41. Auld Lang Syne

Ray opened the door to Fraser's office and stuck his head inside, then jumped back. He swallowed, and eased it open far enough to see--yep, he was definitely seeing what he thought he was seeing. He closed it gently and leaned against the wall. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

He hummed under his breath and waited, hoping they were both quiet types.

After a few minutes, Fraser walked out, smelling like sex. "Fraser. Fraser."

"Ray!"

The thing was, Fraser looked genuinely happy to see him. Even given that there was a sucked-off guy in the next room, who if Ray was right was the kind of major sports figure who shouldn't have been getting sucked off in the Canadian whatsit.

"Fraser," he said, "what the hell were you doing?"

Fraser blinked once, slowly, and then he said "I was performing oral sex, Ray," as though Ray were a dumb kid who needed things explained.

"On a hockey player," Ray said.

"Well, yes."

"You mind telling me why?"

"For old times' sake, Ray," Fraser said, like it was the most normal thing in the world to be sucking off famous hockey players for old times' sake.

Ray stared at him and then shook his head. "I need a drink," he said, and left, ignoring Fraser who was probably staring at his back. There was a bottle of whisky at home with "to be drunk the day you find out your partner sucks dick" written all over it.

42. Even Canadians Get the Blues

We were kids, Duane and me, back before the tune. Maybe even after the tune. Maybe even now, come to think of it. And kids--hell, kids don't know what they're doing. Maybe we still don't.

One thing we did know, though, and that was sex. Even two scared, broke kids can figure that one out. Steaming up the windows of a car. Going down in the back of a pickup truck, with the stars above you and rusty patches in the truckbed below.

When it's like that, sometimes you think it's love, because you got everything you need, right there.

Long as you don't put your hand through a rusty hole, anyway.

43. First of May

Back home, first of May, there's a rhyme. Outdoor fucking starts today. Stella used to say it. And once in a while it was warm enough, so we did. Woods. Golf course. The roof over the porch on the back of her parents' house.

It's too cold here. Always too cold here. I mean, it's too cold in July a lot of the time. Fraser seems to like the cold, though, and he probably never fucked outside. So what does he know about what he's missing?

All right, the first time. So, we are on this adventure, and he pushes me into this big snowdrift, and I'm thinking, OK, crazed mountain man, or maybe Dief smelled a homicidal mutant caribou--but no. Nothing simple like that. Instead, Fraser drops to his knees and just--bang. Goes for it. Like a pro.

Outdoor fucking is out. Outdoor blowjobs? Different story.

I can live with that.

44. Five Stresses, Four Beauties, Three Loves
(dear earl mac rauch: please don't kill me.)

There are rules, Ray. Courtesy--yes, courtesy is important. Decorum, discipline, morals--Ray. Ray. I know perfectly well what the Roman Catholic Church--well, I happen to disagree. May I continue?

Courtesy, decorum, discipline, morals, and public health. Yes. I'm afraid I must insist--it sets a bad example not to use a condom, Ray. Yes, it matters, even though we know we are healthy. That could change at any time. We are in high-risk professions--Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. Not now. Not--oh. Ray! Listen to me!

Now. In endeavoring to act in accordance with our natures, we have to consider our minds, our environment, which of course is connected to decorum and our conduct in general, which leads us naturally to behavior--Ray! What did I say about language? I didn't? I beg your pardon; language was next.

Having duly considered all these factors, we must take into account our love of others. Surely you do not wish Francesca to be injured by the knowledge of our--Ray, stop that! This is serious. Furthermore, we have to consider how this will affect our jobs, affect our pursuit of justice and support of freedom in both our nations--Ray. Stop licking me. I can't think when you lick me.

Well, yes, I suppose this is a rather lengthy way of saying that we should rent a hotel room for our liasons.

45. Dragon.

Benny's in the hospital. Again. And the Dragon Lady--who's not so bad, once you get to know her, comes by. With a bunch of daisies. Daisies. Come on.

I can see she's scared, though. This was a bad one. I was scared. Welsh was scared. Dief was scared. I get up, give her the only chair in the room.

"Thanks," she says.

And then we just stare at Benny, who is not so much with the being awake.

"Tell me something," I say, because she looked human for a minute there.

"Yes?"

"You and he ever?"

"Ever *what*?" she says, and just like that, she's not human anymore.

"Ever anything. Kiss. Fuck. Anything."

"Kiss," she says, so soft I almost missed it. And then she takes this deep breath, and she goes, "I wanted--more. But he's my subordinate, and I--" and she's staring at her hands, and I touch her shoulder.

"Hey," I say. "It's OK."

"I haven't always behaved appropriately," she says, and she looks up at me, and she's right *there*, human and it's like--like that moment in junior high when you peek into the girls' locker room and there's a naked girl there. And I see everything there: her thinking about him stretched out on a bed, riding him, or his knees spread and her mouth on him, taking him down, or maybe--maybe--maybe--

Maybe that's me thinking that.

46. My Dark Places.

There are so many things I never told Benton. How a man could go mad. How a man could drive himself to ruin. It worked out, as these things do. Benton discovered these things for himself, here and there.

Hunting. Running. Hiding behind logic. Hiding behind passion, sometimes.

I never told him about that, either. About how you can love one person and bed another. About how in the long dark nights up north, one mouth is just like the next, and the next. About when you're so alone that everyone looks like home, and home is just a little comfort.

But he learned anyway. Everyone learns.

47. Near of Kin.

Frannie cringes against him, and Ray puts his hands over her ears. He doesn't want her to hear, even though he's pretty sure she can. Pop is drunk--Ray's bleeding from a cut on his lip, and he can feel a shiner growing over his right eye. But Pop didn't touch Frannie.

If Ray has his way, Pop will never, ever, touch Frannie, ever.

Something crashes in the next room, and Ma yelps. Ray presses tighter on Frannie's ears. "Open up," Pop says, that ugly snarl in his voice that he only gets when he's drunk enough to really beat the hell out of people, but not drunk enough to fall over. "Open *up*" he says, and Ray closes his eyes.

He can hear that Ma is crying.

But not for long.

48. Nine Tomorrows.

You could--you could--you could just say it. You've been with Stella a long time. You could ask.

You did it with that other girl, that time at the track, when you and Stella were splits for that month. But that was a year ago.

And you're sleeping with Stella. It's not like--she lets you put your dick other places. Why not her mouth?

Only. She might hate it. She might hate you. She might laugh, or cry, or say no. God, what if she says no?

Only. She might have done it with some other guy, and hated it, and she'll tell you when you ask that she already tried it with some other guy, and then you'll--

--you did it with some other *girl*--

You try to imagine how it would go.

"Stell?"
"Yes, Ray?"
"Would you, you know..."
"What?"
"Go down on me?"

Only you can't get past that. You can't see what she says. She could say anything.

49. Almost a Darwin Award.

"It's not funny, Ray."

Fraser sounded pissed off, and Ray guessed he has a point. It shouldn't have been funny.

But three guys, running out into the middle of a busy street, spit drooling off their dicks onto the pavement, tripping over their pants, all because they thought Dief was the Vice Squad--

Well, hell. It was funny.

"Someone could have been seriously hurt," Fraser continued, and Ray couldn't help it. He couldn't. He'd say it again if he had the chance.

"Right. Someone coulda got pavement burn on their weed whacker for doing the wild thing in an alley when your wolf came along. My heart bleeds."

Fraser looked shocked. Ray hummed happily to himself. One of those guys had had a nice ass.

50. Pride and Promiscuity.

"I am afraid I am promiscuous by nature, Ray," he said, and I stared at him. He looked like he meant it, staring into the fire like that. Like he had really dragged me out to the park for burnt spaghetti and to tell me he was Benton Fraser, SuperSlut.

"What?" I said, like the smart guy I am.

"You said--you implied that I don't think about women. That I--have no sex drive. That's not so, Ray." He folded his hands. "I am afraid," he said again, "that I am promiscuous by nature."

I frowned. "So, you're celibate because...American girls smell funny, or something?"

"Something," he said. And he looked up at me. "But I do think about it. I think--"

And he stopped.

"What?" I said again, because like I said, I am one smart guy.

He stared at his hands.

"Fraser," I said, after a while, "we all got our dry spells. For whatever reason. Me, one girl since Stella and I split, and that was just--"

That was just some blond who looked like Stella and smelled like Stella and was willing to suck me in my almost-empty apartment and--

And I opened my eyes and Fraser was looking at me like he got it, like he got what being left can do, like there's some kind of thing there, between us, some kind of understanding thing.

"One," he says, softly, "one since my last lover betrayed me. And I could barely touch her without remembering."

Yeah. Some kind of understanding thing.