I. On the Job

Four fifty-three; almost time for Ray’s shift to be over. He’s in his tiny back office, shuffling papers around like he knows what he’s doing – he’s not sure yet why he got the promotion, but it has its advantages. Being the shift supervisor really just means walking around a lot, sometimes carrying a clipboard and jotting things down on it like Jack needs another hairnet and Dead pig stinks worse than cow. At least now he doesn’t have to actually stand in the same place all day moving bloody carcass from hook to chopper. The stench of dead meat still clings to him every day when he leaves, though.

But he’s been at it for – Jesus – thirteen years now, so he figures a promotion was going to come sooner or later. He’s a hard worker, he knows it, and the increase in pay means he can maybe look into getting out of his apartment – buy a house or something. He won’t need much; just enough space for him and the turtle, maybe with a little plot of grass in the backyard so he can sit out there on summer days and relax.

Aww, hell, who’s he kidding? Be bored more like it. Ray can’t ever sit still long enough to just relax, and he hardly ever goes straight home anymore – the bar down the corner has a stool waiting for him every night. Their chicken wings aren’t half bad.

There’s a loud crash outside his office, and when he looks up through the thin glass window he sees a flash of red streaking by. The workers are standing around with their hands motionless, mouths open in surprise as carcasses fly off hooks and roll across the floor. Ray runs out into the plant and nearly trips over some frozen pig before he catches himself and starts yelling.

“Hey! You! Get back here! What the hell – ” he shouts, taking off after the big red blur that’s darting through the rows of hanging meat. “Stop!” he repeats, ducking around a conveyor belt.

The guy in red doesn’t look like he’s stopping or even paying any attention to Ray, so Ray cuts across to the side – around a freezer, to head the guy off.

Joe’s  just mopped though, so when Ray rounds the corner, he skids across the floor and collides with the guy and they both go tumbling over.

“Hey, just what do you – ” Ray starts, but the guy isn’t looking at him. He’s staring over Ray’s shoulder, and even though Ray and this guy, this running-in-red guy, are just a tangle of limbs – a leg here, an arm there – Ray manages to look in the direction of … whatever he’s staring at. Which turns out to be another guy.

Another guy with a very big gun, so Ray drops back to the floor and scuttles away as best he can. 

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” Ray cries out, throwing his arms over his head. The gun guy says nothing, just stares at the red uniform guy, who looks calm as can be, standing up now straight and perfectly in place. Jesus, he could be a drill instructor, a Sergeant or something, and Ray figures he’s the good guy, so Ray just hunches further against the cool metal of the machine behind him, and hopes the other workers have the sense to stay back.

“You really don’t want to do that,” the Sarge says, calmly. He’s holding his hands in front of him, like he’s trying to soothe a startled horse. “Please hand over the gun, and this will all be over.”

The bad guy snarls, and waves the gun menacingly, and Ray thinks, “Great. I’m going to die in a bad re-creation of some cheesy movie in a meat packing plant for Chrissakes.”

Sarge doesn’t seem to be bothered, though, cause he just keeps moving slowly forward. Ray looks around – there’s a meat hook on the floor (dammit, he’ll have to remember that and write it down on the clipboard) and all of the sudden, he doesn’t know what comes over him, but –

CLANG! Ray throws the hook across the floor, and the bad guy turns at the noise and then Sarge jumps him, flings the gun out of his hand, and before Ray can hardly blink, has him on the floor with his arms behind his back, tying up his hands with some kind of cord.

For a second, Ray thinks he’s twelve and maybe peed his pants again, but it doesn’t matter, because the gun is gone, the guy is down, and even if Ray had pissed himself, he’s going to walk out of here alive.

Ray stands up on shaky legs, lets out a low appreciative whistle. “Good job there, Sarge. I thought for sure I was a goner.”

Sarge looks up at him then, blinking like he’s seeing Ray for the first time. “Actually, it’s Constable, and I assure you, you were never in any danger.”

Ray’s laugh is dry and short. “Yeah well, a big gun pointing in my direction spells danger to me.” Ray shakes his head, and they both look up at the sound of sirens and the screech of tires. “Looks like your backup’s too late, huh?” he asks, and grins.

Sarge looks down at the man on the floor, and then back at Ray with a satisfied smile. “It would appear I had all the backup I needed,” he replies, and holy shit, that blush spreading over Sarge’s face is amazing.

Sarge coughs a little and then grabs the guy under his armpit, hauls him upright. Sarge, and Ray, and the criminal are just standing there looking everywhere but at each other –Ray because he’s trying hard not to look at the Sarge; the criminal, because he’s going to jail; and Sarge for his own reasons, which Ray can’t even guess at. And then policemen come and take the guy away in handcuffs, and Ray’s not sure if he’s supposed to give a statement or what. Yeah, Sarge and I here took the guy down with a meat hook and a piece of string.

Ray hangs around, goes back to his office and talks to some officer, and by the time they’re done his stomach is rumbling and he’s thinking he better at least get overtime, seeing as how he almost died on the job. He hangs his white coat behind the door, and steps out into the plant – and right into Sarge.

“Oh – oh, excuse me, I was just coming to – ” Sarge begins, tugging a little at his collar. “I was going to thank you for your heroic efforts this afternoon in apprehending the suspect.”

Sarge looks him in the eye then, but Ray can see his hands twitching at his sides. “My name is Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP. I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father’s killers, and for reasons – well, for some reason have ended up here, in this meat packing plant, and I would like to – ”

“Thank me, yeah yeah, I got that at the beginning.” Ray squints a grin at him. “Royal Canadian Mounted Police, huh?” He pretends to look around. “So where’s your horse?” he asks, playfully.

Sarge blinks at that. “I don’t actually have a horse. I have a wolf, though – rather, a half-wolf, but he apparently was waylaid at the hot dog stand and is woefully neglecting his duty.”

Ray stands there just staring at him, watching his lips move: Sarge has a really pretty mouth even though what he’s saying makes absolutely no sense. Ray shakes himself a little and extends a hand.

“Ray Kowalski, nice to meet you. And I didn’t do much, really, except almost piss my pants and throw a meat hook. So you know, I should be thanking you.” Ray glances around the plant, tilts his head toward the mess. “But I’m going to have to send you a bill for the damages,” he teases, and bingo! The blush is back. Ray looks down and realizes that he’s still gripping Sarge’s hand pretty hard, so he takes a quick step back, and Sarge seems to jump a little. 

“Oh, certainly, the Canadian government will be most amenable in repaying whatever restitution needs to be – ” he hastens.

“Sarge, Sarge,” Ray interrupts, laughing. “I’m kidding. Kidding. You know, har har, haha?” He shakes his head, waves a hand negligently. “It’s no big deal. The guys’ll take care of it. Nothing that can’t be salvaged.”

Sarge nods, and appears to be satisfied. “My name is Benton Fraser,” he states again, turning to follow Ray across the plant.

Ray just looks over his shoulder at him. “That’s a mouthful right there,” he says, and winks.

Sarge hesitates for a moment, and then a small smile lifts up the corners of his mouth. “You can call me Ben,” he says, sincerely.

“Okay,” Ray agrees, holding open the door. “So anyway, listen, Sarge,” he begins, and it’s just too much fun to see Ben’s lips press tightly together like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or be offended by Ray calling him ‘Sarge’. “You wanna grab dinner or something? I’m starving. I tell you, catching criminals is hard work.”

Ben cocks his head like dinner’s some great mystery he’s pondering. Ray starts to twitch a little, cause maybe he’s stepped over the line. Maybe meat packing plant supervisors aren’t supposed to make nice with Canadian police officers, but hell. Screw that.

Ben is damn good looking, and he has to eat sometime, right? So no pressure, just a little dinner to get all the ‘thank yous’ out of the way and then maybe who knows. It’s been a hell of a long time since Ray’s gotten laid, and maybe it’s a little early to be thinking about getting Ben out of that starchy red uniform, but Ray bets he looks good under there.

“I – ” Ben catches up with him, and they walk shoulder to shoulder across the parking lot. The sky is already getting dark. “Dinner would be lovely,” he says, and Ray nods and leads them to the car.

Dinner turns out to be fun. Ray keeps staring at the way Ben’s fingers wrap around his fork, but he pays attention to all his stories about Canada, too, and manages to nod in all the right places he thinks, because Ben just keeps smiling bigger and bigger. His eyes are all lit up like telling Ray about moose jaws and snow is the best thing in the world, and maybe it is.

They have a little argument about who’s paying, but then Ben pulls some money out of the brim of his hat, and that’s so amusing that Ray just throws up his hands. They walk back to the car; the wind’s starting to pick up a bit, and it ruffles through the hair falling over Ben’s forehead.

 Ray figures it’s now or never, and he sure as hell doesn’t want it to be never, and he doesn’t want the night to be over yet, either. So he stops at Ben’s side of the car, and smiles at him – the smile that has gotten any number of guys and women back to his apartment over the last decade.

“So, Ben,” he says, placing a casual arm on the roof of the car. He leans in a little, lets his eyes purposely linger on Ben’s mouth. “You wanna come back to my place, maybe watch a game or something?”

“I – oh, I – ” Ben sputters, and he’s gripping his hat tightly, holding it between them like a shield. “I probably shouldn’t, I mean, I have Consulate duties that need to be – ” he trails off, staring at Ray’s mouth.

Which isn’t a surprise, because Ray’s pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth, and he’s staring right back into Ben’s eyes, like he’s daring Ben to say no.

“There’s hockey on,” he tempts softly, and Ben’s face sort of melts at that. The creases around his eyes go soft, and the tightness around his mouth smoothes out.

Ben takes a deep breath, and relaxes his fingers on his hat. “In that case, how can I refuse?” he says, and his voice sounds one breath away from sex.

Ray valiantly does not reach down and adjust himself; instead, he pats Ben on the arm, and walks over to his side of the car. The ride home is way too long, and Ray’s thinking of all the ways his fingers are going to look against the pale skin of Ben’s body, and by the time they’re at the apartment door his hands are shaking so bad he can barely get the key in the lock.

Ben presses up close behind him, and the heat coming off him is scorching. Ray can feel it up and down his back and dammit the lock is stuck and the handle won’t turn and Ben just reaches right around him, puts his big heavy hand over Ray’s, and jerks the door open.

They sort of stumble through the doorway, but Ben has a pretty strong grip on Ray’s upper arm, and then they’re inside and Ray is spinning and Ben is pressed up against the wall with one hand still on Ray’s arm and his lips are red and full and really close to Ray’s face.

They both stand there, though, breathing hard, like walking in the door is some kind of marathon and this is the finish line and praise Christ for that because the finish line has big dark eyes and a hint of stubble and a wild look that makes Ray’s dick stand up.

Ben’s mouth is incredibly warm and fits right up against Ray’s, pretty much like the rest of their bodies are fitting against one another. Ray kisses Ben up against the wall, beside the doorway to his apartment, and he can’t smell that dead meat smell at all, the one he’s smelled every day of his Goddamned life. All he can smell is the faint sweat on Ben’s neck and leather from the strap across his chest.

Ray licks his way inside Ben’s mouth and he opens right up and Ray’s perfectly fine with his tongue getting all tangled with Ben’s, and he’s more than fine when Ben blows a little air back into Ray’s mouth with a moan.

“Bed,” Ray pants, tugging on Ben’s uniform, and Ben nods rapidly. They stumblekiss to the bedroom, where Ray fumbles with the light switch and keeps backing up and backing up until he falls awkwardly onto the bed and Ben lands on top of him.

Ben is a little heavy but Jesus, his body can lay all over Ray any time it wants because his hands won’t stop moving, won’t stop touching Ray all over, and his dick is pressing hard against Ray’s thigh. Ray’s pulling and yanking at Ben’s uniform, but it won’t come off, and Ben won’t stop licking Ray’s neck – holy Christ, licking Ray’s neck and across his collarbone and under the edge of his t-shirt, rough hot circles that make Ray want to shiver or moan or go insane. Finally Ray just goes totally limp and flops his arms open across the bed.

The mouth attached to his neck stills, and when Ray lifts his head, Ben’s face is really red and his eyes are sort of creased with what looks like worry. “Is this – are you,” Ben stutters, before looking down. His eyebrows draw tightly together and Ray can’t stand that, won’t have that, so he reaches out and runs his thumb over Ben’s lips.

“Hey. Hey, Ben. It’s all good, okay? We’re good here. This is great, you’re great, okay?” he assures, and then it hits him. What if Ben has never done this before? With a guy? What if this is something that Ray’s totally pushed him into, with the smiles and the flirting and the oh Sarge, come over and watch hockey.

 Jesus, Kowalski.

Ray sits up a little, or tries to, and pats at Ben’s arm until Ben rolls off him. He takes a deep breath as Ben straightens up, tugs a little at his jacket.

“Listen, you’re okay with this, right? With – ” Ray waves his hand between them. “With this, with what we’re doing. What we’re…gonna do. Cause I don’t want to pressure you or anything, or make you – ”

“Ray,” Ben says, and grabs Ray by the arm. His fingers are white knuckled against the skin on Ray’s arm and he looks Ray in the eye. “I want to. That is, I’m okay with…this, if you are.”

Ray smiles at him, and Ben relaxes his grip a little. “I’m okay, I’m more than okay. I’m a-okay all the way,” and they both start laughing and then Ben leans in and kisses Ray hard on the lips. Ray wants more of Ben’s skin though, so he tugs his fingers under Ben’s collar, and Ben gets the hint.

It’s pretty amazing to watch the uniform coming off, with Ben standing up by the bed and each piece sliding off him like water. Ben is careful, though, and folds up his jacket and pants and puts them on the dresser, and then he’s standing in front of Ray, peeling up his undershirt, his hard cock pushing at the front of his boxers.

When Ben’s fingers slip under the waistband and begin to pull, Ray can’t get his shirt off or his pants down fast enough but then Ben’s hands are there, pulling Ray’s pants off along with his underwear and then that hot heavy body is back on his and oh Christ, their dicks are lined up, they’re both leaking and it’s slick and wet and Ray grips at Ben’s back, holds on to his shoulders. Ben kisses his way down Ray’s chest, licks around his navel.

Ray’s groaning “yes, yes” and Ben just keeps going lower and lower, until he licks around the head of Ray’s cock and Ray digs his fingers a little too hard into Ben’s back and tries not to come. There’s just so much licking and sucking going on down there and Ben’s hair is every bit as soft under Ray’s fingers as it looks, and Ben’s mouth is this hot humid place where Ray’s dick wants to live. Ben takes him in, almost all the way, and when Ray looks down he can see how wet Ben’s lips are, how tight they are around him.

He could stay like this forever, he thinks, just lost here in this haze, but he wants more, he wants to taste Ben, he wants to feel his dick in his mouth, he wants to feel Ben’s dick inside him. Ray tugs at his hair, gently, and Ben looks up through his long lashes, gives Ray’s dick a kiss before crawling back up his body and kissing him on the lips.

“Do you have – ” Ben asks, nuzzling behind Ray’s ear. “Do you have something we can – ”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on,” Ray says breathlessly, and leans over and jerks open the drawer in the nightstand. He finds the bottle and a condom after fumbling around some, and Ben’s lips never leave his body the whole time – across his shoulders, between his shoulder blades, down his back. He turns to Ben and holds the bottle out, but Ben smiles, kisses him softly just above his brow, and rolls over on his stomach.

Ray almost comes right there, right then, all over Ben’s pale broad back.

His hands are really shaking now, and he pops the top off and spills too much lube on his fingers. Ben just lays there, his head pillowed in his arms, waiting.

Jesus.

Ray runs his slick hand between Ben’s thighs, spreads them open a little, and presses one finger against him. He slides right in, and maybe Ben has done this before, maybe he’s done it a lot, because he’s totally relaxed and his body takes Ray’s finger inside like it was meant to be there.

Ray pushes in further, adds another finger, and Ben pushes right back at him, lifts his hips up off the bed and rises up a little on his knees and moans when Ray hits the sweet spot. Ray folds over Ben, tries to brace himself but his hand skids across the sheets.

“Now, now,” Ben chants hoarsely, and Ray pulls his fingers out as slowly as he can, rips the condom open and slicks himself up.

The first press of his cock into Ben’s body is overwhelming, because it’s so tight and so hot and Ben keeps making all these little noises through his teeth like he’s one thrust away from coming, and Ray pushes harder, deeper, eases into Ben until they’re both panting and sweating and Ray’s completely inside.

He pulls out a little, pushes back in with a small thrust, and Ben buries his head in his arms again. There’s a scar on Ben’s back, and Ray’s oddly pleased to see it – he runs slick fingers along the edge of it, along the imperfect ridge of tissue, and thrusts in again.

He touches all of Ben’s skin that he can, and keeps pushing in and pulling out, sliding his fingers over Ben’s ass, down the soft skin inside his thigh. His fingers want to touch more and more, and he runs his palm flat against the inside of Ben’s leg, wanting it all, wanting it to burn.

He finds another patch of scar tissue on Ben’s right thigh – his fingers smooth over the length of it, over and over, and he can’t stop touching it, can’t stop pushing into Ben’s body.

“Knife – ” Ben chokes out, “ – stabbed,” and shakes a little. Ray leans over, kisses the sweat off the back of Ben’s neck, and reaches around and takes Ben’s dick in his hand.

It’s heavy and full, and Ray’s fingers slide slick from base to tip, up and down, matching the increasing rhythm of his body and he’s fucking Ben – he’s fucking this beautiful imperfect man – and Ben reaches under himself, wraps his fingers around Ray’s and comes all over both their hands.

Ray can’t help it – it’s warm and wet and he bites down on Ben’s shoulder when he jerks through his own orgasm.

He slumps against Ben and Ben slumps into the bed and they both lie there and try to catch their breath. It’s God knows how long before Ray carefully pulls out of him, drags himself out of bed to throw the condom in the trash and turn out the light. He slides back in beside Ben and tugs the covers up over them, rolling over on his side. Moonlight is spilling in the window, and Ben is looking at him with really soft eyes.

“Thank you,” Ben says, and Ray tries to laugh, but his throat is so dry it comes out more as a cough.

“Thank you?” Ray repeats with a glare. “Sarge, you thank me again and I’ll kick you in the head,” he glowers, but he knows his eyes are probably shining stupidly and anyway, Ben seems to understand.

Ben reaches out and wraps his arm around Ray’s back, pulls him close, and kisses him on the cheek. “Understood,” he affirms, and Ray closes his eyes against Ben’s chest, and falls asleep.

The next morning, Ray wakes up and the bed is empty. He doesn’t know whether to be pissed or grateful, but pre-coffee he’s going to go with pissed, because the sex had been hot, it’d been really fucking great, and damn if he hadn’t even gotten Ben’s phone number.

He stumbles out to the kitchen rubbing his eyes, opens the cabinets and starts making coffee. He sees the note on the counter only after he’s had his first cup.

Dear Ray,

Thank you again for your heroism yesterday afternoon. I could not have apprehended the suspect without your help. And though I risk being kicked in the head by saying this, thank you again for last night as well. I had a, shall I say, delightful time, and that does not adequately express my sentiments, but I hope you know what I am trying to convey.

I can be reached at the Canadian Consulate, should you wish to continue this – partnership.

I look forward to seeing you again and sharing your company.

Ray grins and digs through the drawer for the phone book. Ben had signed his note:

Benton Fraser

But then scratched it out, and underneath scrawled:

Sarge

II. Outside the Courtroom

The jury was losing focus. One woman stared ahead with a glazed look, another shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Two of the men were struggling to remain awake while the other members were listless and fidgety. Late afternoon sun drifted into the courtroom through the small, high windows lined on one wall and the air felt heavy, sluggish.

Fraser sat up straight in the witness box and adjusted his tunic with a swift tug of his hand. The young prosecuting attorney was about to begin her examination.

“Good afternoon, Constable,” the lawyer said with a smile. Fraser nodded once and greeted her in return, folding his hands into his lap, fingers curled lightly around the brim of his hat.

Stella Kowalski had only newly been appointed Assistant States Attorney, but she was rumored to be promising. Her opening statement had been delivered with a strong, clear voice, hands moving through the air to illustrate her points as she outlined the case. Fraser found her eloquent, and she captured the attention of everyone in the courtroom. He liked her style, the way she leaned forward and maintained eye contact with each jury member. She was effective, wooing almost. She knew just when to soften her stance, when to smile and nod at something she just said – agreeing with herself so that the jury would, too.

Now, though, five days into what was turning into a long and heated trial, the pressure of the case was evident in the faces of the men and women in the jury box.

“Constable, in your own words, please describe the events as they occurred when you and your partner, Detective Raymond Vecchio, apprehended and arrested the accused on the morning of October third,” Kowalski asked, resting one small hand on the rail in front of Fraser.

Fraser cleared his throat, and began to recount the call he and Ray answered regarding a robbery in progress. The robbery, however, was no robbery at all; instead, when they arrived they found a woman being held at gunpoint, and a suspect strongly linked to various crimes in three states including bribery, assault, and the murder of a hardware store owner in Des Moines.

The standoff had been trying; Fraser could still hear the woman’s pleas, could still feel her shaking in his arms while Ray screamed at the suspect, knee planted in his back. They had been in a warehouse down by the docks, and the acrid smell of the polluted water and stale fish was still so vivid, so very real in his memory.

Kowalski continued her line of questions, and the defense attorney sneered and jabbed his way through a cross-examination. Fraser answered each question firmly, decisively, and focused his attention on the jury, on making them understand the importance of what he was saying.

When the judge finally dismissed him, the sun was lowering and the courtroom growing dim, and he stood, walked off the stand and out the thick double doors at the back.

He sat down on a bench out in the hallway, placed his hat beside him and leaned his head back against the wall. He could almost feel his body deflate, and he let out a long sigh. Court would be over soon for the day, but Fraser was not looking forward to going home to the quiet, to the solitude.

The apartment was too empty and dark; he rattled aimlessly through the rooms, from kitchen to bedroom to living room. With every creak of the floorboards, with every book he picked up, with every soft slide of the blanket against his fingers or hum of the teakettle, he found Victoria.

Isolation had its merits – in Canada, it was broad and expansive, white mountains of snow and crisp air in his lungs. It was leaning a hard left on the sled and calling out to the dogs, stomping inside a warm cabin and reading until the kerosene burned down in the lamp.

Chicago’s isolation, though, was acid rain that burned his nose, humid choking days, and faint traces of Victoria’s perfume when he passed by the park. Chicago’s isolation was stifling, suffocating, and every time he walked through the door of the apartment – where he still looked for her coat hanging in the closet, her shirts lined up beside his – he felt as if the city was pinning him between four closed walls of his home.

“Hey, Benny, good job up there,” he heard, and opened his eyes as Ray slumped down beside him, clasping his shoulder. Ray squeezed a little, and smiled. “Had the jury hanging on your every word.”

Fraser smiled in return. “I confess, I was afraid they were going to fall asleep,” he said.

“Nah, how could they do that when your suit was blinding them? Half the women’s eyes bugged out when you took the stand.” Ray sat back and shook his head, bumping Fraser’s shoulder with his own. “And I take back everything I said about that ASA, cause she’s good, Benny. She has that bastard and his slimy lawyer squirming in their seats. God, we’re gonna nail him, you just wait.” Ray punched one palm with a fist and grinned widely. “We’re gonna nail his ass to the wall.”

Fraser rolled his head toward Ray. “You’ve done good work on this case, Ray, and I have every confidence that ASA Kowalski will be able to deliver a conviction.”

“We both did good work on this,” Ray stated firmly, slapping his hands against his knees. “This was your collar, too. So – ” He stood quickly and shrugged into his coat. “What do you say we go have dinner?”

“I – ” Fraser started, shifting on the bench. He sat up straight and folded his hands in his lap, fingers clasping into each other. “I’m going to stay here for awhile, I think, perhaps catch Ms. Kowalski on her way out.”

Ray narrowed his eyes. “Stay here,” he repeated. “Fraser I don’t think – ”

“What, Ray,” Fraser said sharply. “Am I not capable of seeing myself home alone?” He shot a hard, even look at Ray.

“Jesus, Benny,” Ray said, rolling his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant so don’t go all Mountie on me. All you ever do is go home. It’s been so long since you’ve been over for dinner that Ma is beginning to suspect you ran back to Canada without telling her goodbye. I just – ” Ray broke off, shaking his head. “You gotta start getting out again, doing stuff. I mean, I know Victoria threw you – ”

“This isn’t about my wife,” Fraser cut in sharply, blowing out a quick breath.

“ – your ex-wife,” Ray corrected, barreling on, “and she threw you for a loop, and you think your life’s in the crapper, but,” Ray paused, his face softening. “Benny, I’m just worried about you. I don’t want to see you wasting away over a woman, okay? Trust me, I’ve been there.”

Fraser said nothing, slowly closing and opening his eyes as he felt all the fight drain out of his muscles. He unfolded his hands, smoothing them over his pants, and looked up at Ray. “I know, Ray, and I thank you for your friendship and concern. Really, I’m doing fine, I merely want to congratulate ASA Kowalski for her performance in court today.”

Ray nodded, lifting his hands in pacification. “Alright, alright. But you’re missing Ma’s famous meatballs tonight.” He patted Fraser on the shoulder before turning to leave. “See you in the morning, nine o’clock,” he called as he walked down the hall.

Fraser watched as Ray stepped into the elevator and the door slid shut. Ray was only trying to help, he knew that, and Fraser felt a twinge of guilt over being so short with him.

This wasn’t the first time he’d snapped at Ray. Ray had done more for him than anyone; that first horrible night Fraser had gone home and found the apartment cleaned out, Ray had been right there. He’d dragged Fraser to the movies, where they both sat in the dark and Fraser didn’t pretend to pay attention and Ray didn’t pretend Fraser wasn’t crying through the double feature.

But it was as though when Victoria left, she cleaned Fraser out as well. He felt as empty as the apartment, dulled and lifeless. She had swept into his life four years ago, a swirl of dark curls and bright eyes that had spun him into such a dizzying state of attraction that he found himself proposing in less than three months. When she said yes – God, her face had been so radiant – he felt like his heart might burst open. He had never loved anyone so fully and completely, so passionately.

She swept out much the same way – no note, no apology. She’d simply left the apartment bare of any traces of herself, cleaned so thoroughly it was as if she’d never been there at all, as if she’d only ever existed in Fraser’s mind.

He wanted to go home – to his real home, but that was thousands of miles away. Ray wasn’t aware of Fraser’s desire to return to Canada, or that he’d already put in a request to be transferred back to the Territories.

“Hey there.”

Fraser snapped to attention, startled, and looked up to find a man standing in front of him. He was shifting from side to side, bouncing on his feet. It was as though his body seemed intent on displacing the air around him, his fingers twitching at the belt loops on his jeans. An ex-smoker, perhaps, Fraser thought, as the man’s fingers curled inward. Underneath his jacket was the unmistakable bulge of a gun tucked against the man’s arm.

“Sorry to bother you – do you know if they’re done in there yet?” the man asked, pointing to the closed doors of the courtroom.

Fraser looked at the doors a moment, and his mouth finally caught up with his brain. “Oh, oh no, I don’t believe so, not yet,” he replied.

“Yeah, figures,” the man sighed, and sat down next to Fraser. “So you must be the Mountie I keep hearing about,” he said, grinning.

“I – pardon?” Fraser asked, confused.

“Stella talks about you all the time,” the man gave as way of explanation, and stuck out his hand. “Ray Kowalski, nice to meet you. Stell’s my wife,” he beamed, jerking his head in the direction of the doors. “This case has her so wrapped up she can’t think about anything else. She says and your partner did a really good job catching the guy. Made her job a little easier.”

“Thank – thank you,” Fraser murmured, and he felt his face grow warm as he shook Ray’s hand. “Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP. I was merely doing my job.”

Ray nodded. “Yeah, I know all about that. I’m a detective over at the one-eight. Bad guys are everywhere these days.” Ray leaned back and couldn’t seem to stay still; he shook out his arms and ran his fingers through his hair before settling his hands on his thighs.

“Indeed they are,” Fraser agreed. They sat there in silence, Ray’s fingers drumming tap tap tap against the denim of his jeans.

“She’s pretty great, huh?” Ray asked suddenly. “Stell, I mean. She knows how to work the room, you know? Knows how to get in there and be all mean one minute and charming the next.” Ray paused and cocked his head. “Sort of like how she is at home,” Ray added, laughing.

“She’s superb,” Fraser replied, nodding seriously. “Her work on this case has been extraordinary. I’m pleased to know that Chicago has such fine lawyers in its midst.”

Fraser cringed at his formality – he glanced over at Ray, who was slouched against the bench, and did his best to relax his own shoulders. He cracked his neck quickly, hoping to loosen some of the tension he’d been carrying all day – no, that he’d been carrying for the past six months.

“Yeah,” Ray said again, smiling to himself. “So, you’re from Canada? How long you been here in Chicago?”

Fraser turned to him, and found Ray’s face open and expectant. Fraser could do this – he could sit here and be content and have a normal conversation with ASA Kowalski’s husband, and not feel as though any moment he might break apart. After all, the story was easy enough to tell.

“I first came here several years ago to investigate my father’s murder – but I stayed because I got married, and my wife – my ex-wife, rather,” he amended, “ – had a job here as a research assistant at the University.” Fraser looked down at his hands. “I’ve found Chicago to be a wonderful city, but…”

“No place like home, right?” Ray asked, nodding his understanding. “I grew up here, and I can’t imagine being anywhere else. Were you up in the North Yukon or in a city?”

“The Territories, actually,” Fraser replied, lifting his head to look at Ray. “I was stationed in a remote town; there was only one other Mountie and me for hundreds of miles. It was – peaceful,” he added.

Nothing at all like his apartment now – with bare windows and bare walls; floors that echoed every footstep, creaking wood that pinched under his feet. Unsettling, really, how emptiness made him agitated; how the wide open space of his apartment made him feel more closed off than ever before.

Ray whistled low. “No way I could do that – all that open space? No pizza delivery?” Ray grinned and shook his head. “I wouldn’t last a day.”

“I think you’d find you can do many things if you are determined enough,” Fraser countered, “and have the proper motivation.”

Ray shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess so. But my motivation’s here in Chicago, right through those doors,” he said, pointing one finger, “and I don’t see her high heels working too good in tons of snow.”

“Indeed not,” Fraser agreed, smiling.

They lapsed into silence. Ray shifted on the bench and his leg began bouncing up and down. He looked both ways down the hall, and then back at the doors. His hand reached out and picked up Fraser’s hat.

“You think you’ll stay in Chicago for the rest of your life?” he abruptly asked, absently twirling Fraser’s hat on his finger. “Or you gonna go back to those territories?”

Fraser stared at his hat swinging from Ray’s fingers, and cleared his throat. “Oh, I have every intention of returning,” he replied, eyes still on Ray’s hand.

“That’s – ” Ray broke off, hand jerking as he let Fraser’s hat drop back on the bench. “Sorry – damn, sorry about that. I can’t keep still, always gotta be doing something with my hands. I didn’t mean to offend you or the hat or nothing.”

“It’s fine – really,” Fraser reassured him, “it’s….” Fraser trailed off and smiled warmly at Ray. “It’s only a hat,” he finally finished.

“Yeah, if you say – ”

The doors suddenly swung open, and people began streaming out of the courtroom. Ray perched on the edge of the bench, peering into the crowd. Stella Kowalski was one of the last to exit, and when she walked out into the hall, Ray jumped up.

“Hey babe,” he greeted her, pecking her on the cheek. Ray wrapped his arm around ASA Kowalski’s shoulders, drew her close to his side.

“Hey yourself,” she replied, smiling up at him. “God, what a long day.”

Ray squeezed her before dropping his arm. “Time to go home, then,” he told her. Stella looked over at Fraser then, and her eyes grew wide.

“Constable!” she exclaimed, as Fraser stood to greet her. “You were great on the stand this afternoon.”

“You were, as always, eloquent and persuasive, Ms. Kowalski,” Fraser replied. “You have presented a very strong case before the jury, and I have every hope they will convict.”

“God, let’s hope so,” Stella said with a shake of her head. “That guy needs to be locked away for a long time.”

“Scumbag,” Ray muttered. He brightened a look at Stella. “See, that’s the thing. We set ‘em up, you knock ‘em down. One two punch, bam, they’re in the slammer. Sweet sweet justice.”

“A moving and stirring speech,” Stella told him dryly. Ray mock punched the air and grinned at her. “I see you two have met,” Stella said, looking between Ray and Fraser.

“Yeah, Fraser and I have been sitting out here forever waiting on you.” Ray put on a long-suffering look. “We had to talk about guy stuff and police stuff.”

“Oh, the indignity,” Stella said, rolling her eyes, and turned back to Fraser. “It was a pleasure working with you, Constable Fraser. I hope we’ll see more of each other.” Stella shifted her briefcase to her other hand and looked at Ray. “You ready?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ray said. He rummaged in his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. “Give me a call if you want to get together, watch a game or something,” he said, handing the card to Fraser. “Stell’s always telling me I don’t go out enough.”

“Well you don’t!” Stella reproached, elbowing Ray in the side. “You always bring work home – ”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk!” Ray yelped as Stella continued on.

“ – ranting and raving over cases or how someone spilled your coffee.” She leaned toward Fraser conspiratorially. “Really, you’d be doing me a favor to get him out of my hair.” 

“Yeah, Constable, she doesn’t like me underfoot,” Ray teased, eyes twinkling.

Fraser tucked Ray’s card inside the brim of his hat and smiled fondly at the two of them. “I’m free this weekend, if you would like to do something then,” he offered.

Stella beamed. “Yes! He would like!” She turned to Ray. “See there, Ray, you can make friends.”

“Friends, I’ll show you friends,” Ray grumbled, taking Stella’s briefcase from her. “C’mon, let’s leave the nice Mountie to his peaceful evening and continue this fight at home.”

Stella grinned up at him and swatted the side of his head. “Will you be here tomorrow for closing arguments, Constable?” she asked Fraser.

“Of course,” he assured her, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Excellent,” Stella declared. “Okay.” She looked at Ray. “Take me home, Mr. Kowalski.”

“My pleasure,” Ray replied playfully. “See you soon,” he told Fraser.

Fraser watched as Ray and Stella Kowalski walked down the hall. As they turned the corner, Ray reached over and grabbed Stella’s hand.

Fraser adjusted his hat on his head, fingering Ray’s card. The Kowalskis made a charming, lovely couple – the kind of couple that he and Victoria had never been. It was pointless to think otherwise.

Victoria and Fraser never had that boisterous, lively spin that the Kowalskis did. They were more – insular, dangerous even; their passion a focused quantity around which Fraser had based his life. Victoria had been smoldering, and Fraser had burned with her.

He knew now that Victoria’s beaming smiles had been nothing more than a lie, no warmer or filled with meaning than any other gesture she had shown him. No truer than the vows she had forsaken, or the hollowness she left him with.

Fraser would be going back to Canada soon enough, back to his home and his people and to the place where he most belonged. In the meantime, though, he had made a new friend, and two Rays – both so bursting with vitality – could surely fill the space of one Victoria, after all. 

They would have to.

III. In the Street

When Ray stepped out into the street that morning, he squinted up at the sky and sighed. The sun was sort of hidden behind the clouds, but it wasn’t raining, so Ray thought that might be a good sign.

Except that nothing was a good sign anymore, not a damn thing, and Ray was grasping at whatever he could to make him feel like he wasn’t totally falling apart.

He hated waking up every morning to a cold bed. He hated the fact that every time he rolled over, his arm automatically reached out – reaching for another body, reaching for skin, reaching for Stella.

But Stella wasn’t there anymore; hadn’t been for months, and it was eating him, killing him, and he felt like his insides were tearing into tiny little pieces.

He didn’t want to get over it, he didn’t want to move on, but he couldn’t go on like this either. He just stumbled through every day and felt like his mind was numb, like he was so bruised he could barely move.

No one at the precinct had said anything, but he knew they thought he was losing it. He knew they thought that he was going to slip up at any moment, fuck up a bust, or go berserk on a perp, and that would be the end of it. Everything all at once: the end of his career, the end of his marriage, the end of his life.

He left the car sitting at the curb and started walking down the sidewalk. If he just breathed in deeply enough maybe he could clear himself out, get a little perspective, feel like he wasn’t suffocating. And it was stupid, really, because he’d seen it coming. He knew it was coming, just like he knew the first time he kissed Stella that she was going to be his girl forever, just like he knew the day he married her that he was the luckiest bastard on the planet.

Sure, they fought, but hell, they’d always fought, that was one of the things he loved most about Stella. The way her eyes snapped when she was mad, the way her face got all smooth and hard when she was arguing her point. He loved how even though they’d go round and round about something totally stupid, in the end she’d turn all that exasperation into passion, and they’d fuck like they were trying to get inside each other’s skin.

And it killed him, absolutely tore him the fuck up that he couldn’t make her happy anymore, that he wasn’t what she needed, because she was what he needed.

Wasn’t she? Wasn’t she the only one who saw through his bullshit and rolled her eyes and shook her head when he got into one of his tantrums? Who was going to do that now? Who would want to do that now?

Ray Kowalski was tired of his job, tired of his life, and tired of feeling so goddamned tired all the time.

He’d just turned the corner in front of the bakery and was about to head in to get some coffee when he heard gunfire, and he was reaching for his gun and running. Down the street, over one block, through a parking lot – he followed the high-pitched screams of a woman, the rapid thwock thwock thwock of gunshots, the loud barks of a dog. He skidded to a stop at the mouth of an alley, held up his gun and yelled Freeze, just in time to see a kid, maybe seventeen, eighteen, raise his arm and point a gun right at him. Ray dropped to the ground, firing off one-two-three shots, and rolled behind a metal trashcan.

When he peered around, the kid was gone, and Ray jerked to his feet, ready to run after him until he saw the lump of red on the ground about fifty feet away.

“Shit,” he muttered, and holstered his gun.

The guy was sprawled out, his legs folded under him like he’d just gone straight down.

“Shit shit shit,” Ray repeated, and crouched down, tugging on the red jacket, running his hands all over the guy trying to find out where he’d been shot. The guy was wearing some kind of uniform – looked official – and Ray fumbled with all the damn buttons and cords until he finally got his hands inside, felt around.

He came away with bloody fingers. Ripping open the jacket, he saw the shirt underneath covered in blood, and Ray gently probed until he found the entry wound: right under a rib, about two inches away from the guy’s heart.

“Fuck,” Ray said loudly, and it bounced off the walls of the alley. The guy seemed to move a little at that, and his eyelids began to flutter. Ray kneeled over, ripped off his own jacket, then his sweater, and pulled his undershirt off and wadded it up, pressed it against the guy’s side.

“Hold on, just hold on, buddy,” he whispered.

He pulled his sweater back on with one hand while dialing his cellphone with the other. “Yeah, it’s Kowalski, badge 1-1-7. I’m in the alley between Euclid and Carter, and I got an armed perp running around nearby and a man down – looks like he might be an officer, wearing some kind of red uniform. What? No, don’t know his name, wait – ” Ray fumbled in the guy’s pants for some ID, but came up with nothing. “No no, got no ID, just hurry dammit, cause he’s bleeding out and he needs a damn ambulance!”

He slammed the phone shut with a snap and realized the shirt he was pressing against the guy’s side was soaked with blood. The guy’s mouth started moving, forming ghost words, and Ray leaned in close.

“My… hat,” he thought the guy said, and then it was repeated. “My hat.” His voice was weak but the words were clear. Ray looked around the alley, and yeah, sure enough, there was a brown hat laying about ten feet away.

“Okay, okay, I got it,” Ray assured him, and got up carefully to retrieve it. He sat back down, pulled the guy’s head into his lap. “Here, here’s your hat,” he said, and that’s when the guy opened his eyes, looked straight at Ray.

Thank you, he mouthed, fumbling with the brim when Ray put it in his hands. 

The guy’s eyes were cloudy and unfocused, but still, he was looking at Ray, looking right at him, and his eyes were soft, and resigned.

“You’re gonna be okay, it’s all gonna be fine,” Ray said, but he knew it wasn’t reassuring either of them.

“…ton Frasss…”

The guy was trying to speak again, and Ray figured it was better if he kept the guy conscious, so he nodded and put his hand on the top of the guy’s head, patted a little.

“What’s that?” he asked, reaching around with his other hand to press the oozing compress more firmly against the guy’s wound.

“…name is … ton …Fraser…” he gasped, and then his eyes fell shut with the effort.

Ray squeezed a little, tugged sharply at the guy’s hair so that he’d open his eyes. “Fraser, c’mon buddy, don’t close your eyes on me.”

Fraser’s eyes slowly blinked open again, and Ray gave him a small smile. “My name’s Ray,” he said.

Fraser’s eyes went a little wide at that, and he tried to move, his arms flopping against his body. “Ray,” he repeated hoarsely. “Ray, Ray, Ray.”

“Yeah, that’s me, Ray, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“No … Ray … he’s … not here…”

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” Ray repeated, and folded his arm more tightly around Fraser. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise, Fraser.”

He ran his fingers soothingly through Fraser’s hair, and they got stuck; Fraser’s hair was matted with blood and for a moment Ray thought he might have a head wound, too – but, no. There was just so much blood, so much blood everywhere, and Ray was covered in it, and Fraser was covered in it, and they were sitting in this dirty alley and Ray was suddenly terrified that this man was going to die in his arms.

“Fraser,” he said, “Fraser, talk to me. Tell me something. Tell me about this crazy ass uniform you’re wearing.”

Fraser smiled faintly at that, and his eyelids fluttered again. “RC…RCMP,” he managed. “I first… came to…” he sucked in a shallow, clogged breath, “Chicago on … trail… my father …”

“Benny!”

Ray jerked his head up at the shout, and saw a man flying toward them, his coat flapping open. A large white dog streaked past him and nearly landed on top of Ray and Fraser.

“Oh God, oh no, oh Jesus fuck, no no no, Benny,” the guy was moaning, and he didn’t even stop to look at Ray.

He fell down beside them, shoved Ray over and pulled Fraser into his lap, rocking him back and forth. “Benny, Benny, so stupid, no no,” he wailed, and Ray had to look away, had to get away, so he got up slowly, backed off, couldn’t stand to see the grief all over the man’s face, because he knew that look.

The dog was leaning into both of them, whining so low and sad and there was nothing Ray could do anymore. Black and whites were pulling up with sirens screaming, and the uniforms began tumbling out of their cars, shouting questions and running up the street, and it all started to blur together.

He answered questions, gave them what they needed for the report. Yes, he’d seen the shooter. No, he didn’t know why the RCMP officer was in pursuit of the suspect. Yes, he’d be able to pick out the shooter in a lineup if they needed. No, he didn’t know the RCMP officer, just happened to be around the block when he heard shots.

The ambulance finally got there, and the last Ray saw of Fraser was when he was on the stretcher, being rolled into the back of the van, and the other guy – his partner apparently – and the dog climbed in after. As the doors slammed shut, he saw Fraser reach out weakly, pat his partner’s hand with his own.

He went into the station, sat at his desk, snapped at everyone around him all day, and thought of Fraser. Finally he slammed the file he was working on down on his desk, and grabbed his coat.

He didn’t say goodbye to anyone on his way out.

The walk home seemed to take forever; his legs felt heavy, and the lowering sun kept slipping in and out of the clouds, streaking the sky blood red and orange.

Ray stumbled through the door of his apartment, dropped the mail on the counter and went straight for the bottle on the top of the refrigerator. An hour later he managed to grab onto the side of the sink, and hauled himself up.

There was a thick brown envelope lying halfway across the late edition afternoon paper. He shoved it aside and read the headline: RCMP Officer Gunned Down in Alley! Killer Still At Large!

He leaned over and threw up in the sink.

The brown envelope was still lying there, and he figured now was as good a time as ever to open it. He fished out a pen from the drawer beside him, flinging away the rubber band and old mint that was stuck to it.

Ray Kowalski signed his divorce papers while completely drunk and more than a little out of his mind. He tore around the apartment, pulled all the books off the shelves, ripped the pictures off the walls, kicked chairs upside down, clawed at the quilt on the bed until it was in shreds on the floor and then he sat there surrounded by the mess and cried.

It was daybreak when Ray lifted his head and looked around: at the torn-up apartment, at the bare walls, at his empty life. He picked up the phone.

“Lieu, it’s me. Listen, I’ve changed my mind. I’m not gonna take that undercover gig, okay? I just – I gotta get away for awhile, gotta get out of here. Everything’s so fucked up and messed up and – anyway. I can’t be somebody else right now, it just doesn’t feel right. Sorry to bail on you, but I – I don’t have a choice here, I can’t do it.”

There was a grey duffel bag in the closet, and Ray filled it with two pairs of jeans, four t-shirts, one sweater, socks and underwear. He grabbed his holster off the dresser, jammed his gun in. Slung the bag over his shoulder and walked into the kitchen, swept the divorce papers off the countertop with one arm.

They scattered along the floor and Ray walked out of the door, and disappeared.

IV. In the Schoolyard

Benton stared up at the massive building, bigger than any he’d ever seen in Inuvik. It was grey and cold looking, the windows hollow eyes and the huge double front doors a gaping jaw, ready to swallow him. He took a deep breath and tugged the straps of his backpack tighter, then set his shoulders. He could do this.

“It’s only for a few months,” his grandmother had assured him.

When his grandfather died, Benton had borne it, as he knew Grandfather would have wanted, with dry eyes and a firm jaw. He helped his grandmother the best he could, and sometimes, when he felt useless and in the way, and Grandmother would be crying softly into her handkerchief, he’d kneel at her feet and take her hand, smile up at her. It seemed to be enough.

His dad came home five days after Grandfather was buried. Benton had wanted to run into his arms, had wanted to feel his dad’s scratchy beard and strong hug. Instead, he stood there while Dad shook his hand, while Dad kissed Grandmother on the cheek, and when he left less than twenty-four hours later, Benton realized: I am now the man of the house.

He and Grandmother continued on as always, but it was strange without Grandfather. Like a huge chunk was missing, and the cabin seemed empty even on nights when his grandmother would have the church ladies over, and they sat around the kitchen table talking in low murmurs and sewing moose hide into mukluks.

They were settling in, just the two of them, and it meant they wouldn’t move around so much anymore, or so Benton thought – until one day he came home from playing hockey with his friends. He’d scored the winning shot, and whooped his way up the steps just as his grandmother opened the door and met him with a serious expression. He’d stopped quickly, skidding across the porch, and his heart started beating hard in his chest.

“It’s only for a few months,” she’d said. “Oh, think of it, Benton, it will be exciting! A new place, new adventures, just like Robinson Crusoe!”

In the end, Benton had smiled and nodded, and while he knew his grandmother had been chosen for a special honor – her work as a librarian was important, apparently even the Americans knew that – he still cried into his pillow the night before they flew out of Canada.

Bodies shoved past him, and Benton was pushed up the steps by a wave of people, excited chattering all around him.

Did you hear about Billy and Sarah? – No way, that’s totally gross! – Swear to God, cross my heart, hope to –

Benton blinked and suddenly he was inside, walking down the hall, turning through a door, standing on his tiptoes to peer over a tall counter. A lady with a tight face and even tighter smirk leaned over and stared at him.

“You lost or what, kid?” she asked, popping her gum.

“Er, no. Or, I don’t think – is this the office?” Benton asked, bracing his hands on the slick plastic.

“Yeah, do you need a slip to the bathroom or something?” The lady leaned even farther over, her bosom pressing against the counter.

Benton shook his head. “No ma’am. My name is Benton Fraser, and I’m here for my first day of school.”

The lady smiled at that, which didn’t do much for her face, because even her smile looked like a twisted piece of wood. “Is that so? Well, Benton, let’s see about getting you to class, why don’t we.”

It turned out that the lady was nice after all – she wrote out all his classes on a piece of paper, and drew a little map to help him navigate the halls – even if she clearly was in violation of the big sign in the corner of the office that said No Chewing Gum Anywhere On Premises.

Benton’s first day of school in America – no, Chicago – passed quickly, thankfully. The classes were much different than he was used to – for one thing, there were lots of kids all crammed into stuffy classrooms, and the teachers seemed to yell a lot. Apparently American kids had a fascination with spitballs, and Benton was lucky he had leaned over to pick up his pencil from the floor when a big one landed on his desk. He hadn’t bothered to look around to find the perpetrator; the teacher was in the middle of talking about Native Americans and the Trail of Tears, and Benton had wanted to know more, since they didn’t teach that in Inuvik.

Instead, he pulled out his handkerchief – his grandfather’s handkerchief – and wiped away the slime of paper. A thread from the cotton handkerchief snagged on the edge of the desk, and Benton ran his fingers over the wood, feeling carved indentations under his fingertips. He traced them carefully, and made out letters: S – no. R and… K? He was halfway leaning over to actually look when the bell clanged loudly, immediately drowned out by scraping chairs and stomping feet. He jumped up along with the rest of the kids – everyone moved so quickly – and as he’d been all day, was jostled along into the hall.

At lunch he found a seat at the end of a long table, and pulled out his sandwich and thermos of milk, setting them alongside his brand-new copy of Moby Dick. No one bothered him, and he was engrossed in his book when a group of girls stopped at his table.

“Nice plaid,” one of them said, and he looked up at her, blinking. It took him a moment to realize she was talking about his shirt, but then he smiled brightly and told her, “thank you kindly” and fingered the pages of his book. She made a sort of choking sound and started giggling and the other girls dragged her away by the arm, all of them looking over their shoulders at him and laughing as they tumbled off.

When the final bell rang at the end of the day, Benton had already outlined a plan to persuade his grandmother to teach him at home during their stay in Chicago. The classes were boring except for American History, and the other students were not exactly nice. He hadn’t made a single friend – he hadn’t even properly met anyone at all except the lady with the bosom and the gnarled smile. He sighed and slumped against the stone wall surrounding the schoolyard.

Grandmother, he was sure, would just tell him to try harder the next day, and he would have to come back here and do this all over again, and again the next day, and so on and so on until they went back home to Canada.

Settling cross-legged in the grass, he began rummaging through his backpack for his book when he smelled smoke. He looked up and around, sniffing the air. It was – cigarette smoke. He wrinkled his nose and stood up, peering over the top of the wall. Three pairs of surprised eyes looked back at him, and suddenly there was a flurry of movement.

“Shit, put it out!” one of them exclaimed, while a second one growled at him, “Either get over here or scram, kid, you’re gonna give us away.”

Benton stood there staring at them, until the other one – a kid with blond hair stuck flat to his head and dark thick glasses clinging to his nose – demanded, “Well?”

“O—okay,” and he scooped up his backpack, swung it over, and heard it plop to the ground. He easily straddled the wall, landing on the other side in front of the three boys, and palmed his shirt smooth.

“My name is Benton Fraser,” he stated. “I’m from Canada.”

The kid with dark curly hair and torn t-shirt looked at him and rolled his eyes. “Good for you,” he said with a grunt. “You want a smoke or what?”

“Ah, no, no thank you,” Benton stammered. “I don’t – that is, I’ve never actually – ”

“Oh c’mon, you little pussy, have one,” and a lit cigarette was stuck under Benton’s nose. He stumbled back a step, and into the wall.

The blond kid pushed his glasses up with one finger and muttered, “Leave him alone, Joe, Christ. So he doesn’t want a smoke, big deal,” and then he turned and flashed a small smile at Benton, but it was a genuine smile, a real smile, the first Benton had seen all day.

Benton smiled back, broadly.

“Oh yeah, Kowalski, go on, stick up for him. Little fag can’t even handle a smoke,” Joe said with disgust. “C’mon, Pauly, let’s get outta here.” He smirked and sauntered backwards, tugging on Pauly’s arm. “Have fun with your new boyfriend, Kowalski,” he leered, and they both turned and loped away.

“Guys, wait…he just – ” Kowalski called after them, half raising his arm.

Fraser twisted the collar of his shirt through his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll – I can leave,” he offered to Kowalski’s back.

Kowalski sighed and turned toward Benton, shuffling his feet before he kicked at the ground.

Benton tried again. “I’m sorry if I – if I made your friends mad at you,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The other boy shrugged one shoulder and raised his head. “They’re assholes anyway.”

“Okay,” Benton replied and they both stood there, looking at each other.

“I’m not, you know,” Kowalski said suddenly, his body lurching forward. “Not a fag. I even got a girl – look,” and he stood on tiptoe and looked over the wall. He tilted his head and Benton stepped up beside him, peeking over as well, and saw what looked like the band lining up along the yard, their instruments flashing in the sunlight.

“See that one,” he pointed, “ – the really cute blonde one? With the clarinet? That’s my girl – that’s my Stella.” Kowalski beamed when he said her name, and Benton nodded in understanding.

They both slid back down the wall, and leaned against it. Benton drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees.

“My name’s Sta – Ray. I’m Ray,” the boy said, lighting another cigarette. He coughed after the first puff, his eyes watering a little. “This is our little hiding place, where we go to smoke, right, and Joe, he just don’t like anyone messing around on his turf. He was just trying to get ya to shit yourself, but don’t pay him no mind.”

Benton nodded, and then cleared his throat. “Actually, it’s not much of a hiding place, if you’re trying to not get caught.” He gestured above their heads. “Anyone looking out a window from the second floor could see you.”

Ray’s eyes got wide and he jerked forward and craned his neck around to look. “No shit,” he said, then slumped back. “So you’re from Canada, huh?” he asked, stubbing his cigarette out in the grass. “That’s a long way from here.”

Benton blew out a breath and sighed. “Yeah,” he agreed, “it is.” He picked at a thread on his jeans, and looked over at Ray. “So, do you – do you want to be friends?” he asked, seriously.

“Well, we’re hanging out, aren’t we,” Ray shot back, but followed it with a smile. “Sure, fine, what the heck. We’re friends.” Ray laughed and stretched his legs out in front of him. The band on the other side of the wall started practicing, and the slightly off-key music floated over them.

“Back in Inuvik, we have a band,” Benton began, “and they play for all the festivals – the Spirit Dancer Festival and the Caribou Festival and the Northern Lights Festival and the Soapstone Festival,” and once Benton started babbling, he couldn’t seem to stop.

Ray didn’t seem to mind, though, because he just sat there and stared, his mouth hanging open a little so Benton just kept talking, telling Ray about Inuvik, and how it stayed light all night sometimes, and dark all day, and how the caribou would come right up into the backyard of the cabin –

“…and then one day when I ran away my friend Quinn – ”

“You ran away?” Ray interrupted. He looked really impressed.

Benton felt proud all of the sudden. “Yeah – I ran away. I got my rifle and hiked into the woods and … well. Then Quinn found me, and took me back to my grandmother, but man oh man.” Benton grinned big. “It was an adventure.”

“Wow,” Ray said, like he meant it. “So get this. Last week, me and Stella – ” Ray shifted sideways and crossed his legs, facing Benton. “Last week me and Stella stopped a robbery. In a bank.” Ray threw his hands in the air, gesturing widely. “The guy was huge, like massive and all the adults just dropped to the floor, and he’s waving this gun all around, but me and Stella, we were all calm, right? Just calm as you please, and then bam!” Ray sliced one hand through the air in a cutting motion,  “Stella stomped on his foot and I – was right there and then he went down.”

Benton whistled under his breath. “Impressive,” he told Ray, “that’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” Ray agreed, nodding his head. “You had to be there.”

They both fell silent; the afternoon breeze picked up the leaves that were scattered on the ground and Benton felt his stomach growl.

“So, uh, what are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?” he asked Ray.

Ray snorted, lifting his shoulders in a half-shrug and rolled a blade of grass between his fingers. “Nothing, really. Stella’s got ballet after band practice, so I can’t go over to her place. I figure I’ll hang out at home or something. Mom and Dad are both at work, won’t get back till later.”

“You could – do you want to have dinner with me? And my grandmother?” Benton rushed to ask. “She works at the library until five, and I have to meet her there, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind – that is, if you wanted to.” Benton reached for his backpack, hoping Ray would say yes.

Ray cocked his head like he was pondering Benton’s invitation. “Sure, okay. Yeah. That’d be cool. Just so long as we don’t have anything funky like caribou or horse.”

Benton laughed. “No horse, no caribou. Got it.”

“Maybe we can go to the park before the library,” Ray suggested. “Do you know how to play poker?” he asked with a mischievous grin. “My dad taught me, but I’m not supposed to let my mom know.”

“I – no, I don’t,” Benton replied, and wondered if there was anything at all he did know that would be useful in Chicago.

Ray smiled. “Then I’ll teach you,” he declared. “We don’t have to play for money or nothing – we can play for, I dunno. Air.”

Benton stood up and brushed the dirt off his jeans, and extended a hand to Ray. “I look forward to it,” he replied.

“Great,” Ray said, grasping Benton’s hand and heaving himself up. “C’mon then, Benton. Let’s get outta here.”

V. At the Airport

Stella doesn’t like it when Ray smokes in the car, so he has to wait until her flight is called, and she’s kissed him on the cheek and walked through the door with a wave.

It’s getting dark when he steps outside the slick glass doors, and he figures he still has about twenty minutes on the meter, so he leans back against the brick, plucks a cigarette from the pack and lights up. The sky is loud with the sound of plane engines, whirring and sliding into the air. He has to squint past the big bright lights to see them; large chunks of metal floating across the dusk before turning into little specks that look like stars.

Stella’d talked the whole ride over – about her husband and her caseload and her promotion and a bunch of other stuff Ray had tuned out.

He should’ve never picked up the phone at the station. He should’ve just let it ring and ring and then he wouldn’t have been stuck in the car with Stella, god love her, with no smokes and no radio (“God, Ray, really. That stuff you listen to jangles my nerves and you know how I get before I fly”) and an ex-wife yapping in his ear.

But he’d picked up the phone with a grunted “Kowalski” and Stella’d purred and begged and pleaded because, “Oh Ray, Henry is just so busy and I have to get to this conference and the car service is just not to be trusted and – ” and Ray had cut her off with a groan and told her he’d be there in fifteen minutes.

So he’d picked her up and she’d settled in the car in a cloud of perfume, muttering curses about being late and he’d stepped on the gas.

“Ray,” she’d scolded, pushing her seatbelt shut with a click, and he’d flashed her a grin while she shook her head. And it hadn’t been so bad, because half the stuff she said he already knew and the other half he didn’t give a shit about, so it all evened out and he had been so close, so close – they were almost there, five minutes away from the airport, hell, they were almost to the gate – when she’d turned to him with a sharp stare and asked, “So what happened with Mitch?”

His hands had tightened on the wheel and he’d gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt, but he managed what he felt was a perfectly nonchalant one-shoulder shrug and responded, “Didn’t work out, no biggie.”

“Mmmhmm,” she’d returned. “Just like Rob, and Paul, and – and who was it, Raoul?”

Ray’d snorted. “Nothing like them, Stell, c’mon.” He lifted his hand in the air. “Rob was a fling, that’s all,” he began, sticking up his thumb. “Paul had like, one foot in the cradle” – he jabbed his forefinger at the windshield – “and made me feel like a dirty old man trying to stick his hands down some preschooler’s pants, and Raoul – ” He stopped and unfolded his middle finger, curving the others into his palm, then stretched his lips over his teeth in a grin. “That’s all I got for him.”

“Oh Ray,” Stella said, laughing. “Seriously, though,” and her face got soft. “Mitch was great. I mean, I don’t – ” She shifted in her seat, turning to him. “I don’t want to pry, Ray, I just – I thought the two of you were happy. That you’d finally, I don’t know….” Stella blew out a breath and smoothed a strand of hair back from her forehead. “I thought you guys were going to settle down, is all.”

He scrubbed a palm over his cheek and braked a little too hard at the red light. “Yeah, well. We didn’t. Some things just aren’t gonna happen, Stell.” He shot her a look out of the corner of his eye. “You know that,” he said wryly.

She’d said nothing, just nodded. When they turned into the airport, Stella’d told him to just drop her off, but he’d insisted on coming inside with her, to see her off. Truth was, he did know how nervous she got when she flew, and he figured he’d sit with her until she had to get on the plane. She hadn’t said anything, just grabbed her bags off the backseat and wouldn’t let him carry them, but he knew she was glad all the same.

And he hadn’t lied to her about Mitch – because Mitch wasn’t like all the others. He was nothing like any of the other guys Ray’d been with and – Ray had thought maybe they were going to settle down, too.

He snorts and draws his leg up, plants his foot against the wall behind him. He drags deep on the cigarette, and flicks some ash on the ground. Stella always says Ray is too damn sentimental, and he knows it. Thing was, Mitch had been great. Mitch had been more than great, Mitch was –

Mitch was gone, Mitch is gone, has been for three months now, and Ray is alone again. That’s that, nothing more to be said. Mitch has his own life, one that doesn’t have room for Ray’s dreams, or Ray’s desires, or for Ray.

“It’s getting too serious, Ray,” he’d said. “I don’t want to have the house and the white picket fence. I’m – I’m sorry.”

Yeah, sorry. Ray’s sorry, too, cause that was one year of his life that – that what? That he’d wasted? That he’d spent thinking maybe, finally, he had what he wanted?

When he met Mitch, Ray’d already spent ten years being the guy who slept around. He’d been the guy in the back alley, and he’d been the guy who had the quick fuck, and he’d been the guy who sat in bars and looked pretty and let older guys buy him drinks. He’d done all that and it was great, it was fun. But it wasn’t what he wanted, ultimately, and so he’d started looking, really looking, for another guy who felt the same. Another guy who’d want to do all the stuff that couples did – not just a one week or one month kind of deal. Ray wanted the real deal, the kind of deal where they sat around in their pajamas and read the paper and bought a house together.

He and Stella’d only been married for two years when one day they’d looked up at each other over breakfast and began laughing. Ray can never remember who started first, just that by the time they’d caught their breath, his eggs were cold and they had decided to get a divorce. Stella knew him, knew his bullshit, but more than anything, she knew he could never love her the way she needed, and she’d been right. He knew it, they both knew it, and cold eggs or not, that morning Ray felt like for the first time in his life, he was really alive. Like he could finally admit to himself, admit out loud all the things he felt, all the things that he never really thought he could think about.

Thank God for Stella, really. Any other woman would’ve – Jesus, who knows. Left him for sure, but Stella had been the reason Ray had finally started living.

The butt of his cigarette grinds smoothly under his shoe, and he watches the taxis rolling up alongside the curb. There’s a guy in a brown uniform holding the door open for an older couple. He stows their luggage in the trunk, tipping his hat as they drive off. Ray’s not sure when the airport hired guys to open taxi doors for Chrissakes, and his internal weirdo-meter goes off. The guy looks harmless enough, though, and he keeps stepping back in line as if he’s the one waiting on a taxi.

Ray slips another cigarette out of his pocket. He shifts around to light it, and rests one shoulder on the brick so he can keep an eye on the guy and the taxi line. Another lady, one family, an old man – God. After awhile, it’s obvious this guy isn’t some weirdo waiting to hijack some unsuspecting old lady, but he actually is a weirdo and is letting everyone else in line get into a taxi before him.

Ray rolls his eyes and has to grin. Obviously not from around here. Pretty, though.

Ray runs the pad of his thumb over the rough end of the cigarette. The guy’s tall, and really fucking gorgeous, actually. There’s a hint of dark hair peeking from under his hat, and Ray imagines it’s soft. His eyelashes are long, too, inky against his pale cheeks when he blinks.

Out of your league, Kowalski, so just stand here, smoke like a good detective and keep an eye on the new kid, he tells himself firmly.

Pretty soon the line clears out, the guy’s standing there with no taxi for himself in sight, and Ray’s cigarette’s burned down anyway. What the hell, he thinks. He figures he’ll offer the guy a ride to wherever he’s going, seeing as how he just let half of Chicago cut in line. Ray walks over to the guy, leans out into the street like he’s looking for a taxi, and says, “Hey.”

The guy straightens up, tips his hat at Ray. “Good evening,” he replies.

Ray grins. “Looks like they’re cleared out for the night, huh?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck. The guy shoots a quick glance down the street, then reaches down and swings his bag over his shoulder.

“Indeed, it would appear so. I hope it doesn’t inconvenience you too greatly,” he says, seriously.

Ray has to laugh out loud at that. “Inconvenience? No, nah, it doesn’t inconvenience me. Listen,” he starts, and pulls his jacket aside to flash his badge. The guy’s eyes widen when he sees it, and he sticks his hand out and starts eagerly talking over Ray.

“Oh! Officer, hello, my name is Benton Fraser. I am a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and I am here to investigate a murder. I wonder if you would be so kind as to – ”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Ray interrupts, throwing his hands in the air. “One thing at a time. First off, nice to meet you Benton Fraser,” he says, and shakes the guy’s outstretched hand. It’s big and warm, and his fingers are tight around Ray’s. “And technically, I’m a detective, but you can call me Ray.” He winks at the guy – God, Ray, get a grip – and pulls his hand away and reminds himself not to flirt with the nice Canadian officer of the law.

“My pleasure, Ray,” Benton replies, this time with a small smile. “I’ve just arrived from Canada, and am looking for the Chicago police department’s twenty-seventh precinct. If you are so inclined, I would greatly appreciate you pointing me in that direction.”

Benton looks so damn sincere and honest that Ray can’t help but smile and sweep his arm open toward the parking lot.

“Well I think I would be inclined. I figure you’ve done your civic duty for the day, letting all those people ahead of you.”

Ray sees a blush spread up Benton’s neck to his cheeks, and damn if that doesn’t make him look even sexier.

“You, ah, saw that, then,” Benton says, and runs his finger under the collar of his jacket.

“Yeah, well,” Ray shrugs, and good Christ, did Benton just lick his bottom lip? Ray clears his throat. “RCMP, huh?” he asks, and thank God, it comes out sounding casual. 

Benton nods. “Yes, I am here to investigate a murder. I have reason to believe the man who is responsible is here in Chicago.”

“That so,” Ray remarks, and he can’t help but notice the guy’s shifting his bag on his shoulder. It must be heavy, and he’s probably had a long flight, and then what with all the waiting for a taxi and letting other people ahead and Ray talking and –

“C’mon, let me give you a ride. My car’s just over there,” he points.

“Oh! Oh, I – I couldn’t possibly bother you for a lift,” Benton says, shaking his head. “I merely thought you would know where the station is and could give me directions. I’m perfectly capable of walking there, I assure you.”

Ray’s not sure if he’s being stubborn or polite, but either way, Ray knows how to bargain. He grins at him, tilts his head a little toward Fraser. And okay, maybe Ray could be accused of flirting, but he and Benton have been standing here talking now for like, five minutes, and the invisible square of personal space around both of them has been getting smaller and smaller, so Ray’s practically leaning on the guy, and Benton – well, Benton’s just standing there all straight and proper and not backing away at all.

“You gotta be hungry, Benton. Let me buy you dinner, take you to the station, show you that not everyone in Chicago is only out to steal your taxi.”

Ray’s pretty sure it’s completely obvious that he’s flirting, but Benton smells like fresh air and soap, and his eyes are even darker than his lashes from this close up.

Benton hesitates a moment more – Ray can see it in his face, until it smoothes out into something that looks like gratitude and something that looks a little like maybe he’s not at all opposed to the way Ray is practically on top of him. Benton licks his bottom lip again, and the pink tip of his tongue sends a jolt straight to Ray’s dick, and – Jesus.

“Yes, Ray, I think I’d like that very much.”

Ray shakes himself out a little at the shoulders, and steps back. “Right. Great. Greatness. Okay, so come on, my car’s over here.” Ray starts walking, and looks behind him. Benton is following, bag over his other shoulder now, straightening out his already perfectly placed hat.

“Do you like Chinese?” Ray asks, and when he unlocks the car door, Benton’s right there.

He’s just – right there. There’s an awful lot of heat coming off the guy, and his breath hums big and full in his chest.

“Chinese sounds delightful, Ray,” Benton replies, and Ray looks up, nods at him, but can’t back away. Ray has to swallow before he can speak, because Benton’s eyes aren’t just looking at him, they’re devouring him.

Ray lets out a breath, and decides not speaking is the best option here. He nods, once, and then wills his feet to move. He walks around to the driver’s side and squints at Benton, then slaps his hand playfully against the roof of the car.

“Let’s get at ‘er, then,” he says with a final grin, and Benton’s return smile makes Ray think of picket fences and houses and how soft Benton’s lips will be when Ray kisses him.

They slide into the car, and Benton places his hat on the dashboard. Ray guns the engine a little, for show, and pulls out of the parking lot. Beside him, Benton folds his hands in his lap, stares gently into the night, and they head down the road, away from the airport and into Chicago.