No Other One, Chapter 50
Title: No Other One, Chapter 50
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Yelina Salas, Horatio Caine, the whole Caine family
Author's Note: WARNING: SPOILER FOR SEASON 6.
Summary: Almost two decades ago, Horatio made a decision that would change his family forever. Will they ever forgive him? Will he ever tell Yelina how he feels? This is an alternative to the beginning of season 6. A Horatio and Kyle story; H/Y romance in the future.
Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27, Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31, Chapter 32, Chapter 33, Chapter 34, Chapter 35, Chapter 36, Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39, Chapter 40, Chapter 41, Chapter 42, Chapter 43, Chapter 44, Chapter 45, Chapter 46, Chapter 47, Chapter 48, and Chapter 49.
Disclaimer: I don't own the show.
“We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies.” - Shirley Abbott
Truth was there weren’t many things Ray Junior had learned from his father. Walking, talking - those skills had been taught by his mother mainly, or at least that was what Ray Junior assumed; he didn’t have very many memories of his father from that time, and most of them were… nonsensical, small snippets of no real importance.
Or maybe that wasn’t true at all. Those moments were absolutely important to Ray Junior. But memories of sharing blueberry waffles with strawberry syrup at three in the morning and naming his pet parakeet left him wanting more. Made him wish that there were more to the relationship that they’d had, although in some ways Ray Junior thought maybe he would feel that way no matter what.
And so when his namesake had reappeared, had essentially come back to life, they had had another chance, a chance to do more with one another. Which had still included sugary sweet, capable-of-rotting-your-teeth breakfasts at the oddest hours.
But there’d been more the second time around, thankfully, including those father-son moments Ray had always seen on TV. The ones that always had looked so fake in their earnestness, in their plastic-y perfection, had become something of a reality for him. A week before Ray Senior would be gone forever, the two had gone “fishing.”
In reality, the daytrip hadn’t involved any fishing whatsoever. But that hadn’t bothered Ray Junior, unlike the four am wake up call. His father had said they’d leave at six, but paranoid and strung out, Ray Senior had changed his mind.
“We need to get on the road” had been all the reasoning he offered, and Ray Junior had known better than to argue. Not that he had really wanted to - he’d been without his dad so long, it had seemed wrong to fight.
And a short time later, they’d ended up in the rainforest that existed in the middle of the city. A lush oasis completely out of place, it had been Ray Senior’s preferred hiding spot. “Makes you feel like time isn’t passing - like it’s nothing,” he’d said, as they’d wandered deep into the dense forest. “Makes you feel like nothing can touch you.”
Grumpy from the lack of sleep, Ray Junior hadn’t been able to stop himself from replying, “Nothing except all these damn bugs.” His hand swatting dramatically at something large, he hadn’t appreciated all the insects in the air.
“You sound like your mother when you bitch, Ray,” his father had said unkindly.
The comparison, unfair in every way, had been enough to shut the boy up. Which had been unlike him, Ray Junior could see now. Normally, he would have fought tooth and nail against the idea that he was like his mother. But in that moment, he’d only wanted to have a good time with his father. And inevitably, any defense of his mother or himself would ruin that, he’d realized.
Really, he’d known that fact long before that day, had accepted it as part of his life the moment they’d set foot in Rio. His excitement over having his father back settling down, he’d learned: if he wanted to get along with both parents, he had to… remain as neutral as he could.
Even if it had been completely unfair to him.
So as father and son had walked deeper into the forest, Ray had kept his mouth shut.
And finally the two had settled down on top of a large tree root, the location hidden from foot traffic. The dark wood, uneven and rough, had begun to dig into the back of Ray Junior’s legs and butt when his father had whipped out a joint.
As though it were the most normal thing in the world.
Ray Junior’s own muted surprise at the situation, he realized later, had said quite a bit as well.
At the time, he’d waited patiently, silently, as Ray Senior lit the thin homemade cigarette. What he’d been waiting for exactly the teenager still didn’t know. But in that moment, he’d felt as though something was about to happen, and so he’d waited anxiously for his father to say, do something.
Of course, that task had been difficult to do - to wait anxiously. The smell of pot filling the air, it had mixed with the heady scent of wet soil and plant pollen, and it had almost instantly begun to work on Ray Junior’s nerves.
But not on his eyes.
His gaze insistent, he had watched his father take a long pull on the joint. And truthfully, the older man had looked… happier then than Ray Junior had ever seen him. He’d been so completely at peace, happy and relaxed. And Ray Junior had seen it then: his father was a drug addict.
That realization hadn’t stung much then - there’d been no chance for it to, as Ray Senior had asked in the most casual manner, “You ever try this before?”
The truth was he had, the same night Chris and his stupid friends had shot that homeless man. But in that moment, Ray Junior had been too stunned to respond.
This was his father, he’d thought at the time. And yet here the man was, acting like the stereotypical seventeen-year-old thug trying to get the younger kid to smoke dope.
This was his dad, and it was so messed up, he’d told himself, that he was sure his mother was right to be so miserable in Brazil.
“Guess not,” Ray Senior had said, answering his own question. “Your mother,” he’d started to say with a chuckle in his voice. “She keeps you so sheltered.”
The conversation irritating him, Ray Junior had yanked the blunt from his father’s mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m sure she’s just saving up to buy me a real nice hooker for my sixteenth birthday,” he’d said sarcastically.
His words mingling with the smoke in the air, Ray had taken a long drag from the cigarette. The desire to cough had been almost unbearable, even though he’d smoked weed before. But purposefully, Ray Junior had suppressed that need, and that had made him look like someone who had spent plenty of time dabbling with dope… just as he’d hoped it would.
That appearance had apparently made his father happy, because the older man had nodded approvingly then. Like Ray Junior had done something admirable.
It was completely screwed up, made worse by the fact that… he’d wanted that acceptance.
Even if it meant doing something pretty retarded.
“You sound like your uncle,” Ray Senior had said. “He would have talked like that when we were kids… Although he would have totally puked his brains out at the smell of a little weed,” he’d lazily added on as an afterthought.
“Not like Horatio, Dad,” Ray Junior had corrected. “I can, like… I don’t know… speak in complex sentences and stay out in the sun.”
His father had giggled in response, the pot clearly wrapping its warm and fuzzy arms around him. And the drug’s embrace had also found Ray Junior, because he too… had started to really feel the effects.
Which had been completely okay with him, because the less… thinking, or whatever, he had to do about this situation, the better.
Ignoring the bizarreness, the wrongness of this whole deal, pretending like his mother wouldn’t freak out when they both went home high as a kite, Ray Junior had allowed himself to slip into a deep haze.
Whatever the father and son had talked about that day, the teenager really didn’t remember now. The only thing he could recall with great clarity was the point in the day when they’d started to talk about his mother.
A couple of blunts long since smoked, Ray Senior had announced suddenly, as they’d laid on the tree root, “Your mom doesn’t get it. She thinks everything will get better all on its own.”
Ray Junior had wanted to argue that getting high in the middle of the forest was hardly making their problems go away. But he’d kept his mouth shut, knowing that it wouldn’t help anything.
“She thinks,” the older man had continued, “that… I don’t know what she thinks. You know what your mother thinks? Because she has become a whole damn different species, I swear,” he’d rambled on, pulling a needle out of his pocket.
The small, plastic object had dirt on it, looked as though it had been used many, many times before. “Dad…” A lump had grown in the back of Ray Junior’s throat. The weed, he’d thought, had been one thing, but this… was bad.
This was really bad.
And he’d wondered then how long his mother had known, or if she’d known… or if this was how it had been before Ray Senior had died the first time. Ray Junior’s thoughts, questions, had meandered from one to the other, the weed making it hard to concentrate on anything.
The only constant, it had seemed at the time, the only thing he really had continually understood at that moment had been that…
This was so screwed up.
His father had flicked at the needle, the motion getting rid of any air bubbles. “Whatever you do,” he’d told Ray Junior. “Don’t ever do this shit. You’ll never get out of it, man.”
In muted horror, Ray Junior had watched him inject the drugs into his arm.
And as the meth - or maybe it was heroin, who the hell knew - had begun to work, his father’s ramblings had gotten worse. “Yelina doesn’t understand, but I know the truth. And you do too - you gotta protect your family, gotta… support them and stuff.”
Not following, Ray Junior had asked, “How - ”
“I have a problem, I know,” his father had interrupted miserably. Flicking the dirty needle into a nearby plant, he’d stood up. “Lets go home,” he’d said suddenly.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Ray Junior hadn’t imagined that his mother would particularly appreciate them coming home stoned out of their gourds.
“Yeah… your mom won’t like it but whatever,” he’d said with a shrug. “What the hell does she like these days? She misses home, I get that,” his father had told him, trying to sound understanding. And then the older man’s mood had changed almost instantly as he’d added, “She misses flirting with my brother - whatever.”
As they’d stumbled home, Ray Junior had remained quiet; he hadn’t known what to say, and he definitely hadn’t wanted to get involved in… whatever the hell his parents were fighting about. So once again he’d stayed quiet, instead silently helping his father navigate the uneven ground to get back out of the rainforest.
“She’s miserable, Ray,” his father had told him, sadness creeping in his voice. “She hates me, man, and I’m… you know, I’m trying to fix it, but all she wants to do is bitch about how much I’ve screwed up.” He’d tripped over an obnoxiously large root then, and Ray Junior had had to reach out and grab his father’s arm to keep him from falling to the ground.
But if the older man had noticed that he’d almost ended up face first in rainforest dirt, he hadn’t looked like it. Instead he’d just kept talking. “She doesn’t understand what I’m doing, doesn’t appreciate it at all, you know? Cause she doesn’t understand that a man has to fight for his family.”
His father had stopped at that moment, despite the fact that they’d been crossing a road. And ignoring the cars around them, he’d put his hands on Ray Junior’s shoulders and said, “Remember that - men protect their family no matter what it takes.”
At the time, it had seemed hypocritical for Ray Senior to say that. Had he really been protecting his family when he’d let them all think he was dead, Ray Junior had wanted to ask.
That question, one that could never have a sufficient answer, had toyed with his mind. Permeating through the fuzzy haze of his high, it had left a knot in Ray Junior’s stomach.
The feeling of anger washing over him hotly, he’d wanted to scream and hit and leave his damn father bleeding and in pain. As much pain as the older man had left the rest of his family in when he’d faked his death. The idea of vengeance, of violence, so tempting in that moment, even after the fact, Ray Junior wasn’t sure why he hadn’t done it.
Maybe it was out of some sort of loyalty to family or… to the idea of who his father had been before.
He didn’t understand it now, hadn’t then. Really, all he’d known in that moment was he wanted to be home already; not here in Rio, but home, which was and only could ever be Miami.
And it had been just as he’d felt completely trapped that they’d gotten home. His mother waiting for them, Ray Junior had felt his stomach drop to his knees.
His anger replaced immediately with “Shit!” echoing in his mind, he’d been terrified that she would figure out what they’d been doing together.
The teenager never forgot the way the living room had filled with tension, nor the color his mother’s eyes had changed. Dark and brooding, they’d silently dared the father-son duo to speak.
“What in the -” Her angry words had been cut off by Ray Senior slumping his body against hers. His face had pressed into the side of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin.
As Ray Junior had thought how icky this whole marital display was, his father had muttered, “Ooooh, Mommy’s mad.” One of his hands had skirted around her waist. His fingers dirty from their adventure in the rainforest, had left dark gray and brown smudges on the white linen edges of her top.
And Ray Junior had only been able to stand there, practically staring at his parents. His eyes wide and worried, he’d wondered what would happen next. Even though he’d known it to be wrong and kind of rude to do it, he’d still done it.
His father had spent so much time undercover when Ray was little, so the boy hadn’t ever really seen his parents be a couple. There were snippets of memory but not enough to really know what they’d been like together or why they’d even loved one another.
It was almost funny to wonder about that, because before Rio, Ray Junior had never even thought about it. They’d just been… his parents or whatever, and that had been all the explanation necessary. But now that the three of them were together, the boy hadn’t been able to stop himself from wondering about it. Maybe it was because they fought so much that his curiosity was piqued; maybe he’d just needed to know that they really did love each other at one point, if not now.
Whatever the reason, he’d been eager to witness every interaction, every word - all of it so he could understand. Why had they fallen in love? Why had his mother named him after his father?
Myth and reality swapped casually for one another in all the stories he’d heard as a boy, Ray Junior had needed to see it for himself. Even when it had hurt to watch, even when it had grossed him out to do so, he’d kept looking.
And right then, Ray Junior, once again, had regretted doing so.
His father sniffling loudly against his mother’s neck, the emotions of the room had shifted. Oh, his mother had still been furious - Ray Junior had recognized that much. But there’d been something muted about it, something in her that had read as timid… maybe she’d just been too afraid to push Ray Senior over the edge.
Which had seemed, at the time, like a very real possibility. Gone was the bravado he’d walked in with and replacing it had been this… very palpable sadness that made Ray Junior completely forgive his father for all of his mistakes.
As much as he’d wanted to stay angry, he hadn’t been able to. His father had just been too pathetic to deny him that.
Against his wife’s neck, Ray Senior mumbled, “You’re always mad at me. You hate me, Yelina, and I love you so much. You’re killing me here.” His words had been cut off with a loud sob, the older man breaking down into tears. Crying noisily, Ray Senior had grabbed her hard, almost too afraid to let go of her.
“I’m trying to fix it,” he’d sobbed over and over to Ray’s mother, who had looked absolutely stricken by the whole display.
Especially when the older man had collapsed onto his knees and buried his face in her skirt. “Forgive me, Yelina,” he’d cried into the black material. A hand wrapped around her ankle, the other hand had a tight grip around her thigh. His fingertips had rested just above her knee and underneath her skirt. And the whole thing had just made him look so… desperate to hold onto her.
The image so devastating to Ray Junior, he’d finally snapped out of his silent voyeurism. He hadn’t wanted to see anymore ever; it was just too painful.
His mother’s voice had carried then over the loud, muffled cries. “Raymond,” she’d said, looking at the boy. “I can’t do this now. Please leave us alone.” It had been so… curt, so unlike her that he’d only been able to blink.
In a way too frozen to move, Ray Junior had stood there dumbly. And since he hadn’t started to move, his father, having heard his name as well, had started to believe that she meant him.
Ray Senior beginning to stumble, on his knees, away from her, he’d said miserably, “Fine, you don’t want me to -”
“Not you, Husband,” she’d interrupted gently, despite her obvious irritation, one of her hands tugging him back towards her. Still unable to move, Ray Junior had thought then that his mother… couldn’t resist. For all of her talk, he’d realized then that she really did love him, that… her relationship with Ray Senior was just as addictive as the drugs were.
And, unable to watch anymore, Ray Junior had taken the opportunity to sprint towards his room. Almost hoping that he could outrun the whole thing, he hadn’t wanted to remember any of it.
But even now, all this time later, he couldn’t rid himself of the events from that day. Somehow those scenes had stuck with him. Becoming the representation of the year in Rio, that day refused to be forgotten.
If anything, there were times when Ray Junior couldn’t stop thinking about it. His father’s pain and desperate desire to make things right had been etched into the teen’s very soul. Almost like phantom presences in the boy’s life, those feelings were always hovering nearby, always tangible. Even when it made no sense for them to exist, they were there, somehow transferred from his father. Which somehow made sense - or at least felt appropriate, given that they were namesakes.
And tied to his dad with blood and affinity, Ray Junior couldn’t help but know what his father meant when he talked about protecting family.
Sitting now in Spanish class (and totally not paying attention), the teenager told himself that he was doing the right thing. That, while his mother would be upset by it, this was the right thing to do. Kyle would be a casualty, he told himself, would have to be. That stranger had to go, Ray Junior reasoned once again, because he had interfered with Ray Junior’s family, had wrecked it.
And that was a transgression that had to be punished.
Even if it meant getting in trouble.
That… was what his father had done by coming out of hiding, what his father would do if he were still -
“Señor Caine,” his teacher said sharply in that moment.
Lazily Ray Junior turned his attention to the severe woman. Dramatically done, it was all a show so that she would know just how bored he really was. In other words, he was acting… well, pretty much how he always acted in Spanish class.
It wasn’t that the class was hard; really, it was just the opposite. Boring and easy, it had never challenged his mind, had never caught his attention. Almost to prove his point, the teacher asked him then to read a paragraph from the book, which had originally been written for fourth graders.
“No, thanks,” he told her snottily. It was completely annoying and asshole-y to make someone, who had learned to speak Spanish when he learned to speak English, to take this class. And he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise, even if it meant he was going to fail the class.
It was beneath him.
“¿Por qué no?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
With a smirk on his face, Ray Junior told her, “Porque I don’t speak Spanish.”
The teacher sighed. “I see another trip to the principal’s office is in order,” she said, dismay lacing every tone.
It didn’t take her long to write the pink slip he needed. Frankly, the teenager wouldn’t be surprised if she had a whole pad of them written up just for him to use. Because, even though school had really barely just started, this was becoming a regular thing for him. So much so that he was probably failing the class but oh well.
And yet if Ray Junior thought this was going to be just another trip to the principal’s office, he couldn’t have been more wrong.
Because not ten feet away from the classroom he came out of, he saw him - Kyle.
His heart tightened at the sight of the newbie walking down the hallway towards one of the bathrooms. His breath unconsciously being held, Ray Junior knew in his marrow that this was the perfect opportunity to get his revenge.
Something came over him in that second. No time to plan exactly what he was going to do, a part of Ray Junior already seemed to know how to handle this.
His footsteps were fast but soft, just slow enough to give the illusion that he wasn’t following the blond. His breathing controlled and calm, he was not surprised that Kyle didn’t notice him - or at least didn’t seem to anyway.
Less than a foot away, Ray Junior balled his hands into fists.
He was ready.
Retribution was here.
And there was no one to save the teenager.
Not even Uncle Horatio.
“Hey,” Ray Junior said as casually as he could.
Kyle seemed to turn around in slow motion, his body’s pace the perfect speed for Ray’s target practice.
Two sets of dark eyes met one another. Different but the same, only Ray Junior’s had a glint of anger and mischief in them.
Kyle opened his mouth to ask, “What?”
But the words never came out.
Ray’s fist hurled through the air. Knuckles hitting cartilage loudly, a smack echoed in the silent hallway. Immediately following it was the blond’s yelp of pain, sharp and noisy, and Ray Junior’s own growl, low and gritty.
Kyle, having no time to react, slipped on the freshly waxed tile. His sneakers squeaking loudly, he had no traction. And he fell, sprawled out on the floor.
Blood gushed, oozed, from the blond’s nose. And absentmindedly, as though seeing everything through that haze again, Ray could feel the warm, sticky liquid on his burning fingers.
“Holy crap, you douche bag!” Kyle nearly howled. Standing up, he was prepared to fight back.
But it didn’t matter.
The noise had attracted the attention of one of the nearby classrooms. And a teacher and his assistant rushed at the two teens. Hands grabbing at the cousins, they ended the fight before it had even really begun.
Muted disappointment hitting him, Ray Junior could only think:
He was going to be in trouble.
But his father would have absolutely understood.
Go to the next Chapter
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Yelina Salas, Horatio Caine, the whole Caine family
Author's Note: WARNING: SPOILER FOR SEASON 6.
Summary: Almost two decades ago, Horatio made a decision that would change his family forever. Will they ever forgive him? Will he ever tell Yelina how he feels? This is an alternative to the beginning of season 6. A Horatio and Kyle story; H/Y romance in the future.
Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27, Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31, Chapter 32, Chapter 33, Chapter 34, Chapter 35, Chapter 36, Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39, Chapter 40, Chapter 41, Chapter 42, Chapter 43, Chapter 44, Chapter 45, Chapter 46, Chapter 47, Chapter 48, and Chapter 49.
Disclaimer: I don't own the show.
“We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies.” - Shirley Abbott
Truth was there weren’t many things Ray Junior had learned from his father. Walking, talking - those skills had been taught by his mother mainly, or at least that was what Ray Junior assumed; he didn’t have very many memories of his father from that time, and most of them were… nonsensical, small snippets of no real importance.
Or maybe that wasn’t true at all. Those moments were absolutely important to Ray Junior. But memories of sharing blueberry waffles with strawberry syrup at three in the morning and naming his pet parakeet left him wanting more. Made him wish that there were more to the relationship that they’d had, although in some ways Ray Junior thought maybe he would feel that way no matter what.
And so when his namesake had reappeared, had essentially come back to life, they had had another chance, a chance to do more with one another. Which had still included sugary sweet, capable-of-rotting-your-teeth breakfasts at the oddest hours.
But there’d been more the second time around, thankfully, including those father-son moments Ray had always seen on TV. The ones that always had looked so fake in their earnestness, in their plastic-y perfection, had become something of a reality for him. A week before Ray Senior would be gone forever, the two had gone “fishing.”
In reality, the daytrip hadn’t involved any fishing whatsoever. But that hadn’t bothered Ray Junior, unlike the four am wake up call. His father had said they’d leave at six, but paranoid and strung out, Ray Senior had changed his mind.
“We need to get on the road” had been all the reasoning he offered, and Ray Junior had known better than to argue. Not that he had really wanted to - he’d been without his dad so long, it had seemed wrong to fight.
And a short time later, they’d ended up in the rainforest that existed in the middle of the city. A lush oasis completely out of place, it had been Ray Senior’s preferred hiding spot. “Makes you feel like time isn’t passing - like it’s nothing,” he’d said, as they’d wandered deep into the dense forest. “Makes you feel like nothing can touch you.”
Grumpy from the lack of sleep, Ray Junior hadn’t been able to stop himself from replying, “Nothing except all these damn bugs.” His hand swatting dramatically at something large, he hadn’t appreciated all the insects in the air.
“You sound like your mother when you bitch, Ray,” his father had said unkindly.
The comparison, unfair in every way, had been enough to shut the boy up. Which had been unlike him, Ray Junior could see now. Normally, he would have fought tooth and nail against the idea that he was like his mother. But in that moment, he’d only wanted to have a good time with his father. And inevitably, any defense of his mother or himself would ruin that, he’d realized.
Really, he’d known that fact long before that day, had accepted it as part of his life the moment they’d set foot in Rio. His excitement over having his father back settling down, he’d learned: if he wanted to get along with both parents, he had to… remain as neutral as he could.
Even if it had been completely unfair to him.
So as father and son had walked deeper into the forest, Ray had kept his mouth shut.
And finally the two had settled down on top of a large tree root, the location hidden from foot traffic. The dark wood, uneven and rough, had begun to dig into the back of Ray Junior’s legs and butt when his father had whipped out a joint.
As though it were the most normal thing in the world.
Ray Junior’s own muted surprise at the situation, he realized later, had said quite a bit as well.
At the time, he’d waited patiently, silently, as Ray Senior lit the thin homemade cigarette. What he’d been waiting for exactly the teenager still didn’t know. But in that moment, he’d felt as though something was about to happen, and so he’d waited anxiously for his father to say, do something.
Of course, that task had been difficult to do - to wait anxiously. The smell of pot filling the air, it had mixed with the heady scent of wet soil and plant pollen, and it had almost instantly begun to work on Ray Junior’s nerves.
But not on his eyes.
His gaze insistent, he had watched his father take a long pull on the joint. And truthfully, the older man had looked… happier then than Ray Junior had ever seen him. He’d been so completely at peace, happy and relaxed. And Ray Junior had seen it then: his father was a drug addict.
That realization hadn’t stung much then - there’d been no chance for it to, as Ray Senior had asked in the most casual manner, “You ever try this before?”
The truth was he had, the same night Chris and his stupid friends had shot that homeless man. But in that moment, Ray Junior had been too stunned to respond.
This was his father, he’d thought at the time. And yet here the man was, acting like the stereotypical seventeen-year-old thug trying to get the younger kid to smoke dope.
This was his dad, and it was so messed up, he’d told himself, that he was sure his mother was right to be so miserable in Brazil.
“Guess not,” Ray Senior had said, answering his own question. “Your mother,” he’d started to say with a chuckle in his voice. “She keeps you so sheltered.”
The conversation irritating him, Ray Junior had yanked the blunt from his father’s mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m sure she’s just saving up to buy me a real nice hooker for my sixteenth birthday,” he’d said sarcastically.
His words mingling with the smoke in the air, Ray had taken a long drag from the cigarette. The desire to cough had been almost unbearable, even though he’d smoked weed before. But purposefully, Ray Junior had suppressed that need, and that had made him look like someone who had spent plenty of time dabbling with dope… just as he’d hoped it would.
That appearance had apparently made his father happy, because the older man had nodded approvingly then. Like Ray Junior had done something admirable.
It was completely screwed up, made worse by the fact that… he’d wanted that acceptance.
Even if it meant doing something pretty retarded.
“You sound like your uncle,” Ray Senior had said. “He would have talked like that when we were kids… Although he would have totally puked his brains out at the smell of a little weed,” he’d lazily added on as an afterthought.
“Not like Horatio, Dad,” Ray Junior had corrected. “I can, like… I don’t know… speak in complex sentences and stay out in the sun.”
His father had giggled in response, the pot clearly wrapping its warm and fuzzy arms around him. And the drug’s embrace had also found Ray Junior, because he too… had started to really feel the effects.
Which had been completely okay with him, because the less… thinking, or whatever, he had to do about this situation, the better.
Ignoring the bizarreness, the wrongness of this whole deal, pretending like his mother wouldn’t freak out when they both went home high as a kite, Ray Junior had allowed himself to slip into a deep haze.
Whatever the father and son had talked about that day, the teenager really didn’t remember now. The only thing he could recall with great clarity was the point in the day when they’d started to talk about his mother.
A couple of blunts long since smoked, Ray Senior had announced suddenly, as they’d laid on the tree root, “Your mom doesn’t get it. She thinks everything will get better all on its own.”
Ray Junior had wanted to argue that getting high in the middle of the forest was hardly making their problems go away. But he’d kept his mouth shut, knowing that it wouldn’t help anything.
“She thinks,” the older man had continued, “that… I don’t know what she thinks. You know what your mother thinks? Because she has become a whole damn different species, I swear,” he’d rambled on, pulling a needle out of his pocket.
The small, plastic object had dirt on it, looked as though it had been used many, many times before. “Dad…” A lump had grown in the back of Ray Junior’s throat. The weed, he’d thought, had been one thing, but this… was bad.
This was really bad.
And he’d wondered then how long his mother had known, or if she’d known… or if this was how it had been before Ray Senior had died the first time. Ray Junior’s thoughts, questions, had meandered from one to the other, the weed making it hard to concentrate on anything.
The only constant, it had seemed at the time, the only thing he really had continually understood at that moment had been that…
This was so screwed up.
His father had flicked at the needle, the motion getting rid of any air bubbles. “Whatever you do,” he’d told Ray Junior. “Don’t ever do this shit. You’ll never get out of it, man.”
In muted horror, Ray Junior had watched him inject the drugs into his arm.
And as the meth - or maybe it was heroin, who the hell knew - had begun to work, his father’s ramblings had gotten worse. “Yelina doesn’t understand, but I know the truth. And you do too - you gotta protect your family, gotta… support them and stuff.”
Not following, Ray Junior had asked, “How - ”
“I have a problem, I know,” his father had interrupted miserably. Flicking the dirty needle into a nearby plant, he’d stood up. “Lets go home,” he’d said suddenly.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Ray Junior hadn’t imagined that his mother would particularly appreciate them coming home stoned out of their gourds.
“Yeah… your mom won’t like it but whatever,” he’d said with a shrug. “What the hell does she like these days? She misses home, I get that,” his father had told him, trying to sound understanding. And then the older man’s mood had changed almost instantly as he’d added, “She misses flirting with my brother - whatever.”
As they’d stumbled home, Ray Junior had remained quiet; he hadn’t known what to say, and he definitely hadn’t wanted to get involved in… whatever the hell his parents were fighting about. So once again he’d stayed quiet, instead silently helping his father navigate the uneven ground to get back out of the rainforest.
“She’s miserable, Ray,” his father had told him, sadness creeping in his voice. “She hates me, man, and I’m… you know, I’m trying to fix it, but all she wants to do is bitch about how much I’ve screwed up.” He’d tripped over an obnoxiously large root then, and Ray Junior had had to reach out and grab his father’s arm to keep him from falling to the ground.
But if the older man had noticed that he’d almost ended up face first in rainforest dirt, he hadn’t looked like it. Instead he’d just kept talking. “She doesn’t understand what I’m doing, doesn’t appreciate it at all, you know? Cause she doesn’t understand that a man has to fight for his family.”
His father had stopped at that moment, despite the fact that they’d been crossing a road. And ignoring the cars around them, he’d put his hands on Ray Junior’s shoulders and said, “Remember that - men protect their family no matter what it takes.”
At the time, it had seemed hypocritical for Ray Senior to say that. Had he really been protecting his family when he’d let them all think he was dead, Ray Junior had wanted to ask.
That question, one that could never have a sufficient answer, had toyed with his mind. Permeating through the fuzzy haze of his high, it had left a knot in Ray Junior’s stomach.
The feeling of anger washing over him hotly, he’d wanted to scream and hit and leave his damn father bleeding and in pain. As much pain as the older man had left the rest of his family in when he’d faked his death. The idea of vengeance, of violence, so tempting in that moment, even after the fact, Ray Junior wasn’t sure why he hadn’t done it.
Maybe it was out of some sort of loyalty to family or… to the idea of who his father had been before.
He didn’t understand it now, hadn’t then. Really, all he’d known in that moment was he wanted to be home already; not here in Rio, but home, which was and only could ever be Miami.
And it had been just as he’d felt completely trapped that they’d gotten home. His mother waiting for them, Ray Junior had felt his stomach drop to his knees.
His anger replaced immediately with “Shit!” echoing in his mind, he’d been terrified that she would figure out what they’d been doing together.
The teenager never forgot the way the living room had filled with tension, nor the color his mother’s eyes had changed. Dark and brooding, they’d silently dared the father-son duo to speak.
“What in the -” Her angry words had been cut off by Ray Senior slumping his body against hers. His face had pressed into the side of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin.
As Ray Junior had thought how icky this whole marital display was, his father had muttered, “Ooooh, Mommy’s mad.” One of his hands had skirted around her waist. His fingers dirty from their adventure in the rainforest, had left dark gray and brown smudges on the white linen edges of her top.
And Ray Junior had only been able to stand there, practically staring at his parents. His eyes wide and worried, he’d wondered what would happen next. Even though he’d known it to be wrong and kind of rude to do it, he’d still done it.
His father had spent so much time undercover when Ray was little, so the boy hadn’t ever really seen his parents be a couple. There were snippets of memory but not enough to really know what they’d been like together or why they’d even loved one another.
It was almost funny to wonder about that, because before Rio, Ray Junior had never even thought about it. They’d just been… his parents or whatever, and that had been all the explanation necessary. But now that the three of them were together, the boy hadn’t been able to stop himself from wondering about it. Maybe it was because they fought so much that his curiosity was piqued; maybe he’d just needed to know that they really did love each other at one point, if not now.
Whatever the reason, he’d been eager to witness every interaction, every word - all of it so he could understand. Why had they fallen in love? Why had his mother named him after his father?
Myth and reality swapped casually for one another in all the stories he’d heard as a boy, Ray Junior had needed to see it for himself. Even when it had hurt to watch, even when it had grossed him out to do so, he’d kept looking.
And right then, Ray Junior, once again, had regretted doing so.
His father sniffling loudly against his mother’s neck, the emotions of the room had shifted. Oh, his mother had still been furious - Ray Junior had recognized that much. But there’d been something muted about it, something in her that had read as timid… maybe she’d just been too afraid to push Ray Senior over the edge.
Which had seemed, at the time, like a very real possibility. Gone was the bravado he’d walked in with and replacing it had been this… very palpable sadness that made Ray Junior completely forgive his father for all of his mistakes.
As much as he’d wanted to stay angry, he hadn’t been able to. His father had just been too pathetic to deny him that.
Against his wife’s neck, Ray Senior mumbled, “You’re always mad at me. You hate me, Yelina, and I love you so much. You’re killing me here.” His words had been cut off with a loud sob, the older man breaking down into tears. Crying noisily, Ray Senior had grabbed her hard, almost too afraid to let go of her.
“I’m trying to fix it,” he’d sobbed over and over to Ray’s mother, who had looked absolutely stricken by the whole display.
Especially when the older man had collapsed onto his knees and buried his face in her skirt. “Forgive me, Yelina,” he’d cried into the black material. A hand wrapped around her ankle, the other hand had a tight grip around her thigh. His fingertips had rested just above her knee and underneath her skirt. And the whole thing had just made him look so… desperate to hold onto her.
The image so devastating to Ray Junior, he’d finally snapped out of his silent voyeurism. He hadn’t wanted to see anymore ever; it was just too painful.
His mother’s voice had carried then over the loud, muffled cries. “Raymond,” she’d said, looking at the boy. “I can’t do this now. Please leave us alone.” It had been so… curt, so unlike her that he’d only been able to blink.
In a way too frozen to move, Ray Junior had stood there dumbly. And since he hadn’t started to move, his father, having heard his name as well, had started to believe that she meant him.
Ray Senior beginning to stumble, on his knees, away from her, he’d said miserably, “Fine, you don’t want me to -”
“Not you, Husband,” she’d interrupted gently, despite her obvious irritation, one of her hands tugging him back towards her. Still unable to move, Ray Junior had thought then that his mother… couldn’t resist. For all of her talk, he’d realized then that she really did love him, that… her relationship with Ray Senior was just as addictive as the drugs were.
And, unable to watch anymore, Ray Junior had taken the opportunity to sprint towards his room. Almost hoping that he could outrun the whole thing, he hadn’t wanted to remember any of it.
But even now, all this time later, he couldn’t rid himself of the events from that day. Somehow those scenes had stuck with him. Becoming the representation of the year in Rio, that day refused to be forgotten.
If anything, there were times when Ray Junior couldn’t stop thinking about it. His father’s pain and desperate desire to make things right had been etched into the teen’s very soul. Almost like phantom presences in the boy’s life, those feelings were always hovering nearby, always tangible. Even when it made no sense for them to exist, they were there, somehow transferred from his father. Which somehow made sense - or at least felt appropriate, given that they were namesakes.
And tied to his dad with blood and affinity, Ray Junior couldn’t help but know what his father meant when he talked about protecting family.
Sitting now in Spanish class (and totally not paying attention), the teenager told himself that he was doing the right thing. That, while his mother would be upset by it, this was the right thing to do. Kyle would be a casualty, he told himself, would have to be. That stranger had to go, Ray Junior reasoned once again, because he had interfered with Ray Junior’s family, had wrecked it.
And that was a transgression that had to be punished.
Even if it meant getting in trouble.
That… was what his father had done by coming out of hiding, what his father would do if he were still -
“Señor Caine,” his teacher said sharply in that moment.
Lazily Ray Junior turned his attention to the severe woman. Dramatically done, it was all a show so that she would know just how bored he really was. In other words, he was acting… well, pretty much how he always acted in Spanish class.
It wasn’t that the class was hard; really, it was just the opposite. Boring and easy, it had never challenged his mind, had never caught his attention. Almost to prove his point, the teacher asked him then to read a paragraph from the book, which had originally been written for fourth graders.
“No, thanks,” he told her snottily. It was completely annoying and asshole-y to make someone, who had learned to speak Spanish when he learned to speak English, to take this class. And he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise, even if it meant he was going to fail the class.
It was beneath him.
“¿Por qué no?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
With a smirk on his face, Ray Junior told her, “Porque I don’t speak Spanish.”
The teacher sighed. “I see another trip to the principal’s office is in order,” she said, dismay lacing every tone.
It didn’t take her long to write the pink slip he needed. Frankly, the teenager wouldn’t be surprised if she had a whole pad of them written up just for him to use. Because, even though school had really barely just started, this was becoming a regular thing for him. So much so that he was probably failing the class but oh well.
And yet if Ray Junior thought this was going to be just another trip to the principal’s office, he couldn’t have been more wrong.
Because not ten feet away from the classroom he came out of, he saw him - Kyle.
His heart tightened at the sight of the newbie walking down the hallway towards one of the bathrooms. His breath unconsciously being held, Ray Junior knew in his marrow that this was the perfect opportunity to get his revenge.
Something came over him in that second. No time to plan exactly what he was going to do, a part of Ray Junior already seemed to know how to handle this.
His footsteps were fast but soft, just slow enough to give the illusion that he wasn’t following the blond. His breathing controlled and calm, he was not surprised that Kyle didn’t notice him - or at least didn’t seem to anyway.
Less than a foot away, Ray Junior balled his hands into fists.
He was ready.
Retribution was here.
And there was no one to save the teenager.
Not even Uncle Horatio.
“Hey,” Ray Junior said as casually as he could.
Kyle seemed to turn around in slow motion, his body’s pace the perfect speed for Ray’s target practice.
Two sets of dark eyes met one another. Different but the same, only Ray Junior’s had a glint of anger and mischief in them.
Kyle opened his mouth to ask, “What?”
But the words never came out.
Ray’s fist hurled through the air. Knuckles hitting cartilage loudly, a smack echoed in the silent hallway. Immediately following it was the blond’s yelp of pain, sharp and noisy, and Ray Junior’s own growl, low and gritty.
Kyle, having no time to react, slipped on the freshly waxed tile. His sneakers squeaking loudly, he had no traction. And he fell, sprawled out on the floor.
Blood gushed, oozed, from the blond’s nose. And absentmindedly, as though seeing everything through that haze again, Ray could feel the warm, sticky liquid on his burning fingers.
“Holy crap, you douche bag!” Kyle nearly howled. Standing up, he was prepared to fight back.
But it didn’t matter.
The noise had attracted the attention of one of the nearby classrooms. And a teacher and his assistant rushed at the two teens. Hands grabbing at the cousins, they ended the fight before it had even really begun.
Muted disappointment hitting him, Ray Junior could only think:
He was going to be in trouble.
But his father would have absolutely understood.
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