Rating: NC-17 (briefly)

I Know Who You Did Last Summer
Sasscat

Ray gasped into the frosty air, his entire world reduced to the shadow of the tent, the chill of the groundsheet, the exquisite heat of being thrust into again and again by one Benton Fraser. His lover. The adventure for the Hand of Franklin had turned out to be much more rewarding than he could ever have imagined.

But still... there was a little part inside of him that missed Stella. Would always miss her. No matter how sexy Ben was, how amazing in bed, how much of a thrill rippled through Ray's body whenever those incredible eyes turned his way... he would never forget Stella.

Or Frannie. Or Rennie. Or Meg, or even that smug, self-confident creature of liquid sex, Mister Real Ray Vecchio. Arrogant son-of-a-bitch - now that was a one night stand Ray would remember for life.

But not right now. He was with Fraser now, and it was good, and-- *ohh*, more than good, there was that little finger thing again that drove him wild. He was half-curious, half-terrified to know where the hell Ben learned that. And then he was beyond feeling anything but lust, and the strength of his climax drove him into the hard Arctic ground.

--

When they finally returned to Chicago, Ben stepped away from his embrace. "Ray... about what happened between us in the Territories..."

Ray felt a chill that had nothing to do with snow. "What about it?"

Fraser seemed to be struggling for words. "Ray, I-- I value our friendship, Ray, and I just... I don't think..."

"Thinking is overrated," Ray snapped edgily. "Don't do this, Ben, don't do this to me. *Please*."

"It's not working, Ray."

"It's working fine!" And he hated the desperation in his voice, but Christ, this was the sixth time and you'd think it would get easier but he didn't want Ben to leave him didn't want to be alone again please don't go...!

"I'm sorry." And Fraser left him alone with that last, hypocritical comment.

--

Ray followed him around for a week before realising that this wouldn't work. Okay, Meg was off being a spy, and Vecchio and Stella were in Florida, but Rennie and Frannie still lived in Chicago and it was getting really complicated trying to stalk three people at once.

They shouldn't have left him. They shouldn't have done that. He loved them, all of them, and if he couldn't have them-- Ray paused as the answer came to him. If he couldn't have them, and he couldn't watch them to make sure no one else was having them, he'd have to make sure they couldn't get into trouble.

It was easier than he'd expected to arrange for the explosion at the bowling alley. Just like that, Stella and Vecchio were gone, immortalised in his heart. It was, Ray thought proudly, the most romantic thing he'd ever done for either of them.

Well, not that he and Vecchio had had much time for romance; more like pure lust and a desperation born of knowing that the next morning they'd be heading into yet another life-threatening situation. But hey, as Ray's motto went: it was never too late for flowers and candy.

Poisoned candy, in Rennie's case. The overeager Mountie had always had a fondness for marshmellow. It was a shame, too; Ren would have made a great politician. Better than the clowns already in charge. Like that Alderman Stella had dated, before they found out he was crooked. Now, like Rennie and Vecchio, Stella was safe from the Orsinis of the world. Some guys, Ray reflected as he began plotting how to do away with Ben, were just creeps.

He was delighted to see Meg at Fraser's funeral. That possibility hadn't even occurred to him, but it was *so* good to see her again.

"Come for coffee," he invited her.

She hesitated. "Ray, you know we can't--"

Yeah, yeah, they were 'incompatible'. As incompatible as a knife and a fork, he thought bitterly. "Look, just coffee. I've had... a rough few days."

Her expression melted. "Of course, I'm sorry. Where would you like to go?"

He took her back to his place and threw her out the window.

And that left Frannie. That he could do; he'd spent enough time following Stella around to learn some pretty creative time management skills. Stella, Meg, Ren, Vecchio and Fraser were safe; Frannie he'd keep an eye on personally.

But she kept giving him funny looks at work, and finally he followed her home and confronted her in her bedroom.

"I just-- Everyone kept dying," she explained, still giving him a look he didn't quite understand. "It seemed like... *someone* was targeting the people close to you."

"Maybe someone was," he said softly, stepping towards her and taking her hands. "But Frannie, I would never let anything happen to you. I love you."

She pulled her hands away. "Funny how the people you love keep disappearing."

"Frannie, I didn't have a choice. Think about it--"

She covered her mouth, staring at him. "Oh my god. You *did* do it."

Oh... bother. "Frannie," Ray repeated anxiously, "I only did it because I love you, all of you. You gotta understand that--"

"And you're going to kill me now too?"

"Of course not!" He moved towards her again, trying to convince her. "I would never hurt you--"

"Don't *touch* me!" she cried, and gave him an almighty shove.

Sounds of breaking glass. Thudding, hard, onto the shed, head recoiling painfully. Sliding. Falling. Darkness.

--

Several months later...

The hospital had saved his life, but a jagged scar still cut across Ray's forehead. He didn't mind - figured it gave him sort of a roguish appeal. Well, except when he was feeling pessimistic, when he told himself it made him look like that freak, Harry Potter.

Literary sensation or not, there was still an ex to settle the score with. Ray wandered downtown Chicago in the general direction of Octavia Street, wondering if he could seduce a cabbie into giving him a free ride. He hardly noticed the car pulling to the side of the road, until a familiar detective stuck his head out the window. "Hey, Ray! Need a lift?"

For the first time since coming out of his coma, Ray smiled. "Thanks," he said slowly, hopping in on the passenger side.

"Nah, no problem. Hey, what happened to your head?" Dewey looked at him curiously, the picture of wide-eyed innocence.

Ray shrugged. "Pushed out a window. You know how it is."

Dewey grimaced. "Tough collar, huh? That why we haven't seen you around in a few months?"

"Something like that," Ray said softly.

"Well, you've missed a *lot*, man. There's this new detective, a real fox. Mercedes something - she's Spanish."

"Long legs?" Ray hopefully asked.

Dewey grinned. "You can see *clouds* at the top of them."

Mm, nice. But Ray had other things in mind. He shifted around in his seat, gazing at Dewey. "You know, I'm glad we're getting along."

Dewey looked away from the road for a moment. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah." Ray ran his tongue over his upper lip, fixing predatory eyes on his former nemesis. "Not that I minded the constant bickering. You know what they say... all that tension..."

Dewey's eyes slid towards him again. "Tension?"

"Uh huh. Usually means something... more."

Dewey slowly smiled. "You don't say..."

Ray grinned wolfishly.

--
The End




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