Heart Held Out Like A Tin Cup
by SDWolfpup & Brynn McK
Word Count: 6000
Spoilers: Post-“Juliet Is Bleeding”
Summary: Ray Vecchio was big gestures and deliberate slang and a smile like the sun after a long winter, and to see him like this, quiet and still and so blank, was disturbing on a fundamental level.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Alliance and the creators of Due South.
Authors' Note: This is a first writing collaboration for both of us. It was lots of fun and I consider myself lucky that I got to write this with Brynn, as she made it much, much better. Additionally, a huge thank you to Pipsqueaky, who once again came through with awesome beta services. Any remaining errors are ours (and probably mine :) ).
Title from Jeffrey Foucault’s song, ’Shadows Tumble’. You can download a copy of it at his website. Click on Outtakes & Live Cuts from the link above.
Fraser sat next to his best friend in the hospital waiting room and tried to think of something useful to do.
"Ray," Fraser said finally, gently, hoping he was motivated by Ray's best interests and not his own. His friend blinked at him, like he was surfacing from underwater.
"Yeah."
He wanted, badly, to touch Ray's arm, but he was determined not to push him. He'd spent the past several days pushing him, and Fraser had seen enough grief in his life to know that each individual dealt with it differently; he would have to let Ray's signals guide him. "I... I took the liberty of bringing your car. Perhaps you'd be more comfortable…" He gestured with one hand, palm-up, wishing fiercely and irrationally that it was the Riviera and not just a rental car that awaited his friend.
"Oh. Yeah." One side of Ray's mouth quirked up, but there was no real laughter in it. "Guess they'll kick us out eventually, huh?" Without waiting for an answer, he got up from his chair and walked woodenly toward the elevators. The reporters had long since been cleared from the hospital, the police with them. Fraser followed Ray, feeling helpless, and as they came outside into the chill night, Diefenbaker appeared behind them, a silent white shadow.
Fraser hesitated when they reached the car. "Do you want me to—"
"Nah, I got it."
Ray missed four different turns between the hospital and Fraser's building, though he'd traced that particular route more times than either of them would have preferred. Diefenbaker planted his chin on Ray's shoulder and refused to move it even as his paws slid on the leather seats. When the car finally slowed to a stop, Fraser found he couldn't quite bring himself to reach for the door handle.
"Would you…" He paused, then, "I think it might be wise for you to stay here tonight, Ray." It wasn't a lie, though wisdom had very little to do with what was roiling in his stomach.
Ray looked over at him, surprised. "Oh. No, I should… I should go check on Ma and Frannie. Frannie and--" His voice faltered and broke, but he went on, determined, "Frannie and Irene were close." His eyes were too bright in the dark car.
Fraser fought for reason, for something that could reach him. "Ray. You're a danger to yourself like this, not to mention other motorists." He hazarded a small smile. "More so than usual."
He was rewarded with an answering curve of Ray's lips, there and gone quickly, but a tiny bit of it remained in his eyes and Fraser was an excellent tracker, after all. "Yeah, OK. Thanks, Benny."
When they reached the apartment, Ray stood in the middle of the main room, his arms hanging limply at his sides. "I should call home." He pulled his phone out of his pocket, had a brief and quiet conversation. Then he held the phone out to Fraser. "She wants to talk to you."
Fraser took it, brought it to his ear. "Hello?"
"Benton?" It was Francesca, sounding worried and shell-shocked. "You take care of him, OK?"
I'm trying, he thought, but he answered, "I'll do my best."
"You promise me," she insisted.
"I promise, Francesca," he told her firmly.
"I know," she sighed, "of course you do. Thanks, Fraser." And she hung up.
When Fraser went to hand the phone back, Ray was staring down at his own arms like he'd never seen them before, and Fraser realized with horror that Irene's blood was still soaking the material of his friend's shirt and coat.
"Can I—" he started, but Ray was already moving, his long arms gracelessly jerking the material over his head until he stood there in a white t-shirt and wrinkled cotton trousers. Fraser took the rumpled pile of cloth from his hands, tucked it out of sight behind a corner of the wall. "You should rest, Ray."
"Yeah. Yeah, OK." It was telling that Ray headed for the bed with no disagreement, falling into it like he couldn’t support his own weight another second. Diefenbaker jumped up with him, stretching out along Ray’s side. Fraser settled into the chair across from the bed.
"G'night, Benny," Ray murmured.
Fraser opened a book on his lap, stared sightlessly at the pages. He didn't even know what book it was. "Sleep well, Ray."
Ray slept anything but well, moving so restlessly that within a couple of hours the sheets ended up mostly on the floor, and Dief almost with them. Fraser set his book aside, rose and gently pulled the blankets up around his friend. He left them loose, and risked brushing his fingers across Ray’s forehead, trying to soothe the lines there. Before long, though, the thrashing started again, and eventually Ray actually woke, his eyes snapping open on an inarticulate cry. He sat up in bed, and the panicked desolation on his face was something Fraser had hoped never to see again.
"Benny?"
"Here, Ray."
"OK." Ray rubbed his hands over his face, his shoulders heaving. "OK." Diefenbaker pressed anxiously against Ray’s side, whining almost inaudibly. Fraser knew exactly how the wolf felt, but he stayed where he was, watching and waiting. Long seconds ticked by while Ray's breathing echoed harsh and uneven in the small room. Finally, Ray lay back against the pillow again. When he spoke, his voice was small and worn. "You reading over there, Benny?"
Fraser hesitated, settled on a half-truth. "Yes."
"Yeah? Reading what?"
He looked down. "Beowulf."
"Any good?"
"Ray, I—"
"Read it to me."
"You need your rest, Ray."
"I got this image in my head, Benny, and I can't—just read, OK?"
Fraser felt his jaw clench involuntarily, swallowed hard. It was so difficult to keep still. "All right, Ray." He cleared the tightness from his throat.
"Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke:
'Many a skirmish I survived when I was young
and many times of war: I remember them well.
At seven, I was fostered out by my father,
left in the charge of my people's lord.
King Hrethel kept me and took care of me,
was open-handed, behaved like a kinsman...'"
Fraser could hear Ray sigh and settle in the covers, and a quick glance up between lines told him that his friend had closed his eyes again. He kept reading, hardly listening to his own words, his ears tuned to the sound of Ray's steady breathing.
Fraser jerked awake to the creak of Ray's feet on the floor, his own still-open book sliding from his lap to the ground with a thump. It was morning; the winter sunlight filtered weakly through the window.
“Sorry,” Ray muttered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Fraser gathered the book up, shot Ray a smile. “It’s no problem, Ray. How are you feeling?”
“Like a metric ton of shit.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I gotta get home.”
“Can I make you breakfast first? Or coffee?”
“No, I’m good, Fraser. I, uh... I need to go.” Ray stood slowly, looking around the apartment. “Where’s my shirt?”
Fraser had thrown it away during the night, but he simply said, “I found one of mine for you to wear.” Ray took the blue flannel with a hesitant hand, and tugged it on over his undershirt. He’d never seen Ray in such casual wear; even in Canada he’d been dressed for camping in stylish attire. Even the prison garb had seemed more formal than this, although, watching him button the shirt now, Fraser saw that much of that was just the way Ray wore clothes, the way they hung on his lean frame like they were glad to be there.
“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” Fraser offered.
Ray didn’t meet his gaze, instead staring just over Fraser’s shoulder with a lost expression. “I know, Fraser. I just... I can’t, OK?”
Uneasy with this new distance between them, Fraser watched Ray move to the front door. “If you need anything, Ray, I can help.”
Ray paused in the doorway, his whole back rounded with grief. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, pick you up for work.” And without looking back, Ray hurried off down the hall.
Ray was at Fraser’s door at 7:30 sharp the next morning, just as always. And, as always, he had two cups of coffee in his hand, the steam drifting from them like small smoke signals in the cold winter air.
“Morning, Fraser. You ready to go?”
“In a minute, Ray.” Fraser took his coffee and thanked Ray kindly as he always did, but there was no smile in return, no long-suffering – or sometimes annoyed – laugh. Just a curt nod and then,
“I’ll wait in the car.”
On the ride to the Consulate, seven minutes by foot but typically thirteen minutes by car, Ray was quiet, staring at the road with eyes darkened by exhaustion. Fraser wondered that Welsh would let him back to work after only one day off, but he imagined Ray needed something to keep him occupied. One of the other drivers cut them off a block before they were at the Consulate’s door, but instead of gesturing and cursing, Ray only grimaced and tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. They pulled to a stop in front of the Consulate and he looked over at Fraser with a hollow smile.
“I’ll pick you up later this evening.”
“You won’t be coming for lunch today?”
“Nah, I’ve got a bunch of work to catch up on from yesterday. Reports and stuff.” Ray shrugged, his posture nonchalant but his eyes dull and already drifting.
“I understand.” Fraser touched his arm briefly, hoping to give comfort, and Ray’s smile softened a little, his eyes warming for a moment.
Ray nodded. “Thanks.”
Over the course of the day, Fraser tried to maintain his focus on the various small tasks the Inspector always had waiting for him between cases, but despite his best efforts, thoughts of Ray kept intruding. Would Huey have forgiven Ray for reporting Frank Zuko’s act as an accident? Would any of the force be happy to see Fraser today? Would Ray? By the time his friend arrived to drive him home, Fraser was in an agony of worry, anxious to share a meal and listen to Ray's account of his day, to piece together the clues that might tell him how best to help. But Ray kept the car running when they reached Fraser's building, explaining that he had to hurry home to be with his family. According to Francesca, they were still getting calls from reporters and curious neighbors fishing for gory details on the previous night's events. Fraser offered to assist, but Ray only shook his head.
“They’re not really ready to talk to other people yet,” he said.
“I understand.”
“Yeah, I-“ Ray cut himself off, and nodded at Fraser. “Thanks. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
Fraser watched the rental car drive away.
For three straight days, they repeated a similar routine. Ray would pick Fraser up in the morning, they’d exchange polite pleasantries between awkward silences; Ray would beg off of lunch, and later dinner. His usual stream of enthusiastic chatter and good-natured complaining had faded to monosyllables, and he mostly spoke only when spoken to, or to offer apologies and excuses as he pulled away and left Fraser standing alone in front of his building at the end of another long Consulate shift.
But what really had Fraser's instincts screaming was how calm Ray was. He was never upset, never outwardly off-balanced by Irene’s death. Where all of the noise and motion that Ray had brought to Fraser’s life had been, there was tiredness and defeat and an empty hush. It was as if a door had closed between them, a door that Ray had cheerfully left open since almost the moment that they had met, and Fraser was left staring dumbly on the other side.
On the fourth day, he stood guard outside the Consulate and wondered if Ray would ever forgive him.
Fraser stood at the stove, fixing tea for one, and listened to the heavy footsteps and heavier shouting of his neighbors. Diefenbaker lay in the corner of the kitchen, watching Fraser’s half-eaten dinner expectantly; in case it bolted for the window, Fraser imagined. He half-smiled to himself and gave the food to his eternally hungry wolf.
“You’re just lucky Ray isn’t here to take us both to task for this,” he said. Dief barely looked up from the food, but his tail wagged gently. “And don’t think that this will become a regular occurrence. I just happen to be eating more now that I’m at the Consulate all day. As you know, someone is always bringing in some snack or another, and it would be impolite to refuse.” He could feel Dief’s sarcastic understanding. “Once things have returned to normal, we’ll all be back to regular rations, I assure you.”
He couldn’t seem to assure himself, though, that his life would be normal again. How far his definition of normal had come since he’d arrived in Chicago. He’d wondered before what would have happened if his case had been assigned to Louis Gardino or Jack Huey, but it never bore any considerable thought. Standing outside the Consulate today, he’d finally considered the prospect of a Chicago without Ray Vecchio, and he’d hardly been able to breathe.
Dief woofed quietly and Fraser found he was staring at the empty food dish, the water for his tea boiling away. Then he heard the tentative knock on the door, so quiet he almost wondered if it was a memory. But he moved to open the door, hope sharp like a needle in his heart.
“Hey Benny,” Ray said. “Can I come in?”
“Of course, Ray.” Fraser moved aside to let him in, and then shut the door, smiling at the creased and weathered wood for a moment before turning to his friend. It was strange to feel so awkward with Ray, to watch him standing like a stranger in Fraser’s apartment. “Have a seat. I’ve just put some water on; can I get you any tea?”
Ray removed his coat and set it on the table before sitting down. “That’s OK, I’m good. This isn’t a bad time or anything is it?”
“No, it’s fine. I...” Fraser hesitated, not sure how much his friend was ready to hear. “I didn’t have anything planned for the evening.” Ray folded his hands on the table, his fingers tapping an uncertain melody against his knuckles. In the awkward silence that followed, a loud clatter rang out in the alley below. Diefenbaker immediately leapt out the window to investigate; Fraser hoped fervently that the wolf wouldn't find anything that required human intervention. “Are you hungry?” he asked Ray.
A sharp grin sliced across Ray’s face all of a sudden. “I may never be hungry again. Every family for four miles is dropping food off to whoever they think needs it. Ma’s got six casserole dishes stashed in the fridge. I think I’ll be eating lasagna until I turn fifty.”
Fraser ventured into the opening his friend had left. “How is your family doing?”
“They’re OK. Ma’s taking advantage of the attention, but Frannie’s really upset. She always sort of admired Irene, wanted to be like her. She was pretty shocked, but Maria’s been real good with her, and Ma’s got the neighbors with her, and Tony doesn’t really care either way.” Ray stood up, and the scratch of the chair against the floor was shockingly loud.
“Ray-“
“I just gotta move around. I’ve been sitting all day, listening to people tell me they’re sorry.” Fraser watched him move around the apartment, Ray’s gaze wandering from object to object. “I’ve been helping with the funeral,” Ray finally said, still not looking at Fraser. “With Frank in jail still, things are a mess.”
Fraser got up and started preparing tea for Ray, at a loss as to what else to do. The routine of the motion soothed his own edgy nerves, at least. Behind him, he heard the beat of Ray’s footsteps, the gentle rustle of Ray’s trouser legs brushing together.
“I helped Ma out with my father’s funeral, but it wasn’t like this at all. We didn’t really have enough money at the time to do much – he’d died with most of his debts still unpaid. But Frank’s got a ton of money and he wants to use it. I don’t think he’s OK with me using it, but what the hell do I care, right? Who else is gonna do it?”
Fraser glanced over his shoulder, but could only see the slump of Ray’s back as he stood in front of the window. A watched pot never boils, Fraser thought abruptly, and glanced at the pot on the stove.
“And it’s stupid, right, because I’m ordering the flowers today and the lady, she asks me what kind I want, and I didn’t know what to say.” Ray laughed, a dark, scraping sound. Fraser willed himself not to turn around, to just let Ray keep talking. He had to clench the edge of the counter to do so. “I wanted to get Irene’s favorites, I thought it’d be nice. And I couldn’t remember what they were. I’m sitting there on the phone, and I can’t fucking breathe because I can’t remember if she liked roses or carnations. They’re just flowers, you know? All I want to do is just get some flowers for her; some nice flowers so her casket won’t look so alone, and I can’t fucking do it. Christ!” And then Fraser heard the sickening crack of Ray punching the apartment wall. Deciding quickly, Fraser flicked off the heat on the burner in front of him.
“I’m such a goddamn loser,” Ray said, nearly shouting now. He slammed his fist into the wall once more, brought his arm up again, but by then Fraser had moved close enough to grab it. Ray’s head whipped around, and Fraser looked straight into his fury. “Let me go, Benny.”
“No, Ray. That was my mistake last time.”
Ray’s eyes narrowed. “Let. Me. Go,” he said clearly, each word falling like a stone in the dimly lit apartment.
“I can’t do that, Ray.” Instead, Fraser used his grip to spin Ray around, and then grabbed his friend’s other arm, holding on as tightly as he could. “Irene’s death-“
Ray struggled in Fraser’s grip, the silk of his shirtsleeves bunching up around Fraser’s fingers. “I don’t want to hear anything you’ve got to say.”
Fraser slammed Ray up against the wall. “You don’t have a choice.” The shock of it took the fight out of Ray for the moment, banking the fury and the hurt in his eyes.
"What the hell are you doing?"
He couldn't answer that when he didn't know, himself. "I need you to listen to me, Ray."
"I listen to you all the time, Fraser. Sometimes I feel like I haven't done anything the past two years besides listen to you." The anger was sliding back, now, in the flash of his eyes, the coiled tension of his muscles. "I think I’m done listening."
"You want to hit me? Fine. Just do something, Ray. Just..." Let me back in, he wanted to say, the weight and fear of the past few endless days heavy on his chest. "Irene's death was an accident," he said instead. "We all played a part in it. Beating yourself up, hurting yourself, isn't going to change what happened. All we can do now is come to terms with what's happened, and try to move on."
Ray's jaw clenched. "I don't need a fucking sermon, Fraser, I--"
"Then what do you need? Tell me, Ray."
Ray slammed his head back against the wall. "Don't do this. I can't--" He was fraying at the edges, now, shaking under Fraser's hands; Fraser couldn't breathe.
"Ray, just--"
"Just shut up, Fraser!" Ray shouted, grabbing Fraser's forearms in an iron grip. "Can't you ever just shut the fuck up?" His eyes were wild and broken, and Fraser couldn't stand to look anymore; before he had time to think better of it, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Ray's.
Ray went completely still against him, and Fraser felt even his harsh breathing stop for a moment. A moment long enough that Fraser, lost and helpless himself, had a brief and terrified vision of Ray shoving him away and running for good. He kissed Ray harder but relaxed his grip, daring Ray to respond, giving him the chance to leave. Ray's lips opened, instead, and the hands that were already tight around Fraser's arms went tighter, pulling Fraser against him. Fraser groaned and shifted his grip down to Ray's waist, fitting Ray's hips against his own. He kissed down Ray’s long neck, to the curve of his shoulder, murmured Ray’s name into the heat there.
“Benny,” Ray whispered in return, and Fraser pulled back a little, meeting Ray’s eyes. His hands were trapped against the wall, Ray’s body pressing into his palms. “You don’t have to-“
“Shhh.” Fraser kissed him again, gently, their mouths meeting in soft agreement. “Please, Ray. Just let me…”
Against him, Ray’s body shook once with a hard, stifled sob. Fraser shifted so that he could hold Ray against him, but Ray was moving again, bringing his hands to Fraser’s chest and tugging the suspenders down his arms. He yanked Fraser’s undershirt free and rubbed his hands roughly up Fraser’s chest, his long fingers spread and brushing Fraser’s nipples, making him shiver. They kissed, fierce and demanding, perfect mirrors of hunger. Ray’s hands continued their path over Fraser’s shoulders and down his back, raking blunt fingernails forcefully down the skin, leaving marks Fraser was certain he’d see for days. He left his own marks in return: the bruising grasp of fingers around Ray’s waist and along his arms. They pushed against and into each other, and Fraser let his fear and desire guide him, trusting that Ray would do the same. Every time Fraser pressed Ray against the wall with the length of his body, Ray would only pull him closer.
Fraser hadn’t seen this coming, hadn’t expected to feel Ray’s warm breath against his ear in harsh moans, or Ray’s body hard and ardent against his own, but he hadn’t known what else to do, not when the distance between them had been so huge. The way Ray trembled under his touch now, though, the way his face twisted with need and despair, Fraser realized he’d been reading the signs all wrong. Ray needed more from him, not less, and it was sweet relief to finally be able to give it.
Pushing off from his friend’s chest, Fraser moved out his grasp. They were both sweating and breathing hard, like they’d been chasing each other instead of standing still. Fraser gulped down air while Ray rubbed shaking hands over his head.
“What is it?” Ray asked hoarsely.
He took Ray’s hand and studied the bloody knuckles before bringing them to his lips. Fraser kissed them softly, tasting iron and sweat, his gaze trapped by Ray’s. When Fraser was done, he knelt at Ray’s feet. He may have misread the past days' tension, but he could clearly read the ache and the desire Ray was radiating now. When he reached for the button on Ray's trousers, his fingers were very nearly steady.
Ray wore silk boxers, and Fraser couldn't help a small, affectionate smile as he drew the material down with eager hands. Later, he wanted to savor this, to tease and test and discover every nuance. But now, he needed too much, Ray needed too much, and Fraser just closed his hand around the base of Ray's cock and took as much as he could into his mouth.
"Oh, Christ, Benny," Ray groaned, his head thumping against the wall again.
Fraser hummed appreciatively in his throat, feeling Ray hard and heavy against his tongue. His experience in such matters was limited, but he had never been so glad for his gift for details, taking careful note of every jerk and gasp and whimper and using that knowledge to elicit more as he sucked harder. He had been so empty for days and now he was brimming with sensation, Ray's musky scent surrounding him, Ray's hands clutching erratically at his hair, Ray's voice panting his name in a breathless litany, BennyBennyBennyohgodBenny. Fraser could feel the blood rushing through his veins like a dam had burst, his heart full and pounding. Finally, Ray stiffened against him, poured hot and salty into his mouth; Fraser swallowed willingly, stayed with him through the aftershocks as Ray slumped and shuddered against the wall. After he had stilled, Fraser tipped his head up, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand, unsure of what he would find. But Ray only looked down at him with a kind of dazed joy shining from his eyes, and Fraser thought it was possible he'd never been happier in his life.
While Fraser was still reeling, Ray dragged him to his feet, took Fraser's face between his hands and crushed their mouths together for a desperate kiss. "C'mere," Ray half-growled, his voice raw, and Fraser shivered involuntarily as Ray walked him backwards and all but shoved him onto the bed.
Ray followed after, draping his body over Fraser’s, their legs tangling. He kissed Fraser everywhere, his lips and tongue desperate and greedy. It felt like being devoured, inch by inch, until Fraser was nothing more than nerves and need. Fraser struggled to get his hands between them and undo his trousers; Ray joined in, his hands quick and sure as they tugged the fabric down and off. Ray was on his heels on the bed, then, bracing himself with one hand hot on each of Fraser’s thighs and watching him, just watching him.
“Ray,” Fraser moaned, reaching out.
“Oh God, Benny.” The words sounded like they were ripped out him, all jagged edges. He leaned over Fraser and kissed him deep. Fraser ran his hands down Ray’s back, cupping his buttocks and pulling Ray closer. He couldn’t get close enough, even when Ray was laying on top of him, their cocks rubbing against each other. There was a rough friction and burn that had Fraser gasping.
Ray brought his hand up, palm near Fraser’s face. “Lick it,” he demanded, and Fraser ran his tongue across Ray’s palm, slipping between the fingers, while he and Ray watched each other.
They were still watching each other when Ray moved his hand between them and slid it around Fraser’s cock. The salt and bitter tastes of Ray lay on Fraser’s tongue as Ray started to stroke him in long, slow movements. It was too much heat and feeling; Fraser closed his eyes and groaned into Ray’s shoulder. Ray murmured in his ear, too low at first for Fraser to pick out the meaning but the words burned heavy with pleasure. As Ray’s pace picked up, his voice did, too, and Fraser heard him now, clear and sharp and scorching through the dark: “Yeah, Benny. Come on. Come on.”
It was enough to have him arching up off the bed, thrusting hard into Ray’s hand while Ray urged him on, breathing raggedly in Fraser’s ear. The sound of it was like a storm and his orgasm ripped through him like lightning as he came over his stomach and Ray’s hand.
For a brief moment afterwards, Fraser let everything go and just let himself be, limp and sated and exhausted with Ray draped over him like a blanket. But Ray's body continued to shake against his, and as awareness drifted back he realized that his friend was crying quietly, his tears tracing the space between Fraser's neck and shoulder. The sudden contraction in his own heart was quick and clean, like lancing a wound. He hesitated, then, trusting his instincts, he murmured, "Just put your head on my shoulder." His hand was gentle on the back of Ray's neck. "It'll be OK." Ray made a broken sound, his body shaking harder, his arms coming up to clutch Fraser's shoulders.
Fraser kept up a steady stream of soft words into his ear, not even sure if Ray could hear him through his grief. The two of them were a sticky mess and Irene was still gone and Fraser had no idea what was going to happen in the morning. But Ray was with him and he was with Ray and for the first time in days, he felt like he'd actually done something right.
Just as he had four mornings prior, Fraser woke to the pale winter sunlight shining through his scratched window. This time, however, he was naked, and Ray was naked, and they were tangled up together, and he had to admit that made for a different experience entirely. Before he had time to fully consider the situation, Ray was stirring against him, rolling a few inches away on the small bed to blink at him through sleepy, swollen eyes.
"Good morning, Ray," Fraser said, for lack of a better opener.
"Ah." Ray scrubbed a hand through his short hair. "Morning."
"How are you feeling?" Fraser continued as pleasantly as he could.
"Ah," Ray repeated. "I..." He shook his head, like he'd been punched and was trying to shake it off. "I honestly don't know if there's a word for how I'm feeling, Benny."
"I see." Fraser cleared his throat, then felt words tumbling from his mouth, a steady rush that he couldn't quite seem to stem. "Ray, please understand that I would never do anything that might jeopardize our friendship, and if, in my eagerness to assist you in your time of need, I overstepped any--"
"Assist me?" Ray interrupted him. "Is that what that was?"
"Well, yes, Ray," Fraser replied, the ground starting to crumble beneath him. "Not merely that, perhaps, but at its heart, if you examine the--"
Ray whistled low. "I know you're always going above and beyond the call of duty, Benny, but man." He shook his head again. "Couldn't you have just gotten me a sympathy card?"
Fraser just stared at him for a few endless seconds, as shocked as if his friend had suddenly sprouted a second head, and then Ray's mouth twitched and they both collapsed into laughter. There was a slight edge of hysteria to it, but Fraser thought they were entitled to a little hysteria, so he just held on and rode it out, burying his face in the pillow while Ray's laughter shook the bed next to him.
"Sorry," Ray managed eventually, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."
"That's quite all right, Ray." But as his own laughter faded, he saw a shadow move across his friend's face. "What is it?" he asked quietly.
"It almost feels wrong, you know?" Ray shrugged a little. "To be happy, after everything, even a little bit. Like... like I don't deserve it."
Fraser nodded. "My father always used to say that few men get what they deserve, and that's a blessing."
Ray looked at him for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, Mick Jagger used to say you can't always get what you want." His smile bloomed, crooked and sly with innuendo. "But if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need."
Fraser felt an answering smile move across his own features. He leaned closer. "And that would be what, Ray?"
"Right now?" Ray's mouth was bare centimeters from Fraser's. Fraser's eyelids drifted shut. He could feel Ray's breath against his lips, and slow heat had just begun to curl in Fraser's stomach when his friend whispered, "Coffee."
Fraser's eyes snapped open. "Coffee?" he repeated incredulously, torn between lust and affront. Ray grinned at him.
"Yep. Coffee." Then, while Fraser mock-glared, "I was up half the night last night, Benny. I think I've earned some coffee."
"Fine. Coffee it is," Fraser sighed, elaborately long-suffering. He let his head drop into the graceful curve of Ray's neck. "Just as soon as I can move."
Ray's delighted chuckle rumbled under his cheek. "Jeez, Benny, if I'd've known that was all it took to get you to lay off the Super Mountie routine, I would've done this a long time ago."
Fraser huffed a laugh into Ray's collarbone, and then disentangled himself and stood. Diefenbaker poked his head out from where he’d been sleeping in the warm closet, his gaze darting over to Ray who waved at him from the bed. In a low tone, Ray asked, “he’s not gonna bite me or anything is he?”
“On the contrary, Ray, he’s been rather opinionated on this subject and,” Fraser directed the rest of his comment straight to Dief, “incredibly pushy.” Diefenbaker woofed and padded over to the window expectantly. Fraser opened it and patted Diefenbaker as he leapt out to start his day.
Fraser watched him disappear down an alley littered with trash, and then blinked and looked into the pale blue sky. It was going to be a cold day. He’d convince Ray to spend it with him. "Would you have?" Fraser asked suddenly, back-tracking to their earlier conversation.
"What?"
"Would you have done this a long time ago?” He glanced over to find Ray sitting at the edge of the bed, resting his arms on his knees, watching Fraser carefully.
Ray’s eyes slid away as a rueful smile curved his mouth. "Nah, probably not."
Fraser considered that. He felt a faint spiral of fear in his chest, but there was still ground yet to cover. "And now that you have?"
It was another long moment before Ray answered, the shadow of grief still on his face. “I should’ve done it a long time ago. Life is short, you know?" he added, his gaze still focused somewhere around Fraser's collarbone. "I just... I don't want to waste it." He did look up then, green eyes a purely Ray-like mix of fear and hope and challenge. "OK?"
"I think that's an excellent philosophy, Ray," Fraser answered warmly, it took only a few long steps to be back at his side, kissing him. He shifted against Ray's body with an involuntary sigh as Ray's mouth opened beneath his.
"Mmm," Ray murmured when they broke apart. "I gotta admit, this is a lot more fun than your philosophy stuff usually is."
"And how is that?" Fraser asked, raising an eyebrow, happy to spur Ray on. He'd missed this more than he cared to admit, his friend's voice rambling deftly over some long elocutionary path.
"Well," Ray was saying. "There's less animals, for one thing."
Fraser nodded solemnly. "I think we can both be grateful for that."
"And less hanging off the backs of trucks."
"Another distinct benefit."
“And no Eskimo stories.”
“The Inuit can be long-winded sometimes.”
Ray’s eyes widened. “Benny. Did you just call the Inuit gasbags?”
“Perhaps not in so many words, Ray.” Fraser leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?”
“I’m sure we can work something out.”
They kissed again, until Ray stopped and rested his forehead against Fraser’s. “It still feels kind of wrong.”
“Then we’ll wait until you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”
Ray nodded. “Let’s get that coffee, then, and see where the day takes us.”
"Agreed." Fraser smiled, twining his fingers with Ray's and pulling him to his feet. As they began sorting out their scattered clothes, Ray snickered.
"'Assist me.' Christ, Benny. Only you could turn sex into a rescue mission."
"Well, it was that or the card, Ray, and I was out of American money."
Ray laughed loudly, the sound filling the small room, and all Fraser could think was that Ray wasn't the only one who had been rescued.