Disclaimer: The characters contained within are not my property.

NOTES: Slashy, Fraser/RayK

Warning: I have been advised to warn you that this is sad, which

matches my mood today, which is probably why I'm finally posting.

Orion Dying

by Jedi Nic (JediNic@b...)

Ray knew he was going to die. The wall loomed before him, grey, forbidding, dangerous. More dangerous than anything he had ever encountered in his life, Canadian Mounties and frigid weather not withstanding. This, however, was a different kind of danger, it was impersonal, yet terribly familiar at the same time. Human hands had created this, to destroy their own kind.

A searchlight streamed across the ground, Ray making a mental note of the timing involved. He'd studied this wall for some time now, but it was always best to double check. With his glasses on, Ray was sure he could detect the signs of weaponry pointed in every direction, ready to take out anything that got within two hundred feet of the wall.

It was an impossible obstacle, hundreds of feet wide in places, and stretching the entire length of the American-Canadian border. No one lived along here anymore, the sight of the foreboding wall was off-putting. Even the citizens of Detroit - those that were left - had all packed up and headed for parts southward.

Only Stanley Raymond Kowalski was stupid enough to even entertain the idea of getting near it, let alone crossing it. It was the height of technology, a structure designed to keep people in as much as out. And it was damned effective. As far as he knew, no American citizen had even talked to a Canadian in the past five years, and that included Ray himself.

Which was the reason he was here now. He shivered, the bitter cold of winter chilling him thoroughly, even though he knew that if he made it through to the other side it would surely be colder. That was, if he managed to survive.

He sighed, watching the puff of breath waft away. Again, he was plagued by doubts of what he was doing here and was he really crazy enough to throw his life away on a whim? On a vague idea that wasn't really backed up by any evidence, on a desperate hope for something meaningful in his life?

Hell yeah. It wasn't like he had anything else. Half the people he knew were dead, and the rest had just drifted away. Not that he'd had that many friends to start with even before all of this shit happened, it had just been a lot easier to pretend with Fraser at his side.

Fraser. The man who'd been his best friend, the man who had brought the adventure back into his life. Who had showed him that maybe it all did mean something, even amongst the debris of his marriage to Stella and the search for an identity that had come shortly afterwards. Through all of it, Benton Fraser's steadying influence - not to mention his comforting confidence in Ray, which had soon turned into a deep and abiding friendship - had got him through.

And there was a time when it seemed more than friendship, a time when....

Ray stopped the thought, not wanting to travel down that road again. But if he was brutally honest with himself, maybe that was the only road he wanted to travel. It certainly went a long way to explaining why he was here. Okay, so he had nothing left to live for back in Chicago. Nothing left to do. So there seemed to be no rational reason why he couldn't go see if he could catch up with an old friend. No reason, that is, except for a freakin' huge wall between the two countries and the death penalty for anyone who tried to cross it.

Ray closed his eyes, remembering that last night. A night full of possibilities, smack bang in the middle of what was supposed to be *their* adventure, only it got interrupted. And before he'd even known what was happening, he and Fraser had been split up with a promise that it would only be temporary, a week perhaps, or maybe a month.

Not five fucking years.

***

"Fraser, close the damn window, will you? It's freezing in here!" The words were said jovially enough and Fraser adopted a miffed air as he stepped away.

"I was merely attempting to point out the alignment of the constellations."

Ray nodded vaguely, he'd tuned out sometime between Orion and Sirius, and as fascinating as it was listening to Fraser's voice, sometimes, enough was enough. "But if you're truly not interested then perhaps I'll just...." He trailed off, and Ray knew that Fraser knew that his typical threats just didn't cut it anymore.

Fraser didn't close the window, he just added another log to the fire before joining Ray in front of it. They stared into the flames for a long time, companionably silent, until Fraser finally cleared his throat.

"Ray." Fraser looked right at him, in the direct way that he had, and try as he might, Ray could not look away from the intense gaze. "Why are you here?"

He shrugged, hoping that the casual movement would stop Fraser staring at him, but it didn't work. "You know," he half-mumbled, "I wanted to go on an adventure."

"I know that," Fraser swiftly countered, "but why this adventure? It seems obvious to me that you don't like the snow, and you like it even less every day." That was true, and this night when they'd finally made it to a small town to replenish their supplies, Ray was absolutely rapt at being indoors. "I'm quite sure you were aware of that fact before you left." Fraser's voice dropped, becoming softer, almost suggestive and Ray blinked, wondering why he was suddenly thinking that way because that definitely wasn't what he wanted. Right? "This was my adventure, so why are you here?"

"I was already up here...seemed like a good place."

Fraser shook his head. "That's not a good enough reason, Ray."

Finally, Ray found the strength to break the gaze and he glared outside at the snow, blaming it for betraying him. "It'll hafta be."

And Fraser sounded almost disappointed as he said, "Very well then." The Mountie glanced at the window, apparently only just noticing how late it was. "I suggest that we retire..."

"Wait." Ray never knew why he said it, he just knew that he *had* to say it now, because he'd been given half a chance to actually face what was inside of him and as long as he said this carefully, well, it should make Fraser happier and that would make him happier too, by default. "Maybe," and he swallowed hard, still not daring to look at Fraser, not wanting to know what the flickering firelight would be doing to Fraser's features because that was dangerous ground, something he wasn't quite ready to face. "Maybe I'm here 'cause...you're here."

He said the last few words in a rush, half-hoping that Fraser wouldn't catch them.

But of course Fraser heard them; Fraser could hear an ant taking a piss two miles away. There was a sound, Ray couldn't be sure what it was without actually looking at Fraser, but he was hoping that it was a good sound. And beyond that, nothing but silence and the odd crackle of wood exploding in the fire.

The silence was going on for too long, and Ray was beginning to get bored of the sight of his boots. He looked up. And immediately wished he hadn't, because there was a *smile* on Fraser's face, a smile that said that Frase knew *exactly* what Ray was saying but Ray wasn't prepared to deal with it just yet. He couldn't deal, how could he when he'd just admitted that someone else was more important to him that he, himself, was? And when you made someone that important....

Yet Fraser's smile was warm, steadying, even though it caused that bubbly-scared-to-death feeling in the pit of his stomach and without knowing quite how it had happened, Ray found himself smiling back.

"I would not have embarked upon this quest with anyone else, Ray," Fraser said softly, his words surrounded by that oh-so-innocent Mountie expression. Quest...he meant the hand of Franklin. Didn't he? Of course he did.

"How much further do we have to go?" Ray asked, wondering just when his mouth had decided to take a holiday away from his brain because he certainly didn't mean to ask that, and he didn't mean that to sound the way it sounded.

"It's up to you."

*Me? You can't leave it up to me*, Ray protested inside. He needed guidance, he needed Fraser's guidance because he was so way out of his depth here and what if he was wrong? What if it wasn't double-talk, it was just some Mountie way of stating the obvious without using the words? He took the easy way out. "I dunno, Frase, I think I might need help, you know?"

And, damn it, Fraser was *still* looking at him, only he couldn't look away this time, and then Fraser said, "I'd be happy to assist you in any way possible, Ray." And, fuck, he was leaning closer, and suddenly there was nothing in Ray's vision except for Fraser, and those eyes, coming closer every second and then Ray closed his eyes like it was the most natural thing in the world because this was natural, this was inevitable. Fraser's breath on his mouth, so close now....

The sound of the siren blasted through the night, causing Ray to jump in surprise and smack his nose against Fraser's forehead, which hurt like hell. Just like that, the moment was over because Fraser was all Mountie business again, hurrying towards the window while Ray was sitting there holding his face and moaning. Fate, it had to be, and Ray didn't know whether to thank fate or to curse it.

Only years later did Ray realise what a curse that siren had been.

"Ray," Fraser said in an oddly calm voice, as he looked over at him from the window. "This is no ordinary siren."

Ray fought the impulse to say, "Duh," because of course it wasn't an ordinary siren, he didn't even think they had sirens in Canada. And out here, in a town where Fraser had assured him that the crime rate was zero, even a car alarm would have sounded out of place.

He'd only just reached the window when something orange and red, like a great ball of fire, streaked through the sky, followed seconds later by a roar louder than anything Ray'd ever heard before. "Shit!" he breathed, and Fraser didn't even frown at his language. He stared at the sky for long moments after that, his entire body tense, just waiting to hear an explosion. When it didn't come after five minutes, Ray finally moved.

Fraser was already getting dressed to go outside again and Ray quickly picked up his own coat. He didn't have to ask where they were going - the only place in this town that would have a clue would be a RCMP outpost, if one existed, and Fraser would know exactly where it was.

A group of frantic people surrounded the small RCMP building, an officer in red trying valiantly to calm the crowd. "Please, return to your homes. That is the safest place for you at this point in time. News bulletins will keep you updated on the situation: at this stage, I know no more than you do."

"You sounded the siren!" someone protested.

"As I was instructed to by my superiors," the Mountie replied. "I am repeating my instructions to you now - stay inside your homes, and any news will be reported through regular channels."

"I don't have a tv," someone muttered, and that was when Fraser stepped forward, a show of solidarity beside the other Mountie. Dief, who'd followed Ray and Fraser from the cabin, stood alert at Fraser's feet.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the," Fraser took a quick glance at his fellow officer's rank, "Constable is telling the truth: we know no more than you do at this stage. I urge you to stay indoors, for it seems quite obvious that something is amiss and it would be prudent to take shelter."

Something in Fraser's words must have gotten through to the crowd, or maybe it was just the cold, because the majority of people, though somewhat reluctantly, turned away and began shuffling towards their homes. Then again, Ray knew just how persuasive Fraser could be.

"Nice work," Ray granted, joining Fraser and the other Mountie as they walked inside the door. Ray reflected that it was just as cold inside as out - just his luck. "Now do you really not know what's going on or is that just a story to keep all of them away?" He gestured back outside.

The unknown Mountie gave Ray a wary look. "Are you...American?" he asked, almost as if it was a dirty word.

"Yeah?" Ray quickly returned, making the word a challenge.

The Mountie stepped back and looked at Fraser. "And you are...?"

"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, although I seem to have misplaced my uniform at the moment," Fraser offered.

"Constable Forehand," he politely returned, but all too soon the wariness was back. "Do you know the American?"

"I do," smoothly replied Fraser. "This is Detective Kowalski from the Chicago PD. He and I have worked together on many occasions. He can be trusted, Constable."

Still the Constable was backing away. "You'd better see the orders before you say that," Forehand said. "Follow me."

Ray none-too-subtly elbowed Fraser in the ribs, whispering, "What's up with him?"

"I have absolutely no idea, Ray, but I am sure there is a perfectly good reason for all of this."

"Yeah, like there's a perfectly good reason for a missile streaking across the sky." Until that moment, Ray realised he hadn't let himself really think about what it was, but given Forehand's paranoia merely because he was American, the facts were adding up in Ray's head. Maybe the USA had suddenly started shooting at Canada, which meant that Ray was suddenly an enemy in a foreign country. He shuddered, and Fraser, obviously having come to the same conclusion, laid a comforting hand on Ray's shoulder.

"We will be fine, Ray. If necessary I will offer you asylum. Or protection," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Yeah, well, I hope it doesn't come to that," Ray frowned.

"Constable Fraser," Forehand interrupted, and gestured towards a seat. No such pleasantry was offered to Ray, so he hovered behind Fraser instead, trying to resist the urge to place his hands on Fraser's shoulders to show Forehand just who belonged with who here, regardless of nationality.

Nationality. Funny how Ray'd never really thought of that before, he knew that Fraser was Canadian, but it was more of a quirk rather than an issue. Something that was cute but not important, but Ray suddenly realised that he *should* have been thinking about it because had it not been for Fraser's job at the Consulate, they would've never met. And given the recent changes in their lives, there was no guarantee that they'd even end up in the same country unless one of them decided to relocate permanently.

Ray shook his head, not wanting to think about this right now. It wandered into that dangerous territory where he had to think too hard about what was important, and what some things really meant. Although if what Forehand was saying was true, then all of that wouldn't matter at all very soon.

"As of fifteen minutes ago," Forehand was saying (was it really only fifteen minutes?), "an embargo has been placed on the United States of America. We are under orders to deport every American on Canadian soil, regardless of their reason for being here."

Fraser didn't seem openly disturbed by the statement, but he shot a warning glance at Ray who was about to explode. Ray looked back at Fraser, mouthing just what he thought of that announcement and Forehand, and he was sure he saw a half-smile on Fraser's mouth before Fraser returned his attention to the other Mountie.

"Have you been given the reasons for this mandate? And what of the object we saw in the sky?"

"The missile was an accident - someone hit the panic button. Thankfully, it struck an uninhabited area." There wasn't even time to process the impact of Forehand's words before he continued. "Apparently the Americans are deporting Canadians in a similar fashion. The sirens were automatically sounded the moment risk was perceived-"

"Even up here?" Ray interjected, not quite believing that the Mounties actually employed that kind of technology.

"Of course. One can never be too prepared," Fraser answered. "We maintain quite a sophisticated network of satellite technology."

"Yeah, of course." Ray wasn't being sarcastic, it was just a minor surprise on this night that just kept getting better and better.

"Constable Fraser, I must ask you to return to active duty. I realise that I do not have the authority to make this request, however, given the circumstances...."

"I understand," Fraser quickly said. "There will no doubt be panic in most regions and a stabilising presence is necessary. Ray and I will proceed towards Yellowknife as soon as possible."

The radio suddenly crackled to life and all three men instantly turned towards it, awaiting the next instructions. After the general broadcast which repeated the instructions Forehand had already been told, Fraser took control of the radio to contact his headquarters. Ray and Forehand stared each other down in the meantime, and Ray had never been so glad to have Dief on his side.

Ray didn't like what he was hearing of the conversation. Once Fraser had explained who he was - and where he was - it didn't take long for him to be assigned to a region. And right after that, there were instructions for Ray.

"We have maintained amicable relations with the American law enforcement and have made special provisions for all officers to return home immediately," the voice said. "Constable Fraser will be picked up by helicopter sometime in the next few hours; you may travel with him." There was a pause, and the voice added, "You're going to be needed in your country."

"Yeah," Ray echoed, not really understanding the impact of it all just yet. "Do you mind telling me what the hell's going on? Are we at war?"

But there was only silence, broken by the intermittent crackling of static. Fraser looked at Ray. Ray looked at Fraser. Forehand looked at both of them.

"Well, I guess our adventure's over," Ray finally said.

"That does seem to be the case."

"We should--" and he indicated the doorway with his head. "My stuff's back at the cabin."

"You're right," Fraser agreed. He nodded at Forehand, adding that he expected to see him at the helicopter strip in a short time and good luck with keeping the peace in the region. The man nodded in return and with a, "Thank you kindly," and that was that.

*** ***

There wasn't much to pack. Ray knew that he wouldn't need the thermal underwear back in Chicago, it got cold, but not that cold. Nothing like up here, a place that, despite all of his moaning, had suddenly become dear and familiar to him. He didn't want to leave.

No, more correctly, he didn't want to leave Fraser. They were a team, they were partners, and partners didn't just abandon each other. "I should stay up here," Ray said softly. "You're gonna need all the help you can get if something really big's going down."

Yet Fraser was shaking his head. "Ray, as much as I would love you to stay, we must think of our duty."

"Duty's overrated," Ray said flippantly, and then he couldn't believe he'd just said that. At one stage in his life, duty - his work - had been the only thing he'd had. But things had changed. Fraser, however, hadn't, and looked quite horrified at the idea of neglecting his duty despite the fact that he'd been doing just that for the past few months.

"Okay, okay," Ray hastily amended, "not all duty's overrated, but I don't see the difference in keeping the peace in Chicago, or keeping it peaceful here. I mean, they're all people, right?"

"You are correct, Ray, however I'm not sure that the people would have the same outlook as you."

"What do you mean?"

"You saw Forehand's reaction towards you tonight, specifically because of your nationality. And he is a trained member of the Mounted Police. Free citizens might not be so in control of their prejudice. Ray," and Fraser's voice was much warmer now, "I would hate for anything to happen to you. You must go, and I must go, and when this is all over then perhaps we can work together again."

"You mean we *will* work together again," Ray quickly said, feeling an irrational need to confirm the point. "And we'll finish off this..." He gestured widely, referring to both their trip and the other thing that was going on, the thing that hadn't quite been spoken yet. "This thing we got going here."

"Yes, Ray." Fraser's voice was deadly serious. "I won't forget this."

Ray swallowed, hard. "Me neither," he promised. He glanced at his watch. "How long 'till the cavalry arrives?" He was asking how much longer they had, how much more time for *together* before they were split up by circumstances that neither of them controlled.

Fraser met his eyes, and it was possible that there was the barest quaver in the Mountie's voice. "Not long enough."

"I'm gonna miss you, you know," Ray said in all seriousness.

"And I you."

It was another one of those moments where it was nothing but the staring, the staring that went on far too long to be anything innocent. But there wasn't time for anything more, every precious second ticking by was another second of the pounding in Ray's ears telling him it was all over, this was it, no going back from here. No going forwards, either, no, this put a stop to everything.

It was Fraser who surprised him and took the first step forwards, Fraser who put his hands on Ray's arms, Fraser who looked like he was about to kiss Ray and something inside Ray said, "Screw it all" and leaned closer still when the pounding on the door broke them apart.

"Helicopter's here!" shouted Forehand, not bothering to wait for an invitation and sticking his head in the door just as Fraser and Ray jumped away.

Ray backpedaled quickly, telling himself it was a stupid idea anyway and there was no way Fraser was gonna kiss him, it had just been a friendly goodbye, a hug, kinda, only you usually didn't get those kinds of vibes with a friendly embrace but hell, he was still just standing there thinking while Fraser already had both of their bags and was halfway out the door. "Ray!" he said. "Dief!" The half-wolf lazily sauntered out from the bedroom; obviously his sleep had been disturbed.

Ray glanced around one last time, committing the place to memory, because Fraser had been there. All the way to the landing pad they walked in silence, partially because of the open hostility radiating from Forehand, and partially because Ray was mentally recording every tiny detail. Like the way Fraser's hand brushed against his every so often, yet neither of them moved away to stop it happening even though the road was wide enough for ten Mounties to walk side by side.

He glanced at the sky, the stars distantly shining, and one brilliant constellation pointing towards the horizon. He glanced at Fraser, not even having to ask. "Orion," Fraser responded; his tone was wistful.

It was still cold, and Ray shivered.

"You'll be warm in Chicago soon," Fraser said, and there was a hint of a sparkle in his eye, which meant he knew exactly what a contradiction the words were.

"Maybe," he replied, but what he really wanted to say was, "It won't be so warm without you." He stared at Fraser, commiting *him* to memory - the way he walked down the snow-lined street like he was born to this life (which he was), the radiant confidence, the smile, the warmth in those blue eyes. And of course, the ever faithful Diefenbaker at his side. He'd miss Fraser so much.

And then the helicopter was there. Between the noise and the confusion at both ends, there never came a chance to say a real goodbye.

***

The streets were empty. Chicago was empty, part ghost town, part chicken city where everyone was too scared to leave their houses during the day. It certainly made patrolling so much easier - and as for cases, which required real live detectives - they just didn't happen that much anymore. Maybe you'd have one person sabotaging another, revenge or something, but by the time it got to that stage both parties were gonna die anyway so there wasn't much point in chasing them down.

A chill wind blew down the street, causing an old newspaper to skitter across in front of Ray. It had been five years since it all began. Five years since he'd been practically thrown out of Canada. Five years since he'd seen Fraser, and now Ray was as empty as all of Chicago.

Five years since Canada. It was hard to believe sometimes, at the beginning, Ray had been so busy that the months just slipped away, and by the time he even had a chance to think about calling Fraser, or writing a letter or something, the restrictions were firmly in place. No one got into the country, and no one got out, and that included communication as well. Even internet connections and satellite links connecting the States with the outside world had been severed by the government in the name of national security.

National security. Ray suppressed a short laugh as he thought of the term. National security hadn't done much for them when it'd all started. Thousands of people had died, and not just in the U.S.A. The few underground reports that'd gotten through suggested that over half of Europe had been wiped out.

Not that it made much of a difference to Ray. No, he was here to do his job, which had been relegated to keeping the peace. And even that wasn't hard, because when everything was dead it was certainly peaceful.

He kept walking, not having anything else to do.

A muted cry alerted him to the fact that there was someone else alive out there, someone in trouble by the sounds of it. But which direction? For the hundredth time, Ray wished that he had Fraser's amazing hearing with him. Or Dief, who could certainly track a scent if not an actual sound...the debate on Dief's hearing not withstanding.

The sound came again, from a nearby ally, and Ray quickened his pace, his hand closing on his gun just in case. Yet he wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him - in a world where people were paranoid of even breathing on each other, physical attacks weren't that common anymore.

Five or so teenagers - they looked to be about sixteen although you could never really tell, not with all the old tv shows containing thirty-year-olds playing teenagers - surrounded a young girl who was sitting in the street, crying. As he got closer, Ray could see signs of bruising and - was that blood smeared on the girl's arm?

"Chicago P.D.!" Ray shouted, breaking into a run while lifting up his sidearm so that they could see he was serious. "All of you - hands where I can see them. NOW!"

They could have taken him easily, given that they outnumbered him five to one, but his authority obviously had some impact as three of them turned tail and ran. The other two remained firmly in front of their prey, their arms crossed, matching defiant looks on their faces.

"Move away from her," he instructed.

In response, the taller one pulled a gun.

"I said, move away from her!" repeated Ray, edging as close as he dared. Up close, he could see the panicked expression on the girl's face, and the hope in her eyes that Ray would save her.

"I don't think so," the youth coolly replied, a sardonic grin on his face. "We were just having a little fun. No harm in that, is there?"

Ray had been carefully edging closer with every second, and now he sprung. A well aimed kick knocked the gun from the teenager's hand even as the other one tackled him from behind. The breath knocked out of him, Ray immediately rolled and pointed his gun right back at the boy. A shot whizzed past Ray's ear.

"Go on, shoot him!" the taller one taunted. "You can't do it, can you?"

A standoff only ever worked if both parties feared for their lives, and despite being behind a gun, Ray knew who had the position of power. Surprise was his only weapon, but even that was useless as a kick was delivered to his ribs. He fought a groan, twisting again, but with the next savage blow the gun flew from his hand and skidded along the sidewalk.

Ray lay flat on his back, staring at the sky. Was this what it had come down to? Shot in a gutter, by a couple of kids, because he'd been too stupid to take due care? Or maybe that was the point - no one cared anymore, a cop could be killed and it would just "happen", kids could hurt other kids and get away with it, and people like Ray, they could just stop caring altogether because nothing they did made any difference.

The sky was blue, he realized, as he was kicked yet again. Funny that, he'd been walking through life thinking it was gray. He wondered what color it would be after this was over - maybe it would match the red that he knew was trickling from the side of his mouth after being hit in the teeth. Red was a good color, comforting.

"Just shoot him, will you!" someone ordered.

They were talking about him, and Ray considered moving, but again, he stopped. What would be the point? More useless dodging of bullets, more pain and loneliness until it was all over. Why not just stop it now?

He'd dreamed the night before, only to awaken with a terrible sense of dread that something bad was going to happen. Well, this was it, and suddenly, it didn't seem that bad after all. Death wasn't something to fear when you could look it in the eye and know it was better - anything was better - than this.

A tiny sob reminded him that he wasn't alone out here, and as he turned his head, he saw the girl. Still crying, but silently this time, and he felt a pang of sadness that he couldn't help her. Surely she was already dead anyway. She was red too, red on her gray skin, it was such a dangerous color. "Help," she mouthed.

Another shot rang out, this one followed by a curse, and "I can't believe you missed!"

Missed. Missed Ray, gave Ray that one more minute of - of what? Lying in the gutter staring into the big blue eyes of a little girl he couldn't save?

There was a time when he would have done anything to save someone. And he could almost hear a chiding voice in his head, telling him to stop being so stupid. And that same voice, getting louder by the second, saying if he couldn't help here, if he wasn't doing anything, if he had no purpose, then maybe it was time to get off his (ahem) backside and do something about it.

"Please?" someone whispered.

To go or to stay? It was so tempting to keep lying here, where he didn't have to make a decision or to put his soul on the line anymore. Because all it that did was suck away his soul until there was no hope left as it was just too damn painful. Yet there was hope on the girl's face, she still believed in something. Was it him?

The subtle clicking of the trigger pulling back yet again alerted him to the fact that they were trying again, and this time they wouldn't miss. There was only one option left.

Flight. He summoned all of his strength, his resolve, searching for that will to live - but it wasn't will he needed, it was reason, and right now, that reason was one little girl. As quickly as he could, Ray rolled again, kicking out and knocking the younger boy with the gun off balance. Before the teenagers realized what was happening, Ray jumped to his feet and scooped up the little girl, bundling her over his shoulder. He felt the barest breath on his cheek, or maybe it was a featherlight kiss of thanks, before he was off and running, weaving side to side as the bullets rained from behind.

They ran for hours, dodging through the back streets (Ray had long since forgotten where he'd left his car, not that it mattered) until finally they reached the shore of the lake. Stunned, Ray set the girl down, keeping her gloved hand in his, just breathing and looking out over the water.

It was early evening, he realized, looking up at the stars. Stars which reminded him of Canada - he'd never imagined there were so many before getting out of the city and truly *looking*. Having a walking encyclopedia on all that was Canadian (including the stars) helped too. "See that?" Ray said to the girl. "That's the evening star - it's telling you that you're gonna be okay."

"Thank you," she whispered, tears in her big eyes, and with the golden hair framing her face, just for a moment, she looked just like Stella.

***

"Ray! Ohmygod, Ray!" The woman who threw herself into Ray's arms as he stepped out of customs barely resembled the cool attorney who'd given him so much grief throughout his life. "You're alive, you're safe, I didn't know if you would be and I'm so glad they let you go, Ray, and - oh God - " and Stella was actually crying - "they're dead! They're all dead and I thought you would be too!"

"Stel..." Ray managed, caressing her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Now, he was more scared than ever. The entire flight down from Canada had been eerily silent. No one wanted to tell him what was going on. "You'll know soon enough," was the only response he got from one air hostess, whose face was as grey and shocked as everyone else's.

"You don't know what it's been like, Ray," Stella continued, still crying. "At first he was just sick, and I thought it was the flu, but then everyone started getting sick but we didn't know what was happening and now they say that it was an experiment gone wrong, or deliberate, but no one really knows, Ray, no one knows anything, and they don't know how to stop it." She took a deep, shuddering breath, and pulled away a little. "No one knows how to stop it." This time, her words were dull and flat.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, almost angrily. "You shouldn't have come home, Ray, because now you'll get it too."

"Get what?" he repeated. "Stella, what the hell is going on?"

Her face crumpled, again, and she said, "Can we go someplace? Your old apartment? I - I've got nowhere else to go, I couldn't stay in Florida without Ray."

"Yeah, I think the lease on my place should still be active," Ray offered.

"It wouldn't matter if it wasn't," Stella said, her face darkening. "Chances are that no one even cares about the rent anymore."

Ray was somewhat relived to find that yes, his apartment was still intact and he was suddenly glad that he hadn't got around to sending word to his parents to permanently close the place up. And with that thought came the memory of the failed adventure, and Fraser, and it was a thought he firmly pushed away because Stella didn't mix with his Mountie. They were separate parts of his life - separate lives, practically, but there was part of Ray that would always care for her.

"It started a couple of months ago," Stella said, sitting on his couch and gratefully accepting the coffee Ray brought her, seeming not to notice that the beans had been stale and there was no milk to speak of. "Last week, they decided that it was the Americans who were carrying the plague, and last night - well, I guess you heard about last night."

"No," Ray said. "Fraser and I saw a missile..."

At the mention of Fraser's name, a vague smile crossed Stella's face. "Constable Fraser," she murmured. "At least he'll be all right."

"I hope so."

"I know so," Stella countered. "Canadians don't have it, and that's why they closed the border, that's why they suddenly deported every American. Same thing happened down south, at the Mexico border, although I don't know how the hell they're gonna enforce that one." There was a bitter laugh. "Guess anyone who actually wants to come in to this country has a free pass."

Ray was beginning to get the picture now, gradually, and even though the Stella of old would have mocked him for not figuring it out quickly enough, he didn't care about saving face. Not this time. Not when the impeccable Stella was a nervous wreck.

"So there's some kind of disease - plague - that only Americans get and people are dropping dead and there's no cure and no one knows why it's happening?"

She nodded. "I always knew you were smart."

It was a lie, they both knew it, but it was a lie Ray could live with tonight. He sat down on the couch beside her, his knees suddenly shaky. He hated having to ask the next question, but knew he had to. "So who - who caught it?"

Her eyes filled with tears yet again and she said, "Ray."

***

Ray strode into the station, throwing his gloves into the provided receptacle and grabbing a new pair. For a moment, he paused and stared at his bare hands - it was almost strange to see the lily-white skin anywhere but the sanctuary of his own bathroom.

"Gloves on, detective!" someone reminded him as they sauntered past. Ray scowled, but complied. In a world where It could be caught by the merest touch, coverage was a necessity.

They hadn't known that, early on. Looking back Ray couldn't believe how dangerous it had been for Stella to hug him, touch him. Then again, it hadn't really been Stella that night. Or more correctly, it hadn't been the Stella Kowalski that he'd known for most of his life. Instead, it had been a distraught and frightened woman who'd just lost her husband to something that no one could explain.

They'd never found out much about the disease, not who caused it, or why, despite the theories that it was in the water, or secret experiments had resulted in a deadly bioweapon, or that it was a deliberate attack from an outside source. All they knew was that it appeared almost overnight, and had spread quickly through the population centers until the warnings got out there along with the total isolation, but that had been too late for the millions who had died.

Millions were still dying. Those first few months, those had been the hardest. Finding out that both of his parents were dead, that was a bad one. Going back to the PD and seeing half the faces missing was another horrible realization. And later, things like Frannie losing her first baby despite all the precautions she took.

Nothing stopped it, not even the formidable will of Stella.

Sighing, Ray sank into his chair and shuffled through the paperwork. He'd have to file a report on the incident with the little girl - being a cop and a good Samaritan just didn't work. The former always took precedence over the latter. At least the girl had been okay, she'd even had a family anxiously waiting for her. A healthy family, and a loving one, something that was all too rare of late.

Ray opened the top drawer looking for a pen, and was shuffling paper all the way to the bottom when his fingertips caught on something he'd almost forgotten was in there. Paper that was stiffer than the rest, but it wasn't paper, it was the hard edge of a photograph.

Ray pulled it out slowly, knowing what picture it was. He'd first put it on his desk - framed, even - shortly after his deportation from Canada. In those first few hectic, terrible months, it had been a talisman of sorts, this photo of him and Fraser laughing together just before the first day of their Adventure. It was a reminder of the good times, something to hold on to, and a promise that things would get better some day and he and Fraser would return to - to each other? To that place? To something, Ray had told himself, something better than

this.

Yet weeks turned into months and then years, and one day, it was just too painful to keep looking at the photo when a little voice inside him told Ray that it was never going to happen, buddy, and he'd just better get used to it.

Fraser would've been proud of him today, Ray knew. For once he did something good instead of just hauling in the criminals at the height of their depravity. This time, he'd saved someone's life.

If only Fraser had been there to see it.

***

That had been the turning point, Ray realized as he faced the forbidding wall. Maybe it wasn't the catalyst for his decision, but it had been the moment that put Fraser back into his mind, actively rather than subconsciously, and Fraser was the reason behind his crazy decision now.

Okay. No more hesitation. Time to run for it.

The first few steps were easy, one after another, dodging the pattern of searchlights that he'd memorized by now. What he hadn't counted on was the snow, the damn slipperiness of it all, which caused Ray to falter once or twice.

And then the siren went off. Shit. Ray increased his speed, hoping to at least reach the wall before they spotted him and blew his head off. Suddenly the wall itself, rather than over it, had become his ultimate goal because he knew Canadians and he knew that if they caught him, they'd be much more likely to listen to whatever story he could spin before throwing him back into his own country.

"Halt right there!" came a booming voice. Ray kept running, his heart pounding even more erratically as he recognized the dull thud of bullets hitting the snow just a little to his left. "I said halt!"

Ray had no intention of stopping, but apparently, the snow had other ideas. A hidden rock, covered in ice, caused him to lose his balance yet again and this time Ray went flying, blinded by the whiteness covering his glasses, but the ability to see really wouldn't have made any difference the moment Ray realized that the butt of a rifle was pressed into his back. And this time, he didn't particularly want to be shot, not when he was so close.

"On your feet. Hands in the air where I can see them. Now!" the voice bellowed, and shakily, he did so. As he brushed away the snow he noticed a dot of red blood, starkly out of place amongst the crystalline whiteness. Red again, always red. He carefully shook it to the ground then turned.

A Mountie. Thank God. "My name's Ray Kowalski," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush, "and I'm requesting asylum...."

*

They didn't even listen. They roughly placed him in a holding cell with the grim instructions that he was not to attempt calling out to anyone, or he would face the full penalty of attempting to break through the wall. Ray had to laugh at that. He hadn't even gotten close. Then again, he guessed he was lucky having not been blown to bits. Because if he was brutally honest with himself, maybe that would have been better. Ray didn't even know if Fraser was alive anymore. Maybe it was best to end it all now, enter safe oblivion, sacrificing his life to a memory of when the world had been a happy place.

The clang of the outer door opening caused Ray to look up, ever hopeful, but knowing his luck it was just another check to see that he hadn't harmed himself. Or maybe it was time for breakfast - Ray didn't know how long he'd been here, but surely it was approaching dawn.

But aside from the door closing again, there were no more sounds. Ray blinked, wishing he could see more of the darkened hall, but there was nothing save for a shape hidden in the shadows. Standing so still, breathing, watching him. Ray swallowed. He stood there staring into the gloom, fighting the impulse to retreat from the bars, controlling his own breathing, and hardly daring to hope.

And when the voice finally came, it was both joy and heartbreak.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" The words were said with a vicious hiss, and despite himself, Ray backed away. He knew that voice, knew it intimately, but the tone was one he'd never heard. "Do you want to be killed? Or are you trying to kill us, is that it?"

Eyes glittered at him from the darkness, eyes filled with rage.

"Don't you know that Canada is one of the few places in the world that doesn't have it? That wall is there for a *reason*, Ray! I don't care what reasons you have for doing what you did, I wouldn't even care if you were the Queen herself! What were you thinking?"

The accusation rang through the tiny corridor, the tiny cell, and desolate, Ray sat on his chair and retreated into his own shadows.

"I - I missed Canada?" he offered, his voice thin and quavery even to his own ears. A useless excuse, the words were right, what the hell was he thinking coming all the way up here? He'd always had a screw loose, he decided, that was the reason behind his single-mindedness. It wasn't a good trait, it was a flaw. He shouldn't have come.

"I'm sorry," he admitted, and stared at the floor. It was the color of dirty ice, perfectly appropriate for this place.

"No," and this time, the word was a little softer, "I'm sorry. They're not going to let you out of here. *I* can't let you out of here." A long pause, and then finally, his name. "Ray...."

Fraser stepped from the shadows, just as Ray stood, responding instantly to the saying of his name that was almost a verbal caress. It *was* Fraser, looking as Mountie-ish as Ray could ever recall seeing him, the upstanding citizen who would defend the right until the very last. Only he was different, too, thinner, circles beneath his eyes, and a world-weariness that Ray had never expected. And the red serge offset by black gloves, an unfortunate, necessary addition - that was different too, a reminder.

"Why did you come?"

And this time, finding the courage to meet Fraser's eyes, Ray could answer.

"I guess I wanted to see you." He dropped the gaze, muttering, "Stupid idea, huh. Should've never left Chicago."

There was a world weary sigh, and then an admission. "I'm glad to see you, Ray. I - I've missed you." Fraser stepped closer until he was almost pressed against the bars, yet still maintaining the pretence of decorum. "It's been a long five years."

"Too damn long," Ray echoed, and suddenly he was smiling, and Fraser was smiling, and just like that their connection was back in place and Ray felt the rightest he'd felt in a long time. "So what've you been up to?"

Ray listened for the next half hour as Fraser told him of his adventures since they'd parted all that time ago. Most of it was a long, depressing story, but it was Fraser talking, and that somehow made it better. Even hearing of the security measures of the Great Wall were interesting when they came from Fraser.

"What about you?" Fraser was flushed red, as if he'd only just realized that Ray, too, had a story to tell.

Ray shrugged it off. "You know, same old stuff, walking the streets of Chicago, doing what I can, but that's never enough, is it?" His voice caught on the last word, and of course Fraser *knew*, knew it had been horrific and words could never make it okay.

Before Ray knew what Fraser was doing, the man had unlocked the barred door. "Oh Ray," he said, his eyes never leaving Ray's for a second as he came closer and closer. "I wish I had been there for you."

Ray tried to smile, but it just didn't work, because his heart was too full of hope again, hope mixed up with a wild and crazy emotion that defied definition but it was all tied up in Benton Fraser who was *finally* here with him. Finally coming towards him, with that look of intent that Ray had seen twice before, but never followed through on, and suddenly Ray was glad he'd checked the place for cameras because the last thing he wanted was Fraser getting in trouble for - for what? Liaising with an American?

And before he knew what was happening, Fraser's hands were on his shoulders, and then wrapping around his back, and Ray could think of almost nothing but the knowledge that he was home, when he realized just what was happening. The horror coursed through him, breaking the paralysis, and he almost shoved Fraser away before retreating to a lonely corner of the cell.

Fraser stared at him in shock.

"Frase," and even as he said the words, he hated himself for it, "There's something I gotta tell you."

The dawning comprehension was almost too painful to look at.

"A few months ago, I had one of those dreams. You know, the kind that you can never really remember, but you know it was horrible but important somehow. I woke up that morning and felt like something was off, it was like an internal warning. Sometimes as a cop you get it. You know that something big's gonna go down, you know that someone's gonna die, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

"Fraser, that day was a good day. I saved someone - a little girl - and it was a good feeling. I wished you'd been there to share it with me." He paused, smiling briefly at Fraser, reliving the one happy memory. "And because of that I thought I'd cheated fate, somehow, saved a life where it wasn't supposed to go on, beaten that damn dream for once.

"But that wasn't true," and Ray turned away, because he could no longer face the intense blue gaze that was piercing him, the eyes so full of hope mixed with tragic fear of the inevitable. "I was wrong, Frase. It wasn't the little girl who was going to die. I only found out a few weeks ago that it was me."

The heavy silence again, the interminable passing of one second into another. "It is me."

"No." It was a whisper, barely there, and Ray almost thought he'd imagined it until he dared face Fraser again, seeing his lips move the barest fraction of an inch. "No," he said again, a little more forcefully. "No, Ray, you do *not* have it! I refuse to believe that! It's not true!" Maybe Fraser thought if he said it enough, he'd make it go away, but Ray had already been through all of this and he made himself stare at Fraser, seeing the horrible denial fighting grim acceptance. Sometimes Ray preferred denial.

"I'm sorry, Fraser," he said, wanting to do something to comfort his friend, but unable to move. Unable to reach out, never ever to touch because that would result in a death sentence for Fraser as well. "I - I never wanted to tell you this. Didn't want you getting all sad on my account. But," and Ray shrugged, pretending that it didn't bother him so much, "I guess I wanted someone to know I was dying."

Fraser suddenly backed away, anger appearing in his eyes. "You came up here to tell me so that I could mourn you, Ray? Is that it?"

Ray didn't - couldn't - answer.

"I mourned you for years!" Fraser exploded. "Every time I turned around and you weren't there I mourned you! Every time I laughed I wished you were there to share it with me, every time I cried - " Fraser cried? -"I wished you were there. And then you finally come back, and you tell me that you're dying and this is it?" Fraser was really yelling now; Ray had never seen him like this before. "You might as well have just stayed away!" he finished.

Yet the moment he'd said it, his face crumpled, and Ray could only stare, shocked. "Ray, Ray, Ray, oh Ray, I didn't mean any of that, I am so so sorry...."

"No, it's okay, Fraser," Ray answered, "you're right. I shouldda stayed away. It was stupid of me to come here, don't know what I was looking for."

"Yes you do," and this time, Fraser's voice was heartbreakingly soft. "You were looking for the same thing I've been looking for these past five years. The thing I've been looking for every night as I patrolled this border. This border, and nowhere else, Ray, hoping you would come back to me."

And now Ray was getting teary, his red eyes matching Fraser's. "I'm sorry I couldn't."

"But you did."

"But it's too late."

"I still love you."

"And I you," Ray answered without hesitation, mimicking Fraser's response to him all those years ago but this time, it was said with absolute sincerity. "I love you, Benton Fraser," he repeated, his voice catching on the last word because it was too damn late to be saying this now. It should have been said years ago, before Canada even, it should have been said the first time Ray realized that Benton Fraser was everything that was good in his life.

"Ray," Fraser was saying softly, moving towards him again, and as much as it pained Ray to do it, he hastily scrambled backwards.

"No, Fraser, you can't touch me, I'm contaminated."

"But I need-" Fraser didn't need to express it, because Ray understood. He glanced around the small holding cell, then held out one gloved hand.

"Take me outside?"

Fraser did.

They stood there, in the freezing snow, beneath a stark and empty sky. Joined only by gloved hand in gloved hand, and it wasn't enough, it would never be enough, but it would have to do. Fraser was pointing at the stars and Ray found himself listening out of interest. God, he'd missed Fraser's voice so much.

"See that group? Orion. I used to imagine, as a child, that when it reached this point in the sky it was as if Orion had laid down his sword and it was settled on the ground now, slowly waning away."

"Orion dying," Ray finished, fragments of the conversation coming back to him.

"So you were listening that night?"

"Fraser, I always listened to you," he admitted. "I just liked teasing you about your stories, that's all."

The man nodded, almost imperceptibly, before continuing his story. "The great warrior, felled by circumstances as sure as the sun and the moon. Something he couldn't control, and it was a thing of great beauty and great tragedy. Because it always signaled the start of something new." Pausing, Fraser inhaled a deep breath. "Do you smell it, Ray?"

It was so cold that Ray had lost his sense of smell, but he sniffed the air regardless, just to make Fraser happy.

"It's Spring, Ray. The cold death of winter swept away to make something new." He turned, facing Ray, one gloved hand caressing his cheek. "Orion dying was a time of new beginnings."

"Not this time, huh," Ray softly replied, unable to tear himself away from the gaze. So many years wasted....

"We never completed our adventure."

"What?" And it was heartening to know that even after being apart for so long, some things about Fraser were still the same.

"Our quest, to find the Hand of Franklin. We never completed it."

"I know."

And to Ray's amazement, there was a hint of a twinkle in Fraser's eyes as he said, "Let's go."

"What, now?"

Fraser nodded, already tugging Ray along with him.

"No wait, you can't just leave, they'll know you let a criminal go! And what about all that stuff you said, about Canada being one of the last places left, and -"

"Ray, Ray, Ray" every time Fraser said his name it was like a caress, "I don't think anyone will care. I certainly don't. Besides, we're not heading anywhere inhabited."

"But you'll never be able to come back to your job." Fraser had to remember that, he was The Mountie and it was almost all he'd ever been as long as Ray could remember. He stared at Fraser, beyond the red serge, and saw something else in the man's eyes.

"Some things," and there was a catch in Fraser's voice, "are far more important."

He continued tugging Ray with him, through the snow, and when Ray stumbled Fraser caught him, carefully, touching and not touching. "Look, Ray," he said softly and pointed forwards. "Orion's waiting for us."

And staring up into the stars, and then back at Fraser, Ray almost believed it was true.

---

End.