We were married, Ray and I, by an official in the town hall of Inuvik. It was a simple ceremony, but no less heartfelt for that. And besides its symbolic value, it also had one most important practical benefit: that of allowing Ray to stay in Canada.

That summer and fall, we renovated my grandparents' old cabin some distance north of Inuvik. It had stood empty for years, but it was sturdily built, and the timbers were sound. Nevertheless, there was a great deal of work to be done if we were to live there year-round, and Ray insisted on some amenities that I might not have bothered with on my own.

The old cabin was full of memories for me: the old iron stove where my grandmother had cooked, the birch tree around the back where I had once carved my initials, the little room where I had slept as a boy. Even though we were tearing some of it down, it still gave me a satisfying sense of continuity to live there again. Besides, it was not the cabin which was my grandparents' real legacy, but the books. And the books were still there, some of them with me, but most donated to the Inuvik Centennial Library.

We spent that summer working hard, but I don't remember it as hard work. Rather, it was filled with a sense of common purpose that made the work seem easy. Ray would go bare-chested whenever the temperature and mosquitoes allowed, his muscled chest distracting me from my work until I had to push him up against the half-finished wall and kiss him, the smell of sweat and wood shavings filling my nostrils.

Ray weathered the first winter with cheer. It felt as if we spent most of it in bed, in long, thorough sessions of love-making. At midwinter, I would wake in the sunless morning when Ray still slept, and bring him awake by slow degrees: my hands on his soft belly, on the gentle rasp of his stubble and on the curves of his thighs. Afterwards, we would sleep again, and wake once again to the soft, blue twilight that suffused the world when the sun reached its invisible highest point below the horizon. We would watch it through the bedroom window, the abstract patterns of frost on the windowpane glowing with refracted light.

***

"Wow," Ray breathed, turning his face up. Showers of red and green and white exploded in the sky, again and again, an extravagant display of light in the darkness.

I squeezed Ray's hand through his mitten and mine. "I thought you'd enjoy this."

Inuvik celebrated the return of the sun every year with the fireworks and bonfire of the Sunrise Festival. The sun had long since set again, of course—it had only peeked above the horizon briefly—but it was an important symbolic event.

"Yeah, it's awesome," Ray said when the last of the fireworks had faded away. "I mean, obviously I've seen fireworks down south, too, but the city lights kind of wash them out. Hey, let's go check out the bonfire."

The bonfire was roaring along, and the heat on my face felt strange by contrast with the cold. A crowd of people stood around it, taking their mittens off and holding their hands out to the warmth, and the children were playing as close as they could get, with that strange attraction to fire that all children seem to share.

"I can see you disapprove from here," Ray said. "Let them have some fun, all right? It's too cold for anything to catch fire, anyway."

"Yes, I suppose that's true." I watched as one of the Pitseolak children pulled a branch out of the bonfire, yelling in delight at the yellow flames at the end, and then plunging the branch into the snow to hear the hissing as the fire went out. Dief kept his distance from the fire and the children both, wary of the flames.

Ray tugged my mitten off and took my hand in his own bare one. I turned to him and smiled, meeting his eyes, a quick smile that still felt almost unbearably private among all the people.

"Chill out, nobody's looking at us," Ray murmured.

"Oh yes, they are. You don't know how small towns are."

"Yeah, okay, but we're married. I think we're allowed to look sappy." In the warmth from the fire, he had pulled down the scarf that covered the lower part of his face, and I could see the smile on his face. I answered only with a squeeze to his hand.

"Remember this time last year?" Ray asked. "It feels like ages ago."

"Yes, we were still in Chicago then."

"And I was still mooning over you, figuring I was never going to get you."

"Ah, I can assure you that it was mutual."

Ray tilted his head up to look at the sparks of the fire flying up into the sky, borne by the hot air and smoke. "I was thinking. I can't remember what date we, you know." He shot me a glance. "Got together."

"Does that bother you?"

"Kind of? I mean, I want to know when our anniversary is. But it was out on the quest, and I wasn't really paying attention to what date it was."

"I can look in my journal if you want."

"What, you wrote about stuff like the day we first, you know..." Ray trailed off, looking amused. He tugged my hand to get further away from the crowd. "I thought it was just for the weather and distances and stuff."

"Well, yes, but it was a private journal as well. Although I wrote about things of a private nature in Inuktitut. It wasn't that I thought you'd read it, of course, but just the knowledge that I was writing such things in close proximity with the one it concerned...it would have inhibited me."

Away from the fire, the cold air bit at our exposed hands, and Ray stuck both of them into the fleece-lined pocket of his parka. "Yeah, I'd never read anyone's diary, so it's not like you had to worry. But yeah, let's check that date when we get home."

The date turned out to be April 3. We sat on the caribou hide in front of the fire, which we'd built up again as soon as we got inside the door—it was bitterly cold, and even the improved insulation we'd built into the cabin wasn't enough to completely keep the cold at bay—and looked at my journals.

"I remember watching you write these. You always looked so serious."

"I suppose so. I think I was afraid that you'd see what I was thinking."

"Yeah? What were you thinking?"

I looked down at the entry dated March 28. Haltingly, I began to translate. "Ray is...is adapting well. Every day, he grows more confident in his...handling of the dogs. We are beginning to work as a team, as partners on the trail, as well as in the city. I look at him, and I..."

"Yeah?" Ray's voice was soft, and no, I didn't look at him. I went on, feeling as if I was laying myself bare, no matter that Ray already knew the gist of what I was about to say.

"...I want him. I want his hands on my body, and mine on his." I stopped and cleared my throat.

"Come here," Ray breathed, and tugged me close. The journal slipped to the floor, unheeded.

***

We parked the snowmobile down the street from the bar, and at the door, warmth and conversation and background country music washed over us. Ray wrinkled his nose at the choice of music, but smiled when he saw Maggie wave from the table in the corner.

"Hi, there! I snagged a table for us," she said.

I hugged Maggie briefly, and so did Ray.

"How are you doing?" Maggie asked Ray. There was no reason for her to ask me, since we'd spent the day working together.

"Oh, fine," Ray said, shrugging out of his parka and sitting down at the table. "I'm still working on the kitchen cabinets. Plus, when Fraser's not home, I can blast the music at whatever volume I like."

"Ray, what would you like to drink?" I asked.

"Beer, thanks."

I fetched a beer for Ray and a tea for myself.

"How about you?" Ray asked Maggie. At first, Ray had appeared slightly uncomfortable around Maggie, which I attributed to his previous interest in her in Chicago, but now they seemed to get along well.

"Well, I spent the morning installing the new version of the software for filing cases." She made a face. "But in the afternoon, Benton and I went out to take care of a caribou accident on the highway. Routine, of course, but fieldwork's what I like best."

"Yeah, I get that." Ray leaned his head on his hands and looked down at his beer.

Getting to know Maggie better was one of the many reasons I was happy to be back in Inuvik. We worked well together, and we were, in fact, very similar—a fact that I attributed more to a common cultural heritage than to the fact that we were related. Although I have to admit that I didn't quite know how to act around Maggie's mother, whom I had met a few times. She was a tough woman in her late fifties with a shrewd sense of humor. If my father had been a different man, he might have married this woman and she would have acted as a second mother to me. I couldn't quite imagine how that would have been.

When it was getting late, Maggie took her leave. The bar was getting rowdy, but it only took one glance from her on the way out, and the room quieted down remarkably.

Ray let me drive on the way home with only minor grumbling—he had drunk two beers, after all. He had both arms around my waist as we drove back to the cabin. The road wasn't plowed, and would not have been navigable by car.

"You know, we should get another snowmobile," he shouted in my ear, so that I could hear him over the noise of the engine.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. If we had two, you wouldn't have had to drive back here to get me after work. Besides, it'd let me go places when you're at work."

"Ah, well, yes." By now we had reached the cabin, and I could speak normally. "You're right, that isn't fair. Perhaps I could ski to work on the days when you want to use it."

Ray huffed out a steaming white breath. "Or we get another one."

"I'll look around. Perhaps we can find one second-hand, and get a good price."

***

One evening in late March, I came home from the detachment, tired and hungry from a long, fruitless search for a missing dog owned by a tourist who could not conceive that we had other duties than finding her pet.

"Hi, Frase," Ray said.

"Hi," I said, stripping off my layers of clothes. "Have you started dinner yet?"

Ray turned, looking at me sharply. "Look, don't assume I'm gonna do all the housework just because I don't have a job, okay?"

I froze, feeling as if solid ice had suddenly turned out to be treacherous and thin. I retreated into formality, trying my best not to offend him. "I'm sorry if my question gave you that impression. That wasn't what I intended. And I certainly don't expect you to do more than your share of the housework."

Ray's eyes were still narrowed, but he relaxed gradually. "Yeah, okay."

"I'll make dinner, if you want," I said, still careful. "Just let me take my boots off."

Ray smiled, his mood shifting. "Nah, we can do it together."

We chopped carrots, potatoes and onions side by side, our shoulders bumping. "Long day, huh?"

"Indeed. Tim and I spent most of it looking for a missing tourist dog."

"And did you find it?"

"Well, yes. We finally got a call from Julie Komak's kennel. The dog was hanging around one of her bitches, who was in heat."

"I hope the tourist thanked you kindly."

"Well, she seemed to take it as her due. Although she was not as happy with Julie's comments about the stature of her dog and the probability of him being able to even reach up to mate with a husky." I suppressed a smile.

"What, it was a lap dog?"

"Yes, quite. I'm surprised it survived the cold." Diefenbaker whuffed, indicating that he agreed with this assessment.

Ray laughed. But despite the ease of our conversation now, I still felt wary. Had I, in fact, assumed that Ray should cook for me? It was difficult now to remember exactly how I had acted.

***

Our anniversary was coming up, and I wanted to do something together with Ray. Maggie and I had been working hard the last week on a rather delicate case, the details of which I could not in conscience share with Ray. He hadn't complained when I came home late at night, but we hadn't really talked much lately, and I wanted to make it up to him.

I had considered going out for dinner together, but decided against it. Inuvik didn't exactly have any fancy restaurants, and besides, I really had no experience with the concept of romantic candlelight dinners. In fact, I had no experience with what people did on their anniversaries at all. Chocolate and flowers presented themselves as an obvious choice, but it seemed like a trite thing to do.

In the end, I bought ingredients for making pizza.

"Happy anniversary, Ray," I said when I got home early that evening.

Ray looked up from where he was sitting on the couch, reading a book. He blinked at me, then said, "Oh hey, you remembered." His face brightened, and he came up to me for a hug, his cheek warm against my cold one.

"Well, of course I did. I thought we could have home-made pizza for dinner. I'm afraid I can't get real Chicago pizza for you—although believe me, I would if I could—but I'll do my best." I still remembered Ray's rebuke of a few weeks ago. I tried to be careful of what I did and said, with the result that I sometimes came across as restrained and formal, or at least it felt that way.

"What, you're going to make it from scratch?"

"Yes. Well, it depends what you mean—it's not as if I'm going to grind the flour by myself, and I haven't grown the vegetables, but--"

"Hey, cool. Let's do it together, yeah? I've never made pizza before."

"All right."

"Plus, that way I can make sure it doesn't end up with blubber and lichen."

"Would I do that, Ray?"

"You never know, when you're the one making it." The joke was an old one, but it still made me smile, and I relaxed a little.

Ray began chopping onions for the tomato sauce while I mixed the dough. "So, what toppings did you get?"

"Pineapple, of course. Well, it's in a can, but it's all they had."

"Yeah, I think Tony's pineapple was from a can, too. Cool. What else?"

"Mushrooms, olives, cheese, and venison sausage."

"Venison sausage, right. I'm not sure it isn't sacrifice to put that on pizza. Uh, I mean sacri—sancti-"

"Sacrilege?"

"Yeah, that."

"It's very fine sausage, I assure you."

It was, in fact, very fine sausage, although it took a longer time than I had imagined to make the pizza. When we finally sat down at the table, Ray fetched candles and lit them. In the soft light from the candles, he looked very beautiful, with his lashes down-turned and his long fingers handling the knife and fork.

"Hey, this turned out great," Ray said, interrupting my reverie.

"Do you really think so?" I had not had much luck with the dough. It refused to rise well, despite standing nearly on top of the stove for warmth. Perhaps it had been too hot.

"Yeah. I mean, I don't know if you can call it pizza, because it doesn't really taste the same." Ray waved his fork in the air. "Uh, that didn't come out well. It's good, but it's good like something else."

"No, I see what you mean."

"Dief seems to like it, too." Ray slipped another piece under the table.

"He would, yes."

When we had finished, Ray went to the cupboard, got out a covered pan, and put it on the table with a flourish. "I made brownies. They're from a mix, but they're good. I, um, tried one to make sure."

I took one and tasted it. "They're delicious, Ray. Thank you."

"Also, I got you something." He took out two pieces of paper and gave them to me. They were tickets to a concert with classical music, which I had seen advertisements for in town.

"Thank you, Ray. That's very thoughtful of you. I didn't know you liked classical music?"

"Well, I know you like it. And hey, I'm openminded." He smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting. Part of his face was in shadow, and the other in candlelight.

"You are, indeed."

Ray must have seen the desire in my face, because he rose and came around the table. He tugged on my hand. "Come on. Bed."

I rose and followed him.

Sex between us was good, always. It had been so from the first, tentative time, and it was still better now that we had had time to learn each other's bodies and responses. Afterwards, Ray lay beside me and slung an arm across my chest. We were both too sweaty and warm to embrace. I put my hand on his and felt the still rapid beating of my heart under his hand.

One year. We had been together one whole year. Always before, it had seemed my lot to live alone. It sounds melodramatic, I know, but except in my rare maudlin moments, I hadn't thought of it that way. It was simply the way it was. I'd had a few relationships, of course, but they hadn't lasted long, and I'd accepted that. There were other rewards to be had in life.

Ray had changed that—or rather, we had both changed it together. Ray had left his home and made a new one with me. It still seemed too good to be true.

Suddenly, I wanted to ask Ray if he was happy here. I didn't doubt that he loved me, but that was not the same thing. I turned toward Ray as if to speak, but instead, I drew my fingers through his sweaty hair and was silent. Why couldn't I ask him that simple question?

Instead, I said, "Perhaps we should visit Chicago."

Ray stiffened against me, just a little bit, but enough to make me wary. "What, you think I can't hack it up here?"

"I didn't say that," I said carefully. "I just thought it might be nice to visit. Don't you want to see your parents again?"

"I guess. What about you, do you want to go back?"

I'd thought of it in terms of Ray, that Ray might miss Chicago and want to see it again, and having the question turned on me startled me. It wasn't really my home and it never had been. Still, Chicago had changed me. I'd made friends there, and I would be happy to see them again.

"Yes, why not? I'd like to visit."

"Okay, let's talk about it tomorrow. Not now," Ray said, pulling up the blanket. He slept, and I lay awake in the warm cocoon of our bed for a time, thinking.

***

At the end of May, we left Inuvik for a week in Chicago. I almost felt reluctant to leave, because the land was blossoming with spring. The snow had melted, and I could see the small birch leaves growing each day, from the first bright tender green to the darker color of summer. It was all so fast, and would be over by the time we got back. In Chicago, the spring would be long past and almost into summer.

Ray dozed with his head against the window of the plane, while I read a book to make the time pass. We changed at Yellowknife, Edmonton, and then finally arrived at O'Hare. The bustling airport surrounded us, swallowing us up like two more worker ants in a stack.

We didn't have much with us, and after we had passed customs, Frannie Vecchio met us.

"Frase! Ray! Hi! How was your trip? Ray was going to pick you up, but he had to work, and Stella had to be in court, so I said I'd do it, even though I should be working, too." She hugged Ray, then me, surrounding me with a cloud of perfume. I hugged her back.

"Francesca," I said, smiling, but she gave me no chance to reply to her question.

"God, it's so good to see you both! I can't believe you guys didn't tell us before you got married. I'd have wanted to be there."

It seemed that Francesca still had the power to make me feel discomfited, because I didn't quite know what to say. But Ray grinned. "Thanks, sis. But we had to do it fast. Shotgun wedding, you know."

"Ray!" I said.

"That's funny, Ray. Very funny. Who's the pregnant one?" Francesca said.

"Me. Can't you see how fat I am?" Ray said, pointing to his lean stomach.

Francesca snorted. "Yeah, that's about as likely as me getting pregnant. Well, Ma is going to want to fatten you up some, anyway."

Then she grew serious. "Listen. Ma is...well, you know how she is. The Church doesn't exactly approve of two guys getting together. But she loves you both, and I think she'll okay with it as long as it's not shoved in her face. So could you just...not mention the married thing?"

Ray looked at me. I sighed, then nodded. As long as she didn't ask us to lie outright.

"Sorry. I know it must suck to pretend stuff like that," Francesca said with a grimace.

"My parents weren't exactly thrilled at the whole marrying a guy thing, either," Ray said.

"Don't worry about it, Francesca," I said.

"Oh yeah, where's Dief?" she asked. "I brought him some treats."

"I'm afraid he stayed at home. He hates flying, and it wasn't worth it for so short a trip."

Francesca drove us to the Vecchio's house for dinner. Everyone in the family was there: Ma Vecchio, Francesca, Tony and Maria and their children, and not least Ray and Stella.

"Benny!" Ray greeted me with a warm hug, which I returned with equal warmth. "You live too far away—I never get to see you."

"Well, you went to Florida, Ray." Ray Vecchio looked well after his time in the south. His skin was tanned, his eyes were smiling.

"But I came back, didn't I? Florida was great for a vacation—sun, sand, beaches." Ray made an expansive gesture. "But it wasn't our thing for the long term. Or what do you say, Stella?"

"No, you're right about that," Stella said. She smiled at me, but it was a merely polite smile, or at least it seemed so to me. We had never been on cordial terms, although I respected her professionally.

"Mrs Vecchio," I said, shaking hands with her.

"Oh, call me Stella," she said. "And yes, I would have missed my job."

"So would I," Ray said.

"I thought you both had opened a bowling alley," I said, keeping my face straight.

"That was a joke, Fraser."

"Ah. I see."

Surreptitiously, I kept an eye on Ray to see how he was taking this. He'd seemed to take Stella's marriage to Ray Vecchio with equanimity when we had first heard of it, but that was not the same as actually seeing his ex-wife with another man. But he seemed all right, if perhaps more quiet than was his wont. He and Stella had nodded to each other without saying anything, but what had actually passed between them in that look wasn't something I could easily decode. They'd known each other so long, much longer than I had known Ray.

"Come on, you guys," Francesca said, appearing from the dining room. "Dinner time!"

Ma Vecchio presided over the laden table and chivvied us all into eating until we could not get one more morsel down. After that, it was time for dessert.

"Mrs Vecchio, I truly can't get anything more down," I said as I declined a second helping of panna cotta.

"Call me Ma," she said, patting my arm. "And you, Raymond?" she said to my Ray. I thought I saw a shadow in her eyes when she looked at us, but she still smiled.

"Uh, sorry. I haven't eaten like this since I moved from Chicago. Since the last time you had me to dinner here, actually." He took a sip of his wine. Since I didn't drink, we rarely drank at home, but Ray was drinking freely of his wine now.

Turning to my other side, I addressed Francesca. "Are you still working at the 2-7?"

"Yeah. But I'm going to the Academy in the fall," she said, with the smile of someone who still can't quite believe her own good news.

"Congratulations! I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you." She lowered her voice. "Ma and I still don't see nose to nose on it, but she'll get used to it."

"I'm sure she will. And I'm sure you'll make an excellent police officer."

"Thanks." Francesca virtually glowed, and I smiled at her, surprised at how easy it was now that she wasn't, well, chasing after me.

Ray had been listening to our conversation without saying anything, but now he suddenly spoke up. "Yeah, Frannie, congratulations. Glad someone's getting to work as a cop."

My smile froze, and guilt stabbed at my heart—it was after all my fault that Ray was not a police officer any more. But on the heels of it, I felt a sting of anger. It had been Ray's choice to move, and it wasn't fair of him to bring it up like this.

Frannie looked away uncomfortably. After a moment, she said, "So, do you guys still have snow up in the north?"

"Yeah, and polar bears walking the streets," Ray muttered, and took another drink of wine.

"That's a myth, actually," I said. "Polar bears actually only live on the coast, and they're uncommon around the MacKenzie delta area."

"It was a joke, okay?" Ray said.

There was a loud conversation at the other end of the table—apparently Maria and Tony and their children were having a negotiation regarding the children's bedtime. Between the noise and bustle and Ray's sarcasm, I felt rather overwhelmed. For a brief moment, I wished I was alone and didn't have to deal with it all.

Ray Vecchio caught my eye. His glance at Ray told me he hadn't missed much. "You guys tired after your trip?"

"Yes, I think we are. Or at least I am." I turned to Ray.

He rubbed at his eyes. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe we should get to the hotel."

"Let's call a cab," I said.

"I'll drive you there," Ray said, getting up from the table.

"Oh, there's no need, Ray."

"No trouble, Fraser." Ray Vecchio headed out to put his shoes and jacket on, and Ray and I followed, picking up our luggage. Ray steadied himself against the wall as he reached for his coat. He was rather drunk, I realized.

The night air was pleasantly cool on my face, smelling of car exhaust and city, and the scents felt both familiar and unfamiliar. Ray led to us to a likewise familiar car.

"Your car, Ray! You found a new one."

"Sure did. She's a beauty, too." Ray patted the hood of his green Buick Riviera fondly. I glanced at Ray, who had had to leave his GTO in the hands of his father, but he was looking away, his expression unreadable in the dusk. I shrugged and got into my accustomed place in the passenger seat, while Ray sat in the back.

I thought about Ray's behavior during the dinner, but was too tired to hold the thought for long. My eyes slid shut, and I felt the slide of streetlights across my eyelids and the smooth shift as the car geared up and drove through the night-time streets of Chicago. Time blurred. I had sat so many times like this in the passenger seat of a car, during stakeouts, after late nights at the station, after dinner with the Vecchio's, or pizza at Ray's place.

A hand shook my shoulder gently. I wondered which Ray it was, and got my answer when Ray Vecchio said in a low voice, "Hey. Time to get out."

I blinked, my eyelids heavy, and got out of the car. I shook my Ray's shoulder in turn. "Ray. We're at the hotel."

Ray opened his eyes with a start, and blinked. He rubbed at his eyes, then took his bag without a word.

"Thank you kindly for the ride, Ray," I said.

"You're welcome." He fiddled with the car keys, then said, "How about lunch tomorrow, Benny?"

"Yes, I'd love to."

Ray glanced at my Ray. Politeness obviously demanded that the invitation be extended to him, but Ray was just as obviously wishing he could avoid inviting him.

"Sorry, I can't join you," Ray said. "I'm having lunch with Stella."

"You are, huh?"

"Yup."

"Should've expected it. Call me at the station and I'll come and pick you up, all right?" Ray said to me.

"I will."

Ray drove away, and we took our bags and entered the hotel.

"Fuck, I'm tired," Ray muttered. His breath smelled of wine.

"Ray, you're drunk."

"Gee, you think?"

I made him drink two glasses of water, and we fell into bed and slept.

***

I woke the next morning at a much later hour than I usually do. The bed was really much too soft, and I felt a slight ache in my back.

"Not morning yet," Ray grumbled beside me.

"I'm afraid it is." I got out of bed and stretched. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Ray said, and then he rubbed at his forehead. "Okay, no. I've got a headache."

I fetched an aspirin and handed it to him, along with a glass of water. He took it, then stared down at it. "I probably acted like an ass yesterday, right?"

"Ah, well." I busied myself with getting clean clothes from my bag.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, feeling awkward.

"Not really." He drank the water, then said, "Okay, I think I can manage to get up now."

"We'd better, if we want to have time for a shower before lunch."

"Oh yeah, lunch. I almost forgot." Ray began to root around in his suitcase. "This shirt is...not that wrinkled, right?"

"I think it's fine," I said, wondering if he wanted to dress up for his lunch with Stella.

As if he was reading my mind, Ray said, "It's not that I'm trying to impress Stella or anything. She knows me much too well for that to work, anyway. It's just that when she picks the restaurant, it's always full of people with suits, so I don't want to look like a slob."

"I understand."

Stella came by to pick Ray up, and a while later, Ray Vecchio picked me up.

"Hi, Benny. You hungry?"

"I am, yes."

"So what do you want to eat? Something you can't get up in the frozen north?"

"I would love some Chinese food, actually."

We drove to the Chinese restaurant we had usually frequented, the one which had involved us in a kidnapping drama early in our partnership. They still recognized me at the restaurant, which should not have surprised me as it did—it was only a year or so since I had left Chicago, after all.

"So. You happy up north?" Ray asked after we had ordered.

"Yes. I am."

"Good. You happy with, uh, with Kowalski?"

I paused briefly to consider the question, but there could really only be one answer. "Yes."

"Well, good," Ray muttered, looking somewhat awkward.

My lips twitched. "Do we have your blessing, Ray?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, sure you do, if he makes you happy. He seems like a pretty good guy. I mean, I don't know him, but he kept me and my family safe."

"Ray is a good man, yes. Yesterday evening...I don't know what came over him."

"Nobody's perfect, Fraser. Don't worry about it."

Our food came, and as if embarrassed by the straightforward questions he had asked, Ray settled down to eating, and so did I. The food was delicious.

Ray's acceptance made my heart feel light. I hadn't realized how much it would mean to me. We hadn't spoken in some time, only exchanged a few postcards and emails, and a brief telephone call to tell him Ray and I would be coming down to visit.

"You know, I think there'd have been a time when I wouldn't have gotten it," Ray said, waving to indicate the vague nature of the "it". "But after Vegas...I saw some things there I wish I hadn't, and what I figure is, if you find something that makes you happy, you gotta go for it."

"You did well, Ray. In Vegas." Ray had brought most of the Iguana family down, but it must have cost him, even though he had never spoken about it. "I'm proud of you."

Ray cleared his throat. "Thanks, Benny."

We were silent for a while, then I asked, "How are things in Chicago?"

"Good, mostly. I'm back to work, but I'm mostly doing desk work. Still, it's good, it's important stuff. Never thought I'd say that about desk work, but I'm helping the mob squad."

"That is important work, indeed."

"Yeah. Zuko should quake in his boots." Ray grinned. "Can't talk with Stella about it, that's the only part I don't like. If we could work on it together, the mob wouldn't stand a chance."

He sobered. "She's a hell of a lady, Fraser. You should see her in the courtroom—she's totally in control. Fights until she wins."

"She's a determined woman, yes."

"Fell for her the moment I saw her."

Ray always did have that view of romance. I remembered when he had fallen for Suzanne Chapin, the undercover agent, with that same lightning-quick speed. I was glad it had had a better outcome, this time.

For myself and Ray Kowalski, it hadn't been that fast—it had been more like becoming aware, by slow degrees, of his presence by my side and what it truly meant to me. But when I had realized the full extent of my feelings, they had almost frightened me. My fingers went to my wedding ring, feeling the smooth solid circle of it.

Ray and I talked some more, about old and new cases, about snow and the lack of it, and gossiped about mutual acquaintances. We parted with mutual promises to keep in touch more often.

I met up with Ray again (my husband Ray, that is). He seemed agitated, glowing with nervous energy to the tips of his spiky hair.

"Did you enjoy your lunch with Stella?"

"Sure," he said, and closed his mouth. Then he sighed and opened it again. "Yeah, it was good to see her. She's a friend again, I think. I mean, we were friends from the start, and then we were married. And then we weren't. But we've gotten over that by now, and I think we can be friends again."

"You seem...upset."

"Yeah, she's not a lawyer for nothing. She asks hard questions." Ray rubbed his hand through his hair.

"Indeed," I said. I wanted to ask him what those questions were, but didn't. He would tell me if he wanted to, I supposed. Although I couldn't help speculating.

"What do you want to do now?" I asked. "It's your city."

"I guess it is."

"Do you want to visit the 2-7?"

Ray took a deep breath. "Sure, let's do that."

"I'd like to see Lieutenant Welsh again."

"Yeah, Welsh is a good guy." Ray hesitated. "Just, not everyone might be as accepting of, you know, the gay thing."

Not everyone was. Some people didn't meet our gazes, and others turned away. But Jack Huey came up and shook hands and asked how we were doing.

Dewey did the same, although in a less tactful manner. "So, Kowalski, how's it feel to be gay up in Canada?" Huey winced.

"Feels great," Ray said, and looked unmoved. This was his cop exterior, the tough guy who would shed any insult like water from a goose.

Welsh nodded a greeting at us, inviting us into his office. He looked much the same as always, his meaty hands clasped in front of him. He looked world-weary, as well he might after all the time he had spent behind that desk.

"You two doing well up in the north?"

"Yeah, I guess we're doing well enough," Ray said.

"If not, you're welcome back," Welsh said and shook his head. "You wouldn't believe the rookie I got as replacement for you."

For a moment, fear struck into my heart, and I struggled not to show it. But Ray only laughed, and if the laugh was a little strained, I was probably the only one who could hear it. "I'm pretty sure you can season up the rookies. They've got to start somewhere, you know?"

"And you, Constable? How are you doing?"

"Ah, I'm fine, thank you." No, he deserved a better answer than the generic one. "I'm glad to be back in Canada. But I don't regret my time in Chicago."

"We'd be glad to have you back, too."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate the offer." And I did—Lieutenant Welsh had never properly been my superior officer, but still, he had my respect.

Ray's desk was taken by some other officer. By the name plate, it was a Detective Tabitha Morton, but she wasn't there. The desk was tidy, but had clear signs of occupancy: a tidy pile of papers, a chewed-on pencil, a half-empty bottle of energy drink.

Ray swept his fingers over the surface of the desk, then turned away quickly, and we left.

***

Ray was strangely reluctant when I broached the subject of visiting his parents. Or perhaps it was not so strange, after all.

"Yeah, Mom will be happy to see me, I think, but Dad...I don't know." He shrugged, a small hunched movement, and I reached out for him.

"We don't have to, if you don't want to."

"No, I'll call her." He took up the telephone and punched in the number quickly.

"Mom? It's me."

Silence from his end, and I wasn't close enough to overhear.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're in town, and..."

I listened to the one-sided conversation, which from Ray's side was mostly monosyllabic. He hung up. "Okay, she's inviting us to their place. Dunno if Dad will be there, though."

"I'm sorry, Ray."

"Yeah, I kind of burned my bridges with him when I got married to you. 'S just the way it is." He shrugged again, and I took his hand and squeezed it.

Barbara Kowalski welcomed us, if her husband didn't. "Oh, Stanley." She hugged Ray tight, and then drew back and looked at him, stroking her hand over his hair. "You need to cut your hair."

"Mom," Ray said in embarrassment, and I suppressed a smile. He sounded like a ten-year-old child.

She turned to me, and hugged me as well, more briefly. "I'm glad to see you both."

"Thank you, Mrs Kowalski," I said.

"And I'm sorry about Damian. I think he's going to regret it, but he just can't bend. Took him years to get used to Stanley becoming a police officer, and now..." She shook her head. "He's gone out."

We had dinner, delicious Polish food that Ray ate with relish, and Mrs. Kowalski showed me childhood pictures of Ray as a skinny little boy with thick glasses and a shock of blond hair. Ray endured it with only minor complaints, which Mrs. Kowalski quelled by telling him that he should be thankful she wasn't taking out the naked baby pictures.

Towards the end of the evening I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Through the thin wall, I heard Mrs. Kowalski ask, "Stanley, are you sure you're happy up there with him? It's such a long way from home."

Ray murmured something which I couldn't make out, and I told myself I shouldn't be trying to listen in, anyway.

***

The plane lifted from the ground, and we rose up through the smog to see the city lying hazy beneath us, sprawling out to the horizon. I was leaving it again, and Ray was coming with me.

When we came back to Inuvik, it was full summer. The birches and willows had spread their leaves wide and green around our cabin. I opened the door, and the hinges creaked slightly. I made a mental note to grease them. The cabin was chilly after our absence, and we set about inhabiting it again, starting by lighting a roaring fire, and then shaking out the blankets and hanging them close by so that they would be warm when we went to bed. Ray made coffee, and I went out to pick some of the light green tips from the spruce branches, the newly grown shoots from this year.

"Very rich in vitamin C, Ray," I said as we sat in front of the fireplace.

"Right," he said, and sipped from my mug. "Okay, it's not bad. But I want the caffeine."

Ray went back to his mug of coffee, and we sat silent for a while. Then his foot moved out to nudge mine. "Home again, huh?" he murmured.

"Yes."

Did he mean that I was home, or that we both were? Ray hadn't specified, and I didn't ask.

***

In June, Eric Kitikmeot came to visit. I hadn't seen him since we met in Chicago over the matter of the Tsimshian masks, and I looked forward to meeting him without the tension of possibly conflicting duties and interests.

I slipped from the bed early in the morning, shaking Ray's shoulder lightly.

"Ray? I'm going fishing with Eric. Did you want to come along?"

Ray stirred and pulled off the mask that let him sleep undisturbed by the light. He blinked at me. "Uh?"

"The old friend I told you about. We're going fishing. Do you want to come?"

Ray made a sleepy sound and shook his head. I kissed him on the temple and tucked the blankets back around him, feeling tenderness and a vague guilt that I had correctly anticipated his desire to stay at home. "I'll be back before lunch."

I dressed and made myself a couple of sandwiches, and then Dief and I slipped out the door and into the early summer morning. It was rather a relief to be alone, although I felt a little bit ashamed of the thought.

The river was a few kilometers west of our cabin, and there was a path leading down to the water that I had followed often enough as a child. The trees that had been small shoots then were now higher than my head, and fireweed had choked the path in several places. Well, it would clear again with use.

Dief soon disappeared into the undergrowth, to do whatever it is that half-wolves do when they're not acting tame. I relaxed into the morning, into the sunlight filtering through the dark needles of the black spruce and the fresh green of the birches. Birds sang all around me, asserting their right to their territories and their mates and their little slice of life. I stopped to break open the bark of a dead spruce lying on the ground, finding the winding trails of the larvae of some kind of beetle, and at the end of the trails, the larvae themselves. I gathered them up as bait.

At the river, I searched out a spot that was neither too wet nor too snarled with willow bushes and alders. It was too early in the year for mosquitoes, and I rolled up my sleeves and got out my fishing gear, a simple pole with a line and a hook at the end. Eric would find me.

Ten minutes later, he did.

"Ben." He nodded at me and sat down beside me.

"Eric." He looked much as he had done in Chicago, except that here, he wasn't out of his element. Neither of us were.

Eric took out his fishing gear before speaking. "So, you moved back?"

"I did, yes."

"And?" Eric glanced at the gold wedding ring on my finger.

I tried not to smile. "You clearly know all about it already."

"Perhaps." News traveled fast, after all, and it had been almost a year since Ray and I had married. I told him anyway.

"Ray is my old partner from Chicago. You met my first Ray when you were down there; this is my second Ray."

Eric raised his eyebrows at this.

"It's a long story." I watched the float on my fishing line, bobbing in the water. Actually pulling up a fish was not the main reason I was here, but it wouldn't do to let one go to waste.

We sat companionably for a while, saying nothing, then Eric asked, "You've been rebuilding the old cabin?"

"Yes. It feels good to return."

Eric nodded, acknowledging but not expecting more, and into that silence I felt I could say something of what was weighing on my mind. "But Ray, I'm not sure he...it's not his home."

"These things can take time."

"I suppose so. And small towns..."

Eric nodded again. The wind ruffled the surface of the water and shook the willows, and we lapsed into silence again. It was a relief to have talked it out with someone else, even as I felt slightly guilty at talking about Ray behind his back.

The float bobbed, and I hauled it in. It was a broad whitefish that flopped on the bank until I got my knife out to kill and gut it. With impeccable timing, Diefenbaker came trotting up through the thickets to lay claim to the entrails.

"Opportunist," I muttered. Dief greeted Eric with a dignified wag of the tail.

Eric and I had been close as teenagers, but had drifted apart after I went to Depot, for several reasons. I didn't ask Eric about his affairs. He'd tell me if he wanted to.

Eric did, indeed, tell me some of what he'd been doing the last years, but told me nothing of what had become of the Tsimshian masks, and I wouldn't have wanted him to. Some things were better not spoken of.

***

One morning, my cell phone rang early in the morning, earlier than I would ordinarily expect anyone to call.

"Benton Fraser speaking," I said, taking the cell phone issued to me by the detachment and going out into the kitchen, so that I wouldn't disturb Ray's sleep.

"It's Maggie. Listen, I got a call from Bill up in Tuk."

"Has something happened?" I asked, instantly awake. Dief perked up his ears in the corner.

"Yeah. He says that there's a plane that went down, probably crashing somewhere west of Tuk. Some fishermen saw it and reported it in. The flight wasn't registered with the airstrip, and they have no idea who it was."

"Right," I said. Ray came out into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Something going on?" he asked. I put my index finger on my lips, indicating silence while Maggie told me that a pilot would be ready in an hour to take us both up to Tuk to investigate.

"You leaving?" Ray asked after I had hung up.

"Yes," I said, explaining what had happened while I went into the bedroom to pull on clothes and pack my gear. "I don't know when I'll be back. Hopefully tomorrow, but I can't guarantee anything."

Ray gripped my arm. "Hey, Maggie's got your back, right?"

"Yes."

"Wish I could go with you."

"So do I, but I'm afraid the regulations won't allow it."

Ray's grip tightened, then he stepped back. "Right. Sure. Take care of yourself."

"I will." I hugged him, hard but brief, and left with Dief on my heels.

Maggie and I were soon high up in the air, leaving the dark green muskeg around Inuvik for the flat tundra. The delta gleamed in the sun as we headed northwards, and I shaded my eyes, scanning the ground. Dief laid his ears back and lay down on the floor at my feet. He didn't like to fly, but he didn't like to be left out, either.

Maggie pointed to the left. "Should be somewhere over there."

We circled over the spot several times, in widening circles, but saw nothing. The small ponds of the tundra reflected the sunlight like so many mirrors scattered across the land.

"There," I finally said.

"Where?" Maggie said.

"The plane's painted in camouflage green and is partly under the willows, so it's hard to see. But there's a muddy patch over there. They must've tried to land and skidded."

"Can't set you down here," the pilot chimed in. "You'll have to hike in from the coast."

"Of course," Maggie said. The plane landed on the sea, floating just offshore while Maggie, Dief and I waded in to land in the shallow water. The plane took off again, leaving us alone. Maggie consulted her compass, and we set off.

The ground was boggy, and our path meandered as we tried to avoid the wettest parts. This was the season when the tundra was at its most soggy. As we neared the spot we had sighted from the plane, we heard faint voices shouting.

"Shhh," I said and stopped, cupping my ear. Dief froze in mid-step.

"This is your fault!" said a distant voice.

"What the fuck do you mean it's my fault?" said another voice. "And ow, don't do that!"

"Look, they're going to be after us soon. Remember that plane circling? We're sitting ducks here."

"And how else are we going to get out of here? Did you forget that I've broken my leg?"

The voices stopped, or quieted down. Maggie and I looked at each other.

"Now, what was that about?" Maggie asked. "They don't seem to be happy about being rescued."

"Perhaps their mission was not of an entirely legal nature."

"Hmm," Maggie said. "Proceed with caution?"

I nodded, and we made our way towards the downed airplane. It would have been impossible to make a covert approach, if one didn't want to crawl on one's belly in sedge wetlands for half a kilometer.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," I called out, as we came up to the two men sitting by the plane.

"Someone saw your plane go down. We're here to rescue you, if you need it," Maggie added.

"Hey, we're really glad to see you," said the man sitting on the ground with his leg at an awkward angle. "Leg's not working that well," he said with a grimace of pain.

"Well, we've got first-aid equipment," Maggie said. She swung her backpack to the ground and began to work on the man's leg.

"Meanwhile, can I ask you what your business is?" I said.

"My friend's visiting from the States, I said I'd take him out on a fishing trip. Show him around," said the man who wasn't currently prone on the ground.

I considered this unlikely, considering the camouflaged plane. "May I see your pilot's licence, please?"

He handed it over. It seemed to be in order, and the plane, too, other than the obvious damages. But there was no fishing gear. I looked around. "What happened to that willow bush over there? It seems to be disturbed."

He darted a glance at the other man. "Uh, nothing."

"Right, I'll just have a look."

"No!" He drew a gun and pointed it at me. I raised my hands slowly, and saw that Maggie had drawn her own gun. With my hands in the air, there was no way for me to draw mine. The man on the ground just lay there, looking stupefied.

"I assure you, sir, that shooting an officer of the law will bring a much harsher penalty than whatever is in that bush." I looked into his eyes, saw him waver. "Besides, if you shoot, my partner and my wolf will be on you before you know what's happening. Give me your gun, please."

He did.

Maggie whistled. "That strategy actually works? Ray should've been here—he's never going to believe me when I tell him."

Under the willow bushes lay the white and bloodied pelt of a polar bear. I felt my face grow flinty. "I assume neither of you have a permit for hunting polar bears?"

"What do you think?" the man said sulkily.

"You are under arrest for violation of hunting regulations as well as the wild animal and plant trade regulations." I read him his rights. "Will you come quietly?"

He sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

"Good," Maggie said. "I suspect we'll need your help in carrying your friend over there. It's a long way to Tuk."

***

I got home on the evening of the third day after I had left. It had, indeed, been a long way to Tuk, since the injured man had had to be carried most of the way on a makeshift stretcher.

I opened the door, stepping in. Ray, sitting curled up in the armchair in front of the fireplace, stood up quickly. He came up to me, gripping me hard by the biceps. "Where have you been?"

"I've been on a case, with Maggie. You know that."

"Yeah, but that was almost four days ago. I didn't know if you were alive or dead!" Ray looked angry, his fists clenched, his mouth set.

"One of the suspects was injured. It took us some time to hike to Tuk."

"Could you maybe have taken the time to let me know this a little earlier? You know, it only takes a second to be polite." I bit my lip, hearing the words I had so often said myself thrown back at me.

"Our cell phones ran out of battery power. Even if they hadn't, there's almost no coverage up there."

"Yeah, and what about when you got into Tuk?"

I stared at him. There were, indeed, telephones at Tuk, and I could hardly deny that. I was very tired, and I wished I could just go to bed and sleep for a day and a night.

"Yes, I suppose I ought to have called." I knelt down to untie my boots.

"You suppose? Really?" I glanced up, and saw Ray turn around and walk away. He stood by the window, looking out. "I think I get how Stella felt now. When I was undercover, I mean." His voice was low, but still tense.

I felt a twinge of guilt. I wasn't used to thinking of Ray this way, as someone who needed this kind of consideration--he'd been my partner, and we had gone into danger together. Now he was a different kind of partner, and we couldn't share that any more.

Ray's clothes looked rumpled, as if he'd been wearing them for days. "Have you been here alone all that time? You haven't gone into town?"

"Went in for some groceries. But it's not like I really know anyone there except for Maggie, anyway." He shrugged, looking away from me.

I didn't know what to say, and the guilt tugged at me harder, making me queasy. He had come here for my sake. I had never offered to stay in Chicago, where we both had friends and both had jobs. But the fact was, I hadn't wanted to stay in Chicago. I had wanted to go back where I belonged.

He offered to come here, a tiny voice said, a selfish little voice. You didn't ask him to. I pushed it down, ashamed.

"Ray, I'm sorry. I should have called you."

"Yeah, you should have." We stood silent, looking out at the lush green of the birches in the midnight sun. I don't think either of us really saw them.

"Tell me you didn't face down an armed suspect without a gun, at least," he muttered.

"Well, no. Not exactly."

"What do you mean, not exactly?" Ray pulled back, glaring at me.

I sighed, resigning myself to telling all of it. "Ah, well, I was armed, but I couldn't get to my gun."

"And?"

"I told him that I was a police officer, and he should hand me the gun."

"Yeah, and?"

"He handed me the gun."

"Huh." At another time, Ray would undoubtedly have made some joke about Canadian criminals, but now he only muttered, "Well, at least you didn't get yourself shot."

"No."

"Right, let's go to bed. I don't know about you, but I need some sleep."

We brushed our teeth and undressed in silence. I pulled the curtains across the window against the light, and we got under the covers. We lay side by side, not touching anywhere, and I felt the lack of Ray's body acutely. Perhaps I ought to have reached out to him—I was, I supposed, the one in the wrong—but I simply didn't have the energy. Instead, I fell into a deep exhausted sleep.

***

One evening in late July, the sun was slanting in warm and golden through the windows. If not for the swarms of mosquitoes, I would have liked to sit outside, but as it was, we kept the doors and windows shut.

It should, I suppose, have been a domestic, idyllic scene. Domestic it might be, but it was far from idyllic. Ray and I had quarreled earlier that day over something as ridiculous as who had misplaced the axe. It had turned up later behind the woodshed, but that wasn't really the point. It wasn't the first time lately that we had quarreled over something that was, frankly speaking, irrelevant to the issue at hand.

I felt a little like I had done before the case on the Henry Allen, when we had talked at cross-purposes until we had come to blows. It was disheartening to realize that we still could not manage to communicate better than that.

Of course, the problem was perhaps not one that could be solved by talking. Ray had given up his whole life to come to Canada and live with me. But I wasn't enough—how could one person ever be everything to another?

Certainly I couldn't.

Ray was washing the dishes, his back to me, and I got out my guitar. The clatter of dishes mingled with the notes, which were slightly off-key at first, but then slid up to perfect harmony as I tuned the strings. I picked out a chord idly, shifted it into another, then a third, as I searched for a tune to play. Words surfaced in my mind, and I let my fingers pick out the tune.

Where the earth shows its bones of wind-broken stone
And the sea and the sky are one

Stan Rogers' Forty-Five Years. I didn't think Ray would recognized the tune. Smiling wryly, I continued to play, but didn't sing the words. Although Ray was my husband, apparently I still could not sing out loud that I wanted to grow old with him.

I want to see your smiling face forty-five years from now.

I looked at Ray over by the counter, his bare arms and the nape of his neck as he bent his head down. The tune slowed, and I let it slide into another song instead.

Ray finished, and dried his hands perfunctorily on a dishcloth. His hands were still damp as he came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder, as if in apology for the earlier quarrel.

"Sing for me?"

I did. It was just an old lullaby, and revealed nothing.

When I lapsed into silence, I looked up at Ray. He looked determined. "We need to talk."

Those four quiet words terrified me. So this was how it would end. I can't do this, he would say. I can't live here, it's not my home. And he would leave me.

"All right," I said.

"I can't do this," Ray said.

I swallowed, keeping my eyes on him. He had small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. With time, they would deepen, and his face would be lined with age and experience, but I wouldn't get to see it. I would never see his hair turn gray.

"This isn't working. See, I don't...there's nothing for me to do out here. And there's nobody around. It's too isolated." Ray sounded calm, but I could see the tension in his hands, the fingers clenching and unclenching.

It was as much as I could do to keep my eyes on him, and I nodded wordlessly for him to go on.

"I mean, I know you love it out here, and it's your grandparents' cabin and all, but...maybe we could try moving into town? It'd be easier for me to get to know people, find a job."

I stared at him, then cleared my throat. "I thought you were going to..."

Ray didn't ask what I meant, only shook his head. "I don't give up that easily." He looked down at his wedding band.

"Have you...thought about it?" I don't know why I insisted. It felt like picking at a scab.

"I guess?" He huffed out a breath. "I mean, it's not easy. Stella thought I was nuts to just move up here like this. Said it was like me, though, with the big romantic gestures."

I felt a sting of anger towards Stella, even as I had to admit that she had probably been motivated by concern for Ray.

"So. What do you say? About moving?"

I hadn't answered his question, I realized. On reflection, I suppose I'd been rather selfish. I'd kept him isolated out here, just for the sake of my own nostalgic yearning to live out in the wilderness.

"Yes. Let's do that."

Ray let out a breath and nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me before that you didn't want to live out here?" I said quietly. I didn't mean it as an accusation, and I hoped it wouldn't sound that way.

Mercifully, Ray didn't take it as one. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and said, "Well, I didn't know it would be this way. In the beginning, I just cared about being with you, you know? But it's not that easy."

"No, I know."

He fell silent, and I took his hand, stroking the calloused fingers.

Finally, I broke the silence again. "Do you want to go into town tomorrow? We could start looking for something."

"Yeah, so, I already looked around a bit." Ray jumped up from the couch, fetched a copy of the Inuvik Drum and turned it to the "Classifieds" pages. "See, there's an apartment here that might be interesting. Bit small, though. And there's a house here, pretty close to the river..."

***

The next weekend we went into town to find a new place to live. In such a small town, there were few enough ads in the paper. We planned to look at most of them, whether they were for rent or for sale, although we would have preferred to rent.

First was an apartment close to downtown Inuvik—an expression I used solely to try to make Ray laugh. I got a snort of incredulity and a small smile.

Although the apartment seemed as if it would suit us well enough, I could soon see that we would not be renting it. The landlord, who showed us around, was a burly man in his fifties with a slight limp. He had the look of an oil worker—perhaps he had worn himself out working on the rigs, and settled down in Inuvik. In any case, he took one look at our wedding rings, and his mouth tightened as if he had bit into a lemon. He didn't tell us outright that he didn't want us as tenants, but one can convey a great deal by general manner, and his was cold and disparaging.

We soon left, and Ray was fuming. As soon as we were out of the building, he exploded.

"Fuck him."

"Ray."

"Just—where does he come off, thinking he's got the right to judge us?"

"Ray."

"I just don't get it. What does he care what we're doing? It's not like anyone's forcing him to—"

"Ray!"

"What?"

"He's made up his mind, and I doubt there's anything we can do about it. We wouldn't want him as our landlord, anyway." I took Ray's hand deliberately and squeezed it.

"Well, I don't have to like it," Ray muttered.

"Of course not. Neither do I."

Over lunch with Maggie, Ray vented his anger again.

Maggie frowned thoughtfully. "You know, all things considered, I think you guys have been pretty lucky with that sort of thing."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, people are always suspicious of strangers in a small town. Especially if they're different in some way. But people know the Fraser family, and Benton grew up here. If he's got his peculiarities—" Maggie glanced at me and grinned "—well, he's also a Mountie, and everyone knows that he's dedicated to his work."

"Huh, I didn't think of it that way," Ray said, glancing at me. "I mean, what if I'd moved here with some completely unknown guy. I wonder how many people would even give me the time of day."

We had better luck with the next place. It was an idiosyncratic two-story house close to the river, divided into two symmetric halves, one of which was for sale.

"We're moving down south to Whitehorse," said Marie, the woman who was showing us around. She looked vaguely familiar. "Our daughter lives there, and I want to be there to see my grandchildren grow up."

I nodded, while Ray looked around the kitchen.

"Forgive me. I'm sure I know you, but I can't quite place you." I told Marie.

She smiled and patted my shoulder. "Of course you know me. I'm a Frobisher to begin with—Buck's my cousin—but I married an Ovayuak."

"Ah, yes, now I remember."

The house was a pleasant one, lived-in but not run-down. On the ground floor, there was a living room and a large kitchen with windows opening towards the river. On the second floor, there was a bedroom and two smaller rooms. The stairs creaked slightly as Marie led us downstairs again.

"Who's living in the other half of the house?" Ray asked.

"It's a family with two kids. They're very nice—actually, we can go over and say hello to them."

Marie knocked on their door, and then opened it without waiting for a reply. "Hello? Anyone home?"

"Yeah, come in," came a voice from the kitchen, and after a moment a woman appeared, looking slightly harassed. She was trailing a boy who looked to be four years old or so, who was vocally complaining about his lost teddy bear.

"Oh, I thought it was just Marie," the woman said. "You must be looking at the house, right? I'm Lucy."

She held her hand out, and we introduced ourselves.

"Are you just moving to Inuvik?" she said.

"No, we've been living in a cabin north of town," I said. "But it was a little too isolated."

"Oh, I can understand that. Most people would consider Inuvik itself to be isolated."

"Well, he grew up here, so he's used to it," Ray said, indicating me with a sideways nod.

"Do you like the house?" she asked.

"It's a nice place," Ray said. "But nothing's decided yet—we'll have to discuss it."

"Of course. Well, I'll probably see you again, then."

At the end of the day, it was clear that there was no suitable place to rent, and there wasn't likely to be any in the near future. The house by the river was the best of the places we had looked at—in fact, I thought it was a place where I could see us living. But buying a house together was a big step. I hesitated to suggest it.

"So, what do you think?" I asked.

Ray took a deep breath and let it out. "Yeah, let's do this."

***

The process of buying a house turned out to be quite laborious. Ray swore inventively and at length over the paperwork.

"It's worse than cop paperwork, Fraser. Didn't think anything could be, but it is." He threw the latest batch of papers on the kitchen table after scrawling his signature on each and every one. It was heavy enough that the dishes on the table clattered.

"Well, at least it's not in triplicate." I looked up from packing my books into a cardboard box.

Ray raised his eyebrows. "Trade you for that? Bet I can pack those books ten times as fast as you."

As I couldn't stop opening the books to read them, this was likely true. "All right."

He packed with an almost cheerful energy, by contrast with the uncommunicative man he had so recently been. Please, let this work, I thought, aiming the thought nowhere in particular, and not even daring to articulate it fully.

We didn't have much to take with us to the new house. My possessions had always been few, and the freight had been too expensive for Ray to bring much with him up north, either.

The day we left the cabin, I walked through the rooms one last time. I could not bear to sell the place—not that we could have gotten much for it anyway, being so far from town—and we were leaving most of the furniture, in the hope of staying there when we (or rather, I) wanted to get away from town. The floor was swept clean, the shelves bare.

I closed the front door, leaving it unlocked, as someone might need to take shelter from the weather.

Our new house was largely furnished already, since the previous owners had found it too expensive to transport all their furniture to Whitehorse. Like the house, the furniture was slightly worn, but perfectly serviceable. Neither Ray nor I had much else to ask from a sofa than that it was comfortable and reasonably clean.

The neighbors, Lucy and Pete Kuoljok and their two children, seemed determined to like us. They invited us to dinner the first weekend, and the noise and bustle of their house reminded me of the generous Vecchio household.

"Have some more of the moose stew," Pete said, and Ray helped himself to more. He'd long ago learned to like moose and caribou, although I was inclined to believe that it was only a prejudice to begin with. After all, moose and cattle were both ungulates.

I took some more, as well, complimenting Pete on his cooking. Their oldest child, Emma, squirmed and looked as though she'd rather leave the table and do something more fun than eat dinner with grown-ups. She was about seven, and their other child was David, a boy of four.

"How are you settling in?" Lucy asked.

"Fine, thanks," Ray said. "It's a lot easier here than out in the cabin—I mean, I can practically walk to the co-op."

"Inuvik must be small enough for you as it is. Aren't you from Chicago?"

"Yeah. I miss it sometimes, I guess. But hey, that's what you get for falling for a Canadian." Ray smiled and glanced at me. Lucy and Pete smiled awkwardly, as people do when they want to treat you the same way they do everyone else, but haven't quite gotten used to whatever makes you different.

"Kuoljok—that isn't an Inuit name, is it?" I asked to break the silence.

"No, my grandfather was Sami," Pete said, and at Ray's blank look, he went on. "There was a government project back in the 30's to get the Inuit to herd reindeer, the way the Sami people do in Scandinavia. So they brought a bunch of Sami and a herd of reindeer here. But the Inuit weren't much interested in herding—you know, nobody had consulted them before bringing the reindeer here. The usual story."

"What's the difference between reindeer and caribou?" Ray asked.

"Reindeer are domesticated, and they're smaller," Pete said. "Anyway, the Sami stayed and married into the community."

Pete's story reminded me of what a melting-pot Inuvik was. Many of the Inuit who lived in the area at the time of first contact with the Europeans had died from infectious diseases. Since then, people had moved in from Alaska, from the east, from the Dene lands...and from Europe, of course.

"I want dessert," David said grumpily, breaking into my thoughts.

"Did you eat any dinner?" Lucy asked him.

"I ate all of the moose and the potatoes."

"But what about the salad?"

David heaved a huge sigh and ate his salad.

After dessert, we thanked the Kuoljoks for their hospitality, and went next door to our own house. We had unpacked everything immediately, on the theory that if we didn't, there would still be boxes in the corner of the bedroom two months from now.

Despite the amount of dinner we'd just eaten, we rather vigorously inaugurated our new bedroom. Afterwards, Ray lay with his head on my shoulder, the covers thrown off so that we could cool down.

"You know, I wonder how thin the walls are."

"What, do you think they could hear us?" This thought did not at all appeal to me.

"We were pretty loud." Ray smiled wickedly.

"Ssssh." Ray quieted, and I listened intently. Faint sounds of voices, possibly from a television, possibly from conversation. "I can certainly hear them."

"Yeah, well, I can't, Bat Ears. Anyway, it's no big deal, all right? It's not like they don't know we're having sex." Ray shrugged. "I remember when Stella lived in a dorm room. Her next door neighbor used to have really loud sex, and then we'd be even louder, to try to outdo her."

I winced at the thought. "Well, at least our room doesn't share a wall with the children's bedrooms."

***

"Nursing station looking for a new nurse—yeah, right. Part-time job as a cashier at the co-op—sure, I can apply to that, but it's not like they're going to give it to a newcomer when they can give it to a local kid." Ray sat at the kitchen table, looking at the few job advertisements in the Inuvik Drum.

"No, I suppose not. But you can try." Inuvik had a high rate of unemployment as it was, and people did tend to favor those who belonged to the community. And in small communities, it could take a long time before you belonged. But I didn't say this—Ray knew it as well as I did.

"Yeah, I guess I can stop by tomorrow and ask." Ray sighed and put the paper aside. "Want help with that?" he said, and gestured to the carrots I was chopping.

"Not these, but you can unpack the groceries if you want. They're in my backpack."

Ray unpacked, and was silent for a while. Then he said, "You don't think—I mean, is there any chance of doing some kind of liaising? With you, I mean?"

I wished with all my heart that I could say yes, but I had to shake my head. "I'm afraid not. The RCMP has very strict rules about civilians getting involved in the police work."

Ray sighed. "Yeah, I figured. I mean, if you'd been a civilian in Chicago, there's not a chance in hell we could've worked as partners."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I wish we could." Again, there was the nagging voice in my head that said: if we had stayed in Chicago, Ray would still have his job. The guilt rose up and almost choked me. I finished chopping my carrots and began with the onions. My eyes teared up slightly, and if it wasn't just the onions, I could at least pretend that it was.

"Yeah, I was just doing that thing, where you think about the talents you have, to figure out what you can do to find a job." Ray shrugged. "I'm a cop, you know? It's what I do best."

"You have many talents, Ray."

"Maybe." He shrugged again.

A few weeks later, Ray did manage to find temporary work, helping to repair the highway a few miles south, where melting permafrost had undermined the foundation of the road.

"I think asking around so much paid off," he said. "I mean, this is only temporary, but at least I've got a foot in the door."

He came home at night tired after working long days, but it was a tiredness of the body, not that restless exhaustion of the mind that comes from worrying.

But the road was finished and the work came to an end. Ray was unemployed again, and had to go back to looking for work.

"It's just—I want to do something. This is driving me crazy."

"I understand that," I said.

Ray looked at me sharply. "Yeah? Have you ever been unemployed?" Then he rubbed at his forehead. "No, that wasn't fair. I'm going out for a run, see you later."

He changed clothes and went out the door, closing it carefully behind him. When he came back, sweaty and panting and with that frown-line between his eyebrows gone, he said, "I was thinking."

"Yes?" I handed him a glass of water, and he gulped it down gratefully.

"What if I volunteer somewhere? Sure, I won't be making any money, but I'd be doing some good. And maybe it'd help me get to know people better."

"That's a good idea. Perhaps at the church? Or the rec center?"

Ray made a grimace. "Not church, thanks—I had enough of that as a kid. But yeah, maybe the rec center could use a boxing coach or something? I know how to do that. Or I could teach dancing classes, maybe."

Ray began teaching basic boxing classes for young people down at the recreation center. He also took to working out some of his energy in the rec center's gym, and running, long runs down the Dempster highway and back again on which I joined him when my duties allowed. The traffic was light enough that we had the road to ourselves for long stretches of time, with the clear bowl of the sky and the slight nip in the air that came with the end of August and the beginning of autumn. Flocks of geese passed overhead on their way south.

***

"Hey, you ever think about getting a dogsledding team?"

Surprised, I looked up from the newspaper article about the upcoming Inuvik games. "I hadn't considered it."

"I kind of miss the quest. Which is crazy, I guess, because why would I miss freezing my ass off and not being able to shower for weeks?" Ray looked at me over his breakfast cup of coffee. "Maybe it's because it was sort of like our honeymoon."

I couldn't help smiling at that. "Yes, I suppose it was."

I considered the question seriously. I'd had to sell the team I had when I moved to Chicago, and I'd missed them dearly. But there were practical matters to consider. "Sled teams are an indulgence nowadays. They're a lot of work, and cost money."

"But do you want one?"

Trust Ray to come right to the point. I couldn't help smiling. "Yes, I do."

"Dief?" I waved my sandwich to get his attention. Dief immediately got up from his mat in the corner of the kitchen.

"You know, that's just cruel." Ray buttered a piece of bread, put cheese on it and slipped it to Dief. The bread disappeared without a trace, and Dief licked his chops.

"What do you think about getting a sledding team again? Do you want company?" I said, enunciating clearly.

Dief cocked his head and barked approvingly.

Ray ruffled his fur. "That's settled, then."

On my next day off, we went out to Julie Komak's kennel. She was a short, stocky middle-aged woman who was one of the foremost breeders of huskies in the Inuvik area.

"Hi, Ben! You looking to get yourself a team again?"

"Yes, actually. This is Ray," I said, indicating Ray. "It was his idea, in fact."

"Ah, yes, Ray Kowalski. Don't you teach boxing?"

"Yeah, that's me." Ray and Julie shook hands.

"And I remember Dief, of course." She took off her mitten and let Dief smell her hand. "You still volunteering to father puppies on all my bitches?"

Dief lolled his tongue eagerly.

Julie grinned and scratched his ears. "Sorry. You're lovely, but your wolf blood's a little too chancy for me." She turned back to Ray and me. "Well, I've got two litters at the moment, but one's almost sold off, and the others have just barely opened their eyes."

"No adult dogs that you're willing to sell?"

"Well...actually, you remember Ginny?"

"Of course."

"She's the mother of the first litter I mentioned, but the birth was hard on her, and I had to spay her. I was intending to sell her off, anyway. She's a dear, but I can't afford to keep her in the kennel if I can't breed her."

"I'd be delighted to have her back." I turned to Ray. "Ginny was part of the team I sold off before I went to Chicago. She's very responsible. A good worker."

"Sounds good," Ray said.

"Well, let's give you a look at the puppies," Julie said, and we walked off toward the enclosure in her yard.

Ginny came straight for me, wagging her tail. She was small for a husky, some undefined cross between Alaskan and Siberian, but all lean working dog.

"Hello, Ginny." I knelt down to let her lick my face, and then watched as she and Dief reacquainted themselves by means of thorough sniffing at both front and rear.

"Hey!" I turned around to see Ray bowled to the ground and ineffectually defending himself from a white whirlwind. "Quit slobbering on my face!"

"Kako! Behave yourself." Julie hauled the dog off by the scruff of the neck. "And this is what I've got left of Ginny's litter. I named him Kakortok because he's so pale."

"Who's the father?" I asked, while Kakortok attempted, in his own way, to charm Ray again.

"Nukilik, from the Pitseolaks in Aklavik. He's got Qimmiq blood, and since Ginny's a bit on the small side, I thought it might turn out well."

Kako would, indeed, be much heavier than his mother, if the size of his paws and his already rangy limbs were anything to go by. And he had the beginnings of a ruff around his neck, one of the signs of the heavy Qimmiq breed which was the original Inuit dog.

"Make a good wheel dog, I think," I said. "That is, if he can learn to mind his manners."

"Oh, he's still a puppy," Julie said. "He'll learn, and there's nothing mean-spirited about him."

"We're getting him, right?" Ray said, standing up to brush the snow off his parka.

"I was under the impression that you didn't like slobber on your face," I said, raising my eyebrows.

"He's just a puppy, okay?" Ray smiled indulgently. "Puppies do that. And he's adorable."

"All right, that's two, then," I said.

Meanwhile, Kako was approaching Dief in the same headlong manner as he had Ray, and Dief made it quite clear who was in charge here. In short order, Kako was cowering on the ground, whimpering and trying to lick Dief's jaw, which Dief magnanimously allowed him to do. I suppressed a smile.

"How many did you have in mind?" Julie asked.

I exchanged a glance with Ray. "Well, we're starting small. But we could perhaps have a look at the other litter, too."

This turned out to be something of a tactical mistake—at least, it would have been if our goal was to get no more dogs. Ray took one look at the pile of soft, furry puppies and fell to his knees.

"Hey, can I pet them?"

"Of course," Julie said, smiling. "Just introduce yourself to their mother first, so she can see you're not a threat."

I found it hard to stop smiling myself at the sight of Ray with two puppies crawling into his lap, their blue eyes open, but still unfocused.

"The mother of this litter's a Siberian," Julie said, pointing to the bitch who was lying in the corner, alert to the every movement of her offspring. "She was in the team that came in second on the Iditarod year before last. And the father is the brother of Max, who I think was on your team before you left."

Finally, we drove home, having signed over a not inconsiderable sum of money to Julie. We'd come back later in the week for Ginny and Kako, and we'd have our pick of one puppy from the last litter.

"So, should we just keep them staked out? Or build some sort of pen for them?" Ray said, navigating the snowy road with ease.

"I think it might be best if we fenced in part of the yard, and built a shack where they can take shelter if the weather is bad."

"I kind of want to keep the puppy in the house, though."

"Give them an inch, and they'll take over the whole house. Just look at Diefenbaker. You pay, and pay, and pay..." I shook my head. Dief woofed in the back seat, sounding satisfied with himself. "But you're right, the puppies need to be socialized, and get used to humans."

***

Three new dogs were quite a lot to deal with, although Ginny wasn't much trouble to us. She was a sensible dog, whereas Kako and the small puppy, which Ray had named Lhasa, were a different matter.

Emma and David were delighted with the newcomers, and loved to tumble around in the yard with the two young dogs. Kako could hold his own, and indeed bowled over all three of the others more than once, but the smaller puppy was subjected to much petting and cuddling, and once even to the indignity of being dressed in a t-shirt with a scarf around her neck.

Well, at least she would be used to people.

With Diefenbaker, we now had four dogs, which was quite enough to pull a sled if the load was light, and we decided to content ourselves with that at this juncture. Besides, we could hardly have afforded it—we weren't poor in any sense of the word, but between paying off the loan for the house and buying and feeding three new dogs, we had to keep a close watch on our expenses. Of course, Ray had been paid rather a large amount for his undercover work as Ray Vecchio, but that money was gone.

"It's not like I'm not used to being in a marriage where I'm the one earning less money," he said with a wry smile. "But it's kind of hard to not earn anything."

"Ray, it's not your fault. And I have no difficulty with simple living. We don't actually need a car, for example—we're living within walking distance of the town center."

Ray snorted, although he still looked down-hearted. "Yeah. It's not like you're used to a life of luxury."

"Ray, can I ask your advice?"

"Sure."

"I can't share the details of the case, of course, but—do you know anything about Jimmy Maksagak? I believe he's in your boxing class."

"Huh." Ray scratched his head thoughtfully, but he looked alert, sharp. "Would this have anything to do with the fact that he came in all black and blue from bruises on Saturday?"

"It might."

"Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, I think he's a good kid—wouldn't start trouble, but if someone else started it, he's not one to back down. And—I don't have any proof of this, but from stuff I heard, I think someone was messing with his sister."

"Ah. Thank you, that's useful. He wouldn't say a word to me."

"Not surprised. Anyway, his sister is in the boxing class as well. She's one of my best students, actually—great attitude. I think she can take care of herself."

"That's good. Anyway, we'll be turning the matter over to his parents and the elders. But it's good to know more about what was going on."

Ray raised his eyebrows at me as if to say that he knew what I was doing. "Hey, I'm glad to help."

***

It was midwinter by now, that time of moonlight and starlight and the deep blue of the snow in the twilight hours, but also of the warm light from lamps and fireplaces. I have always enjoyed this time—most people have the sense to stay inside where it's warm, and few crimes are committed, so that one can curl up in an armchair with a book without any sense of neglected duty. At the detachment, there was only the occasional distress call from a snowmobile that had broken down with the cold, so we had nothing much to do except for paperwork.

Ray, on the other hand, was moody, but it was not the lack of energy and low feelings that are usual in seasonal depression. He was jumpy and prone to irritation, and when I tried to ask him if something was wrong, he almost bit my head off. I tried to leave him alone, hoping that it would pass or that in time, he would confide in me.

One day, Ray came up to me while I was peeling potatoes for dinner, sliding his arms around my waist and looking down at the sink over my shoulder.

"Not disturbing you, am I?" he said in the kind of teasing, happy voice I hadn't heard in some time.

I felt my heart begin to beat harder with happiness and hope, but I only replied steadily. "Oh, no. I'm fully capable of being hugged while peeling potatoes."

"That's good, 'cause I need your full attention here," Ray said. "So, okay, I have good news. You want to guess what?"

"Hmm. Perhaps the Earth has decided to tilt its axis the other way, so that we'll have summer again?"

"Nope, that's not it." Ray shook his head, tickling the side of my neck with his hair. "Besides, I told you I don't really mind the winter. Not that much, at least."

"All right. Then maybe the Chicago pizzerias have started delivering to Inuvik?"

"Nah, that's not it either."

Ray leaned in to whisper in my ear. "I'm going to Depot."

I spun around, abandoning the potatoes. "You what?"

"You heard me the first time." Ray was looking at me intensely now, as if searching for something in my face. I'm not sure what he saw—I felt a bit stunned.

"How—why didn't you tell me? When did you apply?" I winced at hearing my own voice. I hadn't meant to sound accusing.

Ray looked down. "I wanted to tell you about it before, but I just couldn't. I mean, what if I didn't make it? I just...maybe it's silly, but I couldn't bear the thought of you knowing I wasn't good enough."

"Ray, the RCMP admission tests are not a condition of my feelings for you."

"No, I get that. But still." He shrugged, and I did understand.

Then the larger implications of what he said began to sink in, and I thought of what our partnership in Chicago had been like, that glorious push and pull of Ray's talents and mine, striking sparks sometimes, but still one of the two best working relationships of my life.

Why hadn't I thought of this solution? It should have been obvious.

"Ray, you're a genius! We could work as partners again." I found myself grinning like a loon, and Ray hugged me tight. "Yes. Thank God. That's exactly why I did it."

"I can't believe I never thought of this." Then something struck me, and I frowned. "Of course, that's assuming you can get stationed here."

"Hey, this place isn't exactly the most popular posting in Canada. I did my research, you know—Maggie helped me check things up."

I pushed down a faint twinge of jealousy that he'd told Maggie and not me, but Ray saw it anyway, and looked worried. "You do get it, don't you? Why I couldn't tell you? I mean, this was something I had to do on my own. It'll be hard enough at Depot if people find out we're married, but at least I can tell them you really had nothing to do with the application process."

"Yes, I do see that. It's all right, Ray." In fact, that was remarkably similar to my own behavior when I applied to Depot—I hadn't told my father until I'd been accepted, either.

"But when did you take the tests?"

"Went down to Yellowknife for the PARE and the RPAT. That was when you were out on patrol in October."

"Oh, of course—all that working out, and the time you spent out running with the dogs. You must've been preparing for the tests."

"Not exactly Sherlock Holmes, are you?" Ray grinned, then pushed me up against the kitchen cabinet for a kiss. He broke the kiss a moment later to say, "Oh, and Sergeant Olsen did the selection interview. I swore him to secrecy so he wouldn't tell you."

"You swore him to secrecy, did you?" I spun Ray around, landing him with a thump against the door instead, so that I could continue the kiss. But Ray was laughing too much.

"Yeah, but he swore me to secrecy too, you know? About the interview questions? I can never tell anyone or the Queen's gonna be all sad."

I tried to look serious. "Ray, you forget that I've been through that interview, too. I've already heard the questions."

"But are you sure they're still the same questions?" Ray cracked up again, and so did I. We giggled until tears ran from our eyes.

When we had sobered, I drew back to look Ray in the eyes. "When do you start?"

"First day in February."

That was in less than three weeks. I hugged him close and murmured in his ear, "Congratulations, Ray. I'm so happy for you."

***

The morning that Ray left, the wind blew sharp and cold, and the lights on the waiting airplane illuminated the whirling snow. I tightened the strings of my parka hood, so that the cold would not sneak in.

"Good luck at Depot, Ray," Maggie said, reaching up to give Ray a hug, as well as she was able in the heavy clothing they both wore.

"Thanks, Maggie," Ray said.

He crouched down to take Dief's head between his hands, petting him roughly. Dief licked his nose, and for once, Ray let him.

I stepped up next, and leaned in close to kiss him. The fur-lined edges of our hoods met and merged, and the dark space between was warm with our breath.

"I love you, Ray," I whispered, and squeezed his thick mittens. "Good luck."

"Love you, too. I'll call you when I'm settled in, okay?"

Ray stepped back, shouldered his backpack, and headed for the plane. Maggie and I retreated a safe distance. We could hardly hear the added noise of the plane over the song of the wind, and the lights were quickly swallowed by the darkness.

"Will you be all right alone?" Maggie asked, as we headed for the detachment.

"Of course," I said, surprised. "I'm used to living by myself—I won't be lonely."

"Oh, not that. I meant, will you need any help with the dogs?"

"I shouldn't think so...they're not like house-living dogs, that need attention all the time."

"Still, I'd be happy to take them out once in a while. Or, well—let me rephrase that." Maggie smiled. "I'd love to go out sledding. It's been far too long."

"Oh, of course. Any time. But let me just warn you—we've been training the puppies, but they really aren't fully trained yet. And Lhasa can't take any load yet. We let her run alongside most of the time."

"How about I come over next weekend, and you can show me how you've been training them?"

"That sounds good." We parked by the detachment, stamping the snow off our boots before we went inside.

***

Late that evening, the phone rang, and I put my book down and picked up the phone, pretending to myself that I hadn't been waiting for the call.

"Benton Fraser speaking."

"Frase? It's me."

"Ray! How are you?"

"Uh, fine. I mean, I just arrived, and nothing's really happening until tomorrow. Just wanted to let you know I got here all right."

"Thanks." I hadn't really had time to miss Ray yet, although the house was very much more quiet than when Ray was at home. "Are you at a hotel? Or have they put you in the dorm already?"

"Dorm. We'll be fourteen people staying in the same room—that's gonna take some getting used to. Although they can't snore worse than Dief, I guess."

"There are only fourteen people in your troop?"

"Nah, the women have their own room."

"Oh, of course." My troop had only had one woman—times had certainly changed for the better.

"Good thing I didn't take much stuff. It's not like they give us a lot of storage space here."

I pictured Ray lying on his back on the bed, talking on his cellphone. He would be jiggling his feet restlessly, or his knee, and the lines on the side of his mouth would deepen when he smiled.

"The shared living quarters are meant to promote the formation of a group identity," I said.

"And teach you to be all tidy and do without everything but the bare necessities, right? Bet you didn't have a problem with that."

"Not with that, no."

Ray yawned in my ear, and I could hear his jaw cracking. "God, I'm tired. Had to wait forever in Yellowknife because of the weather. I should go to bed."

"Sleep well, Ray."

"Yeah, I will." He lowered his voice. "Love you."

I lowered my voice, too, although I had no reason to do it. "I love you, too."

I hung up, and looked at my book, which was face-down on the armrest of the couch, without picking it up.

There was a nudge at my elbow, and Lhasa looked up at me with pale blue husky eyes. She was still very young, and we'd taken to keeping her in the house during the cold nights.

"All right," I said, and patted the couch beside me. She jumped up, turned a couple of times, and curled up beside me. "I'm spoiling you, aren't I?"

She didn't reply—after all, she wasn't Dief—but she licked my hand, and I scratched the thick gray fur around her ears. Over by the fireplace, Dief lifted his head, watching over us, and his tail thumped into the carpet a few times before he lay down his head again.

***

Inuvik, February 4, 2000

My dearest Ray,

I thought of calling you again today, but I suppose you're either busy or sleeping. I remember the first few days at Depot as being quite intense—so many new people, new things to learn, and a new environment. But you have one advantage over my teenage self: you've already worked years as a police officer, and proved your competence many times over. I have no doubt that you'll manage just fine.

Maggie came by today. She said she missed sledding, and we went out with the dogs together. Not that there was much actual sledding done—Lhasa is still much too young and inexperienced. But she's learning, slowly but surely, and it's good for her to be handled by someone other than you and me. But although it's true that Maggie has a good hand with the dogs, I doubt that the dogs were her real object today. I think she wanted to make sure that I wasn't lonely. It was sweet of her, but I'm all right. I have to admit, though, that the house is emptier without you. I have Dief, of course, and for many years, that was enough for me. But now that I've known what it's like not to live alone, I miss you.

Yours,
BF

***

Text message, February 7, 2000

GOT YOUR LETTER. ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE A ROMANTIC SAP, BUT THEN AGAIN, SO AM I. NO PRIVACY HERE. WRITE YOU SOON? RAY

***

My dearest Fraser,

(See, I can do the old-fashioned letter thing, too!) Sorry I haven't called you, it's hard to get any privacy around here. Anyway, I kind of asked Maggie to keep an eye on you, but I think she'd have done it on her own anyway.

My arms ache just from writing this. I thought I was at least a little bit fit, you know? More than city fit by now, maybe even living-in-the-north fit. But I guess I'm getting old. All these young kids are making me wonder what I'm doing here, sometimes.

Other times, I'm wondering if I was that much of an idiot when I was a kid, too. Like, there's this guy who was playing around with the weapons in the shooting range, thinking he was cool. I was wondering if I should smack him down, but I'm not the instructor here, you know? Luckily, one of the officers saw him, and boy, if I had to do that many push-ups, I'm not sure I could even write now.

Hey, it's time for lights-out. Sorry I can't write any more. I guess I was never much good at letter-writing, anyway. Say hi to the Diefster for me.

Love,
Ray

***

Inuvik, February 27, 2000

My dearest Ray,

I think you write wonderfully, so please don't doubt yourself. I've always felt my own writing to be rather stiff at times.

Yes, I suppose there are both advantages and disadvantages to attending Depot at an older age. But I'm convinced that the RCMP will gain by having cadets with a more diverse background. How are you finding the training otherwise? I suspect that it's changed a fair bit since I was there.

I had a lovely run with the team today. The days are lengthening quickly, and the sky was that clear, sparkling shade of blue that I have only seen in the Territories in winter. We were down on the river, in the snowmobile tracks, so they could have a free run of it, and didn't need struggle around in the deep snow. Kako is getting better at minding me. His attention span is still lamentably short, but Dief and Ginny are doing their best to keep him on track. Lhasa got startled by a snowmobile going by, but she's got to get used to them some time, and the sooner the better.

We had a false alarm today at work. Old Jimmy McNish had gone out by himself for some ice-fishing, and his son went out to look for him when he wasn't back at sunset. His fishing gear was found by the open hole in the ice. Luckily, it turned out that he was not on the bottom of the river—he'd gotten a lift home by John Ovayuak, forgetting some of the gear. They were sitting in John's kitchen having coffee, quite unaware of the ruckus they'd caused.

Well, I suppose I'm off to bed. I'm sure you'll laugh at me (Diefenbaker certainly does), but I've taken to letting Lhasa sleep in the bed occasionally.

Your devoted husband,
BF

***

Frase—

My devoted husband, huh? So you're replacing me with a puppy. Didn't think you had it in you, so soon after I'd left. Tell Lhasa she's going to end up a spoiled brat if she doesn't watch it.

The training is pretty interesting. Some of the team exercises are like these elaborate scenarios that you have to solve. We did one this week which was a terrorist bomb-threat to a mall, and had a discussion afterwards with the instructors, about all the different aspects that you have to think about. It's a cool way of learning things, and I can use stuff I already know, too.

But the thing I don't get is the deportment stuff. Like, marching and keeping your boots polished. I know you might not agree with me here, Frase, but having polished boots doesn't actually make you a better cop. Not that I'm telling the instructors that, because if I wanted to run extra laps around the field I could do it on my own. And I lost all my experimental hair, too—you've got to keep it really short or they yell at you when it's time for inspection.

Oh, and look at the postcard I put in the envelope! They've got all kinds of ridiculous Mountie schwag like that in the gift store. Mountie posters, Mountie key rings, little Mountie dolls. Bet they make lots of money from it. Now I'm wondering if they've got Mountie porn in some shady corner of the shop (yeah, you're horrified at the thought, I know). But nah, this is Canada—I bet there's a rule against it.

I'm starting to miss you. I'm busy all the time during the day, yeah, but I miss you when I go to bed at night.

Ray

***

I stood waiting among the crowd of family members, friends and significant others of the newly graduated Mounties. The day was fine; white clouds sailed unconcernedly over the blue sky, and the maples were turning red and gold. But I cared for none of it—I wanted to see Ray. I'd arrived about an hour before and changed into dress uniform for the occasion. But I hadn't wanted to go in search of Ray. He was no doubt preparing himself for the ceremony, which would begin soon.

"Corporal Fraser, isn't it?" I turned, to see a middle-aged woman, her dress uniform impeccable.

"Yes, sir." Sergeant Labonte and I had served together in Yellowknife for a while, and she was now an instructor at Depot. We'd had occasional contact over the years.

"Glad to see you here. Do you know anyone in this troop?" she asked.

"Yes, my husband is graduating. Ray Kowalski."

Her eyebrows rose the tiniest amount before she controlled herself. "Oh, I had no idea."

"I rather think Ray wanted it that way." The routine background check on all potential cadets would have easily revealed it, of course, but that did not mean that the instructors at Depot had known of our relationship.

"Yes, I see that. After that business with the Russian sub, you have quite a reputation. That must be hard to live up to."

"Ray had a large part in that business, as well. He was my partner while I worked in the States."

"Oh, so he was the same...yes, of course. Well, at any rate, I was impressed with him on the team exercises."

Around us, the crowd stirred, their talk quieting as they turned toward the parade ground. The graduating troop marched out, resplendent in their red serge. Instinctively, I straightened.

I caught sight of Ray among them, and my heart swelled with intense pride and joy. I'd seen Ray in uniform once before, when he sneaked out of the Canadian consulate, trying to be mistaken for Turnbull. That uniform hadn't fit him well, and he'd worn it as an impostor. But now, he wore it as one who had earned the right to wear it, and the sight of him almost made my knees weak.

Despite the crowd I was in, he saw me. Our eyes met, and he winked, even while he stood there at parade rest.

"Congratulations," Sergeant Labonte murmured.

"Thank you, sir," I said, and felt myself flushing. No doubt I looked like a besotted teenager.

***

The hotel room door closed behind me, and Ray turned to me.

"You," he said, pointing two fingers at me, "want to do me."

"I always want to do you. That isn't news." I pushed him, so that he ended up against the door with a thump.

"Yeah, but you especially want to do me in this uniform." Ray looked smug, and I grabbed him by the neck and kissed him until we were both breathless. He was right, of course. I quickly undid the brightly polished buttons of the tunic, slid it off, and hung it over a chair.

Ray stood there, grinning and looking impossibly delectable in his buttoned shirt and suspenders. His erection was an obvious bulge in the dark pants. "See, I know what this does to you, because I've been there on the other side. I'm buttoned, you want to unbutton me. I'm ironed, you want to wrinkle me. Am I right?"

"Mmm. You are entirely correct." I grabbed Ray by his shoulders, then pushed him down on the king size bed. He grinned up at me, and I threw myself on top of him to kiss him again, hotly and urgently and with an utter lack of finesse.

Sliding down to kneel on the carpeted floor, I undid the familiar uniform pants and took Ray in my mouth. The shape of him, the taste, the sound he made when I flicked my tongue over the head—it was all so intimately familiar to me, but after so long without it, I wanted everything at once.

"God, I thought about this," Ray panted. He tried unsuccessfully to thrust, but I held down his hips. "All those nights—your mouth. Couldn't do anything, just--"

It must have been a speed record, if either of us had been keeping track (which we were not). Ray grabbed my hair, wrapped his legs around my shoulders as if he was holding on for dear life, and came in my mouth. I swallowed, then watched him relax and slump back on the bed, his legs falling apart. The shirt of his uniform was rucked up, the suspenders half on, half off, and his pants were halfway down his thighs.

He looked beautiful and utterly debauched. He was mine.

"Yeah, now let me do you." Ray grinned and stretched out a hand.

I pulled him up, and he quickly and efficiently unbuttoned my tunic and pants. He found my erection, feeling me up with what I can only describe as a deeply appreciative look on his face, then began to stroke me. His hand, dear Lord, his hand, with those strong, competent fingers...I grabbed his head with both hands, and kissed him, kissed him until I climaxed, moaning into his mouth. Ray's hand gentled, every slow stroke triggering a new wave of pleasure, until my whole body twitched and shuddered and I was completely undone.

Later, we both lay naked, our hands wandering and relearning familiar territory. I stroked the short-cropped hair on Ray's head—he looked strangely shorn without his spikes.

"It'll grow back." Ray shrugged as well as he could, on his back with one arm beneath my head.

"It makes your ears stick out."

"Thanks a lot, Frase."

"I like your ears," I said, and sucked on the lobe of the one closest to me.

"Yeah? Just for that, I forgive you."

"They taste good. Diefenbaker would agree with me."

"Freak." Ray rolled on top of me. He was heavier, I noted, and it was all muscle. I slid my hands up his back, over his shoulders, and down again. Ray rolled his hips against mine, and we sighed into each other's mouths.

I parted my legs and murmured, "Fuck me."

"Uh," Ray said incoherently. I could feel his erection jerk against my thigh. "God, yeah. You got slick?"

"Of course." I slid out from under Ray and rooted around in the bag.

"Yeah, proper, um..."

"Preparation, yes." I handed the bottle to him and lay down on my side, shivering in anticipation.

Ray went agonizingly slowly, and my hands clenched the sheets when I felt the slow slide of his fingers, again and again. "Don't want to hurt you. I mean, it's been a while."

But there was only so much a man could take, and when Ray finally entered me, thick and hard and so entirely what I needed, it only took a couple of thrusts for me to come, shaking with helpless pleasure.

"God, you're amazing," Ray murmured in my ear. He pushed me over to my stomach, spread my legs, and thrust into me. I could feel the tautness of his muscles as he held back, careful not to be too rough. He came deep within me, his fingers clenched so hard on my arms that they might leave bruises.

We slept after that, Ray half on top of me, and waking later in the night, I pushed Ray off. He turned toward me with a sleepy questioning sound.

"You're heavy," I said, and pulled him close again, in a more comfortable position.

"Missed you," he mumbled, and snuggled into my shoulder.

***

Maggie and Diefenbaker met us at the airstrip. Dief had stayed at home, as I'd convinced him that it would only be one or two days of delay, no more. He whined and jumped around until Ray knelt down, after which Dief put his paws on Ray's chest and licked his face until he fell over in the snow. I'd rarely seen Dief so affectionate.

Ray stood up, trying to brush the snow off. "Yeah, no use trying for dignity."

"Welcome to the Queen's service, Ray," Maggie said with a grin and a hug.

"Hey, nowhere did they say that I had to be a monarchist. Is that in the fine print?"

"Yes, Ray. It's the 'R' in 'RCMP'," I said.

"Well, if I gotta respect the 'R', I think they should keep to the 'M' and give me a horse, too."

"You can always apply to the Musical Ride," Maggie said.

"Yeah, that'd be a sight." Ray snorted.

We bundled ourselves into Maggie's pick-up truck, and she drove us home.

"Where are you stationed?" Maggie asked.

Ray sighed. "Edmonton. But I'm going to keep an eye on the postings up here, and apply as soon as anything comes up."

That winter was a slow one. When Ray had been at Depot, we had both known how long his absence would be. But now, there was no guarantee that he would not have to stay in Edmonton for a good long while. I tried to get used to living alone again, but I found myself missing Ray, despite our long telephone calls and Ray's time off at Christmas. Diefenbaker, too, felt Ray's absence, and complained that the pack wasn't complete without him.

I applied myself to my job, and when I wasn't working, I spent time training the team. Kako had by now come into his own as an excellent wheel dog, strong and willing, and Lhasa was almost full-grown.

The Kuoljoks had me over to dinner sometimes, and I tried to repay their hospitality by helping Emma with her homework. She wasn't slow, by any means, but she was prone to frustration when things didn't immediately go her way, and we found that she had more patience with her work when I helped her than when Lucy or Pete did.

One morning at the detachment, Sergeant Olsen beckoned me into his office. This was nothing unusual in itself—we were not many officers working at the Inuvik detachment, and we didn't always keep to the formality that the RCMP used to be known for. But when he cleared his throat, addressing me as "Constable Fraser", I automatically straightened, falling into parade rest.

"Yes, sir?" I said, wondering what this was about.

"You've done good work, Constable. And your experience is such that I think it's past time for you to be promoted. How would you like to be a corporal?"

It was clearly meant to be a rhetorical question, and the expected response was "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." But after my first flush of pride at the offer, I realized that I would have to say no. If I was a corporal and Ray only a constable, then we could not be allowed to work together—married couples are not allowed to be in a position of authority over one another in the RCMP.

"Respectfully, sir, I feel I must decline. But I'm very sensible of the honor that you do me."

Sergeant Olsen gaped, before he got his face under control. "May I ask why, Constable? Do you feel yourself unfit for the position?"

"No. It's simply for...private reasons."

"Ah." He frowned, and his eyes narrowed. Sergeant Olsen wasn't stupid, and he had been the one to interview Ray for his application to Depot. "I believe I understand. But do you understand, Constable, that having refused promotion once, you are unlikely to be offered it again? You will be passed over in favor of younger and less experienced officers."

"I understand that, sir." It was no sacrifice compared to the alternative.

***

In late May, when the trees were unfurling their leaves and the snow was almost gone, Constable Rachael Terry got a transfer south. She'd only been here a year, and while she'd done her duty quite satisfactorily, it was quite clear that she'd rather be with her fiancé in Vancouver.

Ray applied, of course, but neither I nor Maggie was in a position to decide the issue (nor should we have been), and a few nerve-wracking weeks passed before Ray called to tell me that he was being transferred.

Our pack was once again reunited, and Ray was installed at the desk beside mine at the detachment.

"You'd think the RCMP would know these things about me by now," Ray grumbled as he filled in the forms of employment.

A wave of familiarity—no, a profound sense of rightness—came over me, and I grinned helplessly. "Ray, I've even missed the way you complain about the paperwork."

Ray grinned back. "Yeah? Well, that's good, because you'll be hearing it a lot."

"I, on the other hand, am not interested in your complaints." Maggie frowned in mock reproach.

Ray made a mock salute back and grinned. "Yes, boss."

Maggie had been promoted instead of me, and it was well-deserved, too. To be perfectly honest, she was probably a better superior officer than I would have been.

That evening, Ray and I unpacked Ray's luggage. His clothes were once again placed in the wardrobe next to mine, the stereo was set up in the bookcase in the living room, and his cd:s expanded into their usual organized chaos next to it.

We cooked dinner together and ate it by the kitchen table. The sun shone in from the west, slanting in through the kitchen windows. I had picked a bouquet of wildflowers to brighten the room, mostly goldenrod and yarrow and milk-vetch, common flowers that were just coming into bloom on the roadsides. Ray moved the vase to the side so that he could see me better across the table.

He leaned forward. "Why did Maggie get promoted and not you?"

Oh, I should have known he would ask. "Maggie is a good officer. She deserved a promotion."

"Not what I asked, Fraser. I know she's a good officer. But you've got more experience, plus you work like nobody's business. Why'd they pass you over?" Ray wore the expression he used when trying to put the clues of a case together.

"It wasn't like that, Ray. And I much prefer it like this—being promoted usually means more administration and less fieldwork. How would you feel sitting at a desk all day doing paperwork?"

My attempt at sidetracking him failed. "What, did you turn it down?"

"Ah, well. Yes."

"I don't get it. I mean, don't you want this? You've served the RCMP your whole life. They finally give you what you deserve, and you turn it down?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Ray said softly.

"I wanted to be able to work with you as a partner, Ray. I couldn't, if I'm married to you and have a higher rank."

Ray was silent. Then he smiled like the rising sun. "Wow. I mean, thanks. I mean..."

I raised my glass of water. "To partnership, Ray."

He grinned and raised his glass to clink against mine. "To partnership."