"Very well, thank you, John. John, Charles, this is my friend, Ray Kowalski. Ray, this is John and Charles Elkin."

Wow. I still hadn't gotten used to being introduced by my own name instead of Vecchio's. That alone made me kind of miss a beat. Then I hesitated awkwardly, not knowing where the two guys were - there were probably two hands sticking out there, but I sure couldn't see 'em.

"Uh, hi," I said lamely.

A chuckle from off to my right.

"Let me show you how to do that, Ray," said the same voice that had spoken to Fraser before. "When you're meeting a sighted person, just put your hand out, let them do the grabbing. When you're meeting another blind person, it's okay to use both hands, just don't swing out too hard and too fast. Nobody cares if you bump knuckles getting there." A light touch met my arm about elbow height, and I caught the hand, gave it a shake. "There you go."

"Okaaaaaaay . . . " I kind of stuck out a hand in what I figured was Charles' direction and got another chuckle.

"You'll have to pardon me, Ray, I've got my hands full," the other voice said. "Benton, want to show me where to put this stuff down? John, you want to take Ray out to the truck?"

"Okay." John took my hand and tucked it into the crook of his left elbow.

"What's at the truck?" I said suspiciously, trying not to stumble. There was a tapping sound off to my right. "And what's that sound?"

"I'll show you what's at the truck," John chuckled. "And the tapping is my cane. Don't you have one?"

Oh, yeah. The life skills lady had given me one. I'd never gone out, so I'd never used it.

"Yeah, somewhere," I said vaguely. "I could make a comment right now about the blind leading the blind."

"And I'd tell you I'd heard it about a million times," John laughed. "Okay. Here we are. Here, take this." Something hard and dry was shoved into my hand - a dog biscuit.

"What's this for?" I asked, but I already knew, I could hear the panting on the other side of the door. I heard John open the truck door.

"Go ahead and give it to her," John urged. "Her name's Niri."

"Hey, Niri." A big old soft mouth gently took the dog biscuit, and I tried real hard (and successfully) not to poke any eyes out as I ruffled the big fuzzy head. "Hey, that's a good girl. What a nice big girl." Okay, nobody can say I'm not sentimental around dogs. I gave her a hug and got a kiss on the cheek for my trouble. She was big, all right - as big as Dief, or maybe even a little bit bigger.

"So what's her name mean?" I said, still hugging.

John chuckled.

"Believe it or not, it's Inuktitut for 'eat'," he said. "Which is her favorite pastime in the world. I think she gets it from Diefenbaker."

"Oh." I grinned. "You mean she's - "

"His daughter," John said. "Her mother's a full-blooded malamute."

"Is she, like, your guide dog?" I asked.

John chuckled again.

"Nope," he said. "She's yours."

Which is how I ended up on the living-room rug sprawled all over two dogs while I got the explanation.

Charles bred sled dogs. They weren't all malamutes or purebreds. He bred smaller dogs for speed and maneuverability. He bred big dogs for strength and stamina. He bred everything in between.

"They're sled dogs, not show dogs," he laughed.

Dief had made a big impression on Charles; he was fast, he was strong, and best of all, he was good-tempered and smart. Charles had asked Fraser if Dief might be interested in playing stud. Dief had been interested, all right, to the tune of three litters so far. In return, Charles had offered Fraser the pick of each litter, but Fraser had never taken him up on it - until now.

Charles also had a sideline, working with John. Many of the same traits that made up a good sled dog, also made up a good guide dog - a steady temper, good social skills, intelligence, loyalty. Sometimes in Charles' litters, or those of breeders he knew, dogs were born that weren't suitable as sled dogs for one reason or another, physical or temperament or whatever. Niri was a good example. The elbows on her front legs didn't join up quite right when she was born, Charles said. Surgery had fixed it, although she might have arthritis when she got older, but he didn't want to use her as a sled dog, nor breed her, in case it was an inherited problem. John took those dogs like Niri and trained them as guide dogs.

"There aren't a lot of formal guide dog programs up here," John told us. "And a lot of folks way up in the provinces won't or can't travel all the way to one of the guide dog schools down south. Besides, a number of breeds used as guide dogs aren't suitable to our climate or aren't friendly and compatible with a family's sled dogs. So I haven't had any problems placing the dogs I train. And, yeah, it's not as formalized a program as most of the big guide dog schools, but it seems to work out okay."

"So you'll teach Ray to work with Niri?" Fraser asked, and that sounded kind of funny. I mean, I figured it should be the other way around, right? Teaching Niri to work with me?

"Not for a couple days," John said. "I imagine Ray was in pretty good shape working as a police detective, but he's been sedentary for, what, a couple months now? So the first priority is to get Ray back up to speed, and teach him how to get around the house on his own."

"Hey, I can get around the house!" I protested.

"Great," John said. "Then I'd like a cup of coffee, if you don't mind."

"Fine," I said. I got up, then damn near tripped over Dief - Niri, smart girl, got out of my way. Or maybe they're trained to do that.

"John," Fraser said slowly, "I'm not sure that's exactly - "

"Let him try," John said.

Okay, fine, you asshole. You think I can't make coffee?

Okay, I knew how to get to the kitchen. Great. Coffee maker, coffee maker . . . where was the fucking coffee maker? Then a horrible thought occurred to me, and I felt next to the stove. Oh, shit. A fucking percolator. I'd never made coffee in a percolator before. Fraser had had some kind of percolator pot on the trail, but he'd done all the brewing. I didn't know how much coffee to use. How much water did the damned thing take? How far did you fill it up? How could I even tell how full it was?

"Okay, one step at a time, Kowalski," I muttered to myself. "It's fucking coffee, how hard can it be?"

Okay, water first, that would tell me how much coffee to use. Fortunately the one thing Benton Fraser is, is predictable. I knew right where the coffee cups would be. I made sure the percolator was unplugged and pulled off the lid. Okaaaaaaay . . . another lid. I took that off. Right, kind of cup-shaped bin on top of a long spindly thing. Took that out. Used a coffee cup to pour in cups of water. Eight, nine, ten . . . okay, right, you wanted some distance between the water and the grounds, that's how it worked. Took about ten more minutes to figure out how to get the frigging hardware to fit back together and back down inside where it was supposed to be. Fine. Water accomplished.

"Ray?" Fraser called from the living room. "Are you certain you don't need some help?"

"I'm fine," I growled.

Now coffee. That was tougher. Oh, fuck, Maggie had ground up whole beans. I didn't know shit about grinding coffee beans. Hell, half the time back home I'd used instant. And I had no idea where Fraser might have put the coffee grinder.

Ten more minutes of groping around aimlessly through the cabinets and I was about to scream. Fuck, I'd barely ever even seen a fucking coffee grinder. I didn't know what the damned thing felt like, or how to use one. Then it occurred to me that in all my searching, I hadn't smelled anything that smelled like coffee. Where were the fucking coffee beans? And what the hell did I do with them when I found them, anyway?

Maybe Fraser had put the coffee and grinder in the pantry. I wandered in there and felt around on the shelves, craning overhead to reach the top shelf. It felt like there were some canisters up there - maybe -

Then I overbalanced, things shifted, and suddenly something heavy and fucking hard crashed down on my head, and Ray, meet floor.

*****

"Ray? Ray? Dear God, Ray, please, are you all right?"

"Unh." I opened my eyes. Nothing. Big surprise there. The floor was moving under me, though, that was new. "Where am I?"

"You're in an ambulance, Ray, on the way to the hospital. You pulled a large canister of rice over on your head."

"Oh." Yeah, I should've recognized the feeling, I've been in ambulances before. Gurney under me, check. Straps over me, check. Stiff cervical collar around my neck, check. Headache the size of Texas, check. "Uhhhh . . . what did I break this time?"

"Hopefully nothing," Fraser said. I could feel those big hands now, squeezing my hand. "But you have a bad scalp laceration at your hairline, possibly a concussion, and in view of your recent skull fracture, I think it's important that you be examined."

"Oh." I sighed. "Okay." I didn't think I had a concussion. I mean, I didn't feel all nauseated and dizzy like I'd felt when I'd had concussions before. But what the hell. I mean, I sure didn't need to lose any more senses.

A couple hours, half a dozen x-rays, a CAT scan, an EEG, ten stitches and a painkiller prescription later, Charles and John drove us back home. John apologized all over the place, but it wasn't his fault. It was my stupid fucking fault.

John was going to leave Niri, but I told him to take her home. Between the headache and the pain pills, I probably wouldn't be up to taking care of her that night, and I didn't want Fraser to have one more worry. John said he'd bring her back in a day or two.

Fraser helped me into the house, and from there to the bathroom. I wanted a shower in the worst way - there were grains of rice down my boxers - but Fraser wouldn't hear of it after my accident. So he ran me a hot bath, helped me into the tub, carefully picked the rice out of my hair - I wasn't allowed to get my scalp wet - left me alone to soak out some of my aches and pains, and then came back to help me out of the tub. All of which was pretty fucking embarrassing, but I guess it was a little bit better than my mother doing it.

Fraser settled me in bed and brought me a pain pill and some water. I felt the bed dip as he sat down on the side.

"Are you all right, Ray?" he murmured, and those warm fingers just barely brushed through my hair.

"Oh, yeah, I'm great," I said flatly. "I just tried to splatter my brains for the second time in three months, and I can't even make a fucking cup of coffee. Greatness, Fraser."

"Ray, that's hardly fair," Fraser said softly, and I felt the soft brush again. "You had no way to know where I'd put the coffee, or the coffee grinder. You could hardly be expected - "

"Yeah, I can't be expected to do much of anything anymore," I said. "Look, Frase, I'm tired. I'd just like to go to sleep now."

"Of course, Ray." Another soft brush of those fingers - I was kind of sorry to feel them go - and the side of the bed un-dipped. "Can I - is there anything else you need?"

I snorted.

"Yeah, a new accidental lobe for my brain."

Brief chuckle, rather sad sounding, though.

"That's occipital, Ray," Fraser said softly. "And I'd give you mine if I could."

You know the crazy thing? He would, too. And that made me feel better and worse at the same time.

"Night, Frase."

"Good night, Ray."

It took me a while to get to sleep - those colored lights inside my eyelids were really going on, and ever try to sleep through a laser lightshow? But finally I dozed off.

Sometimes it was the suffocating nightmare. Sometimes it was the paralyzed-for-life nightmare. Sometimes it was the lost-in-the-dark nightmare. Those were the easy ones.

And then sometimes it was the falling dream. Falling endlessly in the darkness. Wind rushing by. No point of reference, no beginning, no end, just the knowledge of certain death when I reached bottom.

I screamed as I crashed down.

And kept on screaming.

"Ray. Ray. RAY!"

Warm arms around me, holding me tight. Nothing but darkness, something hard under me - floor? - and those warm arms. Okay, I admit it, I was bawling. And clinging.

"Don't - don't - "

"Don't what, Ray?" Scared, helpless voice. Never heard Fraser sound like that before.

"Don't let me fall!"

"I won't, Ray. I promise." Strong warm arms holding me against a hard warm chest. Warm cheek against my forehead. "You're safe, Ray. I won't let you fall."

God, I could hear his heart beating. It was the first time since I went blind that someone else - besides Dief, that is - felt real. I didn't realize I'd said that out loud until Fraser said softly, "What do you mean, Ray, real?"

I sniffed and shook my head.

"Everybody's just voices, Frase. Voices and hands. It's like nothing's really real. Solid. Permanent."

Soft voice.

"I'm real, Ray. Here, let me - " Gentle hands took my hands, lifted them. Warm skin, hair - his face. Stubble. Wetness on his cheeks. Wetness?

"Go ahead, Ray." Shaky voice. "I'm right here, Ray, and I'm real."

And he was. Benton Fraser became real again under my fingertips, stubble and bedhair, man, I'd have liked to have seen that - that nose, that chin. Square shoulders, strong arms, the dip of his collarbone. He wasn't wearing a shirt, but I didn't care, and his chest had no hair on it at all.

I don't know when it stopped being about fear and relief and became something else. I don't know when holding and clinging became . . . well, holding and holding. When touching became touching.

Probably sometime around the time I felt those lips against mine, wet, salty, kissing me, and I kissed back just as desperately. I'll tell you this, I didn't panic and scream "Rape!" or anything.

I did pull back, though, breathing real hard. And speaking of hard, I was hard. So was Fraser. I was shaking. So was Fraser.

Neither one of us let go.

"Frase, we can't do this."

Long, shuddery breath.

"I know, Ray."

"'Cause tomorrow you wouldn't know if it was just . . . well, desperation."

"I know, Ray."

"And I wouldn't know if it was just pity."

"It's not pity, Ray."

"You could be lying."

"I don't lie, Ray, except in the line of duty."

"Okay, so it's not pity. But we still can't just - "

"I know that, Ray."

"Besides, I wouldn't know what the fuck I was doing."

Brief snort of laughter.

"Ray, there's no hurry."

"Okay, then." I took a deep breath. "Um, would you think I was, like, the world's biggest tease, or maybe the world's biggest coward, if I asked if you'd, um, stay?"

Another chuckle.

"No, Ray."

"Uh . . . is that a no no, or a yes no?"

Patient sigh.

"No, I wouldn't think you were a tease, nor a coward. And yes, I'll be happy to stay. But perhaps the bed would be more comfortable than the floor."

"Works for me."

My head didn't hurt too bad the next morning - aspirin did the job okay - and I had Fraser call John and Charles. They came over around eleven, brought Niri and all her stuff, and John apologized again for the coffee thing.

NEXT