It was maybe the first night of real sleep Fraser had had since the day of the surgery. He was weak and drained, but the feeling of oppression had lifted a little.
Half-awake, Fraser’s hands glided over the blanket covering him. He frowned and finally opened his eyes. For a moment he was confused when he was greeted by the old blue blanket and then memory came flooding back. Oh dear.
Mortification swept him up and Fraser felt his cheeks burn. Dear Lord, what must Ray be thinking of him now? How could he have lost it so completely? He couldn’t really remember. The whole night was blurry in his memory. A kaleidoscope of emotions – none of them nice – and fragments of images like shards from a broken mirror, but no coherent narrative.
Judging from Dief’s worried behavior he must’ve been really out of it.
Ray seemed to share the half-wolf’s attitude for when he visited a little while later he was full of soft smiles and warm caresses; Ray’s hands only seldom stopped touching him.
Fraser would’ve liked Ray to stop treating him like something fragile, but he didn’t know how to do that without bringing up last night—and Fraser really didn’t want to talk about his embarrassing display.
At least he felt… more settled? He could say that he was lots calmer during the day’s tests and he was more attentive in conversations.
Ray hadn’t asked about any of his tests… not even once. Fraser had dreaded the question, but as hour after hour passed it was clear that Ray wouldn’t ask. It was simply too difficult and frustrating to find an answer. He couldn’t move his legs, he had no control over his muscles—he couldn’t even sit up by himself.
And yet the doctors weren’t all discouraged. They appeared even satisfied with some of the responses the tests procured. Fraser would’ve liked to compare his experiences… but of all the things he remembered this wasn’t one of them. He didn’t have the foggiest if he had been able to feel more last time or just as little… and he didn’t have an infection last time, maybe that changed things as well.
No… Ray only smiled at him and didn’t ask any questions for which Fraser didn’t have an answer anyway. He relaxed, just a little.
He still wasn’t prepared for what happened the next day. Fraser tried to squish the feeling that someone looking a little more closely might have termed ‘fear.’
Why was he even surprised? He should’ve seen it coming. He just… he just… he had hoped the answer would be different…
“Frase? I—” Ray entered the hospital room and stared in shock at the empty bed. “Fraser?”
“I’m here, Ray,” came Fraser’s quiet voice.
Ray whirled in the direction of the window. His mouth opened on a silent ‘o’ of astonishment.
The grin that replaced it stretched so far it must’ve been hurting his face.
“I don’t believe it,” Ray voiced his surprise, still grinning like the cat that got the canary.
Fraser turned the wheelchair further in Ray’s direction. He had been afraid of the moment Ray would find him like this. He was bound to misunderstand.
“Ray, I… this is not the good news you think it is,” Fraser bit his lip. The smile on Ray’s lips wavered and crumbled at Fraser’s serious expression. It took Ray a visible effort to regain a wobbly smile.
He crossed the last few feet to Fraser’s spot and reached for his hands. He sat down on his haunches and looked up at Fraser. “Is this it?” Ray asked with a nod at the wheelchair. His voice was soft.
Fraser tried to find the best way to put it. He frowned.
“Because… I can deal with it, okay? If you—if this is—”
“I’m not paralyzed,” Fraser quickly interrupted before Ray could go too far into the other direction.
Ray sighed with relief and then he shook his head. “So what’s it gonna be? I think you’ve had some kind of breakthrough and you say it ain’t that. Then I think it means you won’t recover and it ain’t that either. What the hell is it?” Ray asked anxiously.
“The doctors think I might be able to start physio in a week—”
Fraser had to wait until Ray’s whoop of victory had died down again.
“Oh, c’mon, Ben.”
“That means your legs are getting better— hell, the whole surgery was worth it—”
“RAY! Listen to me…” and that was when words failed him.
Ray looked with seriousness at Fraser’s sad face. “What is it, Ben?”
Fraser took a deep breath and looked at their clasped hands before he raised his eyes again to meet Ray’s.
“They don’t think I will recover fully.”
The full stop at the end of his sentence might as well have been another gun shot.
It took Ray a second to react. “We’ll see about that when we get there,” Ray said decisively and the expression on his face was so fierce that Fraser couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope.
Ray pushed up and his fingers came around Fraser’s shoulder as he angled his head down to kiss Fraser. A small electric shock went through Fraser at the contact. It had been a long time since their last kiss and it took him off guard.
Ray pulled back a little and smiled at Fraser. “This has got to be better than lying in bed, right? It can only get better.
…yes… it couldn’t get worse than being confined to a wheelchair, right? Might as well get used to it…
Ray was still smiling when he came back home. Fraser was up, he wasn’t lying morosely in bed anymore and Ray desperately hoped that it would help to get some confidence back into him. They had said he wouldn’t fully recover, but… a week ago they hadn’t been sure if he would recover at all. If Fraser could at least walk again, live without a wheelchair—get the feeling back in his legs… that would be a hell of a lot more than either of them could afford to turn down.
And Fraser had to be better, right? If he could maneuver a wheelchair? Sure he needed help getting in and out of it, but that meant he could move a little better… right?
Lost in thought, Ray rubbed his thumb over his lips. He only noticed after a moment and his smile turned positively wistful. The kiss had been way too short, a mere peck on the lips… but Ray hadn’t dared anything more. It had been over a week that they had done anything more than hold hands and… well, Ray hadn’t wanted to come on too strong.
But, god… he missed Fraser. Almost sleeping in the same bed with him had brought that little truth home with the force of a knock-out. Feeling silly, Ray dropped down onto their bed and pulled Fraser’s pillow close. He hadn’t changed the pillow case, figuring no one used it in between anyway and… Ray blushed hotly… so it smelled like Ben, sue him.
He pressed the pillow close to his face and inhaled. Oh… Ray’s fingers tightened their grip in the soft cotton. Damn, he missed him something fierce. Ray’s blood beat out a rapid jive. Just his smell was enough…
Ray’s hand sneaked down, brushing over his sweater until he reached his jeans. He bit his lip and pressed the heel of his hand against his groin. He groaned into Fraser’s pillow, nimble fingers already popping open the buttons.
“Ha…” Ray gasped as his fingers closed around his heated erection. Slowly, Ray trailed his finger up and down over the velvet skin, teasing himself. A whimper escaped his lips and he licked his fingers to repeat the tantalizing dance of his fingers.
His tongue came out to wet his lips when his fingers finally closed around his dick. “Ben…” he moaned quietly, seeing him so clearly in his mind’s eye. But he couldn’t shake the picture of Fraser at the hospital, try as he might.
His hand faltered and finally stopped its movement. He sighed and stared at the ceiling. Great. Now he felt guilty for something stupid like jerking off. And Fraser had never been opposed to Ray wanking… he’d even watched a couple of times.
But there was Fraser absent or watching instead of helping Ray out and there was Fraser unable to do so. Those were two very different things. Ray felt like a dirty old pervert, unable to keep his dick in his pants for even a few weeks while his partner was in the hospital with massive nerve damage.
Surely he could keep his hands to himself for another week or so until Fraser could come home?
Ray wiped his hand on the bedspread and buttoned his fly up again. He dragged his ass over to the couch where he opened a beer and zapped through channels until he fell asleep.
Fraser wheeled along the corridor in a state of frustration. He had spent time in a wheelchair— more than enough, in fact. He knew how to use one. Practice… he shook his head.
He would have the rest of his life to practice.
But the nurse hadn’t stopped pestering him; not even feigning sleep had put her off for long. As she had told him—in no uncertain terms— the doctor had said he should start getting active again, exercising the muscles in his arms to prepare them for the strain of the physical therapy, so that was what she was making him do.
She had told him to at least move around the hospital, join the other patients in the main ward to watch television… Fraser snorted. Yes, watching television was a real motivation to get out of bed.
He sighed. The corridor stretched endlessly ahead of him; every corner looked the same, the row of doors undistinguishable. Fraser stopped the wheelchair at a window that overlooked the park adjoining the hospital. Two small girls were playing in the grass. He smiled sadly.
The doctor had said that he might be able to go home for his physical therapy. Fraser glanced down at his useless legs for a moment before he focused his attention again on the playing children; they were playing a game of tag outside of the window.
Fraser had thought long and hard about this offer… in the end, he had decided against it, should it really come to pass. He was already enough of a burden as it was.
The apartment wasn’t designed for a wheelchair; he wouldn’t even be able to reach anything on his own. He would constantly have to ask for Ray’s help and… he didn’t want to become Ray’s responsibility. The hospital was much easier to negotiate with a wheelchair anyway. Of course, he might have to give up his room and share one to make space for a patient who needed it for his recovery, but he didn’t mind that.
It was better this way. Ray was already doing enough for him as it was. He couldn’t ask of him to cook for him, help him get washed, dressed… the longer the list grew the firmer his resolve became. He would not burden Ray with this.
After an hour of aimlessly wheeling around, Fraser made his way back to his room. Dief was nowhere to be seen, but if Fraser had to take a guess he’d say that he was probably off visiting the nurse from the children’s ward. Dief probably only enjoyed all the attention the kids were bestowing on him… he shouldn’t be so bitter…
The walls were much too close. The whole air of the hospital was clogging his lungs. Angrily, he frowned again at his motionless legs. He tossed his head back and swallowed an expletive.
His gaze hit upon the side rails that were fastened to the walls around the room. His look became speculative.
Go~d, Ray fell onto his couch with a groan and rubbed a hand over his face. This was driving him nuts. They should never have told him that Fraser could start therapy in a while. Ever since they told him Ray was plagued by visions of Fraser getting out of the hospital and that led to thoughts of having him back at home and that… Ray grimaced.
He should really be better at controlling his—his—he waved his hand eloquently around the room—this lib… libo… damn it, how did that Nirvana song go? Ray hummed a few bars of Smells Like Teen Spirit until he found the correct part of the lyrics—libido! That was it! At his age he should really be better at keeping his libido in check, but, god, when was the last time he had to go a month without it?
And Ben was making it so damn hard. Looking all prim and proper and—hell—Ray had seen the muscles in his forearms bulge as he pushed the wheelchair and even that was a turn-on after seeing him corpse-like and frail for so long…
Ray had wanted to kiss him all day, but somehow… he shrugged even though there was no one there to see it. It had just never seemed the right time for it. Fraser had certainly given no sign that he wanted Ray to kiss him… he ran a hand through his hair and let his head fall back against the back of the couch. Sure, he hadn’t been cold or anything either… just… maybe Ray should’ve just bent down and kissed him?
But he didn’t want Ben to think he was forcing himself upon him. Gah… Ray sighed. They were together, partners, kissing should be the most natural thing in the world…
…so why wasn’t it?
Ray frowned sadly at his second beer. If Ben were here he wouldn’t have gone for that second one. Ben would have looked sternly at him and had Ray tried to ignore him and gone for it anyway Ben would’ve found something to distract Ray with.
And the beer didn’t help. If anything it made the itch worse. Alcohol always made him think of sex. He should’ve taken over another shift tonight. It would’ve been better at keeping him occupied than what was on TV.
Ray went to bed and pulled the blanket over his head. Just a little while longer… he could do this…
“So? What do you think?” Ray presented the empty hallway of their apartment to Fraser. “Thought I couldn’t throw out some clutter now and again, nuh-uh, Mister. You haven’t seen me yet. All wheelchair-friendly.”
Fraser smirked at him and pushed the wheelchair forward.
Ray stepped past him and into their bedroom, turning his back to Fraser as he pulled the coverlet away. “C’mon, I’ll help you into bed and you can relax a little.”
A prickle at the back of his neck was the only warning Ray had before strong arms reached around him to pull him flat against a hard chest. Chest? How did—?
“Why don’t I help you into bed, Ray?” Was the amused murmur close to his ear.
Ray tried to look behind him to get a look at Fraser. “You—Ben—you can walk,” Ray exclaimed.
A warm chuckle ghosted over his skin. “I thought you would like that,” Ben continued with a smile while his hand moved lower, learning the shape of Ray’s body anew.
“Ah—this is—this is a dream,” Ray panted.
“Of course it is.” A warm tongue traced the shell of his ear. “Does it matter?” Clever fingers popped open the buttons of Ray’s fly, one by one.
“N-no,” Ray stuttered.
Deftly, Fraser’s hand stroked over Ray’s boxer briefs. “Oh god,” Ray’s voice caught.
“Missed me?” Fraser’s lips brushed against Ray’s throat.
“God, yes…” Ray rested his head on Fraser’s shoulder.
Fraser’s left hand shifted, reaching around Ray’s shoulder so that he could grip his chin and pull his mouth close for a kiss. Ray’s moan was lost in the slide of their tongues.
Self-assured, Fraser’s hand dove underneath the waistband of Ray’s boxers to grip his erection.
Ray was holding on to Fraser for dear life, not knowing if it was his tongue that set the rhythm or Fraser’s hand on his dick. Fraser released his mouth and murmured: “There are far too many clothes in the way.”
And Ray loved dreams, god, had he ever, because just like that they were both naked and he could press close to Fraser and feels his cock dip between his cheeks.
“Please,” Ray moaned. “God… it’s been so long…”
Fraser made a hungry sound and pulled Ray to the bed with him. “Do you want it slow?” Fraser asked, almost amused, as if he knew the answer already and was really only humoring Ray.
“No—no,” Ray gasped. “C’mon, just, fuck—oh—”
Ray had no idea where the lube came from, but there was Fraser, holding him close, pressing in and—God, Ray fucking loved this dream— it didn’t hurt—not a bit—not even a burn—just the stretch of it and he thought he could feel every inch.
“Ray…” Fraser groaned into his ear and pulled Ray even closer with a tight grip on his hip.
And Ray wanted to move—he needed to—he—why couldn’t he move? Bewildered, Ray looked behind him only to find his legs completely entangled in the blanket and—what? He frowned—the blanket hadn’t even been there when they had tumbled into bed.
The whole scene shifted, blurred, and suddenly it was just Ray, humping his blanket as if there was no tomorrow. Ray gnashed his teeth together. His hand moved into his boxer briefs before he had even consciously thought about it. God, he was so hard… he needed to finish this…
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed anything this desperately. Ray groaned into the pillow and moved his hand faster, tightening his grip. “God—” the moan was wrung from his lips.
He began to shake and bit into Fraser’s pillow to smother his moan as he spilled over his hand.
He lay there shaking, trying to catch his breath. His hand sticky and the sheets growing uncomfortably wet where he was lying. “God…” he mumbled. He glanced blearily at his alarm clock. It wasn’t even half past three yet. Ray reached for the night stand to get a couple of tissues to mop up most of the mess before he turned around to try and get back to sleep.
Ray was almost vibrating with his impatience to see Fraser the next morning. God, he couldn’t shake that damn dream… he really needed to see Fraser now. He smiled. This time he wouldn’t hesitate to kiss him.
His disappointment was even more acute therefore when he didn’t find Fraser alone in his room. The attending doctor was present as well and even seemed to have waited for Ray to show up.
A little puzzled, Ray smiled at the group. “Uh, hey, morning.”
“Ah, Detective Kowalski, very good. I was just discussing something with Corporal Fraser,” the doctor’s gaze seemed the tiniest bit dissatisfied with whatever had transpired before Ray had showed up. “I thought it might be best to let you voice an opinion as well.”
“Sure, hit me,” Ray said, raising his eyebrows at Fraser to ask ‘what the hell’s going on here?’
“I just let the Corporal know that he might consider going home by the end of the week—”
“Seriously?” Ray’s smile could’ve put a whole city out of electricity it was so bright.
“Yes,” the doctor continued patiently. “As long as he has someone to take care of him and make sure that he takes his meds, and as long as he appears here regularly for his physical therapy there is nothing preventing him from being released.”
Before Ray could even say his bit, Fraser entered the conversation.
“And while I appreciate it, I think I have made it clear that I have given the matter some thought since you first made this proposal and that it won’t be necessary,” Fraser replied with a frown.
Say what? Ray stared dumb-founded at Fraser. He had known? Fraser had already known that he would be able to go home? …and he hadn’t told Ray?
“It will be much more practical—and I’m sure Ray will agree—much more sensible if I stayed here for the duration of my physical therapy.”
Ray stood there gaping. But… but… why? He could… and he had planned everything… he had… why?
“Our apartment is hardly made for easy access with a wheelchair and I don’t want to take advantage of Ray—he is busy enough without looking after me the whole day.”
The doctor sighed and looked at Ray. Ray had no idea what he could see on his face, but it couldn’t have been pretty because the doctor nodded at him with something that might have been sympathy or pity.
“It might be best if you discussed this for a moment. I will come by later to find out if this is your final decision.”
The door fell closed and Ray was still standing frozen to the spot. “I could… I saved my vacation days to—to help… when you could come home…” Ray mumbled, almost inaudible, trying hard not to let the hurt break him wide open.
Fraser smiled gently at him. “Ray, that’s not necessary. I would never ask this of you. I’m taken care of here; it’s much easier for everyone involved if I simply stay here. I don’t want to impose—”
“Fuck impose—” Ray spat and tried not to let it register how much his voice wobbled.
Fraser frowned disapprovingly.
“How long have you known?” Ray asked. God, his throat hurt. “Huh? How long since they told you you could go home?”
Fraser sighed as if Ray was being unreasonable. “Two days ago. And it was a mere possibility—I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up—”
“No… you’d rather I just find out when all is said and done… fuck you, Fraser,” Ray heard the tears, somewhere in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard.
“Ray…” Fraser said softly. “I didn’t intend to hurt you. But it is the best solution, think about it.”
“I’ve worked my ass off to be able to take you home, you know that? I was dreaming of you coming home, I—fuck—” Ray wiped a hand quickly over his eyes. “I need to go,” Ray mumbled and stormed out of the door.
Fraser’s “Ray!” followed him down the corridor, but he didn’t turn back.
Fraser kept staring at the open door for what seemed like an hour after Ray had vanished.
He hadn’t… he had never meant to hurt Ray. Couldn’t he see how much pressure this would put on him if he had to take care of Fraser all day? He didn’t want Ray to build his life around helping him.
Fraser sighed and looked sadly at the open door. He’d had no idea that Ray had been saving his vacation days—he couldn’t even see how Ray could’ve accomplished this.
Unless he had gone to work these last few weeks—and he hadn’t, he’d always been with Fraser at the hospital for most of the day, there was no way he could’ve—
Fraser’s eyes widened. Unless… had Ray worked the night shift? Oh god… the dark shadows under his eyes and the stubble on his chin on most days hadn’t been just from worrying. Ray had stayed with him throughout the day and then gone to work during the night…
There was no other explanation.
All that so… just so that Fraser could come home when they allowed him to.
But wasn’t this exactly why Fraser thought it better if he stayed in the hospital? So that Ray wouldn’t have to carry this burden?
He thought long and hard about their falling out. What if this was only false pride on his part? And if it wasn’t… Ray would probably never forgive him for this one way or another… Nothing was worth Ray ruining himself. Fraser rubbed his eyebrow.
Maybe he could try to make this as simple for Ray as possible… and after a while… maybe Ray would understand that being together with him when he was in a wheelchair wasn’t as easy as he had thought. And maybe Ray would realize that he didn’t want that after all…
Fraser swallowed quickly and blinked a few times. There was no reason to think this yet… and the therapy might at least allow him to get by without a wheelchair.
Carefully, Fraser closed the door and positioned the wheelchair again next to the side rails. He could do this. Fraser bit his lips and braced the muscles in his arms to support the rest of his body.
Ray kept hitting the heavy bag until the sweat was running into his eyes and he had to stop. He was breathing heavily, supporting himself with one arm against the punching bag to stay upright.
Ray had spent the afternoon at the 2-7. He had been working—at least according to his definition. Welsh had made him go home long before his shift would’ve been over, though. According to him, Ray was only messing everything up. He’d gotten into two quarrels with Elaine’s new partner, just because the guy had a smart mouth—something Ray usually liked about him, and he had almost ended up in a fight with one of the perps waiting for booking.
Ray smacked the bag again with a quick 1-2-punch. Coming here after Welsh had turned him out the door had been a good idea. He delivered a stinging right hook to the bag and gasped for breath.
He couldn’t believe it. And damn it, it still hurt!
Didn’t Fraser want to come back home with him? Didn’t Fraser care at all if they were together or not?
Fuck—Ray hit the bag again. He was more hurt than angry though, which explained why this was draining him so much. He began to shiver as the sweat on his skin began to cool.
Now his body hurt to match the rest of him.
The frickin’ nerve of him! Ray aimed a vicious kick at the punching bag. God, he wanted to break something. Or cry. He hadn’t decided yet.
This was—arghh—this was so infuriatingly like Fraser! This was the goddamn headache-thing all over again. Why tell Ray anything? It would only worry his pretty head. Ray snarled and stabbed at the bag yet again; even though his punch lacked all spite by now. Nooo, why tell Ray the truth? Ray couldn’t deal with the tough stuff, oh no, Ray was only good when it came to the sunshine parts of life. Fuck.
Ray stopped again, panting. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cursed so much. His mother would be shocked. This was all Fraser’s fault—for weeks—weeks! Ray had tried to be the best he could be and then… then… Fraser just went and did his own thing anyway.
Ray’s hands dropped to his side. He was exhausted.
Defeated, he dragged himself into the locker room for a quick shower and donned some clean clothes before he went back to their apartment.
For a long moment, Ray kept standing in the door to the darkened hallway. He threw his gym bag into the corner and moved through the dark until he could drop down onto the couch.
“Damn it…” Ray muttered. He was probably doing it all wrong. Someone must’ve written a guidebook on how to deal with stubborn people stuck in a hospital and Ray was sure he was breaking all the rules.
He should’ve—hell, he didn’t know how he should’ve reacted. Not like he had probably. Ray was supposed to be the strong one in this, not the one who freaked out.
He put his feet up on the coffee table and squirmed deeper into the couch cushions. If he wasn’t so bloody hot-headed all the time he would’ve taken a deep breath and told Fraser that he was coming home with Ray, no question about it, stick it in a box marked ‘done.’
God, they had told him that it would get difficult, hadn’t they? He knew he shouldn’t take anything personally, that Fraser would lash out without meaning to—but—Ray garbled another four letter word—they didn’t know Fraser. For Fraser lashing out meant forgetting to say ‘kindly’ or maybe even forgetting to say the whole shebang with ‘thank you’ and ‘an extra second to be courteous.’
Ray sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d reacted badly… it had just hurt so much… still…
What was his excuse? He hadn’t been confined to a hospital for weeks to be then told that he might not ever recover the full use of his legs. He wasn’t sitting in a wheelchair staring months of excruciating physical therapy in the face. Yeah… well done, Kowalski. God, he was such an ass.
It was too late to take it back now. God, could he have a nickel for every time he’d wanted to in his life, please?
On his way to the bathroom he noticed that the light on the telephone was flashing. He picked it up and looked at the display. 3 missed calls. The number was Fraser’s room at the hospital.
Ray hung his head, ashamed. He looked at the clock. It was only a little after 9, he could still call him. Ray thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip. Maybe it was better to sleep it off and start tomorrow with a clean slate.
He replaced the phone in the cradle and continued his way to the bathroom. He hadn’t gotten further than five steps when he growled and turned back around. Dammit, for the last time, his mother had raised no coward. He was Chicago born and bred—stepping clear of a confrontation was not in his blood.
It wasn’t nervousness, he told himself, that was making his hands sweaty as he pressed the call button.
“Rush Medical Center, Corporal Benton Fraser speaking,” the voice coming from the speaker said, slightly puzzled. For a moment, Ray forgot their fight and stifled a grin. Trust Ben to get confused about the correct procedure to answer the telephone in a hospital room. Who did he think was calling him?
“Hey, Frase,” Ray said quietly, gripping the plastic of the phone a little too tightly.
“Ray,” Fraser sounded relieved. “Are you all right?”
Ray shook his head with another exasperated smile. He shouldn’t have worried Fraser; he had enough on his plate as it was.
“Yeah, I’m—I’m sorry… for what happened this morning…”
“Please, don’t apologize,” Fraser said in a pained voice.
“No, I should,” Ray sighed. “I’m… I’m not mad anymore, okay? I’ll come back tomorrow and we talk, sounds good?”
“Ray, I—” There was a pause and Ray could almost see Fraser rubbing his eyebrow. “I thought about what you said and I… I’d like to come home… if—if you’re still offering,” he hastily amended.
Ray stared at the telephone for a moment. He crossed the fingers of his free hand.
“Really?” Ray’s voice sounded breathless.
“Really,” Fraser repeated softly.
“Greatness,” Ray exclaimed. And then he thought that maybe Fraser was just saying it to make him feel better. “You, uh, you can sleep on it, if you want… and we’ll talk tomorrow?” Ray made a question out of it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then, sleep well.”
“Yeah, you too,” Ray mumbled.
Ray really couldn’t help the smile that blossomed on his face. He danced a little jig and slid the last few feet on his socks over the floor on his way to the bathroom. Ben was coming home. Even though he probably still thought his own idea was much more sensible. Ray didn’t care. Fraser couldn’t tell him he would be happier at the hospital. Not even Fraser could make him buy that. And Fraser made a lot of weird stuff sound perfectly normal.
Tomorrow, Ray smiled. Yeah, he could deal with tomorrow.