This one's longish. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Eleven: Movin' Out

This time Ray drove back to the precinct first, and I offered to take Fraser on to the consulate.

Franny got out of the car to move to the front seat, and she gave Fraser a hug. "See you tomorrow, Fraze."

"Good night, Francesca," Fraser answered, managing to sound upbeat and polite in spite of the slightly flustered expression on his face.

"Night, Ray," she called to me as she went back to the Riviera.

"Good night," I answered, making eye contact with her, but not at all sure that I was getting my feelings across to her. I'm pretty good with nonverbal communication, but a lot of people don't pick up on that stuff, and sometimes it's hard to tell if they're getting the message.

When Fraser and I got into my car, he said, "You seem a little troubled about something, Ray."

I sighed. "A little, I guess."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

I shook my head. "Not really. What about you? You want to tell me what's been eating you lately?"

"Ah. I'm not sure if I should say."

I looked over at him. I thought he looked like he wanted to spill his guts. "You can trust me to keep quiet. What is it?"

He hesitated just a moment longer. "There's something Ray isn't telling me, and I fear it may be serious."

"Yeah?"

"Then again, it could be nothing..."

"What makes you think so?"

"For one thing—have you noticed how he's been going off by himself a lot lately, and coming back with no explanation of where he's been?"

I fought to keep my expression neutral. Fraser had noticed Ray's discreet smoke breaks, even though I'd tried to cover for him whenever I could. "Maybe he's just going to the john," I suggested.

"Unless he's developed a bladder infection, I highly doubt it. And I think he would tell me about that. He's not one to hide his infirmities. In fact, though I may be speaking out of turn, I think he tends to capitalize on them."

That was one way Ray Vecchio and I were not much alike. Ray liked to whine to anyone who would listen about whatever ache or pain he had, real or imaginary. I'd heard he once fabricated a gunshot wound in an attempt to collect disability pay. Me, on the other hand, I don't like people asking me how I am all the time, acting like I can't do my job because of a few cuts and bruises. Over the last day or so, some really colorful bruises had shown up from my scuffle with Tanner, but I hadn't said a word about them to anyone other than Welsh, and I only told him because he asked me directly what kind of damage the guy had done to me.

It was only when I was married that I wanted any special treatment, and even then I just wanted Stella to stay with me. Not to fuss over me or wait on me hand and foot (where the heck does that saying come from anyway? It's kinda weird), but just to be with me. That would make up for whatever was hurting me or making me sick. She saw it as me being extra clingy when I was sick. Am I really misunderstood, or do I really have dependency issues? I don't know. But anyway.

"Okay, so he's probably not sick," I said.

"Then, there's the smell."

"Smell?" I said, lamely stalling for time. This wasn't good.

"Yes. It smells like tobacco and... something sweet. Like a flavored liqueur or something. It may be a foreign cigarette with which I'm unfamiliar."

Damn his nose. How the hell could he tell all that stuff apart? "Foreign cigarettes? What does that mean?" I asked, again lamely stalling.

"My working theory is that he has been meeting a foreigner. It might be a lady friend to whom he's not ready to introduce me. Then again, it might have something to do with his undercover work, and that's what really worries me."

I felt a little relieved that Fraser hadn't jumped to the conclusion that Ray was smoking, but at the same time, he seemed to be more concerned than necessary. I had to do something to make him feel better. "Look, whatever it is, I'm sure you don't need to worry about it. The undercover stuff is done. This mob guy sending people after Franny—that's over now. And if it is a woman... he'll get around to it. He's your partner. When you need to know, he'll tell you, right?"

Fraser sighed quietly. "You're right," he said in a resigned tone. "I shouldn't be so suspicious. He is, after all, not only my partner, but my friend. He's never let me down before."

"Right."

"Well, there was that one time... but it's hardly worth mentioning."

I smirked. "Just let him have his privacy, and maybe... eventually... he'll let you in on it. And maybe it'll just be something simple and you'll laugh over it."

"Perhaps so."

I pulled the car up in front of the consulate.

"Are you sure you don't want to tell me what's been bothering you?" Fraser asked.

"Mm... not right now. It's late."

"Well, I do have some news that may cheer you up."

"Oh, yeah?"

He nodded. "I've decided to take the apartment across from yours."

It took a minute to sink in. I hadn't expected him to decide so soon, and I'd kind of been preparing myself for him to pick someplace else. "Hey, that's great," I said, a slow smile coming over my face.

"I'm glad you think so. I'll move in in a couple of days." He got Dief out of the car. "See you tomorrow... neighbor."

My smile turned into a grin. "Yeah, see you."

[Fraser says the most likely explanation for the saying "wait on hand and foot" is that it has to do with privileged people having handmaids and footmen. I would speculate about why they're called "handmaids and footmen," but I bet he would know that too, and if I let him explain stuff like that too often, it gets really annoying.]

I was more than happy to help Fraser move his belongings into his new place, but I was kind of bothered by how few he had. Apparently, he hadn't acquired much since his old place burned. Living at the consulate, he'd had adequate furniture to use, so the only things he had to take with him were his clothes, the travel pack and bedroll he'd had with him in Canada, Dief's food and water bowls, and some miscellaneous personal items. He mentioned that he'd lost a couple of his dad's diaries in the fire, and I could tell that made him really sad, though he didn't make a big deal out of it.

"You're going to need some stuff for your new space," I said, instead of what I was thinking: "You're planning to live like this?!" The apartment came with the use of a stove, refrigerator and bathroom fixtures, and half the space was carpeted, but it still echoed like crazy, especially in the bedroom and living room. "I can take you to some thrift stores. That's where I got most of my furniture."

"I would appreciate that," he said. He sounded truly grateful, and kind of humble. The guy is so genuine sometimes, it's downright uncomfortable.

Dief gave me a look and I smiled at him. It was like he was saying, "What would he do without us?" Seriously, Dief. I was willing to give him some credit for getting Fraser to move into my building. If he came around begging for treats like Fraser predicted, I'd probably cave without a struggle.

"I guess a bed's the first thing... and a dresser. You wanna go now?"

"Will the thrift stores still be open?"

I checked my watch. We had brought everything over in one trip after a quick supper. It was only seven-thirty. "Oh, yeah. There are a few thrift store chains that stay open almost as long as the department stores. If we leave now, we might be able to hit a couple."

"All right." Fraser looked at Dief. "Wait here."

Dief sat on the floor with a grumble.

"Well, I know it's not much now, but that's exactly why we're going to look at furniture."

"Hmph."

I had to press my lips together hard to keep from laughing. Once I got it under control, I stepped forward so Dief would focus on me. "You wanna wait in my apartment? You can sleep on the couch if you want."

He got up and ran to the door.

"That's really not necessary, Ray," Fraser said.

"Eh, no big deal. It's his first day at the new place... you don't wanna leave him all alone with no creature comforts." I looked down at Dief. "Just this once, okay?"

Behind me, I heard Fraser mutter, "Oh, dear" softly.

"What?" I asked, opening the door.

"I just think you're setting yourself up for disappointment. Diefenbaker doesn't really comprehend one-time offers."

"Eh, we'll figure it out." I went across the hall and opened my door. "There you go, buddy. We'll be back soon."

Dief scampered inside and started sniffing around. Fraser went in long enough to get his attention and tell him to stay. Then we headed out.

"I finally talked to Franny about Paul," I told Fraser on our way to the first place. "She said she didn't know if he'd like the idea or not, but she gave me his contact info. I'll try calling him tomorrow."

"Keep me informed."

"You got it."

I wished I had been able to have a real private conversation with Franny, but I'd had to ask her while Ray was out for a smoke that morning. Talking about Paul was all we'd had time for. I wondered if I'd ever get another shot at asking her on a date, let alone actually going on one.

We looked at a lot of furniture that evening. Fraser isn't picky and he's so trusting that no one would sell him a piece of junk that if I hadn't been with him, he probably would have ended up with something full of bedbugs and something that fell apart the next day and something that was just god-awful in appearance. Instead, we ended up strapping bed rails (real wooden ones) to the roof of my car and making arrangements to have a sofa and easy chair delivered over the weekend.

"A mattress I would not get second-hand," I told Fraser firmly. "I don't care what the story is—you have to get a mattress brand new. But that doesn't mean you have to pay full price. There's a discount place I know; I can show you tomorrow if you want. They get overstock and 'slightly imperfect' models and stuff like that. A lot of times they get mattresses that were display models in other stores. People have sat on them, but no one's slept on them. That's a key discrepancy."

Fraser took all this in very seriously, listening with as much attention as he would if I were outlining a case for him. When I finished, he nodded. "After your shift, then?"

"Sure. Oh, um... I wanna call Paul Vecchio at lunchtime, so could you maybe take Ray someplace away from the station?"

"I'll do my best."

"Okay, thanks." Whenever Fraser said he would do his best, that was the same as someone else saying, "Consider it done." It's when he says something absolute like "We will get it done" that I really worry about whether he understands how the world works. For someone who always keeps his word, he sure gives it freely on some really heavy promises.

Dief was really interested in the new bed rails. Over all, he seemed to approve of them, especially when Fraser told him that eventually, they would be his bed.

"We should get a small rug or something for Diefenbaker," Fraser said as we started setting up the rails in the bedroom. "There was a nice rug at the consulate on which he was fond of sleeping. For now, I suppose the carpeting is soft enough."

"What happened to roughing it?" I teased.

"Well, you know Dief. Unless we're actually in the wilderness, he acts as if he's always been a city snicker."

I blinked. "You mean a city slicker?"

He blinked. "Isn't that what I said?"

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"Oh. Well, it's what I meant."

When the last bolt was tightened, Fraser packed up the tools into a neat little toolbox and set it aside. "I need to remember to return that," he said.

"Seriously, man? Those aren't even your tools?" I said, looking up from where I was sprawled on the floor by the bed frame, leaning back on my palms.

"Why, no. They belong to a gentleman who lived in my building... the one that burned. He's relocated now, but we've kept in touch. He's now the handyman for one of the other places I considered."

"No kiddin'. So, I guess he has lots of tools."

"Indeed." He offered me a hand and pulled me to my feet.

"So, you want some dessert?" I asked.

Dief appeared at my side like a furry little magician.

"Well..." Fraser looked around at the bare walls and led the way into the empty living room. It seemed like he didn't want to leave his new space now that he was in it.

"We can have it here," I said. "I, um... took the liberty of putting some ice cream in your freezer."

He looked at me in surprise. "When did you get a chance to do that?"

"Eh, the landlady let me in. Turnabout's fair play." I winked.

With the tiny, reserved Mountie version of a laugh, Fraser went to the freezer and pulled out the box. "Moose tracks?"

I grinned. "I had to."

He set the box on the counter, preparing to open it, and then frowned. "Oh... I don't have any dishes."

"Check the cupboard." I pointed.

He opened the cupboard and found the box of plastic spoons I had put there earlier. "I suppose you've hidden bowls somewhere?"

I shook my head. "Bowls are overrated." I walked over and opened the ice cream while he opened the box of spoons. "I would normally bring a guy a bottle of wine when he gets a new place, but... I know you don't drink."

He was actually smiling now. A real one. I gave myself ten points for that. Not that I keep an actual running score of these things, but you have to understand... When Fraser's upset, his face is a slightly less-wide mouth, furrowed brow, and slight sheen to the eyes. When he's happy, his face is a slightly wider mouth, smooth brow and wide eyes. When he's really, really happy, he actually smiles. He was actually smiling. Ten points.

"Thank you, Ray."

"Aw, stop. You wanna thank me? Give me a spoon."

We sat against the wall on the edge of the carpet where the living area turned into the kitchen area. Dief sat in front of us, all but drooling. Now and then I spooned a little morsel out and let it drop onto the linoleum so he could lick it up. I was careful not to get any chocolate in what I gave him.

I looked at Fraser digging out a bit of fudge and I thought he looked like a kid on his birthday or something. "Have you ever done this before?" I asked him.

He gave me that fish out of water look. "This?"

"Eating ice cream out of the box with someone—no bowls, just spoons."

He thought a short moment. "No."

It made me happy and sad at the same time. I loaded up my spoon and held it out. "Well, here's to your first spontaneous, late-night, screw-it-let's-have-ice-cream party."

He copied my gesture and I quickly pulled my spoon back. "You don't actually clink when you toast with spoons. That's gross," I said.

He looked down at the box, brow furrowed. "But... we've been eating out of the same—"

"That's different," I snapped.

"That doesn't make any sense, Ray."

I put my spoon in my mouth and concentrated on the sweet chocolate and vanilla with a lump of peanut butter hidden inside. Fraser got the hint and didn't try to argue anymore.

"Hey," I said when my mouth was empty again, "You wanna sleep on my sofa until you get a mattress?"

"I'll be fine," he said. "The bedroll on carpet is really quite adequate."

"Okay, if you're sure."

Another few minutes and we had slowed to a halt. There was a pool of melted ice cream around the lump left in the middle.

"You want any more?" Fraser asked.

I shook my head. "I'm stuffed." You've heard of "weak with hunger"? I was weak with fullness. Felt like I couldn't move.

Fraser put the lid on the box, got up and put it into the freezer. Then he came back and helped me up again.

"Thanks for the ice cream," he said, walking to the door with me.

"Yeah, no problem."

"And for helping me out."

"Hey, what are friends and neighbors for?"

"Right." He opened the door and I went across the hall, fishing my keys out.

I stepped into my apartment and looked back at him. Dief was peeking out between his legs, making me chuckle. "Good night, guys."

"Good night, Ray."

I waited a second, but he seemed to be waiting for me, so I closed my door first. That was weird, I thought. Neither of us had to make sure the other got safely shut inside their apartment—this was a good neighborhood and we were both capable officers of the law. But I felt kind of responsible for him, since he had just moved into my building, and all I could figure was that he felt like showing me every courtesy because I'd helped him out and because it was me leaving his place to go home and not the other way around. Still... I shook my head. It was a good weird, I guess.

I don't want anyone yelling "slash!" That's not what's going on here. K? Thanks. But I would like to hear from you, haha. ~RayK