Ficlet: You Never Get a Second Chance (due South)
Title: You Never Get a Second Chance
Characters: Kowalski, Welsh (gen)
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Moment of truth.
Spoilers: Through "Burning Down the House," I guess?
Disclaimer: I am but mad north-northwest, and as the wind is southerly, I know characters that are mine from characters that are not mine. These are the latter.
A/N: Just messing around a little, trying to wrestle Kowalski into submission. Which, sadly, is less fun than it may sound. Thanks to sdwolfpup and joandarck for very helpful suggestions (and, in SDW's case, for the prompt); all remaining mistakes are mine. Oh, and there's a certain canon question here that's under some debate, but I'm going with "if it wasn't mentioned on the show, then it ain't canon." ;)
You Never Get a Second Chance
"Thanks for coming, Detective," the Lieutenant told Ray, while Ray gave him his best reliable-yet-loose-cannon crime-fighting machine handshake. He'd been working on that one for a while. "Can we get you any coffee or anything?"
Ray rolled his shoulders, pulled out the beat-up chair in front of him. "Yeah, no, I'm good, I'm good, thanks." He'd spent the past few hours sucking down coffee and pacing his apartment; he was already buzzing like a tattoo needle, the last thing he needed was more juice.
Across the desk, the Lieutenant was sinking into his own well-loved chair, and Ray watched him, sized him up. Lieutenant Harding Welsh. His new boss, if he was going to do this thing. Big guy, looked like he'd been on the wrong end of a few too many pastrami sandwiches, but that was cool, Ray could respect that, the privileges of rank and whatnot. Hey, he kinda hoped he'd get to a pastrami sandwich place, himself, someday. And for a big guy, Welsh didn't look soft, either, his gun easy on his hip like it belonged there and something behind his eyes that said "Fuck with my people and you'll be sorry."
Yeah, Ray thought he could work for a guy like that.
Welsh gestured to the thick folder on the Ray side of his desk. "You can review the full file later, but there's a cheat sheet on the top if you want to take a look."
Ray nodded, reached out and flipped the folder open to the first page. Name, rank, and serial number, blah blah blah, and then the good stuff. Mother: Lia Vecchio. Father: Enzio (deceased 1989). Sisters: Francesca ("Frannie") and Maria (married to Tony). Brother: Alessandro. Nieces and nephews: Andrina, Antonia, Ariana…
His eyes started to cross, looking down the list; Vecchio's family did nothing but pop out kids, apparently. On the plus side, half their names seemed to start with "A," so he guessed if he got confused, he could just throw out, like, "Angelo" and "Arturo" and "Artichoke" till he got lucky. He glanced up at Welsh. "Wow."
"Yeah." Welsh leaned forward, beefy arms resting on his desk. "You ever done deep cover before, Detective?"
"Uh, no, sir." He tried a smile. "Surprised my wife for her birthday once, but that was mainly 'cause she'd been grounded for three weeks and couldn't take my phone calls." The Lieu made a restrained but definite "what the hell?" face, and Ray explained quickly, "We were fourteen." Which downgraded the "what the hell?" face to more of an "O...K" face, and that wasn't exactly a bullseye, but Ray figured that shutting up was the better part of whatever, so he just cleared his throat and bent toward the paper, reading closer now. Family took up damn near two-thirds of the page, so it was a while before he got to…
"A Mountie?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. Was this some kind of hazing thing, fuck with the new guy? "I work with a Mountie?"
Welsh looked sort of like he only wished he was hazing. "His involvement tends to be unofficial, yet omnipresent."
Ray hesitated, wanting to ask but wondering if maybe Vecchio was the kind of guy who'd know what the hell "omnipresent" meant.
"He hangs around a lot," Welsh clarified.
Ray nodded again, letting that settle. A Mountie. His partner was a Mountie. OK, it was a little weird, but he could get used to it, he could roll. He took a deep breath.
"There's also a wolf," Welsh went on, and OK, all right, that was just it.
"A wolf?!" Ray exploded. "Come on! What, did Vecchio lose a bet or something?"
Welsh just raised an eyebrow at him, and there it was, the don't-fuck-with-my-people thing. Shit.
"Sorry, sir," Ray muttered. He shook his head. "It's just, uh. It's a lot to get used to, you know?" He realized his left leg was jittering restlessly, and he tried to chill out a little, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. But by the time he'd done that, his right hand was going, fingers drumming against his other arm, and dammit, this was seriously damaging his cool and he really wished his body would consult him before it just started doing stuff. The thing was, it was all kind of starting to hit him now that this was for real, that if he took this Vecchio thing, that was game over, shazam, no more Ray Kowalski, just this folder and a hundred names he was probably gonna forget and a wolf, what the hell was that? What kind of a guy walked into that?
Christ on a bike, he wanted coffee.
"You sure you're ready for this, Kowalski?" Welsh asked, watching him carefully, and not like he was being an asshole about it, but like he meant it, like he was actually concerned. "It's a tough gig; no one's gonna blame you if you wanna back out."
Ray took another deep breath and looked down at the desk, thought of what his folder would say if some poor jerk was taking over his life. Mother and father: disappointed in Arizona. Siblings: nope. Stella: still likes him enough to let him in at night but not enough to ask him to stick around in the morning. Kids: see previous entry. No known associates.
He laughed a little. Jesus. Put it that way, wasn't much of a contest, was it?
He reached out, closed his fingers around the folder. "Yeah," he said firmly. "Yeah, I'm ready."
END
Characters: Kowalski, Welsh (gen)
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Moment of truth.
Spoilers: Through "Burning Down the House," I guess?
Disclaimer: I am but mad north-northwest, and as the wind is southerly, I know characters that are mine from characters that are not mine. These are the latter.
A/N: Just messing around a little, trying to wrestle Kowalski into submission. Which, sadly, is less fun than it may sound. Thanks to sdwolfpup and joandarck for very helpful suggestions (and, in SDW's case, for the prompt); all remaining mistakes are mine. Oh, and there's a certain canon question here that's under some debate, but I'm going with "if it wasn't mentioned on the show, then it ain't canon." ;)
You Never Get a Second Chance
"Thanks for coming, Detective," the Lieutenant told Ray, while Ray gave him his best reliable-yet-loose-cannon crime-fighting machine handshake. He'd been working on that one for a while. "Can we get you any coffee or anything?"
Ray rolled his shoulders, pulled out the beat-up chair in front of him. "Yeah, no, I'm good, I'm good, thanks." He'd spent the past few hours sucking down coffee and pacing his apartment; he was already buzzing like a tattoo needle, the last thing he needed was more juice.
Across the desk, the Lieutenant was sinking into his own well-loved chair, and Ray watched him, sized him up. Lieutenant Harding Welsh. His new boss, if he was going to do this thing. Big guy, looked like he'd been on the wrong end of a few too many pastrami sandwiches, but that was cool, Ray could respect that, the privileges of rank and whatnot. Hey, he kinda hoped he'd get to a pastrami sandwich place, himself, someday. And for a big guy, Welsh didn't look soft, either, his gun easy on his hip like it belonged there and something behind his eyes that said "Fuck with my people and you'll be sorry."
Yeah, Ray thought he could work for a guy like that.
Welsh gestured to the thick folder on the Ray side of his desk. "You can review the full file later, but there's a cheat sheet on the top if you want to take a look."
Ray nodded, reached out and flipped the folder open to the first page. Name, rank, and serial number, blah blah blah, and then the good stuff. Mother: Lia Vecchio. Father: Enzio (deceased 1989). Sisters: Francesca ("Frannie") and Maria (married to Tony). Brother: Alessandro. Nieces and nephews: Andrina, Antonia, Ariana…
His eyes started to cross, looking down the list; Vecchio's family did nothing but pop out kids, apparently. On the plus side, half their names seemed to start with "A," so he guessed if he got confused, he could just throw out, like, "Angelo" and "Arturo" and "Artichoke" till he got lucky. He glanced up at Welsh. "Wow."
"Yeah." Welsh leaned forward, beefy arms resting on his desk. "You ever done deep cover before, Detective?"
"Uh, no, sir." He tried a smile. "Surprised my wife for her birthday once, but that was mainly 'cause she'd been grounded for three weeks and couldn't take my phone calls." The Lieu made a restrained but definite "what the hell?" face, and Ray explained quickly, "We were fourteen." Which downgraded the "what the hell?" face to more of an "O...K" face, and that wasn't exactly a bullseye, but Ray figured that shutting up was the better part of whatever, so he just cleared his throat and bent toward the paper, reading closer now. Family took up damn near two-thirds of the page, so it was a while before he got to…
"A Mountie?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. Was this some kind of hazing thing, fuck with the new guy? "I work with a Mountie?"
Welsh looked sort of like he only wished he was hazing. "His involvement tends to be unofficial, yet omnipresent."
Ray hesitated, wanting to ask but wondering if maybe Vecchio was the kind of guy who'd know what the hell "omnipresent" meant.
"He hangs around a lot," Welsh clarified.
Ray nodded again, letting that settle. A Mountie. His partner was a Mountie. OK, it was a little weird, but he could get used to it, he could roll. He took a deep breath.
"There's also a wolf," Welsh went on, and OK, all right, that was just it.
"A wolf?!" Ray exploded. "Come on! What, did Vecchio lose a bet or something?"
Welsh just raised an eyebrow at him, and there it was, the don't-fuck-with-my-people thing. Shit.
"Sorry, sir," Ray muttered. He shook his head. "It's just, uh. It's a lot to get used to, you know?" He realized his left leg was jittering restlessly, and he tried to chill out a little, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. But by the time he'd done that, his right hand was going, fingers drumming against his other arm, and dammit, this was seriously damaging his cool and he really wished his body would consult him before it just started doing stuff. The thing was, it was all kind of starting to hit him now that this was for real, that if he took this Vecchio thing, that was game over, shazam, no more Ray Kowalski, just this folder and a hundred names he was probably gonna forget and a wolf, what the hell was that? What kind of a guy walked into that?
Christ on a bike, he wanted coffee.
"You sure you're ready for this, Kowalski?" Welsh asked, watching him carefully, and not like he was being an asshole about it, but like he meant it, like he was actually concerned. "It's a tough gig; no one's gonna blame you if you wanna back out."
Ray took another deep breath and looked down at the desk, thought of what his folder would say if some poor jerk was taking over his life. Mother and father: disappointed in Arizona. Siblings: nope. Stella: still likes him enough to let him in at night but not enough to ask him to stick around in the morning. Kids: see previous entry. No known associates.
He laughed a little. Jesus. Put it that way, wasn't much of a contest, was it?
He reached out, closed his fingers around the folder. "Yeah," he said firmly. "Yeah, I'm ready."
END