DISCOVERY Title: Discovery Author: Welmach. Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski. Rating: Adult. Disclaimer: I don't own the main ones. Alliance does. Feedback: Is most welcomed. Notes: Ray Vecchio discovers the true nature of Fraser and Ray Kowalski's relationship. Thanks: Thanks to Ashlan and Carlito who did the beta for this episode. "I've decided we need to reorganize the Consulate's filing system." Fraser looked across the huge oak desk at his superior officer. "The filing system was completely altered eight months ago." Thatcher nodded and leaned back in her leather chair as her gaze ran over the handsome Mountie in front of her. She sighed inwardly. Ray Kowalski was one lucky man. Fraser was everything one could want in a mate, drop dead gorgeous, intelligent, loyal, orderly, drop dead gorgeous, efficient, dutiful, prompt, drop dead gorgeous.... Fraser's clearing of his throat brought her abruptly back to the moment. "Be that as it may, Constable, I believe some changes are necessary." "What types of changes, sir?" "I want not only for the files to be alphabetized, but I want for them to be cross referenced by date and region." "Region?" "Yes, Constable, region. We have daily requests for assistance all throughout Canada, not to mention other nations. I want us to track where the majority of requests are originating from." "That would be Ottawa," Fraser replied. "Since that is where headquarters is located, and most of our orders come from headquarters." Thatcher wondered if he was this difficult with Kowalski. "That may be true, but I believe we will find it useful." A knock on the door interrupted her. Before she could call out 'enter,' the door opened and Ray Kowalski strolled into the room, as if he belonged there. Thatcher did not miss the way Fraser's eyes lit up or the smile that appeared, at least momentarily, on his handsome face. "Hey Fraser. Thatcher. Turnbull wasn't around, so I figured I'd announce myself," he said and winked at his partner. "You ready to blow this popsicle stand?" "Excuse me, detective, but we are in a meeting," Thatcher informed him. "Welsh didn't call you?" "Why would Leftenant Welsh call me?" she asked, as the phone rang. She picked up the receiver and spoke, "Canadian Consulate. Inspector Thatcher speaking. How may I help you....Yes, Leftenant Welsh...Detective Kowalski just arrived." Ray sidled closer to Fraser. "We've got a case, and it's going to be a media circus." "What is it?" "Someone torched Robert Simmons' campaign headquarters last night," Ray told him. "Simmons? Isn't he running for Alderman?" "Yep, and he's got a bunch of opposition." "Constable," Thatcher said, hanging up the phone. "You are dismissed. Until further notice, you will be working with the CPD. However, I expect your paperwork to be kept up to date." "Of course, sir." "Yeah, cause God forbid if it's late," Ray muttered. "Canada might fall into anarchy." Thatcher glared at the American. "Good day, detective. Constable, you are dismissed." Ray followed Fraser out of the Consulate and towards the GTO. "Can't she ever say something besides dismissed? Like goodbye, so long, asta la vista baby?" "Do you really want Inspector Thatcher to call me baby?" Fraser asked, getting into the car. Ray thought a moment then shook his head. "Nope," he said and pulled the car away from the curb. "I'm the only one who can do that." Fraser cast a curious glance at Ray. "You have never called me baby." "How do you know? Maybe I do it when you're asleep." The image of Ray leaning over his sleeping figure, brushing his hair from his forehead and whispering 'baby' sent a slight shiver through Fraser. They had never been much for endearments, but there was something romantic in the notion. "You got a goofy look on your face, Fraser," Ray observed. "I've never had a goofy look in my life," Fraser replied insulted. "Really? Maybe I should hold up a mirror next time we have sex," he suggested, then added. "Baabbbeee." His smile broadened as a blush reddened Fraser's cheeks. "I could get used to that." "Oh, so maybe I should start calling you darling, or sweetheart, or cupcake," Fraser suggested and laughed at Ray's horrified expression. "So, dumpling, what can you tell me about the Simmons' case?" "Not much, yet. Around midnight last night, 911 got a call reporting a fire at Simmons' campaign headquarters. The arson squad said it looked like the perp broke in, doused the place in gasoline and struck a match." "Someone expressing their opposition," Fraser said. "Yeah, well there are a lot of people out there. Gay guy running for office makes a lot of people nervous. Guess they're afraid he'll start painting the city pink." "Homosexuality makes people nervous, Ray," Fraser replied. "People tend to be afraid of things they don't understand." "You don't have to tell me," Ray snapped. "I know firsthand how people don't like two guys involved in a relationship." Fraser reached over and squeezed his partner's knee. It had been several weeks since Fletcher had 'outed' them to the Kowalskis. While Mrs. Kowalski had called Ray and even visited him, Damian Kowalski refused to have anything to do with his son. Ray wouldn't talk about it, but Fraser knew his partner was hurting. "So we'll go talk to Simmons and see if he has any idea on who might've done this, then we take it from there," Ray said, quickly changing the conversation. "Welsh wants this case wrapped up as soon as possible. He's got the commissioner and mayor on his back." Ray pulled the GTO in front of a two-story home in a recently redeveloped part of the city. A barricade was set up and policemen were in place to keep back reporters and curious onlookers. A few protestors were carrying picket signs that read 'God Made Adam and Eve. Not Adam and Steve,' 'Keep our city moral,' and others. They made their way past the crowd and to the front door. Ray rang the bell, and a few minutes later a medium height, slender man with thinning brown hair and a goatee answered it. "Detective Kowalski and Constable Fraser," Ray announced, showing his identification. "We're here to talk to Mr. Simmons." "I'm John Grayson. Mr. Simmons' campaign manager," the man replied, letting them in. "He's in the den. I'm in the middle of business call. Do you mind showing yourselves back?" They made their way to the back of the house and heard voices raised in a heated discussion. "So you want me to quit." "If it means you won't be killed, then yes I want you to quit, Robbie." "They're just trying to scare me," Simmons replied. Ray and Fraser paused by the doorway. Fraser began to announce their presence, but was stopped by Ray's hand on his arm and a sharp shake of his head. Instead, they waited and watched as Simmons, a slender blond and a taller broader dark haired man argued. "Well, they're scaring the shit out of me," the dark haired man told him. "It was a fluke." "Burning down your campaign headquarters is not a fluke." "We knew the risks when we decided I should run for office," Simmons reminded him. "We also decided to face everything together," was the man's bitter response. "But you decided to not tell me about the phone calls and hide the letters." "What letters?" Fraser asked. The dark haired man stepped protectively in front of Simmons. "Who the hell are you, and how the hell did you get in here?!" "Mr. Grayson let us in," Fraser replied. "I'm Constable Fraser and this is Detective Kowalski. We're investigating the fire." "Do you have more questions for me?" Simmons asked. "If you and Mr..." "Mahoney. Mark Mahoney," the dark haired man replied with a fierce, challenging look on his face. "I'm Robert's husband." "Husband?" Ray asked. "Yes, detective, husband," he answered coldly. "Do you have a problem with that?" "Should I?" Simmons placed a hand on his husband's arm. "The police officers who were here earlier weren't very open to our relationship." "Weren't very open," Mahoney laughed. "That's putting it lightly, baby. They pretty much said it was too bad you weren't in the fire." "Do you have their names?" Fraser asked. "Why? Are you going to do something about it?" "Yes, I am," Fraser replied. "Fraser, can that wait until we cover everything else?" Ray asked. "Then I promise I'll let you play the avenging Mountie to your heart's content." "Of course, Ray." "Good. What can you tell us about the fire, Mr. Simmons?" "Not much, I'm afraid. I was with Mark at his restaurant..." "Restaurant?" "I own The Breakaway," Mahoney said. "Wait," Ray said in surprise. "If you own that place, then that means you're the Mahoney who played for the BlackHawks..." "Yeah it does." Ray's blue eyes glanced from Mahoney to Simmons then back again. "You were in the society page of the paper nearly every week with a different woman on your arm." "Really, Ray," Fraser admonished. "What does that have to do with anything?" "Well, he was supposedly engaged to Virginia Watson." Fraser arched an eyebrow and commented, "I didn't think you were that interested in the society page." Ray shrugged, "Stella used to be in it a lot..." "I see," he replied coolly. "The photos were my ex-publicist's idea. He thought it was important I put out a certain image...I finally became tired of treating my relationship with Robbie as a dirty little secret," Mahoney said. "I never felt that way," Simmons assured his lover. "Well, I did." Fraser was jealous as he watched the openness of the two men. "How long have you been together?" "Eight years," Simmons replied. "I'll get the letters for you." Mahoney watched his husband leave the room and ran a hand over his face. "Do you think you can find who's responsible?" "We will do everything that's possible." "Can I make a suggestion?" "I thought you didn't know anything about the letters or phone calls," Ray said. "I didn't, but when he finally told me he said a couple were from the Chicago Purification League." "They've been out of commission since Morton went to jail," Ray replied. "They were until a couple of months ago," Simmons corrected, entering the room and handing a manila envelope to Fraser. "These are all the letters." "Why didn't you tell the police about these?" Simmons shrugged and avoided looking at his husband. "I didn't want the publicity, and I didn't want to give The CPL the media attention." "You said that the group made a comeback a couple of months ago," Ray reminded him. "What'd you mean?" "Frederick Morton reestablished the organization." "I didn't know he'd been released," Ray said. "Six months ago," Simmons said disgusted. "The parole board said he had been a model prisoner." "You seem so know quite a bit about the organization," Fraser commented to Simmons. "We have a history." "What type of history?" "Frederick Morton blames me for the death of his son, Paul," Simmons admitted. "What happened to his son?" Fraser asked. "He committed suicide," Ray answered then turned to Simmons. "How could he blame you for that?" "I've always been involved in a local youth organization for gay teens. A few years ago Paul showed up at one of the meetings. He was living with his grandmother. Frederick was in jail. I remember how nervous he was, but I just put it down to coming to the club and coming out. I wish I had known better," Simmons said sadly. "What happened?" Ray asked. "He decided to tell his father. Of course, I told him it was the right thing to do," his tone was bitter. "I had no clue who his father was. A few days later I got a phone call from Paul. He had gone up to the prison and talked to his father. Morton lost it. He threatened Paul and disowned him right there. I told him to come to my place, but he said he couldn't. I tried to talk to him, but he hung up, and I never heard from him again. I tried to track him down, even went to see Frederick. The man threatened to kill me if I showed my face around him again. A few weeks later, Paul's body was found in the lake." "What makes you think it was suicide?" Fraser asked. "That's what the police report claimed, and I had no reason to think otherwise," Simmons replied. "So, you think Frederick Morton holds a grudge against you for what happened to his son?" Ray asked. "I'm not his favorite person," Simmons said. "Would he take it to the point of arson? I wouldn't put anything past him." "Excuse me, Robert," John Grayson said entering the room. "You have a interview scheduled in an hour. We need to leave soon if we're going to be on time." "I don't think that's a very good idea under the circumstances," Fraser said. "Excuse me?" Simmons asked. "Your life is in danger and until we have more information it would be best if you stay out of large groups or away from unfamiliar places," Fraser explained. "I can't run a campaign from my living room," Simmons complained. "And you definitely can't run it from the grave," Mahoney added, ignoring the glare his husband cast in his direction. "Mr. Simmons needs to make a statement about what happened last night," Grayson argued. "There are a whole bunch of reporters outside," Ray said. "Can't he do it from the front porch?" "I would feel better if you listen to Detective Kowalski and Constable Fraser," Mahoney told his husband. Simmons sighed and nodded. "All right. Cancel the interview." Grayson glared at his three opponents. "Fine. Don't listen to me. I'm only your campaign manager..." "Mr. Grayson," Ray interrupted. "Where were you last night when the fire happened?" "Am I a suspect, detective?" he asked, surprised. "Routine question." "We already told them about our whereabouts, so go ahead and tell them yours," Mahoney said, his dislike for the man obvious in his tone. "I was at home, going over some campaign material," he said. "Is there anyone to verify that?" "My cat." "John leads a quiet life," Mahoney commented and ignored the man's glower. "We better get back to the station, Fraser," Ray told his partner. "Fill Welsh in on the latest." "You'll let us know as soon as you know anything," Simmons said. "You'll be the first," Ray assured him and handed him his card. "And call me if you think of anything." *** They returned to the 27th to find Welsh on the warpath. Ray had barely poured himself a cup of coffee before the Lieutenant was yelling out his name. "What's up, Lieu?" "Other than the Mayor and Commissioner calling me every ten minutes, Kowalski? NOTHING!" Welsh yelled. "You and the Mountie mind getting in my office?" Ray followed Fraser into the office and found Vecchio and Elaine already settled on the couch and Huey and Dewey leaning against the wall. "Tell us what you've got," Welsh ordered. Ray settled back and let Fraser recount their meeting with Simmons. Every now and then he would jump in with his own observations. When Fraser had finished, Dewey whistled, "Mark Mahoney, 'The Enforcer,' queer as a three dollar bill. Who'd a guessed?" Welsh glared at his detective. "That's all you can offer?" "Come on, Lieu, it's a shocker. The man spent more time in the penalty box than he did on the ice and all the time he's playing kissy face with another guy." "Why don't you say kissy face in front of the guy and see how long you stay standing?" Ray suggested. "Okay, enough!" Welsh ordered. "Let's get back on track. You think the CPL might be behind this, Kowalski?" "There's a good chance." "What's the CPL?" Elaine asked. "Chicago Purification League. Bunch a wanna be neo-nazi, white supremacists founded by Frederick Morton. He spouted the usual bullshit of saving the white race, but his big mission was cleaning Chicago of gays. He said if you didn't have 'those people' you wouldn't have AIDS or child molestation." "Then his own son turns gay on him," Vecchio said. "I would hardly use the term 'turn' gay, Ray," Fraser told his former partner. "I believe the young man decided to admit to his homosexuality..." "Whatever, Benny. What did it get him? Dead." "So you are saying he is dead because of his sexual orientation?" Fraser asked stiffly. "Well, if he'd stayed in the closet or kept dating girls he probably wouldn't be dead..." "Back on task, gentlemen," Welsh warned. "How do you know so much about this group, Ray?" Elaine asked. "I did an undercover assignment in the group. Nearly six months with the assholes." Welsh nodded in Ray's direction. "He helped bring Morton down, and did it all without blowing his cover. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, detective, that cover is still in tact." "Yep," Ray smiled proudly. "Last anyone heard, Ray Gardner made his way out of Chicago and was heading to Dallas." "Well, it might be time for him to come back," Welsh said. Fraser tensed and took a step forward. "I don't understand, sir." "What's to understand, Constable?" Welsh asked. "Kowalski's going undercover in the organization." "It's rather unusual for someone to return undercover after he's left the assignment," Fraser reminded him. "That's me," Ray grinned. "Unusual." "You can say that again," Vecchio agreed. "So, you'll go under..." Welsh began, only to be cut off by Fraser. "Do you think that is the wisest course of action?" Welsh turned to the Mountie. "This order comes straight from the top, Constable. Are you questioning the Chief of Police?" "Of course not, Leftenant," Fraser assured him, trying to keep his temper in tact. "You know, I got a say in this," Ray reminded them. "We need you undercover, Kowalski." "So I go undercover." "Let me go with him," Fraser told the older man. Vecchio, who had been sitting, stood up and shook his head at his best friend. "You undercover in a hate group? Get real, Benny. They'd pick you as a cop in five minutes. Besides, Stanley's a big boy. I think he can go undercover without a babysitter." Fraser shot the Italian detective a hard look. "I know how capable Ray is in doing his job; however, don't you think the sudden reappearance of Ray Gardner will strike people as odd?" "I don't know," Vecchio replied snidely. "Stanley strikes me more as a thug than a cop." "Hey!" Ray yelled, waving his arms. "I'm still here! Quit talking about me like I'm not!" "I gotta agree with you, Vecchio," Dewey said. "He looks like a thug to you, too?" Vecchio asked. "Well, yeah, but I didn't mean that," Dewey said. "I agree that Fraser would stick out like a sore thumb." "No one asked you," Huey pointed out to his partner. "ENOUGH!" Welsh bellowed, bringing everyone to a halt. "Everyone out of my office except Fraser and Kowalski." "What should we do?" Dewey asked. "How about some police work for once?" Welsh suggested. Once the others left the room, Welsh took a deep, calming breath and spoke, "Constable, the last thing I want to do is break up my best team." "And you don't," Ray assured him. "Constable? Can you accept my decision regarding my detective?" Fraser didn't answer. He had read Ray's file, he knew some of what had happened when he was undercover, and he tried to keep images of his lover bruised and bleeding from overwhelming him. "Fraser!" Ray ordered, throwing up his hands. "What is the problem?! You always follow orders! It's like engrained in you or something." "I will break you two up and assign you to new partners," Welsh assured the Mountie. "I can follow your orders, Leftenant," Fraser replied curtly. "May I be excused?" Welsh nodded, but stopped him at the door. "I wouldn't put your partner back undercover if it wasn't important." "Understood, Leftenant," he replied and walked out. Ray looked at Welsh and shrugged. "I don't know what got into him, Lieu." "Why don't you, Kowalski? I do," Welsh replied. "He's afraid of something happening and maybe not getting there in time." Ray stared out the window of Welsh's office at Fraser and Vecchio going over Simmons' hate mail. "Don't break us up, Lieutenant. We're the best team you have, and you know it." "Yeah, you are, but I won't put up with that type of reaction whenever you have to work without him." "I'll talk to him," Ray promised. "Okay?" Welsh nodded and waved his hand toward the door. "Go find your partner, then get ready to go undercover." Ray left the office and went immediately to Fraser's side. "We need to talk." "We were working," Vecchio told him. "Do you mind, Stanley?" "Nope," he replied, not even sparing a glance for the other detective. "Fraser?" "Excuse me, Ray," the Mountie told Vecchio and followed his partner into an empty interrogation room. The moment the door closed Ray turned on Fraser. "What the hell is wrong with you?" "Nothing," was Fraser's curt response. "Nothing? You want Welsh to split us up? Huh?" he demanded, pacing in front of his partner and running his fingers through his blond hair. "Cause he's on the verge with your little temper tantrum." "It's too dangerous for you to go back in," Fraser told him. "That's Welsh's decision, not yours," Ray reminded him. "I'm not even allowed my opinion?" Fraser asked. "I thought we already dealt with this problem when Fletcher first arrived in town." Ray did not want to get into an argument right before he was going undercover, but Fraser was heading in that direction. From the Mountie's rigid stance and the defiant gleam in his eye, Ray knew he wouldn't back down. "I'm not saying you can't have your opinion. What I'm saying is the final decision belongs to Welsh and me," Ray raised his hand, cutting off Fraser's response. "Just like it would be if Thatcher gave you an assignment that sucked. How many times have you told me it's your duty?" Fraser knew his partner was right, but it was so much easier when he was the one in danger. If anything happened to Ray, he didn't know what he would do. But that's what happens when you love a cop, he reminded himself. "Frase?" Ray asked worried about his too silent partner. The worry quickly disappeared as he was pulled against his lover's hard body and kissed soundly. "I guess this means we're okay," Ray said when he could speak. Fraser buried his face against his partner's warm throat. "Just promise me that you'll be careful." "Promise," Ray whispered and was gently, yet quickly, pushed away as the door opened. "Jesus. Haven't you heard of knocking?" Vecchio glared at the detective before casting a wary gaze at Fraser. "Welsh put Elaine with Huey and Dewey running names on Simmons' supporters. He wants us to get to work on the letters." "All right, Ray," the Mountie replied and asked his other Ray. "Will I see you later?" "Yep. I gotta get some things set up then we can order some take out before I do my duty," Ray said, with a glint in his eye. "What the hell was that all about?" Vecchio demanded as the door closed behind Ray. "What was what about?" Fraser asked. The Italian detective glared at him. "Kowalski and...I don't know, but something weird was going on." "Ah." "Ah? Ah what?" "Ah...I suppose we should get to work on the letters," Fraser said and returned to the squad room. *** Ray stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He towel dried his hair and stepped in the bedroom to find Fraser standing beside the bed, looking down at his packed clothes. "Hey." "I see you're getting ready," Fraser observed. "Do you have everything?" "Just taking the essentials," Ray replied. "So you and Vecchio find out anything from the letters?" "Not yet. They're in the lab being checked for fingerprints," Fraser said. "We'll take a closer look tomorrow....Do you want me to make some dinner?" Ray nervously licked his lips. "I don't really have time. I need to get settled into the motel tonight. Welsh wants me to make a move tomorrow," he said and quickly added. "And I agree. Sooner I get in, sooner I can get out." "Were you going to wait until I got home or were you going to leave me a note?" Fraser asked sharply. "I was going to wait, Fraser. I wouldn't just take off on you," he replied, his tone hurt. "Are you hungry?" Ray shook his head. "Can never eat right before I go under." Go under. The words conjured up too many images in Fraser's head, too many unwanted ones. "You can get something though...." "I'm not hungry," Fraser replied and began unbuttoning his jacket. In seconds his jacket was off and he was unbuttoning his shirt. Ray watched as the Mountie removed his shirt and undershirt, revealing the perfect chest beneath. "So you're not hungry..." "For food," he amended. "So what do you want?" As Fraser approached his lover he spoke, "I want you to feel me while we're apart. I want you to think about me, ache to be with me." Ray buried his face against his lover's shoulder and shivered as teeth bit the base of his throat. The Mountie began to suck on the skin, marking his partner. Fraser would make sure Ray knew where he belonged and Ray wanted this. Their relationship was equal in all things, but there were times when one of them wanted to be in control or needed to give up control. Tonight, Ray wanted to surrender all control before taking it back. Dief gave a disgusted snort, jumped from the bed and escaped to the living room when Fraser pushed Ray down onto the bed. "I think we offended Dief," Ray murmured. "He's jealous," Fraser replied, before his mouth descended on Ray's and his hand moved to open the towel. He pulled the towel away pulled his mouth away from his partner's to roll the blond onto his stomach. Fraser's feral grin took in the expanse of his lover's back and the beauty of his ass. "Fraser...Ben..." Ray groaned. "Touch me..." "Oh, I'll do more than touch you, Ray," he promised, his voice rough with passion, as he quickly finished undressing himself. Once he was naked, Fraser leaned over his partner and began kissing down Ray's back, pausing every couple of kisses to nip at the skin. "Fraser..." Ray moaned as Fraser reached his ass, and then his eyes widened as he realized what the Mountie was doing. Fraser parted his lover's cheeks and ran his tongue around the puckered hole. "JesusChrist...fuckingholyshitbentonfraser..." Ray cried out, thrusting up against his lover. "Language, Ray," Fraser growled crawling forward and laying his body on Ray's. "You give me a rim job deluxe and complain about my language," Ray gasped, "Jesus, Ben. You are full of surprises." "I'm full of something else, as well," Fraser chuckled as he bit Ray's earlobe and ran his hard cock against Ray's ass. Ray's hips arched and he moaned in need, "Please, Fraser..." "Please what?" "Fuck me....In me please...need you in me." The break in Ray's voice was nearly the Mountie's undoing, but Fraser held on. Never moving from his position, he pulled the lube from the nightstand and popped the top. He quickly slicked himself up. Between Ray's moans and the friction of his own hand, Fraser nearly lost control. "Now, Ben!" Fraser quickly, yet carefully, complied and with a quick hard thrust he entered his lover's body. With a cry, Ray pushed his hips back until he was impaled on the Mountie. "Fuck me!" Ray ordered. "Make me feel it when we're apart!" Fraser moved slowly at first, then gained momentum as he called at Ray's name. His thrusts became faster and harder as he felt his orgasm build. He couldn't come without seeing his lover's face, though. He needed to see Ray's face as he came. Ray cried out as Fraser pulled out. He was pushed down onto his back and legs placed over Fraser's shoulder. Fraser's cock reentered his ass and his tongue sought refuge in Ray's mouth. As his orgasm tore through him, Ray pulled his mouth away from Fraser's and bit down on the Mountie's shoulder. The bite and Ray's cry sent Fraser over the edge and he quickly followed, his body shuddering with his orgasm. A few minutes later, Fraser gently kissed Ray's lips. He didn't want to move. He wanted Ray to stay beneath him, safe and protected. As if reading his partner's thoughts, Ray said, "I'll be back soon. You'll see. Get in, get what we need and get out." "I don't doubt your abilities as police officer, Ray," Fraser assured him and kissed him again. "I know. I'd feel the same way if it were you...guess that's love." "Oh, it most definitely is," Fraser agreed and kissed Ray's temple. "What do you think of Mr. Simmons and Mr. Mahoney?" "Why do I get the feeling you don't mean them and the case?" "They've been together for a rather long time..." "And they're married to boot," Ray added. "Well, not legally." "But, in every other way that matters," Fraser whispered, kissing along his partner's cheekbone. "Emotionally, spiritually..." Ray pulled back and looked at his lover, so beautiful, so perfect. "Is that what you want, Ben? You want us to be married? Cause I'm still getting used to us living together." "As am I," he agreed. "Then what is it?" "Their willingness to be open about their relationship and not care about the consequences." "Is that what you want, Fraser?" Ray asked, resting on an elbow and running his free hand along the Mountie's shoulder and chest. "You want to tell everyone about us?" Fraser covered Ray's hand with his own. "I know we can't do that. It's too dangerous given our careers. But, I've been thinking about Ray Vecchio. He's my best friend, and he deserves to know the truth...I want him to know about the most important thing in my life." Ray raised their clasped hands to his lips and rubbed it against his cheek. "Trust me on this one, Fraser. Other people ain't going to see it like we do. You might find Vecchio reacts just like my dad." "Perhaps. Ray Vecchio isn't a fool though, and I have the feeling he suspects something is amiss." "Amiss, huh?" Ray teased then sobered as he said, "You don't want him to find out like my dad did, from a third party." Fraser nodded, "I owe him that much." "Then when this case is over, we sit down and tell him," he stated. "We?" Fraser asked surprised. "Yeah, Fraser. We. You were with me when we faced my dad, and I'll be with you when it's time to tell Vecchio...cause that's what partners do." "I love you, Ray Kowalski," he murmured. "Good. Cause I want you to show what else it is partners can do together." *** It was close to ten p.m. when Ray entered the The Avenue. There were a few people in the bar, sipping drinks and watching a ball game on the television. Behind the counter was a tall dark haired man. He looked up as Ray approached the counter. A momentary look of recognition crossed the craggy features. "Hey, Nick. Couldn't find a real job, yet?" Ray asked. "I'll be damned. Ray Gardner. I haven't seen your scrawny ass in years," Nick exclaimed. "Where the hell have you been and why didn't you stay there?" "Been down in Dallas and Houston. Seeing if everything really is bigger in Texas," Ray replied and settled on a stool. "I see you still have your breakfast crowd." "You hungry? I can make you something up," the bartender offered. "A beer would be good." "So why you back in Chicago?" The older man asked handing Ray a bottle of beer. "I realized everything isn't bigger in Texas," Ray replied. "So I decided to see what was going on back here. Catch up with old friends and on old times." "Well, most of the old gang are gone," Nick said. "Jerry is locked up. So is Mutt....Even Morton was upstate, but they couldn't hold him." "Morton? What happened?" "Cops arrested him for embezzlement..." "Embezzlement?" "Well, they couldn't lock him up for speaking his beliefs, so they made a trumped up case against him." "Shit," Ray muttered and shook his head. "That sucks." "Ray Gardner?" Ray turned to a tall, slender man with light brown hair and gray eyes. "Jack? Jack Crawford?" The man shook his head in disbelief. "I thought it was you, but figured there was no way in hell you'd be back here." "What can I say? I missed it." "Shit. You are one lucky bastard, you know that?" Jack asked. "Why you say that?" "You left town right before Morton went down." Ray feigned surprise. "Guess I am lucky. My mum always said I was born under a shooting star or something like that. So what are you doing now?" "Still working for Morton." "Nick said he'd been upstate. He still has the organization going?" "Bigger and better than ever. I made sure of it," he assured him and asked. "You looking for a job?" Ray shrugged and sipped his beer. "I might be. Why? You offering?" "I might be." *** "Hey, Benny, so I guess Stanley got off alright." Vecchio settled in the empty chair beside Ray's desk, where Fraser sat reading the lab reports on Simmons' hate mail. For a brief moment, Fraser flashed to the previous evening and the image of Ray getting off quite well. But he figured that's not what Ray Vecchio meant. "He left last night. As soon as he knows something, he'll contact us." "Sorry I'm late, but I had to take Frannie to the doctor." "Is Francesca all right?" Fraser asked, concerned. "Yeah, just a check-up. Doctor said she's doing fine, just has to keep from packing on the pounds...but I don't have a death wish. There's no way I'm getting between Frannie and her nachos." "She is quite fond of them," Fraser agreed. "After the last Lamaze class, she rushed over to the Quick Stop and purchased the largest container she could find." "That's the disgusting part," Vecchio groused. "Nachos from a reputable Mexican restaurant are one thing, but she'll only eat that stuff from the corner stores. If the kid ends up asking if 'you want fries with that' we'll know why." "I hardly think that's likely," Fraser replied. "Wait and see, Benny. When ma was pregnant with Frannie, she craved cotton candy. Can you name anyone as air-headed as my sister?" "Ray," Fraser admonished. "Francesca is a wonderful person." "Yeah, she is...but too sweet and trusting," Vecchio replied, scowling. "You know who called her last night?" "No." "Who she's going to lunch with today?" "No." "Who picked her up from the doctor's office?" "No." "Who was carrying a plastic container of nachos?" "No, Ray. I do not," Fraser stated firmly. "Fletcher Kowalski." That surprised Fraser. He knew Francesca and Fletcher had met in passing, but he had no idea he and Francesca had moved to the point of dating. "Even you're scowling," Vecchio groaned. "That definitely means it isn't a good thing." He shook his head and shivered. "My sister out with a Kowalski." Then he shot an accusing look at Fraser. "Where was he about six months ago?" "He was in New York, working. According to Ray the man couldn't get a moment's free time 'if their grandfather had risen from the dead and offered him the meaning of life.'" Vecchio gave a low whistle. "Little bad blood there, huh?" Fraser was not about to discuss Ray and Fletcher's tumultuous relationship. "Would you like me to update you on the lab's findings?" "Sure." "No fingerprints, except for Mr. Simmons and Mr. Grayson's were found on the letters." "And nothing unusual about the letters," Vecchio noted. "All the letters cut out of newspapers." "Not just any newspaper," Fraser replied. "The paper that was used was of less expensive quality than mainstream newspapers." "Meaning what?" "He did not use the Times or the Tribune." "So we check out anyone who has picked up a rag?" "Why would we do that?" Fraser asked. "Do you know how many people in the city use rags daily? Washing...." "Not that kind of rag, Benny," Ray corrected. "A cheap newspaper...a rag." "Ah." "There's your ah, again," Ray complained. "Don't know if I missed that ah." Fraser stood and motioned to the doorway. "Are you ready?" "For what? I just got here." "I'd like to check out the crime scene." *** "Are you going to tell me why I stood and watched you dig around in debris for nearly an hour and you come away with nothing?" Vecchio asked, as they drove through the city in his Riv. "I wouldn't say I came away with nothing," Fraser replied. "Right. That deformed looking thing you put in your pocket." "It was a ring, Ray," Fraser replied, scrubbing at the item with a handkerchief. "What is that smell?" "Ox musk and seal saliva. It is excellent for bruises and cleaning metals." "You might have an infomercial there, Benny. But, that's stuff is stinking up my car." Fraser opened the handkerchief and glanced at the ring. "Just as I thought." "What? What is it?" Vecchio glanced over at the ring. "A ring..." "I know that." "A commemorative ring from the 1998 hockey season, when the BlackHawks made it to the playoffs." "So?" "It has the residual smell of gasoline." "So our arsonist played for the BlackHawks, just like Mahoney." "Perhaps." "Maybe we'll wrap this up without Stanley's help," Vecchio smiled. "Just like old times, Fraser. You and me wrapping up the cases." Fraser nodded absently and glanced out the window. He would like to wrap this case up and get his partner back where he belonged...with him, in their home. "Hey, Benny! You listening to me?" "I'm sorry, Ray. My mind was elsewhere. What were you saying?" "I was saying that I saw my cousin Louisa the other day. She's the one who works for the apartment locating service." "I believe I met her at your mother's birthday party, not long before you went undercover," Fraser recalled. "Yeah. She really liked you. Of course, Frannie nearly pulled her hair out for getting near you," Vecchio replied. "She's still single and asking about you." Ever since Fraser and Ray had become roommates, Vecchio tried to set Fraser up on numerous dates, much to the Mountie's chagrin. "Well, I'm very busy right now." "You should never be too busy for an evening out, Benny," Vecchio advised. "It has to get boring spending most of your evenings with Kowalski." "Not in the least," Fraser assured him. "Ray is very good company." "Well, forgive me for not believing you, but you are the same guy who finds an evening of tanning leather exciting." "Actually in recent study in a Canadian Medical journal, researchers showed that tanning leather reduced high blood pressure." Ray pulled the Rivera in front of Mahoney's restaurant. "If you say so. Now, back to Louisa. She was telling me that there are a lot of nice, well-priced apartments available right now." Fraser got out of the car followed by Dief. "Are you thinking of moving out of your home?" "Not for me, Benny. For you," was Vecchio's irritated reply. Fraser shut the door and looked over the top of the car at his former partner. "I have a place to live, Ray." "You can't stay there forever," Vecchio said. "And why is that?" "It doesn't look right," Ray told him. "People talk, Benny." "And what are they saying?" Vecchio ran a nervous hand along the car's roof and cleared his throat, "Uh...." "I'm waiting," Fraser challenged. "Jesus, Benny!" Vecchio exclaimed angrily. "Stuff that you wouldn't understand." Fraser sighed as he took in the frantic, worried appearance of his friend. He was becoming weary of this facade, weary of pretending he was something he wasn't, that his relationship with Ray was something it wasn't. He never liked lies and he didn't like lying about something as important as his relationship with Ray. But there was a time for everything and now wasn't the time. "We should see Mr. Mahoney," he told Vecchio and glanced down at Dief. "Please wait out here and behave yourself." Dief whined in response. "Well, you shouldn't be hungry. I saw you stealing Detective Dewey's sandwich when he was in the restroom." Dief snorted and settled down on the sidewalk. Fraser and Vecchio entered the restaurant, where a lunchtime crowd was beginning to form. Mark Mahoney was making sure to greet each patron as they sat down. He scowled as he noticed Fraser and Vecchio enter the dining room. "Constable Fraser. Are you here for lunch or do you have more questions for my husband?" He did not hide his displeasure at having to deal with more questions. "I didn't realize Mr. Simmons was here," Fraser admitted. "I didn't want him at home alone," Mahoney said. "I feel better when he's where I can watch him." "Until I drive him crazy," Simmons added, walking up. "Good afternoon, Constable. Do you need to see me?" "Actually, I have some questions for Mr. Mahoney," Fraser stated. "This is Detective Vecchio." "What happened to Detective Kowalski?" "He's been temporarily reassigned," Vecchio answered. "Could we speak with you in private, please?" Fraser asked. They made their way through the restaurant, and Fraser noticed Vecchio's uncomfortable expression when they passed two men holding hands as they sat at a table. Mahoney led the men into his office and closed the door. "Why do you need to talk to me, Constable?" Fraser opened the handkerchief and revealed the ring. "Do you recognize this, Mr. Mahoney?" The pale face and sharp breath answered for Mahoney. "What is it?" Simmons asked, stepping closer to look. "Mark, that looks like your ring." "It's engraved with the initials M.M.," Fraser said. "There was no one else on the team in 1998 with those initials, was there Mr. Mahoney?" "It's mine," Mahoney replied. "How did you get it, though?" "We found it in what's left of Mr. Simmons headquarters," Vecchio answered. Mahoney's blue eyes widened. "Son of a bitch!" "Mark! What's going on?!" Simmons demanded. "Yeah, Mr. Mahoney, what's going on?" Vecchio asked, when Mahoney didn't answer he added. "You can tell us here or down at the station." Mahoney leaned against the room's wooden desk and his body sagged. "I didn't want you to know, Robbie." "Know what?" "P.J. Jackson." A look of confusion and hurt crossed Simmons' face. "What does P.J. have to do with this, Mark?" "Mr. Jackson was a rookie with the BlackHawks," Fraser recounted. "He was released about a year ago because of an injury." "Twenty months, and it wasn't because of an injury," Mahoney admitted. "P.J. was a user. He'd gotten himself a drug habit and was using on the road. When he came onto the team as a rookie, I was appointed his roommate. The coach wanted to create camaraderie between the players. To do that he paired up the veterans with the rookies. It was maybe two years ago; I realized how bad his habit was getting. It was beginning to affect the game. I knew if the coach found out, he could be thrown off of the team, so I talked him into getting help. It didn't work." "What's all this have to do with the ring?" Vecchio asked. "P.J. ended up wasting everything. He blew all his cash, all his connections, so I'd pass him some money when I could..." "You're a nice guy," Vecchio replied snidely. "What were you getting in return?" "What the fuck does that mean?!" Mahoney demanded straightening and stepping towards the detective. Simmons stepping in front of him and grabbing him by the shoulders stopped him. "Don't, Mark." Vecchio stared coldly at the man. "There's a young, handsome kid in need of help. There you are giving him money. You do that to every addict you meet?" "Fuck you, detective! I don't have to explain my reasons to you." "No? But like I already said you can explain it all at the station." Mahoney closed his eyes and released a deep breath. "I had a kid sister. Sonya. She was five years younger than me. The first year I made it in the pros, she started using," Mahoney said bitterly, his eyes filled with anguish. "Two years later, she ODed...." Simmons hugged his husband tightly and turned to Fraser and Vecchio. "Mark and his parents tried to help her, but she didn't want it. She ended up on the street with nothing. When he saw what P.J. was doing, he couldn't stand by and do nothing." "But, Mr. Jackson didn't want to stop." "No. When I found out he was using the money I gave him for drugs, I told him no more. He threatened to go to the press about my relationship with Robbie. It was an open secret on the team, but the public didn't know. I did the only thing I could." "You retired from hockey," Fraser said. "Yeah. I was ready to anyway, but that made the decision for me. P.J. wasn't going to let up, though. He called me and said I had to give him money or he'd tell the press how I fed my fetish for underage boys while on the road." Simmons pulled away and exclaimed in disbelief. "And you didn't tell me?" "I couldn't tell you, baby," he admitted. "If I did you'd want to take P.J. on, go to the police, but if the press found out it could have ruined your chances at office. I couldn't hurt your career." "Fuck my career!" Simmons yelled. "You're more important...we're more important than my fucking career!" "That still doesn't explain the ring and how it ended up in the fire," Vecchio reminded him. "I started paying P.J. off...a thousand each month. Last time we met, I lost my temper and made the mistake of telling him that as soon as the election was over the money stopped. When he left I noticed the wooden box where I kept the ring was gone. I figured he was going to pawn it, so I let it go." "How long ago was that?" "Two weeks." "Do you have an address for Mr. Jackson?" Fraser asked. "No. He always contacted me," Mahoney replied. "You think P.J. set fire to my campaign headquarters?" Simmons asked. "The evidence points in his direction," Fraser told him. "But why?" "That's what we're going to find out." *** Fraser and Vecchio returned to the 27th to run Jackson through the computer and fill Welsh in on the latest developments. "So now you're saying Morton may not be involved at all," Welsh growled. "It's a very good probability, sir," Fraser replied, standing at parade rest. "What about the letters from Morton's organization?" "They may have been idle threats," Vecchio told the lieutenant. Welsh was about to answer when the phone rang. "Welsh...how's it going, Kowalski?" Vecchio noticed how Fraser snapped even further to attention, if that was possible. "Fraser and Vecchio are checking a lead. P.J. Jackson. Apparently he was blackmailing Mahoney...I agree. Go ahead and see what develops on your end....He's right here," Welsh held out the receiver to Fraser. "Kowalski wants to talk to you." "I need this case solved, now, detective," Welsh said gruffly. "If Jackson is responsible, then I want him caught." "We're on it," Vecchio assured him, his eyes locked on Fraser, who had turned his back to them as he spoke to Kowalski. "Kowalski says it looks like he'll be meeting with Frederick Morton, tonight." Vecchio nodded absently. He was more concerned about the blush that crept to the Mountie's cheek than what Welsh was saying. His concern moved quickly to anger when Fraser murmured, "And I you, Ray." Vecchio looked over at Welsh and noticed the older man did not seem phased in the least by Fraser's reactions. Well, maybe they weren't noticing the same things. "Is there a problem, Vecchio?" Welsh inquired. "What do you mean?" Vecchio asked. "You seem more interested in Fraser than this case." Fraser hung up the phone and turned back to the two men. "Ray is planning on meeting with Mr. Morton this evening." "Guess I'm not the only one who thinks Stanley makes the perfect thug," Vecchio snapped. "I just hope he doesn't screw up the meeting." Even though he was still Mountie-polite, there was a cold edge to his voice when Fraser replied, "Ray has never screwed up a case." Vecchio knew he shouldn't say it, but he couldn't stop himself. "Tell that to Beth Bottrelle." "If you'll excuse me, Leftenant," Fraser said, fury underlying his words. "I'm going to see if we received any information on Mr. Jackson." As he watched his best friend walk away, a sense of dread settled on Vecchio. "A word of advice, detective," Welsh said. "You're walking a thin line with Constable Fraser." "You know..." he started to accuse. "I know there is a case to be solved, and I don't need my detectives involved in petty squabbles. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, sir," he replied coldly and entered the squad room. He started over to his desk but was stopped by Fraser, carrying information on Jackson. *** P.J. Jackson was staying in a motel not far from Fraser's old neighborhood on Racine Street. The manager of the fleabag motel led the two men and wolf up to the second floor telling them, "I haven't seen him since last night." "Did he say anything to you?" Vecchio asked. "Yeah, he'd give me my money today. Course I haven't seen him," the older heavyset man complained. "If I don't get it by tomorrow, I'm throwing his shit out on the street." "How long has it been since he paid you?" "Two weeks. We let the room on weekly and monthly rates. He had monthly rates. Sometimes he'd get lucky at the track and he'd pay. Or else he'd use the money to make a score and I'd be waiting." "Why'd you let him stay?" Vecchio asked. The man opened the door to room 223. "Look around, fellas. It ain't exactly the Ritz-Carlton here. Hell, it ain't even Motel 6....At least with someone in the room, I might get some money. Here you go. Just remember any money you find, it's mine." "Yeah, yeah," Vecchio groused, while Fraser said, "Thank you kindly, sir." Vecchio shook his head and shot the Mountie an annoyed look. "Keep being so polite and people are going to take advantage of you." "You think the manager is going to take advantage of me?" Fraser asked. "Maybe not him, but I'm telling you. There are other people who have things they want and you, Benny, you're just too polite to stand up and say no." Fraser stopped in the act of opening the bureau drawer and gave his former partner a hard look. "Is there anyone you have in mind?" "I don't know. Should I have someone in mind?" Vecchio asked. "Do you want to talk to the neighbors or should I?" Fraser asked. "I'll do it," the Italian detective snapped. "You'd be so polite, you'd be fixing their faucets while asking the questions." As Vecchio slammed out of the room, Dief snorted. "I would not use 'pissed off' to describe his mood," Fraser replied curtly. "You're picking up Ray's language." Dief growled and walked around the room. "It might be an apt description, but there is no need for such language," he said as he took Mark Mahoney's wooden box from the drawer. Dief gave a soft bark. Fraser stopped for a moment and looked at his longtime friend and companion. "I would agree he knows something, and perhaps it is time to clear the air." The wolf provided a low whine. "Fine, I'll make sure you are far away when I tell him," Fraser assured him and entered the bathroom. In the trashcan he found gasoline soaked rags and newspaper. "You got anything?" Vecchio asked. "That was rather quick," Fraser commented. "He doesn't have many neighbors and the couple that were around weren't in any shape to hold a conversation," he nodded towards the items in Fraser's hands. "What's all that?" "Apparently Mr. Jackson had a slight accident with some lighter fluid. There's an empty can and newspaper and rags covered in the smell. From what I can gather, he spilled the can and wiped up the fluid with the rags and newspaper." Vecchio crouched next to the Mountie and looked over the possible evidence. "You noticed what paper that is?" "A daily racing form," Fraser replied. "Today's daily form," Vecchio answered opening the paper and scanning the columns. "And it looks like he has a couple of bets on tonight's races." *** "I'll only be a few minutes," Fraser said as he, Vecchio and Dief entered the apartment. They decided if they wanted to surprise Jackson it would be easier to accomplish without a uniformed Mountie. "If you would like anything to drink, help yourself," Fraser added. "I'm good for now," Vecchio replied, leaning against the back of the couch. "You go get ready, and I'll wait here." Fraser watched his friend for a moment more, taking in his stiffness, his obvious slightly agitated state. With nod and a nervous thumbing of his left eyebrow, Fraser retreated to the bedroom to change clothes. Vecchio tried not to move. He tried to stay still and wait, but something pushed him to walk around the room and look. There were no obvious signs. Nothing that screamed more was going on in this apartment than met the eye. He was about to sit down and finish waiting for Fraser when he noticed the Mountie's sketchpad sitting on the desk. In all the years he had known Fraser, he had never paid attention to the pad, but for some unknown reason he couldn't keep himself from opening it. He glanced through the sketches of the snow and mountains, a few of Dief and sled dogs. Then he stopped. Kowalski. The detail, the softness of the face...this wasn't a sketch one friend did of another. He passed through a few more sketches to stop on the last one. Everything Vecchio had been afraid had been confirmed. A sleeping Kowalski, bare-chested, with nothing but a sheet offering cover for his hips. "Have you found what you were looking for?" Vecchio looked up from the sketch to a frowning and obviously irritated Fraser. "You need to put this somewhere where people can't see it," Vecchio replied, his own anger growing. "I see no reason to hide things in my home," Fraser replied, taking the pad from Vecchio and placing it on the coffee table. "We don't usually have people snooping around in our belongings." "We don't have time for this right now, Benny. We have to get to the racetrack," Vecchio told him. "We'll settle this matter when this case is over." "There's nothing to settle." "The hell there's not!" Vecchio exclaimed angrily. "Do you realize what people will say if they find out?!" "Yes, I am. Ray and I are very aware of the responses of others. That's why we have kept the relationship secret." Vecchio snorted and shook his head in disbelief. "Relationship." Fraser's eyes narrowed. "That's exactly what this is...it's a relationship." "You really look at it like that," the detective realized. "Jesus, Benny...okay. Like I said, once this case is over we'll take care of this." "There is nothing to take care of." Vecchio ignored him and continued talking, "I'll talk to Louisa and get a listing of apartments..." "I have a home, Ray." The detective shook his head in disbelief. "What the hell did Kowalski do to you?" "He showed me friendship, respect, loyalty..." "So he was nice to you!" Vecchio yelled. "The guy is nice to you, so you start sleeping with him?! That's crazy!" Green eyes narrowed in accusation. "Were you sleeping with him while he was using my name?" "What difference does that make?" "It makes a hell of a lot of difference to my reputation!" he exclaimed angrily. "Kowalski had no right fucking up my reputation!" "Ray protected your reputation!" Fraser replied, his own anger rising. "He put his life on the line for your family; he risked his own career, he risked his own life to protect your damn reputation! Reread the files, and see how many citations Ray Vecchio received thanks to Ray Kowalski!" "Were you two fucking when he was posing as me?!" Vecchio demanded, needing to know. Fraser took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "The sexual aspect of our relationship did not begin until after you arrived in Canada. Although every other component had been in place for quite some time." Vecchio ran a hand over his face and shook his head in disbelief. "I suppose this is partly my fault. I left without a word. You came back to Chicago, alone and lonely and along came Stanley, sizing up an opportunity." "Ray has shown me nothing but respect and friendship," Fraser said coolly. "I shouldn't be surprised about him. The hair, the bracelet, the tight jeans," Vecchio said in disgust. "And what do those things equal, Ray?" Fraser demanded. "One would think as a police officer you would know better than to rely on such circumstantial evidence. Need I remind you that Ray was involved with Stella Kowalski for most of his life, while I have never married." "Exactly," Vecchio replied. "He chose a strong woman..." "Listen to yourself, Ray!" Fraser ordered. "This isn't like you." "And it isn't like you to be sleeping with a man! I know Victoria screwed you over and up, but..." "This has nothing to do with Victoria." "Really? I think it has a lot to do with it...you don't see it, but Victoria and Stanley are a lot alike. He's using you just like she did, and he's going to ruin you just like she tried to do." This time Vecchio didn't miss Fraser's anger, and found himself taking a step back as the Mountie stepped towards him. "If you ever say anything like that again, our friendship is over," Fraser warned. "Ray Kowalski is nothing like Victoria. He is good and kind, and he spent over a year protecting your name and reputation." Vecchio's cell phone rang. "Vecchio....Yeah, Elaine. We're on our way," he put the phone back in his pocket. "We're late. Elaine, Huey and Dewey are waiting at the racetrack." "Then let's go," Fraser ordered. He put on his Stetson and led Vecchio and Dief into the hallway. They left the apartment building and climbed into the Riviera. They drove in silence for several minutes, before Vecchio broke the tense silence. "You'll see that I'm right." "And you'll see that while I care about our friendship, there is no way in hell I'm going to change my mind or my feelings." "Have you considered your job? What's Thatcher going to say...what about Welsh when he finds out about Kowalski?" Fraser felt a cruel satisfaction when he said, "They both know and they both accept our relationship." "Welsh really did know?!" Vecchio exclaimed in disbelief. "He's known for awhile now, and he has no problem with it." "Yeah, well other cops may not be so accepting," was the angry reply. "Kowalski will find that out when he's in trouble and back-up is slow to respond." Vecchio could feel the cold anger radiating from the man next to him and quickly added, "I would never do that, but those things happen." "Ray and I are very aware of the problems and dangers we are facing," Fraser assured him. Vecchio drove in silence for a few minutes, his irritation growing. By the time they arrived at the racetrack, he was fuming. "This isn't over, Benny. Stanley isn't going to get away with this." Fraser opened the door, but did not get out. Instead he turned in his seat and glowered at Vecchio. "I'm warning you now. You will not pursue this with Ray. He has enough on his mind, and you will not add to it. Do I make myself clear?" "Sure, Benny. Why not? I'll leave your boyfriend alone. In fact, I'll be more than happy to never see his face again!" With that they slammed their doors and made their way to the racetrack. *** Frederick Morton was an imposing figure, tall and burly, dressed in an expensive three-piece suit. He had held the rapt attention of the crowd that filled the medium-sized community hall as he warned of the dangers of immorality and the need to keep the immoral away from their children. Easy to preach the converted, Ray thought as he watched Morton schmooze. The speech had been met with rapt applause, and now Morton wandered through the few remaining supporters. Ray overheard Morton mention Simmons' name and listened carefully. "I know what I'm talking about friends," Morton told the people. "My family has suffered because of the immorality of homosexuals. They pulled him into their web of their perversion and he had only one way to be free of them...he took his own life. Now the person who is responsible for my son's fall from morality and his death, Robert Simmons, is running for political office. Is that what we want? To give that abomination the power to make the laws that affect our children?" "What do you think?" Jack Crawford asked, slipping into the empty seat beside Ray's. "Crowd liked him," he replied. "Why wouldn't they? He speaks the truth. I made sure of it." "Yeah, you said something like that earlier. You running everything, now?" Ray asked curiously. Crawford shrugged dismissively, "Let's just say that without me, Frederick would still be standing on street corners, handing out flyers." "I heard him mentioning Simmons. It seems like he has it in for the guy," Ray commented. "That faggot destroyed his family," Crawford said angrily. "Who can blame him for wanting to see Simmons with nothing?" "A lot of people wouldn't," Ray agreed, watching the last few supporters exiting the room, leaving him alone with Morton and Crawford. "So, Morton would like to destroy Simmons, huh?" Ray asked, watching as the last supporter left the room. "Morton's ready to met with you," Crawford told him, rising to his feet. Ray stood and followed the other man towards Morton. "Ray Gardner," Morton said, his gray eyes regarding the slender blond closely. "How are you, Mr. Morton?" he asked. "I'm doing fine. Jack was telling me that you were in Texas," Morton told him. "Yeah, but I started to miss Chicago." Ray did not miss the look that passed between the two men, but he didn't have time to react before he felt Crawford push a gun into his back. "What the hell is this?" Morton gave him a pleasant smile and answered, "Payback time, Detective Kowalski." *** "I'm telling you, I didn't do anything." "So why'd you run?" Vecchio asked. "Cause you were running towards me," P.J. Jackson snapped. The young ex-hockey player sat hunched in the interrogation room chair. At one time he might have been handsome, but years of drug use and months of living too close to the street left his brown eyes dull, his fair skin with pallor and his once muscular and well-toned body, emaciated. He started proclaiming his innocence after a fifteen-minute chase through the racetrack that ended when Fraser tackled him into an open horse trailer and Vecchio snapped the cuffs on him. "Let's make this easy," Vecchio suggested. "Tell us why you set fire to Simmons' campaign headquarters." "I don't know what you're talking about." "We found lighter fluid in your bathroom," Fraser told him. Jackson shrugged. "I was trying to fill my lighter." "We talked to Mahoney," Vecchio informed him. "We know what you've been up to." "You stole his ring from the 1998 season," Fraser said. "You can't prove that," Jackson argued. "We found its box in your motel room," Fraser answered. A slight frown momentarily crossed the young man's face, but disappeared as he snapped, "That doesn't mean I set fire to anything." Fraser nodded. "True. Except for the fact that we found the ring in the debris of Mr. Simmons' campaign headquarters." Vecchio leaned menacingly over the man and snarled, "We got you, Jackson. Now, you better start talking." Fraser asked, "You were blackmailing Mr. Mahoney, but what purpose did it serve to set fire to Mr. Simmons' campaign headquarters?" "You wanted to get revenge on Mahoney?" Vecchio asked. "No!" Jackson exclaimed angrily. "Mark was willing to help me..." "But he was going to stop giving you money," Vecchio reminded him and shrugged. "Okay, maybe that's not it. Maybe you were jealous of his boyfriend? You hated Simmons." "NO!" Jackson yelled, slamming his fists on the table. "I didn't have a choice!" "We all have choices in this life," Vecchio told him and glanced at Fraser. "Some are better than others, though." Jackson ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. "If I tell you, I'm dead." "If you don't you're going to prison for a long time." "You could be charged with arson and attempted murder. Add to this the fact Mr. Simmons is homosexual; you can be charged with a hate crime," Fraser informed the young man. "And that's not good," Vecchio added. "You just added twenty maybe thirty years to your sentence. Now if you cooperate, maybe we can put in a good word with the D.A.'s office." "Fuck," Jackson moaned. "Yeah, you are," Vecchio agreed. For a few minutes the room was quiet as Jackson thought over his options. Finally, he gave a reluctant nod. "I owed someone. If I didn't do it, they were going to kill me." "Who? Give us a name," Vecchio instructed. "Guy named Jack Crawford. He came to me a couple of months ago. I was really bad off. Mark had told me no more money, unless I was willing to get help. I'd gotten into some trouble with a bookie, and he wanted his money pronto. Crawford told me he'd help me out...get me what I needed. I just needed to do him a favor." "Like going after Mahoney and Simmons?" Vecchio asked. He nodded. "Crawford wanted me to leak information about Mahoney to the press...I told him no, at first, but I was desperate," he explained, his brown eyes seeking their understanding. "I needed that money." "But you didn't go to the press," Fraser said. "Instead, you took Mr. Crawford's idea and used it to blackmail Mr. Mahoney." "I figured I could get money from Mahoney and Crawford, and I'd be protecting Mark," he explained, as if it made all the sense in the world. "You'd protect him by not going to the press, but you'd still blackmail him and threaten to go to the press," Vecchio scorned. "Oh yeah, you were being a great friend." "What happened when Mr. Jackson realized you weren't going to the papers?" Fraser asked. "He came after me. I kept hidden for about a month, but he was able to track me down. He was with this other guy, called him Nick, big motherfucker. He messed me up a little, then told me if I didn't want my body floating in the lake, I'd make sure I followed his orders. He told me to set fire to Simmons' headquarters, with Simmons inside. I couldn't do it, though..." "So, you waited until no one was inside and set it on fire," Fraser said. "Yeah." "Have you seen Jack Crawford since the fire?" Jackson nodded. "He found me earlier today...he was furious about the fire, but he offered one more chance, and this time he'd be there with me to make sure I didn't fuck it up." "What's the job?" "He wants me to help him pay back a traitor..." "What time are you supposed to meet him?" Vecchio asked. "Ten o'clock, tonight." "Where you planning on showing?" "He told me I better show up, or he'd kill me," Jackson told them. "I didn't want to, but I know he will. He's willing to kill a cop, why wouldn't he kill me?" Fraser immediately moved from his place by the wall and advanced on the young man. "What cop?" Jackson shrunk away from the glaring man. "I don't know. He said he owed this guy and was going to show him no one betrays the brotherhood." Fraser slammed his fist against the table causing both Vecchio and Jackson to jump. "We have to find Ray," he ordered Vecchio and demanded from Jackson, "Where are you supposed to meet Mr. Crawford?" "At The Breakaway..." Fraser headed out the door and started down the hallway; he was stopped by Vecchio's hand on his arm. He turned around and pulled himself away from his former partner. "There isn't time to argue about this!" "So you're going to play the hero and charge in there all by yourself and maybe get yourself killed?" "If I have to," Fraser replied matter-of-factly. "Yeah, and you might just get Kowalski killed too," Vecchio reminded him. "Think a minute, Benny!" Fraser's eyes narrowed and he answered in a low dangerous voice, "I am. I'm thinking it might be in your interest if Ray is harmed." "Fuck you, Benny!" he yelled, causing passerbys to turn. He lowered his voice. "What is it about you and love? Every time you claim you're in love, you lose your brain and let your dick rule you." In deathly silence, Fraser turned his back on the other man and made his way out of the building. He had gone about two blocks when Vecchio's Riv pulled up beside him. "You forgot your wolf," Vecchio told him, pointing towards Dief in the backseat. "Come on, Benny. You'll get there quicker in a car." Wordlessly, Fraser climbed into the car. In continuing silence, they drove to The Breakaway. *** Ray stumbled out of Crawford's car trunk, his sight blurred from the blood that dripped from a gash above his right eye. His left eye was already swelling shut, leaving him practically blinded. Those were only two of the numerous injuries that covered his body. He would have fallen long before now, if Crawford hadn't maintained a strong hold on his arm. Get labeled a traitor and people beat the living crap out of you. Silently, Ray cursed himself for his stupidity. He walked right into it and didn't even realize it. With Crawford's gun in his back, he was led out of the community hall, to an empty lot, where a man Ray did not recognize waited. They proceeded to let him know their opinions of traitors. When they had finished the beating, they threw Ray into the trunk of Crawford's car. Now, he was being led into Mahoney's restaurant. "Everything set?" Crawford asked. "Just about," Nick answered. "Mr. Hockey Star tried to cause some problems, but he's behaving himself now," he glanced at Ray and made a 'tsking' noise. "I thought you were one of us Ray." "Not in this lifetime," Ray shot back, turning towards Simmons and Mahoney who were seated at a table. Simmons held a cloth to his husband's bleeding temple. "Are you two okay?" Simmons nodded, "Mark tried to stop him and he hit him with his gun. Are you alright?" Ray nodded, causing more pain to his head. "I'm still standing." "Barely," Nick sneered. "Looks like you're not bruise free," Ray pointed out, bringing everyone's attention to the bruise on the big man's jaw. "The faggot put up a pretty good fight," Nick laughed. "Guess he's the man in the relationship." "More of a man than you'll ever be!" Mahoney replied angrily, getting to his feet. "Mark, no!" Simmons implored, grabbing his husband's arm and trying to pull back into his seat. "Yeah, listen to your girlfriend," Nick snickered. Mahoney lunged at Nick, but was quickly knocked down by the butt of Nick's gun. As the ex-hockey player fell to his knees, Ray and Simmons moved to his side. They carefully sat the unconscious man back in his chair. "I hate to sound like a cliche," Ray said turning back to Crawford and Nick, "but you aren't getting away with this." "I think we will," Crawford assured him. "You see the CPD has a suspect in the Simmons' fire, P.J. Jackson. And when he realized he failed to kill Mr. Simmons, he tried again. Only this time, there are three of you in the fire." "You're crazy!" Simmons exclaimed. Jackson smiled. "I believe in my cause, Mr. Simmons...ridding the world of disease like you." "So what do you get out of this?" Ray asked Nick. "The satisfaction of knowing faggots like that are off the street." "And assholes like you are all over them?" was Ray's cold response. Ray felt a sharp pain as Nick's fist landed on his jaw. He responded with an elbow to the larger man's gut, but he was too weak to follow it with another punch. Instead, he was slammed face first into metal post and crumbled to the ground. As he lay in momentary peaceful oblivion, thinking that he might just stay there for the rest of the night, a movement from the kitchen doorway caught his attention. The cavalry. He thumbed his nose in acknowledgement and gave a slight nod at Fraser's answering gesture. "Nick, go get the gasoline and rope." Ray tried to shake off the pain and reason with Crawford, "You really don't think you'll get away with this, do you?" "I don't see why not." "Cause the police are already watching Jackson," Ray replied, getting to his feet and leaning against the pole. "Once they have him in custody, he'll talk." "It won't matter, Detective, because in less than an hour he'll be dead," Crawford grinned. "Everyone bought Paul Morton's suicide...and just like with him, all the evidence will point to suicide. You see, now that Jackson has killed all three of you, he knows he won't escape...and he will do the only thing he can...throw himself from the bridge into Lake Michigan." "You son-of-a-bitch!" said Simmons and jumped to his feet. "You killed that boy!" Crawford nodded in agreement and pointed his gun in the politician's direction, "Yeah, I did, and I don't have a problem with killing you." "Leave him alone, motherfucker!" Mahoney ordered, trying to get to his feet. Ray knew he had too do something, now, before someone got shot. He took the opportunity of distraction to lunge for Crawford. *** Before Ray came to a complete stop, Fraser had jumped from the Riv. He quickly made his way to The Breakaway's entrance and wasn't surprised to find the door locked. The blinds were drawn, blocking his view of the interior. "See anything?" Vecchio whispered, stepping up behind the Mountie. Fraser shook his head. "Back?" Vecchio asked. Fraser nodded. They found the back door locked, but it took only a few minutes for Vecchio to pick the lock and head inside. As they entered the kitchen, a loud cry sounded from the dining area. Fraser recognized his partner's voice and automatically started towards the other room. For the second time that day, Vecchio stopped him. And, for the second time that day, Fraser pulled away and glared at his best friend. Silently, he moved towards the doorway. Standing in the shadows he scrutinized the scene before him. His heart tightened as he saw his partner laying on the floor, in obvious pain and with blood running down his face. As Ray thumbed his nose, Fraser released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. They would get through this. He thumbed his own nose, in response and heard Crawford say, "Nick, go get the gasoline and rope." Fraser stepped back into the shadow and motioned for both Vecchio and Dief to hide. A moment later, the heavyset bartender, entered the kitchen and found himself grabbed from behind, a knife at his throat. "Don't say a word," Fraser growled into the ear of the man who had helped injure his partner. The man nodded and found himself forced against a wall in the restaurant's back alley. He began to move, but was pushed and held in place by the knife against his neck. "Back off, Benny," Vecchio ordered, advancing on the two men, with his gun in hand. "If you have seriously harmed my partner, you will live to regret it," Fraser growled. Vecchio watched in disbelief, trying to think if he had ever seen his best friend quite so angry, so ready to harm. He said the only thing he could think of to break through the anger, "Benny! We need to get back inside to Kowalski!" That was all it took. Fraser handed the man over to Vecchio and disappeared back into the restaurant, where Dief was keeping watch. Simultaneously, he heard the wolf growl and Simmons shouting. He reached the doorway just as Ray launched himself at Jack Crawford. As both men landed on the ground, Ray on the bottom and Crawford on top, Crawford's gun fired. "Ray!" Fraser yelled, rushing into the dining room towards the two still figures. "Not me," the blond detective mumbled, pushing a seriously injured Crawford off of him. Fraser knelt beside his partner and took in his battered face and bloodied shirt. Carefully, the injured detective sat up. "I called backup, but it doesn't look like we'll need it," Vecchio said, entering the room and taking in the scene. He asked Simmons and Mahoney, "You two, okay?" Simmons nodded and laid his head against his husband's. "He killed Paul Morton...he was going to kill us." "You have to get Frederick Morton and P.J. Jackson..." Ray said, his voice tight with pain. "Huey and Dewey are taking care of Morton, and Jackson is already in custody," Vecchio replied, his green eyes hardening as he watched Fraser holding Kowalski. "Cops will be here in a minute, Benny. You better get a hold of yourself, and your hold off Stanley." Ray might have been injured and in pain, but he was alert enough to catch the coldness in Vecchio's tone. "What the fuck does that mean?" "Nothing, Ray," Fraser assured him gently, while glowering at the Italian detective. "Just take it easy." With a shake of his head, Vecchio said, "I'm going outside to wait for Welsh." Ray watched Vecchio walk away and asked, "What the hell is going on?" "I'll explain everything later," Fraser told him, not missing the knowing glance of Robert Simmons as he held his husband. *** "I don't need to stay here," Ray argued, trying to sit up on the bed. "Will you please be patient and wait for the doctor?" Fraser asked, gently urging his lover back down on the hospital bed. "Why? My ribs are taped...my head is stitched...I'm good to go!" "Not until the doctor gives the okay," the Mountie stated stubbornly. "I will tie you to this bed, if I have to." That brought a playful smile to Ray's face. "Promise?" Fraser smiled and shook his head in disbelief. "Only you, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, would be ready to partake in sexual activity after having the 'crap beat out of you'." Ray laughed and ran a hand along his partner's forearm. "I don't think I ever heard 'partake' and 'crap beat out of' in the same sentence before. I think I like it." Fraser's expression abruptly turned serious. "I've missed you, Ray." "I'm fine, Ben," he whispered. "A little bruised, but still raring to go." "Are you sure?" Ray showed him how sure he was when he pulled the Mountie's dark head down and kissed him. Fraser eagerly responded and pulled his lover's lean body against his own. Someone clearing his throat brought the two men apart. "Sorry to interrupt," Mark Mahoney said, the grin on his face telling them he wasn't sorry at all. Fraser reddened in embarrassment and Ray asked, "How's the head?" Mahoney touched the bandage that adorned his forehead. "I've had worse playing hockey. What about you?" Ray mimicked the dark hair man's movements and touched his bandage. "Had worse boxing." "Are you all right, Mr. Simmons?" Fraser asked. The blond nodded and tightened his hold on his husband's arm. "I think I'll have nightmares for a few weeks, but we'll be okay. Has there been any word on Mr. Crawford?" "Not yet." "I hope he dies on the table," Mahoney told them angrily. "The bastard deserves it for everything he's done." "Mark!" Simmons reprimanded. "Sorry, baby, but that's the way I feel," he replied. "The doctor's given me the go, so we're heading home...if we can get past the press." "I wish mine would get back here and do the same," Ray complained and provided Fraser with a mock-glare. "Otherwise, he won't let me out of here." "I know how you feel," Mahoney admitted. "Robbie gets overprotective, too...you know after you left the house the first time Robbie said he thought the two of you were together." "I said I thought they should be," Simmons corrected. "How long have you been together?" "A couple of months," Ray said, "but we plan on breaking your record." Mahoney glanced at his husband who nodded in encouragement. "Look, you don't really know us, and you might not need anything, but we've been through the fire when it comes to a gay relationship. And, I've been through it all handling being gay in a career where it isn't the best thing..." "If you ever need someone to talk to, please feel free to call us," Simmons interrupted. Fraser and Ray exchanged a surprise glance then smiled at each before turning the smiles to the two men. "Thank you," Fraser told them. "Yeah, we might take you up on the offer." The door opened and Vecchio entered. As he took in the four men, his green eyes hardened. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, his tone letting them know he wasn't sorry in the least. "We should be getting home," Simmons said. "Detective Besbriss is right outside. She'll make sure you get home okay," Vecchio told them. "But before you go, you might want to know that Jack Crawford died on the operating table." "What about Frederick Morton?" He's in custody and being charged with kidnapping and attempted murder," the Italian detective said. "Course, he's denying he had anything to do with it." "There's evidence against him, though," Simmons stated. "Not yet." "What about P.J.?" Mahoney asked. "He never met with Morton." "Are you saying that man is going to walk?!" Simmons asked in disbelief. "Nope," Ray assured him. "Morton was there when Crawford took me. He knew what was going done. The bastard's going nowhere except back to prison." Simmons sighed in relief and nodded, "Thank you, Detective." The two men left the room. "Benny, can you go introduce them to Elaine?" Vecchio asked, his green eyes focused on Ray. "I don't think..." "Go ahead, Fraser," Ray told him. "And, can you find out where my doctor went? I'm ready to go home." "All right, but I'll be right back," Fraser agreed, his blue eyes warning Vecchio. "I guess he told you, huh?" Ray said when they were alone. "I put the clues together and came up with this shit," Vecchio replied coldly. "I guess you're not taking it very well," Ray commented dryly. "It's bullshit, Stanley," he told the man. "And, it has to end." "Or what? You going to turn your back on Fraser?" Ray demanded, struggling to his feet. "You going to run off, without a word? Well, you already did that Vecchio!" Ray took a threatening step toward the man who had once worn his name. "Oh no, I'm not going anywhere, but if you were any kind of a man you would. You'd transfer yourself out of the 27th and leave Benny alone!" "I love him, Vecchio, and more than that he loves me!" For the last time that night, Ray Kowalski was punched. This time, though, he was ready and pulled back in time to avoid the full force of Vecchio's fist. Vecchio, however, was not prepared for Ray's punch. The Italian detective staggered back and raised his hand to his jaw. "Lucky punch," he spat. "Yeah? Come at me again, and I'll show you how lucky I can be!" Ray promised, setting himself into a fighter's stance. Vecchio glared at the other man, but didn't advance. "You're going to ruin him." "I'm going to love him and show him how wonderful he is, and not you, the Ice Queen, my brother, my father, or anyone else in this world is going to stop me!" Ray vowed. "The only way I'll let him go is if he looks me in the eye and tells me he wants me to leave." "And that will never happen, Ray Kowalski." Both men turned to the Mountie standing in the doorway, Dief by his side. "Benny..." "I'm not leaving him," Fraser told his friend. "And you will not force us apart." Vecchio saw the resolve in the Mountie's eyes and gave a resigned sigh, "I'm going home." "I think that's for the best," Fraser agreed. Vecchio stopped in the doorway and glanced back at his best friend. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?" "You know where to find me." The door closed behind the detective, and Ray collapsed onto the bed. "Jesus, Fraser, I'm sorry..." "Don't you dare!" Fraser ordered, sitting beside his lover and taking his hand in his own. "You have nothing to apologize for." "He's your best friend..." "And you are my..." he smiled mischievously. "My cupcake." "Cupcake, huh?" Ray asked, eyes shining with humor. "Hmm," Fraser reached over and kissed his partner. "And, now that you have the doctor's permission to leave, I think I'll have to take my cupcake home." "Oh yeah, and your cupcake's got a tasty filling to satisfy your hunger." Fraser smiled. "I am glad I have a healthy appetite." "You and me both, Benton-buddy, you and me both."