Fic: Three States Part IV (Cowritten with slwatson, Due South, Turnbull/Vecchio, PG13)
Three States
Fandom: Due South
Characters: Turnbull/Vecchio (pre-slash)
Rating: PG-13
Complete in 23322 Words Total (All parts)
Summary: Ray takes a hit to the vest. The result? Three states, three days, and two men in the best sort of trouble.
Notes: Post-COTW stand-alone story; takes place in this fic-verse. Co-written with slwatson. Please allow me to assure you that all the good bits are hers.
Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V
"You sleep at all?" Ray asked, as he made sure he had everything in his pockets. It was well after sunrise, and the day outside looked as beautiful as the day before had. And Ray was still being painfully perceptive.
"Yes, Ray." It wasn't a lie; Turnbull had managed to doze here or there, though uncomfortably. Even though the bed had been reasonably comfortable, if a little too soft. His own mind was considerably less so, and had hounded him to the edge of exhaustion before he did manage about two hours of unbroken sleep. Then, awake again, he had slipped out of the room for a quick walk to settle his nerves, and had ended up politely badgering his way into a tour of the kitchen -- not a usual habit, but he did want to make certain it was up to standard for any complimentary breakfasts, or so he told himself -- before coming back. Ray slept for another fifteen minutes or so, and the day became vastly more complicated when he woke up.
"Uh huh." It was Ray's doubtful tone, and he looked back up again. He looked tired as well, though some better rested. "Not buyin' it."
The urge to squirm away from that gaze was rather overpowering. So, in lieu of doing so, Turnbull clasped his hands behind his back. "I did sleep, Ray."
"Not well. Gimme my keys."
He must have blinked for a moment too long before Ray held out his hand, palm up, beckoning with his fingers.
"C'mon, Ren. Keys. I stuck you in a hotel room that didn't work out for you, so the least I can do is drive."
Where Ray was getting the idea that he was stuck here-- ah. He supposed maybe he was projecting some measure of wanting to escape in some visible manner. An internal wince later, Turnbull managed some authority and said, "I don't believe driving will be anything but a hindrance to your recovery. Taking the most direct route, we're a mere hour from Chicago, and I assure you, I have worked far harder under far less sleep in my life."
Ray's eyebrows went up slowly. It was an expression with some measure of defiance, some measure of affection, and some measure of being... well, mildly impressed. "You're tellin' me I can't have the keys to my own car?"
"Yes, Ray."
"What if I don't wanna go back to Chicago, yet?" Ray stepped closer, narrowing his eyes slightly. If not for the fact that there was something... well, mischievous in that expression, Turnbull would have taken a step back. "What if I wanna go to the park again? Or go explore the lakeshore? I can't do that if you're too tired to drive, and I can't do that if you won't let me drive instead."
"Then I shall take you anywhere you like, Ray." Those keys were staying put. Turnbull brought his arms front, crossing them tightly, and tipped his chin slightly up. All right.
He could do this, even if he was careful to keep reading any minute change in Ray's expression. "You slept no better than I..." He didn't want to reveal he'd known about the nightmare. "...if you're so keenly aware of my state. I can safely drive when short of sleep. Can you? In pain, under the influence of pain medication, short of sleep, and afflicted with terminal stubbornness to the point of driving when you may very well exacerbate most of the former?" It was his own way of throwing in a bit of mischievousness, trying to sense and play off of what was given to him.
He was still braced for a slug.
Ray's eyes narrowed a bare fraction more, like a flash, and then he took up a slow, prowling walk, a grin curving his mouth as he made to pace around Turnbull. Who was careful to turn with that pace to keep his back from Ray. His gait was still ginger, for obvious reasons, but it didn't seem to deter him.
"What if I said Michigan?" The tone was low and playful, and Turnbull was very aware of it, too. "What if I said New York?"
"I believe I would have to request vacation, in that case."
Ray came back around to where he started, and jerked his chin up, his grin going broad. "Yeah? Okay, I'll make you a deal. You wanna make a deal with me, Renfield?"
Hanging hard onto his composure, Turnbull worked his jaw and tipped his own chin up in response. "That would depend strongly upon your terms, Ray."
Ray never looked away, and he was still grinning. It was hard not to want to grin back. It made Turnbull feel almost like he did when he was chasing someone down with Ray on his heels; motion and focus, and something instinctive, something that didn't involve bumbling. There was a brief alarm in his mind, but he canned it. He might regret canning it later, but he canned it now.
"I'll let you drive on two conditions. One: The minute you feel like your reflexes are gettin' bad, you pull over. And two: You pick anywhere but my Ma's house."
"I believe those terms are acceptable." And Turnbull was right back to drawing an utter blank when it came to where to go next. "...what if I said Toronto?" It was a joke challenge; he'd have to request quite a bit of vacation in that case. At least Ray's prescriptions would be cheaper. He blinked at his own odd thought.
"Don't push it, pal."
Turnbull laughed quietly, half relief. Half... something he wouldn't examine. "Understood, Ray."
"Uh-huh. So let's go. And if you really wanna visit the great boring white north, I won't stop you. Even stakin' a lean-to or whatever by the Riv's gotta be more comfortable than survivin' my family right about now, and hey, maybe you'll sleep better."
Turnbull took the keys from his pocket with a silly little spin of them on his finger, duty-smile and all. "Worry not, Ray, I have no serious ambitions of repatriation. And I can assure you that the hotel room was more than sufficient."
"Yeah, says that look you got like you might fall asleep standing up." Ray reached up with a grin, not-swatting that hand with the keys down. More like a good-natured little push. Then, somehow managing to look as though he had, indeed, won that joking little battle (even without his keys), he headed for the door.
Of course, bravado only lasted for about three hours.
"It's a nice lake shore," Ray said, his voice sounding both distant and dazed. "Wish I woulda seen more of it when I was a kid. Seems funny I didn't know about any of these places before now, even though they're close to home. I know Florida better'n I do the region I grew up in."
Turnbull didn't remove his arm from where it was laying across his eyes to reply, "Such is the way it often is." His own voice didn't sound all that alert in his ears, either.
It was, apparently, possible to be comfortable laying against the windshield of a car, parked under trees, on a hot summer day. While there was a contour to the Riviera's hood, the way the blanket was folded smoothed it out, and the angle of recline was rather perfect. The hood itself was not sloped down to any degree of angle to make it too slippery to feel secure. It was far harder than the hotel bed, and yet, it felt somehow safer.
Turnbull chalked up his willingness to do this with the fact that he really was exhausted, and his brain had apparently run itself in circles for so long, at such a frantic pace, that he simply couldn't find any resistance to the flow of the universe any longer. He had gone through so many emotions, so many advances and retreats, so many moments of insecurity, so many hours of thought that he had very little left with which to battle the invisible currents.
They were in Michigan. They had been in three states in two days, and he was laying on a car, and life was strange, and Ray was strange, and he was shockingly content. That, too, might have been some measure exhaustion.
"You ever see what a bowling alley looks like after it explodes?"
That, however, was enough to make Renfield pull his arm off of his eyes to look over. Ray was blurry. He gave up holding his eyes open and settled back again where he was. "I cannot say I have, Ray." He kept his tone neutral. "Was anyone injured?"
"Nu uh. Happened in the middle of the night, a propane truck lost control. Bought it exactly one week before that. Married Stella three days before that. Got my divorce papers two weeks later. She finalized it herself after I got back to Chicago." Ray sounded as though he was smirking. "Month from Hell, Ren. It funny that I wanna laugh about it now?"
"I'm not certain. It seems natural, however." Turnbull himself gave up stifling a small hysterical laugh of his own. "I'm familiar with months from Hell, Ray. There are moments when one must laugh in order to avoid explosion." He blinked, giggling again. "...that may have been a poor choice of words."
"Maybe a just little bit, yeah." Ray was laughing with him, anyway, which was always a relief when Turnbull said something stupid. Even if the sound of that laughter was still strained.
"My apologies."
"Nah, no sorries. It was funny." A beat passed where Ray chuckled. "So, uh... months from Hell?"
Hm. Turnbull's smile shrank a bit. "Yes, Ray." Through half-lidded eyes he looked over, so far as he could without moving that resettled arm. Well. Better to laugh. "Have you ever seen the business end of a campaign bus?"
"...okay, I wouldn't say you got me beat, but that's a Hell of an image."
"Indeed. It was a Hell of an image coming at me as well." Turnbull picked up a hand to knock goofily off his forehead, screeching brakes sound effect and all. If a little broken for his giggle. He shook his head and covered his eyes again.
"Oh, ow," Ray said, laughing again. It was probably quite painful on his ribs, though less so taking into account medication. Still, Turnbull had come to realize that Ray would rather have laughed than not. "How bad?"
"Road burn, for the most part. A mild concussion. Quite an expensive suit that my campaign manager insisted I have, as well."
"A suit? You? No way. Was it tailored?"
"It was, though I hadn't cared for the tailor or the suit itself. But they insisted that I needed one, and that only a 'schmuck' would campaign in his casual clothes."
"Huh. Well, if anyone could pull it off, you could. I don't see you bein' the suit and tie type."
Turnbull opened one eye to glance at Ray, honestly confused by the... compliment? Assessment? He wasn't sure. "...thank you." It was half a question, and he just kept on talking after to keep from thinking too much about it. "In any case, it was quite the debacle. There are times one can only laugh. I would imagine one of those times to be when a rain of bowling balls was neglected in the forecast. I can only think that the local meteorologist got letters."
He was reasonably proud of the laugh that got out of Ray. "20 percent chance of rain, high of 90 billion, humidity at stupid percent, and watch out for falling pins--"
"--perhaps the driver was simply attempting to pick up the spare--"
"--you sure your suit wasn't white with red rings on the collar?"
Oh, Lord, comfortable slope or not, they both might slide right off the Riv. Turnbull was alternating guilt for the pain it must be causing Ray and internally giddy for getting him going like that. His own sides were starting to ache; it had been a very long time since he'd laughed like that. The kind that came unbidden and mostly uncontrollable. It was getting somewhat harder to chalk it into the exhaustion column. "Quite certain, though perhaps the driver of my campaign bus thought otherwise."
"Maybe his mind was on the story outta Florida where flaming bowling shoes rained down outta the sky like somethin' outta Revelation. 'The End is Nigh and please make sure you don't wear street shoes on the alleys.'"
"That being among the more confusing revelations Saint John will have received, I'm sure..."
Ray chuckled a little more, then took a moment to catch his breath. "Yeah, probably. 'Cause I'm pretty sure the Lamb referred to wasn't part of the gyros we sold."
Turnbull picked up his head just to give Ray a wide-eyed look of affectionate incredulity; he thunked his head back to the Riv, swiping his hand down his face to laugh.
"What? You started it!" It was playful, Turnbull knew. He was all too aware of the smile on Ray's face.
"So I did, Ray." He pressed his lips together, looking over at Ray still, trying to stuff back the giggles. It was a long look, or so Turnbull self-consciously thought. For sanity's sake, he let go of his laughter again, if only for a valid reason to look away and cover his face. He had another joke in the works, but it died about then.
The sigh that came from Ray's side of the car could only be called content. And his smile was still clear in his voice, but colored now more warm than mirthful. "Yeah. Definitely gotta do that more."
An alarm klaxon was braying through Turnbull's mind, a sound that was decidedly 'no, no, no, no, no...' His laughter was probably edged hysterical before he put it back down. It was a nice excuse for his red face. "You're... you're very skilled at inspiring it."
"Yeah? I'll remember that."
The want to squirm was ridiculous and overwhelming. Turnbull shut his eyes, covering them with his arm again.
It was a content quiet, even so.
The drive back toward Chicago had an air of finality to it, to Turnbull.
He had actually fallen asleep draped on the Riv, a lost number of hours where no time passed and he was reasonably sure could have continued on the rest of the day comfortably, if Ray hadn't gently woken him back up to drive back home. Aside a slightly sore back, he could find no complaints. It was strange to be able to fall asleep like that, in the open, sitting next to someone else. Even more strange that he didn't jump out of his skin when Ray woke him back up. Snapping from a state of sleep and right into motion was something Turnbull had picked up at Depot, and it was almost hardwired now. But Ray had been so quiet and soft about it that he didn't end up leaping off of the car, only tensed a moment to get his bearings, and was able to relax again a couple moments later.
Getting back in the car was all the harder for it.
There was something a bit otherworldly about his memory of the weekend even as it was still in progress. An openness and playfulness to it that he honestly believed wouldn't last to Monday. As unnerved as it left him, he was reluctant to give it back.
He would have to. Ray was entirely too good at reading him to let it go on.
He felt himself slowly putting himself back into his mental box. Piece by piece. It wasn't much he'd exposed, in the grand scheme, but it was enough to be frighteningly uncomfortable.
At the very least, 'Detective' was permanently out the window. He liked Ray's name. Ray would never let him take it back; for that matter, he didn't want to.
He drew it out as long as he could, holding on to the last of their ride home. Chattering, sometimes. Listening, too. Seeing how many smiles he could inspire in Ray for the simple pleasure of doing so. Finding it was easier than he thought it could be. The harder part was the realization, put away only moments after he had it, that this weekend wasn't the first time Ray had smiled like that. It was, however, the most he'd smiled this much in the past few months. Maybe, even, the past year or more.
"Oh, windy city, how I love thee," Ray said, looking out the window at a pair of homeless people sharing what could only be a bottle of alcohol in a brown paper bag. It was a statement that sounded like quite a mix between sarcasm and sincerity. "Nothin' like the delicate smells of winos in the evening. Eau du secretions in various variations."
Utterly despite the vague ache in his chest, Turnbull shuddered once at that. "Ray. That's hardly sensitive."
"Oh, yeah? Well, my nose is, and it ain't too happy right now. It's gotta be some prime stuff to get all the way into the car, passin' by at twenty-five." Ray stuck his nose up, but it was quite clearly teasing. Though, after a moment, he asked a little more seriously, "You wanna hang onto the Riv for awhile longer? I dunno when I'll be allowed to drive again. Well, when the doc will say I can, which'll probably be after I really can. Frannie'll probably go sniffin' the seats or somethin' if I bring it home with me, though."
Turnbull couldn't imagine what she'd smell aside the leftover stench of his own awkwardness. Perhaps tinged with beach grass. Or wino, now, but Turnbull was hardly going to say that. "I..."
"You..." It was drawn, Ray's eyebrows going slowly up with it.
"Hm. If... if... That is to say, yes, Ray. I will take very good care of it, I assure you."
"You wouldn't be in that seat if I figured anything else, Ren."
"Understood, Ray." Turnbull was painfully sure Ray put more trust in him than he was remotely worthy of.
His thumb ticked once or twice over the steering wheel. Streets passed, ticking away the journey.
"Guess I gotta face the music. If you can call Frannie musical. Broken kazoo musical, maybe. Thanks for savin' me. It was fun."
"The... ah, pleasure was entirely mine, Ray." Even as he said it, Turnbull was chewing down a grin for that metaphor.
"No, it was not entirely yours, Renfield," Ray replied in teasing formal tones. "Did I not just say it was fun? Or did creative-IV nurse spike the pills, too?"
"...yes, Ray, you did."
"Uh-huh. 's what I thought."
How Turnbull could smile when he was letting this go was beyond him. It just didn't last long enough.
Francesca Vecchio was on the phone.
Raymond Vecchio was ready to leap through that phone and strangle her. If he could leap, anyway. He didn't think he could leap, but he if he could have, he would have. The Riv was safely parked, the taxi was called, and not even two seconds after he hung up from that call, his cell was ringing.
"Hey, since when did I have to report to you when I wanna spend a weekend away?" he demanded, then exchanged a commiserating look with Ren, who was standing sentry to make sure he didn't end up getting mobbed by rampaging igloo salesmen or whatever.
"You scared the He-- ow, Ma! I was gonna say 'heck!' You scared the heck out of us! What do you think you're doing, running off all weekend without so much as a call, right after you're out of the hospital?"
"Havin' a damn good time," Ray answered, with a grin. Just because he could. Just because he knew she would hear it, and it would drive her crazy. "Hey, you know my partner's a pretty good driver?"
He caught the look down of the corner of his eye and managed to give Ren a wink as he looked back up.
"I know what you're doing, Ray. It's not going to work, though, because I don't care what you say. I caught him once, I can catch him again."
It took about two seconds for that to sink into Ray's brain and he swung a look back at the Mountie. Wait. What? "You dated my sister?"
Well, that answered that. Ren got his 'Mountie in the Headlights' look, opening his mouth and turning red all over again. Ray was starting to wonder if the man could auto-blush on command.
"That's right, Ray. So take your misguided--"
Ray hung up on her. Narrowed his eyes. "You dated my sister."
"I-- Ray, it was--" Ren flicked a glance to the left, no doubt gauging the distance from his door. Then he looked back, straightening up and going all duty-and-honor and all that. "I assure you, it was quite brief. While your sister is a very... very..." He was apparently having a hard time defining Frannie. "...sweet, and quite pretty woman, it simply failed to go further than two dates."
"Two dates. You sleep with her?" Ray already knew that answer, but he was having some measure of fun watching Renfield squirm where he stood. "'Cause if you did..."
"No. No. No, no." Ren was gonna give himself whiplash if he shook his head any harder. "No. I most emphatically did not sleep with your sister."
Ray stepped closer, tilting his head to the side. He didn't look away. "And you never will." It wasn't a question. He was having a very hard time not laughing about it, really. Mostly because he knew Frannie very well and he knew Ren pretty well now too, and that could have only ended up in flames. Not the good kinda flames, either. Bowling alley meets propane truck kind.
Ren huffed half a nervous laugh. "No, Ray. Never."
"Right. Good. 'Cause if you do, you know what would happen?"
"I would find out what it was like to be a bowling pin?" Both of Renny's eyebrows went up. Ray was so surprised by it that he almost laughed. "Well, I would find out again, at any length."
"Yeah. Campaign bus redux." Ray couldn't keep the smile off his face anymore. He caught a glimpse of the taxi, then looked back again. He was sort of surprised at how much he didn't wanna go, and he just didn't think to consider that it was for more than avoiding his family.
He didn't think about it, he just did it. Stepped in, looped an arm around Ren's shoulders, and gave him half a careful hug, which was the best he could do with bruised ribs. It felt like the entirely natural thing to do, even when he got stiff, dumbfounded Mountie in answer. "Thanks. I did have fun."
And then he turned and got into the taxi, mentally preparing himself for the chaos that was his family.
Ray Vecchio was in trouble. He just didn't know it yet.
Part V
Fandom: Due South
Characters: Turnbull/Vecchio (pre-slash)
Rating: PG-13
Complete in 23322 Words Total (All parts)
Summary: Ray takes a hit to the vest. The result? Three states, three days, and two men in the best sort of trouble.
Notes: Post-COTW stand-alone story; takes place in this fic-verse. Co-written with slwatson. Please allow me to assure you that all the good bits are hers.
Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V
"You sleep at all?" Ray asked, as he made sure he had everything in his pockets. It was well after sunrise, and the day outside looked as beautiful as the day before had. And Ray was still being painfully perceptive.
"Yes, Ray." It wasn't a lie; Turnbull had managed to doze here or there, though uncomfortably. Even though the bed had been reasonably comfortable, if a little too soft. His own mind was considerably less so, and had hounded him to the edge of exhaustion before he did manage about two hours of unbroken sleep. Then, awake again, he had slipped out of the room for a quick walk to settle his nerves, and had ended up politely badgering his way into a tour of the kitchen -- not a usual habit, but he did want to make certain it was up to standard for any complimentary breakfasts, or so he told himself -- before coming back. Ray slept for another fifteen minutes or so, and the day became vastly more complicated when he woke up.
"Uh huh." It was Ray's doubtful tone, and he looked back up again. He looked tired as well, though some better rested. "Not buyin' it."
The urge to squirm away from that gaze was rather overpowering. So, in lieu of doing so, Turnbull clasped his hands behind his back. "I did sleep, Ray."
"Not well. Gimme my keys."
He must have blinked for a moment too long before Ray held out his hand, palm up, beckoning with his fingers.
"C'mon, Ren. Keys. I stuck you in a hotel room that didn't work out for you, so the least I can do is drive."
Where Ray was getting the idea that he was stuck here-- ah. He supposed maybe he was projecting some measure of wanting to escape in some visible manner. An internal wince later, Turnbull managed some authority and said, "I don't believe driving will be anything but a hindrance to your recovery. Taking the most direct route, we're a mere hour from Chicago, and I assure you, I have worked far harder under far less sleep in my life."
Ray's eyebrows went up slowly. It was an expression with some measure of defiance, some measure of affection, and some measure of being... well, mildly impressed. "You're tellin' me I can't have the keys to my own car?"
"Yes, Ray."
"What if I don't wanna go back to Chicago, yet?" Ray stepped closer, narrowing his eyes slightly. If not for the fact that there was something... well, mischievous in that expression, Turnbull would have taken a step back. "What if I wanna go to the park again? Or go explore the lakeshore? I can't do that if you're too tired to drive, and I can't do that if you won't let me drive instead."
"Then I shall take you anywhere you like, Ray." Those keys were staying put. Turnbull brought his arms front, crossing them tightly, and tipped his chin slightly up. All right.
He could do this, even if he was careful to keep reading any minute change in Ray's expression. "You slept no better than I..." He didn't want to reveal he'd known about the nightmare. "...if you're so keenly aware of my state. I can safely drive when short of sleep. Can you? In pain, under the influence of pain medication, short of sleep, and afflicted with terminal stubbornness to the point of driving when you may very well exacerbate most of the former?" It was his own way of throwing in a bit of mischievousness, trying to sense and play off of what was given to him.
He was still braced for a slug.
Ray's eyes narrowed a bare fraction more, like a flash, and then he took up a slow, prowling walk, a grin curving his mouth as he made to pace around Turnbull. Who was careful to turn with that pace to keep his back from Ray. His gait was still ginger, for obvious reasons, but it didn't seem to deter him.
"What if I said Michigan?" The tone was low and playful, and Turnbull was very aware of it, too. "What if I said New York?"
"I believe I would have to request vacation, in that case."
Ray came back around to where he started, and jerked his chin up, his grin going broad. "Yeah? Okay, I'll make you a deal. You wanna make a deal with me, Renfield?"
Hanging hard onto his composure, Turnbull worked his jaw and tipped his own chin up in response. "That would depend strongly upon your terms, Ray."
Ray never looked away, and he was still grinning. It was hard not to want to grin back. It made Turnbull feel almost like he did when he was chasing someone down with Ray on his heels; motion and focus, and something instinctive, something that didn't involve bumbling. There was a brief alarm in his mind, but he canned it. He might regret canning it later, but he canned it now.
"I'll let you drive on two conditions. One: The minute you feel like your reflexes are gettin' bad, you pull over. And two: You pick anywhere but my Ma's house."
"I believe those terms are acceptable." And Turnbull was right back to drawing an utter blank when it came to where to go next. "...what if I said Toronto?" It was a joke challenge; he'd have to request quite a bit of vacation in that case. At least Ray's prescriptions would be cheaper. He blinked at his own odd thought.
"Don't push it, pal."
Turnbull laughed quietly, half relief. Half... something he wouldn't examine. "Understood, Ray."
"Uh-huh. So let's go. And if you really wanna visit the great boring white north, I won't stop you. Even stakin' a lean-to or whatever by the Riv's gotta be more comfortable than survivin' my family right about now, and hey, maybe you'll sleep better."
Turnbull took the keys from his pocket with a silly little spin of them on his finger, duty-smile and all. "Worry not, Ray, I have no serious ambitions of repatriation. And I can assure you that the hotel room was more than sufficient."
"Yeah, says that look you got like you might fall asleep standing up." Ray reached up with a grin, not-swatting that hand with the keys down. More like a good-natured little push. Then, somehow managing to look as though he had, indeed, won that joking little battle (even without his keys), he headed for the door.
Of course, bravado only lasted for about three hours.
"It's a nice lake shore," Ray said, his voice sounding both distant and dazed. "Wish I woulda seen more of it when I was a kid. Seems funny I didn't know about any of these places before now, even though they're close to home. I know Florida better'n I do the region I grew up in."
Turnbull didn't remove his arm from where it was laying across his eyes to reply, "Such is the way it often is." His own voice didn't sound all that alert in his ears, either.
It was, apparently, possible to be comfortable laying against the windshield of a car, parked under trees, on a hot summer day. While there was a contour to the Riviera's hood, the way the blanket was folded smoothed it out, and the angle of recline was rather perfect. The hood itself was not sloped down to any degree of angle to make it too slippery to feel secure. It was far harder than the hotel bed, and yet, it felt somehow safer.
Turnbull chalked up his willingness to do this with the fact that he really was exhausted, and his brain had apparently run itself in circles for so long, at such a frantic pace, that he simply couldn't find any resistance to the flow of the universe any longer. He had gone through so many emotions, so many advances and retreats, so many moments of insecurity, so many hours of thought that he had very little left with which to battle the invisible currents.
They were in Michigan. They had been in three states in two days, and he was laying on a car, and life was strange, and Ray was strange, and he was shockingly content. That, too, might have been some measure exhaustion.
"You ever see what a bowling alley looks like after it explodes?"
That, however, was enough to make Renfield pull his arm off of his eyes to look over. Ray was blurry. He gave up holding his eyes open and settled back again where he was. "I cannot say I have, Ray." He kept his tone neutral. "Was anyone injured?"
"Nu uh. Happened in the middle of the night, a propane truck lost control. Bought it exactly one week before that. Married Stella three days before that. Got my divorce papers two weeks later. She finalized it herself after I got back to Chicago." Ray sounded as though he was smirking. "Month from Hell, Ren. It funny that I wanna laugh about it now?"
"I'm not certain. It seems natural, however." Turnbull himself gave up stifling a small hysterical laugh of his own. "I'm familiar with months from Hell, Ray. There are moments when one must laugh in order to avoid explosion." He blinked, giggling again. "...that may have been a poor choice of words."
"Maybe a just little bit, yeah." Ray was laughing with him, anyway, which was always a relief when Turnbull said something stupid. Even if the sound of that laughter was still strained.
"My apologies."
"Nah, no sorries. It was funny." A beat passed where Ray chuckled. "So, uh... months from Hell?"
Hm. Turnbull's smile shrank a bit. "Yes, Ray." Through half-lidded eyes he looked over, so far as he could without moving that resettled arm. Well. Better to laugh. "Have you ever seen the business end of a campaign bus?"
"...okay, I wouldn't say you got me beat, but that's a Hell of an image."
"Indeed. It was a Hell of an image coming at me as well." Turnbull picked up a hand to knock goofily off his forehead, screeching brakes sound effect and all. If a little broken for his giggle. He shook his head and covered his eyes again.
"Oh, ow," Ray said, laughing again. It was probably quite painful on his ribs, though less so taking into account medication. Still, Turnbull had come to realize that Ray would rather have laughed than not. "How bad?"
"Road burn, for the most part. A mild concussion. Quite an expensive suit that my campaign manager insisted I have, as well."
"A suit? You? No way. Was it tailored?"
"It was, though I hadn't cared for the tailor or the suit itself. But they insisted that I needed one, and that only a 'schmuck' would campaign in his casual clothes."
"Huh. Well, if anyone could pull it off, you could. I don't see you bein' the suit and tie type."
Turnbull opened one eye to glance at Ray, honestly confused by the... compliment? Assessment? He wasn't sure. "...thank you." It was half a question, and he just kept on talking after to keep from thinking too much about it. "In any case, it was quite the debacle. There are times one can only laugh. I would imagine one of those times to be when a rain of bowling balls was neglected in the forecast. I can only think that the local meteorologist got letters."
He was reasonably proud of the laugh that got out of Ray. "20 percent chance of rain, high of 90 billion, humidity at stupid percent, and watch out for falling pins--"
"--perhaps the driver was simply attempting to pick up the spare--"
"--you sure your suit wasn't white with red rings on the collar?"
Oh, Lord, comfortable slope or not, they both might slide right off the Riv. Turnbull was alternating guilt for the pain it must be causing Ray and internally giddy for getting him going like that. His own sides were starting to ache; it had been a very long time since he'd laughed like that. The kind that came unbidden and mostly uncontrollable. It was getting somewhat harder to chalk it into the exhaustion column. "Quite certain, though perhaps the driver of my campaign bus thought otherwise."
"Maybe his mind was on the story outta Florida where flaming bowling shoes rained down outta the sky like somethin' outta Revelation. 'The End is Nigh and please make sure you don't wear street shoes on the alleys.'"
"That being among the more confusing revelations Saint John will have received, I'm sure..."
Ray chuckled a little more, then took a moment to catch his breath. "Yeah, probably. 'Cause I'm pretty sure the Lamb referred to wasn't part of the gyros we sold."
Turnbull picked up his head just to give Ray a wide-eyed look of affectionate incredulity; he thunked his head back to the Riv, swiping his hand down his face to laugh.
"What? You started it!" It was playful, Turnbull knew. He was all too aware of the smile on Ray's face.
"So I did, Ray." He pressed his lips together, looking over at Ray still, trying to stuff back the giggles. It was a long look, or so Turnbull self-consciously thought. For sanity's sake, he let go of his laughter again, if only for a valid reason to look away and cover his face. He had another joke in the works, but it died about then.
The sigh that came from Ray's side of the car could only be called content. And his smile was still clear in his voice, but colored now more warm than mirthful. "Yeah. Definitely gotta do that more."
An alarm klaxon was braying through Turnbull's mind, a sound that was decidedly 'no, no, no, no, no...' His laughter was probably edged hysterical before he put it back down. It was a nice excuse for his red face. "You're... you're very skilled at inspiring it."
"Yeah? I'll remember that."
The want to squirm was ridiculous and overwhelming. Turnbull shut his eyes, covering them with his arm again.
It was a content quiet, even so.
The drive back toward Chicago had an air of finality to it, to Turnbull.
He had actually fallen asleep draped on the Riv, a lost number of hours where no time passed and he was reasonably sure could have continued on the rest of the day comfortably, if Ray hadn't gently woken him back up to drive back home. Aside a slightly sore back, he could find no complaints. It was strange to be able to fall asleep like that, in the open, sitting next to someone else. Even more strange that he didn't jump out of his skin when Ray woke him back up. Snapping from a state of sleep and right into motion was something Turnbull had picked up at Depot, and it was almost hardwired now. But Ray had been so quiet and soft about it that he didn't end up leaping off of the car, only tensed a moment to get his bearings, and was able to relax again a couple moments later.
Getting back in the car was all the harder for it.
There was something a bit otherworldly about his memory of the weekend even as it was still in progress. An openness and playfulness to it that he honestly believed wouldn't last to Monday. As unnerved as it left him, he was reluctant to give it back.
He would have to. Ray was entirely too good at reading him to let it go on.
He felt himself slowly putting himself back into his mental box. Piece by piece. It wasn't much he'd exposed, in the grand scheme, but it was enough to be frighteningly uncomfortable.
At the very least, 'Detective' was permanently out the window. He liked Ray's name. Ray would never let him take it back; for that matter, he didn't want to.
He drew it out as long as he could, holding on to the last of their ride home. Chattering, sometimes. Listening, too. Seeing how many smiles he could inspire in Ray for the simple pleasure of doing so. Finding it was easier than he thought it could be. The harder part was the realization, put away only moments after he had it, that this weekend wasn't the first time Ray had smiled like that. It was, however, the most he'd smiled this much in the past few months. Maybe, even, the past year or more.
"Oh, windy city, how I love thee," Ray said, looking out the window at a pair of homeless people sharing what could only be a bottle of alcohol in a brown paper bag. It was a statement that sounded like quite a mix between sarcasm and sincerity. "Nothin' like the delicate smells of winos in the evening. Eau du secretions in various variations."
Utterly despite the vague ache in his chest, Turnbull shuddered once at that. "Ray. That's hardly sensitive."
"Oh, yeah? Well, my nose is, and it ain't too happy right now. It's gotta be some prime stuff to get all the way into the car, passin' by at twenty-five." Ray stuck his nose up, but it was quite clearly teasing. Though, after a moment, he asked a little more seriously, "You wanna hang onto the Riv for awhile longer? I dunno when I'll be allowed to drive again. Well, when the doc will say I can, which'll probably be after I really can. Frannie'll probably go sniffin' the seats or somethin' if I bring it home with me, though."
Turnbull couldn't imagine what she'd smell aside the leftover stench of his own awkwardness. Perhaps tinged with beach grass. Or wino, now, but Turnbull was hardly going to say that. "I..."
"You..." It was drawn, Ray's eyebrows going slowly up with it.
"Hm. If... if... That is to say, yes, Ray. I will take very good care of it, I assure you."
"You wouldn't be in that seat if I figured anything else, Ren."
"Understood, Ray." Turnbull was painfully sure Ray put more trust in him than he was remotely worthy of.
His thumb ticked once or twice over the steering wheel. Streets passed, ticking away the journey.
"Guess I gotta face the music. If you can call Frannie musical. Broken kazoo musical, maybe. Thanks for savin' me. It was fun."
"The... ah, pleasure was entirely mine, Ray." Even as he said it, Turnbull was chewing down a grin for that metaphor.
"No, it was not entirely yours, Renfield," Ray replied in teasing formal tones. "Did I not just say it was fun? Or did creative-IV nurse spike the pills, too?"
"...yes, Ray, you did."
"Uh-huh. 's what I thought."
How Turnbull could smile when he was letting this go was beyond him. It just didn't last long enough.
Francesca Vecchio was on the phone.
Raymond Vecchio was ready to leap through that phone and strangle her. If he could leap, anyway. He didn't think he could leap, but he if he could have, he would have. The Riv was safely parked, the taxi was called, and not even two seconds after he hung up from that call, his cell was ringing.
"Hey, since when did I have to report to you when I wanna spend a weekend away?" he demanded, then exchanged a commiserating look with Ren, who was standing sentry to make sure he didn't end up getting mobbed by rampaging igloo salesmen or whatever.
"You scared the He-- ow, Ma! I was gonna say 'heck!' You scared the heck out of us! What do you think you're doing, running off all weekend without so much as a call, right after you're out of the hospital?"
"Havin' a damn good time," Ray answered, with a grin. Just because he could. Just because he knew she would hear it, and it would drive her crazy. "Hey, you know my partner's a pretty good driver?"
He caught the look down of the corner of his eye and managed to give Ren a wink as he looked back up.
"I know what you're doing, Ray. It's not going to work, though, because I don't care what you say. I caught him once, I can catch him again."
It took about two seconds for that to sink into Ray's brain and he swung a look back at the Mountie. Wait. What? "You dated my sister?"
Well, that answered that. Ren got his 'Mountie in the Headlights' look, opening his mouth and turning red all over again. Ray was starting to wonder if the man could auto-blush on command.
"That's right, Ray. So take your misguided--"
Ray hung up on her. Narrowed his eyes. "You dated my sister."
"I-- Ray, it was--" Ren flicked a glance to the left, no doubt gauging the distance from his door. Then he looked back, straightening up and going all duty-and-honor and all that. "I assure you, it was quite brief. While your sister is a very... very..." He was apparently having a hard time defining Frannie. "...sweet, and quite pretty woman, it simply failed to go further than two dates."
"Two dates. You sleep with her?" Ray already knew that answer, but he was having some measure of fun watching Renfield squirm where he stood. "'Cause if you did..."
"No. No. No, no." Ren was gonna give himself whiplash if he shook his head any harder. "No. I most emphatically did not sleep with your sister."
Ray stepped closer, tilting his head to the side. He didn't look away. "And you never will." It wasn't a question. He was having a very hard time not laughing about it, really. Mostly because he knew Frannie very well and he knew Ren pretty well now too, and that could have only ended up in flames. Not the good kinda flames, either. Bowling alley meets propane truck kind.
Ren huffed half a nervous laugh. "No, Ray. Never."
"Right. Good. 'Cause if you do, you know what would happen?"
"I would find out what it was like to be a bowling pin?" Both of Renny's eyebrows went up. Ray was so surprised by it that he almost laughed. "Well, I would find out again, at any length."
"Yeah. Campaign bus redux." Ray couldn't keep the smile off his face anymore. He caught a glimpse of the taxi, then looked back again. He was sort of surprised at how much he didn't wanna go, and he just didn't think to consider that it was for more than avoiding his family.
He didn't think about it, he just did it. Stepped in, looped an arm around Ren's shoulders, and gave him half a careful hug, which was the best he could do with bruised ribs. It felt like the entirely natural thing to do, even when he got stiff, dumbfounded Mountie in answer. "Thanks. I did have fun."
And then he turned and got into the taxi, mentally preparing himself for the chaos that was his family.
Ray Vecchio was in trouble. He just didn't know it yet.
Part V