Copyright March 22-July 23, 2000 by Matthew Haldeman-Time

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairing (so to speak): Ray Kowalski/Renfield Turnbull/Benton Fraser

Disclaimer: "due South," with its related characters and themes, belongs to Paul Haggis and Alliance, not to me.  I make no money from this venture.

Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor, at least.

Wherein first names are revealed and used; Ray comes in Canadians and goes to Canada; and Diefenbaker makes three new Scottish friends, however reluctantly.

Notice: This slashfic takes advantage of the standard Turnbull slashfic stereotypes.  Also, I stole a little idea from Audra Morrison Macmann's "Subatomic" with her permission.

---

Sarah

        Twenty minutes later Detective Ray Vecchio, or the man currently playing the role of Detective Ray Vecchio - - well, not the entire role, only selected parts.  Or was the man playing the complete, unabridged version of Detective Vecchio's life, including - - an image of the slender blonde detective twined in a naked embrace with Constable Fraser burned across his brain, and he turned red in an instant.

        "You okay there, Turnbull?" now-Vecchio asked.

        "Quite fine, thank you, Detective Vecchio.  May I help you with anything this evening?"

        The detective seemed about to dismiss him and leave, then paused.  "You're one of those big smart Mounties, right?  You read Charles Dickens?"

        He thinks that I'm smart?  He can't possibly mean it.  Or else he thinks that all Mounties are like Constable Fraser.  Don't we all wish.  "Yes, Detective Vecchio, I have read many of Dickens' novels."  All fifteen, in fact.  He couldn't wait to see where this query was leading.  He couldn't believe that the detective was speaking to him.

        "What's the one with that woman whose husband died and she sits around complaining about how bad her life is, and every time she gets really irritating and whiny the guy she's living with says that she's thinking about her husband."

        "The lone, lorn creature thinking about the old one," he said.  "It's Mrs. Gummidge in David Copperfield, Detective Vecchio."

        "I knew I was thinking of something," the detective said, apparently satisfied.  "Thanks, Turnbull."

        Desperate to keep the detective's company for a moment longer, he said, "And what made you think of Mrs. Gummidge, Detective Vecchio?"

        "Well, every time Fraser starts acting more irritating than usual, I just excuse it by reminding myself that he's probably missing, you know...the old one."

        "That's very sensitive of you, Detective Vecchio."  He was impressed.

        "I must have read that book back in high school.  Can't believe I thought of it.  Guess the oddest things stick in your mind.  Or else I'm hanging around smart Canadians too much."

        "A person of any nationality would be smart to enjoy your company, Detective Vecchio."

        "Do you have to call me that?"

        "Why yes, Detective Vecchio, I do."  He was surprised.  "I would hate to refer to you by another name and risk endangering your life.  I also wish to refer to you by your proper title to afford you the respect that you deserve."

        "Okay, well, you could call me Ray.  As for respect, you can call me by my first name and still involve respect, you know?"

        "As you wish.  Ray."  He was uncomfortable and surprised.  It seemed rather intimate to use the detective's first name, and it wasn't even the true first name.  He wondered, not for the first time, what the detective's real name was.

        Ray glanced around, not at all discreetly, to discern that they were alone.  Then he leaned in close across the desk and said, in a low voice, "Ray's my real name."

        His eyes widened.  "Ray," he said, sounding much breathier than he'd intended.

        Ray grinned and stepped back.  "So you can call me Ray, instead of Detective Vecchio, okay?  You know, I gotta call Fraser Fraser, or Frase, because the old one called him Benny, and it, you know, hurts him, I guess, to have me of all people call him by his first name.  But as long as you're calling me Ray, do you have a first name, or is it just Turnbull?"

        He swallowed.  "Renfield."

        "Renfield.  Damn, and I thought that Benton was bad.  So can I call you Ren or Renny?"

        "Whatever you wish, Ray."

        "Yeah, whatever I wish," Ray said, and grinned, slipping on his sunglasses.  "See you later, Renfield-Renny-Ren."  Ray left the room with that quick grace that he used in everything.

        Ray ray ray ray ray-

        He managed to hand over the papers without having dropped or lost any, then left the station.  On the sidewalk outside he saw a child, a boy, not even ten yet.  A child alone?  Wasn't school in session?  Weren't parents available?  He was considering pausing to ask the boy those very questions, but before he could act on that thought, the boy was standing before him.

        "Excuse me?"  The young voice wavered on the edge of tears.

        Renfield crouched down before the child.  "Yes?"

        "My name is Jason and I live on Pine Street and my mother has a boyfriend and his name is Rene and he does drugs and he sells them to people and at school they said that that's illegal and on TV they take drug people to the police and I came here to tell a policeman but I don't know which one and they all look really busy and I skipped school and there are drugs in my pocket and I stole them from Rene because on TV they need evidence and I don't want to go to jail and I don't want my mom to go to jail but Rene does illegal things and it scares me and I don't want to be in any trouble but I'm scared and you'll help me, won't you?"

        Renfield gave Jason a hug.  "I'll help you," he promised.  He stood and offered his hand.  "Can you come inside with me?  I'll find you a nice policeman to tell all of what you told me.  You won't go to jail; you did exactly the right thing."  They entered and he ran his eyes over the squad room.  Whom to approach?  Then he saw a large swatch of red: Constable Fraser.  And beside the constable, walking across the room, was Detective Vecchio.  Excellent.  He tugged on Jason's hand with a reassuring smile and walked over to Detective Vecchio's desk.  "Excuse me, Detective Vecchio, have you a moment?"

        "Anything to avoid paperwork, Renfield-Renny-Ren.  Who's this?"

        "Jason would like to report a crime."  He knelt down and Jason turned to him trustingly, clinging to him in the midst of fear and confusion.  "Jason, this is Detective Vecchio.  You'll tell him what you told me?  Including the evidence?"

        "Yes.  A detective?  Like 'NYPD Blue?'"

        "You watch 'NYPD Blue?'" Ray asked.  "How old are you?"

        "Seven."

        "Holy shit."

        "Language, Ray," Constable Fraser said.

        "I thought that adults were allowed to say those words," Jason said.

        "They shouldn't," Constable Fraser said.

        "Fraser, why don't you go run off with Renfield-Renny-Ren and do something Canadian so we aren't crowding Jason," Ray suggested.  "Jason, you have a seat right here and tell me all about crimes and evidence."

        "Shall we go practice our curling?" Constable Fraser asked Renfield, and Ray choked on laughter.

        "You aren't staying?" Jason asked Renfield, clutching at his hand.

        "I have to get back to my work," Renfield said.  "You can trust Detective Vecchio."  He left the boy with the detective, sure that Jason was in good hands.  Excellent hands.  Strong, graceful, long-fingered hands...

        "Oh thank you, Detec- Ray, I'm terribly sorry, let me," and he took it from the detective and replaced it on the shelf.  "Constable Fras-"

        "Renfield-Renny-Ren," Ray said, grabbing him by the shoulders.  "You got time to come down to the station with me?  Come on, even the Ice Queen's gotta let you off for this."

        "For what, Ray?" he asked, deciding that Ray was referring to Inspector Thatcher.  He really should object, he knew.  Constable Fraser would.

        "That kid, Jason, his mother's boyfriend, Rene Knott, was working for Cesar Faison.  Faison, Renfield-Renny-Ren, is the biggest drug kingpin in all of Chicago, and today, right fucking this afternoon, we're going to arrest his ass!  You gotta come, Renfield-Renny-Ren, you hafta be there, you're the one who brought Jason to see us, and we broke open the whole - - come on, we gotta get to the station, we're gonna go arrest him, and you can stand in front of the cameras and let the world know that you're the one, the fucking only one that Jason Morgan felt safe coming to."  Ray was clearly excited and on some natural high that Renfield envied.  Renfield felt a certain guilty pleasure from the way that Ray's hands were gripping his biceps.  Still, his mind snagged on something that Ray had said.

        "Oh, dear, Ray, cameras?  The media will be there?"

        "Once they find out who - - whom  - - we've arrested, they'll be there in full force."

        "This is your case?  Since I took Jason to you?"

        "Yeah.  I won't be making the arrest, though.  Lieutenant Welsh and Huey and Dewey are gonna take care of that."

        "Because if you're Ray Vecchio, and you get caught on camera..."

        "Exactly.  But I'm only the one on the case because you brought in Jason.  You gotta be there.  Come on."

        "No, Ray.  I cannot take credit for something that I did not...  You're the officer who..."

        Ray's exuberance level was dropping.  "Look, I did all of the work on this case, and I can't get credit for it.  There's something else at stake here bigger than my ego, and that's a certain old one's life, and Fraser's soul and happiness, and all of the rest of it.  I can handle that.  But I only got the case because Jason Morgan came to you, and you brought him to me.  So you and Jason are the heroes of the day; I only did a lot of footwork and paperwork and interrogating.  Sure gave me a lot of interrogation experience, I gotta tell you."

        "I'm not a hero, Ray.  You are.  Jason is."

        "I'd've never met Jason without you.  And he wouldn't come to talk to me on his own.  He only felt safe going to you."

        "That's flattering, Ray."

        "Flattering enough for you to come?"

        "No, Ray.  If you can't have credit for all of your effort and energy and hard work and conscientiousness and intelligence and-"

        "Stop already, will you?"  Ray was blushing.  Renfield was awed.  "Okay.  So you won't come to the arrest.  And you won't come to the station.  And you won't talk to any reporters."

        "What's happening to Jason?"

        "He and his mother are fine.  We're keeping them out of trouble, you know, if anyone feels like getting the kid back for squealin' to the cops."

        "I'd hate to think that he's in danger, Ray.  I'm glad that the police are looking after his welfare."

        "That's our job, Renfield-Renny-Ren.  So.  You sure you aren't coming?"

        "Thank you kindly, Ray, for thinking of me, but I had better remain here to fulfill my duties."

        "Damn it.  Okay.  I'll see you later, then.  I've gotta go watch Faison get his ass busted."  Ray loped from the room.  Renfield stroked his biceps for just a moment to cherish the memory of Ray's hands through serge.

        He worried, briefly, that he'd erred in taking Jason to Ray.  Had he known that this would be a media-worthy case, he'd have thought twice about taking anything visible to someone who needed to remain out of the public eye.  If anyone saw this Ray Vecchio who'd known the other Ray Vecchio, questions would be asked.  Still, Ray was the best detective that he knew, and he wouldn't have felt right entrusting the boy to anyone else.  Perhaps that was a sign of his own prejudices.

        Ray crossed his arms over his chest and gave a cocky smile.

        "Ray," he corrected himself. I will not blush.  I simply will not.  "Greetings, Diefenbaker.  How was Mr. Faison?"

        "Great.  He's in jail, we have so much evidence that he's gone for good.  Jason's the hero of the day, just like he should be.  Fraser and I're going out to celebrate.  You should come with us."

        "Yes," Fraser agreed.  "By all means, Turnbull, you too must join us."

        "Thank you kindly, Ray, Constable Fraser sir," he stammered, trying not to panic.  "I really should be going home, however, I..."

        "You aren't turning us down, are you, Renfield-Renny-Ren?" Ray asked.  "You got some pretty girl waiting at your place?"

        Renfield turned bright red.

        "That answers that question.  Come on, we're even going to walk 'cause you Mounties enjoy it so much.  Too bad we have to let this beautiful car go to waste."

        "It's a very nice car, Ray," Renfield said honestly.  Then he saw Ray's grin light up Ray's whole face and decided that it had been a very good thing to say.  Constable Fraser made a motion that would have been eye-rolling if Fraser did that sort of thing.  Obviously that car was infamously important to Ray.  Renfield was pleased for having said something not guaranteed to make him look like a blooming idiot, and the four of them set off down the sidewalk.  Renfield really would have thought of some way to back out, if Ray hadn't smiled like that.

        Fraser insisted on paying, to Renfield's chagrin.  They ate at a very nice diner, at Ray's insistence; Ray had no intention of spending Fraser's money, and the diner was inexpensive.  When they finished, Ray snuck some food out to Diefenbaker while Fraser was paying.  Fraser came out, caught Ray and the wolf, and reprimanded both.  Renfield enjoyed the interplay between the other two men; Fraser was the best that his homeland had to offer, and personally he found Ray to be the best of America, and the fact that these two men had come together as perfect working partners and friends did funny things to his major organs.  They were his two favorite people in the world.  Of course, he was terribly jealous of the constable for having such a strong and intimate relationship with the detective, even though it was nonsexual.  He barely knew anything about the detective's own personal life, and he was sure that Fraser knew a great deal.  He didn't even know Ray's true last name, or Ray's family history, or anything at all about Ray's romantic life.  Surely if Ray had a wife he would have seen her by now, or heard mention of her.

        The four of them walked back to the Consulate.  Renfield and Ray said good night to Fraser and Diefenbaker, who went inside the building for the night.  Then Renfield turned to Ray, swallowed, and said, "Good night, Detective," before turning away to head for home.

        "Hey, Renfield-Renny-Ren, you going home?"

        He turned back, pausing.  "Yes, Ray."

        "You walkin'?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        "Where you live?"

        "852 West Foster Avenue."

        "Crazy Mountie!  Get in the car and I'll drive you home."

        "Thank you kindly, Ray, but I am accustomed to the walk."

        "You don't even have a wolf for an excuse.  Come on, get in, it's miles."

        "Ray, I assure you, I am fine.  Surely you want to get home yourself."

        "Renfield-Renny-Ren, don't make me force you."

        "Well, perhaps, just this once, Ray, if you're certain that it's no bother."  He walked over and gingerly got into the car, sitting very straight and folding his hands in his lap over his Stetson.

        "You take up even more room than Frase," Ray teased, and Renfield tried to make himself smaller.  "I'm kidding, relax."  He started the car and pulled into traffic.  "You ever drive in Chicago?"

        "I have not driven in this country, Ray."

        "Then you won't start telling me all I'm doing wrong?"

        "Doing wrong, Ray?  What are you doing wrong?"

        "Man, this is great.  I should have you for a passenger more often."

        "I would assume, Ray," he said, trying not to turn bright red from that unexpected comment, "that as an officer of the law you would understand and obey all traffic-"

        "Oh, damn it, not you, too."  Ray sighed but sounded amused and almost pleased.  "You know, though, for all of the crazy Mountie stuff you two got in common, you're real different from Fraser."

        "Yes, I am," Renfield admitted, trying not to show how greatly he regretted that very fact.

        "You look up to him, don't you?  Well, not physically, but you know, you admire him and all."

        "Yes, Ray, I do.  Constable Fraser is everything that I wish to be."

        "Hunh."

        "May I say, Ray, how pleased I am that he has you for a partner."

        "Really?  I don't know, I kind of thought that everyone preferred the Italian with the Armani suits and the fuck-me cologne."

        "My," was all that he could manage to say in reply.

        "Sorry.  Guess I'm kind of bitter."

        "Are you...jealous of Ray Vecchio's relationship with Constable Fraser, Ray?"

        "Oh, you mean the romantic sex stuff?  No.  Frase is my best friend, my partner, you know, but we aren't like that.  He has his other Ray for that stuff."

        "I apologize."

        "Oh, no, don't bother.  I guess someone's bound to consider the possibility, you know, since Frase and Vecchio were so close.  I'm filling in for the guy, you know, but I'm not gonna go that far, and Frase wouldn't want me too, anyway."

        "That was quite an accurate description of Detective Vecchio, Ray."

        Ray gave a surprised laugh.  "Don't you dare tell Frase that I said it.  I just kind of get mad at the guy, you know, for leaving Fraser."

        "I empathize."

        "So what's this about you wanting to, you know, what's the word, emancipate, emanate, damn it, emulate Fraser?"

        "Constable Fraser has many very fine qualities that-"

        "What's wrong with your qualities?" Ray asked bluntly.

        "I'm not sure quite how to answer your question, Ray."  If you've known me for longer than five seconds, you should be able to reel off a ten-page answer yourself without pausing for breath.

        "Well, you think about it and get back to me.  You live here?  Damn.  Nice."

        "Thank you, Ray.  And thank you kindly for inviting me to dinner, and for driving me home.  I appreciate your thoughtful consideration."

        "You gotta invite me up sometime, Renfield-Renny-Ren."

        "Any time at all, Ray," he said quite sincerely, with the heart-breaking knowledge that Ray would take the offer in a casual, light-hearted manner completely at odds with his own desperation.

        "Good."

        "Thank you again, Ray."  He left, closing the car door, heading across the sidewalk to his building.  The car didn't leave until he was inside.

        "Turnbull," Fraser said with a smile.  "Good morning."

        "Good morning, sir.  May I thank you again for dinner last night."

        "It was a pleasure.  Ray and I enjoyed your company."

        It was amazing how casually the constable could include Ray, as though they were one item.  Perhaps that was an effect of their partnership.  "I enjoyed yours, as well.  Yours and Detective Vecchio's."  He inhaled and plunged ahead recklessly.  "I wondered, sir, whether you could..."

        "His car is important to him for several reasons, some more significant than one would imagine. He has a pet turtle in his apartment.  Dancing is a great part of his life.  He drinks his coffee with chocolate candies in it.  Anything else you will need to ascertain for yourself, Constable."

        Renfield, bright red, turned and left, so shaken that he was rude enough not to thank the Constable for Fraser's time or for reading his mind.  Am I entirely transparent, or only to other people in love with someone named Ray Vecchio?  Perhaps every Mountie falls in love with someone named Ray, and this is mine.  Constable Fraser got his Ray, yes, but Constable Fraser and I are, as Ray noted, different.  Our Rays are different, as well.  Mine is not Italian, does not wear Armani suits, and does not wear, oh my...

        "No, Ray, I was quite sincere in my offer.  Any time that you would like to stop by is fine with me."

        "Well, not any time, Renfield-Renny-Ren.  You wouldn't want me stopping by while you're on duty.  You wouldn't want to come home and find me looking through your stuff.  What're you doin' tonight?"

        "Tonight, Ray?  I am off duty tonight."

        "You don't have plans?"

        "Not tonight, Ray."  He never had plans, but there was no reason to admit that out loud, was there?

        "Great.  What time do you get off work here?"

        "I should be finished by six o'clock."

        "Great.  When I drop off Fraser I'll pick you up, okay?  We can eat dinner and go to your place or something."  He glanced over and said, "Hey, Inspector."

        "Detective Vecchio.  Constable Turnbull, did I not provide you with sufficient work for your morning?"

        "No, sir, I have plenty, thank you, sir," Renfield said, and dropped a file so that papers covered his boots.  "I apologize, sir, I'm sorry, Detective Vecchio, I'll straighten these up right away, sir," he said, turning bright red, crouching down instantly to gather the papers.  He closed his eyes just for a moment, just a second, as he heard the inspector sigh in frustration and stalk off again.  When he opened his eyes, Ray was crouching at his side.  He distinctly heard the detective mutter, "Bitch," while gathering his papers.  He had to close his eyes again.  Then he opened them and took the papers from Ray with a profuse apology and thanks as they stood.

        "Don't let her fluster you," Ray said.  "She's only your superior in title."  Then Ray was off to find Constable Fraser and Renfield was alone with his papers and an ache in his heart that got a little more painful every day and was certainly larger this week than last.

        He frowned.

        It can't be...

        He crossed the apartment and opened his door.  "Ray."

        "You're wearing clothes.  I mean, not your uniform.  Real people clothes.  I didn't know that you could do that.  You even got feet!"  Ray seemed astonished at each revelation.  "Man, this is, wow, hey, you got cats."

        "There you are," Renfield said, looking down as he felt someone furry twining between his ankles.

        "They aren't deaf and lip-readers, are they?" Ray asked with some trepidation.

        "No, Ray, they are standard cats," Renfield said, smiling.

        "Real clothes.  Bare feet.  Cats.  What's next, you're a fan of mud wrestling and your girlfriend's Madonna?"

        "I assure you, Ray, that both of those assertions are quite false."

        "You got a girlfriend, Renfield-Renny-Ren?"

        "No, Ray."  He swallowed.

        "Hunh."  He remembered that "hunh" from last night.  Judging from last night, it meant that Ray was going to hold onto that information and ponder it before bringing it up later.  He wondered how worried he should be.  The man wasn't a detective for no reason.  "You gonna let me in?  Your cats got names?"

        "Oh, Ray, please, come in, how rude of me.  Yes, their names are Malcolm, Donalbain, and Fleance."

        "Why does that sound familiar?"

        "They are characters in Shakespeare's tragedy Macbeth, Ray."

        "Right.  That thing about 'fly Fleance fly' or whatever.  I got it.  I read that in high school, too, the same year as David Copperfield.  Guess you read that stuff on your own for fun?"

        "Yes, Ray, I enjoy reading more than most people."

        "Hunh."

        Oh dear.  "Would you like something to eat, Ray?  I can cook you something here if you have yet to eat."

        "You cook?  That's cool.  Sure, whip me up something."

        "What would you like, Ray?"

        "Whatever you were gonna make before I wandered in here.  You go cook and I'll meet the Scottish kittens."

        "Constable Fraser mentioned that you have a pet yourself, Ray."

        "Right, the turtle.  Wait, you guys talk about me?"

        Oh dear.  "You are a large part of the constable's life, Ray.  He has not said much about you, however.  He values your privacy."

        "That's good to know."

        "He did mention that you like dancing."

        "Yeah, well, it isn't exactly a real manly cop thing to do, you know?  But we all got our little quirks.  Yeah, I like dancing.  I guess if everybody's got a talent, dancing's mine.  What's yours?"

        "I have yet to find one, Ray," Renfield replied from the kitchen.  "Do you go dancing in those clubs?"

        "Those clubs," Ray repeated, wandering through the living room.  "No, I mostly do it alone in my apartment.  I used to do it all of the time, at home, in public, all of the time, with Stella."  His voice grew slower, softer towards the end, and Renfield listened even more attentively than usual (and usually he hung on the detective's every word).

        "Stella?" Renfield asked.

        Ray paused.  "Stella's my ex-wife."

        "I didn't know that you were married, Ray."

        "Yeah.  She and I were together from high school, married for a while.  She's the Assistant State's Attorney.  Best dance partner I ever had.  Best partner period.  Except for Fraser, but that's way different."

        "I'm sure, Ray."

        "Anyway, enough about me and my pathetic life.  I got Stella, Fraser's got Victoria, what about you?"  Ray slid into the kitchen.  He'd left his holster and sunglasses somewhere in the living room, Renfield surmised, and was carrying Malcolm rather carelessly, though the cat seemed to enjoy it.

        Was it wrong to be jealous of a feline?

        "My past relationships, Ray?" Renfield asked.

        "Right.  What're you making?"

        "Chicken parmesan and spaghetti, Ray.  Do you object?  I could easily make something else if you prefer."

        "You were gonna make all of this for yourself?"

        "No, Ray, but I thought that you might enjoy the meal.  If you prefer, I could-"

        "No, this is great.  Really.  Go right ahead and cook up a feast.  I just didn't want you going out of your way for little old me."

        "Perhaps I should have made something less Italian."

        Ray grinned.  "That's funny.  I like that.  Which cat is this?"

        "Malcolm."

        "Right.  So, you gonna tell me about your checkered romantic past or not?"

        "I don't have a checkered romantic past, Ray.  There is not much to tell in that department of my life."

        "Hunh."

        "My entire past does not take much narrative.  I am an only child.  I am from Toronto.  My mother died when I was quite young and my father is a doctor."

        "You rich?"

        "I could not afford this apartment on my current salary."

        "That means yes."

        "Yes, that means yes."

        "You want me to help cook something?"

        "No thank you, Ray."

        "Okay.  Mind if I go wander around a bit?  I promise not to poke around anywhere indecent."

        "Wander freely, Ray."  He watched Ray carry Malcolm off again.

        Ray wandered freely.  The entire apartment was large and clean, pretty much like its resident.  The bed was made, of course, with perfect tight angles and corners.  The bathroom sink was clean; he assumed that all of Renfield's belongings were in the cabinet, where he didn't look: he'd promised not to poke.  On Renfield's dresser was all of that uniform maintenance stuff that Fraser had, too.  Ray was glad that he could wear pretty much what he wanted for his own job.  No stereo, no radio, no CD's; no television, so no VCR or videos.  Books in every room, bookcases on wall after wall.  Damn.  He wandered back to the kitchen and stopped to stare.

        Renfield was sitting on the floor with a cat in his lap and another one in his hands, petting them and talking to them softly.  The uptight Mountie dressed down and barefoot sitting on a floor petting silly animals.  Wow.

        "Shit."

        Renfield looked up, startled.  "Ray?  Is something the matter?"

        "I should take a picture of you like this and hang it on a wall in the Consulate so that people can see the real Renfield Turnbull."

        "Oh dear."  Renfield rose quickly and moved to the stove.

        "I'm not actually going to do it, relax.  I just, you know, at the Consulate you're all tense and uptight and cheerful and polite and flustered and - - wait, some of that doesn't make sense together - - but you know what I mean.  Here you're all relaxed and casual."

        "Being in my home and being at the Consulate: they are two quite different environments, Ray."

        "No kidding.  Here you got Malcolm, there you got the Ice Queen.  One probably thinks that you can do no wrong; the other thrives on pushing you around and, never mind, I go on this tirade too often.  I really dislike that woman.  I don't know, if I had large handsome men who lived to do my bidding I might take advantage of the situation, too."

        Renfield turned bright red and stared down at the boiling water, trying to recover.

        "So.  You do read a lot.  You ever do anything else?"

        "Like what, Ray?"

        "Go out.  Somewhere.  I can't see you at a club, and you don't even have a TV so I can't imagine that you see many movies.  Maybe you visit museums or something?  Maybe you belong to a group or something?  Spend time with friends?"

        "I don't have friends, Ray."  He kept his eyes on the water and kept talking so that Ray couldn't say "hunh" again.  "I do spend time at art galleries and museums.  I visit bookstores, especially rare book shops.  The owner of every secondhand book store in Chicago knows my name and recognizes me on sight, actually."

        "Every one in Chicago?"

        "Yes."

        "Wow.  Wow.  Hey, you don't walk to all of them, do you?"

        "For a few of them I am forced to rely on public transportation.  I am rather fond of walking, however."

        "So you like art and books.  And you have cats.  You have a great apartment and real clothes.  I can't get over the bare feet.  And no TV?  No radio, even?  There's no music here, Renfield-Renny-Ren.  You gotta get some music."

        "Perhaps I should, Ray."

        "No perhaps about it.  Which cat is this?"

        Renfield glanced over to see Ray picking up a cat which had been rubbing against the detective's ankles.  "Fleance.  If they are bothering you-"

        "Hey, no problem.  They're all furry.  Hey, what's that book about the big guy who likes soft furry animals and he kills the rabbit?"

        Renfield cast his mind about for something that Ray might have read in school along with David Copperfield and Macbeth.  "John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men, Ray?"

        "That's it.  Didn't he write that grape book?  And there was that poem by that guy about mice and men and plans..."

        "Robert Burns."  He recited the poem distractedly as he checked the chicken.  When he raised his eyes again, Ray and an armful of cat were in his personal space, right at his side.  Ray, with beautiful wide blue eyes, said, "Do it again."

        "Do what, Ray?"  Was it growing difficult to breathe?  Most certainly, yes.

        "Say that again.  Or say something else, some more poetry like that."

        "You like poetry, Ray?"

        "Not before."

        "Before what?"

        "Before a minute ago.  Do it again."

        He tried to think of something appropriate; all he could think of at the moment was love sonnets, and he blamed that on Ray's nearness.  He cast his mind about and finally recited a bit of Browning and, when Ray demanded more, a bit of Tennyson.

        "Wow.  It sounds good, it sounds...  And it means something, too, it isn't just words, it actually makes sense, and it's important, it's saying something...something... significant.  Do you know lots of poems?"

        "Several, Ray."

        "Different kinds?"

        "From Chaucer to Milne."

        "Who?"

        "Geoffrey Chaucer-"

        "I know who he is," Ray said impatiently.  "The only Milne I know is the Winnie the Pooh guy."

        "That's who I meant, Ray."

        "Really?"  Ray laughed.  "Cool.  Hey, who's that other guy, not Milne, Milton?"

        "John Milton, Ray?  He wrote Paradise Lost."

        "Tell me about that."

        "Do you really want to know?"

        "Okay, don't tell me every last blessed thing you know on the subject, just give me a taste so I know if I want to come back for more.  Oh, and Chaucer, he wrote in whatchamacallit, not Old English, that's, you know, whoseewhatsis with Grendel-"

        "Beowulf, Ray?"

        "Right, that's it.  No, Chaucer's what, um...damn it...Middle English?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        "You know Middle English?"

        "Enough to read and understand Chaucer."

        "Can you recite me some of that, too, after we do Milton?"

        "Yes, Ray, if you wish."

        "I wish."

        He finished cooking and set the table.  They ate rather slowly because the talking seemed more important, but Ray seemed extremely pleased with his cooking.  Then Ray insisted on helping to clean and wash dishes, though he was sure that he'd drop something in Ray's presence.  They managed to clean without him embarrassing himself drastically, at which point they sat in the living room, himself on the sofa and Ray and Donalbain on the armchair.  He paused to make himself some tea and made some coffee for Ray.  When he asked how many M&M's Ray wanted, Ray said, "What?"

        "Constable Fraser told me that you put candies in your coffee, Ray.  I must admit that the practice is a new one to me.  I do not drink coffee myself, but I-"

        "Wait.  You don't drink coffee?"

        "No, Ray."

        "Then why do you have some here?"

        "Many people do drink it, Ray, and one never knows when one will have to play the host."

        "Hunh."

        Oh dear.  Ray already knew that he had no friends and no social life; surely Ray was aware that he never actually had to "play the host," so he had no real reason to have coffee, and oh dear...

        "Just drop some in there, Renfield-Renny-Ren.  You're sure that this is Donalbain?  I thought that it was Fleance.  I guess you'd know, though, wouldn't you?  Thanks," Ray said, accepting the mug.  "Coasters, I knew you'd have coasters.  It's a nice table, though, so I don't mind saving it from nasty coffee mug rings.  Now get back to telling me about this whole Daisy thing."

        An hour later, Renfield was trying to remember the words to Hamlet's various soliloquies, and Ray and three cats were with him on the sofa, and the two men were barefoot, and Renfield was trying very hard not to let himself dwell on the fact that this was the very best night of his life.

        An hour after that, they were finishing a discussion of how insane Bertha Mason Rochester really was, when Ray grabbed Renfield's wrist and said, "Damn, when did it get to be that late?  I gotta go.  I have work tomorrow, and you probably do, too.  And since when do white guys read Caribbean women's short stories for fun?  Wow, they don't tell you anything in high school.  I gotta go.  Hey, Malcolm - - no, that's Fleance, isn't it? - - whatever, scoot, cat.  Where'd I put my - - good, there it is.  Listen, Renfield-Renny-Ren, you gotta invite me over again so you can tell me Lord Tennyson, got it?  I had no idea that these people actually had anything interesting to say.  And that Renaissance, no, Reformation, no, Restoration, that's it, you gotta tell me more about that, too, okay?  Thanks a lot for the food and everything.  I'll see you later, okay?  Oh, and Renfield-Renny-Ren?" Ray asked, tugging on his jacket, standing in the open doorway.

        "Yes, Ray?"

        "Between the food and the books, we may have found two of your talents.  Later."  Ray was gone, the door was shut, and no one but the cats were there to see Renfield on the sofa in shock.

        Oh.  Well.  Best not think about that idea, hm?  At any rate, it seemed that for one evening, at least, he'd managed to keep Ray vaguely entertained and fed.  He did hope that Ray hadn't minded his cooking, or his long-winded lectures on literature - - the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that he'd bored the poor detective to tears.  What could be worse than a dull-

        "Hey," Ray said, striding into the Consulate.  "Enjoying your post today?"

        "Yes, Ray, thank you.  How is your day?"

        "Thinking about getting a cat."

        "Really?"

        "As long as it doesn't eat the turtle or anything.  But I kind of liked yours.  Been too long since I stroked something besides myself, I guess.  Sorry, shouldn't talk about that in front of Mounties.  Anyway, I can't cook, but tomorrow night you could come over to my place.  Yours is nicer but it doesn't seem fair to invite myself to your place, so you can come to see me, okay?  Hello?"

        "Why, Ray, yes, I...  I would love to see where you live, Ray."  He was well aware that he was blushing brightly but couldn't do a thing to stop.

        "Great.  It might be kind of late.  Okay if I just swing by your apartment and pick you up tomorrow night?"

        "That's fine, Ray.  Any time."

        "Great.  Sorry I can't be more specific, but my schedule, you know, sorry.  Anyway, I'll pick you up tomorrow night.  At your place.  Don't be wandering off somewhere without me like last night, okay?"

        "Oh, dear, Ray-"

        "Now don't get started.  I have to get to work on time for once.  See you later."  He went off to find Fraser.  Renfield decided that his normally functional legs just might not hold him this morning, and he sat heavily.  Much more of this and he'd simply go into heart failure.  He was being invited to Ray's apartment?  Ray was volunteering to spend time with him?  Oh my...

        "Been too long since I stroked anything besides myself, I guess."

        Was Ray...  Did Ray...  He tried his very best not to picture Ray's strong, lean hands on those strong, lean thighs, moving up and inward, stroking over - - no, he wasn't going to think about that, was he?  Did Ray mean that there hadn't been much of a love life since Stella?  Surely the detective could have any of a dozen women on any given day.  After all, who wouldn't want to spend time with the engaging, handsome detective?  And who wouldn't want to spend some of that time in bed?

        Oh.  Well.

        At any rate, perhaps Ray, too, was lonely?  But how was that possible, with all of those other officers, and Constable Fraser, and...  Why would Ray bother to spend time with him, of all people?  Perhaps the detective was simply fulfilling a polite duty in inviting Renfield over tomorrow night.  He couldn't find an excuse to cancel; that would be rude.  But he could do his best to keep the evening short so that the detective's entire night wasn't ruined.

        He was being given an opportunity to see Ray's home.  Was it an apartment?  Ray seemed to like his apartment, so maybe Ray's wasn't as expensive.  It hardly seemed fair for Ray to live in something cheap and small.  The man needed room to dance, after all.

        He wanted to see Ray dance.

        He wanted to see Ray do a lot of things.

        There was a knock at the door.  He scooped up his keys and opened the door.  "Hello, Ray."

        "Hey.  You like pizza?"

        "I have not had pizza for quite some time, Ray, but I do enjoy it."

        "Good.  Okay if I use your phone?"

        "Certainly, Ray, do as you please."

        "Hey, cat," Ray said, picking up one.  "Who's this again?"

        "Fleance, Ray."

        "Right.  Come on, Fleance, let's call for pizza.  We can have it delivered to my place.  By the time we get there, maybe it'll be there, too."  Ray went to the kitchen and grabbed Renfield's phone.  "Renfield-Renny-Ren, what do you like on pizza?"

        "Whatever you choose will be fine, Ray."

        "I'll make you regret that."  He dialed.  "Hey, Justin, it's Ray.  Gimme one large-" he looked toward Renfield "-two large pizzas, one with everything you got, one with pepperoni.  Hey, man, thanks."  He hung up the phone.  "These cats travel?"

        "I drink tea, water, milk, and juice, Ray."

        "Well, how about water now and tea later?"

        "That would be fine, Ray."  Later?  How long was he to stay?

        "Here ya go, take a plate and don't be shy.  Now you gotta tell me all the stuff you skipped over last night, and then I gotta convince you to buy a CD player."  Ray sat at the table and shoved a glass of water across the table toward him.  Opening a can of beer, Ray said, "Sit.  Drink.  Eat.  Be merry.  And I'll betcha can tell me where that came from, cantcha?"

        Well, actually, he could.  So he did.  He didn't like to tell people everything that he knew all at once, like some other Mounties that he could name, but since Ray continued to prod and demand, he found himself talking as he had last night.  Before he knew it, the pizza was gone.  He noted that Ray drank only one beer.  They sat on the sofa as they had at his apartment, with tea and coffee and cats, beginning as they had ended two nights prior with Ray at his side, turned to face him, feet curled up onto the sofa.  Malcolm gave Renfield the most satisfied look he'd seen on the pampered cat.

        "You got work tomorrow?"

        "No, Ray, tomorrow is my day off."

        "Good.  Then you can stay a couple more minutes.  You dance?"

        "No, Ray."

        "Why not?"

        "I have not had much opportunity.  I am not naturally graceful."

        Ray dumped Malcolm onto Renfield's lap and walked across the room to the stereo system.  "We don't have much in common.  I do baseball, you do curling.  I do dancing, you do reading and cooking.  But there's gotta be something here that you'd like to hear."  He flipped through CD cases.  "Next time, you've gotta dance, but for tonight, you're off the hook.  I'll put this on the stereo, and while we're talking, you give it a listen."  He slipped three discs into the machine and crossed the room to sit on the sofa again, taking Fleance from his cushion.  "Back to Cordy, come on, you gotta tell me what happens to her dad."

        Renfield liked Ray's natural interest in literature, and he liked that it didn't work itself into undue reverence.  Some people allowed themselves to be awed or intimidated by "great literature," but Ray didn't seem to buy into that theory.  He was glad that Ray didn't mock his enthusiasm, either.

        As he spoke with Ray, he found himself catching snatches of songs.  Some of it sounded mildly familiar.  Some of it made him lose his train of thought.  Finally he asked Ray, "What is this music?"

        "Mozart, R.E.M., and Nine Inch Nails.  This song is R.E.M.'s 'Nightswimming.'  Some people can't stand music in the background, but I like it.  Come on, you didn't finish telling me about Fagin."

        "I really should be going, Ray.  I've kept you long enough."

        "Come on, just another minute.  Donalbain's all comfortable."

        "Really, Ray..."

        "Oh, fine.  Come on, I'll drive you and the cats home.  In the car you can tell me what happens to Fagin, okay?  Come on, Donalbain - - wait, isn't this Fleance?"

        It was Renfield's day off, so he forced himself out of his apartment early.  He wandered through the park, trying to decide how to spend his afternoon.  He'd already seen the latest over-rated exhibit at the gallery.  Simon hadn't called about any new finds at the book shop recently, either.  He wanted to see for himself that Jason was all right, but he didn't feel comfortable with dropping in on a virtual stranger.

        He ended up spending his day wandering the city, brisk but aimless.  He wandered too far, actually, and got home later than expected.  Walking into his apartment at seven, he went to feed the poor cats.  He cast a glance at his answering machine out of habit.  Seeing the light flash green, Renfield did a double take.  He actually had a message?  It must be an unusually zealous salesman.  Could it be his father?  Oh no, perhaps it was the Inspector; was today not his day off?  With some trepidation he decided which button to push, and waited.

        "Hey, Renfield-Renny-Ren, it's Ray.  If you aren't busy around seven o'clock - - that's pm, Mountie boy - - I'll drop by your place tomorrow night just for an hour or two.  Oh damn it, hey Frase, wait up - - later, Renfield-Renny-Ren."

        Renfield sat where he stood and pulled Malcolm to his face.  "Malcolm, have you bewitched him somehow?  What's happening?  Why does he want to spend time with me?  I don't know what to do.  He doesn't realize what he does to me.  His smile is sexy, his walk is sexy, he talks like no one else I know, certainly he thinks like no one else I know.  He's coming here, tomorrow night, here, again.  What should I do?  What does he want?"

        Well.  He knew what Ray didn't want.  Ray didn't want the very thing that he wanted most.  That was to be expected, however.  He was used to disappointment so painful that he couldn't breathe.  He'd just live with it.  If Ray wanted a dissertation on Daisy Miller, Daisy Buchanan, and "Daisy" Copperfield, he'd deliver it.  If Ray wanted to pet his cats, that was just fine with him (and them).  He would enjoy the detective's company while it lasted, and store up the precious memories for the lonely times ahead.

        "Been too long since I stroked anybody besides myself, I guess."  Well, they did have that in common.  But he didn't dare venture down that road.  That night, though, when he was alone in his bed, lying on his back, eyes closed tightly in the darkness, he imagined Ray across town doing the exact same thing; as he touched himself, he dared to imagine Ray touching, oh god yes, just like...that...ahh...

        "Thanks.  Hey.  Hey, Dief."  Ray crouched down before the wolf.  "You wanna fetch Fraser for me?  We gotta big case we gotta wrap up today."

        Dief grunted at him, if wolves grunt, and padded off to find Fraser.

        "Be at your place at seven?" Ray asked Renfield, rising.  Renfield, trying not to gape at the lithe form, managed to say, "Yes, Ray, seven is fine."

        "Great.  Hey, Fraser, shake a tail feather!  Later, Renfield-Renny-Ren."

        Still, it couldn't hurt, could it?

        The knock came before he'd gathered his wits (or clothes) about him.  He quickly finished buttoning up his shirt before he opened the door.  "Welcome, Ray."

        "Hey."

        "May I help you?"

        "No thanks, I got it.  I'm just gonna dump it on the floor here, that okay?"  Ray entered laden with stereo equipment.

        "Fine, Ray."  He watched Ray set down everything against the far living room wall.

        "Do I smell cookies?"

        "Yes, Ray.  Would you like one?"

        "Absolutely.  As soon as we finish dancing.  No eating then dancing; that's backward."

        "Dancing, Ray?"

        "Absolutely.  I want you to prove to me that you can't dance.  They aren't chocolate chip, are they?"

        "Yes, Ray, they are."

        "Well, maybe I'll have just one now.  But just one."

        "Fine, Ray, I'll get you one."

        Ray crouched down to plug in and set up his equipment.  Renfield fetched the plate of warm cookies and brought it over to the detective.  Ray, still crouched down, grabbed a cookie from the plate and bit into it.  "Maybe one more," he said, stealing a second.  "But that's it for now."  Then he winked and took a third and went back to work.  Renfield, pleased, set the plate on the nearby table.

        Ray set up a small CD player with speakers.  He had a small assortment of CD's as well.  "Okay.  You slow dance?"

        "Not for quite some time, Ray."

        "Okay.  We'll start there, that's easier.  I got the Righteous Brothers around here somewhere; they'll do.  You can lead; my masculinity won't shrivel up and die over one dance.  I hope.  Check that; I'll lead first, okay, and then for the second song you can lead, once we're into the whole thing.  Okay?"

        "Are you certain about this endeavor, Ray?"

        "Yes, I'm certain about this endeavor.  Come on, you're a tough brave Mountie, you can handle a dance or two.  I'll just stick in a little Bill Medley and we're good to go.  I'm gonna lead; you just follow."  Ray turned on the machine and a man began to sing as Ray stepped up to Renfield.  "Damn, you're big," Ray said.  "Gimme your hands - - gimme your hands," he insisted gently, grasping Renfield's hands.  "Okay, put one on my shoulder, just rest yourself there, and I'll take the other one.  I'm gonna put one hand on your hip to steer you around, like this.  Here we go.  It helps if you look into my eyes, but that makes some people nervous, so you don't hafta."  Ray started humming, steering Renfield around the room without seeming to concentrate at all.  "Nothing fancy, just sort of roaming musically, you got it?  You gotta relax, just sort of let Bill sing you off to the happy place.  That's it, just follow my lead.  You ever had a partner?  Like I had Stella, and I got Fraser.  You know.  You work together, and sometimes the other guy takes the lead and you follow naturally, you trust him.  And now, here we go, it's your turn to lead.  Don't let it throw you, come on," and Ray switched their hands around and now Renfield's hand was on Ray's slim hip and he had no idea how they'd gotten here, but they were still moving and Ray was grinning.  "See, now it's just the same thing, only in the opposite direction.  You're going forward and I'm going back, but it's all the same.  It's just your turn to be in charge now.  We're still going, they're still singing, it's all in rhythm, nothing fancy, just one two three four, here we go across the floor.  You okay?  See, you can dance, this is great - - Fraser's got no sense of rhythm, I can't believe it.  Stella, wow, she's the best dancing partner I ever had.  Come on, keep going, don't lose it, here we go.  That's good.  See?  Just dancing.  Easy as pie, Renfield-Renny-Ren.  Speaking of pie, where'd those cookies go?  See, the song's over, and we have a success!"  Ray slipped from Renfield's clutches and grabbed a cookie on the way to the CD player.  "Now we're gonna get down and get funky and I don't care how silly you think that you look, 'cause it's just you and me and the cats, and if Donalbain complains who cares, am I right?  Come on, here we go, gimme a sec - - right, there, okay."  A quick beat started, reminiscent of Renfield's heartbeat of late, and Ray was up and across the floor again.  "Come on, Renfield-Renny-Ren, gimme a whirl.  You gotta move something.  Just something, I don't care what, do a little toe-tapping, feel the beat, feel the rhythm.  Come on, I'm not gonna make an ass of myself all alone here, you gotta do it with me."  Ray whirled around and grabbed Renfield's hand, pulling him along, then stopping to grab both of the Mountie's hands and doing something with his feet and hips that made Renfield very dizzy in a whole new way.  "Just this one dance, Renfield-Renny-Ren, then you can sit down with your tea and forget all about my annoying maddening little habits, but you gotta give me this one dance, come on now.  Just do what I do.  I'm not letting go of your hands until you start doing this with me.  It's just a little foot-tapping and hip-shaking."

        By now, Renfield just felt awful for not going along with Ray, and he decided that he might as well make a complete fool of himself in front of Ray now and get it over with, so he tried to ape Ray's foot patterns.  A moment later he found himself being pulled and pushed and turned and tugged until he was dizzy, but he tried his best to keep up with Ray, who was chanting the lyrics and calling out orders all at once while spinning him across the room.

        "You did it, Renfield-Renny-Ren, you did it.  That's dancing.  See how easy it is?  Okay, now you get your sofa and tea.  Wasn't that fun?  You picked it up real fast.  Didn't he look good, Fleance?"

        "That's Malcolm, Ray."

        "Maybe it's some psychological thing.  I don't get called by my real name, so I don't call anybody else right, either.  Well, just cats.  I don't know."  Ray turned off the CD player and followed Renfield to the kitchen.  "I'm making myself at home here; you got cups somewhere?  I'm gonna get myself some water."

        "I'll get you some, Ray.  Shall I brew you some coffee as well?"

        "You still got M&M's?" Ray asked, grinning at him.

        "Yes, Ray."

        "Great."  Ray pulled off his button-down shirt to expose his T-shirt, tossing the first toward his CD player.  "Listen, can I tell you something?"

        "Of course, Ray, you may tell me anything that you like."

        "I sort of got two kinds of people right now.  I mean, lots of people know I'm not really Ray Vecchio, like Fraser knows, and he and I are real tight, sometimes I think that maybe he's all I really got right now, but sometimes...  I mean, half of the people see me as Ray Vecchio.  They think that I'm that guy.  And the other half see me as not Ray Vecchio.  Like Welsh, and Fraser, they see me as the guy pretending to be Ray Vecchio who's really not Ray Vecchio and never will be.  I feel sometimes like I'm offending them or hurting them by not being what they want.  I'm not Italian, I'm Polish, and I don't wear Armani, I wear whatever clothes I bought ten years ago, and I don't wear fuck-me cologne except on really rare occasions when I splash on that stuff that Stella bought me."

        "Ray?"

        "Yeah?" Ray asked, swallowing water.

        "What's your real name?"

        "Oh.  Stanley Raymond Kowalski.  Ray, Kowalski, whatever.  Mostly people call me Ray and cops call me Kowalski.  Whatever.  Hey."

        "Yes, Ray?"

        "What do people call you?"

        "Constable Turnbull."

        "What about your dad?"

        "My father calls me Renfield."

        "Well, then I won't."  Renfield blinked.  Ray sat on the sofa with Malcolm.  "Tell me something."

        "Yes, Ray?"

        "Are you gay?"

        Renfield was very still.  He kept his back to Ray.  Don't lie, you can't lie to him, you can't lie.  You can tell him.  He wouldn't ask if he didn't suspect, and he can't be homophobic, not the way he talks, not how casual he is.  You can be honest.  He's partnered with Constable Fraser, he's being Ray Vecchio, he won't hate you for being gay.  "Yes, Ray."

        "You seeing anybody?"

        "No, Ray."

        "Why not?  Never mind, none of my business.  Hey, you think, you think that you could let me borrow one of your books?  I wouldn't hurt them or anything.  I'll keep them safe in my apartment."

        "You may borrow whatever you like, Ray."

        "Keep acting like that and I'll just take Malcolm here home with me."

        "I imagine that he'd like that, Ray."

        "You think?  I don't know, he'd miss you.  And Fleance and Donalbain."  Ray went over to a bookcase.  "Hemingway, James, Ellison, Conde, Carter, Thackeray - - these in any order, Renny-Ren?"

        Renfield noted the change in address.  "No, Ray, they seem to wind up wherever they please."

        Ray sucked chocolate off of a thumb.  Renfield looked away as soon as he remembered how.  "Who's this guy, Borawski?  Walta Borawski?  Sounds Polish."

        Renfield swallowed.  "He's a poet, Ray."

        "Yeah?  Can ya recite me some?"

        "He's a gay poet."

        "Really?  Tell me one."

        I shouldn't do this, I can't do this, it's wrong, I'm pathetic and stupid and desperate and obvious, I shouldn't do this, I can't...  "I only remember one, Ray.  It's called 'Therapy.'"

        "Go ahead."

        "'Unravel the obsession.  Begin here: he never encouraged me.  When I feel pain he has not called, when I feel jealousy toward men he may have slept with, may be having sex with, this has nothing to do with him, he's never opened that part of himself to me.  The man probably knows nothing beyond I am infatuated, write notes, leave messages, get a silly smile whenever I see him, and suffer varying energy levels.'"

        Ray scratched his chin, then Fleance's.  "I like that."  His eyes roamed the shelves.  "Maybe I'll read Steinbeck.  He's easy."

        "You should enjoy his straightforward narrative style, Ray."

        "Yeah, I'm stayin' the hell away from Faulkner and James.  Hey, hear that, Fleance?  I got Renny-Ren to laugh.  We'll hafta try that again sometime."

        Ray left Renfield's apartment with The Grapes of Wrath, the remaining cookies, and a promise to return the following evening.  Renfield rubbed a hand over the spot on his hip where Ray's hand had rested during their dance.  He rubbed it again while he masturbated.

        When the CD ended an hour later, Ray gave Renfield a quick hard squeeze, shimmied over to the kitchen for a glass of water, and tossed his T-shirt onto the floor.  "Damn, I'm hot," he panted.

        Renfield was inclined to agree, but swallowed the urge.

        "Wasn't that great?  Doesn't it just make you want to - - can't you feel it all the way inside?  The beat just gets inside you, and the tune carries you off...  Damn, Renny-Ren, you're making me hot just looking at you.  Take off some of those layers, man."  Ray poured himself another glassful.  "Come on, you did the cooking, I did the dancing, now it's your turn again.  What'd you do on your last day off?"

        "I went walking through the city, Ray."

        "Just walking?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        "What'd you do on your day off before that?"

        "I believe that I went to visit Simon, the owner of a book shop.  The time before that I visited the art gallery on Queen and Duke."

        "Really?  What's it like there?"

        "Beautiful, Ray."  Yes, those two words did go together naturally.  It felt good to say.

        "Tell me."

        So he did, briefly at first, then with elaborating detail as Ray questioned him.  He could see that Ray must be wonderful in the interrogation room; he found himself  telling  the detective things that he'd never even known that he could say.  Then they danced again, and when that CD ended he allowed himself to peel off his tucked and buttoned shirt, exposing his own T-shirt.

        "Damn."

        "What's wrong, Ray?"

        "You got a nice body, Renny-Ren.  I thought that Fraser made me look scruffy and scrawny, but he's got nothing on you."  Ray drank water quickly.

        "You aren't at all scruffy or scrawny, Ray."

        "I thought that Mounties didn't lie," Ray teased.

        "I think that you're beautiful, Ray."

        Ray looked at him.  "Mounties don't lie."

        "We don't lie, Ray." Apparently we don't breathe, either, but our hearts do pound rather rapidly.  This could become a problem.

        "Renny-Ren?"

        "Yes, Ray?"

        "You're gay and I'm beautiful.  Trying to tell me something?"

        "I'm not trying to...  I never intended...  I didn't mean..."  He found Ray to be alarmingly close, one lean, naked arm around his neck, one half-naked blonde detective mere inches from his body.

        "You can kiss me if you feel like it."

        "I don't think that I can, Ray."  Apparently he wasn't going to need to, because Ray was kissing him.  Ray's lips on his, Ray's right arm around his neck, Ray's left hand stroking his ribcage through cotton.  He leaned his hips back against the counter a little and Ray came right along with him, pressed to his body casually, leaning into him, kissing him all soft and slow like they had ages to go.

        "Okay," Ray said, stepping back from him, breaking all physical contact.  "Renny-Ren?"  Ray frowned.  "Breathe.  Inhale.  Try it, you'll like it."

        He remembered how to breathe and did so.

        "Good.  Renny-Ren, you don't have any friends, according to you, so either you don't date much or you have one-night stands with male prostitutes, or something, which I'm guessing you don't do.  When was the last time you got off with somebody?"

        Renfield licked his lips.  "That would be when I was in college, Ray."

        "Why the long dry spell?"

        "My last relationships did not go very well, Ray.  I decided that perhaps I was better off alone."

        "You can't swear off guys forever just because you run into a couple of assholes, Renny-Ren.  Yeah, I mean, things with Stella didn't work out, but that doesn't mean that I'll never try again.  Just means that I'm a little shy at first."

        Ray?  Shy?  Though he understood what Ray meant.

        "What went so bad in college?"

        "My first..."

        "Boyfriend?  Lover?  Fuck buddy?"

        "He preferred to be only that last term, Ray.  I wanted a serious relationship and he merely wanted an orgasm.  He did not want anyone to know that he was gay or that he and I knew each other.  He was ashamed of himself and he was doubly ashamed of me.  My second relationship lasted fourteen months.  He wanted things that I didn't want, and I didn't like being forced into anything."

        "Forced?"  Ray looked ready to arrest someone without reading rights.

        "I wanted to please him," Renfield said, "but he asked for more than I could give.  When he started to take without my explicit consent, I left him."

        "Ren?"

        "Yes, Ray?"  He noted the change in address once again.

        "I may be a cop, but you're a Mountie, and you got fifty extra pounds of muscle over me, so if I ever try to do anything that you don't want me doing, you just pop me one, okay?"

        "I can't hit you, Ray."

        "But you'll tell me if you aren't all comfortable and enthusiastic?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        "Good.  So if you haven't been with a guy since those two motherfuckers, but now you're kissing me, is it because I started it?"

        "I would not have made the first move, Ray.  I would never have attempted to initiate a romantic or sexual relationship with you.  But I am more attracted to you than I have been to anyone."

        "Really.  Good.  So do you want to start something here or do you just wanna be friends?"

        "Start something?"

        "You know.  More than friends.  Slap and tickle along with the talking and eating."

        "Ray, I didn't even know that you were...bisexual."

        "Totally.  Okay, let's be honest, I've never been with a guy, because being with girls, women, is easier, since if you walk around with a girl on your arm it's totally cool, but there's the whole hideous homophobia issue that sort of made me stick to the female side of the population.  But I've always wanted guys.  Even when I was married to Stella, and I loved Stella like nobody's business, I always wanted to, you know, do stuff with guys.  So you're the first guy I've ever kissed, but I've been attracted to guys since forever.  I'm bi.  And it isn't like I'm just doing some weird experimentation thing, because if you're going to do one-night stands and that sort of thing you gotta say it right from the start, you gotta make sure that the other person knows where you're going, because if you want a cheap fling, if you're just looking to get off, and the other person wants hearts and flowers, you got a real problem.  So I'm not just into, you know, rubbing myself against you and going home.  We're friends.  Hell, if I mess with you, Fraser would kill me.  I'd have to see you every day and feel all hideous and guilty.  So you like me, and I like you, and we're attracted to each other, so we could, you know, be boyfriends.  We could even tell Fraser.  I'm not ready to leave the closet any more than that.  Hazard of the job.  Is that okay with you?  It isn't a shame thing, it's a not really wanting to lose my job and be killed thing."

        "I wouldn't ask you to put your career or your safety in jeopardy, Ray, especially not while you're serving as Detective Vecchio."

        "So you wanna kiss me some more?"

        "Are you attracted to me, Ray?"

        "Didn't I just say that?  I thought that I did, but I say a lot sometimes.  Damn, you got the palest skin.  Must be the uniform.  Oh, right, I was telling you how much I want you.  Yeah, I want you.  I'd be an idiot not to.  You have the best body, I could just - - never mind, we don't gotta go there.  And you got the prettiest eyes.  Maybe it's your eyelashes.  I don't know."  Ray peered into Renfield's eyes.  "You're so smart, and so intelligent, and you think about stuff, you...  And there's the polite cheerful flustered you at the Consulate, and there's the cooking with cats you here, and there's the you that reads and visits galleries, and there's the you that gets barefoot and dances with me.  Right now I really want to get to know the you that kisses.  Should we do it standing here or sitting on the sofa?  Does me being half-naked make you uncomfortable?  It was just all that dancing.  I could get dressed again if you want."

        "No, Ray, I like you fine just as you are."

        Ray grinned.  "Great.  Hey, so you've been with guys.  You know.  All that stuff.  You don't gotta paint me a picture or anything, but you know, you've done the handjobs and the blow jobs and the fucking and everything."

        "Not...not quite everything, Ray."

        "Can you tell me which steps you skipped, or is that way too embarrassing?"

        "We didn't, I didn't..."

        "Okay, let me guess.  You never got fucked?  No, wait, let me think about the motherfuckers you were with.  They always fucked you, and you never got to do the fucking."

        "That is correct, Ray.  And..."

        "And there's more?  Okay...you never sixty-nined?"

        "Oh, no, not that either."

        "Wait, you never got a blow job?"  Renfield shook his head.  "Not ever?  Wow.  Damn.  Well, I'll give you one.  You'll like it."

        "I don't doubt that I will, Ray."

        "You blush so sexy."  Ray kissed him, hands in his hair, tongue in his mouth.  Ray's tongue was in his mouth.  Ray's tongue was in his mouth.  Ray did the most erotic little flick and sweep and suddenly Ray was sucking on his tongue, and his tongue was in Ray's mouth, and oh Ray tasted so sweet and hot and wet...

        Oh dear lord.

        Renfield put his hands on Ray's shoulders and ran them down Ray's back to rest on Ray's waist, right above Ray's jeans.  Ray shifted closer to his body, licking his teeth and tasting his mouth, and then Ray said, "Let's go to the sofa, Ren.  You know what?"

        "What, Ray?" he asked, dazed, too stunned and aroused to be aware of much beyond Ray beneath his palms.

        "Carry me."  Ray's arms wrapped around his shoulders and Ray hopped up to hug his hips with strong thighs and he reflexively grabbed Ray, hauling Ray up against his chest.  Ray's legs wrapped around his waist and Ray kissed him, deep and wet, and he walked to the sofa by vague memory, entirely focused on Ray in his arms.  He sat down heavily, Ray riding him to the sofa, Ray kneeling astride his lap, his hands in Ray's soft blonde spikes, Ray's groin shoving hot and hard against his own.  He hadn't felt another cock near his in years, and it wasn't just any erection, it was Ray's.  This was Ray in his lap, Ray in his mouth, Ray in his hands.  Ray's hands were running down his torso, rubbing back up again, holding onto his biceps.  He ran a hand down Ray's naked back just for the feel of it, just to experience Ray's bare skin at his fingertips, warm and alive, this tight lean body, so masculine, so sexy, so...Ray.

        "Yeah, Ren, touch me," Ray said into Renfield's mouth.  Encouraged, Renfield slid his hand around and up Ray's front.  He paused at Ray's nipples.

        "Shit!" Ray said, jumping in Renfield's lap.  He looked at Renfield and grinned.  "Do that again.  Oh, yes, oh, yeah, do that again, Ren."  He kissed Renfield, licking across the Mountie's mouth.  "Take off your shirt, Ren, lemme see you, lemme touch you."  He sat back and waited.

        Renfield swallowed, blushed under the obvious scrutiny, and wished that some miracle would fix his body in the next two seconds.  Then he pulled his T-shirt up over his head before dropping it at his side.

        "I don't know where to start," Ray said softly.  "So pale."  He slid a tentative fingertip across Renfield's collarbone.  "So smooth.  You feel..."  He slid a palm over Renfield's shoulder.  "You feel like silk.  Warm silk.  And god, what I wouldn't give for this body."  He stroked Renfield's pecs with the fingertips of both hands, then slid his knuckles down Renfield's ribcage.  "Sort of scary, being allowed to touch you the way I want.  Scary exciting.  Scary thrilling.  Do you know how hard I worked to get a six-pack?"

        "What, Ray?"

        "You know, washboard stomach.  Abs.  Like you got.  You look like you were born like this."  He stroked Renfield's abdomen.  "Gonna try something."  He rubbed his thumb over Renfield's right nipple.  Renfield gasped, turned red, and shuddered away from Ray's touch.  "Maybe that's what's good about being with guys.  Guys know what guys like.  Never really touched myself there, never thought about it, and nobody else ever did, either.  But you're really onto something with this whole nipple thing.  Damn, Ren, you're so big and powerful, I can't believe you never topped.  I bet you could fuck like a - - never mind, I won't go there.  Not today."  He considered, smiled, murmured, "Maybe tomorrow," and kissed Renfield all over again, rubbing and plucking at Renfield's nipples with both hands.  Renfield stroked and learned his entire upper body, wanting to experience Ray's every nuance and response.  It was getting harder and harder to keep himself in the moment, because Ray's hips were thrusting and rocking against his, riding and grinding their erections together through their jeans, creating a banging friction that, combined with the extreme situation of actually having Ray at his fingertips, made him want to come now.

        Ray gasped and arched away from him.  "God, Ren - - hey, hey, god, you wanna do the rubbing against each other thing or the actually touching each other thing?"

        Touching each other?  He could touch Ray?  Touch Ray there, of all places?

        "Lemme take off my pants for a second," Ray said, and rose up straight on his knees, which made Renfield consider passing out from sheer exhiliration.  Ray unbuttoned his jeans and peeled them down, revealing to Renfield's fascination the fact that he wasn't wearing any underwear.  A few quick, graceful moves and Ray was entirely naked in Renfield's lap.

        Good...lord...

        "Ren?"

        He made a strangled response that he'd intended to be "Yes, Ray?"

        "Ren?" Ray asked, breathing in his ear, licking at his earlobe.  "Are you cut, Ren?"  He couldn't possibly answer that question; he was too busy thinking about the fact that Ray so obviously was circumcised, and that the swollen drooling proof of it was rubbing up against his much-admired abdominal muscles.  Ray rocked against him, stroking his biceps, oh dear lord tonguing his ear, and he came, hard, right in his jeans.

        "Oh yeah Ren baby," Ray half-breathed half-moaned, riding his shivering body, and one lean-fingered hand came between their bodies and a split second later Ray was shivering against his naked torso with one hard shudder and some stuttering gasps.  He felt the splash of Ray's hot release in thick spurts.  "God that was good, I haven't come that hard since Stella.  Sorry, shouldn't talk about the ex-wife in front of the new boyfriend.  Hey, I got a boyfriend now, and I just came all over him."  Ray, delighted, kissed Renfield.  "God that's good.  We gotta do this all the time.  Ren?"

        "Yes, Ray?" he asked, able to speak this time.

        "You care if I sleep here tonight?  In your bed?"

        "Why certainly, Ray, if you'd like, I can sleep-"

        "Don't tell me you're about to say what I think that you're about to say.  I meant the two of us together in your bed, Ren.  You and me."

        "Oh.  That's fine, Ray."

        "Good.  Let's go clean this up before it gets even more gross."  Ray did pause for a series of long and involved kisses before he managed to leave the sofa, at which point he dragged Renfield along with him and did a lot more kissing in the bathroom than he did actual washing.  Then he shoved Renfield out again, used the toilet and finger-brushed his teeth, and gave Renfield another long kiss before going off to Renfield's bed.

        Renfield walked into his bathroom, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the tub.  This could not be happening.  Either he was misunderstanding Ray or he was insane.  He didn't know which he preferred.  Perhaps Ray was insane?  It was possible.  The man did put candies in coffee.

        He stripped and cleaned himself, then brushed his teeth and wondered what to do next.  He didn't fancy striding about naked, but he also did not want to put on his soiled boxer shorts.  He settled for wrapping a towel about his waist and leaving the bathroom quietly.  He went to his bedroom to find the bedside lamp on and Ray asleep beneath the covers, on one side facing the middle of the bed, Malcolm curled against Ray's stomach.  Renfield pulled on boxer shorts and a T-shirt before shooing Malcolm away and very slowly, carefully, and reluctantly laying down beside Ray.  He settled on his side, heart pounding, and watched Ray sleep.  Cautiously he reached over and turned off the light.

        He went through his brisk morning routine.  The cats ignored their food and went to visit Ray.  They knew not to be on the bed when he was there, but they made free use of it when he wasn't actually in it himself.  He managed to be in full dress and ready to leave before he made himself approach the bed again.  He swallowed and knelt down by the bed.

        Ray had worked himself over onto Renfield's side.  Perhaps Renfield had left a warm spot.

        He dared to put one hand on Ray's warm shoulder.  The detective had a slim build but had shoulders rather broader than one would expect.  "Ray," he said softly.  "Ray."

        Ray reached out a hand without opening those lovely eyes.  Touched Renfield's uniform.  Jumped back, wide-eyed.  Stared in disbelief, then relief.  "Damn, Ren, don't do that to me.  For a second there I thought you were Fraser.  I was picturing you half-naked, not all dressed like a Mountie.  Although you fill out that uniform kinda nice."  He grinned.  "Gotta have Mountie sex sometime.  You gotta go to work?"

        "Yes, Ray.  Feel free to sleep longer if you would like."

        "You gotta go right this second, or you got time to ring my bell first?  No, that isn't fair, if you give me a happy and I can't give you one back.  Okay, just a little kiss, and then I'll let you go."  Ray leaned up on one elbow and put one hand to the back of Renfield's neck, then proceeded to kiss Renfield dizzy, so deep and hot with lewd tongue like Renfield hadn't even dreamed.  Ray, naked, draped in bedclothes, was so sexy erotic hedonistic that Renfield almost came right in red serge.

        "Oh, oh, oh, dear lord, my," Renfield gasped, jerking back, closing his eyes, trying to breathe.

        "More, Mountie," Ray breathed, diving in again.  Renfield moaned helplessly and let Ray possess and plunder.  Finally he had to remove himself again, almost falling onto his butt.

        "Okay, okay, you can go.  You don't care if I hang out for a bit?"

        "Take your time, Ray." Yes, please linger in my bed.

        "Okay.  You'd better go so the Ice Queen doesn't get more pissy than usual.  See you later, Ren."  Ray stretched out with mouth-watering wantonness and settled lazily down again, closing his eyes.  Renfield backed from the room haltingly, unable to rip his desperate gaze from the man lying on his bed.  Malcolm, Fleance, and Donalbain, with almost scary feline grace, all leapt onto the bed and settled around Ray's nude, cotton-draped body in a haunting display.  The scene dominated Renfield's mind for the rest of the day.