PURITY Title: Purity Author: Welmach. Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski. Rating: Adult. Disclaimer: I don't own the main ones. Alliance does. Feedback: Is most welcomed. Notes: Thanks galore to the Alison and Magnes. They spent more time on this story than me. Better beta readers I could not find. A special thank you to Linda who kept nagging me to finish. Spoilers: Set between "Hunting Season" and COTW. Minor spoilers for "Good for the Soul" and MOTB. The kid was maybe fifteen years old, sixteen tops. He should have been home doing homework, playing video games. Anyplace except dead in an alleyway. "What do we have, Vecchio?" "Same M.O. as the kid from last night." I looked up at Welsh in time to see a look of revulsion cross that bulldog face. Didn't blame him; I felt like throwing up myself. The kid had been strangled, and there was evidence of a struggle from where his face had been bashed into the brick wall. A piece of paper had been shoved into his mouth; written on it in red ink was the word: PURITY. He was the second person to be killed that way, the second person in thirty-six hours. "Do we have I.D.?" "Kenneth Anderson." His wallet had been left in his pocket with his driver's license, school I.D. and forty dollars. "He's a junior at Ridgewood Prep...he was a junior. Quite a switch from Randy Keegan." Randy Keegan, the first victim, had been a prostitute with a rap sheet a mile long. It was cold and wet. The December sleet beat down on us. Welsh was bundled up in a heavy coat with an umbrella that protected him from the weather. Me, I was already soaked through and long past the shivering stage. And Kenneth Anderson, well he didn't have to worry about the weather anymore. "I don't like what I'm thinking," Welsh said. "Me neither, boss." Welsh shook his head and sighed. "Go home, get a shower and get some food in you." "Can't go home, yet," I told him and watched as a crew from the coroner's office entered the alley. "You know, just like me, that if we got a serial killer we gotta act now." I followed Welsh out of the alley and listened to him, trying to hide the worry in his voice. "You pulled a double today and you look like you haven't slept in days. I don't need you getting sick with the flu like everyone else." "I just need some coffee and a shower," I argued. "I can get both at the station." Welsh shook his head, looking frustrated. He knew it was useless to argue with me, cause he knew I was right. Who were we going to trust with this case? Most of the station was sick or overworked because of the flu. "All right, you do that," he relented, "and I'll contact the boy's family." "I can do that..." I pointed out. "I know you can, Detective, but I can get the process rollin' before I have to head over to the Monteleon." Now that surprised me. "Why are you going there?" Welsh gave an embarrassed mumbled response. "What was that?" I asked. "I'm giving a talk on the everyday workings of an American squad room," he repeated. For the first time in what felt like forever, I smiled. "You're jokin'." "You find that funny, Detective?" "No sir," I lied. "So what happened? The real speaker got the flu?" "Yeah, he did," Welsh admitted, "and Inspector Thatcher needed a replacement." The Canadian Consulate was hosting a conference for RCMP recruits on the relationship between the RCMP and an American city police force. Because Thatcher had helped develop the conference, Chicago was the host city. Now, red serge filled the streets and I hadn't seen Fraser in nearly two weeks. Welsh walked with me to the GTO. "Oh man, Vecchio. I'd rather be stuck in a hotel with Mounties than be in your shoes when Fraser gets a load of this." The load was a huge white wolf crashed in the back seat with an empty box of donuts by his head. "It's not what it looks like," I defended myself. "Tell that to the Mountie." *** I stood outside the morgue, cringing at the sobs of Kenneth Anderson's parents. Jesus, I hated this part of the job, watching innocent people in pain. Times like this I really wanted Fraser with me; he was much better at dealing with people's grief. The doors opened and the Andersons walked out. Mrs. Anderson, a small, dark-haired woman held the arm of her husband; the man was sobbing uncontrollably. Nervously, I cleared my throat. "Mr...Mrs. Anderson. I'm Detective Vecchio. I'm investigating Kenneth's death." "Murder, you mean," Mrs. Anderson replied coldly. "Yes, m'am." "Do you have any idea who did this?" "No m'am, not yet, but we have some leads we're looking into." I gave the standard response and hated myself for it. "I was hopin' you might be able to give me some information." "Do you feel up to this?" she gently asked her husband. He nodded wordlessly and they followed me to an empty interrogation room. "Can I get you coffee or somethin'?" "No thank you." I sat across from the mourning couple and opened my notepad. "You live in Northbrook. What was Kenneth doin' in the city?" "Kenneth is a member of the Union Jacks," Mrs. Anderson told me and took a deep breath. "He was a member." "Union Jacks? What's that?" Mr. Anderson, his tears having finally subsided, replied, "It's a group of young people who have a parent or parents who are Canadian." "So you're Canadian?" "I am," Mrs. Anderson corrected. I should have guessed from the stoic demeanor she was showing. Not once had she cried. Instead, she performed the duty that was before her: helping the police in finding her son's killer. Just like another Canadian I knew. "The group was in the city?" I asked. "Yes. They met to attend the conference at the Monteleon," she explained. "It was a chance to become familiar with Canadian laws and culture." One of my hunches slapped me in the face. "Does this group, the Union Jacks, does it have a relationship with the Canadian Consulate, here in Chicago?" "I suppose you could call it that," Mrs. Anderson said. "The group is often invited to different functions the Consulate might be hosting." I continued to ask the couple questions about their son. Did they know why he had gone into the city by himself? No. Did he have anyone he might have gone to see? Not that they knew about. Had he ever done anything like this before? Not to their knowledge. After nearly an hour, I once again offered my condolences to the Andersons and promised I would let them know as soon as I had any information. *** Constable Benton Fraser. The only person I know who actually takes notes at conferences. He was sitting tall, like a good little Mountie, and scribbling down notes as Welsh talked away to the group. Welsh of all people. Like he couldn't just ask the guy to give him a copy of whatever he was reading. Of course with Fraser's perfect brain, he could probably repeat everything Welsh had said a year from now. "So, in conclusion, in many ways, the running of a squad room is the same as running a family..." Welsh ended his speech and applause sounded. Several hands were raised to ask questions and make comments. I listened with half an ear, more interested in watching Fraser. It had been too long since I had laid eyes on him. I noticed he sat even taller in the chair, if that was possible and tugged at his collar. Oh-oh, not good. I followed his line of sight to the tall, robust-looking Mountie who had gotten to his feet. "I would like to know about the problems American police departments have with police brutality. We hear many stories about officers assaulting and even murdering suspects." "It's always unfortunate when cases like that occur," Welsh replied. "All we can do is handle the situation as quickly and efficiently as possible. That's one reason Internal Affairs exists, to make sure that such incidents do not happen. However, I want to add that the good cops outweigh the bad ones." "Would you agree with me, Lieutenant, that one reason for the abuse of American police officers is that they are taught to rely on the physical instead of the mental?" challenged the Mountie. "They want to be Dirty Harry." I stiffened and shoved my hands down into my jacket pockets. At that moment, Fraser turned around and looked at me. I called it his weird-Polish-flatfoot-with spiky hair-seventh sense. He watched me, and I knew he was taking in my posture, my exhaustion, me. Just that look caused the tension to leave me. Only when I returned his gaze and relaxed did he turn away. "Actually," Welsh corrected, "I think that's the perception others have of us. The police officers I work with are honest and hardworking" The Ice Queen must've been getting antsy, because before any other questions could be asked, she pushed her way past Welsh. "That's all the time we have for questions. I want to thank Lieutenant Harding Welsh from the 27th Precinct for speaking to us." With a final round of applause, the group began to disperse. Fraser made his way over to me. "Who was that asshole, Fraser?" He winced at what he calls my 'too colorful language'. "Inspector Gordon is stationed in Toronto, Ray. He is in charge of recruitment." "He's an asshole, that's what he is," I repeated ignoring the disapproving look I got from passing Mounties. A thumb rubbed his eyebrow. "Yes, you've made that clear." "Not me, Frase. He made it clear on his own," I ranted. "What does he mean, we all want to be Dirty Harry?" "Ray." "I can show him Dirty Harry..." "Ray..." "Five minutes..." "RAY!" I stopped. "Yeah, Frase?" "What are you doing here?" I smiled teasingly. "What? You ain't happy to see me?" Oh yeah, the nervous tug on the collar and a clearing of the throat. "Of course I am." "I bet you are. All these Mounties could give a guy the heebie-jeebies." "Heebie-jeebies?" "Yeah, you know..." I gave a shudder for effect "Freak a guy a little, all that red." Guess I freaked my Mountie with that move. A lick of the bottom lip and tug at the collar was all he could manage. "You okay, Frase?" "Yes, Ray," he replied, and nodded in greeting to passing Mounties. "And all that politeness. You guys just can't help it..." Oh, shit! I gave a quick shake of my head. "Is something wrong, Ray?" "Wrong? Nope," I said, quickly changing the subject. "You know, it's a shame Maggie couldn't be here for this Mountie thing." "She's not a recruit, Ray." "Right." I shook my head again. "Ray?" "Huh?" Fraser turned. "Diefenbaker!" There, right inside the door, sat Dief, with an innocent Canadian wolf look and the remains of a blueberry pie on his muzzle. Good thing, the Ice Queen didn't catch him at the Vienna table. Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously and turned back to me, as I tried to give him my innocent Chicago cop look. "Ray..." Prissy Mountie was present, but before he could go into full mode, Welsh interrupted. "What are you doing here, Detective?" "Need to see you about the Anderson case, Lieu." "And you couldn't call me?" "Not about this, and Fraser needs to hear it too," I explained. "Kenneth Anderson was last seen here." "Where?" Welsh asked. "Here, in Mountieville," I replied, handing a photograph to Fraser. "You remember seeing this kid here, yesterday?" "Kenneth Anderson," Fraser said. "He was here." "You know him?" Welsh asked. "Yes, sir. Kenneth is a member of the Union Jacks," he replied, handing back the photo. "What is this about, Ray?" "He was murdered last night," I told him and gave him a photo of Randy Keegan. "Do you recognize him?" Fraser examined the corpse's face. "I'm afraid not. So Kenneth was strangled as well?" "How'd you know?" "The corpse has marks on his neck, indicating strangulation. Since you are showing me his photo in relation with Kenn..." "Got ya," I stopped him. "Yep, the murders have the same M.O., but I don't have anything to connect the two victims." "Lieutenant Welsh," Inspector Gordon interrupted. "A very entertaining presentation." Welsh gave him a cold look. "Glad I could keep you entertained, Inspector." The Ice Queen was on the ball again and stepped between the two men. "Lieutenant Welsh, we will be having dinner in," she glanced at her watch, "exactly fifty-three minutes. I do hope you will joining us." "Thank you for the invitation, Inspector." "We extend the invitation to all our speakers," Gordon assured him and turned to speak to a young constable who stopped by his side. "I'm afraid we don't have an invitation for you, Detective Vecchio," Thatcher sounded anything but sorry. "I ain't stayin'," I assured her. Fraser cleared his throat. "Detective Vecchio is here regarding a case, sir." "Ah, Detective Vecchio," Gordon turned from the constable to look me up and down. "Your unofficial partner, Constable?" "Yes, sir." I looked him up and down right back. "Didn't know I was so famous." "Infamous might be a better word, Detective," he coolly replied. "So you need the Constable's input on a case." "Detective Vecchio is quite capable of solving any investigation without my input," Fraser politely told his superior officer; too politely. "He is here because a member of the Union Jacks was murdered last night." He handed Kenneth's photo to Gordon. "If I'm not mistaken sir, you were speaking with the young man last night, as were you, Constable Lawrence." "Very briefly," the young man by Gordon's side admitted. "What were you two discussin'?" I asked him, wondering why I was getting a sense of deja vu from this guy. Either we had met before, or all Mounties were beginning to look alike. The look on his face told me he didn't like me any better than Gordon. "We were discussing why Canada surpasses the United States on many levels." "Yeah, if ya like to be around pod people," I shot back. "If you prefer to be around your own kind" he replied coldly. "Your own kind? What do you mean by that? Canadians? Mounties? Hockey fans? Cause I ain't Canadian and I like hockey, okay." "You also like Mounties, don't you, detective?" All right, you can step on my shoes, but stay the fuck off Fraser's leather boots. I moved into Lawrence's space and let it fly. "You tryin' to say something? Cause if you are, I'd be careful where you're going..." "Ray," Fraser caught me by the arm and pulled me away from Lawrence. "Are you threatening my constable?" Gordon demanded. "All right, everyone to their neutral corners and calm down!" Welsh ordered. Next up was Thatcher's sharp voice saying, "And while you do that, I'd like to know what exactly to happened Kenneth Anderson?" I took a deep breath to calm down and answered, "He was strangled." "Do you have any leads?" she demanded. "I'm working on some." "And that should make us feel secure?" Gordon asked. All right, now the guy was pissing me off. "I thought Mounties were supposed to be polite. Where the fuck were you..." "Vecchio!" Welsh warned. I shut up and stepped away from them to give myself some space and answer my ringing cell phone. "Vecchio." "It's Scottie. I heard you're looking for info on Randy Keegan." "You got it for me?" "I might." "Okay. Talk to me," I said. "Ten o'clock. The usual place," Scottie replied and hung up. I headed back towards the group in time to hear Gordon. "That is one of your best men? Disheveled, unshaven, rude..." "Dedicated, loyal and brave," Fraser added turning to me. "News, Ray?" "Might be. I gotta go, Lieu." "Sir..." I stopped him. "Frase, come here a sec." He followed me far enough away so we could talk without that jerk Gordon interrupting. "What is it, Ray?" "Look, I know what you were goin' to ask, but don't." "What do you mean, don't?" "I gotta meet a snitch. He says he has info on the murder. What I need is you to be your polite Mountie self and see if anyone around here knows anything about Kenneth Anderson. Maybe you can get somethin' out of Lawrence." Fraser got that stubborn look. He did not like this, but he knew what he had to do. "All right, Ray." "Greatness. I'll check in with you later." "Very well," he stopped and lowered his voice. "You will be careful?" "Me?" I gave him my brightest smile. "I got the wolf watchin' my back, and my natural instincts...what could go wrong?" *** I stepped out of the GTO. and glanced at Diefenbaker. "Okay, I'm goin' in. You stand guard out here. Make sure no one messes with the car." He growled and barked at me. "Don't start arguin' with me, Dief," I warned. Another bark. After several minutes of arguing and the promise of donuts, I left Dief by the car and headed for the warehouse. A strange sense of deja vu passed over me. Lake Michigan. The last time I was here Fraser and me were on the verge of ending our partnership. I shook my head in disbelief. We had come a long way. "Come on, Kowalski," I whispered, "pitter-patter." The warehouse was in virtual darkness, lit only by a few stray security lights. "Okay, Scottie, where are you?" I muttered. "I thought you prided yourself on your punctuality." A crash from the back of the building told me I wasn't alone. I pulled my gun and ran past loaded crates, only to fall over a still warm, dead body. I swore and looked down into the face of my snitch, now dead from strangulation. I didn't have time to think about calling back up. I knew one thing. Scottie was dead and his murderer was still in the warehouse. Okay, two things. I knew two things. I jumped to my feet and saw a shadowed figure moving quickly up the backstairs. I followed, taking the stairs two at a time. Where he came from, I didn't know. All I knew was I reached the top of the stairs and my head turned into a target for a 2x4. I fell to my knees and my gun flew from my hand. The 2x4 was tossed to the side and my attacker was suddenly on top of me, wrapping a cord around my throat and pulling tighter and tighter. I tried fighting, but it wasn't easy. He was bigger and in better condition. Me, I had a pounding head from the blow, and it was getting hard to breathe. "Tell me, Detective," the psycho whispered, pulling me to my feet and pushing my face into a window. The glass smashed and I found himself suspended way above Lake Michigan, my only support the hand that held the cord. "Tell me, Detective," he repeated calmly, like he was asking for the time. "Have you ever learned how to swim?" The next thing I knew I was falling into the freezing water of Lake Michigan. *** My head was killing me and I was freezing. But I was alive. Thanks to a quick thinkin', fast swimmin' wolf. One minute I was blackin' out, looking for the bright light and my grandmother's voice; the next I was being pulled out of the water and had a wolf tongue in my face. Now, nearly an hour later, I was leaning against my car watching the coroner's crew take care of Scottie's body. I was considering going home when Welsh arrived with a scowling Mountie in tow. "Why aren't you at the hospital, Vecchio?" "I'm fine, Lieu," I replied. "What are you doing here, Frase? I thought you had Mounties to take care of." "Lieutenant Welsh explained to Inspector Thatcher that he required my presence," he said, reaching out and pulling off my jacket. "What are you doin'?" "Helping you stay warm," he answered and began removing his blue coat. "Put this on, please, Ray." "You'll get cold," I argued. "I'm quite warm in my serge," he assured me, and without waiting, wrapped his coat around me. I pulled the pre-warmed, Fraser-scented wool coat around me. Almost as good as the real thing, but not quite. "What happened?" Welsh asked. "Not quite sure," I admitted. "I got here and found my snitch dead. Strangled. I went after his killer, and found myself playin' pinata with a 2 x 4. Next thing I know I'm out a window and heading towards the lake." Dief whined and looked up at me. "Yeah, yeah, and the wolf pulled me out. Tried the buddy breathing thing." "I certainly hope not," an indignant Fraser replied. I smiled at that. "Even went back in the warehouse and got my gun." "Did you get a look at your assailant?" Welsh asked. "Nope. I can tell you he was big and powerful. Held me out the fuckin' window holding me up by a cord around my neck....What are you doin', Frase?" Fraser tilted my head back with one hand and was gently stroking my throat with the other. At any other time, and without Welsh watchin', I could really get off on it. "I'm examining your injuries," he replied. "The marks on your throat are consistent with the marks on the Kenneth Anderson and Randall Keegan." "And probably matches Scotty's," I said as he moved his fingers to my injured head. "Where did you acquire the cuts on your face?" "From when he shoved my face through a window before tossing me into the lake," I told him and pulled away. "What is that?" He had pulled a tin from his pouch and was trying to put some stinking concoction on my cuts. It was so bad even Welsh backed away. "What is that, Constable?" "Don't ask," I warned. "It probably has something to do with a seal dung." "Not seal dung, Ray. Moose...." "That's it, put it away!" I ordered. "There could be infection," he warned me. "Nah. Dief cleaned my cuts when he slobbered all over my face." "And that is supposed to make me feel better?" "Well, moose dung is supposed to make me feel better, Fraser," I argued. "You're both making me ill," Welsh warned us. "Now, Detective, why don't you go to the hospital and get yourself checked out?" "Because I'm fine," I assured him. "Just tired." "Then go home right now, and get some rest," Welsh ordered. "Constable, I'm placing him under your protection. I want you to make sure he goes home, goes to bed and stays there." While Fraser was busy cracking his neck and clearing his throat, I was biting my lip to keep from smiling. Welsh seemed to catch on to what he had said and blew up. "You know what I mean, now go!!" "Hey Frase," I said as we got into the GTO. "Yes, Ray." "I think maybe he's caught on to us!" "I think that may be a strong possibility." *** Fraser drives like he dances, with no sense of rhythm. He can't feel the beat of the music, and he can't feel the thrum of the engine. You make love to both; they fuse with your soul and take you away. Well, not for Fraser. Instead, he clomps along with both. But tonight I'm too tired and in too much pain to drive. So I'm letting the Mountie take the wheel and letting myself drift off to dreamland. "Ray." I heard the distant voice. "Ray." A little louder. "Ray." I'm almost there. "RAY!" "Yeah, Frase?" I yawned and straightened in the seat, only to find my bruised body rebel against me. "We're here," he told me. "Where?" "Your apartment." I pulled myself out of the GTO and tugged his coat more tightly around me as the wind hit. "Lead on, McDuck," I instructed. "That's McDuff," he corrected, putting a supportive arm around me and leading me inside. I suppose I could have walked by myself. But I was no fool. I liked his strength, his warmth. I liked letting him lead, sometimes. So I just closed my eyes and let him tug me along, like the good little Chicago flatfoot I can be. "Shower, first," he said as soon as the apartment door closed behind us. "Huh?" That's me, a man of few words. "You need to take a hot shower," he explained, leading me into the bathroom. "You gonna join me?" I tried to leer, but it my face wouldn't work right. "I'm going to get you some hot tea," he replied, turning on the shower and finding what I'm sure was the perfect temperature. I began pulling off my t-shirt. "Tea, no; coffee, yes." Strong Mountie hands pulled the shirt over my head. "Tea will relax you." Before I could argue, he was out of the room. I considered following and arguing, but the hot steam of the shower was too tempting. I stripped off the rest of my clothes and stepped into the warm shower. Oh yeah, I might live after all. I didn't stay in there long. I was too tired and still in pain. So I dried off and pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Fraser had made himself at home. His tunic was off, the sleeves of his Henley were rolled up over his elbows, and he was making himself a cup of tea. I took a sip of the coffee he had waiting for me on the counter. Sometimes the man did listen. I settled on the couch and Dief jumped up next to me. "I'll get you some donuts tomorrow," I promised, scratching behind his ears. "He's had enough junk food, Ray," Fraser informed me. "He's getting fat." The wolf shot his head up and growled grumpily. Fraser wasn't fazed a bit. He merely pushed Dief out of the way and sat down beside me. "You know it's true. You're getting a paunch." The wolf actually raised his eyebrows at that remark and took his insulted self into the bedroom. "He did save my life, Frase," I reminded him. His jaw tightened and his tone was tense as he said, "I am well aware of that, Ray." "What? You're not happy he did?" I teased. "Of course I am." But something was wrong. "What is it?" A thumb across his eyebrow, and then he looked at me. "I should have been there, Ray." "That's it?" I laughed. Big mistake. "What do you mean, that's it?" he demanded. "Jeeze, Fraser. You had your Mountie duty to do," I reminded him. His blue eyes clouded over. "My duty? Babysitting recruits." Whoa. Something was definitely wrong. I'd never heard Fraser complain about his duties before. "I end up doing stuff I think sucks," I reminded him. "And I end up doing work that stops me from backing you up. Look at the Warfield shit." He reached out and touched my bruised throat. "You were almost killed. If it wasn't for Diefenbaker, you could have died." "And you could have been killed by Warfield's goons." "This is different." "Because it's me." I pulled away from his touch. "You think you have to be there to back me up, but I don't have to do the same for you." "No, Ray. Warfield's men were trying to scare me off. Someone was trying to murder you," he replied. This was too much. My head hurt, my throat hurt....I hurt. I leaned my head back against the couch and closed my eyes. Yeah, someone tried to kill me. It had happened before and it would happen again. "You should go to bed, Ray." "Only if you come with me." I opened my eyes to find myself being pulled up against a broad Fraser chest. I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head against his shoulder. How did I go two weeks without his touch? How did I go over a year? "Bed, Ray," he whispered. I ran my tongue against his warm throat and his arms tightened around me. "You taste good," I murmured sleepily. "And you're too tired to appreciate it," he replied pulling me along into the bedroom. While he took a shower, I settled into bed with Dief curled up behind me. "You don't really think he's goin' to let you stay, do you?" A wolf snort was my answer. Well, I wasn't going to argue with him. As I began to fall asleep, I heard the shower stop and a few minutes later, "Dief. Down." The wolf didn't move. "Diefenbaker!" came a whispered order. The mattress gave under Fraser's weight and Dief whined. "I understand, but I'm here to take care of him now," he told the wolf. Another whine from Dief. "I will," Fraser said. "And thank you." At that, Dief jumped off the bed. Jesus. Two alpha males. Just my luck. "I can take care of myself," I murmured sleepily as Fraser spooned around me. Gentle kisses fell against my naked shoulder. "I am well aware of that." "Just making sure." "Go to sleep, Ray," he whispered. I rolled over and faced him. "You know, I figured when we were back in this bed we wouldn't be sleeping." He blushed slightly and gently rubbed my back. "Neither did I." I yawned and went on. "I mean, it's a bad thing when Dief is giving me more tongue action than you..." A warm Mountie tongue in my mouth cut me off. Oh yeah. Fraser could kiss like nobody's business, and I was grateful to be on the receiving end. Slow hot circle, teasing me, tasting me. By the time he let me go, I was panting like Dief on a hot Chicago day. "You and Dief have to work on this competition thing," "When it comes to you, there is no competition," he murmured nuzzling my throat. "I'm all over that." I yelped as his teeth sank into my neck. "All over what, Ray?" he asked, and began licking the mark. Teeth and tongue and I was harder than a rock. "Huh?" And my mind was blank. "You..." lick, "said..." bite, "you are..." suck, "all over..." lick, "that." It was my turn to blush. "I forgot." "Ah." And with that his lips were on mine again. We were going at it good and heavy. My hand was in his boxers, stroking and teasing; his mouth was on my right nipple, biting and sucking. Then downward, one kiss at a time, stopping only to flick his hot tongue in and out of my belly button. By the time, he pulled off my boxers, I was moaning, twisting and arching beneath him. "Fraser!" I screamed as he took me in his warm, moist mouth. I wanted to tell him I loved him, no one was better than him, but I couldn't form sentences. All I could do was moan and grunt and every now and then cry out his name as he drove me wild. Flicking me with his tongue, sucking me like a lollipop. "God...Frase!" I babbled. "So good...so..." Jesus! A vacuum has nothing on my Mountie when it comes to suction. "I'm gonna...gonna..." He let go for only a second to look up at me with lust-filled blue-gray eyes, and say, in a sex-filled voice, "Come for me, Ray." Then he was back on me and I was shooting into his mouth, and he was swallowing every drop. When my brain could function again, I felt him kiss his way back up my body until he reached my mouth, sharing my taste with me. "Ray," he whispered. "You taste so good." I bucked again, even though I had nothing left. But I could feel his throbbing erection and knew he had plenty. "Please, Fraser," I mumbled kissing his throat. "Please, I need you in me....Please." My Mountie was no idiot. He moved back down my body, and I bucked again as his mouth moved behind my balls. And then he was rimming me, probing and tasting with that tongue. I started whimpering. Jesus, reduced to whimpering and getting hard again. "In me!" I begged. "Patience, Ray," he replied moving into position. "Fuck patience." "Not patience, Ray...you." And with that he pushed his hard cock inside me, filling me. Oh Jesus, I was filled with Canada's finest. "So hot, so tight," he mumbled, pumping into me. I raised my hips to meet him on each downward stroke. "Fraser!" I cried out, as he hit the spot. That got him moving faster. He began panting against me, licking the bruises on my neck, before biting my skin. God, I was going to be marked tomorrow, and I wanted more. "Need you, Ray....I need you," his voice desperate. "You have me, Frase," I mumbled turned on as much by his words as his dick fucking me. "I'm all yours, Ben." "Ray...Ray...Ray..." God, he was chanting my name. His body began trembling and I wrapped myself around him. With another shout of my name he exploded inside me, bringing me to another orgasm. "Jesus, Fraser," I groaned a few minutes later, my head against his chest. "Benton, not Jesus," he teased gently and kissed the top of my head. "Hardy-har-har," I said and rubbed my face against his chest. "Love you, Frase." "And I you." "And, Frase." "Yes, Ray?" "Dief's tongue has nothin' on yours." A gentle laugh. "Thank you, kindly." *** "Why are you up so early, Ray?" I stretched and lazily rubbed my back up and down on the sheet as I watched Fraser buttoning his red serge. "Cause you aren't giving me any reason to stay in bed," I replied. "You gotta rush back to Mountieville?" "Actually, I'm to meet Lieutenant Welsh about your case." My lazy rubbing stopped and I sat up in bed, immediately on the defensive. "What do you mean by that, Frase?" "Since Kenneth Anderson was last seen at the conference, and he is a Canadian citizen..." "What do you mean he's a Canadian citizen?" I demanded. "His dad's an American." "True, but he was born in Canada," he said. "And, no one bothered to tell me?" I challenged, "What? Welsh figures I'm not up to handling my job?" Fraser stopped getting dressed and sat on the edge of the bed. "That is not it at all, Ray." "Right." I started to get out of bed, but his hand on my arm stopped me. "Ray. Inspector Thatcher informed us of this last night, after you left. With everything that happened it slipped my mind." I wasn't ready to back down yet. "Why were you sneaking out to meet Welsh without me?" His mouth hardened slightly; I was pissing off the Mountie. "I was not sneaking out, Ray. I was going to wake you up before I left. As for why I am going to see Lieutenant Welsh without you, it's very simple. You've been given the day off because you were injured and nearly killed last night." "Yeah, and that is one good reason why you shouldn't be workin' it by yourself," I told him and got out of bed. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be ready to go." "Ray..." "Don't argue, Frase. You know I'm going to go, with or without you." "Understood, Ray," he sighed, and finished getting dressed. *** "I hope this is Vecchio's twin brother, Constable. Otherwise, I'm going to be very upset." "As you know, Lieutenant, Ray Vecchio does not..." "Fraser," I warned, and followed Welsh towards his office. "I gotta see it through, Lieu. You know you'd do the same thing." He was going to argue, but gave up. "Keep me informed on everything, Detective," he ordered and slammed into his office. I turned back to share my victory with Fraser, only to find him busy with Frannie. I walked up as she was leaving, with a suggestive wiggle for Frase. I didn't have the heart to tell her that he was only interested in my wiggling, especially when I was under him. Well, I didn't have the heart, and I wasn't that stupid. I knew the rage of the Vecchio women. It was the stuff of legend, as Fraser would say. "Come on, Fraser, I want you to take a look at the evidence," I told him. "Of course, Ray." We headed out of the squad room and down towards Evidence. "You might be able to taste or smell something that will give us a clue." "Well, I'm sure any scent that was present will be gone by now," he replied. "I've got more faith in your smelling ability." "Thank you, Ray." Only my Mountie would be complimented by a statement like that. Fifteen minutes later we had the evidence out, and I held a bagged piece of paper up for him to study. "This was found shoved in both victims' mouths. But I got nothing from it. No prints...no link to any other reported murders." "I don't think you'll find one." Unease filled his voice. "You know what this means," I realized. "This purity..." "Not so much the word purity, Ray, as the symbol that follows," he explained. "If I'm not mistaken..." And he wasn't, of course. "It is used by the Canadian Emancipation Organization." "And that is?" I pushed. "An organization that is founded upon the purity of Canada." "Purity? You mean it's a hate group?" Another thumb to his eyebrow. "Yes." I looked at him as if he had just called the queen an old bag. "I didn't think Canadians were capable of hating." The prissy Mountie was back. "We are human, Ray, and all humans are capable of feeling hatred." "Okay, okay, got ya. But what is this Canadian Eman...Eminem group doing here?" "Canadian Emancipation," he corrected. "Yeah, what are they doin' in Chicago? In America?" "I don't know." "And why kill..." I began pulling through folders on my desk. "It's here...should be....Got it!" I opened the file and began scanning the paperwork. "Okay, the first victim Randall Keegan. He was a male prostitute...so maybe he propositioned the wrong guy. An uptight Canadian who didn't like the idea giving up the cow for the bull." "Giving up the cow for the bull?" Fraser asked, confused. "Yeah, I heard that somewhere..." "Ah." "So what do think?" He shook his head. "I think I have no idea what you are talking about." "You got an uptight Canadian who doesn't want to be to pay for sex, especially American sex, especially, especially gay American sex..." "Ah." He got it now, he was blushing. "But why kill Kenneth Anderson?" "I know you've already spoken with his parents, but perhaps we should speak with them again," he suggested. "Okay, but we better fill Welsh in on the latest." "While you do that Ray, I should call Inspector Thatcher." "Ice Queen needs to know where you are every minute?" I asked, trying not to sound irritated. "Of course not, but from the evidence our killer is most likely Canadian. In addition to that, one victim was found less than two blocks from a hotel where Canadians are lodging. The second victim had been a guest at the conference, and on top of that a Canadian citizen..." "So you're saying one of the Mounties is our killer?" A look of worry crossed his face, but he quickly covered it. "I don't like to think that..." "Come on, Fraser. Mounties don't murder people," I argued. "They aren't programmed like that." "A Mountie killed my father, Ray," he said in a cold voice before walking away. Shit. I blew that one. Every so often I need to remember to use my brain. *** I wanted to say something to Fraser. I really did. Each block we drove, I swore I would open my mouth. I'd apologize for speaking without thinking, but I didn't. I was worried that if I said something else, I'd be poking at his open wound. He wasn't giving me the impression that he wanted me to say anything, anyway. He sat Mountie stiff and tall with his Stetson in his lap and his eyes fixed out the window. What's swimming around in that Mountie brain? "Shit..." I cursed, and slammed on the brakes. "Ray!" Fraser grabbed the dashboard and I heard Dief fall off the backseat. "Swimming!" I said as the cars behind us began honking. "Ray, I'm not sure I understand," he told me. "It's a Mountie, Fraser. You're right. Our killer is a Mountie. I don't know how I forgot...but...Jesus...it's a Mountie!!" "Perhaps you could pull to the curb and explain what you forgot, Ray, because I don't understand," he admitted. I glanced in the rearview at the backup of cars and figured he had the right idea. I pulled over to the curb and set the car in park. "Last night, before I got tossed into the lake, the guy asks if I'd ever learned how to swim..." He nodded his head, but he wasn't getting it, yet. "Fraser, how many people know I can't swim? It's not something I go around and announce to everybody. But after the whole Harry Allen thing..." "Henry Allen," he automatically corrected. "Yeah, when we were on the Bounty..." "We told those present the events of the sinking ship..." "Well, except for the buddy breathin'." "Except for that," he agreed, and we were once more on the same page. "But we did tell them about the impromptu swimming lesson." "Yep. So you got anyone at the conference who was on the Bounty that day?" "As a matter of fact Ray, we do," he said. "Constable Juliet Blanchard and Constable..." "Blanchard?" I interrupted. "The name sounds familiar." Oooh. That got me a Mountie scowl. "I'm sure if you think about it, you'll remember her," he assured me. "Oh yeah," I glanced over at him. "The blonde with the big..." "Ray!" "Eyes, Fraser. I was goin' to say eyes." I replied. "Of course, you were." I couldn't help but grin. This was great. "You aren't jealous, are you?" "Jealous, Ray?" He asked returning my grin with his own blank look. "Why would I be? If I recall correctly, you were calling my name, not Constable Blanchard's, in bed last night." Only Fraser knew how to make me blush. "Okay. Well, it wasn't her at the warehouse, last night. I know you Mounties have like superpowers but no woman threw me out the window." "I agree, Ray." "So who's the other one from the Bounty?" "Constable James Lawrence." "Lawrence? You mean the junior asshole from yesterday?" "I wouldn't have phrased it quite that way, but yes." "You think he's capable of murder?" "While I would hate to think that..." "You still think there's a chance," I finished and pulled the GTO back into traffic. "I think it would be beneficial to speak with him." *** They must've been waiting for Fraser. We had barely entered the hotel when Thatcher and Gordon were in our faces. "All right, Constable Fraser, I want to know exactly what's going on," Thatcher ordered. "We both do," Gordon added. "I bet," I mumbled. "Excuse me, Detective, did you say something?" Gordon asked. Fraser cut off my response. "We need to speak with Constable Lawrence, sir. Have you seen him this morning?" "You suspect him of the murders, Constable?" Thatcher asked. "Yes sir. Detective Vecchio made the connection that our murderer is someone who was on the Bounty with us. There are only two people at the conference who were on the Bounty..." "Constables Blanchard and Lawrence." "Exactly sir. I then recalled that Constable Lawrence left the reception early last night, directly after Detective Vecchio." "That hardly makes the Constable a murderer," Gordon argued. "I understand your concern, Inspector," Fraser assured him. "Especially since Constable Lawrence is now a member of your staff." Gordon began sputterin' and spewin'. Man, he was pissed. Greatness. "Can we get on with this, Fraser?" I asked. "Constable Lawrence should be at lunch with the others," Thatcher told us. We headed to the dining area with Gordon right behind us, complaining. The room was filled with Mounties, busy eating their lunch. But as they noticed us they stopped eating and watched. Lawrence looked up at us when he got to his table. His face was impassive and I wondered if playing it cool was something taught at Mountie school. "Good afternoon, Constable Fraser, Inspector Gordon, Inspector Thatcher," he smiled politely. That was the voice. Tell me, Detective, have you ever learned how to swim? "We need to speak with you, Constable," Thatcher told him. Now he looked worried. "Is there a problem, sir?" "If you call killing innocent kids and trying to kill me a problem," I said. "I don't understand." "I think you do. Now you wanta come nice and Canadianlike, or do I have to kick some sense into ya?" "Come along, Constable Lawrence, and we'll get this situation sorted out," Gordon instructed. "I already explained to Constable Fraser and the Detective that they were mistaken." "While I appreciate your support, Inspector," Lawrence began standing up, "I'm afraid that you are the one who is mistaken." "Excuse me?" The young man rose to his full height and suddenly we were staring down the barrel of the gun he held in his hand. "I did commit the murders, sir, and I would gladly do so again." He glanced at me. "Detective, please place your gun on the floor." I heard the gasps of people in the room and knew I had no other choice. There was no way Lawrence could escape, not with a room full of Mounties. The problem was he held a gun and could take out a couple of people before we reached him. I put my gun on the ground. I thought about going for my boot gun. I glanced up at Fraser and saw the small shake of his head. Okay, maybe he was right. The odds weren't really in my favor. I straightened and told Lawrence, "You won't get away with this." "I don't believe he's concerned with that, Ray," Fraser said. "Are you, Constable Lawrence?" "I've done my part in helping to keep the impure from my home," he told us and glanced at Dief, who was on guard. "Please keep your wolf still, Constable Fraser. I would hate to hurt such a beautiful animal." "But you don't mind killing people?" I asked. "Not if it's for the greater good," he said "What did Randy Keegan have to do with Canada?" Fraser asked. "He wouldn't stop. He came up to me and offered himself to me. I told him to leave, but he wouldn't. Then he touched me....He touched my uniform, and made fun of it." "So you killed him." "I was doing society a favor." "And then you go and tossed me out a window into Lake Michigan!" I complained. "After killing one of my best snitches." Lawrence gave me a cold, polite smile. "I overhead you speaking on the phone. I wasn't sure what your meet was about, but I couldn't take a chance. So I followed you," he explained. "Fortunately you were distracted by the wolf to allow me enough time to enter the warehouse and take care of your informant." "I don't understand," Gordon admitted. "But you should, sir," Lawrence told him. "When I began working for you, I knew I had found someone who felt the way I did." "I would never condone murder!" "That is your one weakness. Fortunately I knew others who believed the way I did." "The Purity group," I said. "Your own little hate group." He glared at me. "Don't use that tone with me, Detective! You have no idea the power this group has!" Maybe if I made him mad enough, I could throw him off. "We got enough of our own groups here. Why not keep yours up in Canada?" "Because your people are bringing a blight to our country! You bring impurity!" "Hey, we gave you McDonald's," I pointed out. "I don't believe Constable Lawrence sees that as a positive," Fraser told me. "Your country pollutes us with you capitalism and the drugs that are smuggled over the border," Lawrence ranted. "Your entertainment industry gives us pornography that mocks the family and promotes sexual deviance. You are destroying what we are, and we have to fight back to save our own!" He fit in with a lot of the nutcases sitting in compounds in Wyoming and Idaho. They loved their country, a warped vision of their country. I stared him down and could feel the anger rising in me. "I get you, Lawrence." I didn't even try to hide my contempt. "You can blame whoever you want, but it all comes down to someone not being white enough, Christian enough, straight enough. But what about Kenneth Anderson? He was an all-Canadian kid." Lawrence tightened his hold on the gun and pointed it in my direction. "Was he?" "He wanted to attend college in Toronto," Fraser told him. "He had even spoken of becoming a member of the RCMP. But you didn't want that to happen. Why?" "Kenneth had potential, but he'd already been contaminated," Lawrence sneered. I got it. "He was gay, so you killed him." "I saved him and my country," he stated calmly. "You're whacked," I replied, just as calm. He gave me a sneer and said, "Maybe I could save Constable Fraser by killing you, Detective." From the corner of my eye I could see Fraser stiffen. I saw the look on his face, and knew I had to react before he did. I had to react before Lawrence made any other comments about us. Well, I did it with Motherwell; I could do it with this guy. Crazy, meet crazy! "Kill me? You want to kill me? Know what happens when you kill a cop in America?! They hunt you down, they take you down" I warned him, and couldn't stop myself from moving. Nothing too big, just little steps in my space, a weave and a bob. "Just make sure you kill me, because if you don't, I will be all over you!" There it was. The hesitant look. I was getting to him, just like I did with Motherwell. Unfortunately, Gordon couldn't stay quiet. "This is ridiculous! I demand you hand over that weapon!" I lost him. Our connection was gone. Lawrence's eyes hardened, and he turned his gun on Gordon. I knew where this would be going. "You are either with us or against us!" Lawrence declared. One second I was flinging myself at Gordon. The next I was laying on the floor with a sharp pain shooting through my side and everything going fuzzy. *** I squinted and looked around the room. Hospital. Great. The only good thing about the room was Fraser, who was sitting at the bedside, holding my hand. "Ray?" "Hey, Frase. Am I okay?" I mumbled. "You'll be fine. The bullet went through your side, but no organs were damaged. A clean entrance and exit." "Did we get him?" "Yes, we did. Constable Lawrence is in custody. And thanks to you, Inspector Gordon is safe." "Just doin' my job," I whispered. A strong hand stroked my cheek and soft lips moved closer to mine. "You did more than your job, Ray. You saved his life." "Well, he's still an asshole." "Understood, Ray," he said and leaned over to kiss me. I was asleep before his lips left mine. *** Two days later I was back home and already going stir crazy. Fraser was busy making sure all the Mounties made their flight, and then he had some work to catch up on at the Consulate. Lucky for me, I had Dief for company. We were settled down on the couch to watch 'The Great Escape' and sharing a pizza. Dief wanted to share my beer, but I already told him Fraser would have a fit if I gave him any. The tunnel had just collapsed when Fraser came in, Mountie-mask in place. "You really shouldn't be indulging in alcohol, Ray. You are still on medication," he stated. "I don't think one beer is gonna hurt me, Fraser." I waited for a response. Statistics from the latest medical report, an Inuit story, but there was none. He just took off his Stetson and began unbuttoning his tunic. "So you get all the Mounties off?" "Yes," he replied, hanging up his tunic. Okay. There was a little tension. Maybe the same thing was worrying him that had been on mine. "Look, Fraser. I know...I mean..." Come on, Kowalski. Open mouth and speak. "I'm sorry for what I said. It was stupid." There, I got it out. And his response was to give me a completely blank look. "What are you referring to, Ray?" "What I said about Mounties not being able to kill anyone. It was stupid of me to say that," I told him. "I wasn't thinkin' about your dad and what happened to him..." His lips on mine cut off the rest of my sentence. Oh yeah. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. It may sound corny, but Fraser's kisses are the best medicine around. When I got my tongue back in my mouth, I admitted, "I was worried I hurt your feelings." "Ray," he whispered, a hint of irritation in his tone. "That's silly." "Well, if it's not that, then what's wrong with you?" "Nothing." "You're lyin'," I accused, and pulled away from him. I began to get worried when he ran a thumb along his eyebrow. "Fraser, what is it?" "Inspector Gordon left this afternoon," he replied. "So?" I asked. "Ray..." "Wait!" I ordered. "What did that asshole do, Fraser? Did he threaten you?" "Ray." "Did he? Is he goin' back up there to fuck with your career?!" "Ray." "Cause if he is, Fraser, I swear I will go up there to the Mountie mothership and kick his head in!" "RAY!" I took a deep breath. "What?" "Inspector Gordon has no intention of endangering my career." Okay. That was good. "Then what is it?" "The Inspector has begun the necessary process to have Constable Lawrence extradited to Canada to answer for crimes committed there." "They can't do that!" "He is a Canadian citizen..." "Who killed three people and tried to kill a cop. He tried to kill Gordon!" I ran my fingers through my hair and began pacing. "What is Gordon thinkin'?" "I realize you're upset," Fraser tried to reason with me. "Upset?! I'm fuckin' ballistic, here, Fraser! That asshole has three murders to answer for! He won't answer for them there!" I stopped pacing long enough to see the anger he couldn't quite hide. Okay, so he didn't like this either. "It appears that Inspector Gordon has shown interest in running for political office and will use hate groups and intolerance as his platform." "I'm sorry, Fraser." That surprised him. "What do you have to apologize for, Ray?" What did I have to say sorry for? That the RCMP, the one thing he'd always prided himself on, that made him up, that had given him a purpose, a place to belong had disappointed him, again. I couldn't tell him that. I didn't know how. Maybe I didn't have to though. He suddenly had an intense look on his face. And was up in my space. His space. Our space. We were wrapped around each other, holding on, kissing. Hell, let the RCMP do what it wanted with Lawrence. Let Gordon run for office and play dirty politician. None of it mattered in the long run. Cause me, Ray Kowalski, dishelved, unshaven, rude, I wouldn't disappoint Fraser and I'd give him a purpose. And most of all, until he told me different, I'd be his home.