From: <MMayerMax@aol.com> To: <MRKS@onelist.com>Subject: [MRKS] FIC-"Bad for the Soul" - 1/2 Date:Friday, December 24, 1999 12:10 PM

From: MMayerMax@aol.com

12/24/99 - Pairing - Fraser/RayKowalski. Archive - KatherineF,please, to Hexwood, if you have the time and the inclination.Rating - "NC-17" for mature themes. Category - Drama.Episode Related - "Good for the Soul." Warning -Majorspoilers for the "due South" episode "Good for theSoul." Also, this is not a cheerful Christmas story,although I think it's hopeful… Others may not agree. I'vetried to do justice to the episode, the characters, and the giftthat is "due South." I hope I've succeeded but othersmight not think so. Synopsis - Some of Fraser's thoughts aboutthe events in the episode mentioned above. Some of what happensafterwards. Feedback gratefully welcomed at<maxmayer2@JUNO.com> or on List. Dedicated to Crysothemis,through whose extraordinary generosity I was privileged to see"GftS" many times, despite TNT's attempts to keep itfrom me…. And to PG and CKR, whose brilliant performances asBenton Fraser and Ray Kowalski never fail to inspire..... And tothe ensemble cast of "due South" whose fine work"in the background" makes it possible for my stories tobe more than "voices in the dark." Thank you kindly,gentle folk. Happy Holidays to you all!

"BAD FOR THE SOUL" - by MaxineMayer, 12/23/99

I feel as though it has been snatched away from me. My time.My one chance. My only chance to be… human.

Snatched away from me, my dark time….

They came to my rescue, my friends and fellow officers of thelaw. Tripped over their feet to join me, just when I'd almostgrasped it, grasped… meaning….

I had this wondrous opportunity, this chance to know, reallyknow, what it's like to be beaten, lost, afraid, alone, reviled.Not ridiculed, not laughed at or merely mocked. Truly reviled. Toknow what it's like to lose. To have no true hope of winning. Tobe afraid.

Because I was afraid.

I was in real danger, because I was alone. I might have beenkilled. Easily. It is not an uncommon occurrence in this realm,among such people.

And for the first time, I think, since I came to Chicago, Irecognized that.

Went into a "bad place" and saw it for what it was,didn't protect myself carefully from what it was.

Went up against a "bad man" and saw him for what hewas. Didn't really expect to find the "good" inside thebad.

Begged him for what I needed - his remorse. Goaded him forwhat I also seemed to need - his fury.

I looked for something in Warfield. I'm still uncertain what.Not remorse. I knew better. Just for him to give in? Is that whatI asked him for, that he simply give up, as so many othercriminals have done before, when faced with my righteousindignation? Backed up, of course, always, by my formidablepartners….

I pushed very hard. Pushed Warfield. Pushed Ray Kowalski. AndLieutenant Welsh. Pushed myself.

But I was the one who ended up with his back to the wall.Crushed by the weight of all the no's in this little world, thispart of Chicago, this sampling of mankind, this… imperfectUniverse of ours.

No, you cannot achieve Justice.

No, you cannot teach by example.

No, you cannot save everyone.

No, you cannot overcome the world, all by yourself, on yourown.

You can only die for it.

And then they will forget you, because you are notChrist….

I almost had it - despair - agony and anguish andhopelessness….

They took it from me, my friends, fellow officers of thelaw….

Perhaps that is the greatest darkness of all, for me. Thehumiliation of losing even the possibility of despair….

Not good enough. I am not good enough to face true darkness.Survive true darkness. I didn't survive it - I was rescued fromit by my friends, whom I love. Who forgive me for my rigidity andselfishness and arrogance and instability and heartlessness andinhumanity, forgive me for who I am, forgive me, every day of theweek, with love….

I am not grateful.

I am an ingrate.

I do love them. Truly.

But I was not grateful that they bailed me out, snatched mefrom the jaws of death and despair, then.

And I am still ungrateful, now.

I want to be a hero, God forgive me!

I want to be a hero.

This brush with death disillusioned me. It was bad for thesoul….

* * *

"You okay, Fraser?" Ray Kowalski calls, following meout of the bullpen, away from the Christmas party, down thehallway towards the outside door. Rushing to catch up with me,running after me again, as always. Almost always….

"I'm fine, Ray," I tell him, lying in my teeth. Inearly cannot swallow, I am so not fine. He mustn't know this.

"Ya got, ya know, plans? Fer Christmas?" he asks,catching up with me and putting a hand on my sleeve, to stop mefrom leaving the precinct. He is not wearing his coat.

"No, Ray, I don't have plans. I don't celebrateChristmas. However, Inspector Thatcher and Constable Turnbull andI will eat dinner together tomorrow, Christmas day, before theyboth fly home to Canada to be with their families."

"That sucks," Ray tells me, and I can see by thelook on his face that it hurts him to know that I will be alonethrough the entire holiday season, straight through New Year'sDay.

"It's all right. I have… plans of a sort. There areseveral books I wish to read. Highly recommended by reviewerswhose opinions I value. And the classical radio station herealways plays some of the greatest music at this time of year-"

"Fraser!"

"Yes, Ray?" I knew he would interrupt me. Books andclassical music are no substitute for friends and relatives, toRay. Not even to me. I had to try, though, to make him stopworrying about me. Futile. I should know better.

"If you're not doing anything now, well, neither am I.How 'bout we go get something to eat, rent a flick? Watch it atmy place?"

I don't reply. It is a tempting way to spend the evening butmy heart is very heavy, my spirit is at a very low point. I willbring Ray down with me, if I spend time with him.

Ray sees that I am hesitating and presses his suit. "Thentomorrow we can take Dief for a run, maybe see if we can get sometickets to a - a concert or something, after Thatcher andTurnbull leave. Your kinda music, okay?"

His heart is in his eyes. How he loves me! It is truly a sin,to let oneself care so much for another person. Risk so much. Icould never do that. Not after Victoria. Never.

Nevertheless, I find myself saying yes, at least to thisevening's proposed agenda. I know that Ray doesn't want to bealone and - for reasons that I don't want to think about or evenconsider - will not spend the holidays with his family. They have"made up" but still…. Something is not truly rightthere. I am afraid to learn just what is wrong. I do not trust myown reactions if what I think is wrong is actually thecase….

"Thank you kindly, Ray. I am feeling a bit hungry.Perhaps - Chinese?"

He lights up like a Christmas tree when I agree to have supperwith him.

Once he remarked - oh, long ago, when we first met - that Ilooked like something off a Christmas tree. He was right - I ammerely an ornament, compared to him. Of course, that was not whathe was trying to say about me at all….

Yet, he was right.

It is Ray who bears the light, the true light from within.

I wish he did not love me quite so much. It makes everythingbetween us terribly difficult. It is difficult for me to maintainthe kind of distance I keep from Francesca and Inspector Thatcherand Constable Turnbull and… others who love me.

I want their friendship. I do not want their love.

Very hard to maintain.

With Ray, it is harder.

We are always together. Or so it seems. Morning, noon andnight. At work and at play. Through stakeouts and car chases andruns with Dief and lunches and suppers and after-a-case-is-solvedsandwiches and coffee or beer and - always.

Wonderful that we are always together.

Difficult that we are always together.

Similar to what happened with Ray Vecchio and me….

But Ray Vecchio had a life. He had a real family - people whotruly loved him. He had other male friends with whom he spent atleast some of his spare time. He had women….

Ray Kowalski has nobody.

Wants nobody.

Nobody but me.

It is very difficult to hold Ray Kowalski at arms' length.

But I try.

I do a great deal of sighing and smiling and clearing mythroat and talking.

I try.

And I succeed.

Another triumph which is bad for the soul, it appears….

Ray selects a foreign film - Chinese, with English subtitles -at the video rental shop. "Farewell My Concubine." Thisis a generous concession to me, I imagine, because his eyes arenot good. But I am incorrect in that assumption.

"I seen it three times, Fraser - you'll love it! Loadedwith history and costumes and lotsa little details that you canmemorize and remind me about, when I get 'em wrong!"

"It's not about history, Ray. 'Farewell My Concubine' isa love story, pure and simple."

"Ya seen it?" he asks, disappointed that he hasn'tsurprised me with something new.

"No, but I've read some of the reviews. It's clearly alove story."

"Well, those guys can be wrong. I say it's about history.Not just a love story. We'll watch it and then you can decide,okay?"

"Very well. I have no objection to seeing the movie. Itis purported to be one of the great films of our time," Ireply, and wait while he pays for the rental.

Ray has decorated his apartment with some Christmas ornaments,red and gold garlands and tinsel, but he has no tree.

However, the living room is tidy, for a change. I wonderwhether he made a date for Christmas Eve who cancelled at thelast minute. Whether he is disappointed about that. I conjecturethat, if he expected his date to come back here, perhaps have sexwith him, it would explain the unusual attempt at cleanliness andorder….

"Got some apple cider in the fridge, Fraser," hetells me with a grin. "Ya like cider?"

"Very much. Is it homemade?"

"Yeah, it's from the health food store near the precinct.They claim it's fresh - no preservatives, no additives, the wholenine yards. So we better drink it all up before it goes bad onus. It better be sweet!"

"Thank you, Ray. That will be… very nice,indeed."

"Well, I thought a you when I got it. I know ya don'tdrink beer or wine or nothin' and I wanted somethin' special forthe holidays."

I stare at him. "You - you planned to ask me to spendChristmas Eve with you, Ray?"

"Yeah. Of course. What else? I know you got nobody. I gotnobody. Stella'd sooner spend time with a rattlesnake thanme." He flicks his wrist. "So, yeah, I hoped we'd bedoing that thing we do, tonight."

"That is… very generous of you, Ray," I tellhim.

What he's told me is a terrible thing. I'm almost speechlesswhen I hear it. Feel close to tears.

I lick my lower lip and when my tongue touches the bruise nearmy mouth I am aware of how I must look. It must be painful forRay to look at me. If he'd been beaten in such a way, I'd beinsane with fury at the perpetrators. I would not rest until I'dgiven as good as Ray had gotten….

Ray, however, is not a violent man. Nearly all his anger isdirected inward and his rage is simply a posture. He has a bit ofanger left over for other people - criminals - sufficient to makehim a determined police officer. But fury, rage - these are notpart of him. Loud noise is a part of him….

I smile ruefully.

"What?"

"Nothing. Well. Something. I was thinking about ourfacades."

"Our - whats?"

"Our masks. You wear a mask of anger and violence, whileinside you are a man of peace. I wear a mask of imperturbability,while inside I am a very… angry man."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes."

"You angry at Warfield? Them goons who beat you up?"he asks as he hands me a glass of cider, puts his mug on thecoffee table, and joins me on the couch.

"Not really, no. It was my fault."

"Yours? How ya figure that?"

"I went where angels fear to tread. Got what I deserved.I'm no angel, Ray."

"Close enough," Ray replies with a quick grin.

"Don't be foolish. You said it yourself, I'm selfish. Youwere right."

"We're all selfish, Fraser. Some more than others. You,least of anybody I ever met, except my mum." He's holdingthe remote control, ready to start the film, but doesn't."You gonna throw that crack I made about you bein' selfishin my face every time we hassle, from now on?"

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to allude to that ina… bad way, Ray. I simply believe you hit upon a truth aboutme that few people realize, and I am grateful that someone - you- does know. I hope you won't forget and be disappointed when Iexhibit behavior which is selfish, in future."

"Yeah," he says dismissively, "we should all beso selfish. All be unlucky enough to have lots and lots a selfishguys like you fer friends. Which ain't happenin', 'cause thereain't no other guys like you." He presses the remote and thetrailers for future films available on video come up on screen."Let's watch this. I think you're gonna love it." Hesettles back into the cushions, grabbing his mug of cider on theway.

"I'm sure I will, Ray," I tell him. I take a sip ofthe cider and carefully lean back against the cushions on my endof the couch. My back hurts. My hip hurts. My whole body aches. Ido what I can to hide this from Ray, remembering how brave he waswhen he'd been beaten by a professional prizefighter some timeago. It wouldn't do to give in to the pain. Wouldn't do to beless brave than the next man, even if the next man is RayKowalski, who never gives in, never gives up…. Who is thebravest person I've ever known, even taking into account myfather….

The film begins and not ten minutes pass before I amidentifying with the younger boy, the "female" of the"duet." Ray identifies with him, as well. He tells mehe thinks the older boy, the "male," is like me.Protective, strong, perfect, no identity problems. He tells methat he sees himself as the younger boy, the weaker one.

I, of course, say "ah" and "hmm" manytimes. I don't tell Ray that I also identify with the younger,"female" boy/man. That I see Ray as the strong andprotective older "male" boy/man.

I don't tell Ray that he is wearing his heart on his sleeve.That his love for me is evident in his interpretation of themovie, as is mine for him. Which he must not know.

We are both teary-eyed and exhausted by the time this verylong film is over.

But the evening is not over, not for us.

Ray asks me - perhaps imagining that enough time has passedfor me to have forgotten what he told me earlier - "Ya thinkthe older guy knew? I mean, really knew, how the younger one feltabout him?"

"Yes. He knew."

"So - like, why didn't he say anything?"

"Are you serious, Ray?" I ask, astounded that hedoesn't understand.

"Yeah, I'm serious! I don't get it. How could he gothrough his whole life without leveling with the younger guy? Atleast telling the younger guy that it's hopeless? That he shouldfind somebody else? Why don't he chase the younger guy away, ifhe doesn't feel the same way?"

"Ray, the older man is -" I stop, I don't even knowhow to begin to explain the complexities drawn in this film toRay.

"The older man is? What, Frase?"

"The older man needs the younger one. Desperately."

"And?"

"And… he needs him. That's all. He needs the youngerman in every conceivable way. Except -" I cannot say it, butRay knows, finishes my sentence.

"Except sexually? That it, Frase?"

"In the movie, yes," I say. And flush. I can feelthe heat in my face. How could I have let such phrasing slip frommy mouth? I cough but do not succeed in distracting Ray from myerror or his questions.

"Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"You feel like that older guy, in the movie?" heasks. "You identify with him?"

The question I've been dreading. I thought I'd gotten awaywithout answering it, when Ray told me all about hisidentification with the younger man, and didn't ask me who I feltmore like.

"No, Ray, I don't."

"Ya don't?" He is puzzled, now. I can hear it in hisvoice, see it on his face.

"I, too, identify with the younger man. Who is hopelesslyin love with someone he cannot have, except as a partner and afriend."

"You feel that way, too?" It seems Ray is havingtrouble accepting this fact.

"Yes, Ray. The film is designed that way," I explaincarefully, patiently. "Designed - written, directed, shot -so that every viewer identifies with the younger man -"

"So, like, it don't mean nothing? I mean, that I feelthat way, and you feel that way? It's - it's just the way themovie was made?"

"I believe so. For the most part, the story is told fromthe younger man's point of view. Through his eyes, so to speak.We know his pain, his suffering, his heartbreak. We don't reallyknow what is happening in the heart and mind of the olderman."

"Oh, I get it. That's why we get mad at the older guywhen he makes the younger guy miserable. I see dat. That's great.Greatness!" His eyes light up, and his face, too, and he'shappy again. And I don't know why.

"You like that?" I ask.

"Sure! It's like dancing, a dance routine. Figured outjust so, to get you where you want to be, at the end."

"That's why you like it - to know that?" I askagain, certain that there must be more to account for thepleasure Ray evidently finds in my explanation.

"Okay, Fraser, you're right. That's not the only reason.I'm also not sorry to look at the movie that way - from a zillionmiles off. It didn't feel so good to hurt like that, for theyounger guy. To think - to hurt like that. Like him."

"I see."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do. You always see. Everything."

I look over at him, startled by the sudden sarcasm, thedownward spiral of his mood, also sudden.

"Are you angry with me, Ray?" I ask. It isdelightful to think that. That he is angry with me. I'm not surewhy that's true, but it surely is.

"Yeah, Fraser, I'm angry with you. You punched thestuffing out of the movie, for me. I'll never watch it againwithout thinking about points of view and a director and acameraman. You screwed with the beauty of the thing for me. Yeah.So, I'm angry with you. Don't worry about it, I'll get over it. Ialways do."

"I'm sorry, Ray. Truly, I am -"

And again, suddenly, he turns on me. "Why'd ya do it,Frase? You knew I loved this flick. You knew what you said wouldspoil it for me. Why?"

"I - I don't know why," I tell him. But I do. I do.

"Ya sure you wanna leave it there - that you don't knowwhy?" Ray presses with his best detective voice."Because you do know, Fraser. And so do I."

"Ray -"

"Hit too close to home, huh, good buddy? Friend?Partner?"

"What?"

"You and Vecchio were real tight, right? Like the guys inthe movie? You and me, we're real tight, too. And there's noplace for it to go, is there? Not with Vecchio, not with me. This- tightness? No place to go with it. Never. Straight guys don'tgo no place with it, they just punch each other on the arm and doa little boxer's two-step and move on, right? To the next girl,and the next girl, until the 'right' girl comes along, just likefor the older guy in the movie, and they get married and livehappily ever after. Right?"

His belligerence is astounding and beautiful. As is his graspof the truth. Breathtaking. I cannot breathe.

I stand and face him. He is still sitting on the couch, buthis feet are on the floor, not on the coffee table, and he'shunched over, ready to stand on a moment's notice, at any leastsign of a threat.

Like this one.

"I'm leaving now, Ray. Thank you kindly for the dinner.And for the movie. Dief, come."

Ray is up and he's all over me. "You are not leaving,Fraser! Come on, come on. How about it? More than partners? Morethan friends? Huh? Come on, Fraser, let's do it!"

I step back, as far out of his space as possible. I shake myhead no.

"Frase," he says softly, all the anger gone from hisvoice. A plea. "I'm not - I'm not pushing ya just for thefun of it. I love you, ya gotta know that."

"I do know that, Ray. I'm leaving now. Please forgive me.This is - this is something I cannot do. I am not angry. Ipromise you that. It's simply - it's impossible. Forgiveme."

* * *

I turn on my heel and without a thought for whether or notDiefenbaker is following me, grab my overcoat and my Stetson andrush out of Ray's apartment. Down the steps and out of thebuilding. Into the clean, cold Winter air. I take many deepbreaths, bending over as if I'd run a race as I do so.

I cannot even feel the pain in my back or my side or the bruises on my face, now. The pain in my heart is so great,overwhelming.

I've done it! I've done it! Pushed him away!

He "made a move on me" and I pushed him away!

I am thrilled, exhilarated! I did it!

No one will ever come in again, I'd promised myself. But Iwasn't certain I could prevent it. Help myself. Keep myselfclosed to the importunings of such reckless, volatile, dangerouspeople as Victoria or Ray Vecchio or Ray Kowalski. Wasn't certainat all.

But I did it! I pushed Ray Kowalski away, as I never couldpush Victoria away! As I was never required to push Ray Vecchioaway.

Triumph!

Praise God, I am free and whole and me, again. Nobody in,nobody out. Good.

Love is bad for the soul.

Trust is bad for the soul.

Makes a person believe he is not alone, that he has madecontact, forged a bond, a link with another person.

These dangerous ones - first they destroy my peace andsolitude, and then they would destroy my life as I know it.

Once upon a time I was too weak to fight it, too naïve to seeit, too foolish to fear it, with Victoria. Ray Vecchio warned me,in his way, by treating my affair with Victoria as if it were anordinary man and woman thing. A love story. A romance. By smilingand being happy for me. For his Benny.

His reaction reminded me of what I knew in my heart - thatthere was no Benny, that there was no Vicky, as Ray Vecchioprobably would have called Victoria, had he met her underdifferent circumstances.

There was no romance.

There was only desperation, driving fear, lust, love. Andfinally, when I was alone again, despair.

Nothing romantic, nothing like Ray Vecchio's relationshipswith women, even the worst of them.

Nothing beautiful….

And not something to be sought after, hoped for, or repeated.

Something to be fought against, rebuffed, murdered, ifnecessary.

Women like Victoria, men like Ray Kowalski - their love, theiroverwhelming love - will destroy me. I know in my soul that Imust destroy such people before they destroy me. And now I'veaccomplished that, with Ray.

I wasn't sure I could, particularly after these recentset-backs. Particularly after he called me selfish, when all Iwas doing was being myself…. Particularly after he told mehe was proud of me, when I knew he was not….

"Fraser?"

"Go away, Ray. Leave me alone. I'm all right." Itell him this while I'm still doubled over near the curb, handson my knees, vomiting all of my dinner onto the roadside.

"I can see that," he replies sarcastically."You need a doctor? The hospital? Food poisoning?"

"No -"

"Knew that. Okay, ya want I should drive you home? Or yawanna come back up ta my place and rest for a while? It's stillearly."

"Ray, I can't -" I try to take a deep breath butstill cannot get enough air into my lungs. I notice that I'mcrying only when the tears slip into my mouth and I taste them onmy tongue.

"Can't what? Let me drive you home? Or come up and sleepover, where I can keep an eye on you, make sure you'reokay?"

I manage to stand, finally. I'm about to wipe my mouth with myhand when Ray gives me a handkerchief and I use that.

"Frase?"

I rub my hand over my forehead. Squeeze my eyes shut. The lookon his face - pure concern, no anger, no resentment, no love,even. Simply concern for my well-being. It is awful to see.

Awful and beautiful to see.

I have not destroyed him, after all. Clearly, he isindestructible. Beautiful and awesome and indestructible.Incredible.

My relief is incredible, as well.

"Yes, all right. Thank you. I'll come up for a moment. Ineed to use the bathroom. Wash up. I would like a drink ofwater."

"Wow, whole sentences! Right after puking your guts up inthe gutter - no pun intended! You're the best, Fraser!" Rayteases with a grin, then picks up my Stetson and my overcoat fromwhere I've dropped them - thank goodness, several feet away fromthe mess I've made. He puts his hand under my elbow and guides meback into his building. I do not need that but I don't try toshake his hand off. It is not necessary to be rude. Cruel shouldbe sufficient. Rude is… overkill, Ray would tell me.

Ray checks out my face when I come out of the bathroom."Frannie did a good job with that ointment, Fraser," hecomments with a little bit of humor returning to his voice, whichis a relief to me after those few minutes of absolute seriousnesswhile he got my tunic off me and led me to the toilet."There won't be any scarring, I don't think."

"And if there is?" I ask, perversely, joining him onthe couch. Can he even conceive of the plague this perfect faceis to me, in my life?

"I'll be the only one left who loves you, then!" heteases once more, with the grin I call his "try to top thisone" look. Truly indestructible, Ray Kowalski….

"I fear not, Ray," I find myself saying, only awareof what I've actually admitted when I notice his eyebrows go up."Even scars will not dissuade Francesca."

"Ya got me there, buddy," he replies, laughing."So, then, it's Frannie, and me" - he's counting off onhis fingers - "and Thatcher, and Turnbull, and Vecchio -when he gets back - and who else?"

"I cannot think of anyone else, at the moment, Ray,"I say. I'm smiling, too. I can tell by the pain beneath my lip,where the bruise opened up when I washed my mouth and smearedtoothpaste over my teeth and tongue with a finger.

Ray is slouched on the sofa again, but his feet are on thefloor, this time. He's ready for anything. He doesn't quite trustthe peace…. I do not blame him.

"It's still a little early for me, but if you're tired,Frase, you can have the bedroom - I just changed the sheets - andI can stay up a while longer, in here. I'll sleep on the couchwhen I get tired."

I am feeling perverse, almost vicious. Not angry - not at Ray- but too tired to fight any of the emotions that well up in me,particularly one emotion.

"You changed the sheets, Ray? Were you expectingsomeone?" I ask.

He grins, agrees readily. "Yeah, I had a hot date plannedfer tonight. But she crapped out on me so I ended up settling foryou!" He shakes his head. "You nuts, Frase? I changedthe sheets. It don't mean nothing. I took the dirty ones to thelaundry and threw on some clean ones."

"Oh."

"Oh? Not 'ah' or 'mmm'?"

"I'm sorry, Ray. That was uncalled for. I'm… verytired. Somehow, out of control, tonight -"

"Out of control?" He snorts. "I wish!"

"I am. I've said many… hurtful things to youtonight. I apologize. I hope you will forgive me."

"I forgive ya, Fraser," Ray says immediately.

"Well, that's - I'm happy to hear that, Ray."

"We still partners?" he asks. I have said thehurtful things but he asks.

"Of course," I answer quickly. Then, "If youwish to be my partner."

"I wish to be your partner," he replies solemnly."I wish to be your friend, too. We still friends,Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray, we're still friends, for as long as you'llhave me."

"And the other stuff, the rest of it?" His voice islow, his tone even, without a shred of hope.

"That is… impossible, Ray."

"Because?"

I do not reply.

"Frase? Because? Because you don't love me thatway?"

"I - It is impossible, Ray. Please don't ask me forthat."

"Because you don't feel that way about guys? Aboutme?" he presses.

"Ray -"

"Are you like that guy in the movie, Fraser? You wanteverything but the one thing?"

"No, I am not like him." I cannot lie to Ray, notnow.

"You do want everything, even the one thing?" Hisvoice rises. He is incredulous.

"I won't do this again, Ray. Never. I cannot. Pleasedon't ask me again. Don't… try again. I beg of you.Please." My passionate plea is delivered with no heat,little inflexion in my voice, and with my eyes fixed on a pointfar across the room, not on Ray's face.

After what seems like minutes of silence I venture a glance atRay. He is staring at me. When I turn to him he looks away,settles himself into the couch, his elbows on his knees, andstares at the floor.

"Ray? Are you all right?"

"Is that our theme song, Fraser?" he mutters."'Are you all right?'"

"I simply want to know. As did you, about me, a whileago."

"I'm okay. Just - I've known from the beginning that youhad the hots for me." He holds up one hand, the one withoutthe bracelet, raises one finger. Doesn't look at me. "Don'tinterrupt, don't deny. Major hots. I knew. I figured I'd take mytime, not rush you. Canadian guy, maybe not too much experiencewith sex, with men, with anybody. Take my time. Never doubted I'dget where I was going, mind you. Just -" he flicks hiswrist, hand still up to prevent me from talking - "figuredI'd let you… relax into it, ya know?" Now he glances atme, quickly. He seems to be reassured by whatever expression - orlack thereof - is on my face. He goes on. "I know you loveme, Fraser. I know it. Even if you denied it, I'd know." Hepauses. "You don't deny it. You just tell me no on the sexthing."

"Ray -"

"So, well - it's okay." He puts his hand down andlooks at me. "I mean, it's okay. I'm not saying I don't needsex, just that - that I can do without it, if I gotta. There'salways the other thing. Ya know. Masturbation. If you don'twanna, it's okay with me. Partners, friends. Love, the alrightkind. No sex."

I don't speak. I cannot speak. I swallow, look away, lookdown, begin to cry. Sob. Sob like a child. Like a child who haslost his best friend.

"Fraser!" He scoots over on the couch and puts anarm around me and I bury my head in his chest, against his chest,and both his arms close around me, as I cry.

After a few minutes I manage to mutter, "Bad for thesoul."

"What? What's bad for the soul?"

"Life," I tell him. "It's dreadful for thesoul."

"Yeah, I'm all over dat," Ray replies, and his handgoes up and ruffles my hair. "Also, getting beat up. That'sbad for the soul."

"I think it is, Ray," I tell his shirt.

"Not having your friends around when you need 'em, alsolousy for the soul, huh, Fraser?"

I begin to cry again. "It hurt, Ray."

"The beating?"

"No, you. You - left."

"I'm sorry. My mistake. Thought I could pressure you outof it, if I left, showed ya how dumb a move I thought you were making, with Warfield. Dumb cop, me."

"I never faced - faced… Chicago, alone,before," I murmur.

"If I have my way, ya never will again,Benton-buddy."

"I didn't trust your judgment, yours and theLieutenant's. I'm sorry."

"Wrong call, start to finish, yours, mine, Welsh's - allof us."

"That's very generous of you, Ray," I reply, lookingup at him now. He wipes my cheeks with his palm, wipes away mytears. I keep talking. "I understand, now. I can't beat thesystem - not alone. Together. Solidarity…. Together, maybe,we can…" I take a deep breath. "I wanted to be ahero, do what others could not - or would not - do. Riskeverything. I thought I had nothing to lose…."

"Do you have somethin' to lose?"

"My life."

"Not so ready to die, now?" Ray mutters with a smallsmile.

"I don't think I am ready to die, Ray. There's so much-" I trip over the words. Try again. "There's so much -I have so much to live for."

"You're getting it, Frase. I don't want you to die, oreven get roughed up. Ya gotta think a that, a little bit, atleast, when you go up against guys like Warfield."

"I will think about that, Ray."

"Okay, good. That's great, greatness." He looksaround for a minute. "Where was I? Oh yeah, time for you togo to bed. No argument. Sleep it off, and if whatever they doneto your back and your hip ain't better by tomorrow, you are goingto the doctor, no argument."

He knows. About my back and my hip. Not just my face.

"I'm certain I'll be fine in the morning. Your bed appears to be very comfortable. A good night's sleep and I'll befine."

"Yeah, sure, good as new," Ray says as he helps meup and negotiates our way to his bedroom. "Ya need anything,middle of the night, you reach out, Frase."

"Yes, Ray."

I sink onto his bed, which is indeed comfortable, and sit fora moment, working up the energy to take off my boots and the restof my clothes.

Before I know it, Ray is there, undoing the laces, pulling theboots off, pushing me down on the bed, pulling the blankets upover me. "Ya don't need to get all undressed. Just try tosleep. If you go to the john during the night you can strip offsome of the rest of this stuff."

"Thank you, Ray."

"Think nothing of it, Fraser." And he does the"guy-two-step-boxer-macho" thing near the bed andsmiles down at me.

He goes to the doorway and then turns to me again. My eyeshaven't left him yet. Won't leave him, until he's gone."Merry Christmas, Fraser. Gifts in the morning. We'll driveover and pick up yours for me from the Consulate. I got mine foryou in the closet."

"I do have a gift for you, Ray."

"Hey, I know that! Guy makes me a present for somebodyelse's birthday, you think I don't know he made me something realspecial for Christmas!"

"I did."

"Me, too, Fraser."

"You made a gift for me, with your own hands?" Iask, surprised enough to lift myself up with my elbows a fewinches, the better to see his face.

"You'll see, in the morning."

"You made me a gift with your own hands, Ray?" Irepeat.

"What, ya think I got no talent?"

"I didn't say that -"

"I made you something," he replies firmly. "Youbetter like it."

"I'm sure I will."

"Good. Now, sleep. We're on for tomorrow, for a Dief runand a concert, after Thatcher and Turnbull leave, right?"

"Yes, Ray, if you like."

"I like. Now, lights - on or off?"

"Off, please."

"Dief - in or out?"

"Out, please. He'll be happier in the living room withyou. He doesn't like to go to sleep when there's somethinginteresting in the offering."

"Interesting? Me watching TV is interesting?"

"To Dief, yes." I pause. "To me, also."

"Yeah, well, don't make me blush, here, Fraser. Goodnight. Sleep well. Ya can borrow my dreamcatcher, any nightmarescome your way."

"Thank you kindly, Ray."

"You're welcome. Very. Welcome."

I feel welcome. When he turns off the light, closes the doorand leaves the bedroom I don't feel alone. It seems as if thereis merely a membrane between us, separating us. A very thinmembrane. It is very real but also quite fragile….

I pull Ray's blankets close around me. They are very soft and warm.

I feel battered, inside and out. Bruised, in every conceivableway. "Batter my heart, three-personed God," I murmur.It's from a poem that comes to mind. Irrelevantly, I believe. I'mtoo tired now even to recall who wrote it.

I feel too good, too well. Bruised, tired, battered, yet…well. I am astonished at the feeling of well-being that pervadesmy spirit. I feel… lifted up.

Might it be, is it possible, that I have survived this darkexperience and come out of it better off than before? Not alesser man, not less of a man in any way - although a poorspecimen of a hero, overtaken as I was by despair at the firsttaste of real pain, after a pitifully few steps on a solitaryroad….

Perhaps love is not bad for the soul.

Perhaps love is actually good for the soul.

Perhaps love is good for my soul.

Perhaps Ray Kowalski's love is good for my soul….

I am uncertain if my love is good for him. That he wants mylove is not to say that it is good for him.

All the dangers are vivid in my mind, still. All the dangersthat ever were, are now, and might be, in the future, vivid andbright - like stars.

Stars. In a comfortable blue velvet night sky.

The dangers, vivid.

As I feel, to myself.

Vivid. In a comfortable soft-mattressed bed.

Ray's bed.

Ray's bed, I am suddenly certain, is good for the soul.

Ray's bed is good for my soul….

I must be sure to tell him that first thing in the morning -Christmas morning - I think, right before I fall asleep.

***