REDUX, by Ruth Devero
Part 4 of 4


     This was a nightmare; he couldn't get enough breath.  People
were talking all around him, moving all around him, asking him
questions.  But none of the words were making sense.  He spoke half
a dozen languages, and none of these words were making sense.

     Red.  Everywhere he looked, he saw red.  The color of honor,
the color of blood.  Something about the color hurt his eyes.

     "Here, Ben."  She handed him a cup of water.

     "I can't do this."

     "Of course you can!"  Her eyes glittered above the rim of her
own cup.

     "I CAN'T!"

     "Of COURSE you can!  HERE we go!"

     They stepped into the crowd, merging with the others, moving
past a constable who was counting heads and checking a clipboard
and looking puzzled.  Two Mounties in a sea of Mounties.  A sea of
red.  He felt his stomach knot.

     She led the way to seats in one of the passenger cars, a bit
apart from the others.  He sat next to the window and tried become
invisible.  *Ray, oh god, Ray*.

     "So, we're stopping at Normal," she said brightly.  "Strange
name for a town."  Her voice was brittle as ice.

     "It gave the name to the normal school."  Where had those
words come from?  "Illinois State University was one of the first
teacher's colleges in the States.  The phrase 'normal school' came
from the name of the town."

     "Ben--"

     "And it was--a circus town.  The railways that intersect there
brought a lot of circus people to the town."

     "Ben, relax."

     He looked at her.  Thatcher's uniform suited her, but--  He
looked away, through the window, at the cityscape passing just
outside.  Darkness was falling.  RAY.  He--

     "Ben."

     He could not look at her.  He could not look at anyone in the
crowded train car.  He heard laughter--someone had made a joke. 
He looked through the window, at the passing landscape.

     "It'll be all right, Ben.  As soon as we're away from here,
it'll be all right.  We'll be together.  Ben, I love you so much."

     He looked at the darkening landscape passing the window.

     "Trust me, Ben."

     He caught their reflections in the window glass.  Red.  So
much red.

     "You can't have stopped trusting me, Ben."

     He closed his eyes at that, tried to close his heart at the
memory of those words in his own mouth--just days ago, was it? 
TRUST.  He drew a shaky breath and forced open his eyes, to look
past their reflectiions to the darkness outside.

     "It'll be all right."

     Darkness.

                              . . .

     The train lurched, and he almost lost his hat.  How the hell
did Fraser keep this damn thing on?

     "Sorry," he said to the Mountie he'd almost knocked into. 
*Blend in, Vecchio.  You're undercover.  Be Canadian.  Apologize
all over the place*.

     The whole train seemed full to bursting with Mounties, because
of course it was.  Mounties who were supposed to be there, Mounties
who just seemed along for the ride.  Tall Mounties, not-so-tall
Mounties, old Mounties, young Mounties, white Mounties, black
Mounties--   He ducked his head as Pangborn went by.

     Where do you hide a Mountie?  In with a whole lot of other
Mounties.  And how do you hitch a ride out of Chicago if you don't
want to be spotted and nabbed?  Hide inside a uniform most people
didn't look past, with a whole lot of other people wearing the same
uniform.  Fraser's single red uniform in the closet where there
should have been two, his single Stetson where there should have
been two, had told Ray everything.

     He drew a deep breath and looked around.  Trouble was, all
those straight backs, all those broad shoulders, all those trim
waists--it was amazing how much all these Mounties looked like
Fraser at first glance.  Maybe he SHOULD have brought Dief along.

     Nah, Dief was better off where he was, with Elaine, who'd
taken one look at Ray and burst out laughing.  He didn't look THAT
stupid.  He was just undercover.

     The Mountie dress uniform almost fit; the hat--well, he'd had
to stuff some paper in there.  Boots were a problem until Ray had
thought to talk to Turnbull.  Turnbull always seemed a little
nervous where Ray was concerned:  that stereotype of the gun-toting
American poised for a psychotic killing spree seemed lodged in his
brain.  Still, it had never occurred to Ray that the words, "Hey,
Turnbull, I need to borrow a pair of Mountie boots," when
accompanied by a hitch at his slipping holster, would cause the
strapping young Mountie to wrestle off his own boots and hand them
right over.  Poor guy:  Ray made plans to be extra nice to him in
the future.  Dating Frannie, he'd need it.

     Mounties here, Mounties there, Mounties, Mounties everywhere. 
Ray moved down the train car, smiling acknowledgement of the
smiling nods of Mounties he didn't know, searching for that one
face that could stop his heart or start it again.  He held his arm
to hide the holster that should have been empty but which now held
his semiautomatic.  *You finally got a chance to kill her*, his
father's voice whispered in the back of his mind.  *She deserves
it; he deserves it too*.  He tried to ignore the voice, but his
heart felt like it had frozen.  *She deserves it; he deserves it
too*.  He'd tried to be organized in his search, moving through the
empty sleeping cars, the dining car, the first passenger car.

     Fraser was in the second.  And Ray felt warmth surge through
him.  Fraser.  Sitting by himself, kind of huddled in on himself,
staring out the window.  *He deserves it*--  Oh, god, Benny, so
unhappy.  Because he'd done wrong?  Because he was leaving Ray?

     Ray's knees were shaking.  *He's miserable because*--  Some
voice inside him was trying to find a reason for Benny to be
unhappy that didn't have to do with him betraying Ray, but Ray's
heart wasn't buying it.  Warmth was stealing into it; his arms
wanted to wrap themselves around Benny and hold him until the
misery was gone.  *Geez, Vecchio.  You're such a sap, Vecchio. 
Oh, Benny*.

     Ray paused when he came to Fraser's row.  Should he talk to
him?  Should he ask Fraser to help him trap the woman Fraser loved? 
No, but that didn't mean Ray's heart wasn't beating double-time. 
In the window reflection Fraser's face looked so tired, his eyes
looked so lost.  As Ray watched, Fraser seemed to see something
reflected in the glass and huddled in on himself even more.  *Ah,
god, Fraser, what's she done to you?*  Ray's heart was melting like
snow under a hot sun.

     This wasn't finding him Victoria.  Ray walked past, looking
at Mountie after Mountie, until he reached the end of the car.  He
turned for a quick glance back at Fraser before he went to the next
car, where there was still no Victoria.  And this was the last car.

     He went back, looked over at Fraser--who wasn't there.

     Ray's heart dropped like a stone through water.  No Victoria,
and now no Fraser, and where were they?

     Thumping from above told him.  Nobody else seemed to notice,
but his end was quiet, and he was listening for something like
this.  Oh, damn, outside the damn car.  He went into the space
between cars.

     The Stetson got in his way when he tried to shove his way
through the little service opening to the outside; and he took it
off.  And then, before he could think about it and maybe change his
mind, he was out and hanging on for dear life.  Standing on top of
the car was just a lot of fun.

     The moon, a couple days past full, rode low in the sky,
silver-edging the clouds streaming across the sky.  He faced the
back of the train.  Moonlight, dimness of cloud, then the moon
again.  Something was ahead of him, on the next car.  He eased
forward, scrambling to keep his footing when the train hit a rough
section of track.  Geez, didn't they MAINTAIN these tracks any
more?

     End of his own car; and, oh boy, that accordion thing that
joined the two cars looked none too solid.  Jump over it, Vecchio.

     Don't look down.  Looking down made him realize how the two
cars rocked independently of each other, made him sickeningly aware
that he might misjudge the way the next car was moving, land wrong,
slide to his death.  Just look at that next car and take a deep
breath and--

     He jumped.  Aw gee, aw gee, he was gonna land wrong, the way
that next car was swaying, the way--

     He landed, overbalanced, fell to one knee and caught himself. 
His heart was hammering.  Ohmigod, he'd done it.

     He peered ahead into the darkness.  Was that--

     Moonlight flooded the landscape.  A figure, dark against the
gleaming metal of the train, toward the far end of the car.  Rising
to his feet, Ray scrambled toward it.  Fraser?  Or Victoria?  Was
he walking into a trap?

     Caution steadied him as he moved along the train car,
shuffling to keep his footing on the slick surface.  Access to the
top of the car lay only at either end.  But nobody seemed to be
coming up behind him.

     The moon emerged from another cloud, and he could see the red-
coated figure ahead of him, see the wind whipping the dark hair. 
Victoria.

     So where was Fraser?

     Ray glanced behind him.  Nothing.

     And, ahead, Victoria was reaching out.  Something gleamed in
her hands.  Gun.  Aimed at his belly.  Oh, how cliche.

     He stopped, whirled to look behind him.  Nobody.  Damn it,
where WAS Fraser?  Riding to the rescue, or part of the trap?

     Victoria's gun raised in warning when he went for his own. 
Ray paused, pulled the handcuffs from his belt instead, raised them
so she could see.  Victoria laughed.

     And behind her a figure was climbing onto the top of the
train.  Ray felt his heart steady.  Fraser.  Coming to the rescue.

     Ray moved toward Victoria, jingling the cuffs suggestively,
holding her attention until Fraser could grab her.

     She was shaking her head slowly, smiling over the gun.  Oh,
yeah, big joke.  Just wait 'till Fraser--

     Victoria cast a glance behind her, turned smiling toward Ray.

     Who stopped as Fraser halted behind Victoria.  Looking at the
shadowy figure, Ray felt his heart fall inside his chest.  Fraser. 
Ah, god, not riding to the rescue at all.  Just some part of a trap
that hadn't worked too well.

     Ray was close enough to see that Victoria was smiling more
broadly now, smiling with malice.  The wind whipped her hair back;
her eyes looked huge in a face gleaming against the black hair. 
Damn, that gun looked natural in her hands.

     "So, you've finally joined us, detective!" Victoria called.

     "No problem!"  He held the handcuffs out.  "I warmed them up
for you!  If we hurry, we can get you to Cook County lockup for mac
and cheese night."

     "I don't think so, detective!"

     Could he get to his gun before she fired?  The tunic felt
strange, constricting.  He wasn't so sure he could get the holster
unfastened quick enough.  *Ah, god, Fraser, help me here*.  But
Fraser didn't move.  Ray could hear his own hammering heart over
the sound of the train.

     "I think I have another idea for the handcuffs, detective,"
Victoria went on.

     He was damned if he was putting them on his own wrists.  He
dropped them, flinching back when Victoria jerked at the sound. 
Don't lose it, lady.  Ray flicked a glance at Fraser.  No help
there, Vecchio.

     With his foot, he pushed the handcuffs toward her.  "Put 'em
on, lady."

     She stood still for a minute and then laughed.  "Are you
crazy?" she said.  "You may not have noticed, detective, but I'm
the one with the gun!"

     "Put 'em on."

     "I don't think so!"

     "Victoria," Fraser said.

     Instantly, the gun swung up, its muzzle less than a foot away
from Ray's face.  And in that heart-halting instant, Ray knew that
Victoria had planned for this, that she didn't care if someone
died, that she would use that threat to get exactly what she
wanted.  The lady would have no trouble also being the tiger.

     Benny had frozen behind her, as she must have known he would.

     "I'm really sorry this has come down to crude violence,
detective," Victoria said.  "But you're as useful to me dead as you
are alive.  And with you alive or dead, I'll still have him."

     He flicked a glance at Benny, but there was no solace there. 
The lady?  The tiger?  Which would he be?

     "Though, actually, it'll be tidier if the police find a body,"
she went on.

     "That's Fraser's gun, isn't it," Ray said.

     She smiled, as if at a bright child.  "Yes.  It is.  The
police should find that very interesting.  But I need the body
somewhere more--noticeable.  We'll wait.  Ben, pick up the
handcuffs."  Then, when he hesitated, she pressed the muzzle of the
gun to Ray's cheek.  "PICK them UP!"

     Fraser obeyed, slowly.  The darkness made it impossible to
read his face.

     "Turn around, detective."

     Should he?

     As quick as the thought crossed his mind, the gun swung around
to aim at Fraser's head.  "DO it!"

     He froze.  If he did, he was dead.  But if he didn't, Fraser
would be dead before him; she had the look that told Ray she'd
rather kill Fraser than give him up.  She wouldn't hesitate to
shoot.

     The lady or the tiger?  Fraser alive with Victoria or Fraser
dead, but Victoria in prison?

     He looked at Fraser's dark shape and knew there was only one
answer.  Slowly, he turned and put his hands behind him for the
cuffs.  Fraser alive at any price was the only choice he could
make.

     The muzzle of the gun chilled the back of his neck.  "Put them
on him," Victoria said.  And then, "DO it, Ben!  Don't make me
hurry this!"

     As he waited for the click of the cuffs, Ray looked out across
the prairie night.  Silver-edged clouds in the sky; landscape
touched with bright moonlight.  If he had to pick a night to die,
this one wasn't that bad.

     The click of the first cuff seemed loud.  He caught his
breath, puzzled.  Why didn't he feel it?

     The jerk of the gun muzzle told him; he whirled to see Fraser
yanking at the cuff on Victoria's gun hand.  The gun clattered onto
the top of the train.

     Victoria turned, rage and betrayal on her face, and struck out
with her free hand, clawing.  Fraser flinched back as her
fingernails grazed his face, closed his eyes against her raking
hand, lost his balance as the train jerked beneath him.  Ray
reached for her then, but she twisted from his grasp, turning to
go after Fraser again.

     The train jerked again, and Ray swayed on his feet.  Fraser
fell hard, slid toward the side of the car.

     Victoria fell with him, pulled down by the handcuff he still
grasped.  Ray dove for her, dodging a kick from her booted foot. 
He couldn't dodge the next one; the edge of her heel connected hard
with his forehead.  Things went out of focus for a minute.

     When his eyes cleared, Victoria was struggling with Fraser,
kicking at him, hitting him, giving it everything she had.  Fraser
was slipping closer to the edge.

     Ray pulled himself to his knees and lunged for the struggling
woman, taking a couple kicks to his shoulders and arms.  Things
were jerking around; the train seemed to be picking up speed.

     And then it happened:  struggling on the slippery skin of the
railway car, Victoria slid that one extra inch and suddenly was
dangling from the side of the car, held by the cuff Fraser still
gripped.  Fraser slid part way with her, caught a hand on the car's
textured surface, started to slide again.  He wasn't letting go. 
He wouldn't let go even if it meant his death.

     All this went through Ray's head in an instant, and he watched
one hand reach for Fraser while the other reached for Victoria. 
For a minute he held both.

     Then Fraser pulled himself to safety, out of Ray's grasp. 
Together they kept Victoria from falling.  But when Ray started to
tug on her hand to pull her back up, he realized that Fraser wasn't
helping.

     He turned and looked at Fraser, who was gazing down at the
struggling woman.  Then he looked up, and his eyes locked with
Ray's.  A long, silent minute passed.

     And Fraser let go.

     The sudden increase in weight surprised Ray; he fumbled to
recover, dimly aware of Victoria's shriek.  Flattened out on the
roof of the train, he held her by the wrist, still looking at
Fraser.  Fraser drew back.  It was Ray's decision; he was leaving
things to Ray.

     Dimly aware of Victoria's shrieked curses, Ray looked deep
into Fraser's eyes, saw the shame and anguish there.  He looked
down at Victoria, kicking against the side of the train, trying to
pull herself to safety.

     So easy.  It would be so easy just to drop her now, explain
how she'd resisted arrest and fell off the train; the handcuffs
would back him up.  Her struggling was jerking her wrist out of his
grasp, bit by bit; in a minute she'd slide free.

     He looked down into that beautiful face, snarling curses now,
the lady like the savage tiger.  It would be so much easier to have
her dead and gone from their lives.  To just drop her would be so
much easier.

     *She deserves it*.  So much easier.  He looked at Fraser.

     And it still wouldn't be over.  Dead, Victoria would be his
lost love, the one whom Ray had killed.  With Victoria dead, it
would never really be over.

     He watched his other hand reach down and grab her wrist
firmly.  And pull her up to safety.

     She came up still cursing, still struggling to get away.  He
jerked her face down more firmly than he needed to, held her down
with a knee dropped hard onto her back.  Jeez, give it UP!  He'd
just saved her life--NO gratitude!  He wrenched back her free arm
and shifted to cuff it as tightly as he could.  He dodged a kick. 
QUIT it!

     But she was still struggling, even handcuffed, mouth shrieking
curses they probably could hear inside.

     "VICTORIA!"  The voice was hard as steel.

     She turned to look at Fraser.  Who gagged her with his
handkerchief.  Way to go, Fraze.

     Surprise had frozen her for a minute; Ray jerked her to her
feet.  Gee, it was cold up here--nearly November.

     A stride away, Fraser slowly stood.  He looked at Ray,
tentative, searching.  Ray looked back.

     Oh, Fraser.  He had abandoned Ray to jail, had given himself
back into Victoria's hands--and then rescued Ray at the last
minute.  Ray felt the train vibrating beneath his boots, felt
Victoria twisting against his grip, and looked into blue eyes
dulled by misery and shame.  This was Fraser--his Fraser, still. 
This was his Mountie, and he couldn't just let him go.

     He stepped back and grabbed Fraser with his free hand, pulling
him in for a kiss both punishing and possessive, flavored with
passion and anger.  He put into it all his rage at being abandoned,
all his joy at having found Fraser on the train, all his tenderness
at what they'd had together, all his fury that this could happen
to them.  Fraser's mouth against his was soft; Fraser's breath
against his cheek was ragged.  A damn good kiss; take THAT,
Victoria.

     When they pulled out of the kiss, Fraser swayed against him,
rocked by the train.  They clutched at each other, and their eyes
locked.  Fraser's were soft with apology; he flinched back from
what he saw in Ray's.  A kiss wasn't forgiveness.

     Ray looked at Victoria, whose eyes sparked fury, and found his
mouth quirk in a half-smile.  DAMN, this felt good.

     One of the horse cars seemed their best bet:  privacy there. 
Ray picked up Fraser's gun and steered his prisoner toward the end
of the train, grateful for Fraser's arm steadying him as the train
rattled over a bumpy patch.  They worked well together--always had. 
Be a shame to lose it.

     Worked well together getting Victoria down the ladder at the
end of the car, too:  Fraser going on ahead to open the door,
reaching up to take her.  She kicked at him, catching him in the
leg once, but he didn't react.  He just hauled her into the horse
car like she was a sack of grain.

     Ray took charge again inside the car, shoving her to thump
against the side of an empty stall.  She glared at him over the
gag.  *Don't tempt me*, he thought.  It was still possible to lose
her over the side of some bridge or other.

     It was warm inside the car, the horses a nickering presence
in the dimly lit car.  Leather stuff swaying from the sides of the
car:  saddles, harnesses.  Riding crop fallen to hay bales stacked
against the wall.  Harness draped over the side of the empty stall. 
Straw everywhere, and the smell of horses, of hay.  Cozy.  He
wasn't in the mood for cozy.

     "Ray."

     He whirled on Fraser, who stepped back.  "Don't start, Fraser."

     Fraser's breathing was ragged.  "But, Ray--"

     He advanced on Fraser, who stumbled back into the empty stall. 
"DON'T!" Ray hissed.  "I SWEAR to god, if I didn't love you so damn
much, I'd take that riding crop and use it on you until you
couldn't stand up."

     Benny looked at his feet.  "Understood, Ray."

     Back out of the stall, in time to grab Victoria, who seemed
to be anxious to keep an appointment somewhere else.  Ray
consciously stopped his hand from closing on her hair, lowered it
to grab the back of the tunic she was wearing.  Geez, lady, just
give it up.

     He jerked her over to land against a bale of hay.  The fury
in her eyes could have set the whole place on fire.

     Fraser was standing just outside the stall, eyes on Victoria. 
Ray glanced at him.  Nothing in his face:  no resentment of the way
Ray was manhandling the woman Fraser had run off with.  Too bad. 
A little resentment could have led to something that might have
cleared the air.  Ray's hands kept wanting to do something, bruise
something.  He kept them relaxed, keeping control.

     Keep control.  Follow procedure.  He fumbled for his shield
and got out the Miranda card he kept tucked in the pocket.  He
walked over to Victoria and put his mouth to her ear.  Make sure
she heard him over the noise of the train.

     "Victoria Metcalfe, I'm putting you under arrest for murder,
conspiracy to commit murder, and charges to be determined later." 
The familiar words were soothing.  He took a deep breath.  "You
have the right to remain silent.  If you give up this right,
anything you say will be used against you in a court of law.  You
have the right have an attorney present during questioning.  If you
so desire but cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. 
Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?"

     He looked at her.  She glared at him.

     Ray leaned closer.  "Do. You. Under. Stand?"  He let his face
hint at what might happen if she didn't respond.

     She glared; she glared.  And then she nodded.

     He straightened.  Good.

     "I wouldn't give up the right to remain silent, if I were
you," he told her.  "Unless you really want to piss me off."

     Fraser was slumped against the side of the empty stall,
looking tired, looking empty.  Ray watched him.  Was this still
love he felt?  Was it habit?  Or was it desperation because Fraser
was the only person he really had left?  Well, there was Frannie
and--maybe--Ma.  Someday.  But Fraser was--  Well, was this still
love?

     The door from the forward part of the train opened before he
had an answer.

     Fraser snapped to attention immediately, and Ray found himself
echoing the action--sort of.  Was it the uniform?

     Whatever it was, it seemed to puzzle Pangborn, who stopped in
his tracks and looked them all over.  A couple younger Mounties
gaped behind him.

     Two male Mounties alone in the hay with a female Mountie who
was obviously bound and gagged.  Oh, just a lovely picture.

     "Constable?" Pangborn said to no Mountie in particular.

     Shield.  Shield.  Ray got it out, opened it.  "Detective Ray
Vecchio, sir, Chicago Police Department, 27th Precinct.  In pursuit
of a fugitive."  His hands went behind him in parade rest; WAS it
the uniform?

     Pangborn examined Ray's ID, studied Ray, studied Victoria,
studied Fraser, who was still standing at attention.

     "With the aid of Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP," Ray went on. 
*Keep quiet, Fraser.  Just keep quiet*.  "Constable Fraser--kept
an eye on the fugitive until--until she could be apprehended." 
Okay--Pangborn seemed to be buying it.

     "With what is she charged?"

     With what--  Oh, Sister Mary Thomas would love this guy; he
talked like a book.  "Homicide."  Ah, THAT got a reaction. 
"Dealing in stolen goods."  *Let's see*...  "Attempted assault. 
Attempted fraud.  Attempted homicide.  Kidnapping.  Conspiracy to
commit murder.  Resisting arrest.  Shooting a Canadian wolf."

     Pangborn shot a look at Ray, glowered at Victoria, and handed
back Ray's ID.  "I won't ask if it's strictly necessary to keep the
prisoner gagged."  But he was asking.

     Deep breath.  Improvise.  "The--prisoner seemed to be--
overanxious to waive her right to remain silent, sir.  I--uh--
didn't think she should be speaking to me without counsel present." 
*Because I'd drop her off the side of a cliff*.  "Gagging her
seemed--prudent."

     "Well, that's a matter for the American legal system."

     "Yes, sir."

     Pangborn turned to Fraser.  "Good work, Constable."

     "Thank you, sir."  Only Ray would hear the note of shame in
Fraser's voice.

     "And, Constable, you will see to it that the uniforms are
returned in good order."

     "Yes, sir."

     And they were gone.

     Ray let his breath out in a whoosh and started to pace off his
frustration.  He glanced at Fraser.  The shame and pain in that
face was wrenching.  Look at Victoria, instead.  Easier on his
soul.

     She was mouthing the gag, which looked uncomfortable.  *Take
care of your prisoner, Vecchio*.  "If I take out the gag, will you
stay quiet?" he asked.

     She considered him for a minute and then nodded.  When he
slipped the gag down over her chin, she made the gag face, working
her mouth to get rid of the taste of cotton.  He started the pacing
again, work off the excess energy, wear out the tingle in his
fingers.

     "This is police brutality," Victoria said.

     "Hey, lady, I didn't gag you," Ray answered.  "HE did."  *Come
on, lady, start something.  I'm ready for you*.

     There was the coolness in her eyes that he remembered from the
last time:  that look that meant she was figuring the angles. 
*Come on, say it*.  It was a relief when she did:

     "I'll have him back."

     "No, you won't."  Benny, behind him, in a small voice.

     "No, you won't, lady," Ray said.

     But there was that little smirk of triumph on her face.  "I
did it once; I can do it again."

     "No, you won't."  He stopped a few inches in front of her,
between her and Fraser, and gave her a glimpse of that violent
place inside him.  She took a hard breath.  "No," he said.  "You
won't."

     Her eyes went to Fraser, softness and pleading coming into
them.  But when Ray turned to look, Fraser was just studying her
like she was something beautiful he'd made that got ruined.

     "It's not gonna happen," Ray said to her.  "He made a choice
up there on that train, and it wasn't you."

     She lifted her chin, defiance on her face.  "He made a choice
in Chicago, and it wasn't YOU."

     A hit.  And she knew it.  He stood very still until his
breathing was back under control, until he thought he could speak
without using his fists.

     "He's chosen me a lot more times than that, lady.  A LOT more. 
And those choices on top of the train just seal it."  He leaned
close.  "He was gonna let me drop you up there."  Her face
tightened.  "He let go of you.  Remember?"

     Oh, yeah--she remembered.  He saw it in her eyes.  "You lost,
lady."

     Her eyes flickered to Fraser, who wasn't giving her any help. 
Hate-filled, they went back to Ray.  Her mouth started to move.

     "Don't say it," he said, suddenly tired, and he put the gag
back in her mouth.

     Now, stash her someplace where she couldn't get loose--
someplace where she wouldn't be in the way.  Someplace he wouldn't
have to look at her much.  He took her arm and pushed her into a
stall with some sacks of feed.  There.  Now, go pace in front of
Fraser.

     "Ray, I--"

     The riding crop was in his hand before he even knew he reached
for it.  And Fraser was looking startled.

     Ray's grip tightened, tightened.

     And then the shame in Fraser's face seemed to take over; and
Ray's mouth dried as he saw Fraser's fumbling hands undo the collar
of his tunic, move on to the first button, to the next, reach to
his shoulder to undo the lanyard and holster strap.

     Oh, god.  Drop it, Vecchio.  Drop it.  Before he gets that
tunic off.  Drop it.  Drop the damn thing NOW.

     He felt the riding crop hit his foot, but his hand wouldn't
relax.  Something inside him seemed to be trying to tear its way
out.

     He made a noise, grabbed Fraser's hands to stop them on the
next button.  With more force than he needed, he pushed the Mountie
against the wall inside the empty stall.  He focused on his shaking
hands fumbling with the buttons on Fraser's tunic, working their
way up as he refastened it.

     "Ray."  It was barely a whisper.

     "Just--stop."  Thank god Fraser stopped.

     A silence here, pressed against yielding body, feeling its
sweet warmth.  He watched the blue eyes watching him and found
himself thinking, *This is a very handsome man.  I like his eyes;
you can tell he's smart and he's kind.  I like the way he holds
himself.  This guy could be a good friend; I could like him a lot--
maybe even love him.  What is his name?*

     Then he took a deep breath and the world came rushing back. 
"Benny."

     Fraser's breathing was shaky.  "I'm sorry."

     God, he was tired.  "Yeah, I know.  We're all sorry."  He had
started to turn when,

     "You came for me," Fraser said in a little voice.

     Ray wheeled back around.  "Of course I did.  What did you
expect?"

     What Fraser expected was evident in his eyes:  what Fraser
expected was that Ray would feel so betrayed he'd just turn his
back on him.  Ray's heart turned over inside him; and at that
moment he felt the rage regaining strength.

     "I came after Victoria, sure," he said.  "Like I told
Pangborn, pursuing a fugitive.  But, Benny, I'd go to the ends of
the earth to drag you back to my bed."  Ah, the softness that came
into Fraser's eyes at that.  "More important, I'd follow you two
through the gates of Hell to get you out of her clutches.  Even if
you decided you didn't love me, I'd hunt for you.  Fight her for
you.  That woman is bad news for you."  *Ah, god, Fraser, I love
you so much*.  "She sucks your self-respect right out of you like
a vampire; look at what she's made you do.  You've lied; you've
dealt with criminals; you've betrayed ME."  *Don't look at me like
that; I can't stand love from you right now*.  "Look at how she's
disgraced your uniform, making you steal Thatcher's for her to
parade around in like--  Making you ashamed in your own uniform;
_I_ saw how you looked out there with the others.  NOBODY has the
right to do that to you."  *Ah, god, I love you, but if you touch
me right now, I'll hurt you.  I'll hurt you bad*.  "Look at what
you almost just did; you were ready to let me beat you half to
death, you felt so bad.  Do you think while I had breath in my
body, I'd let you be with somebody who could do that to you?  Not
on your life, buster!"

     He turned on his heel and strode away to pace, pace between
the rows of horses.  Just stay away from Fraser, away from the
shame and love in Fraser's eyes.  Too much emotion, and he wasn't
dealing with emotion so well right now.  The urge to hurt mingled
with the urge to strip Fraser and hump him in the empty stall--make
him howl in ecstasy--though whether that urge was love or vengeance
Ray didn't know.  Just pace, Vecchio.  Pace.

     Victoria glaring hate at one end of the car; Fraser looking
love at the other.  He paced; he paced.  He paced between the
fallen angel of dishonor and death, and the sweet, betraying angel
of love, until the miles had passed and any choice was out of his
hands.

                              . . .

     "It seemed--prudent."

     Standing here, watching the exchange, sounds seemed out of
focus, words an aural blur he had to concentrate on to understand. 
All but Ray's; those were clear.  A trick of acoustics?

     "Leftenant," Fraser offered, "_I_ actually gagged the prisoner."

     Ray glancing at him, the only clear figure in a sea of blurred
shapes.  Ray's breathing so regular that Fraser could tell he was
controlling it; Ray's heart racing, keeping pace with Fraser's.

     What was the leftenant asking?

     "Constable Fraser thought it would be--prudent."  Ray.

     "The prisoner seemed--too eager to waive her right to silence,
sir," Fraser said.  Ray shifting slightly, boot grating on the
linoleum.  "I felt it--prudent that she not--"

     Ray's eyebrows arching at something he was hearing; a smile
relaxing his face.  Behind his back, right hand clenching and
unclenching.  "Anything for U.S./Canada relations, sir."  The scent
of his skin, mixed with the smell of horses.  "I'm sure Constable
Fraser is as gratified at the outcome as I am."  Flash of mingled
love and sadness in a face bathed by moonlight.

     Fraser felt his face smile.  "Yes, Leftenant."  Memory of the
riding crop clenched in Ray's right hand.  "Yes."  The ghost of the
taste of Ray's kiss.  "Yes, Leftenant.  Thank you kindly."

     Ray straightening, preparatory to turning.  "Thank you,
Lieutenant."  Smudges under the hazel eyes.  "Of course, sir." 
Wide smile crinkling the corners of his eyes; hidden fist clenched
tight.  "I'll keep that in mind, sir.  Good night."

     Smile at the leftenant; follow the red uniform out of the
office, down the hall, down the stairs.  Both hands fists at Ray's
sides.  Follow him.  White wolf a ghost-shadow at his heels. 
Follow.  Fraser's heart seemed loud enough to wake all Chicago.

     A cold wind blew outside the station house--the first cold
wind of November.  It seemed to cut through the wool serge and stab
him like an ice-cold knife.  Ray's pace quickened; Fraser stumbled
to keep up.  Something inside him was--seemed--

     Ray jerking open the passenger's door of the Buick.  "Get in." 
Contemptuous.  He was halfway around the automobile before Fraser
caught the door for Diefenbaker and then slid into the passenger's
seat.  Something inside him seemed to be cracking, breaking up. 
He could not seem to catch his breath.

     The slam of Ray's door was as crisp as the snap of a whip. 
Something inside him--  The riding crop in Ray's hand; the feel of
Ray's lips claiming him.  The Buick's heater pushed out cold air;
Fraser's hands shook in its blast.  But he could not catch his
breath, could not catch his breath, could not catch his breath.

     He was drowning in icy waters with no one to rescue him, and
he could not catch his breath.

                              . . .

     A scratch at the wolf's ears, a glance over at Fraser, who was
shaking like he'd never felt cold before.  A little Chicago wind;
you'd think a Mountie would be able to handle it.  *Jesus, Fraser,
I love you*.  Mr. Smooth inside the station house, talking to the
lieutenant, getting Ray out of the jam he was in for use of
excessive force because of that damned gag; now look at him.  *Ah,
geez, Benny, don't let this be it for us*.  Face frozen in misery. 
Hands shaking in the heater's blast.

     Ray paused, hand poised to throw the Riv into drive.  Geez,
he was tired of being angry; he was tired of feeling hurt.  He
wanted something:  comfort, some feeling that it wasn't over. 
Something that felt normal.

     "You know," he said, "it's gotten so that when you're in the
car I just can't drive any more unless you've got your hand right
THERE."  He pointed to his right thigh.

     Fraser hesitated.  "I don't deserve it," he said faintly.

     "Maybe not, but I do--especially for keeping that bitch out
of the morgue.  So would you?"

     A pause; then Fraser reached out and placed a warm, broad hand
just where Ray had pointed.

     "Oh, yeah--that's just it," Ray breathed.  And it WAS it; it
was one of the things he'd ached for, one of those little dumb
things you missed when you didn't get it.  His mouth relaxed into
a smile.  Things were starting to feel back to normal.  They
WEREN'T normal, but they were starting to feel that way.

     He glanced over at Fraser, who was looking shyly at him; the
Mountie turned quickly to stare out the passenger's window, his
free hand wiping quickly at his eyes.

     They rode in silence for a minute.

     "I betrayed you."  Fraser's voice was shaky.

     "Look, you did the best you could."  His voice sounded harsh
to him; did it sound harsh to Fraser?  He didn't want to sound
vindictive--or did he?

     "I shouldn't have given up; or I should have gotten myself
arrested, like--"

     "Yeah, and I'd still be in jail:  do you know how many guys
there I'd've killed for looking at you wrong?"

     "I can defend mySELF, Ray."  Now, THAT sounded like the old
Mountie.

     "Yeah, you can defend yourself.  I KNOW you can defend
yourself.  I been watching you defend yourself for the last two-
three years.  Except where dark-haired women are involved, you can
defend yourself really well.  But, see, somebody even THINKS about
trying to hurt you, I got to rip their guts out.  Just the way I'm
built."

     A pause.  "But, mostly, I shouldn't have gone with--with HER." 
Fraser whispered so low, his words were barely audible.

     THAT was the gist of it; THAT was the thing that mattered. 
THAT was what Ray's heart had been screaming with every beat since
he'd realized Fraser was gone.

     "Well, she's really something--our Victoria.  I probably
would've gone with her myself."

     "No, you wouldn't."

     "Well, no, I wouldn't.  But I'd've THOUGHT about it."

     Would he really?  Would he have thought about going away with
somebody and leaving Fraser?  If it was Irene?  Oh, god, he hoped
the answer would have been "no."  Benny deserved better than the
taste of ashes in his mouth.

     "No, you WOULDN'T, Ray," Fraser said gently, sadly.

     Ray pulled the Riv into its usual spot near the apartment and
killed the engine.  "No, I wouldn't, Benny," he agreed, facing
Fraser squarely.

     They stared at each other in the darkness.  Then Ray grabbed
Fraser's jaw and pulled him closer.  And took firm possession of
Fraser's mouth with his own, crushing his lips against the
Mountie's in a way that made quite clear who he belonged to.

     When they pulled out of the kiss, Fraser was shaking.  But
Ray's mind was suddenly clear.  They were going to get through
this; it wasn't going to be fun, but they were going to get through
this tonight, get it all out and talked about tonight.

     Or it was over.

     It took practically no time to get to the apartment:  probably
something to do with how Ray kept his hand at Fraser's back, moving
him right along.

     That dark place in Ray's soul was beckoning him; he clenched
his fist against the urge to hurt where he'd loved, to just strip
Benny and use him, show him who was boss, show him what it felt
like to be so hurt, use a belt on him, punish him.  Benny must have
sensed that urge, because he didn't even look around, didn't
protest as he was pushed into the apartment.

     Ray caught the door just as he was about to slam it, and
closed it gently.  He pressed his forehead to the door for a
minute, palms caressing the wood, closing the door also on that
place inside him, locking it tight before he turned.  No more urge. 
It was still there, just a step out of reach, but it didn't possess
him.

     He looked at Benny, who was looking back with that straight-
backed, stiff-upper-lipped Mountie-sentry look.

     Then Ray turned back again and opened the door at the patient
scratching on the other side.  "Sorry, Dief," he said as the wolf
came in.  High drama with equal parts of comedy:  story of his life.

     When Ray turned, Fraser was moving around in the kitchen,
putting out food for Dief.  "His water dish is out on the fire
escape," Ray said.  Feed the wolf, water the wolf, and hump the
memory of Victoria out of the Mountie.  Or something.  Just another
evening on West Racine.

     Fraser was shaking again; Ray took the water dish from him and
filled it himself, setting it down carefully on the floor.  "You
all set there?" he said to Dief.  "You got everything you need,
there?  Another roll?  A mint, maybe?"

     Sarcasm only went so far when it was aimed at the wrong
animal.  Fraser had gone into the dining area, to the window there,
a dim form against the window frame, as far from the bed as he
could get.

     Ray looked around the apartment.  Lights on?  Lights off?  He
found the lantern and lit it, heart lifting at the light's cozy
glow.  Oh, yes, perfect lighting was very important at the sour end
of a relationship.

     He carried the lantern into the dining area.  Fraser had his
arms wrapped around himself, shivering like he was cold.  Ray set
the lamp on the table and sat down, studying Fraser's reflection
in the dark window as Fraser studied his.  Oh, geez, he wanted to
just hug Fraser, hold him, have it over, have it never have
happened.  God, he was tired.

     Silence, broken by the sputtering of the lamp, by Dief
crunching on dog biscuits.

     "I don't ever want to feel as bad as I have felt for the last
couple weeks," Ray finally said.  Oh, geez, where had that quaver
in his voice come from?  Fraser folded in on himself, face twisted
in anguish.  "And I don't ever want to feel as alone as I felt when
you left me."

     Fraser was swallowing tears; Ray had seen that look before. 
"I--"  He turned to face Ray, arms folded around himself, tears
spilling down his cheeks.  "--Everything I did just didn't seem to
work.  I just couldn't--  Everything was just getting worse and
worse.  It was like some nightmare that just kept going on and on
and on."  He wiped his face with his hands.

     "So you left and went with HER."  Oh, this had to be what the
knife felt like when it slid into your heart.

     And that had to be what it looked like:  Fraser shaking,
sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, face stiff with pain. 
"She said if I did she'd--call the officials, get you out--"

     "Oh, we been here before--Victoria and her phone calls!  She
promised last time she wouldn't call IA if you did what she asked,
and we both know how THAT came out!"

     "I would have MADE her call."

     Ray believed him--it shone in his eyes.  And Benny really
believed that that phone call would have made a difference, gotten
Ray out of jail.  Forgetting that honesty had never been Victoria's
strong suit, that she would have found some way to cancel out what
she'd done and just shove the knife in deeper, twist it. 
Forgetting all that.  Or ignoring it.

     "But that's not the only reason," Ray said sadly.

     Shame crossed Fraser's face.  He looked at the floor.

     "Did you sleep with her?" Ray asked.

     "Not--not really."

     "How do you not really sleep with somebody?  Either you fucked
her or you didn't!"

     "I--she--tried.  It didn't--"  Amazing how red Fraser's face
could get.

     Ray's bark of a laugh seemed to echo in the room.  Ah, god,
life could be just plain ridiculous sometimes!  He found himself
leaning back, laughing gently.

     "Apparently, my BODY was--more loyal than--"

     "I get the picture.  I just hope to god you changed the sheets."

     He looked down at Fraser looking up at him, huddled so alone
there by the wall.  God, he was tired.  Tired of feeling bad, tired
of Victoria--  He wanted to be held, to have those strong arms
wrapped around him, holding him warm and safe.  He wanted it over,
behind them.

     Ray slid off the chair and dropped to his knees in front of
Fraser, close enough that Fraser couldn't move away.  Something was
wrong in his chest; it all hurt.

     "You hurt me more than I could possibly have imagined I could
be hurt," he said quietly.  The blue eyes filled with tears again
but held his.  "You hurt me more than I ever thought anybody could
ever hurt another human being."  Fraser's soft mouth tightened; he
swallowed hard.  "But something won't let me let you go.  Do you
WANT to go?"

     "No."  The voice was as tiny as the word.

     "Are you SURE?  Because I gotta know, Benny.  I gave up
everything for you.  If you don't want what I got for you, you just
say it.  We'll end this."

     "No!"  The tears were falling now, dripping unheeded off
Fraser's chin.  Ah, god, his own eyes were blurring.

     "I want you, Benny.  God--I NEED you, Benny!  I have never
needed anybody as much as I need you; you're my only chance at
happiness."  Something crawled down his cheek; he brushed at it,
but it wasn't a fly.  "You're the only reason I breathe; you're the
reason my heart beats.  Oh, god, Benny, even when you were twisting
the knife, even when you were going off with HER, if you were
alive, that was all I asked.  That was all I wanted:  you alive. 
Even if you were with her."  He brushed more of the not-flies off
his cheeks.

     "Ray."  A whisper.

     They were close enough to breathe each other's breath, close
enough to hear each other's hearts.

     "You alive is all I ask," Ray went on.  "You don't have to be
with me--you can be with--"  He gestured to include the universe. 
"But I gotta know.  I gotta be sure this is what you want.  I gotta
be certain you won't break my heart again.  She's still alive,
Benny; if she's what you want, you just let me know.  If there's
somebody else you think you want, you just say the word."  His
hands had found the wall on either side of Fraser's head.

     "Ray."  Whispered.

     Something was dripping onto his knees:  Fraser's tears or his,
he wasn't sure.  "Just answer me:  is this what you really, really
want.  Because I gotta know.  Is it?  Is it, Benny?  Is it?"

     "Yes."  Passion in a whisper; tenderness in a tear-filled gaze.

     "You're really sure."

     "Yes."

     "Then I think you better kiss me."

     Oh, this was the sweetness of a reprieve from death; this
tear-flavored kiss held the secret at the heart of the universe;
for this empires went to war.  Ray gave himself to the heat of
Benny's mouth, to the sound of his blood singing in his ears, to
the throb of a heart suddenly alive again.  Benny, oh, Benny, a
mouth sweet as wine, skin soft as a sun-warmed peach, heart
thundering like an echo of his own.  Oh, Benny, the roof of your
mouth is like honey, and your heart is loud as trumpets in my ears. 
Benny, I would sack cities for you, die sweet if your name was my
last breath.

     A snuffle and a cold, wet nose on his cheek jerked him out of
the kiss.

     They were halfway to horizontal, Benny's head cradled in his
two hands.  Dief woofed happily into Ray's face; he'd been eating
dog food.  Benny started to laugh.

     Ah, god, this was his life:  grand passion punctuated by low
comedy.  Ray laughed, dropping Benny, sobbing for breath.  Laughing
was, well, good for you, wasn't it?  At least it felt that way. 
This might be a little too much, though.  He crawled to sit against
the wall, feeling his way:  he was laughing so hard his eyes were
squeezed shut.  He sat there and gave himself up to hysterical
laughter, wiping tears, fighting for breath.

     And, ah, geez, every minute he felt better, cleaner, clearer
of everything that had happened.  He felt his heart cleansing
itself of jail, of Victoria, of Benny's abandonment.  When he
finally came out of it, he felt as clear and strong as if the whole
thing hadn't happened.

     Dief had lain down across Ray's shins.  Geez, that wolf was
heavy.  He reached over to ruffle Dief's fur.  Fraser leaned back
against the wall beside him, shoulder to shoulder.  From where they
sat, Ray could see the end of the bed; Fraser seemed to be staring
at it.

     "I think--"  Fraser cleared his throat.  "I think I couldn't
believe I could be so WRONG about a person I--someone I--loved."

     "And she was your first real love."  This was okay; he could
handle this.

     Fraser's face twisted with unshed tears.  "Yes."

     Ray reached up and gentled the back of Fraser's neck.  "The
first is always the toughest to get over.  It's the one that comes
right through the door of your heart, before you even know how to
keep it out.  Somebody like our Victoria can do a lot of damage,
especially to somebody like you, who just hands his heart right
over to the one he loves."  The tears were glistening on Fraser's
cheeks now; he had his arms wrapped around his middle, and his
fists were curling and uncurling at his sides.  But he was
listening.  "And you are the essence of loyalty to love.  You are
the most passionate person I've ever met.  Really."  He leaned
close to Benny's ear to murmur, "I have the love bites to prove it."

     Fraser laughed weakly, brightening under the tears for a warm
instant.  Ray felt his heart soften like hot caramel.  They could
do this.  It felt like having a heart operation without anesthesia,
but they could do this.

     "I couldn't have loved you without that loyalty and passion,
without that feeling that you were all mine.  That kind of--
abandoning yourself to love isn't something you meet all the time
in another person.  Somebody who does that should be cherished, not
used, like--"  Oh, he couldn't say her name any more; the very
syllables made him sick.  He cradled Fraser's tear-slick cheek in
the palm of his hand.

     "I just--I just don't know how I'll ever--FORGIVE myself." 
Benny's eyes were filled with exhaustion and pain.  He closed them,
taking a shuddering breath.  And then he settled himself on the
floor like a tired child, head on Ray's thigh, curled up and
holding himself like he was cold.

     Ray looked down, listening to the shuddering breathing,
watching the clench of fists against a coldness he could only
imagine, running his hand over cheek, neck, shoulder, back,
fingering hair, smoothing a thumb over the pain-furrowed forehead. 
His heart felt like raw hamburger.  Some things weren't meant to
happen to a heart like Benny's; but he no longer had the energy to
get up a good fury against that woman.  Things just happened,
whether they were supposed to or not.  People did things to other
people.  He stroked and stroked, until the shuddering sighs were
quieter.

     Then he leaned down and placed his lips on Fraser's, gently,
persuasively, emphatically.  Fraser gave a kind of sob and grabbed
the back of Ray's neck, deepening the kiss.  It tasted of Fraser
and of tears and of sadness--and of passion and of love and of hope.

     When they broke from the kiss, they stared at each other,
breathing hard.  Benny's eyes were swollen and the tears had dried
on his face, still etched with pain.  But the shame was gone and
the first anguish had faded.  They could do this.

     Ray smiled and watched the sweet mouth curve.  He bent for
another kiss and felt Fraser's hand undo the collar on Ray's tunic.

     "Oh, Fraser.  If _I_ can forgive you, can't you forgive
yourself?  If I can love you so much, can't you forgive yourself?"

     Fraser was getting that teary look again.  Well, just kiss it
away, Benny undoing a tunic button, then another and sliding his
hand inside to stroke the undertunic.  At the end of the kiss,
Benny struggled up to sit facing Ray, leaning on one hand on the
floor between Ray's thighs.

     "I don't know if I really--deserve--"

     "Oh, we're not going THERE!" Ray broke in.  "No WAY we're
going THERE.  What IS this, some sort of Mountie masochism?  Some
sort of Canadian thing?  The real reason all you guys stick around
up there in the ice and snow?  You don't deserve any better?" 
Benny was smiling weakly back at him now, just as he'd hoped. 
Ray's heart flipped over.  Oh, Benny.

     "You deserve, you big goombah," Ray went on.  "You DESERVE. 
You deserve the best, which in this case is a Chicago cop with not
a whole lot of hair, which is GOOD because, see, it's a sign of
virility."  Oh, look at Benny laughing.  "And, see, I got this
OTHER physical attribute that makes up for anything I may lack in
the looks department, because, after all, 'Italian' don't rhyme
with 'stallion' for nothing."

     Laughter and a long kiss, another tunic button undone.

     "Benny, if I love you, you deserve to forgive yourself.  And
I love you.  I love you awful."  Could he ever stop looking into
those tentative, loving eyes?  God, he was tired.  "Take me to bed,
Benny.  Make me forget everything that's happened, make me forget
that woman ever existed.  Burn the memory out of both of us; let's
just burn the house down and start from scratch.  Show me how much
you love me.  Show me how much you're willing to love me forever."

     A pause between two breaths, between two heartbeats.

     "Yes, Ray," Fraser breathed.

     Their mouths met, tender, exploring.  Ah, just like a first
kiss.  Wonderful.

     That flick of tongue over lower lip when Benny pulled away. 
Shy smile with a hint of spice.  "Shall we make love on the table?"

     The ta--  Oh, yeah, that first time, that poker game.  Ray
grinned at him.  "Oh, you LIKED that, didn't you?"  Oh, yeah, Benny
really HAD.

     Benny was grinning.  "Oh, YES, Ray.  I just wish I'd known
what I know now.  I just wish I'd known then how much I love you." 
Oh, THAT was the old Fraser:  the fire in those blue eyes, the
throaty passion in that voice.  And THAT was the effect of the old
Fraser:  that fire igniting in Ray's groin, the sudden struggle to
get enough breath.

     Take it slow; make it linger.  Suck that lower lip into your
mouth, run your tongue over it before letting go to breathe. 
Another tunic button undone.

     "Table tomorrow," Ray said.  "Bed tonight."  Whisper of
Fraser's breath on his face.

     "Promise?"

     "OH, yeah."

     Fraser leaning in, mouth fitting to his, pushing Ray's head
back against the wall--a good, solid, loving kiss during which
Fraser's hands were busy with buttons and buckles and straps.

     "You seem real interested in getting this tunic off me," Ray
teased gently when he could breathe again.

     "Well, actually, Ray, as much as I hate to mention it--red
really doesn't suit you at all."  Wide Mountie eyes, with a touch
of laughter.

     Ray laughed.  No "Red suits you" for poor Vecchio.  "Then you
better get this tunic off me pretty damn quick," he said.

     "Of course, Ray."

     "But first--could you get the wolf off my legs before I'm
crippled for life?"

                              . . .

     Shoo Diefenbaker off Ray's legs, kneel to undo the knots Ray
had tied in the boot laces--whose boots were these?  Turnbull's? 
How had Ray gotten Turnbull's--never mind.  Fraser would have to
polish them tomorrow morning, get the wolf hairs off--oooh, that
was a nasty scuff in the leather.

     Hands busy with the laces, he looked at Ray.  Pale, forehead
bruised, eyes puffy with exhaustion and emotion.  But love in that
face that still shamed Fraser to contemplate.  He bent to his work,
easing off the boots, the thick socks:  Turnbull's feet were larger
than Ray's, which negated that saying about how the size of a man's
feet reflected the size of his--well, probably.  Unlikely that
ANYone was larger in that regard than Ray.

     Fraser warmed his hands to rub the bony feet.  Ray's ecstatic
groan was almost erotic, and happiness flooded through Fraser at
giving such pleasure to the man he loved so dearly.  He shifted to
take Ray's feet onto his lap, undoing his tunic at the waist to
tuck one of Ray's feet in, warming against his belly, while he
worked on the other.

     "What is this, some kind of Canadian foreplay?"  Ray's voice
sounded sleepy with pleasure.

     "Yes, in fact.  Though I suppose it's a kind of foreplay in
EVERY country where the nights get cold."  Do the other foot now.

     "Well, it's DEFINITELY gonna catch on in America, the way you
do it."  That smile.  Those loving hazel eyes.

     Wolf nose cold against Fraser's cheek, and Ray's laugh.

     "Diefenbaker," Fraser said in exasperation.  "Yes, I love you,
too, but you are going to have to go outside."

     He escorted the wolf outside and paused to ruffle his fur. 
He'd left not only Ray, but--  Fraser took the wolf's muzzle in his
hand, enunciating so the wolf could read his lips with no trouble. 
"I'm glad Ray found me.  I'm sorry I left you.  I'll--I'll never
do it again."  Never.

     Seemingly satisfied, the wolf sank to the floor with a patient
sigh.

     When Fraser went back inside, Ray was sitting on the side of
the bed; the lantern had replaced the lamp on the bedside table. 
He looked up, and Fraser's heart smote him at the exhaustion and
tenderness in the gaze.

     Wash his hands before he put them on Ray again; his face felt
stiff with dried tears.  He rinsed a wash cloth in warm water and
bathed his face, rinsed it again and carried it over to Ray.

     "OH, that feels good."  Ray's face, shining from being bathed
with the cloth, smiling up at him.  "What is this, some kind of
Mountie foreplay?"

     "You KNOW it is."  Smile down at him, use the warm cloth to
massage the back of his neck, feel the pleasured groan feed the
fire in your groin.

     "Oh, god, I DREAMED of this."  Ray's shuddering breath made
Fraser catch his own.  "Not THIS exactly, but--"  He was shivering.

     Fraser cradled the bristly head to him, gentling the back of
Ray's neck.  His lips found Ray's bald spot, the edge of Ray's ear. 
Love flooded him.  Ray, alone in jail, dreaming of tenderness.  He
kissed Ray's cheek, stroking Ray's spine.  Tenderness--he would get
it.  He kissed the other cheek.  Fraser would build a shelter of
tenderness and love, weave safety around him like a cloak, pleasure
him until even the memory of pain had been drained.

     He knelt and kissed Ray's mouth, offering his lips, his
tongue.  Ray's breathing deepened; his hands were on Fraser's
shoulders, but Fraser barely felt them.  Feel them later; catch his
pleasure as he could, later.

     Deepen the kiss until Ray is gasping.  His eyes were closed
when Fraser pulled away; a half-smile brightened his flushed face. 
Fraser caressed Ray's head with his hands as he caressed his cheek
with his lips; Ray's breath came in stitches in his ear.  Fraser's
heart seemed to beat in time with those gasps.

     Oh, the delight on Ray's face, glowing in the lamplight!  Eyes
crinkling as Fraser smiled:  smiles matching smiles, heartbeats in
rhythm, ragged sighs echoing.

     Ray leaned for a kiss that ignited Fraser's soul.

     His mouth moved across Ray's face, down the side of that long
neck.  Oh, impossible to stay distant, impossible to ignore the
fire that broke from him now.  His hands were engaged in unclothing
the long, sweet body, baring the sloping shoulders and the wiry
arms to be caressed with his mouth, the nipples to be sucked into
a deeper rosiness, the furry belly to be tongued.  The skin of
Ray's belly throbbed with the beat of his heart.

     Hands skimming the back of his neck, cradling his cheek.  He
looked up into glowing hazel eyes, at a red mouth slack with
desire.  Kiss the mouth.

     And run hands down the heaving sides, to a waistband that
seemed to come open effortlessly.  Unzip the jodhpurs.

     And pause to explore with a thirsting tongue a mouth sweeter
than sugar.  Listen to the gasp as your hand dips under the
waistband of the briefs, fingers tangling themselves in crisp pubic
hair, finding the base of a straining penis.

     Ray's mouth on the rim of Fraser's ear, those sobbing breaths
as Fraser explored the cleavage of his buttocks, the firm roundness
of that trim bottom.  His thighs clamped Fraser tight between them.

     Fraser cupped Ray's buttocks--skin soft as a peach.  A groan
in his ear; fingers clutching him.  Ray shifting as Fraser slid
both waistbands down, over his buttocks, down the strong legs, to
be kicked across the floor.

     Strong thighs with skin like silk.  Fraser's tongue slid up
the thighs to the tight scrotum as his ears revelled in the gasp
that was half joy and half desire.  His fingers fumbled for the
cooling washcloth; Ray jumped when he used it on his penis.

     Tip of tongue exploring the slit at the end of the hot penis. 
Ray's fingers tightened in Fraser's hair.  Slowly, Fraser worked
his way down the shaft, Ray's every heartbeat magnified against his
tongue.

     Dimly he heard ragged groaning; Ray's fingers gripped the back
of his neck.  He clutched the hard buttocks, pulling them to the
edge of the bed in his eagerness.  More.  He wanted more; he wanted
it all.

     He sucked gently, repressing any urge to gag, until his mouth
could hold no more.  Tongue stroking.  The groaning maddened him. 
His penis seemed to throb in time with Ray's heartbeat.  He tasted
salt.

     "Ah, GOD, Benny!"  Ray's hips were twitching.  "Oh, Fraser,
oh god Fraser.  BENNY."

     Suck gently.  Fraser slid his tongue around Ray's penis,
flicking it across the searing-hot skin as best he could, those
little flicks that made Ray tremble and gasp.

     Slow.  Make it last; draw all possible pleasure out of the
receptive body.  Withdraw, sucking the whole way, tonguing the hot
veins, the generous crown, the weeping tip.  Kiss the scrotum.

     Fraser lifted his mouth to Ray's, sucking the lower lip into
his mouth.  Ray's hands clutched at his tunic.  Fraser slid his
lips over the soft cheek.

     Fingertips gentle on either side of his face; and he opened
his eyes to hazel eyes soft with passion, a face flushed with love. 
They stared at each other for a long moment.

     Undress.  Ray's eyes followed him as Fraser stood and began
to undress himself.  Standing between Ray's knees, stripping
himself and dropping the garments on the floor.  Ray's gaze was
hot as the sun; Fraser warmed himself in that heat, let it stoke
the fire inside him, helpless to look away as he dropped lanyard
and holster and belt and tunic and undertunic and undershirt.

     Then Ray leaned forward and tugged at the knots on Fraser's
bootlaces, his head bowed.  The scar on his shoulder looked deep
in the flickering lamp light.  Fraser's shaking hands touched it;
his lips kissed the back of Ray's neck as Ray fumbled with the
knots, loosened the bootlaces, smoothed his hands up the trembling
thighs.  Off with the boots, the socks; and their hands met to
slide off the rest of Fraser's clothes.

     Naked.  Naked before Ray; naked FOR Ray.  No light in the room
but that passionate gaze, no sound but that ragged breathing, no
focus but that body trembling for completion.  Ray opened his arms.

     And Fraser was in them, mouth on mouth, heart on heart, hips
moving against moving hips.  On the bed, stretched on the bed,
hands searing Fraser's skin, mouth murmuring into his ear words he
could not understand but with his thundering heart.

     His own mouth skimming the musky sweetness of throat, of
belly, of thigh, of fingers, spilling words of love and betrayal,
of passion and forgiveness, of the salt of sweat and the texture
of scrotum, of the apple-sweet breath of the beloved and the honey
taste of his mouth, of the heat of passion turning all else in his
own heart to ash.

     Fraser's hands roamed as they willed, stoking the fire in his
own groin; his penis skimmed the satin skin of Ray's taut belly. 
Ray's hands clutched his buttocks; Ray's tongue laved his throat.

     Fraser fumbled; found what he was seeking.  On his knees over
Ray's hips, he smiled at the flushed face on the pillow as he
opened the wrapper; slid his thumb down Ray's penis as he snugged
on the condom.  Ray's hand reached out, clasped Fraser's penis, and
shook his head; Fraser dropped the other condom.

     Oh, that avid gaze as Fraser annointed himself with the icy
jelly.  Those juddering breaths as he lowered himself as slowly as
he could, again and again onto his own finger, two fingers, three. 
Ray's hips raised.

     Fraser reached; he guided.  And, oh, he was filling himself
with that beautiful penis, completing himself with its throbbing
bulk.  His hips moved until he could hold no more; he paused at
the ecstasy, watched the strained beauty of Ray's face as Fraser's
hips began their rhythm.

     Ray's hands reached for him.  Fraser's mouth drew him forward
as far as he could reach, to taste that smooth forehead, those
flushed cheeks; Ray's mouth on Fraser's face was as avid as his
hands on Fraser's penis, stroking, stroking.  Ray's hands.  Ray's
mouth.  Ray.

     Oh, he was nothing; he was everything.  He was filling and
being filled, kissing and being kissed; he was heartbeat and
deepening groan, mouth that spoke one name over and over because
it was the sweetest word he knew.

     Breath in his ear, rasping, "BENNY BENNY BENNY."  Hand pumping
faster and faster.  Hips beneath his hastening, hastening.

     And his own hips and his own breath and his own voice
quickened with them; he rode faster, he rode harder, catching up
with his heartbeat, catching up with those thrusts, riding hard,
riding fast, catching up, riding harder, catching up, catching up,
catching up up up up--

     He felt, inside him, Ray's penis thrust once, hard; Ray's hand
clutched his thigh.  A half-wordless cry that speeded his riding.

     --and--he--was--

     White-hot explosion that erased time.  Dimly, his voice cried
a name.  Wetness poured from him.

     And silence, but for tangled heartbeats.

     Trembling.  He was trembling.  Fraser slumped forward, feeling
Ray's penis slip from his body, feeling the pang of sadness he
always knew at that loss of connection.

     His mouth sought the sweat-sheened face; his hands found the
back of the sweat-slick neck.  He stretched out beside Ray,
gathering him close.

     "Oh, BENNY."

     The murmured words filled his heart.  He was empty; the
explosion had burned to ashes all he had been.  Burn the house
down, indeed.

     He smiled as Ray's lips drank the salt from the skin of his
throat, as Ray's hands cleaned him with the cold washcloth.  He
hooked the blanket with a foot and pulled it over them, reached to
turn off the lantern.  Ray's arms around him were a wall of safety
and love.  Fraser tucked the blanket around them and settled down
to listen to the beating of Ray's heart.

     Floating.  They were floating together.  Nothing existed
beyond their embrace.  Their heartbeats gradually slowed as one.

     "Well, _I_ feel better," Ray murmured at last.

     Fraser chuckled quietly and opened his eyes.  The waning moon
shone through the window.  He watched it dreamily.  Safe.  Ray was
safe.  He was here, and he was loved, and he was warm and safe in
Fraser's arms.  Every muscle in Fraser's body seemed to have
relaxed.

     They would start anew.

     "Did you know, Ray," Fraser said, "that the first of November
was the first day of the Celtic year?"

     "I did not know that."  Sleepy voice, sweetly sleepy.

     "Happy new year, Ray."

     "Same back at ya, Benny."

     Fraser watched the moon.  Ray in the moonlight.  He had held
Ray naked in the half light of an eclipsed moon, one night that
spring; he watched as the moonlight crept over them now.

     "We get all that legal stuff wrapped up," Ray murmured, "I
want us to get away, go up to the cabin.  Just get completely away
from everybody and everything.  For about a month.  Just us.  I'll
bring that t-shirt you like so much.  And if we can still walk
after a month, well, then we'll stay up there another month."

     "It will have snowed by now, Ray."  The lights of the cabin,
glowing in the snowy twilight like the warmth of a loving heart;
Ray's silhouette in the open door as he watched Fraser coming home.

     "I don't care."  Ray's arms tightened.  "All I need is you ...
and a bed ... and a warm, safe place.  That's all I really need."

     The moonlight silvered his shoulder.  "Of course, Ray."

     Sleep was stealing over Fraser.  He closed his eyes and felt
it conquer him.

     Ray and a bed and a warm, safe place.

     And a veil of snow whispering against the window, just a
breath of coldness to inspire them to seek each other's warmth.

                              . . .

     "Now, remember--I'm here, so don't try to do it all yourself."

     "Yes, Ray."

     "You're tough, Fraser, but that doesn't mean you should try
to take them all on by yourself."

     "Understood, Ray."

     "There's just too many of them."

     "Of course, Ray."

     "You ready?"

     "Yes, Ray."

     "On three.  One, two--"

     "You mean, ON three?  Or just after you SAY 'three'?"

     "I mean ON three."

     "Because last time you meant just after you SAID 'three'."

     "WHAT last time?  There WAS no last time!  I mean, ON three,
Fraser.  Especially this time, I mean ON THREE."

     "Understood."

     "Okay.  Now.  One, two, THREE--"

     Turn the knob; open the door.

     Enter.

     Stare down the surprised faces; focus on the one starting a
fuss; make sure they know you mean business.

     "Hey, Ma!  I'm HOME!"


                               END

Part 4 of 4