole. And...for everything else you've done. For takin' care o' me and all. Thanks, Ben."
At that instant, he knew why Ray had started calling him Ben--and that all his previous apologies had been sincere, and not the mockeries he'd feared. Ray cared for him too; and that meant more to him than anything. Fraser opened his eyes, looked past the red and white scars that still laced his face, deep into his best friend's eyes. "You're welcome," he said. "And you don't owe me, Ray. I know you would've done the same for me."
Ray nodded. "Yeah. But how? I mean--how'd you know I wasn't at Gentry's place, like everybody else thought?"
Because I love you, Fraser thought painfully. My eyes saw further than theirs did because they had to. I had to save you, because you're my life. But aloud, he said only, "I don't know, Ray. I just had a hunch Gentry wouldn't be stupid enough to try to keep you concealed in a small apartment."
Ray smiled bleakly. "Yer right. I did get a little noisy at times." He rubbed the fading red cigarette burns under his jaw unconsciously as he spoke.
Fraser winced. He knew it was probably a good sign that Ray could joke about his ordeal, but he couldn't see it as funny. He stared into his partner's face, at the gaunt, angular cheekbones and troubled blue eyes so close to him, and for a moment, pity and anger overwhelmed him. The mention of Gentry's name, combined with a close view of Ray's scars, triggered a sudden memory of Gentry's cold dark eyes. Fraser imagined himself downing the man with one punch, then kicking his prone body--and the violent image gave him a surge of righteous satisfaction.
But something of his dark thoughts must've showed in his expression. Ray stared at him, and his eyes narrowed. A little frown formed between his brows. "Sorry. Guess I got a little... heavy, there. Didn't mean to," he said awkwardly. "You okay with it, Frase?"
Ben had to bite his lip. For once, he was the one who wanted to shout. No, I'm not okay with it! I hate what they did to you! I hate that bastard so much that if I'd found him in that house I probably would've killed him with my bare hands--
He'd wanted to. Even now, it took all the iron self control he'd developed over the years to suppress his rage, not to tell Ray what was on his mind. But the police department psychologist who Ray was seeing had warned him against it, had told him that expressions of anger and/or hatred towards his kidnappers, natural though they might be, wouldn't aid Ray in his recovery. So he'd never told his friend that fantasies of violent retribution against Gentry for what he'd done to him sometimes filled his head.
I'm a Mountie, he reminded himself. I can do this. So he banished the violent images, swallowed his anger and finally, after a long pause, tried to smile up at his partner. "Yes," he said. "I just get... upset sometimes, thinking about what they did to you. But you're my friend. My partner. You know you can tell me anything, Ray. It's all right."
Ray swallowed hard, his throat working, as if he were suppressing strong emotions of his own. "Yeah. I know," he said hoarsely. "Thanks. But I think that's enough for tonight, huh? Let's get some sleep."
He climbed back into bed, and Ben settled back down on the floor beside him. Ray turned off the bedside lamp, and the room was once again plunged into darkness. Neither of them spoke for a long time. So long a time, in fact, that Fraser began to hope that Ray had gone back to sleep.
Then Ray said quietly, "Hey, Ben."
"Yes?"
"You know what helped me get through it?"
"What?"
"You. I thought o' you," Ray said hoarsely.
Fraser closed his eyes, but tears ran down his cheeks anyway. He couldn't stop them, and he didn't even try. He just lay there, his whole body one pulsing beat of love and pain so deep he had no words to express it. If he hadn't wept, he would've exploded from the strain of trying to keep it all in. If Ray had touched him at that moment, with so much as a fingertip, he wouldn't have been able to hold back. He would've tried to take him in his arms, no matter the consequences, because that little confession had ripped his heart right out of his chest.
He knew what it meant, what his partner had been trying to tell him: that he loved him. As a friend, maybe even like a brother. He felt honored by that. Moved. But shut out all the same; because it wasn't the kind of love he wanted from Ray. Never that.
What was that silly thing Ray Vecchio used to say? "Close, but no cigar."
He couldn't imagine why he'd thought of that now. Maybe because Vecchio had loved him in the same way--
Finally, after a silence so long and deep he thought it would never end, he managed to get himself back under control, to choke back his tears so he could speak. He forced out a whisper. "Go to sleep, Ray."
Because he'd discovered that there were other, more subtle forms of torture than knives and baseball bats. Any more of that, and he would've been the one begging Ray to stop.
Stanley Ray Kowalski lay awake for a long time after that, staring up at the ceiling and wondering about himself and the man who lay so close to him in the darkness. What in the hell made me say that? he wondered, already regretting his confession. What the hell was I thinking? Living in this rat trap must've fried my brain. I told him about the screaming! God, I was never gonna tell anybody that, ever. Shit! If he had any respect for me at all, that musta' flushed it down the toilet. Besides makin' him sick. I swear, he turned green. I thought he was gonna puke. Why the fuck did I do that?
But he knew why. Those nightmares had been festering inside him, just like that police shrink warned him they would. Turning into green pus, poisoning his brain--he had to get rid of them, had to talk about them to someone, or he'd rot away from the inside.
And he couldn't tell anyone else but Ben. No one else would've wanted to listen; no one else would've understood. The other cops at the 27th would've laughed if he'd told them he'd broken down like a girl and begged the Gentrys to kill him--and he could never have told his parents that, it would've freaked them out. He doubted Stella would've even understood it. She would've just expected him to be strong no matter what. But Ben hadn't. He'd gotten tears in his eyes. Said he was sorry he got hurt like that.
He clung to that memory. He'd never seen Ben cry before, except when that damn bounty hunter chick had left him high and dry and lonely. Fraser didn't exactly wear his heart on his sleeve. So his tears must've meant something: that he really was sorry, that he wished he'd found him sooner... And that must mean that he understood. That he didn't despise him. That made him feel a little better. Actually, telling Ben some of the gory details had too. For the first time since waking up in the hospital, he felt a little cleaner inside, a little less raw. Like maybe some of the Gentrys' stink was wearing off of him. Like maybe things would somehow be okay after all. Maybe, even though Fraser now knew that he'd screamed like a girl, he wouldn't hold it against him. Maybe he wouldn't ask for a new partner once this was over, once his scars healed and he got back on his feet again...
That was one of his worst fears. He had a lot of them right now, but that was near the top of his list: losing Fraser. He was still walking in the sky, and without him, he'd float away. Ben was the only person who made him feel safe anymore.
Who made him feel--
He squirmed under the bedcovers, as a strange wave of heat passed over him. Okay, so maybe I told Fraser about the screamin' so I'd feel better. Maybe I even do. But why'd I tell him how I dreamed about him when I was in that hellhole? And why the hell was I touchin' him like that?
He felt a wave of fear. Like he was falling from a great height, falling helplessly... Then somehow, he was there again. Back in Alison Gentry's house. He remembered Gentry's hands on his naked body, turning him to face the wall. His feeling of helplessness as he jerked his head back by the hair, so hard he thought his neck would snap...He'd known what was coming, and he'd roared, screamed furiously, more angry than he'd ever been in his life. But he couldn't stop him. He was helpless in those damn chains, could hardly even move, and they'd beaten him so badly by that time that the slightest movement was agony... And then the pain got worse. Infinitely worse as Gentry had thrust into him from behind, smashed him into the wall as he pounded into him.
Ben! he cried out, falling. Ben, help me!
But for the first time, even the thought of him wasn't comforting. Because he didn't think of him in the same way anymore. Not after...
What the hell's happening to me?
Had Gentry bent him? Twisted him? Was that why he'd been touching Ben like that? Had being raped made him gay? He started to sweat. A sick, cold sweat that reeked of fear. He rolled over and ground his face into the pillow. Knotted his fists in the blankets, shaking, and tried not to float away.
Tried to hold on for one more night.
Fraser watched Ray closely the next morning. He'd evidently gotten up before dawn, because when the morning light woke Fraser, Ray was already up and dressed. Sitting by the window, wearing an old pair of blue jeans with a hole in the knee, and a blue sweatshirt that hung a little on his overly thin frame. He stared out into nothingness, his eyes hooded and distant. Fraser wondered if he'd slept at all.
"Good morning," he said quietly, testing the waters.
Ray shot him a slanting blue glance, then turned to the window again without replying.
Fraser sat up and ran a hand through his hair as Diefenbaker whoofed at him, asking for something to eat. "Are you hungry?" he asked his friend. "I can make us some breakfast..."
Ray just shook his head no. Fraser sighed to himself. He'd hoped that Ray's confession last night would set his mind at ease, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. He'd withdrawn into himself again, into the dark silence he fell into all too easily these days. But he told himself that it wasn't too hard to understand. Ray probably felt he'd said too much. He was probably embarrassed. So Fraser didn't push him to talk. He thought if he just carried on as usual, Ray would see that nothing he'd said had made any difference in their relationship, and eventually, he'd relax about it.
He hoped so.
Later that evening, after he'd just finished cleaning up their dinner dishes--dinner he'd forced Ray to eat, since he'd had nothing else all day--there was a knock at their door. Ray jumped a little. They hadn't had many visitors since he'd been staying with him. Lt. Welsh and Frannie had been by a few times, but Ray didn't want anyone else from the 27th to see him yet, and Fraser had respected his wishes. So Fraser was a little surprised that Ray didn't retreat as he went to open the door.
It was his neighbor. "Hello, Mr. Tilden," he smiled.
"Uh, hello," the older man said. "Mr. Fraser, I wondered if... I have this lamp, you see, in my bedroom," he began haltingly. Then he stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes widening.
Fraser knew he must've seen Ray behind him. He moved without thinking, shifted to block the older man's view, hoping to God Ray hadn't noticed his startled reaction. It was probably just surprise, he told himself. Mr. Tilden just hadn't realized that someone else was in his apartment with him. But he knew Ray wouldn't take it that way. He was so sensitive about his appearance, he'd go into black fits of depression if people stared at his still-healing face... He still wasn't sure he'd fully recovered from that little girl's unfortunate comment in the park that day.
"Yes?" he prompted politely. "Is something wrong with your lamp?"
"Well, it... It doesn't want to light all of a sudden, and I changed the bulb but it still won't. And I was wondering, could you come and look at it? It would just take a minute..."
Ordinarily, Fraser wouldn't have hesitated, but he didn't like leaving Ray alone. Not after last night, and especially not after the look Tilden had just given him. If Ray had seen it... He shot a look at him over his shoulder. But Ray's face was blank, calm, revealing nothing. Thank God, he thought, he didn't notice it.
"Go on, Frase," Ray said quietly. His lips twitched upward in the ghost of a smile. "I'll hold down the fort for awhile."
Fraser hesitated, even considered asking Ray to come with him. But he decided that would probably do more harm than good. He tried not to make Ray feel like he was his jailer. "All right," he said at last. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
When Ray nodded, he whistled to Dief, then shut the door behind them. But as Mr. Tilden strode off down the hall towards his apartment, Fraser turned to Dief and pointed back at his door. "Stay with Ray," he said clearly. "Guard."
Dief gave a bark to show that he understood, and settled faithfully down by his front door. Fraser followed Mr. Tilden, secure in the knowledge that if Ray did try to leave while he was gone, Dief would warn him.
Some ten minutes later, as he was putting the pieces of Mr. Tilden's lamp back together, Ben heard a mournful howl from down the hall. His head came up, and he dropped the screwdriver he was holding. "Excuse me," he said to his startled neighbor. "I have to go."
Ray. Something's wrong... He ran down the hall, his heart in his mouth. Dief sat by his door, barking loudly. He tore inside, skidded to a stop by his bed, already knowing his apartment was empty. Ray was nowhere to be seen, and Dief ran to the window, jumped out onto the fire escape and looked upwards, keening a worried sound deep in his throat.
The window! Fraser cursed himself. He'd forgotten about that. He'd expected Ray to head for the street if he left, but he'd evidently climbed out the window instead; and from the way Dief was acting, he'd gone up onto the roof. Dear God. He stuck his head out, but there was no sign of Ray on the fire escape above.
Fraser leapt out and started climbing, as silently as he could. It was faster than the elevator, and there was no time to waste. He suddenly realized that the past 24 hours must've been tough on Ray. First his agonized confession last night, and then Mr. Tilden's look of surprise moments ago, which he now knew Ray must've seen after all...
Please, God, please! he prayed as he hauled himself upward. Don't let him do anything stupid.
Ray stood at the edge of the roof, staring upward. Looking at the sky during the day bothered him lately, made him dizzy, because of that damn story of Fraser's; but he'd had a sudden yen to look at the stars. Not from down on the streets with the junkies and winos, but from up here, where it was quiet and he could be alone. He'd wanted to look at something pretty, 'cuz he'd seen how Fraser's neighbor, that Tilden guy, had looked at him just now, and it rankled. Same old shit, but every time he thought he'd gotten resigned to that, he discovered he wasn't.
It seemed he was doomed to disappointment, though, in his search for the stars. It was a bit cloudy, and they were hard to see. He craned his neck and leaned forward a bit, peering up. Then his boot hit the edge, and he swayed a little.
"Ray!"
A hoarse cry rang out behind him, startling him. He'd thought he was alone up here--
As Fraser heaved himself up the last steps onto the roof, he saw his partner standing about ten feet away from him, near the edge of the building, and his heart almost leapt right out of his chest. Dear God, I was right! He's going to jump!
When Ray stepped to the edge and swayed, Fraser screamed, terrified. "No, Ray! Don't!"
Ray whirled, surprised by his yell. But he turned so quickly that it unbalanced him, and he flung out his arms a bit to steady himself. To Fraser, it seemed he was teetering on the brink of a downward plunge.
Ben was up over the edge in one fluid motion, and running before he knew he'd moved. He hit his partner in a flying tackle, knocking him onto his back with a force that jarred them both. They landed at the very edge of the roof. For a second, he just lay there on top of him, paralyzed by an enormous rush of relief. Because he was holding Ray, he'd caught him, he wasn't going to die--
He could feel the hole in the knee of Kowalski's jeans pressed against his leg, and even that little imperfection seemed sweet just because it was part of Ray.
"Shit!" Ray hissed breathlessly, shifting awkwardly under him. "What the hell was that, Fraser?"
He lifted his head, stared down at his partner incredulously. "What do you mean?" He was shaking with reaction, with the aftermath of pure, bone-chilling terror, so his words came out sharper than he'd meant them to.
Ray shifted again, then grimaced in exasperation as Fraser's heavier body kept him pinned down. "Fraser..." Then, just as swiftly, that exasperation turned to amusement, and he smiled. "I mean, what're you doing? Do you always jump guys on the roof like this, or am I your first?"
Fraser flushed. "I--no, I don't..."
He was suddenly aware that he wasn't just lying on top of Ray. He was also holding onto his arms. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, and Ray could probably feel how his heart was pounding. He could feel the detective's heart beating hard, too. And before he could stop himself, his eyes dropped to Ray's lips, which were slightly parted in a sardonic smile. He wanted to take that smiling mouth, he wanted to cover it with his own and kiss him so hard he forgot his own name--
Then it hit him: Ray had made a joke. He'd just stopped him from trying to kill himself, and he was lying there making a joke out of it!
Does he know he just scared the hell out of me? Or doesn't he even care? A wave of anger swept over him. He sat up and rolled off Ray, rested his back against the jutting edge of the roof. He swallowed hard. "Maybe you should tell me what you're doing up here," he grated accusingly, when he was sure he could speak without saying something he'd regret.
Ray sat up slowly, rubbing his chest and eyeing him strangely. "Came up to look at the stars," he said.
It was Fraser's turn to blink. "What?"
Ray shrugged a little. "Yeah, I... I get these moods, you know. I got depressed I guess, so I just... wanted to come up and look at the stars for awhile. They're pretty, they --" He broke off suddenly, as if he were too embarrassed to go any further.
Fraser stared at him in disbelief. Ray admitted that he was depressed, and he'd been standing at the edge, right at the edge--but then he remembered something. One little detail that he'd seen, but been too frightened to pay attention to before. When he'd first reached the top of the building, Ray had been standing at the edge of the roof all right; but he hadn't been looking down, like every suicidal jumper Fraser had ever seen.
He'd been looking up. Up at the stars.
He was telling the truth. He hadn't been trying to kill himself, he'd just come up to take a look at the night sky. Fraser closed his eyes, took a deep breath then blew it out again, feeling both relieved and completely idiotic. "I see," he said.
"Well, that makes one of us," Ray retorted. "What was the idea, jumpin' me like that?"
Fraser shrugged, knowing he was flushing, feeling as awkward as a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "I just thought that --"
"What? What did you think?"
He jerked his head nervously, rubbed at his eyebrow with his thumb. "Well, that you were about to--to fall off the roof," he lied at last. "I was trying to catch you."
Ray pursed his lips, eyeing him intently. "Thought I was gonna jump, dintcha'?" he asked shrewdly.
Fraser shook his head, annoyed that Ray had seen through him. "No, I thought you might stumble--"
"Jump," Ray insisted.
"Lose your balance--"
"Jump!" Ray repeated stubbornly.
"Well, you seemed to be teetering, so--"
"Take a flyin' leap! Make like a bird and--"
"All right! Yes! I thought you were going to jump!" Fraser hissed finally, exasperated. Then he shot an apprehensive glance at Kowalski, afraid that the revelation might make him furious.
But to his surprise, Ray just nodded. "Thank you. Well, I guess I can see why you mighta' thought that," he said calmly, looking back at where he'd been standing. "But Ben... I'm not gonna kill myself, okay?"
Fraser just looked at him.
"I'm not," he said again.
Fraser raised an eyebrow.
Ray grimaced. "Okay. Gimme yer hand," he said.
Ben narrowed his eyes, confused, but after a moment, he held out his right hand.
Ray shook his head. "The other one," he said, holding his left hand up a little so Fraser could see the splint on it.
"Oh. Sorry," Ben said, holding out his left.
Ray gripped it tightly with his right, his good hand, then held their joined hands up in front of Fraser's eyes. "I swear, I'm not gonna kill myself," he said firmly. "I swear on this hand, your hand, the hand that saved my life, that I am not gonna give up like that. Okay, Ben? Don't want you to be worryin' about that."
Ben swallowed again, touched and immensely relieved by the sincerity in his partner's eyes, his voice. Ray's grip felt powerful, and his words felt more like a vow than a promise. He felt like a kid again suddenly, like a young boy taking an oath with a friend that they'd be blood brothers forever. He covered Ray's hand with his own much larger one, and nodded. "Understood."
Then, unexpectedly, Ray grinned. A wide, wicked grin that Fraser hadn't seen since his disappearance. "Okay. But you better let go now, or I'm gonna think you were tryin' to jump me after all," he teased.
Fraser hesitated. For a fraction of a second, a wild part of him responded to the wicked gleam in Kowalski's eyes, and wanted to tease him back. What would he do, he wondered, if I took him up on that dare? If I didn't let go of his hand, if I held onto it, even used that hold to pull him against me and kiss him instead?
Then the answer came to him. He'd probably punch me. After all, they were blood brothers only--not lovers. They would never be lovers, because loving took two, and he was in this alone. He let go of Ray's hand and silently got to his feet and headed for the top of the fire escape.
But his friend came after him, put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around again. He rolled his shoulders a little nervously, then cleared his throat. "Scared you pretty bad, didn't I," he said, and it was a statement, not a question.
This time, he didn't try to lie about it. "Yes," he said, letting some of it show in his eyes.
Ray hung his head. "Sorry. Didn't mean to. I thought I'd get back before you did, and you'd never even know I was gone."
Fraser smiled a little. "Dief got a little worried," he said.
Ray smiled a little too. "Dief, huh? I mighta' known."
As one, they turned back towards the fire escape then. Ben let Ray go first.
"Didja' get that guy's lamp fixed?" Ray asked casually over his shoulder.
"Almost." He didn't want to admit that he'd only gotten midway through the repair when Dief had noted Ray's absence, and alerted him to it. "By the way, how was the stargazing?" he asked.
Ray just shrugged. "Couldn't see much," he said as he started to descend. "There's too many clouds."
But that night as he lay in bed, Ray realized that he had seen something up on that roof after all. Several things: Ben's face, white with terror, as he tackled him in a desperate dive; Ben's gaze, hot with what looked like desire as it dropped to his mouth while he lay on top of him; and last but not least, Ben's hand, that had held onto his a few seconds too long, even after he'd teased him about trying to jump his bones.
He tried to tell himself it could mean something else, it didn't have to mean that... But he'd been a detective for too long to doubt his own eyes, and his instincts. And they were telling him that Fraser had been hiding something--something big.
And that maybe he had too.
Bam! Just like that, he was falling again. Falling forever, dizzy with the spin, feeling the blood roaring in his ears as he plunged. He dug his fingers into the blankets again and waited helplessly for the feeling to pass.
And cut a six inch valley through the middle of my soul
At night I wake up with the sheets soakin' wet
And a freight train runnin' through the middle of my head
Only you can cool my desire
Oh, I'm on fire
-- Bruce Springsteen
The next three days went by uneventfully. Fraser and Ray took their usual long walks at night, Ray tried not to brood so much during the days, and neither of them mentioned what had happened up on the roof. Ray thought a lot about what it meant, though; and what he needed to do about it.
But he didn't let himself turn on the light to watch Ben sleep.
But on the third night, he half woke way past midnight, roused from sleep by an unfamiliar sound. It was coming from Ben's direction, from the floor; a sort of strangled moan. He heard Dief whine uneasily, and blinked his eyes open, groggy from deep sleep.
In his dream, Ben leapt up on the roof again, his heart in his mouth, as Ray stood poised to jump. Only this time he was further away, and it would take him too long to cross the roof to get to him. He knew that even as he started to run. Knew that Ray was going to do it, going to jump, going to leave him like everyone else had. "Ray, wait!" he called desperately as he ran. "Don't! I love you!"
His partner turned to face him suddenly, his scars livid, his face twisted in a look of disgust. "Why do you think I wanna jump?"
Then he spread his arms and leapt.
"RAY!"
Ray sat up, his heart pounding, jolted completed awake so abruptly by Fraser's screams that for a second, he couldn't even remember where they were. He reached out reflexively for his partner, and nearly knocked over the bedside lamp. He flipped it on, hands shaking, to find the Mountie sitting bolt upright, chest heaving, eyes wide.
"Raaaayyyy!" he shrieked.
Jesus Christ! He'd never heard Fraser scream before. It was a terrible sound: loud, hoarse, terror mixed with unbearable anguish. He dropped down to the floor beside Ben and reached out to him, touched his shoulder. Found it clammy with cold sweat. "Hey! Ben, wake up. It's okay," he said hastily, wondering what the hell he was dreaming about, that had him so terrified. Wondered if this was how Fraser felt, groggy and scared, his heart in overdrive, every time he woke him up this way.
Fraser blinked, his mouth working as if he were swallowing down another scream. "Ray!" he croaked, grabbing the hand that touched his shoulder as if to prove to himself that it was real.
"Yeah. It's me," he breathed, gripping his friend tighter to reassure him.
"I'm sorry," Fraser whispered, his eyes finally losing their wild look. He shivered, let him go and turned away a little, his breath still sawing through his chest.
Ray pulled his hand back, trying not to take it personally. After all, he hadn't exactly been Mr. Touchy-Feelie himself lately, but it had nothing to do with Fraser. "S'okay," he repeated softly. "You just had a bad dream."
Fraser was still breathing hard. Dief padded over to him, licked his cheek anxiously. Ben put an arm around him absently, then buried his cheek in the wolf's furry shoulder. "Yes," he said at last, his voice unsteady, his hands moving over Diefenbaker's coat in a blind search for comfort. "A bad dream..."
From the look in his eyes, that's the understatement of the century, Ray thought. And he yelled my name, so I must've been in it. Or was he thinkin' about the other Ray? "What was it?" he asked, curious. Even a little jealous.
To his surprise, Fraser glared at him. "I don't ask you what your nightmares are about, do I?" he snapped.
Ray shrugged that off with a little smile, unrepentant. "Yeah, but I'm not like you. I'm not as polite as you."
"I've noticed."
Ray raised an eyebrow. First a glare, now sarcasm? That must've been a whopper of a nightmare, he thought, to shake him up so bad. He's acting prickly. Totally unCanadian. "I just thought, you know, it might help if you talk about it," he tried again.
Fraser snorted. "You want me to talk?" he asked incredulously.
"Well--"
"You? Ray Kowalski, Mr. 'Don't Speak to Me, I'm Busy Brooding'? You want me to talk?"
Have I really been that bad? Ray thought, knowing he probably had. Still, he was beginning to get a bit pissed off at Fraser's attitude. He'd been just about to tell him that he thought he had some right to know about the nightmare since it was his name he'd been screaming out. But it could just as well have been Vecchio he was thinking of, and if it had been, Ray didn't want to know. "Okay. Don't tell me then. Just forget I said anything," he grumped.
"Fine," Fraser shot back.
"Okay!" Ray snapped.
"'Nuff said," Fraser retorted.
Ray laid back down on the bed in a huff.
Fraser lay back down, too. But neither man moved to switch off the light, and the silence that fell between them was uncomfortable. Dief gave them both an annoyed look, then padded off to go back to sleep in the corner.
Two minutes later, they both spoke at once. "I'm sorry, Ray--"
"Sorry, Ben--"
Then they both started to laugh.
When the snickering died away, Ray said, "I wasn't tryin' to pry, ya' know. I just... I just wanted to help you. Yer always helpin' me when I have bad dreams, so..."
Fraser was touched. "Thanks, Ray. I appreciate that. But I don't... It just isn't something I can tell you," he said at last, as gently as he could. He hadn't meant to snap at his partner about it, but he didn't want to discuss it with him for several reasons--not the least of which was the cold feeling the dream had left him with. As if it were more than a mere aberration thrown up by his subconscious. As if it were a warning of some kind. A hint of impending disaster. The fact that disaster had resulted, in his dream, from the revelation of his feelings for Ray disturbed him deeply.
But then, love had always frightened him. Why should this time be any different? he asked himself, trying to banish his goosebumps.
Ray sat up again, moved over to the edge of his bed, threw back his covers, dangled his legs over the side and gave him an intense look. "Wouldja have told him?" he asked.
"Who?" he asked absently, still worrying about the implications of his dream.
"Vecchio. Wouldja have told him about yer dream?"
Fraser frowned in surprise, suddenly focusing his full attention on Kowalski. Ray Vecchio had been gone for over a year now, for so long that he sometimes thought he'd never see him again. But Kowalski's question sounded strangely jealous all the same. As if he were wondering which of them Fraser liked best. And there was an edge in his voice that Fraser could seldom remember hearing before. It puzzled him. He couldn't imagine why Ray would worry about such a thing after all this time. Is he afraid, perhaps, that if Ray happens to return now, while he's staying with me, that I'd abandon him?
"Ray Vecchio isn't here, Ray," he pointed out, trying to reassure him.
It didn't work. Kowalski took it as an insult. His brow furrowed with familiar aggravation. "I know that, I know! I've been havin' nightmares, Fraser, not hallucinations!"
Fraser hid a smile. "I'm sorry, Ray."
"This is just, like--one o' those whadja'callits --"
"Hypothetical questions?"
"Yeah! Like you're always askin'. Hypothetical. I'm just sayin', hypothetically, if Vecchio was here, if he was sittin' here now instead o' me, would you tell him what your dream was about?"
Ben was tempted to point out that Ray Vecchio wouldn't have been sitting here with him, because he'd never arrested James Gentry, nor would he have been kidnapped and tortured by him, thus resulting in a stay in his apartment. But he restrained himself, since Ray had stressed that his question was merely hypothetical. Fraser had the distinct feeling, though, that it was nonetheless important. Important enough that Kowalski wouldn't let it go until he got an answer.
So Fraser gave it serious thought. "No," he said after a moment. And it was true--just not for the reasons Kowalski would think. He wouldn't have discussed such a dream with Ray Vecchio because it involved his deep desire for a man, and discovering that would've upset Ray, who was rather homophobic. So it wasn't that they weren't close enough for Ben to confide in him--actually, they were so close that he already knew what Ray's opinion on the subject would be. So he never would've brought it up.
But Ray Kowalski didn't need to know that.
And he couldn't quite hide a gleam of satisfaction at that news, either. "Okay," Ray nodded, visibly mollified. "Well, then... I guess you don't have to tell me either."
Fraser lifted his eyebrows, amused. "Thank you, Ray."
He laid back down, glad that the unexpected subject could now be closed. He expected Ray would lie back down too, but he didn't. He just sat there staring at him, and it began to make Fraser nervous. "Uh... is there something else on your mind, Ray?"
"Yeah." Kowalski's brow was furrowed again, and he scratched his neck absently, a sure sign that he was thinking heavily about something. "I just wanted to tell you that, you know... If you ever wanna talk about anything that's botherin' you, you can. With me, I mean."
Fraser blinked. Kowalski was full of surprises tonight. He knew he was trying to be helpful, but he couldn't help wondering what lay behind that unexpected offer. Had Ray sensed his inner turmoil? Or did it have something to do with his dream? Had he said something in his sleep that he shouldn't have? The thought made him distinctly uncomfortable, though he tried to hide it. "Well, that's very kind of you, Ray, but nothing's bothering me."
Ray searched his eyes. "Yer sure about that."
He nodded firmly. "Positive," he lied.
"Okay, but I coulda' sworn you just woke up screamin' a few minutes ago --"
"Everyone has nightmares occasionally, Ray!" he said defensively, turning red because he knew he was fibbing shamelessly. "That doesn't mean something is troubling me!"
It was Ray's turn to lift his eyebrows. "That's funny, 'cuz the shrink I've been seein' says different. He says they usually mean somethin'. That they're the result of 'unresolved emotions that haven't been dealt with.' And stuff like that."
"Well, not in this case," he insisted.
"Okay, fine, Frase. Just checkin'," Ray said mildly.
But to Fraser's chagrin, he didn't lean over to shut off the light again. He still kept looking at him. Studying him, as if he hadn't believed him. As if he knew damn well something was wrong, and wasn't going to give up until he found out what it was. Being the focus of those intense blue eyes at close range had a disturbingly arousing effect, and he shifted nervously under his covers, lifted a knee so that Ray wouldn't see what he was doing to him.
"What is it, now?" he asked, beginning to get a bit exasperated with Ray's unending questions.
"Huh? What's what?"
"Well, you keep staring at me! Is there something wrong, Ray?"
Ray let out a huff of breath that was almost a laugh, and looked away finally. Fraser was gratified to see him flush a bit himself. "Oh. Sorry. But yeah. Yeah, you could say that," he muttered. "That there's somethin' wrong, I mean." To his surprise, Ray closed his eyes for a long moment, as if he were trying to master some overpowering emotion--perhaps fear.
Fraser waited with baited breath. Dear God, is he going to tell me that I screamed out, "Ray, I love you?" or something equally damning, just now? Please, no...
"Ben," Ray ground out at last, his eyes still closed. "I gotta ask ya somethin'. If ya can do somethin' for me--"
"Anything," he said instantly, vastly relieved that this evidently had nothing to do with his damn dream.
Ray shook his head vehemently. "No, no! Don't do that. Don't say yes until you know what it is--"
Fraser was touched. Even after all this time, Ray had no idea how much he cared for him. "Ray, look at me," he said quietly. "Look at me!"
Haunted blue eyes opened again slowly, reluctantly, and searched his.
"Yes," he said again, meaning it.
Ray smiled for a second, but the expression faded quickly, as his smiles always did lately. His eyes hooded over and he shook his head. "It's not that simple," he said hoarsely.
"Yes," Fraser said patiently for the third time. "It is."
Ray lowered his head, his face indecipherable, and took a deep breath.
Fraser knew he was gathering his courage, and that alone was enough to set his already active curiosity ablaze. What could this mysterious request possibly be? Whatever it was, he would do it, even if it meant going to the ends of the earth.
"I wanna know if... if it'd be okay if I -- if you'd let me -- Ohh, shit, this is hard!" Ray cursed. He surged to his feet suddenly, looked away from him, and ran a hand through his hair roughly, his fingers digging into his scalp. He paced past him, every line of his too-thin body tense. "I don't know how to say this, I don't..."
Kowalski paced restlessly. He'd been thinking about it for days, trying to work up the guts to tell Fraser what he'd finally admitted to himself. But now that the moment was here, he'd choked. He'd known it was going to be hard to admit to such an innocent pair of blue eyes what he wanted--what he'd become...
But it was the truth. It had been true for a long time, even before his kidnapping. He knew that now. He wasn't sure when it had started, but it had been there as far back as that night in the car a year ago, when he'd looked at Ben and seen an angel in his sleeping face.
I love him, he thought, terrified. I was in love with him way back then, and I didn't even know it. Didn't even see it. I was so busy trying to hold on to what I'd already lost with Stella, I couldn't see what was right in front of my face.
But he saw it now, in living color. Dark hair, clear eyes as blue as the sea, big, gentle hands and a strong, beautiful body that made his mouth water. Brains, kindness, bravery, loyalty, courage, and a kind of sweetness he'd never seen in another man; that was Ben. He loved him, and he wanted him bad, so much that it was making him crazy. Every time he brushed past him lately, he had to restrain the urge to reach out and grab him, throw him down on his little bed and fuck the daylights out of him.
He'd never been turned on by a guy in his life before, but he was now--and it wasn't because of what Gentry had done to him, either. He'd thought a lot about that too. If anything, it was in spite of that. What that bastard had done to him had nothing to do with him and Ben, with what he wanted to happen between the two of them--nothing at all. That had been about pain, cruelty and humiliation. Sex used as a weapon, as a kind of torture. But he wanted to give Ben pleasure. Make him smile. Maybe even make him moan, but not in pain.
It was a simple equation, like 2+2 = 4. Gentry + Kowalski = bad.
Ray + Ben = good.
And once he'd figured that out, he'd realized that his feelings were okay. He wasn't sick or twisted. He wasn't even sure if he was gay, since the thought of Stella still turned him on. Gay, bi, whatever--what the hell difference did the labels make anyway? He just knew that he loved Ben now, in a different way. But he also knew he had to tell him, to do something about it...
Because he'd also realized that he wasn't the only one in Ben's little apartment with a guilty secret. Wasn't the only one who wanted to try out that little equation. Fraser wanted him too. He was almost sure of it.
But he would never, ever come right out and say it. Ray knew that too. The Mountie wasn't built that way. Especially not now, when he was so busy being his father/protector. He'd keep it to himself until he was old and gray, probably thinking it would be impolite to mention such an intimate subject.
And Kowalski didn't think he could wait that long.
Fraser eyed Ray closely as he paced, wondering what he was trying to say. His agitation was mounting, and he'd learned lately that sometimes it heralded explosions of temper in which Ray would yell, and even throw things around his apartment. He'd never tried to hurt him, and he apologized afterwards, but Fraser had learned to be wary of such moods. He eased himself up on his elbows again, in case Ray lost control and he had to dodge flying objects. "Would it help if I don't look at you while you say it?" he asked, keeping his voice low and calm.
Ray snorted. "Yeah, I guess. What I'm tryin' to say is... I've been thinkin' about us lately. You and me."
Fraser froze. Felt the stirrings of fear, but tried not to show it. "And?"
"Well, you know we make a good team, right?"
Fraser relaxed again. Okay, this was about work, not about his nightmare again. Not about--that. "Right."
"And we're good friends, ya' know--Hell, you're my best friend."
He smiled. "Thank you, Ray."
"Am I yours?" Ray asked.
Fraser