I think I'm committing a felony here. No, it's not like they can close Canada at a certain hour, right? Shit, I feel like an idiot. Fraser's gonna be fine, I'm gonna end up in lockup and Welsh will have my ass and my badge. But I gotta make sure. I'll just creep in, quiet as you please, check him over and then be gone. Nobody'll be the wiser.

Not my fault anyway. It's the damn Mountie's. Moping around the station like he's lost his best friend. Well, maybe he did, but, hell, that's not my problem. I'm just here to do a job. In and out, be Ray Vecchio for a few months, transfer quietly away, get a citation in my file, maybe a promotion and move on. I am so all over that. But can it be that easy? No. Gotta make friends with a freak. Running around in that hat and bright target-red 'take a pot-shot at me' uniform.

So the Mountie's a little depressed. I mean, I've heard the rumors about him and Vecchio. Damn, I think I'd do man if I swung that way - what's not to want? Those baby blues, the hair, that entire tongue thing he's got going on. What the hell is up with that by the way? Christ, I need to get the guy some chapstick or something. Anyway, Vecchio must be something else to keep a looker like that on a leash. So, his boyfriend is gone - It's not the end of the world. Stella left me and I turned out fine.

Well, it ain't the end of the world anyway.

But you know what? I'd listen if he wanted to talk about it. As long as he didn't give out details. That'd be way too much information. But he won't even say anything beyond 'I misplaced something dear' and then do that damn eyebrow thing. So here I am, sneaking into the consulate in the middle of the damn night to make sure he's okay. Freak.

Let's see, the light's on in his office, I'll just peek around the corner and. See? There he is, sitting on his cot. Sharpening his straight razor on a leather strap? Okay. It's still all right. Maybe it's just a Mountie thing. I bet they do things like that. They all sit around in nothing but towels and sharpen their straight razors and then press them against the inside of their wris...

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. He's gonna kill himself.

"Fraser! Don't do it!"

Fuck. When did I pull my gun? This don't seem right. I'm about to hyperventilate and I'm holding my gun on my partner to keep him from killing himself. I'm gonna faint.

"Ray?" He's just staring at me with that damn calm facid faka expression that he's always got. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing here, Fraser, huh?" Oh, that's just great. Get all belligerent on him. Maybe I should lower my gun? Be calm. I can do that.

See I'm slowly lowering my weapon and putting it away and he's still sitting there like we're having a picnic in the park. At least he hasn't got the razor at his wrist anymore. He's just Sharpening it again?

"Fraser! Stop that! Things will be okay, it doesn't have to end like this." Man, I don't know what else to say. "Vecchio'll be back in a few weeks and you guys can be together again. True love triumphs and all that crap, right?" That stopped him. Oh yeah, I got it going on now. Pitter-patter.

"What are you talking about Ray?" Now he's raising both eyebrows at me. Like I'm a nutcase or something! I'm not the one trying to kill himself. "Oh good, Turnbull, right over here." What the.?

"Thank you, Sir." Shit! The other freaky Mountie just walks right on by me and drops an armload of stuff on Fraser's desk. He must have been here all along. Didn't he know what the hell was up? "Oh, I see that you found your father's blade. Very fortuitous of you, Sir, I know how much you've been pining for it." And then he's turning to face me. "Good Evening, Detective. How are you?" Like I'm gonna answer!

"What the hell is wrong with the both of you?" I'm shaking and thinking about taking my gun out again, because Fraser's running the blade along his arm

...shaving off his arm hair to see if the blade is sharp enough to...



Fraser's had a haircut, I can see the pile of hair in the corner, and when I look at him, he's lost a good half-inch. Nice sharp edge to the neckline. Straight razor sharp. Turnbull's hair is wet and messy and there's a pair of clippers in the mess he dumped on the desk. The mess of towels and shaving cream and combs. Hey, I use that kind of mousse too.

Oh, yeah. I am so screwed.

The only thing Fraser's in danger ofare uneven sideburns.

Fraser and Vecchio. I'm a nutcase. Anyone with half a brain can see that Fraser ain't moping over a balding Italian. I'm out of here. Don't even bother to say goodbye. Just pivot and go, smooth like I'm dancing. Whistle my way on out of here, thank you kindly. "Oh, hey, Turnbull, you don't have to walk me to the door. Thanks anyway, see you later, bye."

I need a beer. Hell, I need a six-pack. Or two.


Fraser was sorting through the items on his desk when Turnbull returned.

"Did you lock up, Constable?" he asked without looking up from his task.

"Yes, Sir."

Fraser motioned to the corner of his desk and Turnbull hopped up. He removed his towel when Fraser harrumphed lightly and asked if it were wet. Tossing it to the floor, he waited for the other man to finish organizing things. "What exactly did Detective Vecchio want, Sir?" he inquired, rather curious about the odd man.

"I'm not sure exactly. I do believe he thinks that Detective Vecchio - the other one - and I have a rather intimate..." Nodding his satisfaction at the precise arrangement, he turned and looked at Turnbull. "Good Lord, Turnbull, did you do that yourself? It looks as if you used Dief's dog shears."

The younger man blushed and bent his head. "I told you I need help. I really admire yours, but honestly, I can't figure out how you do it." Fraser handed him a mirror and frowned again at the mess before him. "As you were saying, Sir - about you and the original detective," anxious to steer the conversation away from his lack of skill with clippers.

"It appears that he's under the notion that we were sexually involved." The soothing vibration of clippers filled the air and tickled his spine.

"Were you?"

"No, no." Fraser shook his head, concentrating on his task. "Ray was so forcefully heterosexual, he had me sleeping with a woman." They both chuckled.

Angling the mirror, Turnbull watched avidly as the pointed tip of a leaf came into sharp relief against his skin. "Americans are rather strange, aren't they?"

Fraser looked up from his position between the strong blocky thighs. "Very much so." He took the semi-erect penis in front of him and pushed it down with a gentle stroke, touching the clippers to Turnbull's shaping-up-nicely pubic hair. "Really, Turnbull, one would think you'd never even seen a maple leaf before"

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Disclaimer: These characters belong to Alliance and the author makes no claims upon them - no copyright infrigement is intended. This story is for entertainment purposes only and there is no monetary gain.