For belmanoir; Three Questions Ray Never Asked (And One He's Glad He Did)
Title: Three Questions Ray Never Asked (And One He’s Glad He Did)
Author: dragonflymuse
Recipient: belmanoir
Pairing & Rating: Fraser/Vecchio; PG-13 (language, M/M romantic imagery)
Word count: 4167
Summary: Ray needs to get out of his own head.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I just like to play with them now and then. Not-for-profit fun only.
Author's Notes: As always, eternal love and thanks to my MRVB fishsanwitt for her gentle way of telling me when I’ve screwed something up. belmanoir wanted slashiness, cameos by secondary characters. I couldn’t get the porn working on this one, but this fic does have a very thoughtful and insightful Welsh. Generally spoilerish (and re-visioned) for eps They Eat Horses, Don't They?, Vault, Burning Down The House and Call of The Wild, Pt. 1.
I
Can we get back-up?
On a dog food case??
****
Stiff-jointed and cold to the bone, Ray stepped into the shower, cranked the hot water dial to the left as far as it would go, and waited for the near-scalding drops to thaw him out.
The past few days had been a first for him. Wild horses, meat lockers, being wrapped in frozen slabs of pony ribs for, of all things, warmth, and being used as a human shield by Canada's most annoying Mountie. No wonder his Ma had fits when he was out late at night. By the time all the shooting was done, statements were taken and the hospital declared him frostbite-free, the sun had half-crested over the horizon when Ray had finally made it home, brushed his Ma off with a kiss and some murmured words in Italian and sought out soap and warm water.
As the water coursed over his skin, warming him to the point his fingers and toes started to sting and tingle and the hives faded from his belly and legs, his irritation with Fraser also began to lift. It wasn't completely Fraser's fault, these crazy situations he seemed drag Ray into; after all, Ray apparently was unable to refuse Fraser's requests for help, no matter how insane - or dangerous - they were. Maybe his mother needed to worry about his decision-making, and not so much about Fraser.
Shutting down the water, Ray shoved back the shower curtain, grabbed his towel from the rack, and rubbed himself dry. Shrugging into a thick, cotton robe, he loosely tied the belt around his waist, brushed his teeth and then padded, barefoot, to his bedroom. His bed looked like heaven, piled with soft blankets, a weighty comforter and more feather pillows than anyone really needed if they were sleeping alone in a bed made for two. More tired than he could remember ever being, he ignored the pyjamas lying on the foot of the bed, dropped the robe to the floor and crawled under blankets, his bare, now-warm skin, radiating heat to the cool linens until they folded around him like a warm cocoon. This was how to keep warm. Dragging a pillow down under the covers, he clutched it close to his chest, tucking it tightly under his chin and trapping the end below with his knees. That damned meat suit had been horrific, but had ultimately been his choice during the ordeal in the freezer. It seemed to have worked well enough.
He relaxed, letting his muscles go slack and his mind wander down into sleep. As he drifted off, he wondered if the hugging thing Fraser thought of would have been better, warmer and easier than frozen horseflesh, more like this feeling, right now, and why...
With a deep sigh, sleep overtook him, before he could question his choice.
II
Well, except for that one time.
****
If almost drowning on dry land hadn't been enough of a bitch, hearing those six words fall from Fraser's lips was the rotten cherry on top of the crap sundae that'd been today. But between being declared dead, having another suit ruined and almost winding up Guest of Honour at his prematurely-booked funeral, hearing that he'd somehow let down someone he felt close to was the one event of the day that left him feeling most like shit, and as sure as he knew there was a Hell, he was going to find out how he'd failed his best friend.
After giving brief statements to a couple of the million or so cops that'd invaded the flooded bank and leaving Dief to babysit Francesca, Ray and Fraser took off in the Riv, heading for Fraser's apartment on Racine.
It had been shortly after their return from the North that Ray had started keeping a few changes of clothing at Fraser's place. Well, if he was to be precise, clothing and a toothbrush. And a razor that bore more resemblance to one of Frannie's disposable pink Daisy things than the weapon of death Fraser used on a daily basis.
After all, when you're sleeping with someone, it is a rule that you leave some of your stuff at their place, right?
The ride to Racine was a quiet one: Ray, keeping his eyes on the road, and Fraser, gazing thoughtfully out the passenger window, taking in the sights as they passed by. The destination and the journey, sitting side by side.
Ray pulled into the alley behind Fraser's building, turned the engine off, and eased back into his seat, listening to the tick and hum of the engine as it cooled down. Ray glanced over at Fraser, who was still looking out the passenger window, staring, for all Ray knew, at the cruddy, rusted dumpster stuck beneath a broken set of fire escape stairs.
“Benny,” he said softly, reaching out to tug on the damp sleeve of his jacket, “You ready to go inside? It's warmer up there than in the car.”
It took a moment, but Fraser turned towards Ray, his hand moving to cover the one still grasping at his sleeve. Ray felt a stab of anxiety in his gut. Fraser, who'd been an almost Machiavellian picture of reason and relative good cheer at the bank now looked like a man who'd had a few years stripped off his life. He was pale - paler than usual - and his lips had faded from a warm ruddy pink to a sickly shade of grey. The hand he'd lain over Ray's was clammy and shaking. Panic fluttered behind his blue eyes.
Ray worked hard to keep his voice calm. “Benny? What's wrong? You not feeling well? Does it hurt somewhere?”
With his free hand he cupped Fraser's cheek, stroking it with his thumb, willing some colour into its unsettling pallor.
Fraser spoke, his voice clear and steady. “Ray?”
“Benny?”
“I think we almost died today, Ray.”
Ray swallowed. “Yeah, that was a possibility, Benny. But as I recall, you had a plan, and we're sittin' here in my car, breathing air and hopefully going up to your apartment so we can get out of these wet clothes.”
Fraser's hand tightened over Ray's. “I seem to do it a lot. Almost get you killed.”
Ray nodded slowly. “And yourself, too. But it's all part of the cop thing, right? We both knew that when we got our badges. With you,” Ray gave a soft grin. “you just make those possible circumstances much more interesting.”
Fraser took a breath. Ray could feel the hand covering his stop its shaking. “I am sorry Ray. I need to... Iwill be more careful. Of both of us. Especially now that we've...”
Ray could feel heat bloom on Fraser's cheek. He slid his hand back, resting it over the short, soft hairs on the nape of Fraser's neck as he watched a faint, rosy flush wash the greyness away. “Back at you, Benny,” he murmured, before leaning in and pressing his lips to Fraser's. They kissed slowly, Ray setting the pace, easing Fraser back from his out-of-nowhere attack of mortality. For all of the hits he'd taken, all the knives to the leg and bullets punched through his skin, Fraser had never seemed to worry about whether or not he'd see the next sunrise. Until now, that was.
Especially now...
With great reluctance, he pulled back from Fraser, noting with satisfaction the glow in his cheeks and the just-kissed redness of his lips. “What do you say? Ready to get out of this alley?”
Fraser nodded. Gathering their things, they exited the Riv, Ray looking sadly upon his abused leather upholstery. Slamming the door shut, he turned towards Fraser and offered him his hand. Their fingers touched, lightly locking together as they headed for the street, the question pressing on Ray earlier now conveniently gone from his mind.
III
As a friend?
****
Ray accepted the empty box from Welsh with a tight smile. “Kinda stupid, coming to clean out your desk and forgetting to bring something to toss the crap into, right?”
Welsh gave a small shake of his head. “It happens. You have a lot on your mind, Detective.” He wandered over to Huey's desk, taking a seat on the least cluttered corner. Minutes ticked by in silence as he watched Ray pull open drawers, select a few personal items and tuck them into the box.
“Vecchio,” he started, then checked himself. “Ray, this isn't a done deal until you land in Nevada. No one would think less of you if you changed your mind. The Feds can find another way inside. Personally speaking,” he continued, pausing to clear his throat and pretending his voice really wasn't about to crack, “I would be extremely undisappointed if I walked into the squad tomorrow morning and found you behind this desk.”
Ray had the last drawer open and was staring past the clutter inside, letting Welsh's words sink in. Going undercover inside the Mob was as dangerous as it got, and when this Langoustini asshole died, the FBI was at his door before Armando's corpse had stopped sizzling from the fiery car wreck that'd done him in. The Feds would score a home run with Ray taking over Langoustini's life: inside information on one of the most powerful up-and-coming families in Vegas, learning whose fingers were in what pies, and a current roster of every enforcer and their death roll of victims. Ray's reward, aside from earning a little credit for helping take down one cog in the Mob machine, would be getting out alive.
He began rooting around in the drawer. “It's crossed my mind, sir. My mother is getting older, and she worries about her kids too much as it is. It will be hard, being away from her, if anything happens to the family, knowing I can't drop everything and come home.” His voice sounded thick, and he coughed. “But this is a good opportunity for me sir, maybe the highlight of my career. More importantly, it's work that needs doing. And the Feds are convinced I'm the right person for the job.” With a rueful smile, he finally looked towards Welsh. “I won it by a nose.”
Welsh rose from the corner of the desk, shaking his head. “Detective...”
“I've given it a lot of thought. I've talked it over with everyone I could trust, and who mattered. You, my family, Huey... it's something I should do. It's the right thing.”
The door had been opened, so Welsh walked right through. “You discussed it with everyone important?”
“Yes sir.”
“Everyone?”
Ray nodded. “Even my priest, who is sure this is just a ploy of mine to avoid getting up early for Sunday mass.”
Welsh walked right up to him, invading his space. He looked Ray directly in the eye. “Everyone?” he repeated.
Ray tried not to flinch. “He's away on vacation.”
“Still, I would think his opinion on this would be one worth considering.”
Ray kicked the desk chair back, looking for room. “There was really no time, sir, and the Bureau frowns on their operatives talking about top secret undercover plans over the phone. They covered that on Day One of my briefing.”
Joking under stress was something Vecchio would have to learn to do without, Welsh thought, stepping back and turning towards his office. “I think it's a wrong decision. Fraser is your partner, your friend, and I think he deserves a little better from you, deserves to at least hear about this from you.”
Ray started sorting the items on his desk. “I know he does,” he said softly to himself. He plucked a silver metal pen from the pencil cup. A red laquered maple leaf was fixed to the top of the clasp. “But he'd be the one to talk me out of it.”
He slipped the pen into his jacket pocket and picked up the phone receiver, dialling out a long string of numbers he'd learned by heart the day Fraser had flown off to the Territories.
IV
Ray!
****
As soon as he'd opened that hotel room door, he knew he and Armando were soon going to part ways - provided Fraser's greeting hadn't gotten them killed first
Which, of course, it hadn't, because if they'd all been shot and tossed in the Chicago River, he wouldn't be here, in his old squad room, watching some spastic cop with freaky blond hair sit behind Ray's old desk, with Fraser a solid presence behind this Kowalski guy, reading a report over his shoulder.
He considered at this moment that getting capped in the head and thrown into a polluted river might've hurt marginally less than how he was feeling right now. A meaty hand fell onto his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“That is the guy they replaced me with?” Ray shook his head slowly. “Someone must really not have cared about accuracy. Or thought that my life was more expendable than they led me to believe.”
Welsh steered Ray towards his office. “He's a good cop, Vecchio. Appearances aside, he kept your family safe and worked his ass off protecting your cover. Cut him some slack.” The door closed behind them with a soft click. He pointed out a chair to Ray, who shrugged it off in favour of pacing the Lieutenant's tiny office.
“Right now,” Ray said slowly, “Three dozen federal agents, leading a combined force of over 100 state troopers and SWAT team members are taking down four lynchpin figures: Langoustini's boss, one of his key enforcers, an accountant and some guy who owns a chain of funeral parlours. When they do, word from above will inform everyone who needs to know that Armando Langoustini was killed during a deal gone sour in Chicago. Pictures of his body and the bodies of men known to have been in his company will surface, and by midnight tonight, I will be out.” He stopped pacing and threw a glance out of Welsh's office window. “But when 12:01 ticks around, I have no idea where I'll belong.”
“You're home, Detective,” Welsh said plainly, “and home is the one place where they always have to take you in.”
Ray shook his head. “You already have a Vecchio, though I suppose now you can call him Kowalski. And he already has a pretty capable partner, even if he is a big, red-wearing Canadian freak.”
“Have you talked to him yet?”
Ray found himself still looking out the window, now staring at his old desk. “Of course I have.”
“Vecchio, have you talked to him talked to him?”
A lump of ice formed in Ray's gut. “Hasn’t really been time. He seems happy enough. Adjusted well to another partner; made a friend.”
“I thought he was your best friend.”
Ray ducked his head down to his chest. “He was more than that.” He shot a quick look to Welsh, hoping he didn't read the obvious into his slip-up. Hard, wolfish eyes looked back at him. Stammering, he sputtered “I... I didn't mean it like that... or quite like that. What I meant was, that Fraser... when you're talking about Fraser he's... well, he's saved my life a few times and...”
“Cut the crap, Vecchio,” Welsh barked. “Did you really think no one ever noticed?”
Ray felt a bit adrift. “Well,” he said, running a hand self-consciously over the stubble on his head, “Frannie never stopped talking to me or threw any kind of fit...”
“Oh, for Christ's sake... Vecchio, sit down.” Ray complied. “I don't know how you can be such a great officer of the law and be so stupid at the same time. But listen up, 'cause I'm only going to say this once: I don't like to meddle in the personal lives of my detectives. I'm not Dear Abby and I don't give dating advice. But I knew leaving me to explain things to Big Red was the wrong call. I was the one who had to see the look on his face when he understood you were gone, tell him he had to call a stranger by your name and pretend the guy was his best friend in the whole world. All that angst - I was told that was the word for it - made a highly stressful situation even more stressful, which in turn put your life at risk.
“Now, Kowalski, I like him. He's solid, a bit of a lunatic, but does good work. Ideally, I'd want to keep him around. But he has to be done with your life, because you're here, and you need it back. That's going to hurt him like anything, because I know there are things in your life he's become attached to. He's going to have to learn to be Kowalski again without saying adios to the connections he's made. He may piss you off, you might think you hate his guts, but you two have a lot in common, the Mountie being one of them. Now, get up and open the door.”
Numbly, Ray rose from the chair and pulled open the door.
“KOWALSKI!” Welsh bellowed. The blond head bent over Vecchio's old desk shot up.
“Lieu?”
“Get a sharp pencil and bring every file open on your desk in here. Go over it all and tell me where we're at.”
“Got it!”
Welsh then looked to Fraser. “Constable, once the rest of Muldoon's records arrive from the Consulate, we're going to set up in Interview 2 and see where we stand. Would you mind stocking it with some note pads and pens? Maybe some of those small sticky notes, too, and some water?”
“Gladly, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you. I believe you know where the supply closet is?”
“Indeed, sir.”
To Vecchio, he growled, “Get out of my office.”
Vecchio nodded. “Thank you sir. I... thank you.”
“Don't thank me. I just want to keep the peace around here.”
Ray narrowly avoided bumping into Kowalski as they passed each other in the squad room. Sitting down with him was something that needed doing, but would have to wait until they had this case nailed shut.
It felt like a long road to the supply closet, and in a way, it was. Several times people stopped him to welcome him back, shaking his hand until his arm tingled or slapping him on the back like he was a long lost relative. He smiled his way through most of it, before ducking down a side hallway and approaching the closet from behind. The door was ajar, weak yellow light forming a light slash over part of the tired, green linoleum. With one quick movement, slid inside and shut the door with a quiet click.
Fraser whirled around, his arms filled with spiralled legal pads and half a dozen blocks of small, multi-coloured Post-Its.
For a long moment, they simply stood there, looking at each other. Ray's heart nearly stopped as he met Fraser's blue, blue eyes. In the dimly lit space, he could make out a few new scars on Fraser's face, and on his hands. Tiny imperfections that would go unnoticed by anyone who hadn't spent hours memorizing every inch of Fraser's skin, or kissed his lips in the dark or knew what those hands had felt like on their body. He wanted to feel those things again, taste those perfect lips with his mouth, be held close by those strong, loving arms. He wanted it back. He needed it back. Thoughts of Fraser had helped to keep him alive in the desert. He'd lived for the moment when he could bury Langoustini deep within the sands of Nevada, turn towards Chicago and run back home. And though the moment hadn't arrived like he'd thought, it was here, right now.
“Hey Benny,” he said. “Need a hand?”
Fraser nodded, a bit of a smile ghosting over his face. “It seems I do, Ray. When you came in, I had only just realized that I'd failed to take accurate count of how many of each item I would need before I'd started pulling items from the shelves. Now, I have enough notepads for everyone and those small notepapers Lieutenant Welsh seems fond of, but my arms are already quite full and I haven't been able to locate the fine point pens. Inspector Thatcher won't use any pen if it doesn't have a fine point, so while you're here could you possibly find -”
Ray couldn't hold back his sigh. “Benny, take a breath. Stop talking Mountie to me and please, sit down.” He took the load of supplies from Fraser's arms and set them in a messy heap on the floor. Taking a seat on a box of printer paper, Fraser eyed the pile and looked over to Ray, who was himself now seated on a crate filled with toner. “Ray, I still need to find glasses and two water pitchers.”
“Forget about those for now. We need to talk. Or maybe I need to talk and you can tell me to go to Hell...”
Fraser leaned in a little closer to Ray. “Ray, I can't imagine ever telling you such a thing.”
“Funny thing. I can.” He looked over at Fraser, sitting there with his head cocked to the side, watching Ray intently, like he did when he was trying to figure out the punchline to a joke.
“I'm... I'm sorry, Benny. I've been waiting over a year and a half to tell you that.” Tentatively he reached out, running his fingers lightly over the Fraser's hand. “I'm sorry I left like that.”
“I understood, Ray. It was confusing at first. Alarming, actually. But when I was told what had transpired, I understood the reason.”
“Benny,” Ray said carefully, “I knew, that last day I called you. I knew, and I didn't... I couldn't say the words.”
He went to move his hand from Fraser's, but Fraser was quick, turning his hand palm upwards and closing his fingers around Ray's wrist.
“You did your duty, Ray. You did what was needed of you, and you did it well.” He gave Ray a warm smile. “I'm proud of you Ray.”
Ray's eyes welled with tears. “You mean... you mean you never hated me? For leaving? For leaving you, like that?”
Fraser slid down to the floor, kneeling in front of Ray. “Ray! I could never feel that way. Why did you think I would hate you?”
Ray swiped a falling tear with his free hand. “Because I hated myself, for not being able to tell you and remind you that...” He took a shaky breath. “That I loved you and would miss you. Hearing your voice, on that last day? Was almost enough for me to call the Feds and tell them the cover was off.”
Again, Fraser smiled. “Almost?” Ray nodded. “What made you still go?”
Solemnly, he answered, “Because it was the right thing to do.”
Fraser wiped the remaining tears from Ray's cheeks. “Thank you,” he said softly, gathering Ray closer, wrapping him in a hug. “Welcome home,” he murmured. The cashmere sweater Ray wore wasn't thick enough to muffle the hitch in Fraser's voice when he added, “I've missed you so much...”
Ray felt like he would start crying again. He buried his face into the crook of Fraser's neck, breathing in Fraser's scent, one of fresh air, clean skin with only a hint of musk, and old, well-polished leather. He gripped Fraser's shoulders tightly. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
Fraser pressed a kiss to Ray's cheek. “There was nothing to forgive.” Easing Ray back, he kissed his other cheek, slowly working his way towards Ray's lips. Ray managed to slip out an “I love you” before Fraser's mouth covered his. Their kisses were soft, slow and gentle as they found one another again, remembering how Fraser could drive Ray crazy with the slightest flick of his tongue over Ray's parted lips, or how Ray could start Fraser moaning with a few nips on his ear.
Breaking apart, panting, they huddled together in the semi-dark, catching their breaths. Resting his head against Ray's thigh, Fraser spoke. “I am so grateful you've come back, safe, and that Lagoustini will finally be put to rest once and for all.” Tilting his face up, he sought out Ray's eyes in the shadows. “And, I love you too, Ray.”
Happiness welled in Ray's chest. “After all these months apart...”
“Nineteen months, eleven days, seven hours and 43 minutes,” Fraser supplied, a touch of glee in his voice.
“And a new Vecchio for you...”
“Ray is a fine police officer. He did well by you and your family. And me, for that matter.”
“All that, Benny, and you still love me?”
Fraser pressed a kiss to Ray's hand. “That is a question you should never feel needs asking.”
Maybe so, Ray thought, as he moved to join Fraser on the tiny closet floor.
But he was glad he did.
FIN
Author: dragonflymuse
Recipient: belmanoir
Pairing & Rating: Fraser/Vecchio; PG-13 (language, M/M romantic imagery)
Word count: 4167
Summary: Ray needs to get out of his own head.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I just like to play with them now and then. Not-for-profit fun only.
Author's Notes: As always, eternal love and thanks to my MRVB fishsanwitt for her gentle way of telling me when I’ve screwed something up. belmanoir wanted slashiness, cameos by secondary characters. I couldn’t get the porn working on this one, but this fic does have a very thoughtful and insightful Welsh. Generally spoilerish (and re-visioned) for eps They Eat Horses, Don't They?, Vault, Burning Down The House and Call of The Wild, Pt. 1.
I
Can we get back-up?
On a dog food case??
****
Stiff-jointed and cold to the bone, Ray stepped into the shower, cranked the hot water dial to the left as far as it would go, and waited for the near-scalding drops to thaw him out.
The past few days had been a first for him. Wild horses, meat lockers, being wrapped in frozen slabs of pony ribs for, of all things, warmth, and being used as a human shield by Canada's most annoying Mountie. No wonder his Ma had fits when he was out late at night. By the time all the shooting was done, statements were taken and the hospital declared him frostbite-free, the sun had half-crested over the horizon when Ray had finally made it home, brushed his Ma off with a kiss and some murmured words in Italian and sought out soap and warm water.
As the water coursed over his skin, warming him to the point his fingers and toes started to sting and tingle and the hives faded from his belly and legs, his irritation with Fraser also began to lift. It wasn't completely Fraser's fault, these crazy situations he seemed drag Ray into; after all, Ray apparently was unable to refuse Fraser's requests for help, no matter how insane - or dangerous - they were. Maybe his mother needed to worry about his decision-making, and not so much about Fraser.
Shutting down the water, Ray shoved back the shower curtain, grabbed his towel from the rack, and rubbed himself dry. Shrugging into a thick, cotton robe, he loosely tied the belt around his waist, brushed his teeth and then padded, barefoot, to his bedroom. His bed looked like heaven, piled with soft blankets, a weighty comforter and more feather pillows than anyone really needed if they were sleeping alone in a bed made for two. More tired than he could remember ever being, he ignored the pyjamas lying on the foot of the bed, dropped the robe to the floor and crawled under blankets, his bare, now-warm skin, radiating heat to the cool linens until they folded around him like a warm cocoon. This was how to keep warm. Dragging a pillow down under the covers, he clutched it close to his chest, tucking it tightly under his chin and trapping the end below with his knees. That damned meat suit had been horrific, but had ultimately been his choice during the ordeal in the freezer. It seemed to have worked well enough.
He relaxed, letting his muscles go slack and his mind wander down into sleep. As he drifted off, he wondered if the hugging thing Fraser thought of would have been better, warmer and easier than frozen horseflesh, more like this feeling, right now, and why...
With a deep sigh, sleep overtook him, before he could question his choice.
II
Well, except for that one time.
****
If almost drowning on dry land hadn't been enough of a bitch, hearing those six words fall from Fraser's lips was the rotten cherry on top of the crap sundae that'd been today. But between being declared dead, having another suit ruined and almost winding up Guest of Honour at his prematurely-booked funeral, hearing that he'd somehow let down someone he felt close to was the one event of the day that left him feeling most like shit, and as sure as he knew there was a Hell, he was going to find out how he'd failed his best friend.
After giving brief statements to a couple of the million or so cops that'd invaded the flooded bank and leaving Dief to babysit Francesca, Ray and Fraser took off in the Riv, heading for Fraser's apartment on Racine.
It had been shortly after their return from the North that Ray had started keeping a few changes of clothing at Fraser's place. Well, if he was to be precise, clothing and a toothbrush. And a razor that bore more resemblance to one of Frannie's disposable pink Daisy things than the weapon of death Fraser used on a daily basis.
After all, when you're sleeping with someone, it is a rule that you leave some of your stuff at their place, right?
The ride to Racine was a quiet one: Ray, keeping his eyes on the road, and Fraser, gazing thoughtfully out the passenger window, taking in the sights as they passed by. The destination and the journey, sitting side by side.
Ray pulled into the alley behind Fraser's building, turned the engine off, and eased back into his seat, listening to the tick and hum of the engine as it cooled down. Ray glanced over at Fraser, who was still looking out the passenger window, staring, for all Ray knew, at the cruddy, rusted dumpster stuck beneath a broken set of fire escape stairs.
“Benny,” he said softly, reaching out to tug on the damp sleeve of his jacket, “You ready to go inside? It's warmer up there than in the car.”
It took a moment, but Fraser turned towards Ray, his hand moving to cover the one still grasping at his sleeve. Ray felt a stab of anxiety in his gut. Fraser, who'd been an almost Machiavellian picture of reason and relative good cheer at the bank now looked like a man who'd had a few years stripped off his life. He was pale - paler than usual - and his lips had faded from a warm ruddy pink to a sickly shade of grey. The hand he'd lain over Ray's was clammy and shaking. Panic fluttered behind his blue eyes.
Ray worked hard to keep his voice calm. “Benny? What's wrong? You not feeling well? Does it hurt somewhere?”
With his free hand he cupped Fraser's cheek, stroking it with his thumb, willing some colour into its unsettling pallor.
Fraser spoke, his voice clear and steady. “Ray?”
“Benny?”
“I think we almost died today, Ray.”
Ray swallowed. “Yeah, that was a possibility, Benny. But as I recall, you had a plan, and we're sittin' here in my car, breathing air and hopefully going up to your apartment so we can get out of these wet clothes.”
Fraser's hand tightened over Ray's. “I seem to do it a lot. Almost get you killed.”
Ray nodded slowly. “And yourself, too. But it's all part of the cop thing, right? We both knew that when we got our badges. With you,” Ray gave a soft grin. “you just make those possible circumstances much more interesting.”
Fraser took a breath. Ray could feel the hand covering his stop its shaking. “I am sorry Ray. I need to... Iwill be more careful. Of both of us. Especially now that we've...”
Ray could feel heat bloom on Fraser's cheek. He slid his hand back, resting it over the short, soft hairs on the nape of Fraser's neck as he watched a faint, rosy flush wash the greyness away. “Back at you, Benny,” he murmured, before leaning in and pressing his lips to Fraser's. They kissed slowly, Ray setting the pace, easing Fraser back from his out-of-nowhere attack of mortality. For all of the hits he'd taken, all the knives to the leg and bullets punched through his skin, Fraser had never seemed to worry about whether or not he'd see the next sunrise. Until now, that was.
Especially now...
With great reluctance, he pulled back from Fraser, noting with satisfaction the glow in his cheeks and the just-kissed redness of his lips. “What do you say? Ready to get out of this alley?”
Fraser nodded. Gathering their things, they exited the Riv, Ray looking sadly upon his abused leather upholstery. Slamming the door shut, he turned towards Fraser and offered him his hand. Their fingers touched, lightly locking together as they headed for the street, the question pressing on Ray earlier now conveniently gone from his mind.
III
As a friend?
****
Ray accepted the empty box from Welsh with a tight smile. “Kinda stupid, coming to clean out your desk and forgetting to bring something to toss the crap into, right?”
Welsh gave a small shake of his head. “It happens. You have a lot on your mind, Detective.” He wandered over to Huey's desk, taking a seat on the least cluttered corner. Minutes ticked by in silence as he watched Ray pull open drawers, select a few personal items and tuck them into the box.
“Vecchio,” he started, then checked himself. “Ray, this isn't a done deal until you land in Nevada. No one would think less of you if you changed your mind. The Feds can find another way inside. Personally speaking,” he continued, pausing to clear his throat and pretending his voice really wasn't about to crack, “I would be extremely undisappointed if I walked into the squad tomorrow morning and found you behind this desk.”
Ray had the last drawer open and was staring past the clutter inside, letting Welsh's words sink in. Going undercover inside the Mob was as dangerous as it got, and when this Langoustini asshole died, the FBI was at his door before Armando's corpse had stopped sizzling from the fiery car wreck that'd done him in. The Feds would score a home run with Ray taking over Langoustini's life: inside information on one of the most powerful up-and-coming families in Vegas, learning whose fingers were in what pies, and a current roster of every enforcer and their death roll of victims. Ray's reward, aside from earning a little credit for helping take down one cog in the Mob machine, would be getting out alive.
He began rooting around in the drawer. “It's crossed my mind, sir. My mother is getting older, and she worries about her kids too much as it is. It will be hard, being away from her, if anything happens to the family, knowing I can't drop everything and come home.” His voice sounded thick, and he coughed. “But this is a good opportunity for me sir, maybe the highlight of my career. More importantly, it's work that needs doing. And the Feds are convinced I'm the right person for the job.” With a rueful smile, he finally looked towards Welsh. “I won it by a nose.”
Welsh rose from the corner of the desk, shaking his head. “Detective...”
“I've given it a lot of thought. I've talked it over with everyone I could trust, and who mattered. You, my family, Huey... it's something I should do. It's the right thing.”
The door had been opened, so Welsh walked right through. “You discussed it with everyone important?”
“Yes sir.”
“Everyone?”
Ray nodded. “Even my priest, who is sure this is just a ploy of mine to avoid getting up early for Sunday mass.”
Welsh walked right up to him, invading his space. He looked Ray directly in the eye. “Everyone?” he repeated.
Ray tried not to flinch. “He's away on vacation.”
“Still, I would think his opinion on this would be one worth considering.”
Ray kicked the desk chair back, looking for room. “There was really no time, sir, and the Bureau frowns on their operatives talking about top secret undercover plans over the phone. They covered that on Day One of my briefing.”
Joking under stress was something Vecchio would have to learn to do without, Welsh thought, stepping back and turning towards his office. “I think it's a wrong decision. Fraser is your partner, your friend, and I think he deserves a little better from you, deserves to at least hear about this from you.”
Ray started sorting the items on his desk. “I know he does,” he said softly to himself. He plucked a silver metal pen from the pencil cup. A red laquered maple leaf was fixed to the top of the clasp. “But he'd be the one to talk me out of it.”
He slipped the pen into his jacket pocket and picked up the phone receiver, dialling out a long string of numbers he'd learned by heart the day Fraser had flown off to the Territories.
IV
Ray!
****
As soon as he'd opened that hotel room door, he knew he and Armando were soon going to part ways - provided Fraser's greeting hadn't gotten them killed first
Which, of course, it hadn't, because if they'd all been shot and tossed in the Chicago River, he wouldn't be here, in his old squad room, watching some spastic cop with freaky blond hair sit behind Ray's old desk, with Fraser a solid presence behind this Kowalski guy, reading a report over his shoulder.
He considered at this moment that getting capped in the head and thrown into a polluted river might've hurt marginally less than how he was feeling right now. A meaty hand fell onto his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“That is the guy they replaced me with?” Ray shook his head slowly. “Someone must really not have cared about accuracy. Or thought that my life was more expendable than they led me to believe.”
Welsh steered Ray towards his office. “He's a good cop, Vecchio. Appearances aside, he kept your family safe and worked his ass off protecting your cover. Cut him some slack.” The door closed behind them with a soft click. He pointed out a chair to Ray, who shrugged it off in favour of pacing the Lieutenant's tiny office.
“Right now,” Ray said slowly, “Three dozen federal agents, leading a combined force of over 100 state troopers and SWAT team members are taking down four lynchpin figures: Langoustini's boss, one of his key enforcers, an accountant and some guy who owns a chain of funeral parlours. When they do, word from above will inform everyone who needs to know that Armando Langoustini was killed during a deal gone sour in Chicago. Pictures of his body and the bodies of men known to have been in his company will surface, and by midnight tonight, I will be out.” He stopped pacing and threw a glance out of Welsh's office window. “But when 12:01 ticks around, I have no idea where I'll belong.”
“You're home, Detective,” Welsh said plainly, “and home is the one place where they always have to take you in.”
Ray shook his head. “You already have a Vecchio, though I suppose now you can call him Kowalski. And he already has a pretty capable partner, even if he is a big, red-wearing Canadian freak.”
“Have you talked to him yet?”
Ray found himself still looking out the window, now staring at his old desk. “Of course I have.”
“Vecchio, have you talked to him talked to him?”
A lump of ice formed in Ray's gut. “Hasn’t really been time. He seems happy enough. Adjusted well to another partner; made a friend.”
“I thought he was your best friend.”
Ray ducked his head down to his chest. “He was more than that.” He shot a quick look to Welsh, hoping he didn't read the obvious into his slip-up. Hard, wolfish eyes looked back at him. Stammering, he sputtered “I... I didn't mean it like that... or quite like that. What I meant was, that Fraser... when you're talking about Fraser he's... well, he's saved my life a few times and...”
“Cut the crap, Vecchio,” Welsh barked. “Did you really think no one ever noticed?”
Ray felt a bit adrift. “Well,” he said, running a hand self-consciously over the stubble on his head, “Frannie never stopped talking to me or threw any kind of fit...”
“Oh, for Christ's sake... Vecchio, sit down.” Ray complied. “I don't know how you can be such a great officer of the law and be so stupid at the same time. But listen up, 'cause I'm only going to say this once: I don't like to meddle in the personal lives of my detectives. I'm not Dear Abby and I don't give dating advice. But I knew leaving me to explain things to Big Red was the wrong call. I was the one who had to see the look on his face when he understood you were gone, tell him he had to call a stranger by your name and pretend the guy was his best friend in the whole world. All that angst - I was told that was the word for it - made a highly stressful situation even more stressful, which in turn put your life at risk.
“Now, Kowalski, I like him. He's solid, a bit of a lunatic, but does good work. Ideally, I'd want to keep him around. But he has to be done with your life, because you're here, and you need it back. That's going to hurt him like anything, because I know there are things in your life he's become attached to. He's going to have to learn to be Kowalski again without saying adios to the connections he's made. He may piss you off, you might think you hate his guts, but you two have a lot in common, the Mountie being one of them. Now, get up and open the door.”
Numbly, Ray rose from the chair and pulled open the door.
“KOWALSKI!” Welsh bellowed. The blond head bent over Vecchio's old desk shot up.
“Lieu?”
“Get a sharp pencil and bring every file open on your desk in here. Go over it all and tell me where we're at.”
“Got it!”
Welsh then looked to Fraser. “Constable, once the rest of Muldoon's records arrive from the Consulate, we're going to set up in Interview 2 and see where we stand. Would you mind stocking it with some note pads and pens? Maybe some of those small sticky notes, too, and some water?”
“Gladly, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you. I believe you know where the supply closet is?”
“Indeed, sir.”
To Vecchio, he growled, “Get out of my office.”
Vecchio nodded. “Thank you sir. I... thank you.”
“Don't thank me. I just want to keep the peace around here.”
Ray narrowly avoided bumping into Kowalski as they passed each other in the squad room. Sitting down with him was something that needed doing, but would have to wait until they had this case nailed shut.
It felt like a long road to the supply closet, and in a way, it was. Several times people stopped him to welcome him back, shaking his hand until his arm tingled or slapping him on the back like he was a long lost relative. He smiled his way through most of it, before ducking down a side hallway and approaching the closet from behind. The door was ajar, weak yellow light forming a light slash over part of the tired, green linoleum. With one quick movement, slid inside and shut the door with a quiet click.
Fraser whirled around, his arms filled with spiralled legal pads and half a dozen blocks of small, multi-coloured Post-Its.
For a long moment, they simply stood there, looking at each other. Ray's heart nearly stopped as he met Fraser's blue, blue eyes. In the dimly lit space, he could make out a few new scars on Fraser's face, and on his hands. Tiny imperfections that would go unnoticed by anyone who hadn't spent hours memorizing every inch of Fraser's skin, or kissed his lips in the dark or knew what those hands had felt like on their body. He wanted to feel those things again, taste those perfect lips with his mouth, be held close by those strong, loving arms. He wanted it back. He needed it back. Thoughts of Fraser had helped to keep him alive in the desert. He'd lived for the moment when he could bury Langoustini deep within the sands of Nevada, turn towards Chicago and run back home. And though the moment hadn't arrived like he'd thought, it was here, right now.
“Hey Benny,” he said. “Need a hand?”
Fraser nodded, a bit of a smile ghosting over his face. “It seems I do, Ray. When you came in, I had only just realized that I'd failed to take accurate count of how many of each item I would need before I'd started pulling items from the shelves. Now, I have enough notepads for everyone and those small notepapers Lieutenant Welsh seems fond of, but my arms are already quite full and I haven't been able to locate the fine point pens. Inspector Thatcher won't use any pen if it doesn't have a fine point, so while you're here could you possibly find -”
Ray couldn't hold back his sigh. “Benny, take a breath. Stop talking Mountie to me and please, sit down.” He took the load of supplies from Fraser's arms and set them in a messy heap on the floor. Taking a seat on a box of printer paper, Fraser eyed the pile and looked over to Ray, who was himself now seated on a crate filled with toner. “Ray, I still need to find glasses and two water pitchers.”
“Forget about those for now. We need to talk. Or maybe I need to talk and you can tell me to go to Hell...”
Fraser leaned in a little closer to Ray. “Ray, I can't imagine ever telling you such a thing.”
“Funny thing. I can.” He looked over at Fraser, sitting there with his head cocked to the side, watching Ray intently, like he did when he was trying to figure out the punchline to a joke.
“I'm... I'm sorry, Benny. I've been waiting over a year and a half to tell you that.” Tentatively he reached out, running his fingers lightly over the Fraser's hand. “I'm sorry I left like that.”
“I understood, Ray. It was confusing at first. Alarming, actually. But when I was told what had transpired, I understood the reason.”
“Benny,” Ray said carefully, “I knew, that last day I called you. I knew, and I didn't... I couldn't say the words.”
He went to move his hand from Fraser's, but Fraser was quick, turning his hand palm upwards and closing his fingers around Ray's wrist.
“You did your duty, Ray. You did what was needed of you, and you did it well.” He gave Ray a warm smile. “I'm proud of you Ray.”
Ray's eyes welled with tears. “You mean... you mean you never hated me? For leaving? For leaving you, like that?”
Fraser slid down to the floor, kneeling in front of Ray. “Ray! I could never feel that way. Why did you think I would hate you?”
Ray swiped a falling tear with his free hand. “Because I hated myself, for not being able to tell you and remind you that...” He took a shaky breath. “That I loved you and would miss you. Hearing your voice, on that last day? Was almost enough for me to call the Feds and tell them the cover was off.”
Again, Fraser smiled. “Almost?” Ray nodded. “What made you still go?”
Solemnly, he answered, “Because it was the right thing to do.”
Fraser wiped the remaining tears from Ray's cheeks. “Thank you,” he said softly, gathering Ray closer, wrapping him in a hug. “Welcome home,” he murmured. The cashmere sweater Ray wore wasn't thick enough to muffle the hitch in Fraser's voice when he added, “I've missed you so much...”
Ray felt like he would start crying again. He buried his face into the crook of Fraser's neck, breathing in Fraser's scent, one of fresh air, clean skin with only a hint of musk, and old, well-polished leather. He gripped Fraser's shoulders tightly. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
Fraser pressed a kiss to Ray's cheek. “There was nothing to forgive.” Easing Ray back, he kissed his other cheek, slowly working his way towards Ray's lips. Ray managed to slip out an “I love you” before Fraser's mouth covered his. Their kisses were soft, slow and gentle as they found one another again, remembering how Fraser could drive Ray crazy with the slightest flick of his tongue over Ray's parted lips, or how Ray could start Fraser moaning with a few nips on his ear.
Breaking apart, panting, they huddled together in the semi-dark, catching their breaths. Resting his head against Ray's thigh, Fraser spoke. “I am so grateful you've come back, safe, and that Lagoustini will finally be put to rest once and for all.” Tilting his face up, he sought out Ray's eyes in the shadows. “And, I love you too, Ray.”
Happiness welled in Ray's chest. “After all these months apart...”
“Nineteen months, eleven days, seven hours and 43 minutes,” Fraser supplied, a touch of glee in his voice.
“And a new Vecchio for you...”
“Ray is a fine police officer. He did well by you and your family. And me, for that matter.”
“All that, Benny, and you still love me?”
Fraser pressed a kiss to Ray's hand. “That is a question you should never feel needs asking.”
Maybe so, Ray thought, as he moved to join Fraser on the tiny closet floor.
But he was glad he did.
FIN