Constable Benton Fraser. The Mountie was the most contrary thing in Adrian's life. Moral, ethical, and so damned Canadian it hurt, Fraser was all too often the only part of Chicago that he could stand. Whenever he got tired of the violence, the dirt and the loneliness of the city, Fraser was there.

Yeah, he had it bad. How long had it been since he'd loved anyone? Years. Decades, maybe. Not since University, in all likelihood. He hadn't intended to fall for his odd partner, but here he was, mooning over red serge and the sacred Stetson.

That was what made the lying so painful. Adrian put off thinking about that particular tidbit until after he was tucked safely in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Lying to Fraser was like peeling his own skin off with a rusty fork. Every word spoken, or not spoken, in deceit was vile. The man was so *good* that lying was just wrong. So many times now, he wanted to just blurt out the truth. The whole, unadulterated truth.

But he never did. Never.

The next morning found Adrian reading his own history in the muddy swirls of melted Smarties as they danced around his coffee cup. That was something else that amazed him about this contrary city--and his unusual partner. No one, not even Fraser, noticed that he used Smarties and not M & Ms. Oh, he used the latter when the former weren't available, but Canadian candy wasn't sold on every street corner around here. The thought of having his cover blown via chocolate amused Adrian to no end.

"How was I discovered?" Adrian muttered in his best office voice. "Well, Sir, one bright and sunny morn there happened to be a box of uniquely northern confections upon my kitchen counter." A humorless laugh followed the brief monologue, punctuating what was Adrian's best attempt at not thinking about what had him up too early in the morning. Not for the first time, a good night's sleep hadn't quieted the running diatribe in his head.

The only thing that kept him from telling his entire story to Fraser was, ironically enough, Fraser himself. The Mountie took his code of ethics seriously. Adrian figured that some of his partner's steadfastness must have rubbed off, because every time he considered spilling his guts, he remembered who he served.

Canada.

The supreme irony of his situation was not lost on Adrian. If he hadn't been living it, he'd have sworn that his life was a farcical excuse of a spy novel. Unfortunately, it was real--as was his situation.

•••18 or so years ago•••

"Good morning, Adrian. Thank you for joining us."

Adrian Tucker glanced around cautiously, not quite sure he wanted to be in a meeting with the director of the CIS. He worried that his last report on the status of field operatives in Mexico had been inaccurate, or if this was something far worse. Adrian had a great deal of confidence in his work, but meeting the director was never a pleasant thing. The last time someone had been drawn into this office, they'd left in tears. "It's no problem, sir," He murmured, taking the seat that was proffered him.

"You've taken quite an interest in field operations," Said the other occupant of the room, an agent Adrian didn't recognize.

Adrian nodded. "That's what I trained for, before transferring here." It had been something of a disappointment to not be chosen for field work, but he'd found his research to be rather satisfying.

"You changed your mind about working abroad?" He asked curiously.

"No," Adrian replied, shaking his head. "There was a need for someone to analyse personality characteristics for possible...placements." He shrugged slightly. "I'm not too bad at it."

"You're one of the best," The director agreed. "However, we would like you to reconsider your desk job."

Adrian's eyes locked on the director's face. "You want me in the field?"

•••~~~•••

From there on out, it had been deceptively simple. Adrian Tucker had been introduced to the late Stanley Raymond Kowalski--and knew at once why he'd been offered this assignment. The young American was a virtual copy of Adrian, though a few years younger. An unfortunate automobile accident outside of Toronto had robbed the youth of his life. It was a tragedy, really. He'd been on a spur-of-the-moment trip out of town when death found him. CIS saw the resemblance before the death was reported to US authorities and stepped in at once. They'd been wanting to place another agent in Chicago, since the city was a hub of international activity.

And thus, with a barely month's training under his belt, Adrian ceased being Adrian and became Ray. Then things ceased being straightforward.

"Where's Benton?" Francesca asked as Adrian ambled into the precinct.

"At work," Adrian replied shortly. He wasn't in the mood to deal with his not-really sister's transparent obsession with Constable Fraser. Perhaps if she realized that Frase wasn't going to be in, she'd leave Adrian alone.

"Just asking a question," The young woman huffed. "And the Lieu told me to tell you that if you don't get that paperwork finished, he's gonna staple your arm to the phone until you get it done."

Adrian gritted his teeth. "Nail my ass to the chair," He corrected, wondering how a Chicago native could mangle Americanisms more than he--a Canadian--did. A glance told him that Lieutenant Welsh had his blinds closed, so Adrian grabbed a stack of paperwork off his desk and made a beeline for the door.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Francesca shouted after him, stomping her foot.

Adrian stopped, turning on his heel. "To do my job, Frannie," He said, holding up the papers. "Paperwork. I just so happen to also have *real* police work to do today, and I can't do it here." Before she could attempt a witty comeback, Adrian was out the door.

The truth was, he had nothing today except a mountain of paperwork and a minor CIS operation to execute. He threw the papers into the passenger seat and steered the Goat into midmorning traffic. A veritable zoo of pizza shops and diners flashed past, but Adrian didn't slow until he'd pulled into a drab, anonymous-looking Italian restaurant. Once seated, he accepted his usual and made a show of sifting through his paperwork. In truth, he was going over some last minute notes about today's operation. There was no substitute for good planning, in his opinion.

One thing Adrian had to give Chicago--it had good restaurants. When he'd been on the breaking point, sure he'd never be able to live untold years as some rough-around-the-edges native, there had always been food. The particular restaurant he was in now was one of the first he'd ever found in the city, and returning brought back memories of struggling through what he now referred to as 'The Life of Ray: The Early Years'.

The first challenged pose to Adrian--as Ray--was to slip back into the life of the Chicago native. The language proved to be challenging to adopt, with its brash sounds and highly colloquial idioms. Ray slouched, where Adrian stood tall. Contacts were traded in for glasses, ice skates for a bicycle and fast car. Adrian hated giving up hockey, curling, and courtesy. Then again, for the first time in his life, he was expected to make snide comments about people to their faces.

And then came the girl. Ray Kowalski had spent his entire youth chasing some icy blonde thing with just enough brains to make her a smart snob. Adrian didn't understand the attraction, but he started out with some hope. After all, his preferences lay...elsewhere, so perhaps he had poor judgment about women. However, Stella insulted Ray continually, treating him little better than she did the doorman at her apartment building. Still, Ray worshipped her. The up and coming college girl turned her nose up at his police aspirations. That was where Ray stood his ground. Attending the police academy had been a dream of the real Ray Kowalski, not because he wanted to be an officer of the law but because his father hated the idea. Adrian wasn't too thrilled about joining the local police force either, but the part had to be played.

Besides, it gave him a singular opportunity to alienate the rest of the Kowalski clan. Those were the ones most likely to see through his charade. A loving if hapless mother, grousing father and overachieving brother might one day realize that the man sitting across from them wasn't really their gawky fourth.

Stella, he couldn't run off. Ray had been too hung up on her, and it would have been suspicious for him to just up and leave this idol of a woman he worshipped. Adrian considered requesting combat pay, though. Having to have sex with a woman was an onerous task at best, and with Stella it became an exquisitely painful form of torture. She was demanding and childish, always trying to manipulate Ray by denying him the pleasure of her company. Adrian was very proud that he'd learned to beg convincingly.

After that, he spent a few years letting Ray float through the lower echelons of the police department, avoiding undue attention from those in charge. All the while, he fulfilled his duties to Queen and Country, making sure that every operation in Chicago ran smoothly and was successful. Soon the city was his; the contact he always had in the Consulate deferred to him on most agency matters and occasionally he even initiated an operation. Most of the time, though, he was content to drive around in his police cruiser and arrest drunks.

The first and last argument he'd had with his superiors about the assignment came about because of Stella. It was time for them to either get married or break it off--and much to his surprise, she was leaning towards marriage. Adrian-as-Ray considered it a monumental lapse of judgment on her part; after all, he knew the character he was playing, and he was no catch. He reported to his handlers, assuming they'd agree that marriage was a bad idea.

He'd never been more wrong.

CIS decided that Stella was headed straight for a life in the public sphere, which would give Adrian greater access to information and resources. Furthermore, he would be less likely to garner the kind of attention he didn't need. As the so-so cop husband of an prosecutor, no one would look twice at him. He was a single step up from a house husband--rarely seen or heard.

Adrian still bore the scars of that marriage. He tried hard to make it work; he bowed to nearly every whim, strove to do what pleased Stella. The problem was, they had precisely one thing in common--a love for dancing. Adrian knew that they couldn't dance their way through life, though. Stella wanted to climb, which in and of itself wasn't a problem. The catch was, she wanted Ray to climb also. That wouldn't do. Adrian couldn't perform his job as a high-profile type, always on television and in the papers. He worked hard to keep himself low-key. Each citation he received was counterbalanced with a bevy of reprimands. Good, solid work was masked by aggressive tendencies and erratic behavior. He'd easily made detective, and then set himself up to stay there for a very long time.

Stella would have none of that. She raked him over the coals, making his life a living hell. When they'd first started drifting apart, he'd dreamed happily of the word 'divorce', sure that the process would be quick and painless.

Who'd have known that divorcing someone you never loved--or even liked--would be so damned hard? He dragged himself to work every day, looking like roadkill. The quality of his work suffered, and both his colleagues and his superiors patted him on the back and blamed the divorce. Losing the woman you loved was hard on a man.

If he hadn't been so damned torn up, Adrian would've laughed his ass off. No, he wasn't pining over Stella...but divorces were messy. Stella loved to fight, and he disliked her just enough to egg her on. They battled and raged. Adrian didn't sleep. They fought some more. Finally, Stella just threw him out. His lieutenant was as understanding as he could be, but by the time the divorce was final, Ray's reputation wasn't so hot.

That was fine with him. He spent the next year or so mucking it up a little more, acting obsessive about his ex and generally giving Chicago the finger. The town had never grown on him. Yeah, there was great music, and things to do. Bars, museums, the works. Ray was Chicago born and bred, and he loved it there.

But Adrian was Canadian.

•••

"Thank you," Brian said, shaking Adrian's hand. "I believe Tamara is...amenable to our offer."

Adrian returned the gesture, smiling slightly. "That's certainly good to hear. Give the Director my regards." He left after that, since there was nothing left for him to do. The operation had gone smoothly, from the initial contact with the target to the practically nonexistent cleanup. As of today, the CIS had an informant inside one of the largest ecstasy smuggling rings in the world.

The success of the mission couldn't keep Adrian's spirits up once he got home, however. In the dark stillness of his apartment, the whispers and echoes of his mind returned. They all said one thing: Fraser.

First he tried dancing. In the past, sliding and gliding across his scarred wood floor did wonders for clearing his mind. Not tonight. Each step reminded him of the graceful way Fraser moved. From the first step the Mountie took into his life, Adrian had been enthralled. Even now, a year later, he remembered the moment as though it was yesterday. It all began with a bottle of bourbon and a truly indecent proposal. Later on came a lot of red wool, knee high leather boots, and that damned hat.

•••

Adrian strolled into the precinct with an award-winning hangover, proof that one could get stinking drunk for the honor one's country. Then the world took a sharp left turn. In hindsight, Adrian decided that when shit happened in Chicago, it happened with flair. Ray Kowalski, the half-assed cop who couldn't keep his wife, was being offered a second chance. A clean start.

As an undercover cop.

All he had to do was pretend to be some cop named Ray Vecchio, who was undercover in the Mafia. Adrian wondered what weed the gods had been smoking. Who ever heard of a deep cover spy going undercover as part of his cover? CIS was similarly bemused, but they decided that it couldn't hurt. Besides, they said, he would be partnered with another Canadian. Some Mountie had pissed off the Beserged Powers That Be and was in Mountie exile. Adrian liked Mounties. Hell, his current contact was a Mountie--Renfield Turnbull. The man had mentioned one of his colleagues occasionally--some hero that worked with the police after being dumped in Chicago.

And that was how he'd ended up with Fraser.

The man was maddening--but not for the reasons that had aggravated the real Ray Vecchio. The Italian man hadn't understood why Fraser didn't cut corners, always sought out the Truth when the truth was readily available, and preferred the company of a deaf wolf to that of pretty women.

Fraser drove Adrian-Ray-Ray crazy because he was Fraser. The Mountie was tall, dark and Canadian--pretty much everything he'd ever wanted in a man. Polite, honest and steadfast, Fraser was a walking wet dream. Add in the uniform and...well, Adrian was almost willing to forgive CIS for making him marry Stella. Maybe she was his payment for getting Fraser.

The only problem was, he didn't have Fraser. Oh, he wanted him--more that that, he loved the damned Mountie. But he didn't have him. No, they were partners, their love symbolic. Fraser kept himself buttoned up in that beautiful serge. The only time he'd seen Fraser thaw was that fucking bounty hunter. Once she was through with him, Adrian didn't stand a chance. She'd finished what the Victoria woman had begun. Adrian's only consolation was Victoria was now rotting away in a nice third-world prison. A life sentence without any chance for parole or pardon seemed like a good way to repent for doing what she'd done. It didn't really make Adrian feel any better, but at least when he watched Fraser stare solemnly at the horizon, he knew that what the Mountie sought wasn't out there anymore.

With the love, unrequited though it was, came guilt. And that--the guilt--was where Adrian was tonight. The music and the living room floor held the same answers it held every night before, which was nothing at all. His gut wrenched into knots at the thought of once again deceiving Fraser. It would have been easier of he could have convinced himself that it was his Ray Vecchio persona who was lying. Maybe it would've helped to imagine Ray Kowalski doing it, though Adrian knew that the Kowalski persona was who Fraser loved, in his symbolic way. Benton Fraser had never met Adrian Tucker, so why did he feel so bad about lying to him?