Act 2:

Just lemme close my eyes for a minute.

Ray swam up through clouds of fog. Bloom...close...kick 'em in the head. Fraser was somewhere near; he could feel him. He tried to reach out but his arm ached sharply and he couldn't lift it. Then he realized his kicks weren't as powerful as he thought they were. In fact, he wasn't actually kicking at all.

In fact...

Ow.

Oh, man. Everything below his waist was radiating pain. Even his dick hurt.

He worried about that for a moment.

Fraser, he tried to say. My dick hurts.

Nothing happened.

He tried to open his eyes.

Nothing happened.

Ray was beginning to seriously freak the fuck out. Everything hurt, including his goddamned dick, and he couldn't talk or see or move his arms or any-fucking-thing. He flashed on that one Metallica video, with the kid and the hospital and all, and panic threatened to overwhelm him. Ray began to quiver as he tried to thrash around and found himself immobile. His breathing became shallow and quick as his body did it's damndest to hyperventilate.

A large hand touched his hair.

Ray relaxed a bit. He tried to calm himself, slow down his breathing like Fraser had tried to teach him. Fraser was out there. He would find a way to get Ray's body to stop hurting and start working. If Fraser was here, at least he wasn't dying.

"You are dying, Mr. Kowalski."

OK, who the fuck was that? The guy sounded cold and foreign, Russian maybe? Ray really wanted to mention the whole submarine thing, maybe get some points for that, but he still couldn't talk.

He did manage to make a noise.

"Don't try to speak, Ray."

Fraser. Get me the fuck out of here.

But Fraser sounded worried. And that was always a bad sign. Fraser never sounded worried. Even when certain death was looming, Fraser just told it some weird story and certain death got bored and went to loom over someone else.

It hurts, Ben. Ray tried to say. He felt victorious when a whimper escaped. See, noise. Yeah, baby. That's right. Getting better all the time. Absolutely not dying, whatever the Russkie thought.

"He's in pain," Fraser said. He sounded more than worried. Fraser sounded pissed. In some way, this was more disturbing. You really had to work to get Fraser to sound pissed. Fraser got pissed quite often; he just didn't advertise it.

"I had to clear the drugs out of his system. He must be lucid and in possession of his faculties to make this choice."

Ray immediately tried to telepathically signal his desire for more drugs. The pain was fucking incredible. He felt like he'd been gut-shot. Or at least what he'd always imagined being gut-shot would feel like, never having actually been....

Waitafuckingminute.

The cocksucker on the plane. The friggin' jump of death. He had been gut-shot. Why wasn't he drugged anymore? Whose grand idea was this?

"Ray, wake up."

Fraser. Goddamn Fraser. This had to be his idea. A new Inuit way to heal a gunshot or something. When they got out of this mess, Fraser was going to have some 'splainin' to do. Ray felt an ice chip pressed between his lips.

Oh god, water... Immediately he forgave Fraser for everything. He was so amazingly thirsty. He felt like his lips were welded together by chap.

A warm, wet cloth stroked his face; sure and deft Fraserstrokes. He could feel gunk peeling off his eyes and nearly wept. Blindness was an old nightmare, one he could do without right now. He had a brand spanking new nightmare to deal with. The one where he couldn't move his legs.

More ice, more water down his throat. Ray began to feel his voice under the dead cat in his voice box. He hoped his breath wouldn't be too funky when they finally pried his lips apart.

The TLC continued until Ray could open his eyes. The Russkie looked pretty much like he sounded, stuck-up and a bit fey. Ray knew all about glass houses, but hey. The guy just looked kinda girly.

He shifted his gaze to Fraser, who looked like shit. He had dark circles under his beautiful dark blue-gray eyes, his complexion was even paler than normal, and his famously unmussable dark hair was totally fucked up.

He looked like Ray felt. Except for, fairly obviously, the grueling shitloads of pain.

Blond Russian Guy was feeding him ice while Fraser kept wiping him. Ray was done being wiped; his skin was getting hot. However, Fraser still looked fairly terrified, so Ray let him be. He had other, more pressing issues anyway, like that whole "dying" comment.

"Bn?" Ray managed, and Fraser stopped wiping. He had a chair pulled up on one side of Ray, with the fey Russian on the other. His eyes were a little wild and unfocused. Ray wanted to comfort him, but couldn't yet move.

"Ray, this is Illya Kuryakin. He's our host. He brought us in from the snowstorm."

Ray flicked his eyes over towards Illya. Illya Kuryakin didn't look all that hostly. In fact, Illya Kuryakin looked fairly pissed himself. Ray wondered what Fraser had talked him into.

"Your injuries are quite substantial, Mr. Kowalski." The cool, clipped tones were exactly right for that face. Ray wondered about that for a moment, then pulled himself back and made himself focus. It was hard. His body was in so much pain that his mind kept wandering, trying to distance itself. But Ray knew they were talking about that dying thing; he needed to hear this.

Kuryakin went on.

"I shall not outline them now. I have already done so once, for your partner. Suffice to say you have sustained massive trauma to your abdomen."

Not the dick. Thank God.

"I believe that the best solution would be to ease your pain and let you pass in peace. Your partner wishes you to make a Faustian bargain. We have agreed to lay the facts before you. "

Kuryakin stood. Ray was fully focused now. No way was he going to "pass in peace." He planned on kicking heads the whole way.

The icy stare of the Russian bored into Ray. "I have said all I can say on this. I will introduce your...other host. He will explain to you the facts."

He shot a look that Ray couldn't read at Fraser.

"Remember. I did warn you."

He dropped his head slightly...

and then...

his eyes...

started to fucking glow.

Fraser gasped and clutched Ray's arm. Ray was trying to back away sharply; muscles that were still unresponsive defeated him.

He did manage a "Hly sht!"

That pretty much summed it up.

After the initial glow, the eyes went back to blue. However, Kuryakin opened his mouth and a whole new voice emerged. It was rough and oddly cavernous, like it was echoing through Kuryakin's entire body. It sounded like electronic vocal distortion, which was really disturbing 'cause it was actually coming out of this guy's mouth.

"I am Trev'van." He said. Ray and Fraser gaped at him, mouths open. He said gently, "I believe we can help each other."

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The story that Trev'van spun was fairly wacko science fiction. He told them about his species and how they had to bond with other species to survive. He said some of them had become pretty whacked out and proclaimed themselves gods. He mentioned a war and named himself a "Resistance leader."

Basically, the guy would be right at home on any given big city street corner. Ray wouldn't have flipped him a quarter if it weren't for the whole glowing eyes bit.

Fraser seemed frozen. He just held Ray's hand tightly and refused to look at him.

That worried Ray. A lot. It meant that Fraser had made some decision about all this. And if Ray was going to have a say in this decision, he would have to fight Ben to get it. And he was barely able to hold his own with Fraser when he could talk. Fraser was generally one hell of a steamroller; in fact, in his red tunic, he was a lot like the Little Fucking Engine That Could.

Also, the not-having-a-dick thing? Right now, that was a liability. Fraser could generally be worked better after a bout of hot sex.

Trev'van had wound down. He met Ray's eyes steadily, no hint of fear. He had to know how crazy this whole thing sounded, but Ray kept coming back to the glowing eyes and the echoing voice. His common sense was telling him one thing, and his senses were saying another.

Ray mentally reviewed the story. The upshot seemed to be that Trev'van's girlfriend or wife or mate or whatever, was currently hostless. Ray was unclear how that worked, but again, whatever. The glowy-eyed girlie wanted to get with him, Ray Kowalski, currently uninhabited by any consciousness but his own.

Ray wasn't sure about how he felt. This whole "sharing a soul" idea seemed a little...much. Most of the thoughts that went through Ray's head were probably best left unshared. On the other hand, it could be very sexy. Ray had this image of some drop-dead beautiful chick, probably with blue skin like that lady on that show.

Damn, why'd they cancel that show anyway? It was really fucking good. And she'd done that thing with that guy's head, and then they had, like, become part of each other...and man! That guy had the best toys! Maybe, if he did this thing with the chick and all, maybe he could wear a leather trench coat, and shoot things, and have a gun with a girl's name and that'd be cool.

Ray shook his head, slightly.

Focus, Stanley Ray. Get your skinny butt with the program here.

Next important fact. If one was to believe the self-proclaimed cult leader, Trev'van's species could heal incredibly serious wounds; could, in fact, quite probably save Ray's life. There was no bad in that that Ray could see. The "dying" comment just kept coming back to him. He'd only had five years with Fraser and only two of sex with Fraser. That was not enough, not nearly. So. Not dying? Thumbs up to that idea.

And then there was another thing. These guys were soldiers in some war between people Ray had never heard of, and frankly couldn't recall. He'd kinda skipped that part of Trev's lecture. He was still back on the whole "other species" thing. The image of the blue lady had been fairly strong. And she had been naked in his head.

Mmmmmm...blue chick.

"Two more things, Ray." Ray looked at Trev'van, mind still whirring and ticking. "The first is that the joining must be mutually desired. Joining extends the human life span tremendously, and it is no small thing to share a soul for a hundred or so years."

He paused to let that "hundred years" comment sink in, and believe you me, Ray was thinking about it. A hundred more years of sex with Fraser. He could work with that.

Trev'van went on.

"Secondly, Shir and I are both devoted to our cause. Illya was a fortunate choice; he was both trained for conflict and philosophically devoted to justice. From the reports I've gathered since your arrival here, you would both also be ideal. But it is a sacrifice. And not a light one. You would only be able to sustain your current life for a short while, although you would not have to lose contact with those you love. Your role in the war would be a secret one; for the safety not only of those you love, but of your whole planet."

Ray was used to that. Par for the undercover course. He was still mulling that "hundred years" comment. Fraser seemed taken aback, however. He asked softly. "And if we — Ray, that is — was not prepared to become a "soldier" for your war?"

Trev'van spread his hands, a gesture of helplessness.

"Shir would not accept him." Ray blinked.

That was...unexpected.

Trev'van continued matter-of-factly, "Shir has the same choice to make as Ray does. Without a host, she is helpless to act in the world. But just as we do not believe in bending others to our will, we are not prepared to become slaves ourselves."

Ray realized he had not accounted for this eventuality. New doubts assailed him. What if Shir didn't like him? What if he went through all this thinking and imagining this bizarre world these guys seemed to inhabit, only to be rejected and die anyway? The blue lady in his head was totally hot. Granted, so was Fraser, but no one was asking Fraser to inhabit Ray's head. Fraser would sleep with Ray, but he'd probably never want to live in his head.

In fact, if the blue chick was in his head, it could be like a menagerie...meringue...a threesome.

Ray mentally shook his head. That was so not something he could contemplate right now. Not until his dick was much, much less useless. He had a much more basic choice in front of him. And he was getting more and more tired.

His body was giving out, he thought, in a moment of clarity. It was time to move. Shit or get off the pot. He could choose death or he could become 'one' with the Wacky Warrior Species.

Really, it wasn't much of a contest. He generally trusted his instincts and they were telling him that he had nothing to lose by giving this thing a shot. The worst that could happen was that he would die, and that was pretty much a guarantee no matter what. Everybody died.

He tugged Fraser's arm. It took a lot of strength. It alarmed him how much strength it took.

Everybody died, yeah; he just didn't really want to do it right this second.

Fraser refocused on him. His eyes were burning and the color was back in his face; in fact, he seemed to be getting red.

"Wnna doit, Bn." Ray managed.

Fraser's eyes grew wide; he let out a shout. "What?

"Wanna...wchcallit? Wanna 'join'."

Fraser shot a venomous look at Trev'van. Then he began again, voice lowered, "Ray, you cannot be serious..."

"We'll leave you two to talk it out." Trev'van looked grave, but somehow Ray could sense he was pleased. Fraser must have really ruffled this guy's feather. He looked like the cat with the canary. Illya/Trev'van bowed slightly and left the room.

Predictably, Fraser exploded.

"You can not be serious, Ray! Illya Kuryakin is obviously a demented and no doubt highly dangerous lunatic. He clearly suffers from some form of paranoid schizophrenia and, though I believe the two rarely combine, possibly Dissociative Identity Disorder as well..."

Ray felt an almost overwhelming surge of love, mixed with familiar sense of irritation. Fraser was clearly gearing up for a monumental bitch session. The syllables would be flying thick and fast. Ray hoped Fraser would pause for breath if any serious complication were to occur, like Ray's actual death.

God. He loved this man. But Benton Fraser could be such a....

"We are completely cut off from any other options and well he knows it. All this utter nonsense about 'other species'.... What does he take us for? Complete imbeciles?"

Oh, yeah. There go the fifty-cent words. Ray sighed and began to drift away. He couldn't fight his body and Ben at the same time. The rhythm of Fraser's voice began to lull him down, down through the heavy water that made everything so very far away. He was only peripherally aware when Fraser stopped ranting about Illya. The sounds of a scuffle didn't quite penetrate the sound of his own breathing roaring through his head. He couldn't feel hands on his body at all.

His ears were still tuned to Fraser, however. Dimly, he heard Fraser saying his name over and over, like when he was walking in the wrong direction. He wanted to respond, to call out to Fraser, but he was just so damned tired.

Ben. He tried to say.

It's all right.

Just lemme close my eyes for a second.

I'll be right back

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Fraser watched, white-faced and shaking as Illya held a bizarre red stone over Ray's body. It had started to glow when Illya began running through the air over Ray's still body. Fraser could see Ray's chest start to move again and he exhaled himself, subconsciously breathing in a synchronous rhythm.

Ray had stopped breathing and he hadn't noticed. He had been so caught up in his righteous indignation that he'd almost lost Ray through sheer blindness. Waves of guilt crashed over him.

When Illya had come bursting into the room he'd thought at first that the attack he'd been expecting had finally arrived. He'd braced himself and fought, thrown a punch at the smaller man. Illya had blocked the punch, hit him, and thrown him clear across the room with almost contemptuous ease. He then rushed to Ray's side. Fraser looked up in time to see Illya press his head against Ray's chest. Only then did Fraser realize that the machine was flashing red and Ray's breathing was almost non-existent.

"Ray...Ray...Ray...I'm sorry," he'd finally whispered, frozen on the floor, staring at the suddenly furious Russian performing CPR on his partner. Illya hadn't answered; he'd just thrown his entire being into saving Ray.

How had he ever thought this man cold? A steady flow of gutter Russian invective poured out of Illya's mouth, but his hands were steady. Once Ray's breathing stabilized, the pale and shaking Kuryakin fumbled with the red device, lying close by on a nearby table and began holding it over Ray's stomach, wielding it with a look of absolute concentration.

Fraser crept back to the gurney, standing next to his host and probable savior. Illya spared no attention for him; beads of sweat rolling down his face. The fluid Russian words had stopped, now Illya was muttering sotto voce, "Live. Live. Live. Live. Live. Damn you, man. Live."

Fraser added his silent prayer to the chorus, white-knuckled and shocked.

The light on the unfamiliar machine blinked from red to green.

Illya slowly lowered his arm as the red light on the device he held went out.

"He's stable." The cool voice was quiet and a little rough. "I can keep him like this for a while." His cold blue eyes met Fraser's hot, guilty ones. Benton couldn't hold Illya's gaze. He looked at the floor, feeling small and horribly ashamed.

"I have prepared a room for you, one door down that hallway." Kuryakin went on, no hint of blame or judgment. He could scarcely excoriate Fraser better then Fraser himself was doing at this very moment. "You should go. Take a bath and a nap. I will be working here for a few hours. There is an intercom system. I will call for you if anything changes."

Fraser looked at him, not wanting to leave Ray. Illya looked furious again. "I cannot take care of you both! Your partner needs you. You are no good to him as you are. Go. Now. Rest." He took up position over Ray again, clearly dismissing Fraser as he prepared to raise the red device again.

Fraser watched for another moment, then turned and left.

There was nothing he could do now.

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Illya was concentrating on trying to heal some of the damage to Ray's liver when Trev'van piped up.

The pretty one needs sleep. After that, what are the odds he goes exploring?

Illya gritted his teeth, concentrating ferociously.

"I'd bet Ray's life on it," he grinned suddenly at his invisible companions,

" In fact," he added dryly, "I am."