(no subject)
Oh look! My introduction post comes with fic!
I first saw Due South during the American run of season 2 and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture I have remained attached to the fandom.
Let me try that again...
I remember the first time I saw Due South was with my mother, who was the real fan back then. I was 11, what did I know? It had a wolf and horses: I was hooked. (Needless to say the first ep I saw was ATQH. I even remember the first scene I ever saw: Ray, holding Dief as he jumped onto a moving train--a perfect scene to make someone who's never seen the show pause and go "huh?"). I lost track of the show in the hiatus between seasons 2 and three, and I didn't see it again until TNT started airing the reruns when I was in high school. That's when I became an actual fan (read: obsessed devotee), and I was very upset when it was dropped from TNT's afternoon rotation. Then when I got to college I discovered that one of my best friends was also a dS fan. She was the one with money at the time so she bought the DVD seasons as they came out, and for the first time I got to watch the eps uncut and in intended order. I dabbled a little in the fandom at that time but nothing serious, and I sort of fell away from it after I graduated because my friend (and my access to the source material) were in another state.
Flash forward a few years to now, where through the joys of YouTube I've been able to watch the show again. I didn't get much farther than Ray's first scene in the pilot before the plotbunnies started swarming, the most tenacious (read: sharp, pointy teeth) of which I managed to bang out one Saturday afternoon a few weeks ago. I've since polished it up a bit (and discovered that that bunny's been breeding while my back was turned, the little imp) and my search for a good place to post it led me to this community. Thus I bring part one.
And the fic:
It was over.
Or at least the case was closed, the bad guys busted and the good guys vindicated. The men that had attacked Fraser's cabin had been identified; all Canadian ex-military, all nut-cases drummed out for conduct unbecoming - a fancy label that hid all manner of crimes. It was a hit squad straight out of a Hollywood cliché, and Ray was still amazed by the sheer amount of heat Fraser had managed to bring down upon his Stetsoned head. Ray was no fool, knew his heritage had won him his stint in vice and knew from that stint that a cop could catch a hired bullet from a well-connected felon, but it had never crossed his land-of-the-free American mind that such a bullet could belong to his own government. Sure most politicians were shifty and more than half corrupt, but this thing with Gerard wound its way deep into the ugly underbelly of the Canadian legislature. How many public officials had been elected because of the revenues brought in by that dam? Only someone with serious political clout could have pulled together the kind of well-trained muscle they'd thrown at Fraser, and the cynical side of Ray doubted that the Mountie would ever uncover the truth.
His paranoid side feared that Fraser would wake up dead one morning if he tried.
That not-so-happy thought plagued Ray as he sat on a bench outside the Federal Courthouse in Ottawa, waiting for Fraser to emerge from his final debriefing. Ray had finished his own over an hour ago, thanks to some judicious help from the State Department. Because he’d been on medical leave when he’d arrived in Canada, Ray was listed on paper as an American tourist, and his own government had been up in arms that an American tourist had been caught in the crossfire of what - on paper - had been dubbed an illegal Canadian military operation. The Canuck politicians went scrambling to cover their asses (and cut loose any ends that might lead back to them) and so Ray was left - again, on paper - as just having been in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time. The endless interrogations, both in Yellowknife and again in Ottawa, had been worth it when he was finally cleared of any wrongdoing and with the Canadians’ ears still ringing from the Holy Hell the American attachés had raised regarding his treatment.
That mess had ended four days ago, and Fraser was still apologizing for it.
To be fair, a lot of that had hinged on the commandos’ statements that the two bodies at the cabin got taken in a grenade blast, and that they hadn’t been packing grenades. The Canadian authorities were quick to believe the American would’ve come to the party heavily armed, but Ray knew a thing or two about bluffing his way passed defense attorneys, and “how could someone have flown into Canada packing a small arsenal? What, are your customs agents and airport security bozos terminally incompetent or something? Jeez, it’s a wonder you guys haven’t been invaded yet!” and the government rolled over on it. Never mind that Ray’s uncle Carmine flew him personally into Saskatoon and bribed him passed customs and onto a northbound puddle-jumper with two bottles of twelve-year-old Oban, Ray was officially in the clear and with the Canadians counting themselves lucky he wasn’t pressing charges.
Now though Ray thought long and hard about that, about what a lawsuit could do to the situation - either douse the flames or fan them higher. The publicity it would cause, especially as it would lead straight back to Fraser and Gerard, was his final ace in the hole. The slimeball politicians behind this mess might have been able to dodge the bullet once with a bit of fancy footwork, convenient scapegoats, and some crooked Mounties for a media smokescreen, but all of that would hinge on whom Gerard could finger with his testimony. The bum had to know this thing climbed higher than the private sector, but did he know just where the ladder went? Ray couldn’t count on it, because he didn’t know what kind of cop Gerard had been - besides backstabbing and corrupt. If he leant towards the paranoid, he would have followed up on every thread until, if ever he went down, the whole shebang would unravel and get pulled under with him.
Trouble was Ray figured that a squirrelly Canadian was still a Canadian. Gerard’s testimony was going to ignite a shitstorm in the corporate world, but either the politicos were safe or the ex-Mountie would have been found dead in his cell, either here or back in Yellowknife. Suicide, couldn’t handle the weight on his conscience, used to be a good cop - yadda yadda fucking yadda. Ray’d seen it before, and it wouldn’t bother him any if he saw it again right now, because a crooked cop that could order a hit on his own best friend deserved what he got in Ray’s book. The way he figured it, either a bunch of suits were going to get arrested real soon and Gerard would spend the remainder of his days in whatever passed for a country club penitentiary in Canada, or there was still time for the bastard to wind up dead before he got the chance to flap his jaw. Either resolution would do, because it was option three that left Ray brooding on a park bench, waiting for Fraser and contemplating the finer points of inflaming the media.
If Gerard nailed a politician - a dirty politician who could order hits on cops and had the pull to muster a Canadian commando squad - and wouldn’t that have been an oxy moron on any other day? - Oh yeah. Biggest. Shitstorm. Ever. Gerard’s death would only shovel it on deeper, but his disappearance? Made to look like an escape? The politicians could easily spin that away from them, turn Gerard’s credibility as a stoolie inside out, and the corporate suits would still take the fall. And if games like that were played in Canada the way they were back in the States, the suits would keep quiet, wind up with eighteen months in minimum security, get that talked down to time served less than halfway through with maybe a community service stipulation, and then it was back to business as usual. The whole charade was a mockery of justice and it always left Ray seething because it back home it always, always stank of the mob and so what if this was Canada? Same old circus, just different clowns.
Worse still, as Ray sat on a park bench across the street from the feds and watched the polite cars go by, he churned the facts over and over again in his head and came up with one unsavory conclusion after another until he found himself actually hoping that the Canadian business elite learned to play hardball from the American mafia. The realization left him vaguely nauseous, and with a strong desire to hit something only stifled beneath the kind of slow exhaustion he hadn’t felt since leaving vice, the kind that convinced his body that violence just wasn’t worth the effort.
In the end it came down to how they had Drake for Bob Fraser’s murder and Gerard for the guy that set it up. If he made it to trial Gerard would give them the suits who’d paid for everything, but those suits were working under a government contract and Ray was currently cultivating an ulcer on whether or not that other shoe would drop - and on whose head. Probably Gerard’s, unless the ex-Mountie really was as dumb as he looked and never bothered finding out about his bosses’ political ties, but how would Fraser take that? That was Ray’s real worry, much as he hated to admit it. What would Dudley Do-Right, Mister Innate Respect For The Law do when he found out his own government sanctioned his father’s murder, and then Gerard’s to cover its tracks? Dollars to donuts it was something that would get the Mountie killed, and Ray hadn’t just flown all the way into the armpit of the frozen north to get shot at and chased and nearly blown up (again!) saving Fraser’s life and helping justice to prevail only for Fraser to follow in his father’s footsteps and land himself six feet under at the courtesy of his own government. At this point Ray wouldn’t be happier to never set foot on Canadian soil ever again, and having to fly back for the Mountie’s funeral was so not in the cards.
Yet he managed to force all evidence of these concerns from his face when he saw Fraser jogging down the courthouse steps, the red serge a shocking offset to the dark suits and grey concrete of the Approach. Ray stood as Fraser crossed the street - at the crosswalk, when it was legal for pedestrians to cross - and slipped his arm back in its sling before the Mountie could nag him about it.
“So how’d it go?”
“Gerard has agreed to plead guilty to charges of conspiracy, conspiracy to murder, corruption, and obstruction of justice. He’s also willing to surrender the names of his fellow conspirators in exchange for a lighter sentence.”
Well, it’s not like Ray hadn’t been expecting that, and he’d have bet money that Fraser had been, too. “And by ‘fellow conspirators’ he means…?”
“Everyone who had accepted a bribe in order to maintain their silence in regards to the situation at the dam.”
“And how many is that?”
The slight gust of a silent sigh delayed Fraser’s reply by half a second. “More than half the community, apparently.”
Whoa. Fraser Senior lived five miles outside the nearest town, which could barely be called such what with its population of 873, according to the welcome sign. Still, that was a lot of co-conspirators… and a lot of friends and neighbors that might have known Fraser’s dad had been fixing to blow the whistle. His impending death could have been debated at the last town meeting, for fuck’s sake!
Ray gave that depressing consideration the silence it deserved and wondered how the Mountie could stay so calm about it all, but of course this was before he’d learned to read Fraser, to find the disappointment that tipped into that subtle frown and recognize the bitter taste that pulled it in, made it thin and tight. It was before he’d learned to spot the rage in the iron of Fraser’s spine when everything in the Mountie’s voice signaled the bland satisfaction of a job well done, of another case closed. Ray wondered, because he knew how important this case was to Fraser, and finally chalked it up to his leaning on a familiar crutch - duty - because when all was said and done the Mountie’d been left with nothing else.
“And the guys that signed the checks?” Ray asked, because that was the real question, the one that might decide their future - or their significant lack thereof.
“That remains to be seen.” And there was a chill in Fraser’s voice, the icy wind that foretold the storm, and Ray reminded himself that the Mountie was far from stupid. Oh yeah, he knew the score, knew just how much hinged on Gerard’s testimony, and now Ray knew that he knew.
He wasn’t sure if that made him feel any better about it.
“Well c’mon, you can tell me about it over dinner.”
It wound up being the other way around, with Ray regaling Fraser with his own tales of interrogation hell, made sure to reiterate the same story he’d fed the feds, complete with patent indignation over their insinuations that he’d come to town for any purpose but to warn Fraser about Gerard. He threw in the token praise of his own Embassy for going to bat for him and tossed around the idea of suing the Canadian government for nearly getting him killed.
And Fraser?
Well, Ray got the distinct impression that the guy’s best weapon was how easy the Mountie made it to underestimate him, because he stayed mostly silent aside from the occasional request for clarification, and nodded a lot as though he agreed with everything Ray was saying when all the while he knew firsthand how much the story was a clever blending of convenient facts and artful bullshit. And maybe Ray was paranoid, but then Fraser followed him back to their hotel restaurant on silent agreement because the government had put them up for the duration of the preliminaries and if Ray’s gut told him they were being surveilled Fraser was right there with him in the notion to turn it around to their advantage.
For better or worse, the next day was Ray’s last on medical leave. He returned to desk duty after that - had two weeks of it scheduled before he was allowed back on the streets. He’d already booked a late afternoon flight, arranged for Tony to pick him up from O’Hare, and did his best to shelve his worries while Fraser gave him the tourist treatment around Ottawa. He’d never been, and it was a no-brainer that Fraser made for a better guide than the college kids they paid for that sort of thing. The man sure knew his country’s history, though he’d needed no less than a map, a compass, and a clear view of the sun to find his way between museums and monuments. Apparently he’d never been there, either.
And when the time came, Ray stood in the lobby of the U.S. Embassy, waiting for his free ride to the airport. His case was well known by then, and everyone from the aides right up to the ambassador himself couldn’t believe Ray wasn’t pressing charges. He’d managed to look solemn and thoughtful when he explained, again, that “it was a cop’s instincts and training that saved my sorry butt, but there were three other men who weren’t so lucky and, self defense or not, their deaths are on my hands and I can’t in good conscience seek financial gains from such a tragedy,” and as his inquisitors told him how noble he was and what a caring, compassionate soul polishing the American image for those elitist Canadians - well God damn Fraser for catching his eye as he demurred, because the Mountie smiled at him, soft and warm and pleased as punch, and Ray had to turn away, because that was the first genuine smile he’d ever seen from Fraser, the first time his eyes had shown with it, and Ray didn’t know Fraser well enough to know what it meant, whether or not Fraser was impressed with him for the wrong reasons, because deep down he honestly didn’t give a fig that the grenades he couldn’t have brought had killed two men or that a third had tried to chase the Mountie over a cliff, and that he’d actually love to sue the long-johns off the Canadian government and the real reason why he wasn’t - yet - was because for all he didn’t know Fraser he knew two things about the man, one being that if Gerard lived long enough to hint towards a government cover-up Fraser would make it his life’s mission to uncover it, because the Mountie pursued justice with the same single-mindedness of a junkie after his next fix and doubly so, given these were the men responsible for his father’s murder. Fraser would make a career out of the case if he had to, knowing full well it would cost him his job and indifferent to the fact that it would probably cost him his life.
The second thing Ray knew about Fraser was that he was a damn good cop, despite being Canadian, and that he got along better with the Mountie in the field than he did with most of his own department. Much as he hated to admit it, given how often Fraser’d nearly gotten them both killed in the brief span of their acquaintance, Ray wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he simply waked away and let that happen. No, Ray would save the lawsuit for when and if Fraser started his investigation, and he’d said as much to the two-way mirror in the interrogation room where he’d signed off on his final statement in the presence of the American attaché and three Embassy lawyers. And he’d had long years to practice veiling his threats - a souvenir from his childhood as much as from his years on the force - and he knew he pulled it off right and that it would travel up the ladder that he “didn’t think it was worth it to sue right now but his good buddy Fraser might advise him differently.”
Ray knew he’d just stuck his neck out farther than he’d ever done, but the case was making headlines across Canada, dragging the RCMP’s reputation through the mud from coast to coast, and Ray had a feeling that when the corporate scandal hit it would rock very the foundations of fiscal Canada. If that led to a political scandal, well, Ray figured Fraser would be upgraded from necessary pariah to dangerous threat and so h’d taken it upon himself to stake out a position where he’d be able to remind them all that Fraser was also the “one good cop that stood up against the corruption of his colleagues and fought for the justice of the Canadian people,” and not even the dumbest Canuck was naïve enough to kill a public hero and expect to survive the political fallout.
If Ray pushed the lawsuit now, it would fall on the heads of those already going down with Gerard and he’d have no leverage against the ones that remained - the ones that Fraser would hunt to the ends of the earth. The ones that didn’t bat a lash at killing Mounties. So Ray let Fraser smile, let him be proud of the American cop like Ray had reaffirmed his faith in his fellow man, let him think that he was seeing evidence of the good man he’d always presumed Ray to be like he’d presumed of everybody until they showed him differently. He wouldn’t ruin it for Fraser by telling him the truth. Ray knew he was safe, because his involvement was getting enough press coverage back home to keep him safe - the U.S. government could out-scary the Canadians any day of the week and twice on July 4th - and knew Fraser was safe because Ray had his back, and wouldn’t be losing sleep over any of it.
“I never did thank you,” Fraser said as they stood on the Embassy steps, making their goodbyes. “I would never have been able to catch my father’s killers and bring them to justice if not for your assistance.”
“Yes you have, Fraser,” Ray assured, straight-faced and serious and deliberately patient. “Many times now.”
A breathy snort of laughter and then Fraser was dragging his thumb across his eyebrow. “Yes,” he admitted, decisive, and looked up again. “If you ever need anything, anything at all…”
“I doubt it,” Ray dismissed, ironically unable to help himself from being honest. How could a Mountie from the North Pole help a Chicago cop? Well, aside from being able to spot fake garment dealers. But then Fraser looked down, shifted his weight on his feet and all of a sudden, this was awkward. Ray hated feeling awkward.
“Well, maybe there is something.”
Fraser looked up, and dammit if he didn’t look hopeful.
“Remember those 41 cases I’ve got open? Well, four of them are robberies, all within a five mile radius of each other - a restaurant, a gas station, a jewelry store, and a private residence. Nothing in common, right? Except I’ve got this hunch that they’re connected, only I can’t figure out how. I brought copies of the files with me to study on the plane.”
“Leave them with me, Ray. I’d be happy to take a look for you, perhaps spot something you’ve missed.” And that smile was back again for a second run, turning those damn blue eyes iridescent, and Ray marveled at how, coming from Fraser, there was nothing condescending, nothing insinuated about Ray’s ability to do his job. Just a friendly offer, one cop to another, and never mind that Ray had just grabbed the top four cases from his stack and came up with a lie to placate Fraser because the Mountie was itching to make himself useful. Now how much of that generosity was just the type of guy that Fraser was and how much was because the Mountie felt he owed a debt and was anxious to repay it, Ray couldn’t tell. He was still a long ways off from knowing how that was exactly the type of guy that Fraser was, that he could lend out hundred dollar bills to strangers and give away his boots and count no cost to himself but then made grand productions out of making sure he repaid those that loaned to him. (Of course, by the time Ray realized this he was already foundering neck-deep in his own running tally of debts he owed Fraser, so he’d all but stopped paying attention to the reverse.)
“Thanks.” And Ray pulled a battered manila envelope out of his duffel and handed it over, wondering if he should feel guilty for the ruse and deciding that if it would make Fraser feel better to study a few American files then he could just have at it, no harm no foul.
Fraser tucked the envelope under his arm, gave Ray a long look, and stuck out his right hand. “Detective Vecchio.”
The formality caught Ray by surprise and he nearly laughed, but he fought it down because he knew deep in his gut that this wasn’t mere politeness (even though it was), that Fraser wasn’t simply standing on ceremony as a safe, definitive way to say goodbye (even though he was), because Ray’d heard more respect in those two words than he’d ever gotten from another cop, read more promises in that offered hand than in the catechism, and it didn’t take a detective to realize that this was the highest compliment that Fraser could give and Ray sure as hell wasn’t about to debase the moment by laughing at how very Canadian it seemed. Instead he took that hand, following Fraser’s lead, and made sure his grin stayed on the right side of formality.
“Take care of yourself,” Ray said into the half-space before their hands dropped free, meant it strongly because it was the closest to a warning he could give.
“You too.” And still that smile, underscoring the camaraderie that had crept upon them unawares. Oh, Fraser was still a bit stiff, as though he was unsure of his footing, and Ray wondered if the man didn’t make friends easily. Wouldn’t surprise him - not that Ray could talk, of course.
“Constable Fraser,” he said in parting greeting, granting the same weight to the Mountie’s title that Fraser had rendered unto Ray’s own as he made his way towards the waiting car.
In some far off future, if Ray had the grace to live that long, well he might look back upon all the wild and unscripted adventures and realize that - yes! That! That right there! - was the pivotal moment, the moment when he and Fraser stood side by side and to a man, marked the other as equal. It was a first for Ray - arguably a first for Fraser, too - and it cemented the foundation upon which Ray would build the rest of his life. (This of course assumes that a far off future Ray wouldn’t just presume that moment to be when a Mountie walked into holding asking for a “Detective Armani” and leave it at that.) For now though Ray was more focused on his immediate future.
After all, he had a plane to catch.
Word count: 4003
Rating (with warnings): PG (a naughty word here and there, but safe for work)
Pairing(s): genfic or pre-slash, depending on your preference.
Summary: A Ray-centric narrative filling in a few minor plotholes left by the end of the pilot. Takes place after they defeat Gerard but before the scene outside the courthouse.
Feedback much appreciated. Thank you kindly.
ETA: Link to part two.
Also, edited again for typos 3/17/09
I first saw Due South during the American run of season 2 and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture I have remained attached to the fandom.
Let me try that again...
I remember the first time I saw Due South was with my mother, who was the real fan back then. I was 11, what did I know? It had a wolf and horses: I was hooked. (Needless to say the first ep I saw was ATQH. I even remember the first scene I ever saw: Ray, holding Dief as he jumped onto a moving train--a perfect scene to make someone who's never seen the show pause and go "huh?"). I lost track of the show in the hiatus between seasons 2 and three, and I didn't see it again until TNT started airing the reruns when I was in high school. That's when I became an actual fan (read: obsessed devotee), and I was very upset when it was dropped from TNT's afternoon rotation. Then when I got to college I discovered that one of my best friends was also a dS fan. She was the one with money at the time so she bought the DVD seasons as they came out, and for the first time I got to watch the eps uncut and in intended order. I dabbled a little in the fandom at that time but nothing serious, and I sort of fell away from it after I graduated because my friend (and my access to the source material) were in another state.
Flash forward a few years to now, where through the joys of YouTube I've been able to watch the show again. I didn't get much farther than Ray's first scene in the pilot before the plotbunnies started swarming, the most tenacious (read: sharp, pointy teeth) of which I managed to bang out one Saturday afternoon a few weeks ago. I've since polished it up a bit (and discovered that that bunny's been breeding while my back was turned, the little imp) and my search for a good place to post it led me to this community. Thus I bring part one.
And the fic:
It was over.
Or at least the case was closed, the bad guys busted and the good guys vindicated. The men that had attacked Fraser's cabin had been identified; all Canadian ex-military, all nut-cases drummed out for conduct unbecoming - a fancy label that hid all manner of crimes. It was a hit squad straight out of a Hollywood cliché, and Ray was still amazed by the sheer amount of heat Fraser had managed to bring down upon his Stetsoned head. Ray was no fool, knew his heritage had won him his stint in vice and knew from that stint that a cop could catch a hired bullet from a well-connected felon, but it had never crossed his land-of-the-free American mind that such a bullet could belong to his own government. Sure most politicians were shifty and more than half corrupt, but this thing with Gerard wound its way deep into the ugly underbelly of the Canadian legislature. How many public officials had been elected because of the revenues brought in by that dam? Only someone with serious political clout could have pulled together the kind of well-trained muscle they'd thrown at Fraser, and the cynical side of Ray doubted that the Mountie would ever uncover the truth.
His paranoid side feared that Fraser would wake up dead one morning if he tried.
That not-so-happy thought plagued Ray as he sat on a bench outside the Federal Courthouse in Ottawa, waiting for Fraser to emerge from his final debriefing. Ray had finished his own over an hour ago, thanks to some judicious help from the State Department. Because he’d been on medical leave when he’d arrived in Canada, Ray was listed on paper as an American tourist, and his own government had been up in arms that an American tourist had been caught in the crossfire of what - on paper - had been dubbed an illegal Canadian military operation. The Canuck politicians went scrambling to cover their asses (and cut loose any ends that might lead back to them) and so Ray was left - again, on paper - as just having been in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time. The endless interrogations, both in Yellowknife and again in Ottawa, had been worth it when he was finally cleared of any wrongdoing and with the Canadians’ ears still ringing from the Holy Hell the American attachés had raised regarding his treatment.
That mess had ended four days ago, and Fraser was still apologizing for it.
To be fair, a lot of that had hinged on the commandos’ statements that the two bodies at the cabin got taken in a grenade blast, and that they hadn’t been packing grenades. The Canadian authorities were quick to believe the American would’ve come to the party heavily armed, but Ray knew a thing or two about bluffing his way passed defense attorneys, and “how could someone have flown into Canada packing a small arsenal? What, are your customs agents and airport security bozos terminally incompetent or something? Jeez, it’s a wonder you guys haven’t been invaded yet!” and the government rolled over on it. Never mind that Ray’s uncle Carmine flew him personally into Saskatoon and bribed him passed customs and onto a northbound puddle-jumper with two bottles of twelve-year-old Oban, Ray was officially in the clear and with the Canadians counting themselves lucky he wasn’t pressing charges.
Now though Ray thought long and hard about that, about what a lawsuit could do to the situation - either douse the flames or fan them higher. The publicity it would cause, especially as it would lead straight back to Fraser and Gerard, was his final ace in the hole. The slimeball politicians behind this mess might have been able to dodge the bullet once with a bit of fancy footwork, convenient scapegoats, and some crooked Mounties for a media smokescreen, but all of that would hinge on whom Gerard could finger with his testimony. The bum had to know this thing climbed higher than the private sector, but did he know just where the ladder went? Ray couldn’t count on it, because he didn’t know what kind of cop Gerard had been - besides backstabbing and corrupt. If he leant towards the paranoid, he would have followed up on every thread until, if ever he went down, the whole shebang would unravel and get pulled under with him.
Trouble was Ray figured that a squirrelly Canadian was still a Canadian. Gerard’s testimony was going to ignite a shitstorm in the corporate world, but either the politicos were safe or the ex-Mountie would have been found dead in his cell, either here or back in Yellowknife. Suicide, couldn’t handle the weight on his conscience, used to be a good cop - yadda yadda fucking yadda. Ray’d seen it before, and it wouldn’t bother him any if he saw it again right now, because a crooked cop that could order a hit on his own best friend deserved what he got in Ray’s book. The way he figured it, either a bunch of suits were going to get arrested real soon and Gerard would spend the remainder of his days in whatever passed for a country club penitentiary in Canada, or there was still time for the bastard to wind up dead before he got the chance to flap his jaw. Either resolution would do, because it was option three that left Ray brooding on a park bench, waiting for Fraser and contemplating the finer points of inflaming the media.
If Gerard nailed a politician - a dirty politician who could order hits on cops and had the pull to muster a Canadian commando squad - and wouldn’t that have been an oxy moron on any other day? - Oh yeah. Biggest. Shitstorm. Ever. Gerard’s death would only shovel it on deeper, but his disappearance? Made to look like an escape? The politicians could easily spin that away from them, turn Gerard’s credibility as a stoolie inside out, and the corporate suits would still take the fall. And if games like that were played in Canada the way they were back in the States, the suits would keep quiet, wind up with eighteen months in minimum security, get that talked down to time served less than halfway through with maybe a community service stipulation, and then it was back to business as usual. The whole charade was a mockery of justice and it always left Ray seething because it back home it always, always stank of the mob and so what if this was Canada? Same old circus, just different clowns.
Worse still, as Ray sat on a park bench across the street from the feds and watched the polite cars go by, he churned the facts over and over again in his head and came up with one unsavory conclusion after another until he found himself actually hoping that the Canadian business elite learned to play hardball from the American mafia. The realization left him vaguely nauseous, and with a strong desire to hit something only stifled beneath the kind of slow exhaustion he hadn’t felt since leaving vice, the kind that convinced his body that violence just wasn’t worth the effort.
In the end it came down to how they had Drake for Bob Fraser’s murder and Gerard for the guy that set it up. If he made it to trial Gerard would give them the suits who’d paid for everything, but those suits were working under a government contract and Ray was currently cultivating an ulcer on whether or not that other shoe would drop - and on whose head. Probably Gerard’s, unless the ex-Mountie really was as dumb as he looked and never bothered finding out about his bosses’ political ties, but how would Fraser take that? That was Ray’s real worry, much as he hated to admit it. What would Dudley Do-Right, Mister Innate Respect For The Law do when he found out his own government sanctioned his father’s murder, and then Gerard’s to cover its tracks? Dollars to donuts it was something that would get the Mountie killed, and Ray hadn’t just flown all the way into the armpit of the frozen north to get shot at and chased and nearly blown up (again!) saving Fraser’s life and helping justice to prevail only for Fraser to follow in his father’s footsteps and land himself six feet under at the courtesy of his own government. At this point Ray wouldn’t be happier to never set foot on Canadian soil ever again, and having to fly back for the Mountie’s funeral was so not in the cards.
Yet he managed to force all evidence of these concerns from his face when he saw Fraser jogging down the courthouse steps, the red serge a shocking offset to the dark suits and grey concrete of the Approach. Ray stood as Fraser crossed the street - at the crosswalk, when it was legal for pedestrians to cross - and slipped his arm back in its sling before the Mountie could nag him about it.
“So how’d it go?”
“Gerard has agreed to plead guilty to charges of conspiracy, conspiracy to murder, corruption, and obstruction of justice. He’s also willing to surrender the names of his fellow conspirators in exchange for a lighter sentence.”
Well, it’s not like Ray hadn’t been expecting that, and he’d have bet money that Fraser had been, too. “And by ‘fellow conspirators’ he means…?”
“Everyone who had accepted a bribe in order to maintain their silence in regards to the situation at the dam.”
“And how many is that?”
The slight gust of a silent sigh delayed Fraser’s reply by half a second. “More than half the community, apparently.”
Whoa. Fraser Senior lived five miles outside the nearest town, which could barely be called such what with its population of 873, according to the welcome sign. Still, that was a lot of co-conspirators… and a lot of friends and neighbors that might have known Fraser’s dad had been fixing to blow the whistle. His impending death could have been debated at the last town meeting, for fuck’s sake!
Ray gave that depressing consideration the silence it deserved and wondered how the Mountie could stay so calm about it all, but of course this was before he’d learned to read Fraser, to find the disappointment that tipped into that subtle frown and recognize the bitter taste that pulled it in, made it thin and tight. It was before he’d learned to spot the rage in the iron of Fraser’s spine when everything in the Mountie’s voice signaled the bland satisfaction of a job well done, of another case closed. Ray wondered, because he knew how important this case was to Fraser, and finally chalked it up to his leaning on a familiar crutch - duty - because when all was said and done the Mountie’d been left with nothing else.
“And the guys that signed the checks?” Ray asked, because that was the real question, the one that might decide their future - or their significant lack thereof.
“That remains to be seen.” And there was a chill in Fraser’s voice, the icy wind that foretold the storm, and Ray reminded himself that the Mountie was far from stupid. Oh yeah, he knew the score, knew just how much hinged on Gerard’s testimony, and now Ray knew that he knew.
He wasn’t sure if that made him feel any better about it.
“Well c’mon, you can tell me about it over dinner.”
It wound up being the other way around, with Ray regaling Fraser with his own tales of interrogation hell, made sure to reiterate the same story he’d fed the feds, complete with patent indignation over their insinuations that he’d come to town for any purpose but to warn Fraser about Gerard. He threw in the token praise of his own Embassy for going to bat for him and tossed around the idea of suing the Canadian government for nearly getting him killed.
And Fraser?
Well, Ray got the distinct impression that the guy’s best weapon was how easy the Mountie made it to underestimate him, because he stayed mostly silent aside from the occasional request for clarification, and nodded a lot as though he agreed with everything Ray was saying when all the while he knew firsthand how much the story was a clever blending of convenient facts and artful bullshit. And maybe Ray was paranoid, but then Fraser followed him back to their hotel restaurant on silent agreement because the government had put them up for the duration of the preliminaries and if Ray’s gut told him they were being surveilled Fraser was right there with him in the notion to turn it around to their advantage.
For better or worse, the next day was Ray’s last on medical leave. He returned to desk duty after that - had two weeks of it scheduled before he was allowed back on the streets. He’d already booked a late afternoon flight, arranged for Tony to pick him up from O’Hare, and did his best to shelve his worries while Fraser gave him the tourist treatment around Ottawa. He’d never been, and it was a no-brainer that Fraser made for a better guide than the college kids they paid for that sort of thing. The man sure knew his country’s history, though he’d needed no less than a map, a compass, and a clear view of the sun to find his way between museums and monuments. Apparently he’d never been there, either.
And when the time came, Ray stood in the lobby of the U.S. Embassy, waiting for his free ride to the airport. His case was well known by then, and everyone from the aides right up to the ambassador himself couldn’t believe Ray wasn’t pressing charges. He’d managed to look solemn and thoughtful when he explained, again, that “it was a cop’s instincts and training that saved my sorry butt, but there were three other men who weren’t so lucky and, self defense or not, their deaths are on my hands and I can’t in good conscience seek financial gains from such a tragedy,” and as his inquisitors told him how noble he was and what a caring, compassionate soul polishing the American image for those elitist Canadians - well God damn Fraser for catching his eye as he demurred, because the Mountie smiled at him, soft and warm and pleased as punch, and Ray had to turn away, because that was the first genuine smile he’d ever seen from Fraser, the first time his eyes had shown with it, and Ray didn’t know Fraser well enough to know what it meant, whether or not Fraser was impressed with him for the wrong reasons, because deep down he honestly didn’t give a fig that the grenades he couldn’t have brought had killed two men or that a third had tried to chase the Mountie over a cliff, and that he’d actually love to sue the long-johns off the Canadian government and the real reason why he wasn’t - yet - was because for all he didn’t know Fraser he knew two things about the man, one being that if Gerard lived long enough to hint towards a government cover-up Fraser would make it his life’s mission to uncover it, because the Mountie pursued justice with the same single-mindedness of a junkie after his next fix and doubly so, given these were the men responsible for his father’s murder. Fraser would make a career out of the case if he had to, knowing full well it would cost him his job and indifferent to the fact that it would probably cost him his life.
The second thing Ray knew about Fraser was that he was a damn good cop, despite being Canadian, and that he got along better with the Mountie in the field than he did with most of his own department. Much as he hated to admit it, given how often Fraser’d nearly gotten them both killed in the brief span of their acquaintance, Ray wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he simply waked away and let that happen. No, Ray would save the lawsuit for when and if Fraser started his investigation, and he’d said as much to the two-way mirror in the interrogation room where he’d signed off on his final statement in the presence of the American attaché and three Embassy lawyers. And he’d had long years to practice veiling his threats - a souvenir from his childhood as much as from his years on the force - and he knew he pulled it off right and that it would travel up the ladder that he “didn’t think it was worth it to sue right now but his good buddy Fraser might advise him differently.”
Ray knew he’d just stuck his neck out farther than he’d ever done, but the case was making headlines across Canada, dragging the RCMP’s reputation through the mud from coast to coast, and Ray had a feeling that when the corporate scandal hit it would rock very the foundations of fiscal Canada. If that led to a political scandal, well, Ray figured Fraser would be upgraded from necessary pariah to dangerous threat and so h’d taken it upon himself to stake out a position where he’d be able to remind them all that Fraser was also the “one good cop that stood up against the corruption of his colleagues and fought for the justice of the Canadian people,” and not even the dumbest Canuck was naïve enough to kill a public hero and expect to survive the political fallout.
If Ray pushed the lawsuit now, it would fall on the heads of those already going down with Gerard and he’d have no leverage against the ones that remained - the ones that Fraser would hunt to the ends of the earth. The ones that didn’t bat a lash at killing Mounties. So Ray let Fraser smile, let him be proud of the American cop like Ray had reaffirmed his faith in his fellow man, let him think that he was seeing evidence of the good man he’d always presumed Ray to be like he’d presumed of everybody until they showed him differently. He wouldn’t ruin it for Fraser by telling him the truth. Ray knew he was safe, because his involvement was getting enough press coverage back home to keep him safe - the U.S. government could out-scary the Canadians any day of the week and twice on July 4th - and knew Fraser was safe because Ray had his back, and wouldn’t be losing sleep over any of it.
“I never did thank you,” Fraser said as they stood on the Embassy steps, making their goodbyes. “I would never have been able to catch my father’s killers and bring them to justice if not for your assistance.”
“Yes you have, Fraser,” Ray assured, straight-faced and serious and deliberately patient. “Many times now.”
A breathy snort of laughter and then Fraser was dragging his thumb across his eyebrow. “Yes,” he admitted, decisive, and looked up again. “If you ever need anything, anything at all…”
“I doubt it,” Ray dismissed, ironically unable to help himself from being honest. How could a Mountie from the North Pole help a Chicago cop? Well, aside from being able to spot fake garment dealers. But then Fraser looked down, shifted his weight on his feet and all of a sudden, this was awkward. Ray hated feeling awkward.
“Well, maybe there is something.”
Fraser looked up, and dammit if he didn’t look hopeful.
“Remember those 41 cases I’ve got open? Well, four of them are robberies, all within a five mile radius of each other - a restaurant, a gas station, a jewelry store, and a private residence. Nothing in common, right? Except I’ve got this hunch that they’re connected, only I can’t figure out how. I brought copies of the files with me to study on the plane.”
“Leave them with me, Ray. I’d be happy to take a look for you, perhaps spot something you’ve missed.” And that smile was back again for a second run, turning those damn blue eyes iridescent, and Ray marveled at how, coming from Fraser, there was nothing condescending, nothing insinuated about Ray’s ability to do his job. Just a friendly offer, one cop to another, and never mind that Ray had just grabbed the top four cases from his stack and came up with a lie to placate Fraser because the Mountie was itching to make himself useful. Now how much of that generosity was just the type of guy that Fraser was and how much was because the Mountie felt he owed a debt and was anxious to repay it, Ray couldn’t tell. He was still a long ways off from knowing how that was exactly the type of guy that Fraser was, that he could lend out hundred dollar bills to strangers and give away his boots and count no cost to himself but then made grand productions out of making sure he repaid those that loaned to him. (Of course, by the time Ray realized this he was already foundering neck-deep in his own running tally of debts he owed Fraser, so he’d all but stopped paying attention to the reverse.)
“Thanks.” And Ray pulled a battered manila envelope out of his duffel and handed it over, wondering if he should feel guilty for the ruse and deciding that if it would make Fraser feel better to study a few American files then he could just have at it, no harm no foul.
Fraser tucked the envelope under his arm, gave Ray a long look, and stuck out his right hand. “Detective Vecchio.”
The formality caught Ray by surprise and he nearly laughed, but he fought it down because he knew deep in his gut that this wasn’t mere politeness (even though it was), that Fraser wasn’t simply standing on ceremony as a safe, definitive way to say goodbye (even though he was), because Ray’d heard more respect in those two words than he’d ever gotten from another cop, read more promises in that offered hand than in the catechism, and it didn’t take a detective to realize that this was the highest compliment that Fraser could give and Ray sure as hell wasn’t about to debase the moment by laughing at how very Canadian it seemed. Instead he took that hand, following Fraser’s lead, and made sure his grin stayed on the right side of formality.
“Take care of yourself,” Ray said into the half-space before their hands dropped free, meant it strongly because it was the closest to a warning he could give.
“You too.” And still that smile, underscoring the camaraderie that had crept upon them unawares. Oh, Fraser was still a bit stiff, as though he was unsure of his footing, and Ray wondered if the man didn’t make friends easily. Wouldn’t surprise him - not that Ray could talk, of course.
“Constable Fraser,” he said in parting greeting, granting the same weight to the Mountie’s title that Fraser had rendered unto Ray’s own as he made his way towards the waiting car.
In some far off future, if Ray had the grace to live that long, well he might look back upon all the wild and unscripted adventures and realize that - yes! That! That right there! - was the pivotal moment, the moment when he and Fraser stood side by side and to a man, marked the other as equal. It was a first for Ray - arguably a first for Fraser, too - and it cemented the foundation upon which Ray would build the rest of his life. (This of course assumes that a far off future Ray wouldn’t just presume that moment to be when a Mountie walked into holding asking for a “Detective Armani” and leave it at that.) For now though Ray was more focused on his immediate future.
After all, he had a plane to catch.
Word count: 4003
Rating (with warnings): PG (a naughty word here and there, but safe for work)
Pairing(s): genfic or pre-slash, depending on your preference.
Summary: A Ray-centric narrative filling in a few minor plotholes left by the end of the pilot. Takes place after they defeat Gerard but before the scene outside the courthouse.
Feedback much appreciated. Thank you kindly.
ETA: Link to part two.
Also, edited again for typos 3/17/09