Disclaimer: I do not own the sexiness that is due South.

See You Later, Goodbye

By

EastSide

YFB

It was a jungle out there.

…No, really. They sent him to a fucking jungle.

The mailman almost got a kick in the head. He opened the letter, then – BAM - Fucking weird ass trees, and a weird ass language and people shooting at him everywhere. How the hell does a Chicago mechanic, who's pushing thirty by the way, go from working on old pickups an' cars to running the gun of a chopper?

"'Land of the free' my Polish ass,' thought Kowalski. His life switched from; "Hey, pass me that wrench, will ya?" to: "Hey, shoot at those guys you can barely see."

Baseball. He missed baseball. A lot. Almost as much as he missed dancing with Stella. She ditched him even before he left the country. He didn't blame her too much though, no Gold Coast gal could ever –would ever- waste her time with a drafted grunt who'd probably get shot down and die and make her a widow.

He'd been in Vietnam for five months now; losing her didn't sting at all anymore. He saw too much. Way too much. Stuff people should never have to see. Puts things in perspective, you know? Yeah sure he didn't have her anymore, which sucked, but people get through worse things than divorce.

So he got through it. Even fell for someone else for a while. Which was fucked cause Bill was a fucking guy. It hadn't lasted long because Bill didn't kiss. Shallow? Yeah. Kowalski wouldn't help it. He needed to kiss. Needed to feel that connection. Besides, Bill was a closet case Corporal with a family back home, so it was pretty much over before it started.

"Kowalski! Put that damn cigarette out before you blow up half the base."

Ray smirked as he put out his smoke. "Hey, Lt. I heard we're gettin' our hands dirty soon."

Lieutenant, Welsh, grunted and asked; "You believe every thing you hear Kowalski?"

"Nah, but we haven't been on a mission for a while. So what's the hold up? Intelligence lose their intelligence or what?"

"You should enjoy the break. And quit smoking around the jet fuel. Jesus." Lt. Welsh ordered as he walked across the helicopter landing area. Enjoy the break? "I'm all over that." Ray thought as he made his way to grab a not-so-cold one and get rowdy and probably end up being arrested.

What were they gonna do? Send him home? If that were the case, Ray would've boot fucked Pte. Dewey's face months ago.

XXXX

Ray needs to get laid. To take the edge off from the fighting and the bleeding and fuck he watched another guy die today.

He could get laid, but he can't.

No more chicks, never, nuh-un. He didn't want them, didn't need them, they just didn't do it for him. Ray knows he shouldn't want guys, isn't suppose to want guys but fuck that it feels good. So damn good. It was weird at first but Ray got into it –really- got into it. It wasn't something he had for just anyone though. He had to be head over heels, this is it,

let's-get-hitched-and-never-leave type of love. There had been Stella and Bill. But they left him, took off with see-you-later-but-not-really goodbyes.

Ray didn't want chicks, or any random soldiers. He knew he was being optimistic but what the hell. Everyone wanted someone they couldn't have and Ray had finally found his: a doctor.

XXXX

"Ms. Vecchio, please, I just need the file on Major Volpe." Fraser said, attempting to detach her.

"Oohh, but Doctor Fraser--"

Benton was out of there as fast as a homerun and good god what possessed women to act like that?

His rubbed his eyes. The night shift was coming in, so the afternoon shift could finally head back to their tents.

Except Fraser didn't want to go back to his tent and think about the cases he dealt with today.

He needed a distraction.

Beer.

He needed beer.

Vietnam could drive even the strongest to drink.

XXXX

"Ray."

Ray turned and grinned. "Hiya, Fraser. Grab a seat, I'll get the beer."

Ray stood to go to the bar, maneuvering around Fraser, letting himself brush by him, even though he knew he shouldn't.

"It's good to see ya, Frase." Ray said to the back of Benton's neck. Fraser shivered, recovered, and sat down. His attraction to Private Kowalski began as soon as he laid eyes on him: sitting on the hospital stretcher, bleeding from his arm, grinning because he was alive but sad too, because others weren't that lucky.

The wound was not enough for Ray to get stateside. So Fraser patched him up. All through the healing process they would talk, exchange stories from two very different lives. A Yankee city mechanic draftee and a Canadian, plaid wearing, volunteer.

A doctor and a gunner.

They clicked though; buddies from the start. When Ray was patched up enough to be done with the base hospital, he took a shot in the dark and invited Ray out for a drink. He couldn't lose this connection he made. They get each other, know each other, instantaneously.

Ray was still in his army greens and Benton was in his hospital uniform. The unlikely pair downed their beers and began their tradition of: "Talk It Out Before You Go Plum Crazy" as Ray liked to call it.

To the average soldier, the two men in the corner seemed to be merely friends collaborating, sharing stories over beer and passing the time until they could sleep. But Ray knew they were sitting too close for that, way too close.

Not above the table, no, never above the table. That was too visible.

It was all below the waist, under the table, invisible to everyone but Ray and Fraser. It wasn't enough to be blatant, not enough to toss the; 'Fuck, I want you, need you,' out into the open.

It was all sweet and simple touches that held more meaning than Ray had ever known.

Fraser letting his knee brush against Rays', hesitantly, until Ray moved his leg between Fraser's thighs. No bold moves, no sudden moves, just slow and tender and little things that meant everything.

Ray felt like butterflies had built their own damn runway in his stomach.

Nervous? Hell yeah.

Excited? Jesus yes.

Maybe it was the beer. Maybe Fraser didn't really know what he was doing. Hell, this might even be common behavior in the North West Areas. How would Ray know? He didn't. But it wasn't like he was going to give up this chance.

Hope.

It welled up in Ray, threatening to spill over, break the dam, and fuck if Fraser is fucking with him he was going to kick him in the head.

They could talk about the past, their marriages that ended, the things they saw while on tour. This, though, they didn't talk about this. Not yet anyway; it was too soon.

Too soon, yet they were running out of time.

XXXX

Ray was going home.

There was chopper on the tarmac, fueled up, almost ready to zip on outta there and deliver him back to the real world. No more missions, no more mess food, no more god damn bullets, but Ray was thinking: 'fuck fuck fuck' because in exchange for all that he had to give up Fraser.

It wasn't like they were an item or anything. They both needed to take it slow but the clock was ticking and now they've run out of time. Fraser wasn't due back to Canada for four more months.

They still haven't talked about it. But now, standing here watching Ray get ready to get on the chopper and be extracted from Fraser's life, he knew he had to say something, do something.

Ray could go back to Chicago, get a good job working in an auto shop and settle down with a wife and have the kids he was talking about. But there would always be something missing. Something called passion and lust and real, honest to goodness, love.

Ray was saying goodbye to some of his comrades. In the hot Vietnam sun, he was sweating and grinning like he just realized that he didn't have to shoot people anymore. Then his eyes fell on Fraser and his grin died.

Soldiers were milling about, jumping into choppers and taking off. Some of them wouldn't come back and others would never be the same.

Ray walked over to Fraser and threw his arms around him in a good old fashioned guy hug but they both knew it was something more. "You made it, Ray." Fraser said, the lump in his throat growing bigger. He tried to smile, to hide it, but Ray saw straight through him.

"I couldn't have made it without ya, Frase." Ray smiled. Benton could only nod, not trusting his voice.

Fraser turned his face away from Ray's. "Fraser? Frase? Aww, come on, don't cry on me here." Ray whispered to Benton in a way a man isn't supposed to whisper to another man.

Fraser turned his head and leaned his forehead on Ray's.

"I'll come visit you in the North West Areas and we'll go on an adventure or something. How about that, huh?"

Fraser smiled. "North West Territories, Ray."

"Yeah, yeah, it's all ice and dog sleds anyhow."

The crew of the chopper yelled for Ray to haul ass.

"Forget me and I'll kick you in the head, got that, Frase? I love you, you gotta know that by now."

Fraser knew. How could he not know.

"Christ, I'd kiss you if we wouldn't be arrested." Kowalski whispered as he pressed his dog tags into Fraser's hand.

And then he was gone; jumped in the chopper, sat in the wide open door, legs hanging toward the ground. It was his last flight in a military chopper, last time wearing fatigues and fuck he just told Fraser he loved him.

Ray watched as Fraser lifted his lips to kiss the dog tags in his hand. They smiled, both knowing there was no way in hell this was one of those; see-you-later-but-not-really goodbyes.

It was a real, honest to god, 'see you later' goodbye.

Fin

A/N: Please review!