For perhaps the thousandth time in Ray's partnership with Fraser, the cop found his front door to be a nearly insurmountable obstacle. After twenty uninterrupted hours of investigating crime scenes with the Mountie, Ray was beyond exhausted, so tired that getting a key into the deadbolt took more effort than he could muster. After a couple of feeble attempts, Ray let himself slide to the floor. Surely a few minutes of rest was what he needed.

Twenty hours of undiluted Fraser, and now Ray felt like he was coming off a monumental bender. The fact that the situation they'd immersed themselves in was rife with pain and intrigue didn't help. Each crime scene was worse than the one before; gummy death mixed with gravely hatred pervaded every inch of space. The first scene left Ray with no appetite and vague discomfort in his belly; the second brought on a migraine that Fraser impatiently passed off as a hangover. Ray hadn't expected to pass out at the third scene; luckily he was alone when it happened and had woken back up before anyone noticed. Suffering the pleasures of Fraser's presence was worth the skill the Mountie brought to the investigation. The concrete details Fraser found perfectly matched what Ray intuitively knew--yet another example of how well they worked together.

Despite that success, no one knew for sure who had killed the three Canadians. The evidence at the scene showed that all three victims were killed while trying to evade or escape their attackers--their positions and the lack of defensive wounds showed that. Ray's private evaluation was that the victims were intensely frightened, but not surprised, by whoever had killed them--as though they'd been fully expecting the confrontation that killed them.

They'd spent so long at the crime scenes that Ray and Fraser hadn't had time to study the victims' personal effects that had been found in their hotel rooms. That would wait until tomorrow--well, until later today. Ray had an entire three hours to get back to work. Sleep didn't seem to be worth the effort.

Five minutes after falling to the floor, Ray mustered enough energy to open his apartment door. He staggered into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee before heading into the bathroom for a shower. Hot water sloughed away the last bits of death and RCMP red that clung to Ray's skin. Without his glasses on, all Ray saw was a vague blur of his own blue, its normal brightness dulled by exhaustion, with the occasional blob of red and black.

Ray turned off the shower without shaving, figuring that as tired as he was, he'd end up smack in the middle of another crime scene. Besides, there was coffee to be had. He walked back to the kitchen, leaving wet footprints on the floor behind him.

The coffee was hot enough to burn his tongue, but Ray didn't care. If he didn't stop drinking, he could get the entire pot consumed in a few minutes, leaving Ray high as a kite but no longer in pain. With that much caffeine in his system, he wouldn't notice a bullet hitting his skull.

Having filled up on coffee and washed away the day, Ray flopped naked on the couch, eyes staring unfocused at the ceiling. For two and a half hours, he wasn't going to think about anything.

•••

Fraser walked into the 27th precinct with his usual poise, in no way showing how little sleep he'd gotten the night before. Diefenbaker, however, was obviously bedraggled, tail hanging low and eyes dull. The half-wolf should have stayed at the consulate to recover, but Fraser was so distracted in his eagerness to get back to work on the case that he hadn't noticed the animal's state until they were almost to the precinct building. Perhaps Ray would allow Diefenbaker to nap underneath his desk. There was also the chance that someone had a doughnut to spare. That suggestion alone kept Diefenbaker from simply collapsing on the sidewalk.

Much to Fraser's surprise, Ray was already at work. Fraser had expected to see the detective in a couple of hours, after the man had gotten some real rest. Instead, the tired man was bent over his desk, intently studying a sheaf of papers.