Disclaimer – I do not own these characters[Nor do I own Chicago, the CPD, the Depot, the RCMP or anything else that you may encounter in real life…
The plot is mine though…
Sequel to 'Unfinished business'
Pairing – Ray K and Fraser [slash
Psychic Fair
There was something unnerving about coming home to find your partner playing cards with your father. Your deceased father. The reason that you introduced yourself as 'first coming to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers…' That father.
Ray didn't seem to mind. He was standing comfortably at the kitchen counter, cards in hand, beer open and within easy reach, while the oven timer ticked along beside him. Something smelt… like Canada. Actually, it smelt like Grandmother's gravy pie, and it came as something of a shock to Fraser to realise that his father… his dead father… had probably passed that recipe on. Fraser wasn't sure what was worse, having a partner that regularly communicated with the other side and was unfazed by the weirdness that attended it, or being haunted by his father and having that ghost pass on his grandmother's recipes. To his partner, no less.
"Hey, Benton buddy! Kettle's on!" Ray smiled and folded his cards to bend down and greet Diefenbaker, who was nosing around for treats. The wolf had no shame, none at all.
"Ray," Fraser leaned in and kissed his partner on the cheek, before turning to nod to his father, "Dad."
"Son," Bob Fraser was wearing a comfortable looking knitted cardigan over his uniform jodhpurs, "Give it a bit of gas, son. The Yank will think the romance is dead already."
Ray laughed, and plucked a card from the deck, squinted at it and then laid his hand out, discarding a final card and grinning over at his opponent.
"Gin," Ray informed him, sounding pleased but not smug, which was an important distinction when dealing with Robert Fraser. He didn't like smugness, unless it was himself being smug. Bob made an annoyed sound and tossed his own cards down.
"You know, when I suggested this game to you, you informed me you'd never played it before," Bob looked at Ray suspiciously, "Have you been obfuscating again?"
"Again? I take exception to that!" Ray shook his head and took a mouthful of his beer, "I have never played that game before. Doesn't mean I haven't seen it played. Besides, you anted up a recipe that Benton here liked, so I had to win."
"Ray…" the kettle interrupted them by boiling and Fraser turned to deal with it. It was something of a luxury, but coming home to find the tea made, or nearly made was something that Fraser could get used to. Before they became lovers, Ray would leave him to make his own tea when they reached the detectives apartment; now it was Ray's first action through the door, provided they weren't engaged in other activities. He didn't even take off his service weapon first.
"Dinner will be ready soon. Why don't you take your tea through and get changed," Ray suggested, "I'll take care of the wolf."
"I… thank you kindly, Ray," Fraser nodded and took his cup of tea through to the bedroom, placing it on the dresser before starting the process of removing the uniform. Bob came with him and sat on the bed, something that was highly disconcerting.
"Dad… is there any particular reason for this visit?" Benton asked, making sure to keep his eyes trained firmly on his uniform. Ever since Ray had informed him that ghosts hung around because they had unfinished business, Fraser had been wondering what it was that kept his father around. Partly because he hated leaving a mystery unsolved and mostly because he really wanted his father to be at peace. Benton was hoping that tonight his father would at least drop a clue as to why he was here.
"Actually I came to see the Yank," Bob said bluntly, "I wanted to get to know the man that my son has taken to playing house with."
"Playing house," Benton muttered in disgust, "We are not playing house Dad. Ray and I are… partners."
"You know when I said that a partnership was like a marriage…"
"Dad!" Fraser interrupted, "I know full well what you meant when you said that, thank you kindly."
He really didn't want to know what his father – a man who had been considered old fashioned even by his contemporaries – thought about his only son becoming involved in a monogamous and permanent homosexual relationship. At least he hoped it would be permanent. Fraser was not one to take another into his bed lightly, and neither was Ray.
He pulled on the sweats and woollen sweater that Ray called 'ratty' and picked up his tea. It had cooled enough for him to sip comfortably and he leaned against the dresser cradling it in his palms. His father was giving him a look that was… well mischievous was the best word for it… and it made Fraser nervous.
"There's no particular reason for the visit, son," Bob said kindly, "I just wanted to spend some time with you. I… I know that I didn't see you often when you were younger, what with the long patrols and assignments."
"Then it's nice to see you Dad," Fraser gave an awkward smile, and then Ray was yelling that dinner was ready and Fraser headed out to help set the table.
0o0o0o0
Ray could understand that Fraser was uncomfortable coming home to find his father ensconced with his lover, so he didn't say anything about the looks that his lover was shooting him as the evening progressed. There was a Bonspiel on cable, and once the kitchen had been policed – as Fraser liked to say – then they all sat on the couch and Ray nursed a coffee while the Mounties watched their… activity. His father in law – his dead father in law – sat between them, which kinda precluded any handholding or touching, something that made Benton twitchy. They hadn't been together today because Ray had taken a day off work to see his neurologist; something that he'd explained happened every six months like clockwork if he wanted to keep his badge.
He was damaged, not stupid, and two plus two still added up to four, so Ray went to the department mandated check ups, a hold over of the time a guy took a crowbar to his cranium and left him in a coma with 'unspecified brain damage'. There was a 'black spot' on his head scans and he had trouble with his words at times, but Ray had no complaints about his life or his recovery. He wouldn't have to go to the stupid appointments if the doc had kept his trap shut, but you couldn't have everything and a man had to play the cards he was dealt, or so Bob Fraser would say.
That particular ghost had showed up just as the doc was explaining that the damage hadn't changed at all, and that the aphasia was still on going, which Ray could have told them if they'd asked. Fraser's dad had followed him out into the car park, and Ray had explained how he'd come to have his very own neurologist on the drive home. Bob had seemed a bit uncomfortable with the medical side of things, and Ray had a first hand look at how Benton had learned to use moose stories to cover that sort of thing up from his father when Bob had launched into a couple of anecdotes of his own to fill the silence.
He wasn't sure how they'd ended up playing cards, or how he'd ended up with a family recipe for Fraser's dinner, but he didn't really mind much, and it was nice to have a father in law who liked him this time around, even if the guy was dead.
Fraser switched off the TV, which was Ray's cue to wake up from his semi-doze and Bob's to buzz off, which he did with alacrity. Fraser turned in the corner of the couch and rubbed his eyebrow, which was Ray's prompt to go straddle his lap and kiss him for a while. They were both feeling much better when they came up for air and Ray rubbed the back of Fraser's neck for a while, pressing their foreheads together.
"I got the all clear, Frase," he muttered, and felt some tension leave that he hadn't really noticed until it was gone, "Ida called you if I hadn't, that's buddies."
"I know," Fraser sounded vaguely uncertain, "It's not that, Ray. I guess that I'm just… surprised that you take playing cards with my father so much in your stride… given that he's…"
"Dead?" Ray grinned, and wrapped Fraser up in his arms, enjoying the way the guy simply radiated heat, "I've been dealing with that all my life, Benton buddy and besides… it's nice to have a father in law who doesn't hate me."
Anything else he might have said was hampered severely by Fraser's tongue, which was apparently trying to tickle his tonsils. The tests at the hospital had been tiring and noxious, but this was a great way to forget them. Ray certainly wasn't going to complain.
0o0o0o0
When Leftenant Welsh looked so pleased to see him in the bullpen that morning, Fraser had a sinking feeling. Ray hadn't noticed, being engaged in a shouting match with Dewey over the results of a hockey game that had been on last night. The fact that Ray had given up watching his beloved Hawks in order to watch an activity that he called 'housekeeping on ice' so Fraser and his father would have some bonding time together was unbearably sweet of the man. It was this sort of consideration that Fraser found so heady and attractive in his partner. The man had an unexpected sweetness to him; Ray was someone who presented a front to the world that many would call uncharitable.
"Detective Vecchio and Constable Fraser! If I might have a moment of your time, gentlemen?" Welsh called, and when Ray continued his debate without pause, the Lieutenant raised his voice.
"Vecchio!"
Ray started walking backwards, still yelling at Dewey, who yelled back until Ray turned at the last possible second and walked into the Lieutenant's office, a smug grin on his face. Welsh gave him a look that made Fraser straighten up to attention, though he hadn't been at fault.
"If you've quite finished, Detective?" Welsh asked sweetly with an edge to his voice that could have etched glass. Ray grinned at him just as sweetly, and stuck his hands in his pockets.
"Whaddya need, Lieu?" it seemed that Fraser's partner had also noticed the Lieutenant's expression, and Welsh sighed, obviously abandoning the reprimand he had been contemplating.
"His Honour the Mayor has asked me to assign my best two men to a case," Welsh blew out a breath, "And ordinarily I'd assign it to you two without question, but …"
"What are the details?" Ray asked, and took the folder that Welsh held out.
"There's a psychic fair in town, and there have been some… incidents. Harassment mainly of some of the psychics, objects going missing and then turning up in really odd places, a few threatening letters and so on. They seem to think its all the work of a small group of people, and His Honour the Mayor doesn't like the idea that his favourite palm reader is being harassed," Welsh folded his arms and looked closely at his detective. Ray was flipping through the file, which seemed to hold several letters in plastic slips and a few pictures as well as the normal forms and documents. Fraser was more concerned with the supernatural side of the case than the physical. The Lieutenant had never openly referred to Ray's abilities, and didn't know their true extent. He knew that Ray had a 'gift' and beyond that didn't enquire, much to Fraser's relief.
"And you don't wanna give this ter us because…?" Ray looked up from the file, a small frown on his face, recalling Fraser's attention to the conversation before him, "What, yer think I'm gonna harass them too?"
"Or upstage them," Welsh said grimly, and Ray barked out a disbelieving laugh. Fraser rubbed his eyebrow and rescued the file before his lover could start waving it around. Ray released it the moment he tugged and shook his head.
"Jeeze, Lieu," he searched for the words he wanted for a moment and then scratched his head, "I aint gonna rock their boats. If they wanna play psychic for the masses then that's their business."
"Then the case is yours, Detective. Go forth and catch the criminal," Welsh looked as relieved as he sounded and waved them out of his office. Fraser followed Ray to his desk and pulled up his chair, spreading the file out so they could examine it more closely.
"It appears that our best suspects are the anti-fraud group that are picketing the venue," Fraser murmured, and Ray nodded. His lover didn't seem upset, but neither of them had ever discussed the more … public psychics and their trade. Ray saw ghosts, but he didn't seem to equate that with fortune telling or mediums. Fraser wasn't quite sure what his lover thought of those who openly professed to be in touch with the 'other side', and he was having a hard time repressing his curiosity.
"Yeah, even I heard of these mooks," the spiky haired man grinned, "They protest against anyone offering a service that can't be subsidied… no… substanced…"
"Substantiated," Fraser supplied the word, wanting to relieve the frustration lurking in Ray's eyes. Ever since he'd learned where Ray's difficulty with language had originated, Fraser had noticed Ray's frustration more keenly.
"Yeah," the look in his partner's eyes said thank you, even as Ray kept speaking, "They target alternate medicine practicers and even some shrinks. I even heard of one case where they went after an interior designer that used 'colour therapy' and 'texture psychology' to redo his client's houses. They usually back off when their target threatens to sue them. They're not exactly the devil incarnate."
"Never the less, if they are breaking the law Ray, they have to be stopped," Fraser said firmly and Ray rolled his eyes, grinned and slapped Fraser's arm lightly.
"Then we will," the detective replied, and they headed out to the psychic fair.
0o0o0o0
It was a real circus. Ray waded through the small but noisy picketers, and their stupid and annoying signs and slogans into the main atrium of the Chicago Marriott, where the psychic fair had booked out their conference rooms, ballrooms and function rooms for the visiting psychics. The patrons of the fair were dressed in a wildly colourful display, and seemed to range from housewives to businessperson's, tradesmen to students. Every occupation appeared to be represented, and Ray wondered how the hell the psychics could hear their customers, let alone hear the messages from the other side their customers were seeking. Assuming of course that they weren't frauds to begin with.
The event organiser met them over by the reception desk, as arranged in the car. Fraser had called from Ray's cell phone, and the five foot, rail thin man, complete with fashionably wrinkled suit over a suitably mysterious t-shirt, designer sneakers and scraggly goatee, had apparently taken Fraser's phone manners to heart. The stunted mook was all over Ray's partner, and Ray had to be very loud and obnoxious to even get the guys attention.
"Sorry Detective Vecchio, it's a madhouse in here," the guy apologised, never taking his eye off the Mountie, "Why don't we go somewhere quieter?"
"Sure," Ray agreed and watched as Fraser was ushered personally into a small room with an overloaded desk and a purring laptop. There were posters and flyers and leaflets in piles and packets everywhere, as well as boxes of more gaudy advertising and promotional gifts; the unseemly underbelly of the psychic fair on display for their perusal.
"Mr Fletcher," Fraser sat in the chair he was ushered to reluctantly, "Detective Vecchio has been assigned to the harassment case that you filed with the Chicago PD."
"Oh, right," Fletcher didn't sound too enthusiastic as he looked Ray over, and Ray bared his teeth in a gesture that only someone who was unhinged could call a smile, "Well, I don't have much to add to the report, I'm afraid, nothing else has happened since I lodged it yesterday. I was under the impression that someone was coming out immediately."
Ray wanted to smack the guy for insulating that the PD wasn't taking the case seriously. Fortunately, he had an excuse that would shut the little idiot right up. He didn't do it often, but when he did, the reaction was always the same.
"Yeah I woulda been here yesterday but I had to go see my neurologist," and bingo, deer in the headlights, works every time, no one wants to rag on a guy who's so sick he needs a brain specialist. Fletcher fell all over himself to retract the accusation, and Ray got two all access passes for himself and Fraser on the spot as a gesture of apology. Not that they couldn't go anywhere they liked on Ray's badge, but the kind of people you got in this line of work tended to be a bit more friendly if the cops looked like they'd gone through 'proper channels' instead of throwing their weight around. In addition, the passes would give them a chance to nose around without first identifying themselves as cops. Sometimes people just didn't want to talk to cops, which made Ray nuts. He always wondered what they had to hide.
Another plus was that if he didn't have to keep saying he was a cop then he wouldn't have a bunch of psychics offering to help him solve the case. Most of them really wanted to be able to say that they had worked officially with law enforcement, especially the ones that also went on TV. Ray didn't want to be anyone's ticket to publicity. He just wanted to solve the case and get out of here. Psychics overall gave him the creeps.
Fraser and pass in hand, Ray strolled out into the fair to see what was going on. There were the usual collection of gypsies and Madam Something-or-others bedecked in shawls and glitzy jewellery. There were also a fair number of slick looking ones, dressed up in designer gear with their books and videos and so forth. Ray had even heard of some of them. Incense in cones and fancy holders burned everywhere, which made the Mountie and the wolf sneeze on several occasions, and they were probably violating the fire code with the sheer amount of candles that they were burning.
Every possible thing that had ever been seen as a way to tell someone's fortune was on offer, with the possible exception of slaughtering an animal to read its entrails. Just about every psychic they interviewed called Diefenbaker a 'spirit guide' and a 'familiar' and Fraser got more than his fair share of attention from men and women alike. Ray was glad that he knew whom his partner was going home with tonight; otherwise, he'd have been incredibly jealous.
It wasn't until they were in the main ballroom that Ray spotted his first ghost. He was kinda shocked to actually see one at all; he hadn't really thought about what an opportunity these self-proclaimed telephones were to the ghosts he dealt with. Ray himself never got into discussions with the departed's loved ones because it was too weird. As with all things, Frase was the exception; he'd play cards with a dead man for Benton Fraser. Ray watched as the see through woman tried desperately to get the attention of the middle-aged man that was gazing into a crystal ball on behalf of an upset looking teenager. The ghost looked like her grandmother.
Fraser must have noticed that Ray had spotted something because he broke off in mid anecdote and turned to look in the same direction Ray was. Seconds later, he was bustling Ray over to a wall and blocking Ray's view. How the Mountie did that when he couldn't see what Ray was seeing was something that warranted further exploration, but not now. It wasn't German to the matter at hand. Or whatever that word was.
"What do you see?" Fraser asked quietly and Ray snorted. He shook his head and slanted an apologetic glance at his partner.
"Grandmother over there trying to make contact with granddaughter," he sighed, "Her so called psychic isn't aware that she's there."
"What does she want the granddaughter to know?" Fraser asked, not thinking to restrain his curiosity. Ray rolled his eyes – of the two of them, he wasn't the one with bat-like hearing. Sometimes he liked that Fraser assumed that Ray could do all the stuff he could, other times it drove him batshit; he wasn't sure which of those times this was.
"I dunno Frase, she's not in my ear shot," Ray sighed, "I suppose yer want me to do something about it?"
Fraser looked as if he would like to say yes and drag Ray over there, and then stopped. Understanding dawned on his face. Ray was relieved; he hadn't told anyone other than his lover that he was able to talk to ghosts, and didn't want the publicity now. He certainly didn't want to have their investigation sidetracked by his own abilities and having to prove or disprove that they were real to this crowd. He avoided other psychics in general simply because he didn't want to get into some sort of competition with them. From what he'd seen and heard these guys tended to be even bigger prima donnas than any other performer.
"If you need…" Fraser trailed off and Ray grinned. Yeah, that was Fraser all right. He couldn't see a wrong without wanting to right it.
"Its cool, Benton buddy," Ray patted his arm, "Let's just let things unfold."
"I hadn't realised that there would be…" Fraser gestured with a hand, and Ray guessed he meant ghosts.
"There is always a few, Frase. They think that these guys will hear them and pass the messages on. Problem is, for every genuine psychic, there's a hundred fakes. Chances are that no one here will pick up on these people and their messages," Ray sighed, "On the other hand, me being here may attract attention. In which case I'll post a few anonymous letters and that will help."
He'd done it before, and in fact, he'd half resigned himself to doing it a lot this week once he'd realised he was coming to the fair. It was a good thing that Fraser didn't mind a bit of weirdness.
0o0o0o0
The psychics that they had spoken to had shaken Benton's belief in the field. After his experiences with his father, and later with Ray, Fraser had assumed on some level that the majority of the psychics he saw advertised would have some sort of true gift, though he suspected that they were also exaggerating for effect. None of those that he'd met had struck him as nearly as gifted as his lover, and Ray was going up in his estimation, which was already incredibly high. That Ray did not advertise, and in fact preferred to work in the shadows with his gift, instead of … well, showing off was the best way to put it … was a testament to the purity of his character, his habitual speeding and moving violations not withstanding.
Once they had left the fair, during which Ray had reacted five times to something that Fraser couldn't see, his lover had driven them to City Hall to review some records and wandered off to look at the corporate business information with a brief detour into the department of land and works. Fraser was not privy to the information that his lover had discovered as he had been occupied with tending to Diefenbaker, who was apparently allergic to the incense they'd all been exposed to, and in the need of a brisk walk and some clean water to settle down. Ray had met them on the steps of the hall with a couple of files tucked under his arm, a bottle of water for Fraser and a donut for their wolf.
They returned to their apartment and Ray laid out the files on the dining table, cracked the window so Dief would have some fresh air and turned the TV to a show that Diefenbaker had been following. Tea did not seem to be in the offing, and Ray snagged a hand in Benton's lanyard and dragged him into the bedroom. The Mountie wondered how he could tell his partner that he wasn't feeling in the best of moods for any bed play.
"Get out of the uniform, Benton buddy and hang it up for airing. We need to wash the stink of that incense off us," Ray rubbed the back of his neck, pecked him on the nose and stepped back, taking off his gun and locking it carefully away. Fraser stood still, watching his lover toe out of his shoes, and Ray stopped and gave him a Look.
"Ben you got a headache from the stinky stuff, and that won't go away until we get it off you," Ray startled him with his insight, though why Fraser was surprised that his lover knew when he was under the weather passed him. Ray was very attentive to Fraser's wants and needs, and took very good care of him and Diefenbaker. It was a luxury that Benton vowed never to take for granted.
"Ben-ton," the warning in the tone was explicit and Fraser smiled a little, reaching up to begin removing the lanyard and Sam Browne. Ray was naked and running the water in the shower by the time he stepped out of his boxers and Benton stepped into the warm water and his lovers arms with a sigh. Gentle hands soaped and rinsed him, massaging his face and the back of his neck to dissipate the worst of the headache. Tension washed away with the water, and Fraser wondered how he'd ever survived alone for so long.
He was dried and dressed in a daze and finally came to himself dressed in sweats and curled on the couch with Ray holding him from behind, hands petting his head and shoulders while his lover and the wolf debated the merits of culling vs. natural selection on a herd. The documentary that Diefenbaker had been watching had discussed the issue apparently…
"Ray," Fraser stirred briefly, attracting his lover's attention, "Thank you."
"Feeling better, Benton buddy?" Ray asked softly, squeezing him a little, and Fraser nodded, stirring out of his lovers arms to sit up and kiss him. The headache was entirely gone, a function of stress as much as the incense they'd been subjected to. Ray grinned at him and gave him a warm kiss, before getting up to investigate their options for dinner, making vaguely promising threats about desert. Fraser forced himself to get up and started flicking through the files on the table, it being firmly understood that if Ray was cooking, Fraser was to be anywhere other than in the kitchen. They argued less that way.
"Ray…" Fraser frowned, sitting down to read a few pages properly, "Is this accurate?"
"As accurate as government work ever is," Ray snorted, "And you know how I feel about that."
Indeed he did. He'd been treated to several very entertaining rants on just that subject over the course of their friendship. In fact, he wasn't entirely above distracting his partner into giving just such a rant for the purely physical pleasure of watching him get worked up about it. It was a guilty pleasure, and Ray always called him on it… once he'd calmed down.
"It appears that the protestors are being led by someone who in fact claims to have been psychic themselves at one point," Fraser mused, "And that someone has in fact lost a tidy amount of money in the form of property and assets to one of the psychics attending the fair – one Sydney Porter."
"Yup. Miss Porter bilked the head of the 'Citizens against Fraudulent Occupations' for a house, a plot of land in the wilds of Illinois and a healthy chunk of change," Ray agreed from the chopping board. From the array of vegetables on display it appeared they were having Ray's version of stir fry, which meant a lot of vegetables, some rice and an array of sauces to 'mix an match' at the diner's discretion – or lack of it. Ray only made stir-fry when he was trying to make Fraser feel better about having a healthy lifestyle, and Fraser suspected that this was his lover's attempt to help him banish the last of the headache. Another of his unexpected sweet gestures. Benton would have to find a way to reward him for his kindness.
"The head of the group being a Mr… Charles Porter… Ah," Fraser sat back, "It appears that we are being caught in between two siblings."
"And inheritance laws," Raw grumbled, "I hate rich kids arguing over Daddy's money. Good thing that you're my sole heir, and if we're both gone it all goes to Dief. No contests that way."
Benton blinked and filed that comment away for later thought. He recalled himself to the matter at hand.
"How did you make this connection?" he asked instead and Ray straightened from stirring the rice, banging the spoon on the edge of the pot and turning his attention to the vegetables he was heating in the other pot – not owning a proper wok.
"Well, some of the rhetoric being shouted by the protesters sounded a bit… born again. You know, 'I used to be a psychic, then I saw the light'," there was a faintly challenging tone in Ray's voice, and Benton let the pun sail past without remarking on it, though he did rub an eyebrow, "And I knew that Charlie boy was in charge from Welsh's file. So when I saw good old Sydney in there, who was ignoring a ghost by the way, or she didn't know the old guy was there, I added two and two and headed for the records office in City Hall."
"I'm surprised that the people who did the original research didn't also make the connection," Fraser got up and started laying the table, not mentioning how impressed he was with his partner's quick leaps of intuition.
"Nah, they didn't do proper back ground searches, and Sydney wasn't in the original file except for being on the flyer from the fair," Ray shrugged and started draining the rice.
"It certainly warrants further investigation," Fraser smiled, and they put the case aside in order to eat dinner and then have their… desert.
0o0o0o0
Ray got up early the next morning and wandered into his living room. He let Dief into the bedroom with Fraser and shut the door firmly before going to sit at the dining table with three of the five ghosts he'd seen yesterday. It didn't take long for him to type the letters that would pass on the messages that they wanted passed on. The grandmother wanted to tell her granddaughter that she forgave her for running off to marry her lover instead of staying behind, followed by the professor who just had to tell a student that his thesis had fallen down the back of a filing cabinet. Lastly, there was the husband telling his wife that the key to their safe deposit boxes was in the vase on the mantle. He put the old portable typewriter back on his deck and rolled it shut before sticking on the stamps and putting the letters in his jacket pocket. The ghosts would probably hang around until he'd mailed the damn things so he snuck back into the bedroom and got dressed quickly, smiling reassurance at the freaked out wolf and unconscious Mountie sprawled over the bed.
Diefenbaker indicated he would appreciate a walk, so they all wandered down to the local post box and Ray dropped both letters in before cutting through an alley to the local park and letting Dief run wild for a bit. Frase was in the shower when they got back, and he fed the wolf before making his lover's morning cup of tea and his own coffee. Fraser would probably have breakfast, but Ray never bothered with it, and he ensconced himself on the couch with the paper, turning the TV on to the local news that had subtitles for Dief to watch.
"Good morning," Fraser looked a little worried around the edges and Ray smiled, kissing his lover firmly and enjoying the taste of fresh-from-morning-ablutions-Fraser. He even smelled good.
"Good morning, Benton. Did ya sleep well?"
"You wore me out," the low comment made Ray shiver in delicious heat; "Of course I slept well."
"Good to know," he grinned up at his man, and got himself a tongue scorching kiss before Fraser went off to make breakfast and drink his tea. Ray liked that Fraser didn't ask about ghosts first thing in the morning, though it was usually on their behalf that Ray got up so early. That didn't mean that Ray wouldn't take the time to reassure his partner about things.
"So I posted a coupla letters this morning, and hopefully there will be fewer dead people hanging around today," Ray said as they were locking up, ready to go out, "You gotta be at the Consulate long today?"
"Until twelve," Benton nodded, "Then I can join you."
"Ok, so I'll pick you up from the Consulate, we'll have lunch and then go back to the fair. I wanna talk to Fletcher again, get a background on the psychics that are being affected by all the hi-jinx and then we'll go talk to Charles Porter," Ray followed Dief down the stairs, Fraser a step behind, "I gotta check on some other cases this morning, and there's a coupla phone calls I need ta make."
"I will see you at twelve then," Fraser confirmed, and they got into the Goat.
The car always seemed colder after he'd dropped off his lover, and Ray contemplated cranking up the heater until a flash of red made him glance over to the passenger seat.
"Bob!" he nearly swerved, and corrected the Goat's heading quickly, avoiding the curb by skill mostly and some luck, "Geeze! Give a guy some warning!"
"Sorry, son, I didn't think you'd be so easily spooked," Robert Fraser smirked at him, "I'll keep that in mind."
"Yeah, thanks," Ray muttered, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Just popping in," Bob frowned, "There's an easterly wind blowing. Never can trust an easterly."
"Easterly huh?" Ray nodded like that made some sense, "I'll keep it in mind."
"I hear that you've been busy on the ghost front this morning," Fraser's dad gave him a serious look, "Its good to know that if Benton must walk the path less travelled he's doing it with someone who has the right priorities. It's very easy to slip into lawlessness and lawmen are thin on the ground at times."
"Is that why you're hanging around? Maintaining the right on the other side?" Ray asked, without really thinking about it, "Sorta like you did before?"
"To some degree," Robert sounded uncomfortable, and Ray nodded, knowing better than to push. The ghost would tell them why he was hanging around only when he was ready, and it was likely that he would tell Ben before Ray.
"Well whatever the reason," Ray shrugged, "As long as Ben's happy."
This pretty much summed up Ray's whole philosophy when it came to one Benton Fraser, RCMP. Robert nodded and faded out, the Stetson going last like an Alice in Wonderland character. Ray shook his head and pulled in to the station lot, parking with care and taking a deep breath. The next time Welsh said he needed someone to investigate some psychics Ray would come down with a serious illness to get out of it.
0o0o0o0
At lunch, Ray informed him that he'd discovered that the Porter children had been sole inheritors of their father's fortune. The deceased Mr Porter was apparently big in roofing, or at least he had been. There was no mention of Mrs Porter anywhere, and the siblings had been billed as a double act in the psychic business ever since their graduation from High School.
"It looks like Charlie boy dropped outta the game when he met some lady called Sarah Billings. They got married, and Dad Porter wasn't too happy about it. He also managed the business side of the psychic stuff and made a profit off his kids being twins that could read the future," Ray shrugged and pushed the file he'd updated over for Fraser to read.
"Why were the family opposed to the marriage?" Fraser tilted his head, "You have tomato ketchup on your chin, Ray."
"Sarah Billings was an accountant with the IRS," Ray swiped at his chin with a paper napkin and then thrust said feature out for Fraser's approval. The Mountie smiled a little and nodded that his partner had cleaned his lunch up properly.
"She was a threat to Dad Porter cos he hadn't been filing his taxes?" Fraser guessed, and then winced a little at using the nickname that Ray had christened the deceased Mr Porter with. He was picking up more of his partner's slang as time went on. Ray grinned wickedly, but didn't comment on it.
"Yup. Turns out he needn't have worried though, because she died three months after the wedding. A drunk driver, a rainy night, and that's all she wrote," Ray sighed, "From what I could find out, Charlie boy started his little group not long after that. Seems that he felt that if he or his sister really were psychic they'd have seen it coming in time to stop it from happening."
"How is this connected to the inheritance?" Fraser frowned, "Was there any hint of… will tampering?"
"Nah, Mr Porter," there was subtle emphasis on the correct usage of the man's name, "Changed the will the day after Charlie boy left the psychic stuff behind, well before he'd married Sarah Billings. Sydney became the sole inheritor of the business and attests."
"Assets," Fraser corrected, and then rubbed his eyebrow. Ray didn't like to be corrected; in fact, it was a sure-fire way to end up sleeping alone, "I'm sorry, Ray. You were saying?"
"Charlie threatened to take Sydney to court, as well as report the business to the IRS," Ray didn't seem perturbed by the interruption, for which Fraser was grateful. It was odd, but if they'd argued or irritated each other Ray would simply sleep on the couch, no matter who was at fault. Fraser had yet to get to the bottom of this pre-existing quirk, though he felt no urgency about it, after all he was anticipating a lifetime at Ray's side. It had happened only once in the months that they'd been together, and the cause that time had been Fraser correcting his word usage.
"The back taxes, the death taxes and several fines would have wiped out the business, not to mention the whole inheritance," Ray's foot curled around Fraser's ankle, recalling him from his thoughts, "Sydney was currently reading tea leaves for a lawyer, and the guy wrote up a contract that meant that Charlie would get the roofing business. He signed without checking it carefully and that's how he ended up getting less than half of Dad Porter's assets. Apparently the roofing business wasn't worth as much as the rest of the stuff that Sydney kept."
"Are the protestors aware of Charles Porter's previous claims to be psychic?" Fraser asked, extending his leg towards his lover. At the start of their intimate relationship, Ray had explained that he wasn't a fan of prolonged PDA's, but covert ones were apparently acceptable. It wasn't uncommon for his lover to reach out underneath a table or counter to establish some kind of contact with Fraser. The Mountie was glad that his lover wasn't inappropriately affectionate in public. Ray touched people of course, and Fraser in particular, in fact they were well known for their back slapping hugs, general pats and shoulder squeezes. None of those touches was intimate in any way, and Fraser had been enjoying them long before he'd started enjoying a wide variety of other touches behind closed doors.
"Nope," Ray shrugged, recalling his attention to the conversation yet again, "And I was planning on holding that over Charlie Porter's head. Might give us some leverage if he's not too willing to talk to us."
"That's blackmail, Ray," Fraser protested as they disentangled and went to pay the bill.
"Leverage," Ray countered, a twinkle in his eye. This was one of the little things they did that Fraser found so comforting. Not many people were willing to play with him, even if it was something as simple as a word game.
"Blackmail."
"Pressure."
"Blackmail."
"Influence."
"Blackmail."
"Pull."
"Blackmail."
"Blackmail, then," Ray conceded, and they walked out to the car. Diefenbaker had chosen to remain at the Consulate, preferring not to expose himself to any further incense, and Fraser didn't blame him. A wolf's sense of smell was much keener than a Human's, and Fraser himself wasn't looking forward to a repeat of yesterday's headache inducing mixture of sickly sweet aromas.
Ray pulled the car up to the front of the hotel, and turned in his seat, grinning at his lover. The Mountie realised that he had spent the entire journey woolgathering, but Ray's grin proved that the detective didn't mind.
"I got something for ya, Frase," the blonde's eyes were bright with mischief, "Gimmee your wrist."
In certain settings that was tantamount to consenting to be tied up and played with, knowledge, which made Fraser very glad that the uniform trousers were cut to be roomy. He handed his wrist over as demanded and shivered as Ray licked it, just to tease, and then produced a small cloth packet from his pocket and tied it to Fraser's wrist, situating it beneath the cuff of the Serge. Whatever was in the packet was small and round and Fraser lifted his wrist to his nose and sniffed cautiously.
"Coffee beans," he said in astonishment, "Used to conceal odours or refresh a person's sense of smell."
"I figured you could pretend to rub your nose or something, and take a sniff when the stinky stuff in there gets too much," Ray looked a little embarrassed, "The drug dealers use it to hide shipments in, so dogs can't find it."
"Yes," Fraser agreed, "Thank you."
Ray grinned and patted him on the leg, then hopped out of the car and locked his door. Fraser followed, musing that he had been very lucky in his choice of lover this time around.
The hotel was once again packed with a multitude of people, although the protesters outside were conspicuously absent. Mr Fletcher was waiting for them by the doors, an anxious look on his face, and he wasted no time in telling them that there had been another incident of scattered possessions, producing a list of items and the locations they'd turned up in.
"It's the same places every time," the rumpled man spluttered, "It makes no sense at all!"
"Is it the same people?" Ray asked, tucking the list away after giving it a close look and Fletcher scowled at him.
"No, of course not! What do you think, they're doing it to get attention?" the organiser spluttered and Ray puffed up angrily in response.
"I think that there is a definite pattern to the location, that someone here would recognise if they had the time to think about it. I think that one of your people is being very carefully targeted for a very pacific reason, and that another one is about to get a rude shock, is what I think... and if yer don't mind I'd like to get on with my job," he hissed and stalked into the hotel atrium.
"Pacific?" Fletcher whined, looking at Fraser for a translation.
"Specific," Fraser corrected, "Excuse me."
Ray was leaning against a wall, waiting for him, watching a brightly dressed woman with a bright scarlet wig read another woman's palm.
"Sorry Fraser," Ray sighed, "He makes me twitchy."
"Understood," Fraser smiled for a moment, "Am I to take it that there are two very separate issues occurring in this case? One more in … my father's realm of experience?"
That was as subtle a way as he could think of to ask about ghostly activity. Ray grinned up at him and shoved off the wall, latching a hand onto the wrist that didn't have the coffee wrapped around it and using the hold to tug Fraser along.
"Yep," he tossed over his shoulder, "But first things first. We need ta consult with good old Sydney Porter."
Sydney turned out to be a very thin young woman, professionally made up and tastefully dressed. She had quite a stack of promotional material at her side, and was speaking in a low voice to a very upset looking woman as they approached. Ray halted out of earshot and fidgeted nervously, dropping Fraser's wrist and scanning the crowds of people around them. To anyone who didn't know better he would have looked like a patron summoning his nerve to speak to Ms Porter.
"Ray?" Fraser leaned closer, "Is there something…"
"Sydney!" a man's voice barked, "You lying cow! You fraud! You two faced…!"
Charles Porter, for that was who the voice belonged to, didn't get any further in his diatribe because Ray had stepped forward, his body tense, his hands up in an appeasing manner.
"Mr Porter, this aint the venue to air your differences," Ray cut across the other man deftly, "Perhaps you and Ms Porter could step outside with me fer a moment?"
"I have nothing to say…" Ms Porter snarled, but was silenced when Ray shot her a vicious look. The hair on the back of Fraser's neck tingled. There was obviously a lot more than met the eye to this encounter and he readied himself to intervene. Ms Porter's client was looking bewildered, and was certainly in no state to defend herself if things got violent.
"Whaddya say, Mr Porter?" Ray's tone was of a man trying to talk another down from a ledge, "Shall we step outside?"
"There's nothing to say?" Porter spluttered to his sister, ignoring the detective completely, "Fine!"
Ray jumped forward, and Fraser did too, going for the bewildered women, knocking them down and away as three very loud and familiar bangs rang out. People screamed and Fraser whirled to his feet, leaping over a low obstacle and tackling Porter, wresting the gun away from him and wrestling him down onto the floor, taking the spare cuffs that he carried for Ray from his belt and snapping them onto the incoherently yelling man.
"Ray?" he called, stowing the gun in his empty holster for a moment, and turning to look for his partner, "Ray!"
The detective was crumpled on the floor, and Fraser could smell blood. He ignored the shrieks and yells around him as he dropped to his knees beside his partner. Ray had gotten between the siblings, and there had been three shots fired.
"Easterly wind blowing," Ray coughed, and his eyes closed.
0o0o0o0
Ray winced and lowered his arms as the doc finished taking his broken rib. The vest he'd worn had stopped two of the bullets, though the close range had meant the impact was bone breaking. The third bullet had carved its way through his upper left arm, and though it had bled a lot and hurt like hell, it wasn't life threatening. In fact, they'd stitched it in the ER and he didn't even need a transfusion.
Fraser was glowering in the corner. The object of his anger was lurking in the other corner, trying and failing to appear unconcerned at his son's anger. Ray was feeling a bit groggy and wasn't at all inclined to sort this argument out. He was grateful he'd taken Robert's warning seriously; otherwise, they'd all be in a very different place right now.
"Right Ray," the doc said calmly, "We just need to check you over one more time…"
"Is there something wrong?" Fraser blurted, coming out of his corner. The doc had banished him there after he'd gotten too close one time too many.
"He's a lot colder than I'd like," the doc replied, "And that could be an indicator of shock."
Actually, it was an indicator of a ghost, and not Robert Fraser. Of the five ghosts Ray had spotted at that fair, three had moved on, one had disappeared – probably following it's relative to wherever they had gone – and one was still very much present. It was this one that was causing all the problems, and Robert Fraser didn't seem to have noticed him, which was not unusual. Ghosts that weren't related to each other didn't always notice each other unless Ray called their attention together. He thought it had something to do with them being focussed on their unfinished business, to the exclusion of pretty much everything else.
"I'm good Frase," he smiled up at his lover, trying not to breathe too deeply. That idea went out the window when the silently pacing ghost suddenly made a grab for him. He jumped from the shock of cold and gasped, which made his ribs hurt, which made him moan, which the doc noticed and started fussing because his temp musta gone down again.
"Now see here!" Robert Fraser finally noticed the other ghost and leapt into the fray, dragging the man back and whipping out his own set of handcuffs. A ghost arresting another ghost was kinda funny, but Ray didn't want to laugh, it would hurt too much. Fraser looked confused, so Ray took that to mean his lover still couldn't see the other ghost. Everything got a bit on top of him and Ray fuzzed out for a while, trusting his partner and his father in law to get things under control for a while.
When he got it back, Ray realised he was lying on the gurney he'd been sitting on, wrapped in blankets with Fraser's hand holding his. He was feeling much warmer now and smiled sleepily at his lover's worried face.
"Hey Benton buddy. You good?"
Fraser choked a little and nodded, squeezing Ray's hand tightly. All in all, today was not Ray's best day ever. It could have been a lot worse though, a point that he would be sure to make once they were alone. Robert Fraser's advice had been life saving, and Ray was going to point that out to the man's son as well. No doubt Fraser would have appreciated a more pointed heads up than the one they got, but Ray wasn't gonna quibble about it.
"I'm good too. When can we get outta here?" Ray squeezed back, "I hate hospitals."
"The doctors want you to stay overnight," Fraser began, "But I have convinced them that I will monitor you closely. Provided your temperature is normal and you pass their checks, I can take you home soon."
Ray relaxed; relieved he wasn't going to have to fight Fraser and his doctors. Fraser was rubbing Ray's eyebrow, which Ray didn't mind, and he caught a glimpse of the little packet of coffee beans that he'd tied to Fraser's wrist just after lunch. The fact that his lover was still wearing them was a sign of how worried he'd been.
"Did ya call Dief?" Ray decided to distract the man, get his mind off his problems for a bit, "You know he'll make us pay if we make him wait."
"Oh dear," Fraser muttered and got up, fishing Ray's phone out of his pocket, "I'll be right back, Ray."
While Fraser was out dealing with the wolf, Ray's doctor came back in and did his checks and lectures. Ray nodded and yes'd and no'd in the right places, which earned him a helping hand up. His jacket was ruined, and he scowled as he threw it in the bin, not looking forward to shopping for a replacement. The cops on the scene had taken charge of his service weapon, as well as of the gun that Porter had shot him with, so he didn't have to worry about where his holster was at. That was a mess that Ray would be glad to hand over to the lawyers.
"Good to go?" Fraser asked when he reappeared and Ray nodded, accepting his lover's help as he slid down to the floor and shuffled for the exit as fast as he could. Hospitals sucked, there were too many ghosts.
"I've arranged for a taxi," Fraser said, worry lacing his tone, "I'm afraid the GTO remains at the hotel."
"Well we'd better go get her, Frase. I don't want to leave her there, and there's one last thing I gotta do," Ray smiled to allay his lover's worries, "When does Dief expect us?"
"Actually, Constable Turnbull has offered to house him for tonight, on the condition that he comes home in the morning to inspect you," Fraser rubbed his own eyebrow and Ray sighed, catching that hand with his good one. He didn't normally hold Fraser's hand in public, but figured that people would just see it as an injured man leaning on his buddy.
Fraser didn't like to lie by implication, so he manoeuvred Ray's arm so the detective could lean all he liked. That was just buddies though, and Ray got that his partner was less worried when Ray leaned on him than when he didn't; it was like Ray leaning was doing him a favour rather than the other way around.
The taxi ride was quiet, and the driver was actually kinda good cos he didn't swerve or do anything to set off Ray's rib. He was glad only one was broken – that hurt badly enough without them all getting into the act. The GTO was where he'd left it, but Ray ignored the car, stubbornly heading inside. He was surprised to see the Lieutenant still there, talking to Fletcher, but he simply lifted his good hand in a wave and headed on back to the psychic that he needed to see the most.
Amy Walker was packing up the tools of her trade, and there was another psychic in the next booth over packing up his videos and everything else, but Ray ignored the guy to concentrate on his goal. At his signal, Fraser melted back into the shadows, off to one side, and Ray shuffled over to talk to the lady.
0o0o0o0
To say that he was unhappy to let Ray handle the last ghost by himself was an understatement. Fraser was also certain that his father was somehow involved with the day's events, as Ray had never mentioned the superstition about easterly winds before. That was something that Robert Fraser would have said, and if his father had somehow caused Ray's injuries… well, being dead wasn't going to stop him from receiving a lecture of the first degree. To Fraser's mind, his lover was too precious a gift to risk on vague warnings.
"Amy Walker? Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD," Ray said softly, and winced, "Can I sit down for a second?"
"Of course!" Ms Walker ushered his lover into a seat and perched on her table, "You're the detective that saved Sydney Porter from the protester with a gun, aren't you?"
"Yes ma'am. I was assigned to investigate the harassment," Ray nodded, and Fraser noticed uneasily that the man in the booth over took notice and activated the small video camera that he had been using to tape his consultations. He undoubtedly thought he'd get some sort of scoop on the arrest, which he could sell to the local broadcasting stations. Fraser contemplated changing position so he could extract the tape, but then movement behind the psychics shoulder caught his eye. The Lieutenant was there, and he touched his nose to signal that he was aware of the tape being made. Fraser relaxed and focussed on his lover again. Ms Walker was gushing at him, and Ray was smiling patiently and waiting for her to finish, something that was highly unusual.
"Thank you kindly," Fraser blinked to hear his own words in Ray's strong Chicagoan accent, but Ms Walker seemed charmed, "It was actually about the case I needed to talk to you. I am aware that you're not involved in the Porter thing, but I think you have been victimised by a second party."
"You mean all the things that kept being taken and scattered around the hotel?" Ms Walker put a hand to her considerable chest and perched on the edge of her table, crossing her long legs to good effect. Ray didn't even seem to notice.
"Yeah, that stuff. What can you tell me about a guy called Mark Hunter?" he asked, "I believe he consulted with you on a regular basis?"
"Well yes, until he died. He wrapped his car around a tree two years ago. Your lot said he was drunk," Ms Walker frowned, though Fraser thought that was because her overt charms were being ignored. Ray nodded, and shifted a little in his chair, coming up with the list that Mr Fletcher had presented them that afternoon.
"Did you have an arrangement with Mr Hunter about what may happen in the case of his death?" Ray led her along the path he wanted to follow and Fraser began to get an idea of what his lover was aiming at.
"He… he was convinced that if he died before me that he would be able to come back from the other side to talk to me… he was rather adamant about it. He sometimes referred to us as… spiritually connected, and well he…"
"Was a bit of a nut job?" Ray grinned at her, disarming her before she could even bristle, "You must attract a lot of them, in this line of work, people who think that they're somehow connected to you…"
"Well yes," Ms Walker sighed, "He was… intense."
"Uh huh, and I don't suppose you've heard from him since," Ray nodded, "The reason I ask is that he's been targeting you by stealing people's stuff here."
Amy Walker gasped in shock and the psychic that was eavesdropping leaned forward, intense interest on his face.
"See, he's been leaving the stuff in places that would spell his name," Ray murmured, "He's trying to get your attention. M for mensroom, A for atrium, R for restaurant, K for kitchen, H for hallway, U for underground parking, N – which I think he's spelt 'en' – for entrance, T for tea trolley's, E for elevator and lastly R for restaurant."
"But…" Amy protested, "I… there's been no…"
"He's very angry that you haven't noticed him, and things are going to escalate if we don't put a stop to them now," Ray said quietly. Ms Walker bristled and folded her arms, her pleasant expression fading as if it had never existed.
"And you know this, how?" she asked tartly. Ray breathed out a cold cloud of air, which hung before him, and Fraser could see gooseflesh rise all over the exposed parts of Ms Walker… which were not inconsiderable.
"I see ghosts," Ray grinned a little sheepishly, "But don't take my word for it."
Vapour puffed from his mouth with each word, and the psychic in the next booth over was positively quivering with excitement. Fraser glanced around the large area, relieved that most of the psychics had already left for the day. The fair would be over tomorrow, and this afternoon's events had all but closed it anyway.
"I want you to take my hand," Ray muttered, "But be warned, he's pretty angry, so he'll likely do a lot of yelling and glaring. That's all he can do though."
The psychic next door zoomed in a little as Amy Walker cautiously took Ray's right hand. She gasped and leaned back in shock, her face paling as the contact allowed her to see whatever it was Ray was seeing. Fraser was more concerned about his partner, who was paling rapidly as he shared his sight with the other woman.
"My goodness! Mark!" Ms Walker pressed a hand to her chest again, "Why… why is he in handcuffs?"
"A colleague of mine had to arrest him for disturbing the peace in a hospital," Ray chuckled, and the hair on the back of Fraser's neck stood up a little at that. Obviously, that was his father Ray was speaking of, which meant that the elderly ghost had indeed been meddling. Fraser cracked his neck and started mentally composing his lecture. Robert Fraser could not be allowed to get away with failing to share pertinent information with his son.
"There are… police on the Other Side?" Amy gave Ray a wondering look and then frowned a little, "I can't hear him…"
"I don't want you to," Ray admitted, "What he's saying… aint fit for ladies ears. The thing is, he's said it now, and you've seen him, so his unfinished business is finished. He's got no reason to stay."
There was something final in the man's voice, an iron hard conviction that carried with it a dismissal that couldn't be refused. Amy Walker gasped again and looked down at the floor.
"He just… and the handcuffs fell…oh, they're gone too," she looked at Ray with wonder in her eyes as he let go of her wrist, "You're a really powerful psychic! I've never met anyone with gifts as strong as yours!"
"Actually he's a ghost talker," the psychic next door manoeuvred his way into the grouping, leaving the camera unattended. He doubtless had plans to use the footage in his next promotional video and that was simply unacceptable. The problem was that Ray was so faded as to be almost transparent himself, and Fraser knew that his partner needed him by the way Ray's eyes were tracking wearily in his direction.
"Actually I aint either. I don't hold with yer business, and got no plans of establishing myself in it," Ray mumbled, "Hey Fraser."
"Ray," he said gently. The Lieutenant strolled past, rubbing his nose, which Fraser took to mean that the tape situation was under control, "I think you should rest."
"Sounds good. You gonna drive the Goat for us?" Ray got up and leaned on his lover for support, something that Fraser welcomed. Ray was so independent, fiercely so at times, that any time he accepted Fraser's help was a cherished memory. Fraser felt proud that it was he that Ray relied on when he was too weary to struggle on alone. The reverse was also true. Any time that Fraser needed a helping hand, and the fact that he could admit that he needed one was in and of itself nothing short of miraculous, Ray Kowalski was there, not judging or stinting him.
"I will," Fraser agreed and got a sweet smile in reply. They left the two psychics behind. Without the tape, there was no evidence of Ray's gift, and no one would believe that a Chicago detective was a 'ghost talker'. Especially not Ray, who would have no trouble convincing people of his opinion of psychics in general.
0o0o0o0
There was something unnerving about coming home to find your partner playing cards with your father. Your deceased father. The reason that you introduced yourself as 'first coming to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers…' That father.
Of course, it made things all the more difficult that Fraser had yet to completely forgive Robert Fraser for his latest bout of meddling. Ray was at home because of a broken rib and gunshot wound to the upper left arm, something that Fraser felt could have been avoided if his father had heeded the principal of the five P's. Diefenbaker trotted over to say hello quite happily, and Ray put his cards down on the dining table to pet the wolf while directing Fraser to the tea waiting for him in the kitchen.
As he prepared his cup, Fraser mused on their last case and its conclusion. Harding Welsh had surreptitiously confiscated a clandestine tape of Ray working with a woman who called herself a psychic and the ghost of an obsessed and quite frankly angry ghost that had been haunting her unnoticed for two years. Fraser had assumed that the tape would come to Ray at some point, but it had never materialised. Discreet inquiry led Fraser to believe that the Lieutenant had not only kept that tape, but had also arranged to remove form the station the copy of the tape from Ray's final interrogation of a serial killer. That had been Fraser's first case with Ray where ghostly witnesses other that his father had played a part, though he felt sure it wouldn't be the last. He didn't know why Ray's Lieutenant was collecting such evidence about his lover, but Fraser was going to keep a watch on the situation.
"Benton?" his father's voice cut into his musings and Fraser went out into the dining room, "Did you manage to get me another set of cuffs to replace the ones the Yank lost?"
"No I did not," Fraser leaned down and kissed Ray's temple gently, "As you once said to me, when you first joined the RCMP issued you with a stick and a paper bag, and they charged you if you lost the stick. It is not my fault you did not retrieve your cuffs from your prisoner. Nor is it Ray's."
"Ah well, I didn't expect him to make bail so suddenly," Robert looked a little disconcerted, "Never mind, son, I'm sure I can manage to work something out."
"Gin," Ray laid his cards out on the table.
The expression on Robert Fraser's face was almost enough to soothe Benton's irritation with the man.
End