By Amethyst

         It had been almost a month since Ray had left Chicago. He hadn't even known where he was going at the time and he hadn't spoken to anyone but Fraser since then. He had driven a long time before a sudden storm forced him to seek shelter. He was lucky enough to happen upon a sign for Sunshine Cabins and quickly took the exit toward the promised abodes.

          Thunder boomed over head and lightening in the sky above had threatened to blind him, when finally he saw the selection of cozy log cabins along the lake. He had parked outside the main cabin and office and hurried inside. A kindly old couple named Baker ran the resort, but being so close to winter, they were closed for the season. As it turned out Mrs. Baker took pity on Ray. He had been drenched in the short dash from his car to their door and the kindly old woman just couldn't turn him away. She had brought him inside, fed him some hot soup and even tried to convince him to allow her to dry his clothes.

         Instead, Ray asked if he could rent one of the cabins and stay for awhile. Mr. Baker had been hesitant at first, but an extra pair of hands was hard to turn down. They usually shut down this time of year to affect repairs and additional fixings on their property. The Bakers did what they could, but being in their seventies, both were two old for certain manual labors. They hadn't been able to find anyone to hire for the work this season so, when Ray offered to help out with whatever needed to be done in exchange for a place to stay, they agreed.

         During the day, Ray took care of the landscapes, cutting back low hanging limbs on trees, and mending the long stretch of property fencing. Mr. Baker would help and supervise repairs on the cabins, telling Ray what needed to be done. Ray was a quick study and since the younger man had strength and a willingness to learn, Mr. Baker took advantage of it. He worked Ray hard from sun up to sunset and sometimes well into evening. Often the two men would work until Mrs. Baker would demand they stop.

         Ray didn't mind. He enjoyed the work and it gave him less time to dwell on his problems. He also understood that they had to get everything finished before the snow came or it wouldn't get done. At night, after a delicious meal, compliments of Mrs. Baker, he would return to his cabin and spend the rest of the night reading by the fire. Mrs. Baker had collected a collage of magazines and books that she never had the heart to throw out and Ray coveted them. It was his way of catching up with what had happened in the world the past thirteen years.

         Occasionally, Ray would stay over at the Baker's and play chess or checkers with Mr. Baker or surf the net with Mrs. Baker. The older woman used a computer for their business and when she learned of Ray's dilemma, she set about teaching him how to find any information he could possibly want. Ray had been amazed at the stores of knowledge that could be retrieved with the click of a button and spent many hours searching newspaper archives and back issues of News week. At some point after Ray had told Mrs. Baker about Fraser. She found a site for him on the R.C.M.P. and Ray had been enthralled.  It was after he had read up on his partner that Ray first called Fraser and let him know where he was and that he was doing okay.

           Over all, the arrangement benefited everyone. The Bakers had only two children. One had been lost in Vietnam and the other lived in Nebraska, but never visited. Ray missed his parents, but was not ready to be with them yet, and the Bakers missed their son, who had more or less abandoned them. Each seemed willing to fill the emptiness left by another and Ray was grateful for their kindness. Because of their encouragement and their trust in him to perform his promised responsibilities, Ray developed a sense of maturity that he felt he had lost. Instead of feeling like the frightened twenty-two year old he still thought himself to be when he arrived, he now felt closer to his true age.

         Mr. Baker was also a car buff and he enjoyed having Ray fuss over his old 1934 Ford pickup, which held a special place in the older man's vast garage. The two spent many hours discussing parts and what it needed to be restored. Mr. Baker would go purchase the parts and he and Ray would settle in for the evening. When the weather turned bad they often tinkered away well past midnight.

         Ray tried to call Fraser every Sunday. He knew the Mountie would be alone at the Consulate and Fraser was always delighted to hear from him. Ray would tell him about the things he had read or what he had fixed that day and Fraser would catch him up on what was going on at the Consulate. Since visiting the R.C.M.P. web site, Ray understood his partner's position much better now and knew what certain terms or functions represented.
 
        Ray rolled his head around on his shoulders and entered his cabin. The air had turned chilly and it was supposed to snow this evening. Ray had gotten quite a lot done today, but his body protested his eagerness. His leg was hurting and he had started limping again. he knew he would have to pack it in ice again tonight, but that was okay because the feeling of accomplishment Ray received at helping the Bakers made up for any pain he might suffer.
 
        He tossed his coat over one of the small sitting chairs and moved to the small refridgerator/freezer to retrieve the ice packs he kept there. Except for the bathroom, the cabin was one large room with the bedroom area in one corner. A sitting area was arranged around the fire and a spacious kitchen was laid out along one wall with an accompanying four chair table.

        He paused as he heard the wind pick up and glanced toward the small fireplace in the corner. His wood pile was low and he didn't treasure the idea of going out once the snow started. He wondered if the Bakers had thought to stock up.

        With a sigh, Ray turned back, grabbed his coat and gloves and headed out. He walked up the small trail to the main cabin and turned his collar up against the wind. He glanced at the small wood bin that was positioned just outside the Baker's door, on the porch, and noticed that it would need to be re-filled. Ray set about doing just that, retrieving wood he had cut the day before in a wheelbarrow, from the pile in the shed; just to the side of the cabin.

        "Stanley Ray!" Mrs. Baker exclaimed, opening the front door on Ray's second trip. "Honey, I could have gotten that."

         Mary Ann Baker reminded Ray so much of his Baba, that he had fallen head over heels for her the moment they had met. She even looked like Ray's grandmother, from her long, silver hair, which she kept in a tight braid, to the twinkle in her sea-green eyes. She always knew, without even looking, when he was doing something he shouldn't; like sneaking one of her cookies before dinner. Ray was an open book to her and she could see past all his lies and attempts at evasion. She even called him Stanley Ray, like his grandmother used too and to his surprise he didn't even mind.

        "Supposed to snow tonight, Mrs. B.," Ray reminded. "I wanted to make sure ya had plenty to keep warm."

        Mary Ann stepped up and patted his cheek, affectionately. "You're such a sweet boy," she told him. "It's hard to imagine how we got along without you all this time."

        Ray shrugged, pleased. "Ya did fine," he assured, then glanced at the darkening sky. "I need to finish, Mrs. B."

        "Why don't you come in for some hot chocolate after you're done?" Mary Ann suggested.

        Ray shook his head, his leg was hurting way to much for him to be good company. "Nah, think I'll just curl up and read, until I fall asleep tonight."

        Mary Ann nodded and also glanced above. "Okay, but don't stay out too long, it looks like it will be a bad one."

        Ray nodded, waited until she had gone back inside, and then quickly finished up. He filled the wheel barrow, with enough wood for his own bin, and then headed back to his cabin with it. He had just finished piling the last of it into the bin, along with bringing a few armfuls inside to the fire place, when he heard a strange whining sound.

        Ray set the wheelbarrow up against the porch and went in search of the sound. The wind picked up and the sky swirled with heavy winter clouds, blocking out the remaining warmth and light of the sun. He heard the sound again, a high pitched whimpering  and he searched around his cabin for the source. Ray dropped carefully to one knee and glanced under the porch, startled when two luminous green eyes stared back at him.

        "Hey there," he greeted gently. "Where'd you come from?" Ray reached in and tried to grasp the small, black kitten

        The animal fought for all of two seconds, before realizing that Ray's gloved hand was warm. The kitten snuggled into it and Ray pulled it out from under the porch. The cat was filthy and looked like it hadn't eaten in days. It's black fir was standing straight out from it's shivering body and Ray's heart went out to it.

        "Are you all alone, fella?" Ray asked it, gently, carefully checking the sex of the animal. "Oops, you're a filly, not a fella, huh?" Ray glanced under the porch again but could find no sign of any other cats.

        The cat mewed pathetically as the wind started to howl.

        Ray tucked her inside his jacket and stood up. "Let's get you in out of this mess, at least." Ray hurried inside and closed the door of the cabin. He pulled off his gloves with his teeth and jacket with one hand, while keeping the cat close to his chest for warmth. The animal clung to Ray's sweater with tiny, prickling claws.

        "I'll bet you're hungry, aren't ya?" Ray asked her and limped over to the fridge to pull out a carton of milk. His leg was really bad now, he'd have to sit down soon. He pulled a small saucer from the cupboard. All the cabins came fully equipped with dishes, towels and sheets. "I don't have a lot, but dis should help."

        Ray poured some milk into the saucer, then set it and the kitten on the floor.

        The animal hesitated for a few seconds and then started to lap it up greedily.

        Ray nodded satisfied and placed the milk back inside. He pulled out his ice packs and plugged in the kettle for a cup of coffee. He limped over, got a good fire started, then returned to fix his coffee when the kettle whistled.

        The cat had finished the milk and was now trying to bathe herself. Ray grinned down at her, thinking she'd never get lick that much dirt away. Ray pulled some crackers down from the cupboard, set them and his coffee on the table by the small sofa, then returned to the small kitchenette to wet a cloth with warm water. He wasn't about to try and bathe the animal, he heard cat's didn't like water. Instead, he tried to get the kitten as clean as he could with the cloth and the animal seemed to appreciate his efforts.

        Ray straightened, grimacing. Okay, he really had to sit down now, before he fell down. The cat looked much better, so Ray filled the bowl with some more milk, then grabbed his ice packs and limped over to the sofa. He pulled off his jeans and shrugged into the pair of shorts he left on the back of the sofa. Finally, he settled on the sofa, propped his leg up on the small coffee table and placed the ice packs on his knee. Ahh, relief.

        The cat had decided she was clean enough and she padded over to where Ray sat. She looked up at Ray curious, and then made an awkward jump for the sofa. Ray caught the tiny animal, who couldn't quite make it on her own, and set her on the cushion beside him. The kitten decided that wouldn't do and she curled up in Ray's lap, instead.

        "Make yerself at home, why don't ya?" Ray taunted as the small cat stared up at him, possessively. Ray smiled. "Well, I guess ya think you've adopted me or something, then. I gotta tell ya, I don't have much luck with women." He reached down and smoothed a hand over the cat's fur. "Ya need a name, I suppose, can't just call ya cat." He regarded the animal, thoughtfully.

        Although the cat was small, now that Ray really looked at her, he could see that she was probably older than he originally thought. Someone must have abandoned the poor animal and she had been left to fend for herself. From the thinness of her body and the collection of scars she seemed to have, she certainly looked like she had used all but one of her nine lives. A piece of her left ear was missing and her tail looked like it had been caught a few times in a door or another animal's teeth. There were tiny clumps of gray around her temples, making her look almost distinguished, and a large slash, that looked to be recent, just below her left eye.

        "You're a fighter, huh?" Ray commented as the animal started to purr. "Well, I ain't real good at pickin' out names, but let's see if I can think of something to suit ya." A name popped into his head, a name that seemed to have a meaning of strength and determination. "How about Bethy B.?" he inquired, wondering where the name had come from. He assumed the last initial was a subconscious  tribute to the Bakers. "Yah, that sounds okay, ya like that?"

        Bethy B. continued to purr and her eyes started to droop. Her tiny claws were kneading  his leg, contentedly.

        "I guess that's a yes, then," Ray chuckled. "I don't have much ta offer ya, Bethy B. but what I got is yers."
 
 

         Ray looked up from his book, as the telephone on the small corner end table rang. He unfurled from his comfortable position on the floor, in front of the fire, and rose to his feet to capture the ringing instrument. It could only be one of two people: Fraser or the Bakers. Only they had this number with which to reach him. He had not brought his cell phone from Chicago.

         "Hello?" he greeted marking his place in the book and dropping it on the table.

         "Good evening, Ray," Fraser greeted, cheerfully. "Please forgive me for calling so late, but I was thinking about you all day."

        Ray smiled and settled into the large, overstuffed chair beside the phone. He glanced at his watch; it was a little after nine. Bethy B. immediately jumped into his lap for a rub.

         "Shouldn't all good little Mounties be in bed about now, Fraser?" Ray teased, pulling off his glasses and setting them with the book, before giving the cat the attention she desired. He could hear Fraser’s chuckle.

         "Yes, well, you would think so wouldn't you?" Fraser agreed. "I just wanted to check on you, Ray. You didn't call yesterday and I was worried."

        Ray pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut as the beginning of a headache tingled in his brain. "Sorry about that," he replied quietly. "Mrs. B. was making some Halloween cookies and stuff fer some charity so I stayed around to help. It was almost ten when I remembered I was supposed to call." He smirked. "You know me, buddy. My memory's slightly on the leaky side at the moment."

         "Now, Ray," Fraser scolded but the detective sensed the Mountie was smiling at his joke. "That's quite all right that you didn't call.  You've no need to apologize. I just wanted to be assured you were all right."

         "You worry too much, Fraser."

         "I am not the only one who is worried, Ray," Fraser reminded.

        Ray sighed and leaned his head back in the chair. "Are my folks still given you hell, buddy?"

         "They are concerned, Ray," Fraser amended. "You can't blame them. They were very upset when you left."

         "I know, I know," Ray agreed. "But I had ta get away. I can't deal with them right now, Fraser. I wish I could, but I can't and…" His jaw tightened in sudden anger. "I really don't have anything to say to my Dad."

         "I understand that you need time to find yourself, Ray," Fraser assured gently. "However, your parents just wish to hear from you. You seemed very close to them before you left and I believe they are hurt…"

         "Look, Fraser." Ray was starting to get aggravated. He didn't want to talk about this; it was only making his head worse. "I…I'll drop a line to Mum.  Okay? But I got nothin' ta say to my Dad."

         "Why not, Ray?" Fraser inquired curious. "You sound as though you are angry with him."

         "I am."

         "Why, Ray?" Fraser pressed. "What did your father do?"

         Ray shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut harder. Replays of that conversation seemed ever present in Ray's thoughts and it just caused his anger to grow. His father had been determined to make it seem like Fraser didn't give a damn about Ray and was only hanging around because of this other fellow named Vecchio.

          "Ray?" Fraser asked again, bringing his friend back to the present.

         "I can't believe you are askin' me dat," Ray muttered. "Don't ya remember what I told ya, Fraser? He told me about Vecchio and you. He…he tried to make it sound like you didn't give a shit about me, but you do. Dat wasn't right, Fraser. It wasn't buddies and he…he kept tellin' me the opposite of what everyone else was sayin' about me being a cop."

         Fraser listened quietly. He hadn't been able to get Ray to speak of what happened the night he had left, but he had suspected that Damien Kowalski's influence had scared and confused Ray to the point where he felt he had to run. Fraser had felt like throttling the elder Kowalski with his bare hands at that time, but then he had to admit he should have been more honest with Ray to begin with. If he would have been, the detective would not have doubted their relationship.

         "Ray," he began gently. "I know that your father upset you.  Obviously whatever he said forced you to run. However, I think you should understand that he wasn't doing it to hurt you."

         "What do ya mean, Fraser?" Ray demanded. "Why else would he lie to me? I mean, that really sucks, Fraser…to not remember somethin' and have yer own family lie to ya about it, when ya got no way to know if they're tellin' the truth or pullin' yer chain. That just isn't right, Fraser. I'm confused enough!"

         "I understand that, Ray," Fraser assured. "But I don't believe your father considered what he was telling you to be a lie." Fraser couldn't believe he was defending the older man, but this was for Ray after all.  He was what mattered.

         "Of course it was a lie!" Ray exclaimed, opening his eyes and sitting forward in the chair. "It was different from what everyone else told me and everyone else can't be lying."

         Fraser was silent for a long time, giving Ray a chance to calm down before he continued to speak. He was unsure if he should even mention the Kowalski's former relationship with their son, but Ray needed the truth and that was what Fraser would give him. He wouldn't hold back from him again.

         "Ray, you told me once that you and your father had a falling out, due to your dropping out of school," Fraser explained, quietly. "He did not approve of you going into the police academy and apparently you both grew apart for a time because of it. I think your father was speaking the truth as he saw it. He never wanted you to be a police officer, Ray. I believe he thought this might be a chance to convince you of something that he couldn't when you were younger; that being a policeman was not a good thing."

         "Dad didn't want me to be a cop?" Ray questioned in disbelief.

         "No.  He was set against it."

         "But…but I thought…I thought somethin' like dat would…well make him proud of me, Fraser," Ray stammered confused. "I…I mean a cop is...well that's special. You're helpin' people and…and keepin' 'em safe. Why wouldn't my father think dat was a good thing? Why wouldn't he be proud of my choice?"

         "I don't know, Ray," Fraser replied honestly.  "I believe he was simply more worried for your safety then for what you would be doing for others. It's natural for parents to be protective of their son."

        Ray was quiet for a long time before he spoke. "But…if…if dad didn't approve before and…and he still don't because…well like you said he tried to convince me otherwise, then…"

          Ray tried to swallow around the baseball-sized lump in his throat and blinked at the sudden moistness in his eyes. He hated this. His emotions were a freakin' roller coaster and he never knew when he was going to laugh aloud, be scared as a mouse, or bawl like a baby.

         "Ray?" Fraser inquired softly, wishing now he had never started this conversation. "Ray are you all right?"

        Ray wiped at his eyes angrily and answered his friend. "Yah I…I just realized somethin' is all."

         "What is it, Ray?" Fraser pressed. "Talk to me."

         "Nothin' it's…it's nothing really," Ray assured. "I…I just…I guess it kinda hurts to know dat all this time, even if I don't remember, I've done nothin' that made my dad proud of me."

         "I'm sure your father is very proud of you, Ray," Fraser protested. And if Damien Kowalski wasn't proud he should have his head examined.

         "No, no," Ray denied. "You're right. I mean…if he didn't like me bein' a cop, then…then I screwed up, Fraser I…look. I gotta go. I'm…I'm gettin' a headache and I think I need ta lay down a bit."

         "I didn't mean to upset you, Ray," Fraser offered, contritely.

         "No, no, you're good," Ray assured, quickly. "Really, we're cool. I…I get stuff like this sometimes. I'll be okay. Besides, it's late and all good Canadians should be in bed."

         "May I call and talk to you tomorrow, Ray?" Fraser asked and worried when such a long silence followed. "Ray?"

         "Yah?" Ray asked. He sounded slightly dazed.

        Fraser repeated his question. "May I call you tomorrow?"

         "Um….no.  I'll be busy outside most of tomorrow, Frase," Ray declined. "Um…I'll call ya again on Sunday.  I won't ferget dis time, I promise."

         "Very well, Ray," Fraser agreed, reluctantly. He couldn't force his friend to talk if he didn't want to. "Perhaps you should take something for your headache and go straight to bed yourself, then?"

         "Yah, sure," Ray agreed. "I'll probably do that. Sounds good. Night Fraser."

         "Sweet dreams, Ray."

         "Ah…you too, buddy. Bye." Ray replaced the receiver before the Mountie could reply and rubbed his hands over his face tiredly.

         Well, wasn't that a sweet kick in the teeth? So his father did have an ulterior motive for trying to come between him and Fraser. How could he do that? How could his own father intentionally lie to him like that? Like Ray didn't have enough trouble without trying to sort the lies from the truth. He glanced at his book, but no longer felt like reading. Instead he rose from the chair, grabbed his coat and went for a walk to clear his head.

         Benton Fraser settled back in the chair behind his desk as he finished his paperwork.  It needed to be completed before the end of shift. Inspector Thatcher had been particularly tyrannical today, insisting on the most mundane assignments, on top of his regular duties. He and Turnbull had been running around after this, that, and the other thing all day long. He suspected she was privately trying to prove a point with him. He had taken so much time off to aid Ray's recovery from amnesia and now she was making him pay. Fraser found ironically, that without the need to defend his superior against the brazen Detective's scornful comments, Inspector Thatcher was now getting on his nerves as well.

         He glanced up at the quick knock on his door. Even Dief curiously raised his head, from his position on Fraser's cot. Fraser called for the person to enter and immediately rose when the door opened and he saw an agitated Turnbull, with Assistant State's Attorney Stella Kowalski behind him.

         "I tried to tell her that you were busy, Sir, but…" Turnbull stammered and Fraser waved him off.

         "That's fine, Turnbull," he assured as Stella stepped forward, uninvited, into the office.  "See if Inspector Thatcher requires anything else of you before you leave." Turnbull nodded and hurried off. "How may I help you, Ms. Kowalski?"

         "I want to know where my husband is," she demanded and Fraser could tell she was in full 'Bitch Mode' as Ray sometimes used to refer to it. He reprimanded himself for such thoughts and schooled his features against her accusing stare.

         "You mean your ex-husband," he reminded, without a hint of malice or arrogance.

         Stella gave him a look that could freeze meat but Fraser refused to react to it. He wasn't impaired by a deep love for her, as Ray was. He did not even like her much, so her scorn did not affect him in the least.

         "Where is he, Constable?" she charged, understanding now that he would not cower before her as most men did.

         "Ray, is away at the moment," Fraser replied.

         "I haven't the time to argue with you, Fraser," she insisted firmly. "I know that you have kept in contact with Ray and, since you were the one who let him leave in the first place, you had better start talking. It is the least you can do for the trouble you have caused."

        Fraser raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes, I have been in contact with Ray," he agreed, calmly. "But he does not wish his location known." He neglected to add that even he didn't know his friend's precise whereabouts, he had only the phone number Ray had given him. "As for my letting him leave Chicago; Ray is his own person and can decided for himself. His choice was not up to me."

         "You know he is unstable!" Stella accused. "You let him go off to God knows where in the condition he was in? What sort of friend are you anyway? Ray is very vulnerable right now. He needs his family to help him through this. He needs…"

         "He needs to be alone," Fraser determined, firmly. "Ray needed to get away from the confusion he felt here and short of kidnapping him and keeping him bound in his apartment, there was little I could do to convince him not to leave."

         "Did you even try, Constable?"

         "Yes I did," Fraser insisted, angry that she would think otherwise. He refused to allow his irritation to show in his voice. "However, Ray had made his decision and as his friend, I was forced to abide by his choice."

         "But, we are his family…" Stella challenged.

         Fraser quickly interrupted. "Yes, and I believe that is what he is running from," he stated brazenly, surprising them both by his audacity.

         "What do you mean?" she demanded.

        Fraser paused. "Ray will return when he is ready and not before," he opted, rather then tell her the truth: that he suspected his friend was running more from his family then anything else. Especially after his brief conversation with Ray yesterday evening.

         "I want to know where he is," Stella insisted. "I am not leaving here until you tell me."

         "Then I regret that you will be in for a long wait, Ms. Kowalski," Fraser decided, collecting the forms on his desk and dropping them into his out tray. He moved to collect his coat and Stetson. "I am officially off duty and will be leaving directly."

         "Where are you going?" she demanded, following him and Diefenbaker out, as he locked up his office and headed toward the front of the office. "I thought you lived here?"

        Fraser nodded. "I do," he replied. "But I have plans for the evening."

        Turnbull stood from his desk as they approached. "Have a pleasant evening, Sir," he offered, opening the Consulate door for them.

         "Thank you, Turnbull," Fraser replied shrugging into his coat and setting his Stetson atop his head. "I will see you tomorrow."

         The taller Mountie nodded with a smile and waited until Fraser and Stella had descended the steps safely, before closing the door.

        Fraser moved around Stella's car and opened the driver's side door for her politely.

        Stella understood the Mountie considered their conversation over and she slid inside, defeated. Before Fraser could close the door she impulsively reached out her hand and touched his arm. "Just…just tell me that he's okay?" she requested, hopefully. "I…if I know he's all right I…I can get through this. Please?"

        Fraser placed his hand over hers and nodded reassuringly. This was a side of Stella he rarely witnessed, softhearted and uncertain.  "Ray is doing well," he assured, gently. "I would not lie to you about that. He just needs a little more time. If anyone tries to push him to return it will drive him further away and I cannot risk that. That is why I cannot tell you or the Kowalski's where he is."

         "We don't want to drive him away. We only want to protect him," Stella protested.

        Fraser only nodded. "You all mean well, but Ray cannot accept your protection right now," He explained. "I tried to protect him as well and it made matters worse.  I almost lost him as my friend."

        Stella nodded in understanding and lowered her eyes. "Dad," she sighed. "Mum told me he had said some things to upset Ray before he left." She raised her eyes to Fraser's again. "But he didn't mean to say those things. He can't help wanting to protect Ray. He feels this would have been a second chance for them and…"

         "But, he just confused and hurt Ray more," Fraser stated and Stella nodded again.

         "I…I know. He was wrong to do it. I know that." She sighed a second time and shook her head regretfully. "We all hurt and confused Ray more then we meant to. It was done out of love Constable. Don't judge us as monsters because we care too much."

         "It isn't my place to judge," Fraser insisted, calmly. "But right now Ray has to do this on his own. He has to discover a truth about himself that none of us can offer."

         "Fraser," Stella began. She lowered her eyes and chewed her lower lip. "I…I miss him. I'm so worried."

          "I miss him also," Fraser admitted and they shared a look of understanding.

         Stella pulled her hand away and settled behind the wheel, as Fraser carefully closed the car door. Fraser stepped back and she rolled down the window suddenly.

         "Will you tell him something for me, Constable?" she requested. "The next time you speak to him?"

         "Certainly."

         "Tell him…tell him I love him and I'm sorry," she stated remorsefully.

          Fraser nodded. "I will tell him." he promised then watched her drive away.

         Fraser and Dief headed away from the Consulate, toward Ray's apartment building. He had been staying there; taking care of things while his friend was gone. He stayed late at the Consulate on Sundays, knowing Ray would call, but otherwise he left after work to go to the apartment. Fraser had cleaned up the mess that Ray had left after his tantrum. The landlady had offered Fraser part of the money Ray had given her for the damages. The reparations had been minor and the Mountie had repaired most of it himself, so she didn't need near the money Ray had left for her.

         Fraser had replaced some of the furniture, as he wanted Ray to have a place to come back to if he needed it. He had then moved in some of his things from the Consulate. The landlady had agreed to let him and Dief stay and keep an eye on the place. She had always been fond of Ray and Fraser had offered his services in whatever chores she might need completed, in exchange for a reduction in the rent. Since Ray's building was rent controlled Fraser had no trouble paying half of his partner's usual rent. It was worth it to keep the apartment in Ray's name.

         Fraser had asked Ray first, of course, if he would mind Fraser staying there, to feed the turtle and what not. Ray's response was 'whatever', so Fraser decided to take that as an approval. Ray didn't know that Fraser was holding the apartment for him and perhaps he thought the Mountie would eventually take the turtle back to the consulate. Either way, Fraser sensed he had made the correct decision.  It wouldn't do for Ray to have to find new accommodations when he returned.

         It was beneficial to both he and Ray's landlady, as it gave Fraser a break from the consulate and doing chores for her kept him busy. He tended to dwell too much on his partner and it helped to keep himself occupied. His only problem had been trying to keep everyone at bay about Ray's current location and state of mind.

         It really wasn't Fraser's place to tell them anything about his partner. Ray would do that when he was ready, but Fraser's patience with the whole lot of them was wearing thin. Damien and Barbara Kowalski had accused Fraser of chasing their son away, in one breath, then condemned him for not forcing Ray to stay in another. Damien Kowalski had been calling the Consulate a few times a day, to accuse Fraser of something sinister and demanding to know where his son was. Fraser respected Ray's privacy and ignored their accusations.

         Fraser was glad that no one outside the Consulate and Lieutenant Welsh knew Fraser was staying at Ray's apartment, or they would probably be banging on the door at all hours here too. When everyone had learned that the detective had left they all seemed to blame Fraser in some way or another. Even Francesca had seemed cool toward him. The only people, outside the Consulate, not blaming him were Lieutenant Welsh and Ma Vecchio.  Welsh had not seemed surprised when he learned of Kowalski's disappearance; in fact he seemed to approve. Perhaps, like Fraser, he understood Ray's need to get away for awhile. Ma. Vecchio had been concerned, but she seemed to trust that in time her adopted lamb would find his way home again to those who loved him.

         They entered Ray's building and headed up to the third floor. Once inside the apartment, Dief, trotted over to the sofa and made himself comfortable, as Fraser removed his coat and Stetson. He had just put the kettle on and removed his red serge, when there was a knock at the door. Dief barked excitedly.

         "I'm sure I've no idea,"  Fraser replied moving toward the door. He was surprised and delighted to find Elaine on the other side. "Elaine? This is a surprise. How are you?"

         "Hi, Benton," the female officer greeted, as Fraser stepped aside to allow her entry and offered to take the large paper sack from her. "I just got off shift and I thought you might like to share a meal."

         "That would be wonderful, Elaine," Fraser agreed, setting the bag on the counter. Fraser had gotten used to eating his meals with Ray, so eating alone as he often did now only made him miss his partner more. "How did you know I was here?"

         Elaine closed the door and shrugged out of her heavy, black CPD jacket. "Lieutenant Welsh told me," she replied, bending to give Dief a good scratch between the ears, before rising to stand next to Fraser again. "Don't worry, he only told me. He said you wanted it kept quiet and I won't say anything."

         "Thank you kindly, Elaine," Fraser returned as he pulled the delicious smelling Chinese food out of the bag and set about retrieving plate and silverware for them to eat with. "It isn't that I am concerned about people knowing where I am; I simply don't wish them to get the wrong impression of why I am staying at Ray's apartment."

         "I think it's very sweet of you to keep it for him, Benton," Elaine assured as she took some of the food over toward the table.

        Fraser smirked and remembering he and Ray always ate in the living room, did not comment on her choice. "I want Ray to have somewhere to live when he returns," he replied calmly, following her over with the rest of their meal.  He was forced to avoid Dief, who was determined to get underfoot at the idea food.

         "Mind if I get comfortable?" Elaine inquired reaching for her belt.

         Fraser gave her a nod of approval. Elaine looked quite handsome in her police uniform, but Fraser knew the heavy utility belts they were forced to wear were often uncomfortable. "Please do," he agreed.

      Elaine removed the belt and holster to set them on the counter, before settling across from him at the table. They ate in silence for a few moments, Elaine sneaking pieces of her Mongolian beef to Dief under the table.

         "So, how have you been holding up, Benton?" Elaine inquired suddenly and Fraser looked at her startled.

         "Pardon?"

         "How are you doing?"

         "I am fine," Fraser replied calmly. "How are things with you? Leftenant Welsh tells me you may be transferring to the 27th soon."

       Elaine shrugged. "We'll see," she returned. "I’d like to, but I want a few more arrests under my belt first."

        Fraser smiled and nodded. "Ah, understood," he agreed. "I am sure you will get them in no time."

         "You miss him, don't you?" Elaine asked softly and received another bewildered look from the Mountie.

         "Leftenant Welsh?" he questioned. "Actually no.  I speak with him a few times a week."

         "I mean Ray, Fraser," Elaine amended, aware of the Mountie's habit of misdirection.

         "Oh, well…of course I miss, Ray," Fraser admitted and took a sudden interest in his Moo Goo Guy Pan. "We all miss him.  However, I am sure he will get through this with his usual style and determination and…" He paused and looked up when he felt Elaine's hand cover his on the table.

         "Hey, it's me, Benton," she reminded, gently. "You don't have to put up the brave front with me. Sure we're all worried about Ray and he going through a lot, but what about you?"

        Fraser blinked.  "Me?" he almost squeaked. "I…there is nothing wrong with me, Elaine. I was not the one injured. I do not have amnesia."

         "No," Elaine concurred, "but your best friend does and that can't be easy for you." She ignored the deer-in-the-headlights look Fraser was giving her. "Ray's condition has affected all of us, Benton, but you most of all I think. You were closest to him."

         "I…I'm afraid I do not understand, Elaine," the Canadian stammered, as usual, trying to erect an impenetrable wall around his emotions. "Whatever problems I may have are insignificant compared to Ray's. He is the one that needs support and understanding and so that is what I will give him. It is the least I can do after…"

         Elaine saw a brief flicker in the Mountie's eyes, before he lowered them and grew quiet. She tilted her head patiently, and waited for him to finish, but instead the always polite and gracious Mountie dropped his fork and stood.

         "I'm afraid I am not very hungry, Elaine," Fraser stated quietly, his carefully schooled features once more becoming passive. "Perhaps we can do this another time."

         Elaine had spent many long hours studying this particular Mountie and she felt she knew him pretty well. Despite his outward calm, Elaine had discovered the subtle signs that indicated when Fraser was angry, amused, nervous and alarmed. He had mastered the art of evasion and deliberate misinterpretation.

            At first, Elaine had believed Fraser's naiveté to be genuine, and perhaps it was to a point. But having known him for almost three years now, she also knew when he employed people's assumptions of him as a decoy to get what he wanted. She had watched him play Ray Vecchio like a puppet. It was done without malice or hidden intent, simply because with Vecchio, it was easier to manipulate a little, then argue a lot. Fraser didn't seem to have that ability with Kowalski.

        Sure Fraser could coerce Kowalski into certain things, the Mountie's reasoning power was unrivaled. However, Elaine suspected Ray always knew when Fraser was doing a number on him. She believed Ray followed where Fraser led, not because the Mountie manipulated him, but because Fraser was his friend and partner. For Ray, that was all the incentive he needed to back Fraser up and, in all honesty, the detective never did something he didn't want to do in the first place. Ray was not above voicing his disapproval with Fraser or with the Mountie's often reckless behavior and Fraser seemed to respect that.

         Elaine suspected that Kowalski and Fraser had developed that kind of special friendship that the Mountie and Vecchio had only played at. Not that he and Vecchio hadn't been close, but Elaine felt that the Italian never really understood Fraser the way Kowalski seemed to. Ray Vecchio made excuses for Fraser's odd behavior and moaned about every little thing the Mountie got him into.

         Kowalski, on the other hand, went with the flow and trusted his partner not to get them killed.  Hurt maybe, but not killed, and Ray wasn't shy in praising Fraser when things turned out well. Oh course, Ray was not above voicing his distaste when things did not go well, either. When they did argue, Elaine could see it was the detective's fear and concern for Fraser that angered him, not so much the circumstances, or being proved wrong. Kowalski made no secret that he thought Fraser was a freak, but everyone knew the respect and love Ray had for that particular 'freak' and no one had better debase the Mountie in Ray's presence.

        Ray's role as Vecchio was just that, a part the detective played, to those who knew about it. However, Ray took his assignment seriously and Elaine always wondered if maybe the detective was taking his partnership with Fraser a little too seriously as well. The was an obvious connection between the two, Elaine had seen it from day one, but eventually Ray Vecchio would return to his life, his job and his Mountie. Elaine was concerned that Kowalski secretly feared that happening and harbored worried that he would loose all of what he had allowed himself to think of as his own; instead of as Ray Vecchio's.

        Kowalski didn't seem to realize that Elaine, Welsh, Frannie, and especially Fraser had long ago stopped thinking of the erratic and turbulent blond as just a temporary fixture in their lives. He was their friend now too, along with Ray Vecchio, which was why it was so hard to see the detective go through such a difficult time. None of them could imagine life without Ray Kowalski in it, and it was hard to deal with the fact that Ray did not remember any of them. It was ironic in a way, because as much as Elaine was sure that Ray had been afraid to loose them all when Vecchio returned, now they had all lost the Ray they knew, instead.

         "You blame yourself, don't you?" Elaine asked, making no move to leave.

        The muscle in Fraser's jaw twitched slightly but he remained silent.

        Elaine frowned. "It isn't your fault that Ray was hurt, Benton. It was an accident."

         "Ah, yes," Fraser returned grimly and walked over to the window in the living room. "An accident."

        Elaine stood and moved toward him, but not close enough to invade his personal space. "Benton, no one could have predicted…" she began.

         Fraser cut her off, while keeping his gaze glued to the city below. "I didn't predict," he denied, morosely. "I just charged ahead as I always do, with no thought to either mine or Ray's personal safety."

         "You can't help being who you are, Benton," Elaine insisted, gently. "You saw criminal activity and you confronted it. Ray would have done the same thing."

         "Ray would have waited for back up, Elaine," Fraser refused. "As I should have done." He sighed. "But I never do. I become blinded with my quest for justice and expect Ray to follow me into danger without regard for his own safety."

         "Ray follows you into danger because he is your partner, Benton," Elaine reminded. "It's what partners do."

         "Partners do not try to get the other killed!" Fraser snapped and tossed her an angry look, before turning back to the window once more.

        Elaine watched his posture grow rigid as the mask of equanimity slipped back into place. She was only slightly startled when he spoke again, in a much softer tone of voice.

        "He was trying to save me, Elaine. Ray challenged a man twice his size, both in height and strength, to protect me."

         "What was he supposed to do, Benton?" Elaine demanded. "Let that ogre kill you? Stand by and watch his best friend die?"

        Fraser shook his head. "He should not have endangered himself for me, Elaine," Fraser refused angrily. "That man…he tried to kill me. Didn't Ray consider that he would have no reservations about killing him as well?"

         "Maybe it didn't occur to him," Elaine suggested. "You know, Ray. Sometimes he leaps before he looks. I've seen him when he's angry Fraser and he's a tiger. He doesn't look at the size of someone, or think of the circumstances before he attacks. He just goes for it. Hell, he's almost put Dewey through a wall a few times, you know that."

         "Ray could have been killed, Elaine," Fraser muttered, folding his arms across his chest.

        This was a sign Elaine recognized well. It meant Fraser's emotions were slipping from his rigid control and he was trying to block himself off from anything and anyone that might hurt him more. Kowalski had the exact same habit, only for Ray it was a sign that he was struggling to control his temper. Ray used the gesture often whenever he felt less in control of a situation and he needed to keep himself from blowing up; most often in relation to a suspect he was interviewing.

         "But he wasn't killed," Elaine reminded gently. "Ray's alive and so are you…"

         "But he is no longer Ray!" Fraser exclaimed, starling her.

         Fraser ran a hand through his hair and cracked his neck, before striding over to the new sofa and dropping down upon it. Elaine sensed his frustration and slowly moved to sit beside him. Fraser braced his arms on his knees and held his head in his hand, keeping his eyes lowered to the floor. He did not want to do this, he did not want to appear vulnerable in front of Elaine. He was weak from missing Ray. Fraser was weak and lonely and his control was slipping. Elaine could not have picked a worse time to drop by, as Fraser didn't know how much longer he could maintain the strength of his emotions.

         "He's not the Ray we're used to," Elaine admitted quietly. "But he's still Ray, Benton. He's still our friend. We all still care about him and he still cares about us."

          Fraser shook his head.  "He doesn't even remember us, Elaine."

        "But he still cares about us, Benton," Elaine assured. "I could see in it his eyes, hear it in the way he talked." She reached out and rubbed his back, soothingly. "Maybe he doesn't understand why he cares, maybe his feelings are on a purely subconscious level, because he doesn't remember, but the feelings are there, Benton. He does care about us, about you, especially."

        Fraser shook his head again, refusing to meet her gaze, but subconsciously leaning back slightly against the hand that stroked him. Ray used to do that sometimes, run his back. Fraser remembered when he'd met that female Bounty Hunter. Fraser was feeling quite lost when she left and Ray seemed to understand that.

        They had sat here in this very apartment and Ray had rubbed his partner's back as Fraser struggled not to show how upset he was. Ray didn't offer any words of encouragement or try to tell the Mountie that everything would be okay. He just rubbed Fraser's back and remained quiet, respecting Fraser's personal space yet offering his support simultaneously. He missed that unconditional support that the detective always offered him. Ray always seemed to know just what Fraser needed.

         "I don't deserve his friendship, Elaine," Fraser finally murmured. Shocked to hear himself confessing openly. He couldn't believe he was even talking about this. He had sworn to keep such thoughts to himself, but Elaine's persistence and understanding seemed to have loosened his tongue and he couldn't stop the words rolling out of his mouth. "I feel…I feel so guilty all the time. About his injuries, about leading him into that alley."

        Elaine squeezed Fraser's shoulder. "It isn't your fault, Benton," she insisted, the up and down motions of her hands becoming slow, smooth circles over the Canadian's broad back.. "I'm sure Ray doesn't blame you for…"

         "How can he?" Fraser declared, casting her a cynical look. "Ray doesn't remember being in the alley. He doesn't remember my stupidity."

        Elaine sighed and shook her head. "But if he did remember, he still wouldn't blame you, Benton," she pressed. Fraser was quiet for a long time and she allowed him to gather his thoughts before she spoke again. "This isn't just about the alley is it?" He shook his head. "What else are you feeling guilty about then?"

         "I…I can't," Fraser refused and hid his face once again. "You'll hate me." He released a pitiful chuckle. "Of course, not a much as I hate myself, but you will hate me just the same."

         "Fraser," Elaine began firmly, pulling his hands from his face and catching his chin to make him meet her gaze. She used his last name to get his attention. "This is Elaine you are talking to, here. Remember me? The woman who put her social calendar on hold for almost two years to get you and Ray Vecchio anything you needed. I'm the woman who tended to your injuries, helped you arrange a traditional Yukon Birthday party and who lusted after you, while I watched other women hit on you."

        Fraser blushed.

        Elaine smiled "You were as obtuse with them as you were with me, but I knew you liked me better."

        Fraser's lips twitched and he pressed them together firmly.

        "I've watched you for a long time, Benton," Elaine confessed, "and I am an excellent study and judge of character. You have always been my biggest source of joy, confusion, aggravation and heartbreak."

         "I…Elaine I never meant…" Fraser began but she placed her two fingers over his mouth to silence him.

         "I'm not condemning you," Elaine assured softly. "It took me a long time to come to terms with my true feelings for you and I'm not afraid to admit them." She moved her fingers from his lips and caressed his cheek. "I'm just telling you that after all of that, all we've been through, I would never hate you."

         "I...thank you, Elaine," he murmured shyly and lowered his eyes. His cheeks were crimson but he didn't move away from her touch. "I…I wish for you to know that…well that…I have always appreciated your efforts…I mean…in regards to our…that is yours and mine relat…I mean to say we…I…"

         "I know, Benton," Elaine finished for him and he sighed gratefully. "I love you too." His eyes grew wide, as she expected them too, and she quickly amended. "As a friend."

        Fraser nodded and she watched his Adam's apple bob up and down a few times in succession. "Yes, well…all right then." He cracked his neck nervously and she grinned.

         "Now tell me what else you're feeling bad about," she pressed and watched as he began to shut down again.

         "I…I just..." Fraser shook his head aggravated that he could not speak from his heart as easily as he could quote textbooks. "I miss Ray. I…I wish…I wish he was the way he…" He stopped and tried again. "I want him to remember me, Elaine. I…I want him to remember the friends we were and I…"

         "You get angry and feel betrayed that he doesn't remember?" she offered and he stared at her surprised.

         "Y…yes," Fraser agreed, startled. "I...How did…?"

         Elaine patted his hand. "We all feel that way, Benton," she assured. "It's hard to comprehend that someone doesn't remember things that you could never forget. All the good times and bad times and all the adventures you guys had. Of course you're hurt and angry that Ray doesn't remember any of that. It's natural."

         "It isn't Ray's fault that he cannot remember, Elaine," Fraser defended. "I have no right to be angry with him for something that he has no control over."

        She nodded. "True," she agreed,  "and as long as you remember that you'll be okay. But those kinds of feelings are natural, Benton. Don't condemn yourself for being human. I'm sure Ray is just as angry as you are about the things that have changed in his life, but he understands there is nothing he can do about it now. He just has to move forward and do the best he can with the rest of his life."

         "Thank you, Elaine," Fraser offered fondly, truly grateful for her intuition into his soul. He'd never have gotten it out under his own steam. "Perhaps we should…finish our meal?"

        Elaine smiled and rose with him, linking her arm through his.  "Lead on MacDuff," she encouraged and at last, Fraser laughed.
 
 

         Ray grabbed the man and tossed him onto the hood of the parked car.
         "You want dis gun bullet by bullet or ya want me to pound it into yer head? You Must tell me! You Must tell me how much you want it! How much do you want it? Tell me!"
         "You can't kill me!" The man murmured in shock and Ray could smell his fear. The man was trembling under his grip, but Ray only pushed the barrel of his gun closer in the man's face.
         "I can't kill you? You don't think so?"
         "Ray!" it was Fraser's voice. "Look at me. Look at me!" Ray looked at him. 'You're not gonna kill this man."
         "Why not?" Ray stared at his victim. "It's what I do."
         "It is not what you do."
         "You talk to me in two days. I'll guarantee ya I've killed someone."
         Shots rang out and then Ray was running, running for his life. Running from death. He threw open the Consulate doors and toppled inside, falling to his knees.
 

         "Fraser!" Ray screamed, bolting up in his bed. He was shivering from fear and from the confusing visions in his head. His nightmares were getting worse and he was sleeping less at night because of it. Ray tried to keep himself busy all day, working as hard and as long as he could in hopes that at night he would either sleep or pass out from exhaustion. Unfortunately, all sleep seemed to bring him was more terror.  As it was he was averaging only two or three hours a night.

        Taking a few deep breaths to steady his erratic breathing, Ray reached for the small journal on his bed table and switched on the tiny antique lamp next to it. He found the pen with it and opened the book to a clean page, quickly jotting down the dream before he forgot it. His handwriting was shaky at best, but it would have to do.

         Finally, he slapped the book closed and tossed it and the pen back on the bedside table. He leaned back and ran his hands over his face. This was getting ridiculous. He didn't know if his dreams were memories or just his mind screwing with him. He could envision tiny, little demons running around inside his brain, laughing and having a party. Hey, let's drive the guy a little crazier, com'ahn it will be fun! He doesn't know the difference between fantasy and reality anyway. We can have a blast.

        Bethy B., who had been snuggled against him, had been startled by Ray's sudden movement and had darted off the bed. She now hopped back up, gave him a look a forgiving look and walked across his lap to rub her face against his in comfort.

        Ray accepted the animal's caress and stroked her back until she arched in appreciation. Somewhere, in the recess of Ray's fragile mind, he remembered something about how stroking a cat was supposed to be relaxing and offered a meditative  effect. Ray didn't know if that was true or not, but he did feel better. The animal had become good company to him over the few couple of weeks and Ray was glad he had found her.

        Bethy B. followed him around outside and was never far from his lap when they were in the cabin. Ray had picked up some cat food for her and a small scratching post, to prevent her from destroying the furniture in the cabin. Bethy B. seemed to understand the importance of not turning her new home into shambles and used the post religiously. Now, if Ray could just break her of presenting him with the treasured gifts of dead mice, bugs, or snakes, the cat would be the perfect companion.

         He glanced toward the small picture window, at the front of the cabin, and saw that the sun was rising. Oh well, may as well get up. He tossed back the covers and headed for the bathroom. He quickly took care of his pressing need to urinate, then jumped in the shower and let the hot water massage his troubles away. Not that it ever did, but Ray liked to pretend it could happen that way. Just let it wash away all of the dirt and filth and problems that were heaped on him throughout the day.

         Thirty minutes later, dressed in jeans, a gray T-shirt under a heavier blue sweatshirt and his usual biker boots, he grabbed his heavy black jacket and he and his fury companion headed outside. Shrugging into the coat, Ray zippered it halfway up against the nippy morning air, then retrieved his leather gloves from the pockets.

         Winter was almost here. You could smell the snow in the air and some had fallen again late last night. The storm they were supposed to receive the day Ray found Bethy B., never amounted to much other than some really high winds and a few flurries that had melted the next day. Ray needed to finish repairing the steps on cabin four and then head into town to purchase some parts for the light fixtures in cabin seven. He had always been good with his hands and he was turning into a real handyman under Mr. Baker's keen tutelage.

         He pulled open the door to the Baker's tool shed and found the supplies he would need for the step. The cat followed and rubbed up invitingly against Ray's legs, loudly demanding attention. She had grown a little over the last few weeks and had filled out more now that she was being fed regularly. Ray bent to offer her an affectionate scratch, then gathered the tools he had selected and closed the shed door. Bethy B. followed him all the way down to cabin four, then hopped up on the porch rail to settle and lazily gaze down as Ray worked.

         "You got the life don't ya, Bethy B.?" he teased the animal, as he used the hammer to pull up two of the old, rotting boards on the step.  "Just eat, sleep and prowl."

        Beth B. offered him a wide yawn and a half-hearted meow, as she continued to watch him, intently.

        Ray chuckled. "Wish my life was dat easy."

         "It would be," a familiar voice replied from behind and Ray nearly jumped out of his skin. He swung around to see the scolding face of Mrs. Baker staring down at him. "If you wouldn't insist on getting up at this ungodly hour."

        Ray smirked and cast the cat a dirty look. "Ya coulda warned me," he told it, then straightened. He towered over the smaller woman, who stood barely five feet in her stockings.  "Hey, Mrs. B."

        Mary Ann offered him a thermos cup of hot coffee and he smiled at her gratefully.

        "Thank you."
 
        "No sleep again last night?" she inquired in motherly disapproval.

        Ray took the cup and lowered his eyes, contritely.

        "More nightmares, honey?"

        He nodded. "A bad one," he admitted, quietly.

         "Did you write it down, as I told you?" she pressed and he nodded. She had given him the journal and told him to write down any dreams or strange feelings he might have, then go back over them later. "What was this one about?"

         "Same thing," Ray sighed and settled on the porch, careful of the broken step. He left enough room for her to sit beside him. "About killing someone."

         "I am sure it can be explained, honey," Mary Ann offered, slipping her tiny arm through one of his and leaning her head against the strong comfort of his biceps.

         She sensed Ray's need for physical contact and was more then happy to give it to him. She was always hugging him, or sitting beside him or patting his knee. To an outsider it might look like the older woman was hitting on the detective, but that wasn't it at all. They were both just very affectionate and Mr. Baker seemed to approve of their relationship.

         "I dunno, Mrs. B.," Ray refused, staring out at the brightening horizon. A slow curtain of haze was rolling in off the lake and blocking part of the spectacular view.

         "You said you were a police officer before, right?" she questioned.

         Ray nodded. "That's what dey tell me, yah," he agreed, quietly.

         "Then, perhaps you are just seeing things that happened but not necessarily things you were involved in," she commented. "Maybe things are just running together and a little out of focus, so you can't really judge where those memories belong. Being a policeman, I am sure you were surrounded by violence, even death and…"

         Her reassuring words were suddenly drowned out by Welsh's gruff angry voice.  Ray saw them arguing in the office at the precinct.

        "You killed a guy for scalping? Look, the mayor does not like it when the
Chicago P.D. goes around killing its citizens."
        "Look, he had no I.D. He might not have even been a citizen."
        "Oh! That's great. He's a foreigner, so it doesn't matter that we killed him. The
Chamber of Commerce is going to love that one. Great for tourism."

         "Stanley Ray?"

        Ray shook his head. He opened his eyes and forced himself to focus on the woman beside him.

        "Are you all right?" Mary Ann asked. "Was it another memory?"

         "Yes, no…I don't know," Ray admitted as his head started to throb again. "I...I better finish this step, Mrs. B. Thanks fer the coffee." He rose and helped her to her feet, again being careful of the broken boards below the porch.

        Mary Ann reached up and patted his cheek affectionately. "All right you mule headed whippersnapper," she agreed and he smiled at her. "But when I holler for breakfast you had better get your skinny behind in my kitchen, you hear me?"

         "Yes'em," he promised.

         Mary Ann looked up at Bethy B. who had risen on the rail to stretch luxuriously. "Come along you ungrateful thing you," she scolded. "I don't know why Stanley Ray keeps you around at all. You'd be more useful as a dust mop."

        Mary Ann had not minded when Ray asked if he could let the cat stay with him in the cabin, and Ray knew that the older woman slipped treats to Bethy B., but Mary Ann pretended she found the cat an irritation.

         Bethy B. hopped down beside the older woman, as Mary Ann continued to reprimand the cat.  Bethy B. calmly walked along, unaffected by the threats.

        Ray thought of how Fraser had often scolded Diefenbaker and he shook his head in amusement. He suddenly felt a longing for the Mountie and wolf, he missed their companionship. He shook the sad feelings away and continued what he was doing.

         Ray missed the call for breakfast. He had driven into town for parts. When he returned, instead of going to the Bakers, he started on the light fixtures in cabin seven. He was standing on a small, step stool in the middle of the room fiddling with the modest chandelier when it hit him.

         Ray dropped the bulb he had been holding and it shattered on the wood floor beneath him. He gripped his throbbing head as the flashes of images and sounds proceeded to pass through his brain at the speed of light. He managed to stumble off the stool without injuring himself, but immediately dropped to his knees once on solid ground.

         This was the third attack this week and Ray was starting to worry that his torment was increasing. If he could actually see something or understand the noise in his head, perhaps he could cope. Unfortunately, the images moved too quickly and the sounds were like the incessant humming of a tribe of locust, vibrating through his skull until he thought he would go mad from the racket surrounding him.

         And then there was the pain. A pain that seemed to attack all of his senses at once. Feelings of fear, joy, grief and anger filled his heart in the scope of a few minutes. Ray could simultaneously taste and smell a hundred different things; only some of which seemed familiar. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream and he wanted to kick someone in the head. Mostly, he just wanted it to stop. He wanted to be sane again.

         Finally, the flashes started to slow and he saw himself and Fraser, the Lieutenant from the precinct and two other men, one white and one black, whom Ray didn't recognize. The short white guy was speaking to Ray.

          "Actually, it's the guy she's doing. Turns out he's some big shot politician."
         "Uh, what was that? Sorry, I missed that."
         "Uh, he's a politician. You know, City Alderman. He's, uh, he's looking to become mayor."
         "Uh, no, the part about my wife."
          "Oh, about the guy she's doing. Well, good-looking guy, lots of cash, moves around the right circles. Actually, I don't think they're just friends. I'd get over it if I were you, you've been replaced."
         "Funny guy."
        Ray grabs the man and pins him to the hood of a police cruiser.

        Suddenly, he is sitting in the GTO with Fraser, watching his wife come out of a fancy house and stopping on the steps, to kiss a tall, well-dressed man.

         "I can not do this, Fraser. I can not."
         "Of course you can, Ray."
         "She spent the night with him."

         Ray opened his eyes slowly, and realized that he was curled up in a fetal position on the floor.  Bethy B. was beside him, mewing concerned. Ray carefully moved to his knees and wiped at the moisture on his face. His whole body had started to shake.

         "Why Stella?" he muttered, mournfully. "Why'd ya do it? I was yer husband. I loved ya." He shook his head as the rage of betrayal filled him. "You bitch!" he screamed, his tormented voice echoing in the cabin. "How could you do that to me, to us? You God damn, ungrateful bitch!" He rose unsteadily to his feet, threw his hands out and his head back in despair. "STELLA!"
 
        Ray  needed to get out of the cabin, away from everyone and everything remotely familiar. He  needed to just go somewhere where he didn't have to think. He wound up in a small bar, just on the outskirts of Chicago. He settled on one of the stools at the bar and ordered a beer. Then he changed his mind and ordered a rum and coke instead. The bartender retrieved his drink, Ray tossed him the required bills and took a long swallow.

        The liquid burned his throat, but Ray didn't care. He supposed he hadn't drank in awhile either, since he seemed to have given up so many of his habits after dropping out of college. As a little act of rebellion, Ray immediately pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. There, a smoke and a drink, what a bad little boy he was being. He smirked, he'd turned into a pretty boring guy, married to Stella.

        Suddenly, a pretty woman in a modestly snug, red mini dress tossed an arm around him and kissed him full on the mouth. "Darling!" she exclaimed. "I've been waiting forever." She hugged him and whispered in his ear. "Please play along, I told that jerk at the end of the bar I was waiting for someone but he won't stop pestering me."

        Ray glanced down at the greasy looking patron on the other side, who was watching them with a frown. He put his arm around the woman in red. "What took ya so long, sweetheart?" he asked, kissing her cheek and helping her onto the stool next to him.

        The woman gave him a grateful smile and intertwined their fingers, before resting them on the bar where the other man could see them from his position. She leaned in and appeared to nuzzle Ray's neck, seductively. "My name's Joyce, thanks so much."

        Ray smiled and tried not to think how intoxicatingly sweet she smelled. "Welcome," Ray murmured  back, shyly.

        The woman had the most unusual color eyes, such a deep blue they were almost purple, hidden by long, sinful lashes. Her hair was a deep strawberry blond and fell to just below her shoulder in a fashionable style. She was average height, maybe 5'6 or 5'7 with her heels on and her pouty lips were decorated a playful pink. Her skin was bronzed gold by the sun, like she had just come back from vacation at some Island resort, and she had generous curves in all the right places. She was not the kind of woman Ray would expect to be interested in him.

        Now, Ray wished he could remember some things, like how to handle this kind of situation, or how how to appear smooth and charming for a lady. He smirked, that's assuming that he had learned at least something of that nature as he matured, because he sure as hell didn't have the touch in college. Of course the only one he every tried to impress was Stella and she was an easy sell. He was tongue tied around other women.
 
         The man at the bar finally moved off to harass another woman and Joyce released Ray's hand. "You're a life saver," she assured as the bartender approached. "Let me buy you a drink."

        "I have one," Ray stated, then lowered his eyes. Oh yah, that's real smooth Kowalski. Pile it on a little thicker Romeo and you'll slide right off your freakin' stool and flat on your ass. "I...I mean you...you don't have to...I...it was my pleasure, to...to help out."

        Joyce smiled at him and ordered a gin and tonic for herself. "You're sweet," she decided, giving him a genuine appraisal "What's your name?"

        "Ray."
 
        "Really?" Joyce asked, pleased. "That's one of my favorite names in the whole world, isn't that something?"

        Ray shrugged and stared at his drink. Ray was kind of a plain name, he couldn't see anything extraordinary about it. Was she flirting with him? Hard to tell, he'd never had much experience with that either. Just Stella and of course the bitch that conned him at the race track. Rather then test his theory he just offered her a small, meaningless smile and took a sip of his drink.

        "You're quite shy, aren't you, Ray?" Joyce asked, gently.

        "No, not really," Ray denied, which just made him look more foolish because it was painfully obvious how very inadequate he was at this sort of thing. "Um...just," He shrugged. "Not much of a talker I guess."

        Joyce clasped  her hand to her chest, dramatically. "Thank God!" she exclaimed grinning. "I always seem to meet the guys that want to do nothing by talk about themselves all night long. Blah, blah, blah, blah!" She winked at him. "It's nice to meet a man of mystery for a change."

        Ray smiled, for real this time, and Joyce leaned a little closer, pleased.

        "You have the most amazing smile, Ray," she told him. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

        Ray shook his head.

        "Listen, I know this is a little forward of me," Joyce began quietly. "But, would you like to go somewhere more private and...talk?"

        Ray stared at her for a long time. Was she serious? Did she really want to just talk, or was she proposing something else all together? Was she another con artist? Ray didn't think she was; something in her eyes told him she could be trusted. However, he had been wrong before.

        "I'd like dat, Joyce," he heard himself say and was rewarded with another brilliant smile of perfect white teeth.

        "There's a great little bistro just down the road," she insisted, starting to pull some money from her purse. "It serves the great Beef Wellington you've ever tasted."

        Ray had never tasted the dish anyawy, that he could remember, but he nodded anyway. He waved her money away and handed a ten to the bartender to pay for her drink. Joyce smiled at him, then slipped off her stool as he rose from his.

        "Do you have a coat?" Ray asked, remembering that it had turned chilly outside.

        "Yes, I hung it on the rack by the door," Joyce informed as Ray automatically slipped a hand to the small of her back to guide her through the bar. "Do you have a car? I took a cab here, or we can walk if you prefer."

        Ray nodded, as he paused to help her on with her coat, Ray had never removed his. "My car's in the lot," he reported as he held the door for her and they stepped outside. Silently, he thought about Stella and how this felt like he was betraying her. But then, he remembered, Stella had moved on with her life, he had nothing to feel guilty about.

        Ray and Joyce had long ago finished their meal and were now sipping coffee at a side table by the window. Joyce had been right, the food here was incredible, and Ray had willingly paid for both their orders. Joyce seemed content to talk about herself, accepting that Ray was indeed just a quiet and private person. She had been a model,  a receptionist, acted in a few small independent films and made for T.V. movies and now she was handling the job of a cruise director.

        Ray listened, enthralled as she told him of the places she had been, the things she had seen. Ray had never even been out of Chicago, to his knowledge, but he'd always had the desire to travel. Of course, the hope was he and Stella would travel; now that was just a pipe dream.

        Ray found they had a lot in common. They both liked old movies, especially  the musicals with Fred Astair and Gene Kelly. They both enjoyed hiking, dancing and reading Zane Gray novels. Joyce loved to paint, and Ray admitted he had always wanted to learn how but never mastered the art; again not to his knowledge. They were both closet smokers, they both coveted coffee and carrot cake and most importantly, they had both been recently hurt in love.

        Ray did not elaborate on his amnesia, he merely told her that he and his wife were divorced and he was trying to adjust to life with out her. That was true, so Ray wasn't lying, and he didn't feel the need to mention that he was trying to adjust to life period, because of the years he had lost. He didn't want to see that sympathetic or appalled expression that so many developed after hearing his story.

        Joyce did not press him and seemed to accept whatever information Ray did allow, about himself, at face value. She laughed at his lame jokes and he laughed at her silly stories of strange people she had met in some of the places she had worked. They continued this way for three and a half hours, as the time slipped by unnoticed.
 
 

        Ray entered his cabin and was greeted by a very vocal Bethy B. He shrugged out of his coat and quickly set some food and water out for her. "Sorry, girl," he offered quietly, as the animal devoured her meal. "Didn't mean ta leave ya alone so long."

        Bethy B. cast him a forgiving look then returned to her food.

        Ray walked over and dropped tiredly on his bed. He rubbed his upper arms briskly, feeling chilled despite the reasonable warmth in the cabin. Each of the Baker's cabins had electric heat and Ray had turned it on keep the chill of in the mornings, though he usually used the fireplace in the evening. He's been gone awhile and so the heat had been on the entire time.

        Ray's chill was not due to the temperature, he knew it originated from inside him. However, he kicked off his boots and curled up under his covers, not bothering to remove his clothes. He was cold, he was lonely, his head hurt and his heart ached. He could feel the tears starting at the back of his throat and he forced them back. He was not gonna cry. He was not gonna feel guilty about this.

          Ray had honestly not meant for that to happen. He'd been upset about his memory of Stella, he still was, but he never thought...He groaned and pulled the covers over his head. He sucked. It had been wonderful, fantastic in fact, but he still sucked. He couldn't help thinking he had betrayed his wife, even if she was no longer married to him.

          Joyce had been warm, sweet and incredibly inviting. Not much had been amusing in Ray's life lately and he had needed to laugh and relax. Joyce didn't ask him any of the hard questions and it just felt so good to actually meet someone he hadn't known before the accident, to make a legitimate new acquaintance. Unfortunately, after talking for so long at the bistro, Joyce had requested Ray drive her home.

            Ray was a gentleman, he didn't see the problem in that, but she must have either his loneliness or his despair, because she invited him inside. Ray should have refused, it would have been the right thing to do. After all, he didn't know this woman from the Adam, what had he been thinking? Ray had accepted her invitation, fully intending to just have a cup of the coffee she offered him and then head home.

            Joyce wouldn't let him leave. Not that she tied him to the bed or held a gun to Ray's head, but she was very persuasive and quite frankly, Ray did not need all that much convincing. She was beautiful, sexy and very, very, real. Ray needed the contact, he needed to touch and be touched. He needed to believe he was special or important for that one brief moment.

            So, they had made love and it had been everything Ray had expected it to be. However, it wasn't his Stell and no matter how hard he tried, Ray could not help but feel guilty about his deception. The sex he could handle, it was the feelings afterwards that messed with his mind and heart. He was certain that Joyce would be up for a relationship, if Ray indicated he wanted one, but Ray wasn't ready for that. He was still confused and hurt about what Stella had done and he didn't think it would be fair to Joyce to try and be with her while he was still so screwed up over his ex-wife.

        Joyce had given him her number and said to call her if he changed his mind. Ray wanted to, she was a wonderful and caring woman. The chemistry between them was definitely a plus, and she made him forget about his troubles, at least for a little while. However, Ray didn't want to burden her with the problems he needed to work out, as tempting as it was, so he had just kissed her goodbye and left.

        Unable to erase the chill from his bones, Ray tossed back the covers and pulled off his sweatshirt. The minute he sat up he started coughing and it took him a few minutes to catch his breath. Great, just what he needed was to catch a freaking cold on top of everything else.

        He grabbed the pair of boxing gloves he had purchased and moved over to the fittness bag that hub in the corner of the room. Mr. Baker had allowed Ray to put one up in the cabin,sensing Ray's need to have an outlet. When Ray became frustrated or upset he needed o hit something and he did not want to trash the cabin, so he purchased the bag, along with a set of weights and the gloves.

        Ray enjoyed boxing, always had, but it appeared it had been quite a while since he was active in it. The first few weeks he was here, Ray would run early in the mornings then work out on the bag and weights right after. The first week he thought he would die, his body was so out of shape. Running was okay, he seemed to have maintained his stamina for that at least, but his arms and torso were dreadfully sore from using the bag and weights. He had gained some weight and muscel since college, so Ray put that added bulk to good use and toned up even more.

        Ray started punching at the bag, just as there was a knock at his door. He frowned, it was pretty late for the Bakers to be up, so who else could it be? He pulled off one of the gloves and went to greet his visitor. He was surprised to see Mr. Baker standing there, a six pack of beerin one hand and a plastic bag of items in the other.

        "Evening, Ray," the older man greeted, gruffly. "You busy, son?"

        Ray shook his head and allowed the man inside, closing the door behind him. "No, just workin' out," he assured as he pulled off the other glove and tossed them on the coffee table. "What's up, Sir? Mrs. B. okay?"

        John Baker nodded and handed Ray the beer. "Oh, yes," he assured. "She's gone to bed already. I just couldn't sleep and I thought you might still be up. You younger kids always seem more energetic  than us old folks." John smiled as he shrugged out of his coat and dropped it over the back of the closest chair. "Thought you might like to share a beer or two, maybe have a game?" He pulled the chess board out of the bag and set it on the small kitchen table.

        Ray smirked and took the six pack, pulling two from the rings, and set the rest in the small refrigerator. He sneezed once or twice and grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter. "Sure," he agreed. Maybe it would help take his mind off Stella and Joyce.

        "You okay, Ray?" John asked as Ray cleared his sinuses.

        Ray nodded. "Yah, just stayed outside too long, probably," he replied. "Ya want me to fix somethin' ta eat? I...I don't have much, some crackers, a TV dinner and bread."

        "Got it covered," John chuckled as he retrieved a covered container of snacks. "Don't tell Mary Ann, now, this is my private stash."

        Ray laughed and settled opposite John at the table. He pulled the cover off the container, as the older man set up the chess board. There was a feast of chips, peanuts, pretzels and other assorted high cholesterol snack foods that Mrs. Baker liked to reprimand her husband for eating.

        "My lips are sealed," Ray assured as he pushed one of the beers toward John and popped the tab on his own. Bethy B. hopped up in Ray's lap and he pushed back a little from the table to give her access. She placed two paws on the table and stared across at John, expectantly.

        "Teaching her to play are ya?" John laughed.

        Ray nodded and stroked the cat, affectionately. He was getting way too attached to this feline. "She'd probably be pretty good," he admitted grinning. "Ya like to play solitare though, don't ya girl?" Ray would play the game with her on his lap and she would occasionally try to catch the cards as he laid them on the table; as though telling him which ones to pick.
 
        "Well, in that case," John agreed, setting the chess board aside and pulling a deck of cards from the bag. "We'll play poker. You any good at poker, son?"

        Ray nodded. "Yah, my dad taught me, he's real good at it."

        "You and your dad pretty close, aren't you?" John inquired as he handed Ray a roll of colored poker chips.

        Ray shrugged. "We...well I thought we were," he admitted. "My dad was always a cool guy. I mean, we did all the father son stuff when I was growing up."

        "Yah, I tried to do what I could with my kids too, but sometimes it's hard when you're trying to make a life for your family and bring home the bacon." John admitted as he set up his own chips and started shuffling the cards. "I'm sure your dad did his best."

        "I know he did," Ray agreed without hesitation. He stacked some chips in front of Bethy B. and watched her swat at them with her paw, knocking them over. "I just...with all that's happened I'm...well I'm learnin' stuff I didn't think..." Ray shrugged, unable to say more.

        His current feelings for his father were hard to define. He still loved his dad, but he felt betrayed that his father had lied to him. At the same time, he was ashamed that he had disappointed Damien Kowalski by becoming a cop, something Ray thought had pleased his father, or else why did he and his dad still seem so close those weeks after his accident?
 
        "It'll get better, Ray," John assured as he started to deal out the cards. He chuckled as Bethy B. tried to catch them between her paws. "I know you're havin' a rough time with things, but ya gotta realize you're folks probably are. It can't be easy for them watching  you suffer like this." His eyes narrowed, concerned. "Have you called them yet? Let them know you're okay?"

        Ray nodded. He had called his Mother the day after Fraser called and spoke with her for about an hour. He had not wanted to talk to his dad, and luckily Damien had bene out when he called. He told his Mother he was doing okay, but that he just needed to get his thoughts together. He asked for them to be patient and stop bothering Fraser so much. He assured his Mother that he still loved both her and Damien but that he just needed more time to deal with the things that had happened.

        "Yah, my Mum was...happy to hear from me," Ray finally answered. "I think she understands now that I just needed to get away." Ray reached for his pack of ciggeretts, that were in his shirt pocket, and started to light one. For some reason, it made him think of Joyce and he tossed it back in the pack.

        John regarded Ray quietly, but refrained from comment. He knew he and his wife were getting entirely too attached to this young man, and he was doing his best to keep himself from getting too involved in Ray's affairs. He enjoyed Ray's company and appreciated the boy's efforts to help with repairs and anything else John could find for him to do. Mary Ann however, had already given her heart over to the younger man and John worried his wife would be devastated  when Ray finally got his act together and found the courage to leave them. He couldn't stay here forever, Ray was still very young and had a life of his own in Chicago, even if he didn't remember it. Mary Ann needed to be prepared for when Ray did have to go.

        "Well then," John decided. "Opening bid is yours, son."

        Ray nodded and picked up his cards.

         Fraser answered his phone on the forth ring, having been down the hall from his office when he heard it. He snatched it up, praying that it was Ray. Despite Ray's promise to call Fraser more often. the Mountie had only heard from his friend once since Fraser had called him over four weeks ago. Fraser had tried to call Ray often, but had never received an answer. He had been spending more of his evenings at the Consulate, just hoping Ray would contact him.

         "Canadian Consulate, Constable Benton Fraser, speaking," he greeted in a hurried breath.

        There was a long pause on the other end before a woman's sweet voice answered. "Is this Stanley Ray's Mountie friend?" the woman inquired.

        It took Fraser a moment to realize whom she was talking about. "I am a friend of Ray Kowalski's, yes," he assured, as fear knotted his insides and crept into his heart. "Who is this please?"

         "My name is Mary Ann Baker," the woman announced. "My husband and I own the Sunshine Cabins. We took Stanley Ray in to help us around the place for the winter." Fraser nodded then answered.
         "Yes, Ray has mentioned you," he replied anxiously. "Is everything all right? Has something happened to Ray?" Another long pause and Fraser thought he heard a man in the background, arguing with the woman to get off the phone.

         "Well, noooo, but…" she paused to yell at the man with her. "Shut up John or I swear I'll bean you! This is important!" Then to Fraser again, in a more normal tone, "What was your name again, honey?"

         "Constable Benton Fraser of the…" Fraser began, but her quiet sweet voice interrupted.

         "Okay, Benton, is it okay if I call you that?"

         "Yes ma'am," Fraser assured eager for her to explain herself. She could call him the Man in the Moon if it would get more information out of her about Ray.

         "Well, Benton," Mary Ann began. "I know this probably isn't my business…"

         "It's not your business at all, Mary Ann now hang up the damn phone!" Fraser heard John exclaim but he was ignored.

         "I'm worried about Stanley Ray," the woman continued and again Fraser felt his heart drop into his stomach. "I'm afraid he has not been sleeping or eating well. He has been plagued by terrible nightmares you see and I'm worried he's working himself too hard trying to forget."

         "May I ask exactly where you are located, Mrs. Baker?" Fraser inquired, reaching for a pen and pad. He wrote down the directions that she gave him. "Mrs. Baker I do appreciate your call. I hope you and your husband won't mind if I come by to check on Ray?"

         "No of course not, only…" she hesitated a moment. "Please, don't think I am trying to interfere in his life. He has things he needs to work out and I understand that. However, he hasn't come to a meal in over a week and I know he has hardly a stitch of groceries at the cabin. I see him out working, but he never comes to see us anymore and when we try to approach him he makes some excuse and goes to his cabin. John saw Stanley Ray once the other night and said he didn't seem himself. "

            The boy has every right to be preoccupied, Mary Ann," John insisted from the background. "I never would have told you a damn thing if I thought you were gonna interfere!"

         "You are right to be concerned, Mrs. Baker," Fraser assured, over the man's tirade. "I will be there as soon as I can. Please don't worry. I am sure Ray is fine."

         "Thank you so much, Benton," she returned relieved. "Stanley Ray was right about you; you are a nice man."

         "Thank you kindly, Mrs. Baker," Fraser returned. "Please don't tell him I am coming.  He may try to cover up any problems he is having if he knows."

         "I understand," she agreed. "Good bye, Benton."

         Fraser rang off and then headed directly to Thatcher's office. He paused outside her partially opened office door, surprised to see her standing and staring out the window. Her back was too him and she was sniffing suspiciously. He frowned, wondering if he should intrude, but he could not delay asking if he wanted to get to Ray's tonight. He knocked softly on the door and watched her wipe at her face and return to her desk, before calling for him to come in.

         "What is it Constable?" Thatcher demanded, glaring at her computer screen and trying to appear busy; her glasses set beside the terminal on her desk.

         Fraser entered. "I hoped I might have a word with you, Sir?" he suggested quietly. "I understand you are busy and…"

        Thatcher glanced at him. "I'm not busy at all, Fraser," she assured quickly, switching off her computer and moving to retrieve her coat. Fraser was there, instantly, to help her into it. "I am just leaving."

         "If I could have just a moment of your time, Sir?" he tried again, as she went about collecting her things.

         "Make it quick Constable," she ordered.

          Fraser caressed his right eyebrow nervously, before trudging forward. "Sir, I know that I have already taken a good deal of time off this year, but I am afraid I must request even more." he informed quickly. "I understand that it is getting close to the holidays and that we cannot leave the Consulate unattended, or that you may have something else planned…"

         "Does this have to do with your partner, Fraser?" she demanded and he nodded guiltily.  Before he could explain she was speaking again. "Turnbull and I will manage fine without you, Constable," she assured quickly. "You may take as much time as you need. Just let me know whether or not you will be back in time to start the preparations for the Christmas Ball. If you are not, I know of someone I can hire to assist me."

         Fraser gapped at her for a moment.  He hadn't expected to gain permission so quickly.  He couldn’t end the conversation there though. The fact that she had been crying earlier weighed heavily on his heart and he was duty bound to ask her about it.

         "Thank you, Sir," Fraser offered quietly. "Are…are you all right, Inspector? Is there anything wrong?"

        Thatcher cast him a scornful glare but the tears glittering in her eyes ruined the effect. "You have my permission to take leave, Fraser," she decided firmly. "What else do you want?"

         I want you not to be sad, he urged silently. He recalled her mention of Christmas which was less then a month away now.

         "Are you…do you have plans for the holidays, Sir?" he inquired, knowing he was about to get himself into trouble, but unable to help his concern. Surely she wasn't upset because she was going to be alone for Christmas?

         "Yes, I do, Constable," Thatcher replied and he almost sighed in relief. "Not that it is any concern of yours."

         "Forgive me, Sir," Fraser returned quickly. "I…I just noticed that you were…you seemed upset earlier and I…"

         Thatcher turned toward him then and for a moment he thought she was going to give him a dressing down for stepping over the lines. Instead she sighed, dropped her purse back on her desk and slumped onto the sofa by the wall.  "You saw me crying," she sighed and he nodded, hesitantly. "I thank you for your concern, Constable, but I was not upset over my lack of invitations for Christmas dinner. I actually have received quite a few.  I just do not feel much like celebrating."

         Taking the initiative, Fraser settled beside her, but keeping a respectable distance, should someone see them. "Then, may I ask, why were you crying?" He was surprised when she reached out, placed her hand atop his and met his gaze.

         "I don't know if you would believe me, Constable," she commented, softly.

         "Try me," Fraser offered and she almost smiled before removing her hand.

         "I…I know I have been a particular…" She searched for a good word, "...beast these past few weeks, Fraser and I apologize." Fraser hid his surprise well and she continued. "It isn't about you or Turnbull or even Christmas." She sighed again, heavily. "It is about your partner."

         "Ray?" Fraser inquired puzzled. What could Inspector Thatcher possibly be upset about over Ray? He misunderstood her comment and continued. "I know I have already taken a good deal of time off, Sir… but I…"

         "No, no, Fraser!" she declared rising again. "I understand why you had to take time off.  It isn't that."  She looked toward him again and saw confusion written in his features.

         "I am afraid I do not understand, Sir," he admitted, perplexed.

         "I…we don't know each other very well, Fraser," she began. "I…I mean we know each other as…" She started again. "I am your superior, you are my subordinate. These things aren't discussed between…but you and I are…well we seem more then…I would like to think we are…more than…We have been through a lot you and I and…"

         "I believe that we can be….are…more, Sir," Fraser finally offered, still slightly confused by her rambling. He was starting to comprehend some of what she was trying to say and she seemed relieved.

         "Yes, yes we are Fraser," Thatcher agreed, firmly. "I believe that as well and I…That is we…Sometimes I wish that you would…come to me and…" She growled and started once more. "I know you must be having a difficult time with Kowalski and…I want…I would like you to…to talk to me…sometime if you feel…you are able."

         "I…I really have nothing to say about it, Sir," Fraser admitted, and he realized that was the truth. It had helped talking with Elaine.  He had managed to come to terms with the majority of his feelings. "There is nothing more I can do for him but be his friend."

        Thatcher settled beside him, seizing on his words. "Yes.  You must be his friend. You should never give up on him, Ben," she insisted eagerly.

         Fraser shook his head, bewildered. He didn't understand why she was so passionate about this.  He didn't think she even liked Ray.

        Thatcher seemed aware that she was confusing him again and she lowered her eyes a moment. She wet her lips thoughtfully and tried again. "Fraser, I…I have never told anyone this before, but I sort of understand what you are going through, with Ray."

         "You do?" Fraser questioned.

         "I…When I was sixteen, my…my older sister was in an accident where she…she lost all of her memory," Thatcher admitted.

        Fraser tried to hide his shock.

        "She didn't know who she was," Thatcher stated, "or who we were. She had forgotten even how to talk or how to dress herself."

         "How awful," Fraser declared, gently. "I am so sorry."

        Thatcher brushed his apology away with a wave of her hand. "Anyway, it was very difficult for everyone. We had to teach her how to talk and feed herself. She was twenty-two years old and acting like she was an infant. Everything started to revolve around Casey.  I was always the one designated to watch her, take her places, feed her and dress her." Thatcher shook her head, mournfully. "She learned things relatively quickly and the doctors kept saying her memory might come back one day.  We all started believing it would."

         "Did it return?" Fraser inquired.

        Thatcher shook her head again. "No. I suddenly became the older sister and I…I suppose I couldn't handle the role," she decided, quietly. "I wanted her to be who she was.  I wanted her to be the sister I knew and I just got more and more frustrated. I missed my prom because she had some sort of fit and had to go to the hospital.  They told me I might not be able to go to college right away because of the medical bills. All my parents seemed to care about was Casey and I admit I was jealous."

         "That is perfectly natural," Fraser offered, kindly.

         Thatcher nodded. "Natural, certainly, but she was still my sister, Fraser. I should have been able to cope.  I should have been there for her as she had been there for me growing up." She shrugged.  "Anyway, I finally couldn't take it anymore.  I went to live with my grandmother until I could enter the R.C.M.P. I moved away and never saw her again."

         "Never?" Fraser returned, appalled.

        Thatcher shook her head. "I spoke to my parents up untill the day they died, but they would never talk about Casey to me and I would never ask. It was as if she died, when I gave up on her, and in a way the sister I knew did die." She grasped his hand again. "Don't give up on Ray, Fraser. That is why I am telling you this. Things will get tough and he may not be the person you remember, but if you really want to be his friend, you have to accept him as he is now. You have to be willing to see him through the bad times."

         Fraser regarded her quietly, for a long moment. He recalled his talk with Elaine about being angry that Ray did not remember him. Despite their frank discussion it seemed that he still clung to the hope that Ray's memory would return. That Ray would someday remember the friends they once were. Perhaps, at least part of him still assumed that Ray did remember him in some way.  It was easier than admitting his friend had truly forgotten him. They still seemed close, at least to Fraser. But did Ray really feel that way or was he just going on what Fraser told him because he felt so alone?

         Fraser had hidden his frustration and fear at Ray's loss of memory. Would Ray want to be friends with the Mountie if it wasn’t something he was forced to do?  If not for the undercover assignment, he and Ray might not have met at all. They had been partners initially, because it had been necessary to protect Ray Vecchio. Yet, despite being thrown together, their friendship had blossomed and Fraser had been grateful. He couldn't imagine his life without the brash, volatile American, yet now that man was gone, at least part of him was. Fraser had to learn just who this new Ray was. They had to start over, despite Ray having accepted Fraser as his friend, they were still strangers.

         Fraser finally understood that a good portion of Ray's acceptance of his friendship was because Ray had no one else to depend on. Kowalski was no doubt grateful to Fraser and perhaps he did retain some of his previous feelings of friendship for the Mountie, but Ray had no memories to back up those feelings. He was going on instinct and Fraser couldn't allow that any longer.

         Elaine had offered to start over with Ray, become new friends and build new memories. Fraser had thought it kind of her, but why had he not felt the need to make the same offer? Had he truly presumed he didn't need to?  Had he just assumed that Ray would either remember him or just accept things the way they were? Is that why Ray had left the city, to find out the truth for himself?  He wondered now why the American had continued to call him, at least until recently. Obviously, Ray still felt Fraser was all he had, he didn't know any different.

         "Fraser?" Thatcher said gently, prodding the Mountie back from his private incriminations. "Are you all right?"

         "I…yes, I believe so," Fraser returned awkwardly and finally rose to his feet. Thatcher stood with him, still concerned. "Thank you, Sir, for…for opening my eyes. I…I hadn't realized…I was still thinking of Ray as…as who he was."

        Thatcher nodded compassionately then retrieved her purse. "I'm going home, Fraser. Lock up won't you?"

         "Yes, Sir," he agreed quickly, surprised when she reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

         "Tell him I said hello?" she suggested.

         "I will do that," he vowed.

         He had to laugh at his own thoughts. When in the past two months had he been able to relax? He pulled off his boots and shrugged out of his coat, hat and scarf. Pulling his gloves off, he tossed them in the chair with the other items and moved toward the roaring fire. He usually kept it going throughout the day, because the fire kept the cabin toasty warm and he preferred not to add expense to the Baker's bills by using the electric heat. 

         Ray started coughing again and reluctantly pulled away from the heat to find the small bottle of cough syrup he had purchased the other day, while in town. It was already over half gone. He'd been gulping it like crazy, trying to give his chest and throat a break. He swallowed a couple of capfuls, then set it back on the bedside table.  

        The bed looked very inviting, but he knew that if he lay down he'd be unconscious in seconds and he wasn't quite ready for the terror that sleep brought him. Instead, he decided to run himself a bath, hoping that would remove the ache from his body, at least for a little while. He set the running water at the desired temperature and allowed it to fill the deep, antique tub.

        Ray moved back into the main portion of the cabin and selected a couple of towels, and quickly undressed. Moments later, he was submerged in the warm water, with Bethy B. showing of her excellent balance by walking around the rim of the tub, which stood on four cast iron legs.

       Ray sighed and closed his eyes. The heat was already starting to penetrate his chilled body and was begining to relax him. He allowed his head to submerge for a few seconds, enjoying the feel of being fully encased in the warm water.

        "Look - I swear - I swear to God I will punch you right in the face. Fair warning."
        "Well what does that mean, you're going to punch me?!"
        "Just look, I'm going to punch you in the face! Why don't you listen to me?!"
        "Just think calmly -"

       Ray sputtered as he bolted up out of the water. Why would he hit Fraser? What possible reason could there have been, they were supposed to be friends. Granted he'd taken a swing at the Canadian at the hospital, but Ray didn't know him then and he had bene upset. Ray wiped the access moisture from his face and tried to calm himself. He started to submerge his head again, hoping to have the memory again and maybe fill in the blanks.

        "This is where it started, so this is where we'll end it."
        "All right. I was over there. . . I can't do this, Ray."
        "Look, you have to."
        "This is for good?"

        "You find me attractive?"
        "Very much so, yes."

        Suddenly, he saw Fraser kissing him and he bolted up a second time, almost choking from the water he had swollowed. He ran shaking hands across his face to clear his eyes. What the hell was that? Had he lost his mind for good? Why in the name of God would the Mountie be kissing him? Had Fraser lied about their relationship? Were they more than friends?

         Ray considered going under a third time, but the memories had been too intense and he was shaking from fear and confusion. He stood, slowly and stepped out of the tub, releasing the stopper so that the water could drain. He quickly toweled off and moved out of the bathroom to walk over to his bed. He pulled out a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt, from the small accompanying dresser by the bed, and shrugged into them.

        He had to be losing it, there was no sense to these memories at all. Ray couldn't imagine what would make him hit Fraser and he sure as hell couldn't see him and the Mountie doing the wild thing, so what was up with the kissing thing anyway?

        Ray, he stoked the fire, then easing his weary body down to the thick rug. An old quilt and a couple of throw pillows from the sofa completed his nest. He'd gotten into the habit of lying by the fire and couldn't seem to break it.

         Ray picked up his book and slipped on his glasses, opening the novel to where he had last left off. Bethy B. wandered over and curled up beside him. He heard a knocking on his door and ignored it, knowing it was probably Mrs. Baker again. He didn't mean to hurt her feelings, but he just wanted to be alone. He was feeling decidedly unstable lately and did not want her to have to confront his recent demons. Ray couldn't trust himself around her anymore. One minute he was fine, but the next minute he would find himself filled with rage or as scared as a kitten. It frightened him and he was sure it would scare her as well.

         Finally she wandered off, defeated and all was quiet once again. He sneezed a couple of times, reached for the box of tissues beside him and then started to read again. His head started to throb.

       
         "Well, Ray, I'm afraid that I have no option. By the powers that are vested in me by the government of Canada, I am placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you without charge. Do you understand these rights?"
        "I'm not going to jail. . . the food. . . the conversation. . . sexual hijinks. . . I can't
handle it."

        Ray bolted to his feet in shock. Fraser had actually arrested him? Ray had killed someone. The room began to spin around him. Ray had moved too quickly and before he could even consider what his vision had meant he was falling backwards, unconscious.
 

         "Evening Constable," Lieutenant Welsh greeted, as Fraser was moving to lock up the Consulate for the evening.

         The Mountie had called the bus lines and learned that he could catch a bus that ran the highway close to where the Sunshine cabins were located. He would have to walk in a few extra miles, but that wouldn't be a problem.  He'd asked Elaine to check on Ray's turtle and possibly Dief if needed.

         "Catch you at a bad time?" Welsh continued, noticing the hurry Fraser seemed to be in.

         "Well, I was on my way out, Leftenant," Fraser admitted. "How may I help you?"

        "I was wondering if you had heard from Kowalski," Welsh stated, offering Diefenbaker a quick rub before straightening again and regarding the anxious Mountie.

        Fraser had changed into his civilian clothing and carried his duffel bag.

         Welsh had been working overtime on paperwork and cooking up scenarios to hide Ray's absence from the department so that Vecchio's cover would still be safe. As much as they needed Kowalski for that position, and although it had been a hassle, Welsh was more concerned for his Detective then Vecchio's story. He worried about Vecchio too, he worried about all the people under his command, but Kowalski had a special place in Welsh's heart that the older man couldn't define.

         From the moment he had met the brash, volatile Detective, Welsh knew life at the precinct would never be the same.  He had been right, but he could never stay mad at Kowalski for long because the man so obviously gave his all to his job.  Ray wore his heart on his sleeve and seemed ready to lash out at any injustice with his fists. He often went without sleep or food to get another scumbag off the street and that only made Welsh worry more at times.  Kowalski had been a headache for Welsh, but also a source of pride.  The young man wouldn't just lay down and take the crap they often had to deal with as cops.

         "Well, not recently, Sir," Fraser finally admitted. "Actually, not for a few weeks."

         "Where are you headed?" Welsh inquired curious. "To find him?"

        Fraser nodded and quickly explained the phone call he had from Mrs. Baker.

        "That's only a few hours out of town, Constable," Welsh informed. "I'll drive you."

         "Thank you kindly, Sir," Fraser returned. "I didn't wish to leave Diefenbaker behind, but he would not be permitted to ride the bus with me.

         "No problem," Welsh assured and they climbed into his off duty Four by Four. "I want to make sure Kowalski's okay too."

          Fraser nodded and settled his bag and Diefenbaker in the back, before climbing into the passenger seat. "May we stop by Elaine's apartment, Sir?' he requested. "I wish to give her the key to Ray's apartment so she can check on Stew."

        Welsh nodded.
 

         Mrs. Baker stepped out of her cottage to greet them the moment Fraser and Welsh drove up.

        Fraser introduced himself and the Lieutenant and immediately inquired about Ray.

        Mrs. Baker guided them to the detective's cabin and they knocked on the door. "I saw him go in there a few hours ago," she insisted. "I tried to get him to answer the door then but he wouldn't."

        Fraser knocked again. "Ray? Ray it's Fraser. May I come in?"

        The friends exchanged a worried look at the lack of response. Welsh continued to knock on the door and call out to the detective.

         Fraser moved around to the window. He saw Ray sprawled on the rug by the fire and hurried back to the door. "Mrs. Baker, do you have a key?" he inquired.

         "I hate to use it," Mary Ann hesitated. "It's an invasion of his privacy but…" She nodded with determination and pulled the ring of keys from her coat pocket. She opened the door and both men hurried inside.

        Diefenbaker had charged toward the fallen detective and stopped short when the black cat next to Ray hissed and swatted at him, warningly. Diefenbaker growled and Fraser caught hold of the wolf's leash.

        "No Dief," he warned the animal, startled to see the cat himself. When had Ray gotten a pet? He guided Diefenbaker back outside and closed the door on the disgruntled wolf, just in case.

       Mary Ann moved forward and plucked Beth B. from Ray's side, cradling the squirming cat in her arms. "Just settle down now, you ungrateful varmint," she warmed the animal. "These men are here to help.

         "Ray?" Fraser demanded, kneeling next to his friend and checking for a pulse.

         "Is he…?' Welsh asked, worried.

        Fraser shook his head. "He's just unconscious," he assured grimly. "But, he is running a fever. Help me get him onto the bed."

         "Will he be all right?" Mrs. Baker asked anxiously, as the two men maneuvered Kowalski onto the large double bed. "Oh dear, I should have checked on him sooner. Is there anything I can do?"

         "We could use some extra sheets, hot water and perhaps some hot tea if you have it," Fraser suggested.

        Mrs. Baker  nodded and hurried to retrieve the requested items, taking the cat with her and allowing Dief back into the cabin.

         "Stupid bugger," Welsh muttered, as they pulled Ray's jeans and sweatshirt off him and slid him between the sheets. "What do you think it is?"

         Fraser glanced at the medicine on the bedside table and took into account how much weight Ray had lost. He opened his partner's mouth and noticed how red and swollen Ray's tongue was. His lips almost had a bluish tint to them and his fever was high. "I think its pneumonia," he reported grimly. "I had hoped it was just the flu."

         "Aw, Christ," Welsh sighed and ran a hand over the top of his head. "Like the kid doesn't have enough problems."
 

         Ray awoke almost an hour later. He couldn't even move on his own. He wasn't seem able to get enough air into his lungs and every attempt only burned like fire. His head was swimming and he couldn't swallow properly. He started to cough, trying to cover his mouth with his hands and was startled to feel strong arms curve under his shoulders helping him sit up to take some deliciously cool water. The coughing abated temporarily and his eyes stopped watering long enough to focus on the intent blue eyes staring down at him.

         "F…Fraser?" he wheezed in disbelief. "Where…where'd you come from?"

         "Canada originally," Fraser replied calmly, relieved that Ray had finally awakened. "But, I came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers…"

        Ray waved a weak hand at him and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Funny guy," he rasped, as another bout of coughing hit him. Stars exploded behind his eyes as Fraser held him and helped him sip some more water. "I mean… why…you here?"

         "Mrs. Baker called me, Ray," Fraser admitted, keeping one arm around his friend as he arranged the extra pillows behind Ray allowing the detective to sit up more comfortably. He knew laying flat would only increase Ray's coughing and discomfort. "Now don't be upset with her, she was worried about you."

         "Sweet…nice old lady, Mrs. B.," Ray sighed, laying back against the pillows. "I'm hot, Fraser."

         "Yes, Ray, I know," the Mountie acknowledged. He pulled the covers back over his friend and settled a little closer on the bed to face him. "You are running a fever and may possibly have pneumonia."

         "No shit?" Ray chuckled then winced. Everything seemed to hurt. "Ain't I da lucky one?"

        Diefenbaker jumped up on the bed and offered Ray a quick lick of encouragement.

        Ray smiled. "Hey boy, how are..." Suddenly, he bolted upright and stared at the wolf appalled. "Dief!" He looked at Fraser in a panic. "Fraser, where's Bethy B.? Please tell me your wolf didn't eat my cat?"

        Diefenbaker shot Ray a wounded look that seemed say he found the whole idea distasteful.

        Fraser chuckled, trying not to show his surprise at what Ray had named his new companion. "The cat is with Mrs. Baker, Ray," he assured. "She was quite protective of you when we came in, wouldn't even allow Dief near you."

        Ray seemed relieved. "Okay, okay good...'cause wolves and...and cats don't... mesh."

        "I'm sure they'll learn to get along splendidly if we give them a chance, Ray," Fraser decided. He leaned closer to check the dilation of Ray's pupils and was surprised when Ray pushed him back.

        "No kissin'!"

         "Excuse me?" Fraser asked shocked. What in the world was his friend talking about? Was he delirious?

         "Look, I… I don't …know what kinda …. guy I was before," Ray stammered the pounding in his head making coherent thought and dual speech difficult. The racking cough harshly interrupting his attempt to make himself understood.  "Ya said we weren't before and ..…if ya lied ta...I. understand.. but I ..…not anymore…not like dat, Fraser. Ya get me?"

        Fraser shook his head in confusion. "I'm sorry Ray, I don't understand."

         "I like women, Fraser!" Ray exclaimed.  His obvious frustration was lost in a fit of sneezing.

        Fraser handed him some tissues and waited for the Detective to clear his head. "As do I, Ray." Fraser admitted, watching Ray lay back on the pillows drained.

         "But, just not…" Ray groaned and wanted to slap the Mountie for misunderstanding him, but he could no longer lift his arms from the mattress. His head felt like it was about to explode and his chest was on fire. "I don't like …guys. I mean, I like guys, but I don't like ….guys."

         "You're starting to blither, Ray," Fraser assumed, kindly. "But it's probably just your fever. We'll talk more later." Fraser moved forward once more and watched Ray cringe.

         "Don't!" he warned.

         "Don't what, Ray?" Fraser inquired, curious.

         "Don't kiss me," Ray moaned. As another round of painful coughing overtook him he crossed his arms over his thin chest in an attempt to support his screaming ribs.  "I don't like dat..…I can't be like dat."

        Finally it dawned on Fraser what his friend was trying to say. "Ray, I was not going to kiss you," he assured calmly, tightening his lips to keep from smiling." Why would you think that? I already told you that our relationship is not sexual." Another terrible coughing fit hit him and Fraser winced at the painful sounds.  He helped his friend sit up and sip some more water.

         "Saw you," Ray wheezed, laying back and closing his eyes.

         "Saw me what, Ray?" Fraser inquired gently and used a damp cloth to blot his friend's fevered brow.

         "Kissin' me."

         "What?" Fraser stared at him, both amused and appalled.

         "I…I dunno where it was," Ray continued quickly, wanting to get the explanation over with. "Felt like I was floatin' and (...cough…cough...)  there were some weird bubbles. But yer mouth (sneeze! cough… cough) was on mine. You were kissin' me."

          Fraser stared at him for a moment longer before it dawned on him that Ray had remembered part of their time on the Henry Allen. He quickly explained the situation and that what Ray had actually witnessed was Buddy Breathing, not kissing. He suddenly recalled that Ray's initial reaction to the technique had been very much the same as the one he was having now, so he could see how Ray would misunderstand.

         "He awake?" Lieutenant Welsh inquired, entering the cabin and quickly shutting the door on the cold.

         "Yes, he is," Fraser replied and rose to take the bag the larger man carried. "Did you have any trouble getting the things I requested?"

        Welsh shook his head and shrugged out of his jacket, brushing the snow from his hair. "No, pharmacy in town had most of it on hand," he assured. "They were closing and I showed them my badge, told 'em it was an emergency."

        Fraser nodded pleased as Welsh moved to peer down at Kowalski.

         "How are you, Kowalski?" the Lieutenant greeted, his lips pulling back in a small grin.

         Ray seemed to lose whatever remaining color he had as he stared wide-eyed at the older man. "Sir," Ray croaked as Fraser settled back on the bed and opened the new bottle of cough syrup he had pulled from the bag. "W…why are you here?"

         "He was kind enough to drive me here, Ray," Fraser stated, measuring out a capful of the dark liquid. "Open please."

        Ray ignored him, unable to take his eyes of Welsh, his fear making him unresponsive to the Mountie's requests. "I didn't mean it, I'm sure I didn't," Ray told the Lieutenant. "I'm sorry, God I'm so sorry."

        Welsh and Fraser exahanged a puzzled glance. Finally, the Lieutenant stepped forward. "Sorry for what?" he asked.

        Ray blinked. "Aren't you here to...to take me back?"

        Welsh chuckled and shook his head. "Hell no," he assured. "That's yer call, Kowalski. Whenever you feel ready you'll come back, I'm not gonna pressure you."

        "Ray," Fraser reminded. "You need to take this now open your mouth."

        Ray finally pulled his gaze away from the Lieutenant and swallowed the awful tasting liquid. He could feel it sliding all the way to his stomach like liquid fire. "Ugg!" he grimaced. "What is that?"

         "It is a very strong cough medicine, Ray," Fraser replied, sealing the bottle and placing it on the nightstand next to them. "I expect what you are tasting is the expectorant."

         "The what?" Ray wheezed and closed his eyes against the turning of the room.

         "Expectorant, Ray," Fraser replied as he retrieved a packaged thermometer from the bag, opened it and stuck it under Ray's tongue. "It will make your cough more productive."

          Ray spit the thermometer out abruptly and Welsh chuckled.

         "Ya gave me something dat will make me cough more!" Ray gasped outraged. "Fraser! I'm seein' stars now!  I don't want ta cough more I wanna stop cou…"

         Another fit hit him and Welsh winced at how the painful hacking echoed in the cabin. Finally, Ray weakly lay back against the pillows again.

        Fraser picked the thermometer up off the bedspread and tried to place it back under Ray's tongue.

        Ray kept his mouth firmly closed and glared at him, defiantly.

        "You don't understand Ray," Fraser began kindly. "It will not make you cough more, it will just loosen the phlegm in your lungs so that when you do cough it will be …well…more productive. It will help to clear your lungs."

         Ray studied Fraser carefully before he replied. "I guess dat's buddies, Fraser," he admitted. "But it hurts."

       "I know you're sore and don't want to cough anymore, Ray," Fraser acknowledged as he continued to dig into the bag for the acetaminophen, a couple of cold compresses, cotton swabs and tissues. "But you need to get your lungs clear."

        "I don't need a nursemaid, Fraser," Ray muttered, grudgingly.

        Fraser nodded. "Well, luckily for you, I am not a nursemaid, I am a Mountie," he insisted. "Now, either allow me to take care of you, or we can take you to the nearest hospital where professionals can..."

        Ray opened his mouth for the thermometer.
 

         Welsh spent the night helping Fraser take care of Ray then, after a short morning nap, he headed back to the city. Mrs. Baker came by with hot soup and plenty of juice for Ray to drink. She also made sure that the Mountie ate a decent meal or two each day. She noticed that Fraser slept on the floor, in a bedroll, by the fire each night and left the bed for Ray.

         Ray was in and out of it for the next few days. As his fever continued to fluctuate he developed terrible chills that would end in a soaking cold sweat. Fraser usually had to change the bed sheets at least three times a day. His partner's body was racked with pain and distress. Fraser would lay awake and listen carefully to the American's uneven breathing or moans of discomfort from the awful fits of coughing and sneezing.

         Ray suffered bouts of delirium, which often left Fraser as confused, as his partner seemed to be. The blond kept crying out in his sleep for Stella, begging her to explain whatever crime he had imagined she had perpetrated. Sometimes, he would be talking to Welsh, begging the Lieutenant not to take him to jail. Mostly it was just rambling and Fraser's heart went out to him.

         Finally, almost three days later, Ray's fever broke for good. He was on the road to recovery, thanks to Fraser and Mrs. Baker's kind ministrations. Fraser tried to talk Ray into going to the hospital for a check up.  He still wasn't breathing the best, but Ray refused.

        Once the detective became more alert to his surroundings and was able to form coherent thought, Ray seemed to draw back inside himself. He was polite and appreciative for everything they did for him, but he wouldn't engage in any type of lengthy conversation, despite Fraser's and Mrs. Bakers attempts. He never asked Fraser to leave however, which only proved to confuse the Mountie more.

         Finally, Fraser decided to get to the heart of the matter. Ray was doing much better and was able to get up and about on his own. He still tired easily and he didn't risk going outside just yet, but he would lay by the fire and read or sit at the table to eat some of the meals that Mrs. Baker brought them. Bethy B, had returned to the cabin and she and Diefenbaker seemed to have set a few boundaries during their cohabitation. This was the cat's turf and Diefenbaker seemed to allow the cat to reign supreme; at least for now.

         Fraser had to know if he had wronged Ray in the way that he suspected. He had to know what Ray remembered, if anything, about their friendship. That could be the reason the detective was reacting so strangely. He may just be confused, as he was with the Buddy Breathing episode. He'd already asked his partner where the name for the cat had come from and Ray just shrugged and told the Mountie it seemed to fit, therefore Fraser assumed that Ray had not remembered Beth Botrell, at least not consciously.

         "Ray?" Fraser inquired, moving to stand over Ray's favored position by the fire. He thought Ray looked quite debonair in his dark, sweater and eye glasses, but did not comment.

         "What, Fraser?" the blond asked.  He didn’t even bother to lift his eyes from the page he was reading.

         "Do…do you mind my presence here?" Fraser pressed tentatively.

           Ray glanced up at him. "Yah, yer a real pain in the ass," he taunted, then grinned. "No, of course I don't. Why ya askin' me dat, Fraser?" he demanded, scowling. "Don't ya want ta be here?"

         "Of course, I do, Ray," Fraser assured folding his legs cross-legged to sit closer to his friend on the rug, closing the distance between them a little more. "I was worried about you and I am very happy you are feeling better. I…I was just wondering if…" He lowered his eyes for a moment and cracked his neck anxiously "Ray I… I want to apologize to you," he offered.

        Ray's expression betrayed his confusion. "Fer what?" he questioned. "You're makin' my head hurt here, Fraser. Are we on da same page or what?"

        Fraser frowned and caressed his right brow with his thumbnail. "Ray, I'm sorry if I am confusing you more.  I don't mean to. I just…" Another pause as he searched for the words to convey what was in his heart. "I would like to know…I know I betrayed your trust by coming here…"

         "Ya saved my life, Fraser," Ray reminded and glanced back at his book. "I think I can fergive ya this time."

        Fraser regarded him quietly. He had never known his partner to like to read, but always having a book in his hands seemed to suit the blond somehow. Perhaps it was as Ray had once said, he simply hadn't the time for it after he became a cop.

        "Thank you, Ray," Fraser finally offered. "Do…do you wish me to leave now, Ray? You are feeling better and I don't wish to intrude…"

         "Do you want ta leave, Fraser?" Ray returned.  He turned the page in his book, but Fraser suspected he wasn't really reading it now.

         "I want to do whatever you want me to, Ray."

         "Fraser, ya got a mind of yer own," Ray reminded, quietly. "I'd lend ya mine, but it's on da fritz at the moment."

        The Mountie winced. "Ray, please don't joke about this," he requested.

         "It's laugh or cry, Benton buddy," Ray informed. "I prefer to laugh. Not much fer bawlin' like a baby in public, y'know?"

         "Do you want me to stay, Ray?" Fraser implored.

         Ray finally closed his book and set it on the floor beside him. He could hear the urgency in the Mountie's voice but didn't quite understand it. "Sure. If ya wanna stay, stay," he offered as he reached his arms to rest them behind his head. "Go if ya wanna go, Fraser. I know ya got responsibilities."

         "I'd like to stay, Ray," Fraser admitted.

        Ray nodded. "Good, then stay."

         "Why?"

         "Huh?"

         "Why would you want me to stay, Ray?" Fraser pressed. "I…I mean you don't want anyone else from your past around.  I…I just…I wonder why you would allow me to stay."

         "Oh, well gee. Let me think. Because you're my friend," Ray reminded.

         "Why am I your friend, Ray?"

         "What?"

         "Why am I your friend?" Fraser pressed. "Do you remember our friendship, Ray? Do you recall anything about who I am, or the type of relationship we had before? Or are you merely going on the assumption that we are friends because I told you we were?"

         Ray looked away guiltily and Fraser felt he had his answer.

        Ray didn't remember him; he was accepting Fraser's word of their friendship, clinging to it as Fraser had, simply because he knew no better. Fraser sighed as he stood and Ray rose with him.

         "I think perhaps I should leave, Ray," the Mountie decided, quietly. "I never meant to push our friendship on you, or to assume that you even wanted to be my friend anymore. That is why I must apologize, to you, I…I somehow convinced myself that you remembered me…us…at least that part of what made us partners. I didn't want to face the truth and in so doing I have made you dependent on a friendship you have no knowledge of. I am sorry, Ray."

         "Wait, Fraser," Ray protested as the Mountie started to move toward the door.

        Fraser paused and turned to face him.

         Ray appeared confused, upset, and a little scared. He looked away from the Mountie's quiet gaze in frustration, searching for the right words. He had never been an eloquent speaker, at least not that he could remember and things always came out jumbled and distorted. Most of the times it only made the situation worse. He didn't want to chance that here. He didn't want Fraser to leave.

         "Sit…sit down?" Ray finally requested.

        Fraser settled on the sofa.

        Ray set his glasses on the table and paced, anxiously. "I…I don't know why ya wanna do this now, Fraser, but…" He shrugged. "Okay, we'll do it now." Finally, he sat on the table to face the Mountie.

         "I don't mean to upset you, Ray," Fraser offered, contritely. He shouldn't have started this. He should have waited.  Now, because of his impatience, he may have only upset Ray further.

         "No it's…I guess we have ta do it sometime," Ray dismissed, running a hand through his hair.  He moved to his friend's side but seemed unable to properly settle. Lifting his leg up slightly between them on the sofa, he rested his arm over the back, so he could face Fraser properly. "Look, Fraser…" he sighed again and made a face. "Ya know something, I really hate callin' ya dat. It doesn't fit right in my mouth, somehow."

        Fraser raised his eyebrow, surprised

        "Can I call ya Ben, or Benton?" Ray requested. "Fraser just seems disrespectful, only usin' yer last name."

         "I…I would be honored if you called me Ben, Ray," Fraser replied, trying to quell the rapid beating of his heart.

         "Okay, good, dat's good," Ray agreed, then seemed to consider his next words carefully. "Ya want the truth, well, okay, I guess ya deserve dat, right?"

        Fraser nodded for Ray to continue.

        "No, I don't remember you," Ray confessed. "Not…I mean not the way I should."

        Fraser could not hide his dismay. Suspecting that Ray didn't remember him and having it validated were two entirely different things. Fraser was hard pressed not to leave right then so that Ray would not see his heartbreak.

        "What…what I mean is, " Ray continued, "I don't remember whatever stuff we did before dat made us friends, or partners, or whatever. I…" He placed his hand over his heart and met Fraser's gaze imploringly. "I just sort of feel it here, Ben. Like…like a déjà vu kinda feeling. I…I remember pieces of conversations, words we have said to each other, but I can't see why we were sayin' them or what was happening. Does dat make sense?"

         "I...I think so," Fraser nodded, struggling to understand. "Perhaps…well, not really no."

        Ray grinned and shook his head, then ran his finger across his brow in contemplation. He began again. "Okay, um…I don't remember bein' a cop. I don't remember…ah…bein' Vecchio, or pretending to be him," Ray admitted, choosing his words cautiously, as he struggled to explain what he still found confusing. He continued to speak, using his hands, and emphasizing his inner conflict.   "Uumm…I remember pieces of conversations. They're like someone's playin' scrabble inside my brain and I'm tryin' to score a full word, or understand the meaning of the words…" He stopped again and tried to rephrase his thoughts.

        Fraser’s confusion was evident and currently Ray's thoughts weren't making sense to him either.

        "Do you mean it is like eavesdropping, Ray?" Fraser suggested helpfully, then explained when Ray shot him a puzzled look. "Sometimes when you eavesdrop, you over hear words or conversations that you may misunderstand, because you do not hear the whole conversation or know in what context the words were used. Which is why people should never eavesdrop, it can lead to complications."

         "Yah!" Ray brightened. "Kinda like dat. I know what was said, but I gotta take the words at face value, because I don't know why they were said."

         Fraser smiled, relieved that he finally understood. He remembered that at the bank, Ray had accused him of endangering his life in wildly bizarre ways and then had to ask what it meant. The question about nails on Pluto and Ray's vow to be partner's forever; all of these must have been pieces that Ray had remembered, but could not find a place for.  He had just automatically voiced them, not really knowing why.

         "Then you have remembered pieces of conversations we have had, but have not understood the circumstances?" Fraser deliberated.

        Ray nodded, also relieved.

        "Tell me about them and perhaps I can help you understand them, Ray." Fraser was encouraged that he now had a way to aid his friend. Even if it was something as simple as explaining past words spoken between them.

         "I…I don't remember all that I remembered, Ben," Ray replied, sheepishly. "I…I mean I can't just think of what dey were. I just remembered 'em at the time. Um…I wrote some stuff down, it's in my journal." He rose and retrieved the book from the bedside table. He suddenly seemed uncertain, even fidgety, as he settled next to his friend again. "Look, I…I would understand if ya didn't want ta be my friend anymore."

         "Why wouldn't I, Ray?" Fraser asked, appalled.

         "I…well, I was mean to ya, fer one."

         "Mean to me?" Fraser repeated puzzled.

         "Yah, I hit ya and I'm real sorry about it but I…"

        Fraser interrupted his self-deprecation. "Ray, that was a long time ago and you let me hit you back so we are even."

         "I did?" Ray asked startled. "We are?"

        Fraser nodded. "We were going through a tough time, not communicating properly and we both became frustrated and angry." He smiled. "But we became even closer after that, Ray. Please don't think another thing about it. It's over."

         "So…so you're not…pissed at me or anything?" Ray asked.

         "Of course not."

         "Yah but…dat still wasn't buddies, Ben," Ray allowed. "I mean…that was just rotten ta hit you."

         "Forget about it, Ray," Fraser assured. "Remember what you said. You don't know the circumstances of why it happened.  You don't remember why you hit me and it's not even important anymore. Let it go."

        Ray nodded and his fingers tightened on the small leather bound book. "There's more," he stated quietly. "I…when I saw Welsh here… I thought he'd come ta arrest me."

        Fraser's shock was evident. "What on Earth for?" he demanded.

         "Because I killed a guy," Ray whispered. His torment was obvious as he hugged the book to his chest. "I remember killin' a guy, Ben. I…I can't sleep at night thinkin' about it."

         "Ray, to my knowledge, you have never killed anyone," Fraser insisted. "And I know you pretty well."

         "You don't know dis." Ray refused and shakily handed over the journal. "I wrote it down.  The things I remembered and dreamed. It's all there. It all points to murder, Ben. I killed someone!"

         Fraser accepted the journal and regarded his friend intently. He looked so frightened, so confused. So this was why Ray hadn't called and why he was not taking better care of himself. How awful it must be for him to not know the truth. It would drive Fraser crazy to only remember pieces of something like that.

         "Well, let's just see if I can shed some light on the problem," the Mountie offered, opening the book and starting to read.

         The writing was shaky in places, smooth in others, but still quite legible. He recognized a pattern in some of the scenes and dialogue.  Ray had done a remarkable job of capturing it on paper; word for word. There were pieces regarding Ray's state of mind mixed with incidents of his erratic behavior during the Beth Botrell case. Bits of conversations between he and Ray and even Welsh, but Fraser clearly recalled them being separate circumstances.

         He pieced together what Ray had written and saw that to an outside observer it did seem like a confession: Ray, threatening to shoot a man and promising he would have killed someone in the few days before Beth Botrell was to be executed. Ray, running to the Consulate when one of his snitches had been shot and he thought he had done it, but couldn't remember. Fraser reading him his Miranda rights and arresting him.

        He had even recorded the brief conversation in the garage, about Ray's fear of going to jail. He had written about Welsh giving him a hard time for hitting a man that died. Later they found the man had bitten down on some sort of poison tablet and that Ray's blow had not been the cause of his death, but that was not in the journal.  Ray could only assume Welsh was reprimanding him for killing someone.

         Well, it certainly was logical that Ray would think he had murdered someone. There was the threat; Ray's running to Fraser, the arrest, Welsh's accusation and the discussion of jail afterwards. It certainly did read like a confession all right. But what Ray didn't realize was that these were all separate incidents.

         Fraser spent the next hour explaining each situation.

         "Ya mean, I really didn't kill anyone?" Ray asked afterwards, relief flooding his face.

         "Not at all, Ray," Fraser assured smiling.

        Ray covered his face with his hands. "Oh man. I was goin' crazy!" he admitted. "I kept thinkin' you were tryin' ta protect me from gettin' arrested and that I didn't deserve it because of the way I treated you."

         "Is that why you stopped calling me, Ray?" Fraser inquired gently, and the blond nodded. "Oh, Ray. No wonder you were that confused. Please, I am here to help, let me. If there is anything you don't understand, ask me and I am sure we can figure it out together. That is what friends are for."

        Ray nodded, and grew thoughtful. "I want you to understand somethin', Ben," he began. Now that everything was out in the open he needed to be honest. "Part of me, I guess is grateful, or just used to havin' ya around. You've been there from the start of dis and I…I guess I needed ya more than I realized. I was goin' on what you said, about us bein' friends and all, but it's more now." Ray lowered his eyes guiltily, then he continued. "I don't remember what kinda friends we were, but I feel…" He took Fraser's hand and placed it under his, next to his heart. "I feel it here… that you are my friend, and I want to be yer friend. It's an instinct and I…I know dat doesn't make sense…"

         "It makes perfect sense, Ray," Fraser assured softly, so grateful for Ray's gesture that he could feel the moisture creeping into his eyes. "I always believed in your instincts before, that has not changed."

        Ray smiled, and blinked a few times suspiciously, before releasing Fraser's hand. "Good," he replied shyly. "I…we…we can just…get to know each other again, that's all. We…we can still be buddies, right?"

         "I would like that very much, Ray," Fraser agreed readily and was rewarded with a bashful smile from his partner.

"You going to take the transfer?"
"I don't think so. You?"
"Me? No."
"All right. So we're - we're still, uh- ?"
"I think."
"Okay."
"Good."
"Right you are."

to be continued....
 
 

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