FIC: Welcome Home (Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse, R) for myhappyface (3-4/4)
TITLE: Welcome Home
RATING: R
FANDOM: Thunderheart
PAIRING: Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse
SUMMARY: The boys do the surrogate thing, and Ray prepares for the baby coming by manically decorating the nursery. Crow Horse prepares by doing everything in his power to have a vision before delivery. Meanwhile, Ray's parents meet Crow Horse's folks.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: For Holly, because I love her almost as much as she loves Thunderheart. This is technically a sequel to Homecoming, Marrow, and Stealing Home, though they are not required reading.
THANKS: I am hugely grateful to ticketsonmyself and clevermonikerr for the beta. You guys are my heroes.
( Chapters One and Two )
Chapter Three: In Which Ray is a Deer, and Walter Has a Vision
Everyone from the inipi had come for the moon fire, and a few others. Ray and Crow Horse settled onto a log a few feet from the bonfire. The rest of the men joined at their own paces; as with most things on the rez, things would happen when they were good and ready to happen, and there was no use trying to hurry them along.
Ray tried to fall into the rhythm of the singing, but he was too nervous. He glanced over at Crow Horse, his face lit gold by the fire.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Crow Horse said. “It’s a path I gotta take, but no saying you need to come with me.”
Ray found Crow Horse’s hand, and squeezed, and that was the end of that conversation.
Calvin Two Bulls, to Ray’s left, pressed a small canvas bag into his hands.
“First time, kola?” he asked, and Ray nodded. “You wanna do it all at once. Don’t chew more’n you have to; get it over quick.”
The bag was filled with coat button-sized bulbs. They were dark green in color, but otherwise looked like little pumpkins. Ray took one and passed the bag to Crow Horse, who took one and passed the bag on down the line.
Walter popped the button into his mouth like it was nothing, popcorn, a snack. He cracked it with his teeth, like you would a nut or kernel, and then grimaced, swallowed.
Ray felt anxiety pulse through his veins. He didn’t have to do this; Walter had given him an out. But Walter was just saying that; he wanted-he needed Ray with him, needed Ray to go through this to get through it himself. And Ray’s devotion to Walter was stronger than his fear.
Ray set the peyote on his tongue, like communion. It was hard, smooth, and faintly acrid, like a pill coating, but less chemical. It tasted, he imagined, like a poisonous caterpillar. Once he got it in his mouth, it was clear that the button was too large to swallow. He bit down on it; the bitter poison taste flooded his mouth. Ray retched; reflex fast, Walter’s hands were cradling his ribs, and Ray forced himself to still, and to swallow. Ray’s stomach roiled; he was so nauseated that his eyes watered and he shook, but Walter was still holding him, and Ray focused on the reassuringly solidness of Walter’s body against his, driving into the embrace until his body stilled.
Ray rubbed his eyes dry with his knuckles.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Walter didn’t say anything, but he pressed a kiss to Ray’s temple.
***
The nausea passed, and Ray wasn’t nervous anymore, either. He let himself become absorbed into the beat of the drum, the cadence of the singing.
The fire waned, and someone put more wood on the pyre. Ray watched the flames rise back up, the yellow vivid against the pale backdrop of the desert at night. He realized, suddenly, how hot he was, and wiped perspiration from his brow. He shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the sand behind him; his shirt was stuck to him.
Ray’s mind had bumped momentarily off track, and he closed his eyes, tried to focus on the drum again. His body fell into rhythm, nodding to the beat; his pulse aligned itself with the tempo. He was the drum.
No, wait. That didn’t make much sense. With that thought, Ray’s head swam, and he lowered it to Walter’s shoulder. Ray added Walter’s breathing, his heartbeat, to the orchestra of the drum and the singing. He could feel Walter’s chest fill with the low notes of the song; it rumbled within him like thunder coming down the canyons.
Or maybe it was thunder. Ray’s eyes were closed, but something flashed lightning bright in his periphery. He opened his eyes, and looked out over the fire into the dark night. He watched for lightning, but saw no light but the millions of tiny, white stars dotting the heavens. He heard the thunder again, felt it vibrate through the earth and then up into his body. Ray sat up straight, peered over the fire.
There were dark shapes moving over the prairie. Ray got up, and began towards them.
He stopped, caught on something; Ray looked down to find Crow Horse with a linebacker’s hug around his middle.
“Be careful!” he said. “You almost walked into the fire.”
Oh, yeah. Ray blinked down to the pyre burning just inches from him. Crow Horse tried to bring him back to his seat, but Ray had to see where the thunder was coming from. He stepped over the log he’d been seated on, stepped over his abandoned jacket, and walked around the circle around the campfire. Crow Horse followed him.
“Where’re you going?”
“I think there’s buffalo,” he said vaguely. “I’ll check it out. You don’t have to come.”
Crow Horse cursed, and trudged after him. Ray ran over the prairie, the rubber soles of his sneakers scraping against the sand. The cool night air against his febrile flesh was maybe the best thing he’d ever felt.
Ray got so caught up in running that it took him a long time to realize he couldn’t see the dark shapes anymore. He stopped, and turned in a circle, looking for clues. He didn’t see anything: no buffalo, no campfire, no Crow Horse. Oh no. Ray bent down to the sand to check his tracks, see which way he’d come from. But then he felt something huge and fast tear the air beside him, and he jerked his head up. Dark bodies, flying through the desert. There were dozens of them, a herd. Ray watched a hoof plant itself in the sand in front of him long enough to propel itself into another jeté, and then he stood. The animals moved all around him, a swarm. They weren’t buffalo; they were too small, too delicate. Deer. Ray felt the momentum of the herd take him, and before he knew it, he was running again.
Ray ran until he couldn’t feel his body, only the whip of wind against it, the vibration of the earth moving up into his legs as he planted each foot. The herd loped beside him, their warm bodies bouncing against his, their wild smell filling up his every breath, their hooves beating thunder through the prairie. Ray ran until he could not feel his body, and when the change happened, he felt it in his pace, not his form. His strides became longer, more fluid, a gallop. His vision lowered until he could not see the moon and stars above, or the pale desert stretching out before him; he could only see fur and antlers and black eyes all around him. His tiospaye. Ray’s long limbs carried him further and further into the night, and when he shook his head, his antlers were as weightless and regal as a crown.
***
Crow Horse climbed the dunes after Ray. The peyote made him feel slow, uncoordinated, but apparently Ray didn’t have that problem, since the damn pain in the ass had gone sprinting off like a jackrabbit. Crow Horse had lost him pretty quick. They were pretty far from the road, so it was unlikely that Ray would get hit by a car, but there was plenty in the desert that could hurt him: wildlife, traps, geography. And even if Crow Horse hadn’t been responsible for Ray just on principle-which he was-he had gotten Ray to do the moon fire, even though Ray was afraid, even though he didn’t even drink.
Crow Horse trudged through the desert after Ray, and he prayed. He didn’t need a vision. The only thing he needed was Ray. And anything he had to give to get him back okay, he’d give.
Apparently, that power in prayer stuff wasn’t just a load of crap, because the thought had barely left Crow Horse’s head when something catapulted into him, knocking him from his feet. Crow Horse pushed the thing off him as reflex, and thought about what he’d do for a weapon if it was a cougar.
Ray blinked up at him for a moment; Crow Horse had knocked him flat on his ass. Then he scrambled over the dune to get to Crow Horse, grabbing him by the shoulders.
“Walter!” he said. “I shapeshifted!”
Crow Horse made a mental note to good and thoroughly kick Ray’s ass, as soon as he was sober enough that it might do some good. He hauled them both to their feet, then took Ray by the arm and started leading him back to the campfire.
“Goddammit, Ray, you scared the shit out of me!”
“I was a deer,” Ray said.
Most of Crow Horse’s mental acumen was busy compiling a devastating scolding, so it took him a moment to notice that their progress had waned. Ray had stopped walking. Crow Horse wheeled on him, ready to begin dressing him down, but then the words froze in his throat. Everything froze, a chill penetrating Crow Horse to the bone.
Ray’s chest was red with blood, and above his heart, the shirt was torn. A single dark circle, lined with rings of scorch, like a dead planet. A bullet hole.
Ray frowned at him. “What?”
Crow Horse tore his eyes up to look Ray in the face-he looked fine, oblivious, maybe a little annoyed-and when he looked back down, there was just the white cotton of Ray’s shirt, marred by nothing but a little sweat and sand.
Crow Horse blinked at him. He took Ray in hand so forcefully that Ray squeaked a little, Crow Horse’s hands searching the plane of Ray’s torso for damage. There was nothing. There was nothing wrong.
“Walter . . . ?”
Crow Horse hugged Ray so hard the breath was knocked from his lungs. Ray’s brow creased.
“Are you okay?” he said.
Crow Horse took his hand, and led him back to camp. “I’m fine, hasanni. You just gave me a scare, is all. You gave me a real bad scare.”
***
For about ninety seconds, Crow Horse thought he and Ray had successfully infiltrated his folks’ house without waking anybody up. And then the lights came on; his eyes had gotten used to the dark, and by the time he was done blinking, all four of their parents were standing in the kitchen, pajama-clad and waiting for them to explain themselves.
“You’re home early,” Crow Horse’s ma said. “Is everything okay?”
“Early, hell,” Ray’s stepdad said. “It’s two in the morning.”
“Moon fire usually lasts ’til sunup at least,” Crow Horse’s pop said.
“Yeah, well, we were done,” Crow Horse said.
Ray’s ma craned her neck to look out the window. “You boys didn’t drive in your condition, did you?”
“No, ma’am,” Crow Horse said. “Got Danny to swing by on her rounds, give us a ride.”
Ray was having difficulty focusing on the conversation; he drifted away to examine the cabinets, the items in the dish drainer, the jars of spices on the rack by the stove. Crow Horse took him by the wrist, reeled him in.
Ray’s ma looked pained. “Is he okay?”
“He just needs some sleep,” Crow Horse said.
“Not a bad idea for all of us,” Crow Horse’s ma said.
She started shepherding her husband back down the hall, but he squirmed away from her ministrations, looked at his son.
“You have a vision?”
Crow Horse looked at Ray. His attention was caught on Jimmy’s leash, which was hanging on the hooks by the door and swaying ever so gently, the pendulum of the metal fastener shining. Crow Horse remembered the gut punch of dread looking down and seeing Ray shot, and for a moment he lost his breath.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Crow Horse’s pop started to say something, but his ma caught the expression on Walter’s face.
“Ask him later,” she said, and led her husband from the room. “Let him sleep on it.”
Ray’s ma looked nervously at Ray. “You’re sure he’s okay?”
“Hell, Maureen, of course he’s not okay-he’s stoned,” Ray’s stepdad said.
“He’ll be good as new in the morning,” Crow Horse said.
Ray’s ma hugged Ray, and then Crow Horse.
“I’m glad you had your vision, sweetheart,” she said. “Thanks for looking after him.”
She and Ray’s stepdad went back down the hall. They’d be in Crow Horse’s old bedroom, which meant he and Ray would take the living room; one of them could have the couch, the other the floor. One of their moms had already made up the couch, and Crow Horse deposited Ray there. He lay down for a second. But it was only a second, and then he popped right back up, like a spring, and Crow Horse had an irritating inkling that he should have known better
“What about you?” Ray said.
Crow Horse looked up from stripping off his boots. “What about me?”
“You won’t fit.”
“Just go to sleep, Ray. I’ll take the floor; it’ll be fine.”
Ray frowned, and he left the couch. He pulled the blankets from the cushions and spread them on the floor. He was so uncoordinated-forgetting which side of the sheet he was straightening, ramming his back into the sharp elbow of the coffee table-that Crow Horse finally swallowed his annoyance and helped Ray build his little nest on the floor.
“Take off your shoes, at least,” Crow Horse said.
Ray couldn’t seem to work his fingers right, and just groped ineffectually at the laces of his tennis shoes until Crow Horse intervened. Ray studied his hands myopically, flexing the fingers into a claw, then a fist, then back.
“Yours work better,” Ray said.
Crow Horse rolled his eyes. He liked how cuddly Stoned Ray was, but their conversation definitely suffered.
“Lay down,” he said.
Ray did it, without question, after being told just once. Huh. Crow Horse liked that about Stoned Ray, too. (Okay, now he did. It’d get old quick, he figured.)
“You told your dad you had a vision,” Ray said.
Crow Horse frowned. He thought of how scared he’d been when he saw Ray shot, how worried he was anytime Ray had a vision, how much worse it would be if Ray’s visions were about him dying.
“Nah,” he said. “I just didn’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m really sorry, Walter.”
Crow Horse shook his head. “I’m better off, enit? Plus, spirits wanna tell me something, they already got you plugged in; they can just send me the message through you.”
Ray smiled. “You think?” His face turned serious. “They can be your visions, Walter. I would give them to you.”
And Crow Horse could see in Ray’s face, could hear in his voice, the naked honesty, and for a moment he felt dirty, ashamed for lying to him.
He shook his head. It was for Ray’s own good, and Crow Horse would suffer whatever price he had to pay for his secret.
He changed the subject. “You were a deer.”
Ray smiled fondly. “Yeah. I liked being a deer, Walter.”
“Sure you did.”
Ray yawned and stretched. “You know, when I saw you, at first I thought you were a deer, too. We were deer together.”
Crow Horse finished undressing, and sat on the little makeshift bed. “Hey, Ray, can I ask you something?”
Ray snuggled against him, languorous as a milk-drugged kitten. “Sure.”
“Your first vision, when you were running with the old ones at the Knee? You told me you got shot in the back.”
“Mm-hmm,” Ray said. And then, a moment over: “That’s not a question.”
“Do you remember where? Could you show me?”
Ray struggled into a sitting position, and twisted his arm to point between his shoulder blades. It would be about the heart. He lay back down.
“Was there . . . was there an exit wound?”
“You’re collecting evidence from my vision? I think the statute of limitations has lapsed.”
“I just wondered, is all.”
“I don’t know. I just felt the bullet hit me, and then I woke up.” His bleary eyes searched Crow Horse’s face. “Why?”
Crow Horse looked at Ray’s earnest, sleepy face. He shook his head, and lay down beside him.
“No reason, kola. I was just thinking. Forget about it.”
Normally there might be a fight, since Ray wasn’t good at letting things go, but he was too distractible to keep track of this. He scooted towards Crow Horse until they were touching; Crow Horse put his arm around Ray, drew him close, his hand filling the space between Ray’s shoulder blades.
Usually Ray was skittish about sex when his parents were within earshot, but maybe the peyote had his defenses down. Ray murmured quietly and kissed Walter, his hands clumsy but insistent on Walter’s body. Ray pulled Walter so he was on top of him, his dark hair falling around them both.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Walter said.
Ray pulled him down and kissed him, hard.
“We can do it quick,” he whispered. “Please, Walter.”
They made love on the floor, Walter’s hand over Ray’s mouth to tamp down his moans, Ray’s feet pressed to the small of Walter’s back. Afterwards, Ray’s hands held Walter fast, giving him no choice but to settle down atop him.
Ray’s pulse thrummed through Walter’s body, as clear and true as the north star.
***
Crow Horse’s body begged for sleep, but his mind was too agitated, and he woke with the first light peeking through the living room windows. He looked at the clock and sighed, then checked on Ray. He was still sleeping, deep in, at the stage of sleep where your body was just dead weight.
Crow Horse flinched and tried to beat back the thought. He was met instead with a flash of his vision, Ray standing there with a hole in his chest, none the wiser.
Shit.
Crow Horse knew he was being stupid, but he rested his head on Ray’s chest. Crow Horse could hear Ray’s heartbeat, feel his breath, and relief flooded his veins like the best drug.
Crow Horse lay there, listening to the reassuring sounds of Ray’s breathing and his heart beating in his chest. He closed his eyes, and wished for sleep.
***
Crow Horse was still awake hours later when his ma shuffled into the kitchen to get breakfast started. Crow Horse feigned sleep for a while, listening to her moving around, before guilt forced him out of bed. Ray made a few formless sleep sounds, but didn’t stir.
Walter helped his ma make breakfast, and mostly they didn’t talk. His pop joined them after a while, roused by the smell of coffee and bacon, and he hadn’t even sat down with his mug before he popped the question.
“Gonna tell me about your vision, or not?”
Crow Horse glanced out into the living room, but Ray was still fast asleep, his face buried in his pillow.
“I saw Ray shot,” he said. His folks didn’t say anything, faces drawn, so he added-abruptly, like a reflex, “I don’t want him to know, so I told him I didn’t see anything. And don’t lecture me about lying, or how dishonesty hurts a relationship, because I know all that already, and I’m making my peace with it. I just don’t think I can stand him worrying about it.”
“Visions ain’t literal, Walter,” his pop said finally. “Prob’ly don’t mean that anything’s gonna happen to Ray.”
“That’s right,” his ma said. “It’s probably a symbol.”
Walter was grown now, but his folks had raised him right. He didn’t want to snap, or be short, but he was too worried to watch his tone. “Symbol of what?”
“Well,” his pop said slowly, “you’ll have to think on it, go talk to Grampa Reaches, and work it out.”
“Don’t worry about Ray,” his ma said. “He has you to look after him.”
***
Crow Horse picked at his breakfast for so long that both his parents and Ray’s had eaten and gone off to get ready, and he was still at the table. His stomach wasn’t right. Crow Horse went to dump the rest of his coffee in the sink, and was caught around the middle, caught by surprise. Ray, still so close to sleep that his muscles were limp and his body was warm as a piece of toast, hugged him from behind. His hands latched over Crow Horse’s navel, and he rested his forehead against the nape of Crow Horse’s neck.
“Thank you,” Ray said. His voice was level, focused.
“What for?”
“There’s a lot of things I don’t remember from last night, but I do remember you taking really good care of me. Thanks.”
“I’m your partner, Ray,” Crow Horse said, but his voice wavered, the unfamiliar sensation of carrying a lie wriggling in his gut. “That’s my job.”
Ray kissed him, and then let Crow Horse disentangle himself and shepherd Ray into a chair.
Crow Horse fooled around in the cabinets for a minute, searching out a pan.
“Want anything particular for breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry,” Ray said.
“You sleep okay?”
Ray stretched. “Yeah, I slept great. I guess the next time I’m having trouble sleeping, I’ll just pop some peyote.”
“Funny.”
“Was I horrible?” Ray asked. “Is that why you’re not looking at me?”
Crow Horse turned, slowly, reluctantly. “I’m not doing that. I’m just working on getting you something to eat.”
“Was I horrible?” Ray pressed.
Crow Horse sighed. “No, kola. You were not horrible.”
“Is it my fault? That you didn’t have a vision? Is it because you were too busy chasing after me?”
Crow Horse abandoned his pretense of cooking, and came to sit down with Ray at the table.
“No,” he said. “It’s not your fault, and moreover I couldn’t have done it without you, so quit your picking.”
Ray relaxed. He smiled, and Crow Horse went back to the stove. “Eggs okay?”
***
It was nearly noon by the time Ray had eaten and gotten showered and dressed. Mr. Crow Horse had gone off to work, and the mothers were going through the boxes of baby things Mrs. Crow Horse had stored away after Walter had outgrown them. Walter had run to the post office; Ray was alone for the first time with his stepfather, who was parked in front of the Crow Horses’ ancient television watching a ballgame through the static snow. Ray came to sit beside him.
The Colonel’s steel gray eyes didn’t flicker from the game. “How are you, young man?”
“I’m fine, sir. And how are you?”
The Colonel took his eyes from the game, now, to give him a look.
“I meant after your night out doing drugs,” he said.
Ray swallowed. “I’m really okay, sir.”
“No residual effects?”
“No, sir.”
The Colonel nodded, and went back to his game. “Your mother and I heard you last night.”
Ray frowned. “Heard me what-?” and then he remembered, and mortification hit him like a gut shot. “Oh my God. I’m-we didn’t mean-Mom heard me?”
That was it; the peyote had destroyed his brain, because his stepfather was almost smiling.
“Your mother heard you,” he said, “which I imagine is punishment enough. As for what you meant: I imagine you meant to get laid, which I understand.” He looked over at Ray from the television. “Raymond, Walter-he seems like he has his head on straight.”
“He does.”
“And he loves you, doesn’t he?”
Despite his better inclinations, Ray started to smile. “Oh, yeah. Yes, sir. He loves me crazy.”
Ray’s stepfather made a face, for a moment his mouth quirking sourly, but he didn’t address it. Instead he said, “I know Walter got you into that whole peyote mess last night, but he also . . . he took good care of you, and he loves you. I think that, if you have to be like this, it’s . . . it’s good that you found someone like that.”
This was the closest to his stepfather approving of his relationship with Walter as he was likely to get. Ray smiled.
The Colonel cleared his throat. “That’s all I’ll say about that, and I don’t expect to hear you and Walter again. And I don’t want you mentioning it to your mother.”
“No, sir.”
Ray’s stepfather nodded. “Good boy. Now. What about the other?”
“The other?”
“The baby coming. How are you with that?”
Ray relaxed. “Oh. Yeah, good, I’m-I’m ready.”
“Raymond, you know, this blood thing . . .” He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t mean . . .”
The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Ray’s mouth.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I know.”
The Colonel’s eyes left the set for a moment, looked at him. “Good. Listen, Raymond . . . I know this surrogate thing is expensive, and I know what you make here working for the tribal police is-well, the point is, I know your situation, this queer thing, requires specialization in some regards, and I would hate for money to keep you from having a family. If you’d ever like to do it again-have another child-your mother and I would be happy to help you with the finances.”
Ray let his smile overtake him. “Thanks, Dad.”
Chapter Four: In Which it is Time
Ray and Crow Horse put in a morning at the tribal PD, doing the paperwork shuffle on a felony poaching case Ray had to send up to Rapid. It was an easy case, and Ray was competent, which meant Crow Horse had a lot of free time between John Hancocking things. He filled the space feeling the guilt of the lie gnaw on his insides.
Ray poked his head in Crow Horse’s office with another handful of forms. He didn’t make it all the way to Crow Horse’s desk before he stopped, frowning.
“What’s the matter with you? You got a stomachache or somethin’?”
Crow Horse shook himself from his stupor. “Nah. Just distracted. You almost finished, here?”
“Almost,” Ray said slowly, walking the rest of the way to Crow Horse’s desk. He laid the papers down before Crow Horse. “I have to finish up logging the evidence, doing all the transfer paperwork for that, and we’ll be set. Distracted by what?”
“I, uh-” Crow Horse forced his eyes up. He felt like his tongue was heavy, like he was having an allergic reaction to carrying the lie. “It’s just . . .”
No. He couldn’t. It was for Ray’s own good he didn’t tell him.
“It’s just how good you look in them jeans,” Crow Horse said. “I need to get you a uniform or somethin’, somethin’ damn ugly; I can’t get shit done with you looking like that.”
Ray smiled, preened a bit. “Sorry, boss; I can’t help it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get back to work, hot shot. I want outta here before lunch.”
***
Crow Horse was in the shower, minding his own business, when the FBI staged an ambush. Ray drove him against the slick tile wall, kissing him hard, his hands tangling in the water-heavy curls of Crow Horse’s hair.
“What the hell are you doing?” Crow Horse gasped when he was let up for air.
Ray nipped at Crow Horse’s bottom lip. “I miss you . . .”
Walter settled his hands around Ray’s waist.
“We could just have sex at night, in our bed, like a normal couple,” he said.
Ray’s nose scrunched. “My parents will hear us. It’s bad enough what happened after the moon fire-”
“You asked me to, Ray.”
The flat edge of Ray’s teeth, with precision and care, pinched at the joint of Crow Horse’s jaw, at his ear.
“I know,” he murmured, his lips brushing Crow Horse’s ear. Even so close, Crow Horse could barely hear him over the timpani of the water hitting the tile. “I wanted you. And I want you now. Walter, please.”
Walter could have answered, but there’d been enough talk already. He kissed Ray so hard Ray’s knees buckled. It was okay, though; Walter had his steady hands on him, and he kept him from falling.
***
Crow Horse took Grampa Reaches on the old man’s bimonthly trip to the general store. They had been shuffling down the aisles a while, Crow Horse manning the cart, when he finally worked up the nerve to broach the subject.
“Grampa, I had a vision, and I need help. I don’t know what it means.”
Grampa set some ears of corn in the cart. He ambled down the aisle to puzzle over the selection of tomatoes.
“You have everything you need,” he said.
“I know They’re supposed to give me everything I need to understand my vision, but I’m new at this. I’m worried, Grampa, about Ray. In my vision, I saw him hurt, and I just-I need to figure this out.”
Grampa nodded. “You have everything you need.”
Crow Horse sighed, and followed Grampa to the register. There was no forcing blood from a stone, and there was no forcing answers from Grampa.
***
“That doesn’t go like-it’s not going to fit. Walter, please-ow!”
“Don’t be a baby. Just quit whining and let me handle this.”
“I’d let you handle it if I thought you knew what you were doing-”
“I know what I’m doing. Now hush.”
Ray’s mother walked out into the driveway, spotted the boys crammed in the back of the sedan Walter had just bought off Lester White Fox mostly with favors, and craned her neck for a better look.
“Fighting, or arguing?”
Ray stifled a curse as Walter crushed his fingers with the car seat again. “Fighting.”
“Arguing,” Walter said at the same time. “It’d all be fine if Ray would just quit being so worried over everything-”
“Crow Horse, this part is clearly in backwards. The idea is to make the car safer for the baby, not-”
“I don’t even see how we need this, the car seat or the car; my pop’s making us a cradleboard, and I can just-”
“I am not having this conversation again. I don’t care that you were brought up on cradleboards; no way are you taking the baby on the motorcycle strapped to your back. Absolutely not.”
Ray’s mother hid her laugh behind her hand, and patted Ray’s shoulder as she turned to go back in the house.
“You boys play nice, now.”
***
Ray spent the morning working on the nursery. He emerged around lunchtime covered in paint, scenting the sandwiches Crow Horse and Ray’s ma were putting together as keenly as Jimmy.
“You’re bad as the damn dog,” Crow Horse said, noting that the hopeful, hungry sheen in both pairs of eyes was eerily similar.
Ray pouted until Crow Horse put a full plate in his hands, and then he perked right up. Jimmy, who did not receive a sandwich, continued pouting, and got under everyone’s feet as they tried to eat.
“Ray does like to eat,” Ray’s ma said. “He always has. Your father was the same way, Raymond; he was skinny, but he could put away more food than a man twice his size.”
Ray smiled, his cheek bulged with sandwich, like a chipmunk storing up for winter.
After lunch, Ray helped Crow Horse with the dishes. Crow Horse looked up from scrubbing to watch Ray rinse, a smile still on his lips, so lovely in his paint-spattered jeans and his paint-spattered skin. Crow Horse felt something warm bloom within him, and then, near immediately, the kickback of guilt: the wriggling worm of the lie within him.
“Listen, kola. I got something to tell you.”
Ray didn’t look up from his chore. “Okay.”
“I, uh-well . . .”
Ray brought his eyes up, his brow creased. “What’s wrong? You’ve been distracted and weird for days.”
Crow Horse sighed. He couldn’t bear it anymore.
“I had a vision,” he said. “The night of the moon fire.”
Ray was quiet a long time, maybe the longest few seconds of Walter’s life.
“You had a vision,” he said finally.
“Yeah, I-”
“You lied to me,” Ray said.
“Yeah. Ray-”
“I know you’re not sorry,” Ray said. “You made a choice to lie to me. Why?”
Crow Horse was quiet long enough for Ray to lose his patience.
“Fine,” he said, and started out.
Crow Horse grabbed his arm. “No, wait.”
Ray waited.
“I saw you shot, is why,” he said. “That’s what my vision was, you with a big fucking hole in your chest, okay? And I just thought-I thought of how scared I was when you got shot at the Iron Clouds’, how scared I am every time you have a vision, and I-I just didn’t want you to have to carry it.”
Ray was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Okay,” he said. “You talk to Grampa about it?”
Crow Horse blinked. “About lying to you?”
Ray frowned. “No, hleté. About your vision.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me?”
“I understand why you lied to me; I’m letting you off the hook. Unless you keep pressing me about it, in which case, sure, I’ll drag you over the coals. Now. You, Grampa, vision?”
Crow Horse sighed. “Nothin’ he said made any sense. I get why you get so worked up when you gotta go to him with your visions.”
“It’s frustrating,” Ray said. “So that’s it? You saw me shot, and that was the whole vision?”
Crow Horse’s brow creased. “I think so. I mean, it was the night of the moon fire, so I was a little out of it, and it’s my first vision and, well, I was kind of overwhelmed. There coulda been more, but that’s all I remember.”
Ray nodded. “Okay.” He caught Crow Horse’s expression, and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, Walter. We’ll figure it out.”
And damned if Walter didn’t believe him.
***
Despite his insistence that she let him take care of it, Ray could not get his mother to let him do the laundry by himself. Ray wondered, not for the first time, what she’d been like before she was his mother. Ray enjoyed the time alone with her, though, and the quiet rhythm of folding the dryer-warm clothes was soothing.
“Mom, can I ask you something?”
His mother didn’t look up from making the Colonel’s collars envelope sharp beneath the iron. “Of course.”
“Who named me?”
She looked up now, setting the iron down. “What?”
“Who named me?”
Her brow creased. “Your father and I did, honey. We decided together; he wanted Raymond after his father, and I liked the name, so I agreed.”
Ray ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “Walter wants me to pick the name. By myself.”
“Oh. Well . . .”
“He feels guilty, because he wanted a full-blood Oglala child. I mean, it’s not like we could have kids together-a kid that has both of our blood-anyway, but he feels guilty.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Ray shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I can’t call him on it; I guess I’ll just do it, but I’m afraid of screwing it up.”
Ray’s mother smiled. “Sweetheart, you can’t screw it up. There isn’t a wrong answer.”
He frowned. “What if I accidentally pick something embarrassing, or what if they grow up to hate it-”
“Oh, Raymond, you get so worried about things. It’ll be fine; just listen to your heart.”
1978
This time, Ray made the trip to Dawes’ office with dread rising in his throat. Ray’s part into the investigation at Bear Creek was over; Coutelle had been given his slap on the wrist, and now it was Ray’s turn to be dealt with.
“Raymond, come in. Have a seat.”
Dawes was smiling, which only made Ray more ill at ease. He sank into the same chair he’d occupied when he had been given the assignment in South Dakota.
“You’ve done some nice work the past few weeks,” Dawes said. “I know you were out of your comfort zone, but you did well. We’ve got an opening at the Richmond field office. Assistant director. You’re a little young for the post, but you’ve proven you can think on your feet. It’ll be a substantial salary bump, as well.”
Despite himself, Ray felt proud-and then he immediately felt ashamed for feeling that way. He was not, he reminded himself, being rewarded for his efforts or talents; he was being moved solely for political reasons.
Ray spoke carefully, each word as precise and considered as if he had formed them by hand from clay.
“Respectfully, sir, I have to decline.” Dawes’ face fell, and he opened his mouth to speak. Ray ignored the salute-reflex voice in his head that told him speaking over authority was never done, and did just that. “But I do agree with you; I don’t really belong here anymore. If I may, sir, I have a suggestion.”
***
“Hey,” Crow Horse said, rising from the couch and his football game when he heard Ray’s keys in the door. “You’re home early.”
Ray straightened from petting Jimmy, and smiled.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Guess your meeting went okay?”
“Yeah, it did. They offered me a promotion. A good one; prestige, power, lots more money.”
Crow Horse kept his eyes on him, but Ray could tell it was hard.
“All right,” he said.
“I turned them down.”
Crow Horse’s face broke like a floodgate, a sudden outpouring of relief and surprise.
“I told them I did know a place they could stick me, though, if they were so eager to get rid of me,” Ray continued. “Seeing as Coutelle’s early retirement leaves a job opening.”
It was not possible for Crow Horse to keep his grin under wraps.
“You thinkin’ of moving out west?”
“Well, I like the weather okay,” Ray said. “So, they’re giving me Coutelle’s block. I told them I’d take it under the condition that I be allowed to coordinate with the tribal PD.” Ray smiled. “You know, if they’ll have me.”
Crow Horse tucked his thumbs into his belt loops, and stepped forward until the toes of his boots met Ray’s pricey leather numbers’.
“I guess there’s somethin’ to be said for the devil you know,” he said. “Can’t promise to pay you too much, though, and we sure as hell ain’t got no fancy coffeemakers or anything like that. You got medical, but you seen the rez doctor, so do with that what you will.”
Ray slipped his hands around Crow Horse’s, and closed the distance between them.
“I’m easy,” Ray whispered.
Crow Horse’s lips tickled Ray’s ear.
“I can sure as hell get you some better perks than the FBI, though,” Crow Horse said.
Crow Horse kissed him, and then he slipped a hand free from Ray’s grasp and began to unbuckle Ray’s belt. Ray indeed felt himself perking right up.
Crow Horse grinned. “Welcome aboard.”
1983
They were in the desert again, walking over the earth where Ray had been a deer. Walter glanced down; there were little heart-shaped hoof prints stamped into the sand.
“I liked being a deer,” Ray said.
Walter looked over at him. His shirt was red with blood; a bullet hole, dark with tattooing, opened his chest where his heart should have been. He didn’t seem to notice. Walter took him by the shoulders, arrested his movement. Ray just blinked at him.
“What?”
Walter pointed to the wound in the center of Ray’s chest. He thought desperately of things he could do to fix it, panicking like the little boy and the dyke. It was too big; there was nothing he could do.
Ray shrugged. “So?”
Walter’s mouth was too dry to answer.
“You still have it, right?” Ray said.
“Have what?”
Ray frowned. He closed the distance between them, began to paw through the pockets of Walter’s jacket. Walter was too confused, too afraid, to move, so he just let it happen.
Ray pulled a large ruby, bright red and shining, from Walter’s pocket. He held it in his open palms for Walter to see.
The ruby moved-throbbed. Walter blinked and it came into focus. Not a gem; a heart.
“That’s why I gave it to you,” Ray said. “I knew you’d keep it safe.”
Crow Horse gasped awake. He found Ray hovering over him, his brow creased with concern.
“Ray-”
“Get dressed,” he said. “It’s time.”
Crow Horse rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Time for what?”
“The baby, Walter. It’s time.”
***
Walter held the little bundle against his chest. She weighed almost nothing at all.
“Hope you got a name picked out, hoss.”
Ray came up, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him. He fussed mindlessly with the baby’s blanket.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I’ve decided.”
“Well, come on. Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“I want to call her Maggie.”
For a long moment, Walter watched Ray watching the baby. He nodded.
“I knew you were the right man for the job,” he said. “Here, you want to hold her?”
Walter helped Ray take the baby. Ray held the child against his chest, as warm and weightless as a newborn kitten.
“Hi, Maggie. Welcome home.”