Benton Fraser opened his eyes when the need to urinate became stronger than the need for sleep. He glanced at his wristwatch; the light through the narrow opening in the curtains provided ample light. The utilitarian, fluorescent dots showed four o’clock. The shades of blue on the night sky confirmed this.

He padded silently through the dark corridor of the consulate, a part of his brain wondering why he made the effort. It wasn’t as if there were others present. Diefenbaker and his dead father excepted, of course.

Staring down into the toilet, his mind submitted unbidden the image of Turnbull, brightly coloured rubber gloves on, scrubbing the same bowl. He sighed and flushed the water, washed his hands and walked back, making as much sound as his bare feet could manage against the hardwood floor.

Diefenbaker looked up, a hint of reprove in his canine eyes, which made him lay down quietly, feeling slightly guilty.

But sleep was long coming. His body itched, he wanted to squirm, what he deemed his natural position for sleep felt restricting. The wet mumble from Diefenbaker told him he had trouble sleeping, as well. Fraser sat up, perhaps a drink from his glass of night water would help. But it only served to remind him of where he was; in hot Chicago, where lukewarm tap water substituted ice-cold water from the creek.

“The heat seems to rob me of the ability to sleep…”

But Diefenbaker didn’t look like he believed him. The dim light in the room may have played tricks on his sight, though. “Surely, Diefenbaker, you miss the…” No. Who was he trying to fool, anyway? Not even his wolf swallowed his lies any more.

“Wuf.”

And that said it all, didn’t it?

Benton Fraser leaned back, and allowed the images of Ray Kowalski to play freely in his mind. Last night had been wonderful. Ray so vibrant and alive; looking so content.

Nothing unusual had happened. If he was honest, and he should, everything had been quite ordinary. Ray had picked them up after hours, they had eaten pizza - - not that place, Frase, I wanna go to that little place, with the window and the painting with the garlics, the one where they use real pineapple…And they had done exactly that.

“Wuu, rowl.” Dief sat up and regarded him with what had to be irritation.

And he had reason. He, Benton Fraser, had acted like an idiot last night, had wilfully been more insensitive than Delmar at his worst.

Ray, his hand warm against Fraser’s back, had, casually as always, invited him home. Into his apartment; for tea. I still got some left of that bark tea you’re so fond of, Fraser.

And, as always, they had settled, side by side, on Ray’s old couch. Ray with his beer in his hand and his feet on the table. Fraser himself with a mug of hot tea and his feet firmly on Ray’s woven rug. Diefenbaker in his customary place in the worn chair by the window.

Ray had turned on the television set, finding an interesting documentary about the humpback whales’ biological rhythm.

But, as fast as you could say “seven squirrels sat on…”, well…never mind. But suddenly, it had not been about comfortable habits between friends.

Suddenly Ray Kowalski’s warm hand had been on Benton Fraser’s inner thigh, making him all kinds of hot and flustered.

Suddenly Ray’s wet tongue had been in Ben’s ear, making all kinds of promises with its long licks over the contours. And who could have known that his ear would be so sensitive?

“Ray,” he had whispered. “Ray, Ray.”

“Fraser.” Soft lips against his cheek. “Come to bed. Stay.”

How could Ray have known that this would trigger and bring forth the prudish and prejudiced side of Benton Fraser? He hadn’t even known it himself. He had always prided himself of his accepting mind and open attitude.

He had been mistaken. Blatantly so.

Not a second had passed before he had jumped up, jerked on his clothes, made an incomprehensive excuse, beckoned for a grumpy wolf to follow, and found himself on the sidewalk. Outside Ray’s home.

He had, as Ray would so eloquently have put it; …chickened out, you fucking chickenshit.

And now, now he was sitting on his solitary cot in the closet-like office he called his.

“Groooowl.”

Dief summed up his predicament with stunning clarity.

“I know, Diefenbaker. I behaved in a most cowardly way.”

“Rowl. Woff.”

“Ah.” Fraser straightened up and sighed. He guessed his wolf was right. He had to make it up to Ray. Preferably before this misunderstanding could fester and destroy their future.

But did he have the courage it would take?

You got the guts, Frase.