In riddles and in rhymes. [Due South, 1character, Ray Vecchio.
This is a fic done for the (perhaps defunct) community 1character. I picked Ray Vecchio from "Due South", as he's near the top of my list of favourite fictional characters of all time. It's one of those "fifty sentences each one based on a prompt" challenge thingies.
Yes, I started this four years ago. Four Years, y'all.
At least I finally finished it. Ha.
Includes gen, het, and what may or may not be slash. Seriously. I wrote it and I don't even know. I've been struggling with that definition for quite some time...I mean, if two men live happily ever after together, is that slash? Do I know if they're having sex? Do I care? Um. I digress. (Maybe that's why this took four years.)
Title: In Riddles and in Rhymes.
Fandom: Due South.
Character: Ray Vecchio.
Pairings: Ray/Angela, Ray/Stella, Ray/Irene, and possibly Ray/Fraser.
Theme set: Delta.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, y'all. And that's probably for the best. I'm making no profit except for the happiness I receive on the off chance that anyone will actually read this. :D
in riddles and in rhymes
(one. Blend.)
The curious thing, Ray muses, is that Benny’s somehow managed to blend smoothly into his life the way no one else has ever been able to; he can’t imagine life now without him, because Benny’s probably the best thing he’s got, and if he didn’t know better he’d almost think - and then he stops, afraid of following to the logical conclusion.
(two. Stain.)
He doesn’t look at either of his parents (his father’s angry eyes his mother’s shrieking sobs), he just keeps his eyes fixed on the table, watching the red wine from the overturned glass seeping darkly into his mother’s best tablecloth.
(three. Island.)
Winter in Chicago, and Ray shivers and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat and thinks (for the thousandth time) that soon he’ll grow up and get out of here; the first thing he’s going to do is head for pal, beach or south beach or any beach, key west maybe, and he’ll wear si;k shirts and sleep in the sun and winter in Chicago will be nothing more than a dream, a memory.
(four. Apple.)
For the moment, Ray is safe (hidden away behind Irene Zuko’s bedcurtains); Irene’s shampoo makes everything smell of apples and all Ray can think is that this must be like the Garden of Eden, and as long as he can resist temptation he can stay: safe and content.
(five. Paper.)
He carries the newspaper clipping around in his wallet and every once in a while he’ll unfold it and read it even though he has the obituary long since memorized.
(six. Relax.)
He always imagined that life would be easy in Florida, but the truth of the matter is that old habits die hard and he can’t ever really relax; he finds himself reading the police blotter, thinking if Benny were here we could…
(seven. Leaves.)
Because he’s never been any good at goodbyes, he stays out of the way; standing at their bedroom window, watching as Angela carries the last of the boxes out to her car and leaves.
(eight. Proof.)
A secret selfish part of him wishes he’d never found the proof, figured things out, because now he’s on his way to Canada on some sort of fools’ errand and (though he can’t explain why) he can’t shake the feeling that somehow his entire life is about to change.
(nine. Ugly.)
Ray knows full well that jealousy is an ugly thing but he can’t help it; the realisation that he’s never hated anyone (not his father not Zuko not anyone) as much as he hates Victoria.
(ten. Book.)
“I suppose this means striking my name from another family bible,” Ray jokes; Stella’s eyes are dark and cold and hard as she wordlessly hands back the envelope of divorce papers.
(eleven. Brood. )
“Raymundo,” his mother says, “why all this moping around,” and Ray smiles weakly, thinking about the two women he loved and all the rest of the women in the world (and Benny).
(twelve. Mesh.)
Caught up in the swirl of shouts and sounds and pain: he focuses his gaze on the mesh of the window-screen, stares through the sky, and tries not to think about anything at all - except, perhaps, that he should work on his timing.
(thirteen. Soft.)
He suppose s he must be getting soft after all, because there was a time when he was stingy with his favors and only thought of himself, but now it only takes two words (please Ray) from one man (Benton Fraser) and he crumbles every time.
(fourteen. Shelf.)
It’s not just that his wife is gone, but that in the wake of her leaving the whole house is empty: empty bookshelves empty refrigerator empty pillow on the empty side of the bed next to where Ray can’t quite fall asleep.
(fifteen. Alone.)
Sometimes in Chicago he used to selfishly wish for a moment’s peace, just a tiny bit of impossible solitude from his mother, his sisters, the lieutenant and the duck boys and even Benny; he finds this solitude in Las Vegas and doesn’t care for it after all.
(sixteen. Fall.)
He’d always thought that falling in love was just like it sounded, a sudden instantaneous occurrence, and maybe that’s why it’s taken him so long to figure out that it’s happened after all.
(seventeen. Knot.)
He’s running late for school and realizes that he can’t finish getting ready because his brother always helped with his tie; Ray tries to do it himself, but the knot turns out all misshapen, lumpy.
(eighteen. Crowd.)
There are hundreds of people in the Chicago Airport, but that doesn’t seem to matter because Ray would find him anywhere; through the crowd he spots an edge of hat and flash of red uniform and then Benny’s smile and it’s just like waking up from a nightmare, like coming home.
(nineteen. Denial.)
“Ir’s okay,” he says, “honest, Ange, don’t worry, the truth is I was always scared of having kids anyway, scared they’d turn out like me,” (but what he really means is scared I would turn out like him).
(twenty. Train.)
The train speeds away and the witch safe inside it; she had a gun he tells himself desperately she’d have killed him if I hadn’t and the gun trembles in his hands.
(twenty one. Fur.)
“I know you’re happy to see me, but do you have to get fur all over my new suit,” he asks the wolf rhetorically and somewhere in the background Benny’s laughing at them both.
(twenty two. Chrome.)
He grabs her hand and pulls her out on the porch, saying “Look at it in this light, isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen,”; the Riviera gleams in the morning sun and Angela just shakes her head.
(twenty three. Heart.)
“The heart has its reasons, Ray, which reason doesn’t understand,” says Benny; he’s so calm, a sharp contrast to Ray: disheveled, nervous, uncertain.
(twenty four. Intention.)
They’re sitting together in the quiet, and then he says “This isn’t how it was supposed to be, it’s not what I’d intended,” and it isn’t - who wants to be twice divorced, who wants to end up alone, who wants any of it?
(twenty five. Push.)
He thinks maybe he’ll be a cop when he grows up, because people don’t mess with cops; no one ever would dare push him around if he had a gun and a badge, Ray thinks, and he smiles to himself.
(twenty six. Look.)
A moment ago he was dying but now he seems to be safe; the curious thing is that Benny hasn’t let go of him since they were both underwater - is still holding on, in fact, and there’s something about the way that Benny looks at him (as though he were something precious and cherished and beloved) that leaves Ray fluttery, lightheaded.
(twenty seven. Weight.)
Ray’s fairly certain that he’s going to die here in this Canadian forest, but at least he’s not going to die alone and therefore it could be worse; he smiles to himself and shoulders Benny’s weight and adds his voice to the song.
(twenty eight. Spider.)
There’s nothing else to do but wait, cooped up in a hotel room like a spider in the safe part at the centre of its web, and Ray watches, waits, aches.
(twenty nine. Robe.)
Leaving the house, he realizes, was a stupid mistake, because now he’s bleeding and tired and has no-where else to go - and then he has an idea, he climbs the trellis and there’s Irene in her flannel robe opening the window to let him in.
(thirty. Umbrella.)
He’s standing there in the cemetery, arguing with a ghost; the rain and the tears mingle on his cheeks and then - without being asked - there’s Benny, waiting with an umbrella.
(thirty one. Surface.)
Ever since he was a kid he’s had this nightmare about drowning and it still hasn’t gone away - but now, inevitably, Benny is always there to catch him in the endless waters, pull him to the surface.
(thirty two. Idea.)
Once he gets the idea, he can’t put it out of his head, and it haunts him relentlessly until he finally finds himself saying “Benny, I need to tell you, I think I…”
(thirty three. Diamond.)
A family Christmas, and all eyes are on the shining new diamond Tony’s given Maria; “It’ll be you next, bringing home your bride,” brags their mother, with an arm around Ray’s shoulders and he knows it wouldn’t do to disappoint the family.
(thirty four. Blind.)
Love must be blind thinks Ray, watching Angela sleeping and wondering (for the hundredth time) why she said yes.
(thirty five. Flow.)
The days all flow together as Ray keeps his vigil at Benny’s bedside: he’s bargaining with God now asking for just two things - that Benny will survive, that they’ll be able to put Victoria behind them.
(thirty six. Movement.)
Held tightly in the circle of his best friend’s arms and having nothing better to do than watch the small movements of Benny snoring: this, Ray thinks, is contentment.
(thirty seven. More.)
And maybe he’ll grow up to be just like his father, which is exactly what he’s afraid of, but the thing of it is, that’s not what he wants: Ray Vecchio wants to make something of himself.
(thirty eight. Honey.)
He’s getting nowhere in the interrogation room and so he takes a break for a cup of coffee, paces around in endless circles and can almost hear the echo of his mother’s voice in his ears, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Ray.
(thirty nine. Weather.)
They say rain is good luck at funerals; Ray drapes one arm around his sister’s shoulders and turns his face up to the overcast sky, heedless of the raindrops.
(forty. Blue.)
Florida: the blue of the sea meets the blue of the sky and Ray doesn’t understand why he’s still miserable.
(forty one. Double.)
Sometimes he can’t help lying awake nights in Las Vegas and wondering what his double is doing in Chicago.
(forty two. Braid)
“No,” says Ray, “don’t wake up Ma, come here, I’ll do it,” and his little sister nods and hands over her hairbrush; Ray braids Frannie’s hair, ties it with the ribbon that matches their school uniform, answers “I don’t know” when Frannie asks when their dad is coming home.
(forty three. Thread)
He dreams of Benny telling another Inuit story about invisible threads that tie together the souls of people who love; he wakes up laughing, saying “Benny you’ll never believe the dream I had,” and Stella (as always) is not amused.
(forty four. Angles.)
Every time Ray speaks of Benny, Stella gets the same look on her face: her eyes darken, her lips press together in a discomforted oblique angle and she always flinches away.
(forty five. Daydream.)
After the first fight, his brother is waiting with bandages and advice: “You gotta go somewhere else in your head, kid, there’s a place in your mind where he can’t hurt you, where nobody can.”
(forty six. Nightmares.)
He’s had nightmares all his life but lately they’re different: of being lost, of being forgotten, of being rebuffed by the one who suddenly means more to him than anyone else on earth: lying in a hospital bed, near dead by his hand.
(forty seven. Honor.)
“Look,” he says, “You’re probably going to hate me for this, but I can’t lie about it anymore, it’s only that I need you at my side or else I’m incomplete, and it scares the hell out of me but I figured you had to know,” and he closes his eyes, awaiting the inevitable.
(forty eight. Palm.)
Ray looks out the window at the expanse of wilderness beyond their cabin and answers a vehement negative when Benny asks if he’s missing the palm trees.
(forty nine. Screen.)
Sometimes the lines between friendship and love get so blurred it’s hard to tell where one ends and one begins and the ambiguity is dizzying.
(fifty. Warmth.)
“It’s good to see you, Ray, like coming in out of the snow, like being home,” and he’s caught up in a rough embrace right there in the airport.
Yes, I started this four years ago. Four Years, y'all.
At least I finally finished it. Ha.
Includes gen, het, and what may or may not be slash. Seriously. I wrote it and I don't even know. I've been struggling with that definition for quite some time...I mean, if two men live happily ever after together, is that slash? Do I know if they're having sex? Do I care? Um. I digress. (Maybe that's why this took four years.)
Title: In Riddles and in Rhymes.
Fandom: Due South.
Character: Ray Vecchio.
Pairings: Ray/Angela, Ray/Stella, Ray/Irene, and possibly Ray/Fraser.
Theme set: Delta.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, y'all. And that's probably for the best. I'm making no profit except for the happiness I receive on the off chance that anyone will actually read this. :D
in riddles and in rhymes
(one. Blend.)
The curious thing, Ray muses, is that Benny’s somehow managed to blend smoothly into his life the way no one else has ever been able to; he can’t imagine life now without him, because Benny’s probably the best thing he’s got, and if he didn’t know better he’d almost think - and then he stops, afraid of following to the logical conclusion.
(two. Stain.)
He doesn’t look at either of his parents (his father’s angry eyes his mother’s shrieking sobs), he just keeps his eyes fixed on the table, watching the red wine from the overturned glass seeping darkly into his mother’s best tablecloth.
(three. Island.)
Winter in Chicago, and Ray shivers and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat and thinks (for the thousandth time) that soon he’ll grow up and get out of here; the first thing he’s going to do is head for pal, beach or south beach or any beach, key west maybe, and he’ll wear si;k shirts and sleep in the sun and winter in Chicago will be nothing more than a dream, a memory.
(four. Apple.)
For the moment, Ray is safe (hidden away behind Irene Zuko’s bedcurtains); Irene’s shampoo makes everything smell of apples and all Ray can think is that this must be like the Garden of Eden, and as long as he can resist temptation he can stay: safe and content.
(five. Paper.)
He carries the newspaper clipping around in his wallet and every once in a while he’ll unfold it and read it even though he has the obituary long since memorized.
(six. Relax.)
He always imagined that life would be easy in Florida, but the truth of the matter is that old habits die hard and he can’t ever really relax; he finds himself reading the police blotter, thinking if Benny were here we could…
(seven. Leaves.)
Because he’s never been any good at goodbyes, he stays out of the way; standing at their bedroom window, watching as Angela carries the last of the boxes out to her car and leaves.
(eight. Proof.)
A secret selfish part of him wishes he’d never found the proof, figured things out, because now he’s on his way to Canada on some sort of fools’ errand and (though he can’t explain why) he can’t shake the feeling that somehow his entire life is about to change.
(nine. Ugly.)
Ray knows full well that jealousy is an ugly thing but he can’t help it; the realisation that he’s never hated anyone (not his father not Zuko not anyone) as much as he hates Victoria.
(ten. Book.)
“I suppose this means striking my name from another family bible,” Ray jokes; Stella’s eyes are dark and cold and hard as she wordlessly hands back the envelope of divorce papers.
(eleven. Brood. )
“Raymundo,” his mother says, “why all this moping around,” and Ray smiles weakly, thinking about the two women he loved and all the rest of the women in the world (and Benny).
(twelve. Mesh.)
Caught up in the swirl of shouts and sounds and pain: he focuses his gaze on the mesh of the window-screen, stares through the sky, and tries not to think about anything at all - except, perhaps, that he should work on his timing.
(thirteen. Soft.)
He suppose s he must be getting soft after all, because there was a time when he was stingy with his favors and only thought of himself, but now it only takes two words (please Ray) from one man (Benton Fraser) and he crumbles every time.
(fourteen. Shelf.)
It’s not just that his wife is gone, but that in the wake of her leaving the whole house is empty: empty bookshelves empty refrigerator empty pillow on the empty side of the bed next to where Ray can’t quite fall asleep.
(fifteen. Alone.)
Sometimes in Chicago he used to selfishly wish for a moment’s peace, just a tiny bit of impossible solitude from his mother, his sisters, the lieutenant and the duck boys and even Benny; he finds this solitude in Las Vegas and doesn’t care for it after all.
(sixteen. Fall.)
He’d always thought that falling in love was just like it sounded, a sudden instantaneous occurrence, and maybe that’s why it’s taken him so long to figure out that it’s happened after all.
(seventeen. Knot.)
He’s running late for school and realizes that he can’t finish getting ready because his brother always helped with his tie; Ray tries to do it himself, but the knot turns out all misshapen, lumpy.
(eighteen. Crowd.)
There are hundreds of people in the Chicago Airport, but that doesn’t seem to matter because Ray would find him anywhere; through the crowd he spots an edge of hat and flash of red uniform and then Benny’s smile and it’s just like waking up from a nightmare, like coming home.
(nineteen. Denial.)
“Ir’s okay,” he says, “honest, Ange, don’t worry, the truth is I was always scared of having kids anyway, scared they’d turn out like me,” (but what he really means is scared I would turn out like him).
(twenty. Train.)
The train speeds away and the witch safe inside it; she had a gun he tells himself desperately she’d have killed him if I hadn’t and the gun trembles in his hands.
(twenty one. Fur.)
“I know you’re happy to see me, but do you have to get fur all over my new suit,” he asks the wolf rhetorically and somewhere in the background Benny’s laughing at them both.
(twenty two. Chrome.)
He grabs her hand and pulls her out on the porch, saying “Look at it in this light, isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen,”; the Riviera gleams in the morning sun and Angela just shakes her head.
(twenty three. Heart.)
“The heart has its reasons, Ray, which reason doesn’t understand,” says Benny; he’s so calm, a sharp contrast to Ray: disheveled, nervous, uncertain.
(twenty four. Intention.)
They’re sitting together in the quiet, and then he says “This isn’t how it was supposed to be, it’s not what I’d intended,” and it isn’t - who wants to be twice divorced, who wants to end up alone, who wants any of it?
(twenty five. Push.)
He thinks maybe he’ll be a cop when he grows up, because people don’t mess with cops; no one ever would dare push him around if he had a gun and a badge, Ray thinks, and he smiles to himself.
(twenty six. Look.)
A moment ago he was dying but now he seems to be safe; the curious thing is that Benny hasn’t let go of him since they were both underwater - is still holding on, in fact, and there’s something about the way that Benny looks at him (as though he were something precious and cherished and beloved) that leaves Ray fluttery, lightheaded.
(twenty seven. Weight.)
Ray’s fairly certain that he’s going to die here in this Canadian forest, but at least he’s not going to die alone and therefore it could be worse; he smiles to himself and shoulders Benny’s weight and adds his voice to the song.
(twenty eight. Spider.)
There’s nothing else to do but wait, cooped up in a hotel room like a spider in the safe part at the centre of its web, and Ray watches, waits, aches.
(twenty nine. Robe.)
Leaving the house, he realizes, was a stupid mistake, because now he’s bleeding and tired and has no-where else to go - and then he has an idea, he climbs the trellis and there’s Irene in her flannel robe opening the window to let him in.
(thirty. Umbrella.)
He’s standing there in the cemetery, arguing with a ghost; the rain and the tears mingle on his cheeks and then - without being asked - there’s Benny, waiting with an umbrella.
(thirty one. Surface.)
Ever since he was a kid he’s had this nightmare about drowning and it still hasn’t gone away - but now, inevitably, Benny is always there to catch him in the endless waters, pull him to the surface.
(thirty two. Idea.)
Once he gets the idea, he can’t put it out of his head, and it haunts him relentlessly until he finally finds himself saying “Benny, I need to tell you, I think I…”
(thirty three. Diamond.)
A family Christmas, and all eyes are on the shining new diamond Tony’s given Maria; “It’ll be you next, bringing home your bride,” brags their mother, with an arm around Ray’s shoulders and he knows it wouldn’t do to disappoint the family.
(thirty four. Blind.)
Love must be blind thinks Ray, watching Angela sleeping and wondering (for the hundredth time) why she said yes.
(thirty five. Flow.)
The days all flow together as Ray keeps his vigil at Benny’s bedside: he’s bargaining with God now asking for just two things - that Benny will survive, that they’ll be able to put Victoria behind them.
(thirty six. Movement.)
Held tightly in the circle of his best friend’s arms and having nothing better to do than watch the small movements of Benny snoring: this, Ray thinks, is contentment.
(thirty seven. More.)
And maybe he’ll grow up to be just like his father, which is exactly what he’s afraid of, but the thing of it is, that’s not what he wants: Ray Vecchio wants to make something of himself.
(thirty eight. Honey.)
He’s getting nowhere in the interrogation room and so he takes a break for a cup of coffee, paces around in endless circles and can almost hear the echo of his mother’s voice in his ears, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Ray.
(thirty nine. Weather.)
They say rain is good luck at funerals; Ray drapes one arm around his sister’s shoulders and turns his face up to the overcast sky, heedless of the raindrops.
(forty. Blue.)
Florida: the blue of the sea meets the blue of the sky and Ray doesn’t understand why he’s still miserable.
(forty one. Double.)
Sometimes he can’t help lying awake nights in Las Vegas and wondering what his double is doing in Chicago.
(forty two. Braid)
“No,” says Ray, “don’t wake up Ma, come here, I’ll do it,” and his little sister nods and hands over her hairbrush; Ray braids Frannie’s hair, ties it with the ribbon that matches their school uniform, answers “I don’t know” when Frannie asks when their dad is coming home.
(forty three. Thread)
He dreams of Benny telling another Inuit story about invisible threads that tie together the souls of people who love; he wakes up laughing, saying “Benny you’ll never believe the dream I had,” and Stella (as always) is not amused.
(forty four. Angles.)
Every time Ray speaks of Benny, Stella gets the same look on her face: her eyes darken, her lips press together in a discomforted oblique angle and she always flinches away.
(forty five. Daydream.)
After the first fight, his brother is waiting with bandages and advice: “You gotta go somewhere else in your head, kid, there’s a place in your mind where he can’t hurt you, where nobody can.”
(forty six. Nightmares.)
He’s had nightmares all his life but lately they’re different: of being lost, of being forgotten, of being rebuffed by the one who suddenly means more to him than anyone else on earth: lying in a hospital bed, near dead by his hand.
(forty seven. Honor.)
“Look,” he says, “You’re probably going to hate me for this, but I can’t lie about it anymore, it’s only that I need you at my side or else I’m incomplete, and it scares the hell out of me but I figured you had to know,” and he closes his eyes, awaiting the inevitable.
(forty eight. Palm.)
Ray looks out the window at the expanse of wilderness beyond their cabin and answers a vehement negative when Benny asks if he’s missing the palm trees.
(forty nine. Screen.)
Sometimes the lines between friendship and love get so blurred it’s hard to tell where one ends and one begins and the ambiguity is dizzying.
(fifty. Warmth.)
“It’s good to see you, Ray, like coming in out of the snow, like being home,” and he’s caught up in a rough embrace right there in the airport.