Dolphin-san: Was up y'all? Here's the next part of the story for those who read it.

Thanks to Seto's Nice Girl and Shainfor reviewing the last chapter. I loved hearing from both of you and they inspired me to post this update (I've had it complete for a couple of days now) so thank you both tremendously.

Oh and to answer Shain's question, if anyone else was wondering, the reason for Max being able to carry children is that it's a genetic condition resulting from experiments back in the 40's. Male's who can get pregnant are called carriers. The carrier gene is the recessive gene so both the mother and father have to have the recessive gene for the male child to get it. So it's not uncommon for a male to be pregnant in this AU but people would still stare.

Chapter 3

'Look, I'm really sorry about yesterday,' said Ray. 'I got into all kinds of bother with a customer and ended up having to work through my lunch break, otherwise I'd have-'

'It's okay, doesn't matter. You don't need to apologise.'

Ray blinked icy rain out of his eyes and rummaged though his bag. If his fingers were frozen he couldn't imagine how the man on the pavements must feel.

'Ham and tomato today, is that alright? And I thought these might come in handy.' Digging deeper, he unearthed a pair of tan leather gloves and a black knitted scarf.

'These are great. Thanks very much.' The man smiled up at him. 'Did you knit this?'

Ray rolled his eyes.

'God, no, picked it up in Oxfam. I couldn't knit to save my life.'

'Well, thanks anyway. Very warm.'

He had a nice voice. Ray watched him wrap the scarf around his neck and slide his fingers into the gloves. He ruffled his own hair, unexpectedly embarrassed. All of a sudden he felt like a bossy uncle forcing his nephew to try on his least favourite Christmas present.

And be suitably grateful.

Damn, he wished he hadn't given him the stupid things now.

'Better get back.' Hurriedly, he consulted his watch. 'Don't want to get into any more trouble.'

'These are expensive gloves.' The man was peeling one back at the wrist, reading the label. 'Harvey Nichols, it says here.'

'I didn't buy them,' said Ray, anxious to get away. When his light eyebrows went up, he added, 'Don't worry, I didn't steal them either.'

The phone rang in the salon an hour later. Ray, who was busy sweeping hair, dimly heard Bev, at the desk, exclaim happily, 'Oh hi, yes we do have them, we wondered who they belonged to!'

Another two minutes elapsed before Bev tapped Ray on the shoulder.

'Ray, that was a client on the phone. Any idea what's happened to those gloves that were left in the cloakroom? He's dropping by this afternoon to pick them up and I can't find them anywhere. D'you know if Takao put them in his office?'

'Oh hell.' Ray straightened up and let out a groan. For three and a half weeks the gloves had lain unclaimed on a shelf in the cloakroom, and now . . . well, life was just too unfair.

'What does that mean?' Bev was instantly suspicious. 'Oh hell what?'

'They went to a deserving cause.'

'Don't tell me, you gave them to that tame tramp of yours.' Bev guessed at once from the look on Ray's face. 'Oh, you are hopeless. What on earth am I going to say to the client when he turns up?'

'Um . . .'

'And Takao is going to kill you.'

'He won't.' Ray spoke with more conviction than he felt. 'I asked if I could have them. He said it was okay.'

Well, he had. Kind of. The only niggling drawback was, Takao had been pretty busy at the time. And although technically he had said yes, Ray couldn't help feeling that maybe he'd meant yes, he could have the gloves if nobody turned up to claim them within, say, the next six months.

Rather then the next six seconds.

He bit his lip.

'Well, if Takao said it was okay,' said Bev, 'that's fine. He can make the grovelling apologies when the client gets here. Maybe he'd even like to pop along to Harvey Nichols and buy him another pair.'

Ray winced.

'After all,' Bev continued remorselessly, 'those gloves cost about two hundred quid.'

They were great friends. She was extremely fond of Ray, who was dippy and good-hearted. The trouble was, Ray was always getting himself into . . . well, trouble. He had a habit of making mistakes.

'Well?' said Bev.

'Okay, okay,' Ray groaned, thrusting the broom into her hands. 'Just cover for me. If Takao asks where I am, tell him I'm in the loo. I'll be back in two minutes.'

As he raced to the door, Bev called after him, 'Honestly, the muddles you get yourself into.' She broke into a large grin. 'I'm glad I'm not you.'

Me too, thought Ray as he pelted hell for leather up the Brompton Road, I wish I wasn't me either.

Oh God, this was going to be awkward.

He was still there, thank goodness. When he spotted Ray running towards him, he nodded and raised one hand briefly in greeting, waggling his fingers to show him he was still wearing the nice warm gloves.

'This,' Ray said, 'is so embarrassing.'

'What's wrong?'

Ray's teeth began to chatter with cold and shame. It was still raining and he'd dashed out without his coat.

'The gloves. They . . . er, belong to someone. And . . . um, well, now they want them back.'

Dear God, what must he think of me? Playing Mr Bountiful one minute and all but stripping him naked the next.

The man didn't even blink.

'Okay.'

'Sorry,' said Ray with an air of desperation. 'I fell terrible.'

'And I keep telling you, no need to apologise.' He peeled off the gloves and held them out to Ray, smiling faintly as he did so. 'They weren't really me, anyway.'

'Thanks.'

Feeling a complete heel, Ray took them from him.

'Do you need the scarf back as well?'

'No! Stop,' Ray almost yelled in alarm as he began to unwind it from around his neck, 'you can definitely keep the scarf!'

'That's okay then.' Relieved, the man on the pavement patted it back into place. 'Actually, I prefer the scarf.' His dark eyes registered self-deprecating amusement. 'It's much more my style.'

As Ray burst through the tinted glass door of the salon, he heard a male voice saying, '. . . at least now I don't have to buy a new pair.' In the nick of time, Ray shoved the gloves under his slightly baggy T-shirt.

Bev, who had been stalling the man and simultaneously doing her best to impress him with (a) her chest and (b) her dazzling repartee, visibly exhaled when she saw Ray and raised an eyebrow at the way he was clutching his stomach.

'Mission accomplished,' Ray murmured when they met up in the cloakroom. Producing the gloves with a flourish, he waved them in front of Bev, like cow's udders.

'This is known as a skin-of-your-teeth experience. He's in a rush.' Bev grabbed the gloves, wafting them suspiciously under her nose. 'God, if he knew where they'd been.'

Ray looked offended. 'I had a shower this morning.'

'Not you, you idiot. Homeless Herbert. It's probably weeks since he last saw a bar of soap.'

Ray followed her out of the cloakroom.

'Great, thanks.' The man took the gloves, then frowned. 'They're warm.'

He looked at Bev. Bev, stumped, gazed back at him.

'It's cold outside,' Ray chimed in helpfully. 'As soon as you rang, Bev put them on the radiator to warm up.'

Relieved, Bev nodded vigorously.

'That was nice of you.' He grinned at her.

'Bev's a thoughtful girl,' said Ray. 'Single too,' he went on, barely wincing as beneath the desk a stiletto heel jabbed into his foot. 'She's make someone a wonderful wife.'

When the client had left, Takao beckoned Ray over to him.

'So the gloves have been claimed?'

'Mmm. Lucky he came before I ran off with them.'

'Very lucky.'

Takao kept a straight face as he returned his attention to the hair he was cutting. Did Ray think he was blind and stupid?

'What's that smell?' Ray wrinkled his nose as he burst into Florence's living room. 'It's all in the hallway . . . crikey, it's even stronger in here. Ah, you've had a visitor.'

'I have been visited,' Florence solemnly agreed, as Ray eyed the teapot and two cups and saucers on the table. 'By Elizabeth.'

'Poor you. What was it this time,' Ray shrugged off his coat, 'more raffle tickets?'

Elizabeth Turnbull, their next-door neighbour, was a divorcee in her mid-forties who devoted half her life to charity fund-raising and the other half to squirting on perfume. She was a nice enough woman, if a bit on the bossy side. Overpowering in every sense of the word.

'Worse.' As she spoke, Florence pushed a couple of stiff white invitations across the table. 'Tickets to a cocktail party, if you please. Twenty quid a head, but they've rustled up a few celebrities,' she raised her asymmetrically pencilled eyebrows, 'so apparently it's a bargain. You get a free glass of champagne and the chance to hob-nob with the rich and famous. And, of course, it's all in the name of a tremendously good cause.'

'I'm sure it'll be tremendous fun, too.' Ray, in turn, mimicked Elizabeth's strident tones. He glanced at the gilt-edged invitations, each one admitting two guests. 'Actually, it might be fun. You could do with a night out.'

'Oh, I'm not going.'

'Why on earth not?'

'The party's being held in a third-floor flat. No elevators in the building.' Drily, Florence added, 'No Stannah Stairlift either. The only way I'd get in is if a helicopter dropped me through the roof.'

'So you paid eighty pounds for tickets and you aren't even going to turn up?' Ray shook his head, bemused. 'Honestly, and you call me a soft touch.'

Florence shrugged. She had her caustic-old-battleaxe image to think of.

'It was the only way to get rid of Elizabeth before the stench of that godawful scent of hers started dissolving the carpet. Anyway, I'll give one of the tickets to Verity and Bruce. The dos being held on their wedding anniversary – those kind of meet-the-celebrity functions are right up their street.'

Dolphin-san: Oh I'm having so much fun writing this. Please keep reviewing as it's the fuel that drives me.