Not Just Wishful Thinking

Benton Fraser straightened the covers on the cot in his quiet, lonely room one more time. It was too early for sleep. He and Dief had already taken their evening constitutional. He had ironed every possible piece of wearable apparel he owned, including his underwear and Stetson. He'd had enough tea to know that he would be up several times during the night. He'd even tried watching television, but nothing caught his interest. Settling back on his cot, he started reading one of his father's journals. Twenty minutes later, he realized that he hadn't read a word. He got up, looking for something to do, and straightened the covers again.

He usually spent his evenings with Stanley Ray Kowalski, undercover as Ray Vecchio. But Ray hadn't called or come by the Consulate to make plans. In fact, he hadn't seen or heard from Ray since he had sung back up for Tracy Jenkins when she was in Chicago a few days earlier. He smiled at the memory. Ben liked Country/Western, but in Chicago they played mostly American artists on the radio. He missed the Canadian singers. Being a member of the Mounted Police, one of his favorites was "Ride Forever." He couldn't remember the name of the man who had written and recorded it. He sighed and made his first trip to the bathroom quietly singing:

"I'm going to ride forever. You can't keep horsemen in a cage"

and wondered why Ray was avoiding him. Finally asleep, he nuzzled his head further into his pillow and embraced an unseen dream image.

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Ray Kowalski padded barefoot from his small kitchen back to his living room. Curling his feet beneath him, he sat on the couch and popped open his beer. He was trying to enjoy the Bulls - Spurs game on tv, but the game just wasn't the same since Jordan retired. The Spurs 'Twin Towers' kept scoring all the points. Finally he just turned it off and put on the demo tape he had of Tracy Jenkins' "Nobody's Girl" and drank his beer. Listening to Fraser's voice in the background, he pictured the day it had been recorded. Fraser had stood straight as an arrow, shifting from one foot to the other. 'No sense or rhythm' he thought. 'Finally, an imperfection.'

Listening to Fraser reminded him of why he was in this funk to begin with, why he had been avoiding Fraser. It reminded him of the time on the Henry Allen when he'd first heard Fraser sing. Damn, he had a good voice. He finally gave up and went to bed, knowing he'd probably have the same dream he'd been having the past few nights. The one where he was drowning and Fraser's mouth had touched his, filling his lungs with life. He knew that he'd wake up jerking himself off again, a poor substitute for what he really wanted.

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Two days later, Fraser couldn't stand it anymore. Without Ray around, he was, quite simply, bored. He lived and worked at the Consulate and the only time he had been out in over almost a week was to eat lunch. He was standing at the door to Ray's apartment, Stetson in one hand and a Canadian bacon & pineapple pizza in the other.

Ray opened the door looking as if he had just stepped out of the shower. He was dressed only in jeans, a towel draped across his shoulders.

"Fraser! What the hell are you doin' here?" he asked.

"Well, Ray, I thought that perhaps we could have some pizza and maybe watch a basketball game." 'What am I saying' he thought. 'The pizza is obvious and he knows that I don't care for professional basketball'.

"Bulls ain't playin' tonight, Fraser. Besides, I kinda made other plans." Although in fact, he had not. He just didn't want to be around Fraser until he had some kind of control over his feelings.

"I'm sorry, Ray" Fraser was saying. "I didn't realize that you had made other arrangements for this evening."

Ray looked at the blue eyes, the perfect features and could feel the heat starting to stir his groin area. "Well I did, Fraser!" he yelled in self defense. "I got a whole life without you. I go out. Sometimes I have a beer. Sometimes I go dancing. Sometimes I have a date for dinner and a movie. And sometimes, if I'm really lucky, I even get laid. I have a whole life that doesn't include you. I don't need you!"

Fraser felt as though he had been hit. He lowered his head and stared at the floor, his tongue flicking across his lower lip.

"I'm sorry, Ray" he said. "I won't impose on you again." And he turned and left. He unconsciously flicked a tear from the corner of an eye as he entered the cool night air. He handed the pizza to a transient, placed the Stetson firmly on his head, and started walking toward the Consulate. He'd had few friends in his life. And of those, Ray Vecchio had walked out of his life, and Ray Kowalski had just thrown him out of his.

Two more weeks passed. Fortunately, Inspector Thatcher had plenty to keep him occupied. He'd had to contend with two different trade delegations and was responsible for planning the receptions for three visiting foreign dignitaries. The Chicago PD had helped to provide security, but Ray wasn't on any of the security teams. When he ran out of things to do, he drafted Constable Turnbull into helping him inventory the Consulate's office supplies.

But every night, he ended up straightening the covers on his cot. He had reasoned through the cause of his misery and loneliness until he reached the only logical conclusion. He was in love with Ray Kowalski. Not just the 'I love him because he's my partner and my friend' kind of love. This was the 'I want to sleep with him close to me and wake up in his arms' kind. He decided that his body must have known long before his mind. He'd probably been sending unconscious signals that Ray recognized long before he did. That must be why Ray had ended their friendship. He'd probably been disgusted at the thought.

"Constable. Constable? Fraser!" He realized with a start that he hadn't hear a word Inspector Thatcher had said.

"I'm sorry, Sir. My mind must have wandered. I assure you that whatever I've done wrong was not done on purpose. I'll be more careful in the future."

Meg Thatcher looked at her subordinate. She had learned to read some of his body language in the time they had worked together. And she realized just now that something was seriously wrong.

"Constable" she said, her the tone of her voice softer than usual, "I was telling you how pleased I am at how well you've handled your duties lately. Your recent dedication will be noted in your file."

"Thank you kindly, Sir."

"Yes, well, it's just - - it's always been one of my policies to acknowledge good work. You are dismissed."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you again."

The sound of gunfire woke him from a fitful sleep. He quickly dressed in jeans and a T-shirt as he dashed for the telephone to call 911. The call completed, he ran out the door and down the steps. He leaned down and touched the body lying in the street. A hand clutched as his and a weak voice said, "Please help me, mister." Still alive. The boy was about sixteen.

"Help is on the way, son." He eased himself down and supported the wounded boy on his lap, still holding his hand. The ambulance arrived within minutes, but it was too late. The boy was already dead. The police arrived moments later. Fraser was so appalled at the senseless violence that he didn't even realize the investigating officer was Ray.

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Ray hated working the graveyard shift. It was always the same: domestic violence, liquor store hold ups, drive by shootings. Nothing to really challenge a detective. The uniforms could handle anything that came up. Most of the time he was bored. It gave him too much time to think about Fraser. At least his testosterone level was somewhere near normal since they weren't together every day.

The call came in at 2:05 am, a shooting at the Canadian Consulate. Ray was in his car and speeding down the street in record time. His mind was racing double-time. 'What happened? Who was shot? Please, not Fraser.'

Tires and brakes squealing in protest, he brought his GTO to a screaming halt and ran from his car to where the paramedics were wheeling someone to the ambulance in a body bag.

"The victim" he asked "who is it?" And he pulled back the zipper of the bag, his fingers trembling, his heart racing.

"It's some kid" the medic was saying. "He doesn't have any id."

Ray's heart nearly stopped and he fought for control of his breathing, not Fraser. Thank God, not Fraser. "Any witnesses?"

"Yeah, the guy sitting on the curb over there. He's the one who called it in."

Ray looked where the medic indicated and saw a lone figure sitting on the curb. He was leaning forward, doubled over, arms grasping his legs and head on his knees. He walked over to him and the figure straightened as Ray touched his shoulder.

"Fraser? You ok?" He didn't look ok. In fact, he looked like shit. His clothing was covered with blood and his eyes looked haunted. At the sight of all that blood, Ray's heart went into overtime again. "Fraser? Talk to me. Are you hurt? Did the paramedics take a look at you?"

"I'm fine, Ray. It's not my blood." The voice that responded was distant, full of pain. "I held him while he died, Ray. He asked me to help him and all I could do was hold him. He was only a boy." Fraser looked like he was going to go into shock.

Ray thought for a moment and then made his decision. Pulling out his cell phone, he called the Precinct and explained to the desk clerk that he would not be coming back in until the morning. "Just stay here for a minute, Fraser" he said. "I'll be right back." He went into the Consulate. He scooped up clean clothes, scribbled a note for the Inspector, and grabbed the keys so he could lock the door. "Come on, Fraser," he said, tugging at the man's arm. "Get into the car."

"Where are we going, Ray?" His mind was just beginning to register Ray's presence.

"To my apartment, Fraser. I can't leave you here alone. You're too upset over this."

Fraser didn't argue. He was too tired, too depressed by the young boy's death to care. The drive to Ray's apartment was quiet. Ray silently led Fraser into the apartment and pointed him toward the bathroom. While Fraser showered and changed, Ray went in search of extra blankets and a pillow to make the couch into a bed. These were not the sleeping arrangements he would have preferred, but he did have a little good sense. Right now Fraser, the man he loved, needed a friend And Ray had realized, in their time apart, that their friendship meant more to him than anything. By the time Fraser entered the living room, Ray had fixed him a cup of tea, laced slightly with vodka. He knew Fraser didn't drink but couldn't think of any other way to lessen the pain Fraser was in right now.

"Here ya go, Frase. Drink this. It's some of that grass tea you like. Maybe it'll help you to relax a little."

"Thank you, Ray." Fraser took the tea and sipped it slowly, it was very hot. He leaned his against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He couldn't close out the memory of brown eyes looking at him as the life slowly drained away. He shuddered.

"Finish your tea, Frase." Ray was hoping that the amount of alcohol he had put in would be enough to make Fraser sleep. He had never seen his friend so vulnerable before and was starting to get worried. Fraser obediently finished the tea and Ray took the cup to the kitchen. He was contemplating fixing another cup when he glanced into the living room and noticed that Fraser's head was starting to sag.

"Come on, Buddy. Let's get you to bed." He helped Fraser slip under the blanket and lay down. Tucking the blanket around Fraser, Ray noticed for the first time that Fraser was dressed only in his T-shirt and boxers. 'Shit, don't go there' he told himself. 'Not now, this ain't the time.'

"Ray? Ray?" the sound of his name roused him from an uneasy sleep.

"Ya, Frase? What?"

"Ray, I can't sleep. I keep dreaming about that young boy." As he talked, he moved closer to Ray's bed. Ray sat up as Fraser sat down on the edge. "I keep seeing him looking at me, asking me to help him. I've never felt so powerless in my life."

Without thinking, Ray reached up and put a hand on the side of Fraser's face. Before he knew it, Fraser was in his arms, crying against his shoulder. Ray held him until the crying stopped, gently patting his back, running his fingers through his hair, giving what comfort he could. Finally Fraser gained control of himself.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I don't know what came over me. It won't happen again."

Fraser pulled back, started to stand. He was hoping Ray wouldn't read any more into this than what it was, just the need to be held until his grief passed. The last thing he wanted was for Ray to think that he was making a pass at him.

"S'ok, Frase. Friends take care of each other, right? We're still friends, ya know." He was holding Fraser's arm. "If you don't wanna be alone you could, ya know, sleep here."

"Oh, no, Ray, I couldn't. The offer is appreciated, but I know that you know how I feel. And I know that you find it repulsive."

"What the hell're you talkin' about, Frase? I know how you feel, what's that supposed to mean? What's repulsive? You're not makin' much sense here." His mind was reeling, spinning, trying to listen to the words he'd heard. "Frase, are you tryin' to say that you, ya know, have feelings for me?"

"Yes, Ray. I finally realized that you were avoiding me because you were revolted by the thought of a man loving you. I'm truly sorry that I let my feelings show. I'm sorry that it destroyed the friendship we had." Fraser sat looking down at his hands. "Perhaps it would be better if I just leave."

"Woa, there, Frase. Lemme get this straight. Are you tryin' to say that you're in love with me? 'Cause if you are, I think there's somethin' you should know." Reaching out, he pulled Fraser to him again and kissed him. "I'm in love with you, too."

They slept together that night, just slept, Ray holding Fraser close. Ray thinking 'After Fraser makes his statement for the record, after the kid's funeral ('Cause I know he'll wanna be there), after we've had a little time ta think and talk this over..'

He pulled Fraser closer, held him tighter. Maybe something good would come of the night's horror. Maybe his love hadn't been wishful thinking after all. He pulled Fraser closer into his embrace, held him tighter, drifted off to sleep.