Just a Little Push
by Cat Young

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Thump.

Leaping about in time, I've landed in some pretty strange places. Flight simulators, operating rooms, foxholes, bars, and more kinds of beds than this swiss-cheesed brain can remember. One thing I do know, though, this is the first time I've ever landed in a dumpster.

"Are you all right?"

"Huh?"

"I'll be right back."

There was a flash of red as whoever else had been in the dumpster vaulted out of it and took off at a run. Pushing himself upright, Sam took stock of his surroundings. Eggshells, coffee grounds, cabbage cores... newspaper. The Chicago Sun-Times, dated May 26, 1996. Well, at least that gave him a place and an approximate time. A quick look around told him that he was alone, and, avoiding the worst-smelling bags, he climbed out and onto solid ground.

There were worse things than being homeless, he supposed. At least it was summer, so he didn't have to worry about keeping warm, and he was in a big city, so there were probably shelters-- his host might prefer rooting through other people's garbage, but Sam didn't mind sacrificing pride for comfort. In fact, that was probably what he was there to do: get his host off the streets and back into society. He could do that. Rubbing absentmindedly at the arm he'd bruised when he fell, he picked a strand of old spaghetti off the sleeve of his... charcoal grey suit?

Tailored suit? Silk tie? Italian leather shoes? What the heck? He spun around; yep, that was a dumpster he'd just climbed out of, most of whose contents were still stuck to his nice designer clothes. So why...?

"Oh, good, you're all right."

Darn. No time to look for a wallet. Turning around, he got his first real look at the guy in red. He looked about 35, with black hair and serious blue eyes. The red coat was part of a uniform, something Sam knew he ought to recognize but couldn't. It did have a name tag, though-- B. Fraser. Good to know, assuming they were on a last name basis. "Um... yeah. I'm fine. Just... bumped my head a little."

"You're bleeding! Oh, wait, that's tomato sauce." Quick fingers moved over his skull with a sure and gentle touch, looking for injuries, and came away dripping red. "I can't find any swelling. Did you lose consciousness?"

"I don't think so. I'm fine, really."

"Ah. Well. Shall we go, then?"

"Yeah. Uh, just a minute. Where'd you go just now?"

Fraser looked surprised. "I apprehended the thief. He gave me the jewelry and promised never to steal again, so I let him go."

Sam stared. Maybe he'd bumped his head after all. "Let me get this straight. We jumped into a dumpster from the-- what floor were we on?"

"The eighth, I believe."

"The EIGHTH FLOOR? We jumped into a dumpster from the eighth floor after a jewelry thief, and you caught him, and you let him go because he promised never to steal again?"

"Now, Ray," (Ray... his name was Ray) "I assure you I have complete confidence in this man's veracity. He only stole because he lost his job and needed enough money to pay the rent so that his daughter wouldn't have to sleep on the street. I gave him the number of the employment agency and loaned him $100 to get him through the week. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"You loaned him $100?"

"Well, yes. I'll pay you back, Ray."

"You'll pay... you loaned him MY $100?"

"Yes, and I apologize, but you see, I had no choice. I haven't had time to exchange currency since my last paycheck, and I couldn't very well give him Canadian bills. No-one in this city seems to be willing to accept them."

Sam cut him off. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Where are we going?"

Fraser appeared to take the question at face value. "First, upstairs to return the stolen goods. My shift at the Consulate starts at one, and I presume you will be returning to the Precinct. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine." Hearing the familiar sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening, he quickly amended the statement. "I'll be fine, anyway. Maybe you should go return the stuff by yourself, and I'll wait here. I just need to sit down for a minute."

"Would you like me to walk you to the car?"

Car? "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."

"All right. Diefenbaker!" The command was clearly not directed at him, but there was no one else in sight. Sam glanced around, puzzled. "Diefenbaker! You let a wolf save your life..." Wolf? There was a wolf involved? "We're leaving now!" Finally there came the sound of claws on pavement, and the animal in question emerged from the alley behind them. With an inquisitive glance toward Sam, the white wolf trotted up to Fraser, who spoke to him sternly. "We're leaving. I am going upstairs to return Mrs. Armelagos' jewelry. You stay in the car with Ray and keep an eye on him. Do you understand? Good. Let's go."

A brief walk took them to a long green car parked-- illegally, Sam noted-- in front of the apartment building. When Fraser didn't reach for keys, he checked his own pockets and fumblingly unlocked the door. The wolf jumped quickly into the backseat, and with a final check to make sure he was all right, Fraser left.

"Lookin' good, Sammy. I love what you've done with your hair."

"Very funny, Al." He shook his head, spattering the car's green paint with drops of tomato. "What does Ziggy have to say?"

"Quite a bit, actually. Apparently you and Big Red over there made it into the news on a regular basis. Your name is Ray Vecchio, and you're a detective with the Chicago police department, district 27. For the last two years you've been unofficially partnered with Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police--"

"A Mountie? What's a Mountie doing in Chicago?"

"He first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of his fat... his fat? His fat what?" Al smacked the handlink, which squawked in protest. "The killers of his father. You helped him on that case, and the two of you caught the guy, but things got complicated and he made a lot of enemies up in Canada, so he got stuck down here doing scut work at the Consulate. I guess it must be pretty boring, 'cause he spends most of his free time with you doing unpaid detective work for the PD. The two of you have one of the best arrest records in the city."

"So what am I here for?"

"I was getting to that. Today is Friday, June the seventh, 1996-- hey, that's the day I married my fourth... third? No, fourth wife. Anyway, sometime in the next week, the FBI is going to offer Ray Vecchio a major undercover assignment. This deal is so big, Ziggy can't even get anything on it. It's the opportunity of a lifetime, right?"

"And something goes wrong?"

"I don't know. Like I said, all the details are classified, but the case took eight months, and when he came back, he was..." Al circled a finger around his ear. "He slipped up while they were wrapping up the case, got shot, decided to leave the force and run off with this chick he'd just met and open a bowling alley in Florida. Things didn't work out with the girl, and he ended up alone, renting out bowling shoes until he got stabbed to death in an attempted robbery a year later."

"So I'm here to stop him from taking the job?"

"Looks like it. Anyway, your buddy's coming back, so I'm gonna get out of here and see if we can come up with anything else." Punching a few buttons on the handlink, Al disappeared, and Fraser returned.

"I've returned the jewelry, and Mrs. Armelagos is going to purchase a new deadbolt lock. I told her we'd be back this afternoon to help her install it. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah. Look, I'm still feeling a little funny, so maybe you'd better drive."

He stared as though I'd grown a second head. Apparently that wasn't something Ray Vecchio would do. "You want me to drive your car?"

He thought fast. Italian. Chicago. Cop. Sarcastic. "No, I want you to hijack somebody else's car. Look, I just don't think I ought to be driving with a head injury, so unless..." What was the name again? D-something "... the wolf there wants to drive, you're it. You do know how to drive, right?"

That was obviously more in character. "Yes, of course. Are you sure you're all right? Would you like to see a doctor?"

"I'm fine. Now, let's go. You don't want to be late for work."

Fraser reluctantly accepted the keys he offered, walking around to the driver's side of the car like a man going to face a firing squad. He lowered himself gingerly into the seat and gingerly adjusted the settings as though he was afraid to leave fingerprints. He slid the key into the ignition, but instead of turning it, he turned back to Sam. "Are you sure you don't want to see a doctor?"

"I'm sure."

"Let me check your head again. There may be damage I missed earlier."

Sam gave in and undid his seatbelt, leaning across the seats to have his head examined, wondering as he did so if the positions shouldn't be reversed. This time Fraser reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief which he used to wipe the sauce from Sam's--Ray's-- hair, and then the fingers were back, skilled and soft, confident and caressing, a touch somewhere between that of a doctor and that of a... lover? He looked up quickly, but Fraser's eyes showed nothing more than friendly concern. He covered the motion with a flippant shrug. "See, told you there was nothing to worry about."

"All right. But if you start feeling dizzy or nauseous, or if you see any dark or light spots--"

"I'll call you." Sam smiled warmly, and was rewarded by a relieved softening of Fraser's face. There was still nothing out of the ordinary in those blue eyes, but they lingered just half a second too long before leaving his own. Dammit, he thought, I know I'm right.

They were on the road at last, and with Fraser distracted he had a few minutes to think. He'd been leaping in and out of lives long enough to recognize the signs of unrequited love, or at least love that the lover thought was unrequited. The question was, did he-- did Ray-- feel the same way?

They were pulling into a parking space behind the police station, and Sam unbuckled his seat belt to get out. He stopped as he realized Fraser was doing the same thing. "I thought you had to go to work."

The Mountie looked at him blankly. "I am."

"Oh. I just thought you might want to borrow the car."

"It's only two miles, Ray. I can walk."

"Two miles? Are you crazy? Take the car. You can bring it back when you get off work." He opened the door and got out to emphasize his point.

"Are you sure, Ray? I know how you feel about this car."

"Go. You don't want to be late." Not convincing enough. "Get out of here before I change my mind." That did it.

"I'll be back at 4:15."

"All right. Take good care of the car."

"Ray, if you're uncomfortable..."

"Go!" He shut the car door with an expression that he hoped was halfway between scowl and smile, and waved. At last Fraser nodded, put the car in gear, and pulled away.

"How's it going, kid?"

"Al!" Sam jumped.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle ya. So, is everything all right?"

"No, everything's not all right! What kind of a monster have I leaped into?"

"Excuse me?"

"You should've seen the way Fraser was acting towards me-- towards him. I'm the cop, right? So this must have been one of my cases we were on just now. This guy is taking his free time to help me out, and he jumps out of an eighth-story window into a dumpster with me and is off like a shot chasing after some thief. Then when he comes back, I ask him to drive and he stares at me like I've gone insane and acts like he's afraid to touch the car. He was going to walk two miles to work rather than borrow it for a couple of hours just now. He's only comfortable if I snap at him, and--"

"Look, Sam, this Benton Fraser fella may be one messed-up guy, but it's not on account of the guy in the waiting room. He's been going crazy in there for the last half-hour, worried about what we're doing to his partner. Practically the first words outta his lips were, "Where's Benny?" He seems to think the two of them have been captured by terrorists, and he's refused to talk until we let him see that he's all right. Besides, it doesn't fit with what Ziggy's pulled up about his history. Apparently Ray Vecchio--you-- are thirty-six years old, divorced, and live with your mother, your uncle Lorenzo, your two sisters, Maria and Francesca, and Maria's husband Tony Gambini and their five kids. You're the main breadwinner and support all of 'em. A year ago you mortgaged your house to bail Fraser out of jail when he was accused of murder, and a month later you were hospitalized taking a bullet for him. You've also... let's see... leaped onto a moving train, went down in a plane crash, almost drowned in a... bank vault? Ziggy, you sure you've got that one right, honey?" The handlink blinked, and Al shrugged. "Apparently you almost drowned in a bank vault."

"So Ray's not the problem."

"Naw. Besides, Italian men are supposed to have a temper. You wouldn't recognize me without my attitude, either."

Sam humphed, lost in thought. "So what is the matter with him?"

"Who, Fraser? Well, he's an orphan. His mother died when he was six, and he was raised by his grandparents while his father worked. Then, two years ago, his father was shot by his--the father's-- old partner. Fraser solved the case, but in doing so he turned in one of his own. His country disowned him, and for the last two years he's been working a dead-end job as punishment. Also, in 1995 he got involved with a woman who turned out to be a bank robber and murderer and who set him up to take the fall."

"That must be when Ray--"

"Mortgaged the house. Exactly."

"Wow. No wonder the guy's got problems." Another car drove up, and Sam headed toward the Precinct door so that the occupants wouldn't wonder why Ray Vecchio was standing in the parking lot talking to himself. Keeping his voice low, he asked, "So what happens to him? When Ray... you know."

"Well, when he leaves, they get another cop to go undercover as Ray Vecchio, to protect the real Ray Vecchio's cover. So Fraser works with this guy, and when Vecchio comes back and leaves again, Fraser and the other Ray go off together to the Northwest Territories. They stay up there together for 18 months, then the other Ray moves to Seattle and rejoins the PD there. Fraser stays up North, but the Mounties won't take him back, and he sort of drops out of history. We don't really know if he's alive or dead."

So his suspicion had been right. The Mountie was at least partially interested in men, and unless Sam's instincts had suddenly been knocked completely off-kilter, he was in love with Ray Vecchio. Ray's leaving had only continued the pattern of abandonment that had been the man's life. He couldn't let Ray go. "Al?"

"Yeah?"

"Have Ziggy compute the odds that Ray Vecchio is, or could be, in love with Benton Fraser."

"Ray's not gay, Sam."

"How do you know?"

"He's Italian, he's Catholic, and he's a cop. He's not gay. And even if he was, he wouldn't be, if you know what I mean."

"Just ask Ziggy."

"I'm tellin' you, Sam--"

"Just ask her." Locating the men's room, he went in. Someone was at one of the urinals, a tall black man who glanced up and nodded in greeting. Sam nodded back and ducked into a stall, where Al joined him a second later.

"I guess you're onto something, kid. Ziggy says the odds are 62% that these two are meant to be together, and that's why you're supposed to stop Ray from leaving."

"62%?" he whispered. "That's not very high, Al."

"There must be something we're missing."

"See what you can find out about exactly when and how Ray gets offered the job."

"Sure. Oh, and right now, you're supposed to be working on a kidnapping case. You find out tonight anyway, so I'll tell you now, the woman forgot she asked her ex-husband to take their son for the weekend. They're at a ball game, he'll drop the kid off at nine, and she'll call the station and tell everybody it's all a big mistake."

"Thanks." Flushing the toilet, Sam headed out into yet another life.

Sam managed to get through the afternoon shuffling papers, getting coffee, and working on the computer. Since he couldn't do any actual police work, and he already knew how the case would turn out, he upgraded a few of Ray's software programs and cleaned up his hard drive. At four, he called the woman and asked about her ex-husband. Might as well let everyone else off the hook, too. Not that it would help much; there were sixteen other folders scattered around Ray's desk, and everyone else seemed to have that many or more. A lot of them would still be there, on somebody's desk or in somebody's drawer, three years later. For the rest, Sam left a few clues, a lead or two that he hoped would lead the real Ray Vecchio to find the answers just a little sooner.

Benton Fraser arrived at 4:15 on the dot, handing over the car keys very carefully and thanking him kindly for the loan. Sam pretended to be glad to have them back; to do otherwise would probably get him taken to the hospital, and he figured he could find his way back to the apartment he'd leaped into... or out of. After that, he'd wing it.

As it turned out, Mrs. Armelagos had purchased not one, but three deadbolt locks. Fraser smiled politely and complimented her on her foresight, producing a tuning fork from one of the pockets of his uniform. Sam was too surprised to offer help as he quickly calculated the three points of greatest vibration along the door's swinging edge, but he accepted a screwdriver and the two of them went to work.

"Ray, you've installed that one two inches too low."

Sam shook his head. "You've got them placed right with respect to each other, and those two are fine, but you forgot to calculate the effect of the original lock. That lowers the point of greatest resonance for this one to here."

Fraser stared, his lips moving slightly as he worked it out. "You're right. It was... a miscalculation." He shook his head abruptly, locked all four bolts, gave the door a kick, and checked each one with his tuning fork. "You were right, Ray." He looked shell-shocked, and Sam tried to lighten the moment.

"You've gotta give me a little credit. Mrs. Armelagos, I'm happy to announce that you now have one of the most secure doors in Chicago."

The old woman came out of the kitchen with a beaming smile that focused mainly on the Mountie. "Thank you so much. Would you like a cookie?"

Fraser smiled back, taking a small one. "We'd be honored, Mrs--"

"Marjorie, please."

"Thank you, Marjorie," Sam added as he helped himself to two. They were chocolate chip, and warm. She gave him a pleasantly distant look, as though she couldn't quite remember who he was.

**

"Thank you, Marjorie," Sam added as he helped himself to two. They were chocolate chip, and warm. She gave him a pleasantly distant look, as though she couldn't quite remember who he was.

All too soon, they were back out on the sidewalk, heading for the car with the ever-present wolf trotting at their heels. Time to obfuscate. He could only hope, based on the discrepancy between his clothes and their surroundings, that he didn't live nearby.

"So, um, you remember how to get back to your place from here?"

"I believe the quickest way would be to turn left at the end of this road and take Clifton to Racine."

He could feel Fraser trying not to ask if he was all right, so, with as confident a nod as he could muster, he got into the driver's seat and turned the ignition.

"You're looking for 221 West Racine."

"Al!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ow! I said ow. Caught my finger in the keychain." He smiled apologetically, sticking the finger in question in his mouth briefly for show. Confident now with his backseat driver, he pulled out into traffic. Left onto Clifton. Three blocks later came Racine, and he hesitated.

"Take a right. It's the dark brick building two doors down from the corner."

Following the hologram's instructions, he pulled up to the curb. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow, huh?"

A millisecond of hurt and surprise showed on Fraser's face. "You're not staying for dinner?"

"Oh. Yeah, guess I forgot. Sorry about that." He parked and got out, following Fraser into a hallway that was frighteningly out of sync with the man's apparently disciplined, well-educated and well-brought up persona. Al met them at the landing of the stairs.

"I'm not just here to give you driving directions. We've gotta talk." Sam nodded as they continued up, and Al, who could only move on the horizontal, re-centered to the top. "Turns out you can't just make him not go. If he skips out on this assignment, everything goes blooie. They send in this other guy, Frank Pangetti, to do the job. Only, the guy's practically a rookie, no experience, and he gets made after three weeks. He's killed, the operation goes bust, and nine months later the guys they were after, the guys Ray Vecchio helped take down, hit San Francisco with some toxic nerve gas. Sixty-eight people dead."

"Sixty-eight?!"

"Ray?" Fraser turned in the act of opening the door to his apartment, which, in stark contrast to the one they'd just left, had no locks at all.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, just thinking out loud, I guess. You mind if I use your bathroom?"

"Of course not. Shall I order pizza?"

"That'd be great. Thanks." The apartment was small, basically one room with a couple of half-walls and two doors besides the one to the hall. Fraser opened one, a closet, and hung up his hat. Sam figured the other one was the bathroom. After five years, he was good at finding them.

"Sixty eight dead, over two hundred hospitalized. And that's not counting Pangetti and the two other cops they had under on the original bust."

"I thought you said Ziggy couldn't get details on the case?"

"That was before. Apparently in this timeline, when the thing went bottom-up the media got ahold of the story and splashed it all over the tabloids."

"So I guess this rules out Ray's staying home and living happily ever after, huh?"

"Looks like."

"Damn it. Why does he go crazy?"

"Beats me. I guess it was just the stress of being undercover. Being cut off from everybody you care about, nobody knowing who you really are..." Al's words slowed to a halt as he watched his friend leaning against another unfamiliar sink, dressed in a stranger's clothes and staring at someone else's reflection in the mirror.

"Surrounded by your enemies, seeing all the worst sides of people," Sam continued, seeing a tiger cage somewhere in the jungle of Vietnam.

"Yeah. That'd do it to ya." There was a pause in the conversation, and a look of understanding passed between them.

"So what's the difference? You did it for six years. I've been doing it for five. What have we got that Ray doesn't have?"

"I got by writing letters to Beth. Didn't matter if I ever got to send 'em or not, just the act of writing to her sort of helped remind me that I had a real life out there, that I could maybe get back to someday."

"And I've got you. You and Gushie and Tina and Ziggy and Bena and everybody else back there."

A knock on the door startled them both out of their moment of revelation. "Ray? Are you all right in there?"

"Yeah. I was just, uh..."

"Washing up." Al gestured meaningfully at the dumpster remnants that still clung to the Armani suit.

"Washing up. Trying to get some of this garbage off me before dinner."

"Why didn't you change at the station? Don't you usually keep a spare suit in your locker?"

Sam glared at Al, who shrugged, and opened the bathroom door. "I guess I was just really busy. Solved that kidnapping case."

"Ms. McKinnon's son?"

"Yeah. His dad took him to a ball game. All a big miscommunication."

"Ah. Well, that's a relief."

"Yeah." Glancing around and not seeing any living-room-type furniture, Sam took a seat at the table.

"Would you like something to drink? I'm heating water for coffee or tea."

"Tea'd be great, thanks." Fraser looked mildly surprised, but took two mugs out of a cupboard and placed a teabag in each one. "So, uh, you have any plans for tomorrow?"

"My plane leaves at 11:30. I have a few things I need to take care of at the Consulate before I go. Are you sure it won't be a problem for you to take me to the airport?"

He was leaving? "No, no problem. What time do you need me to pick you up?"

"Would ten o'clock be all right?"
"Sure. What happens when you get there?" Maybe that would tell him where "there" was.

"Eric will meet me at the landing strip. I should be arriving at approximately 10pm, but at this time of year, we should have over an hour of daylight in which to reach the village."

Arctic Circle, then, or close to it. Fraser must be taking a trip home. "Sounds great."

Fraser smiled, the first real one Sam had seen yet. "I'm looking forward to it." Just then the kettle boiled, and a second later the doorbell rang announcing the arrival of the pizza. Fraser turned his attention to the stove, so Sam headed for the door, pulling out Ray Vecchio's wallet. Fraser didn't have any American money anyway, he remembered as he handed the delivery boy fifteen dollars.

Pizza toppings were one of the most unexpectedly interesting things about Leaping. Everyone had their own opinion on what constituted a proper pizza, often more strongly held than their religious convictions. Sam had leaped into pineapple fanciers, plain-cheese people, meat lovers, pesto-feta foccacia gourmets, and just about everything else. Luckily, since pizza was usually a group meal and one's friends usually knew one's preferences, it was easy enough to just let somebody else order and see what turned up. Ray Vecchio, it appeared, was a combination man. Mushrooms, olives, onions, green peppers, and sausage. Good choice. He carried it to the table, where Fraser was setting out tin plates and napkins along with their tea.

They began their meal in silence, which didn't seem to disturb Fraser but did slightly unnerve Sam. As he reached for his second slice, he asked, "So, when are you getting back again?"

"Monday the 17th. My flight is scheduled to arrive at 10:40 am."

Ten days. Ray would be gone in less than a week. Was that the problem? That Ray left while Fraser was gone, so that they'd never had the chance to...

"Sam, we need to talk." Once again, his thoughts were interrupted as Al appeared over Fraser's left shoulder.

Thinking fast, he dropped the half-slice of pizza he was holding so that it landed face-down on his lap. "Whoops! Guess I should go rinse that out before the stain sets. Be right back." Handing off the pizza to an ever-attentive wolf, he made his getaway to the bathroom. "So, what is it?"

"Ziggy found out what the problem is. Seems that at the time Ray left, Fraser wasn't in Chicago. He was--"

"On vacation in Canada."

"Yeah. You knew?"

"Just found out. He leaves tomorrow morning, doesn't come back for ten days."

"By which time Ray'll be long gone. So what are you gonna do?"

"I don't know, stop him from going?"

"You can't. While he's there, he catches a guy who was dumping toxic waste near a small native village. If you stop him, Ziggy says it could cause massive damage to the inhabitants and the ecosystem."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Al shrugged and tapped the handlink. "Kiss him."

"What?"

"Ziggy says, 'kiss him.' Apparently Ray loves the guy, but he's too caught up in his weird Italian macho image and what other people might think, especially Fraser, to do anything about it. You kiss him, break the ice, chances are he'll follow through."

"You're sure about this?"

"Speaking as another image-conscious macho Italian, I'd give it about a 75% chance."

"The other 25 being...?"

Al hesitated. "Ray leaps back, Fraser comes on to him, and he punches him out."

"Al!"

"And then he takes a couple of minutes, thinks it over, apologizes, and they make out... er, make up."

"You're sure?"

"Sam, will you just trust me on this? You haven't seen the guy in the waiting room. He loves this guy. It'll be fine."

"On your Italian macho honor?"

"Yes. Now will you just go? You're keeping him waiting."

"All right. I'm going." Giving a final swipe to the grease spot on Ray's slacks, he tossed the damp washcloth into the sink and went back to the table. Fraser was up, washing his own dishes. Sam's were still on the table, along with the remaining few slices of pizza.

"I wasn't sure if you were finished," he said by way of greeting, indicating the table.

"Yeah, I am, thanks." A little awkwardly, he picked up the tin plate and brought it to the sink, handing it to Fraser to wash while he took a dishtowel and started drying the other. "Look, um, about your trip... I'm going to miss you."

Fraser looked up, surprised. "I'll only be gone for ten days, Ray."

"Yeah, I know, but... I'll miss you, you know."

"And I you, Ray."

"Yeah, uh, what I mean is..." he looked helplessly at Al, who nodded encouragingly.

"Are you sure you're all right, Ray?"

"I'm... maybe you ought to check my head again."

Rinsing the soapy water from his hands and drying them on the towel, Fraser checked his skull one more time for damage from the fall. "Everything feels fine, Ray." He started to take his hands away.

"Now, Sam!"

Before he could think about it too much, Sam grabbed Fraser's shoulders and pressed their lips together. Fraser went still, then stiffened and pulled away. "Ray, what are you...?"

"Kissing you. We're not going to see each other for a while, and I just wanted you to know how I felt." He looked away, speaking to the hologram over Fraser's shoulder. "I don't want to be alone."

Both men stared at him, and there was complete silence for a few seconds. Then the handlink squeaked, catching Al's attention. He started reading. "You did it, Sam. Ray solves the case, comes back in six months, and he and Fraser move in together. They have their share of problems, but everything works out. They're still together."

"That's great."

"What?"

"We're gonna stay together."

Fraser smiled, a little tentatively. "I'd like that." As he leaned in for another kiss, there was a flash of blue, and the apartment faded away.

The first thing he was aware of was the press of lips against his. He relaxed into the sensation, then slowly opened his eyes. He jerked away, startled. "Benny?"

"Yes, Ray?" The arms holding him didn't let go. Yesterday, he would have objected, but after the day he'd just spent wherever, terrified for his partner's safety, he decided he didn't mind.

"Nothing. I'm just glad I'm with you."

Fraser smiled at him, and they kissed.

END

The slash disease is spreading and I'm being sucked into new fandoms. In this case, the muse decided to incorporate Quantum Leap in an effort to create a true COTW fixit. If you're not familiar with the show, all you really need to know is that Sam travels through time, taking over various people's bodies for a couple of hours or days in order to fix something that originally went wrong. Al is a hologram from Sam's own time whom only Sam can see and hear. Ziggy is a computer.

Feedback always welcome.

Rated G. Pairings: RV/BF, with AC/SB preslash overtones. Part 1 of 2.

JUST A LITTLE PUSH