[ This is where he should correct Ray for putting his dirty Chicago-street feet all over Fraser's desk, but he manages to bite down on the instinct. There are more important things.

Sedatedly, gently correcting: ] No, Ray. While I'm confident we're sufficiently workable partners, at least in the respect to which we're predilected to use the word, this is another matter entirely. Our lives may depend on it.

[ Fraser may be out of his hat, but he's still dressed in full uniform otherwise, lanyard across his chest, belt closing his tunic. He unbuckles both, laying the leather straps and pouches on the tabletop beside Ray's feet. It's almost a warning.

Sorry, Ray, he's a man on a mission. An undressing mission. ]

You know from reading your records, of course, that I was shot in the back fairly recently. A responsibility you inherited.