Disclaimers: The characters you recognize belong to Alliance and whoever else owns Due South. The others-- *minor* characters of other vampires and police personnel-- are my own creation. Some lines from Burning Down the House have been used either as written in the show or changed slightly (or a lot), and I borrowed a couple of lines from Asylum (but since this is an AU, they never would have been spoken otherwise). Basically, I've wreaked all kinds of havoc on BDtH and other bits of the S3 timeline. Don't let the size of this thing fool you into thinking there's a big complicated plot.
Warnings: Nothing that isn't covered above by "Category", "Rating", and "Pairing".
Notes: This is the sequel to a story I wrote nearly a year ago, and it took nearly that long to finish. It involved many rewrites, many story blocks, and much support and beta-type stuff from Melissa, Nicole S, Lori J, Olympia, Kat, and Gemma (and all my friends who listened to me complain about the blocks without killing me ;-). This is dedicated to anyone who read the first one and asked about a sequel and for Zen...again...just because.
********
I'll tell you something
I am a wolf but I like to wear sheep's clothing
I am a bonfire, I am a vampire
I'm waiting for my moment...
--from Temptation Waits by Garbage
********
Walking into the station house set every nerve in Ray's body on edge. He was not the same man who'd walked out of here a few days ago. He had changed so completely that he was sure it was written all over him. Didn't matter that his clothes, hair, and face were the same. In the very core of him, a change had taken place and he still wasn't sure how he was going to work his schedule around it. What kind of cop couldn't investigate during the daytime?
"Vampire Cop" sounded like a television show or a B-movie starring some former kick boxer. It did not sound like a life. Or the life Ray used to have, anyway. It did sum up his current situation quite well, but he was dealing with the changes as best as he could.
Ray had come to wrap up the last of his paperwork on the drug ring he'd helped to bust while he was undercover. Between the extremely solid case they'd built and his undercover status, he most likely wouldn't be called to testify in court, which was a huge relief. He was still learning the ins and outs of this vampire business, so he hadn't yet figured out a way to move about in the daytime without becoming a crispy critter. He would have asked Trevor, but the son of a bitch had skipped out after giving Ray a quick rundown of life as a bloodsucking fiend.
Surprisingly, it wasn't that bad, once he got past that avoiding the sunlight thing. He was faster, stronger, could see perfectly without his glasses, and never had to go to the grocery store unless he ran out of coffee. At times he wondered if he might be in some sort of shock that made the whole thing easier to take. If so, he hoped he never snapped out of it because he'd probably lose it in a big way. On the bright side, those padded, rubber rooms in the loony bin didn't have windows, or at least Ray didn't think so.
Settling at the desk he shared with another detective, Ray finished
up his reports, being extra careful to make sure that every detail was
accurate and spelled right. He didn't want to be called back to work
because he didn't cross a 't' or dot an 'i'. He had time off
coming and he was taking it.
Lieutenant Jacobs readily agreed that Ray deserved a break, which immediately put him on guard. He squirmed in the uncomfortable wooden chair and stared at his boss. "What's the catch?"
The lieutenant smiled sheepishly and rubbed his hand over his thinning grey hair, and Ray recognized that he was about to be talked into something. "Well, you're being considered for a special assignment. It'll be your decision, of course, but we have decided you're the best man for the job."
Ray let out a long breath, and looked down at his hands. He appreciated the compliment but knew it was not given freely. He had to ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he did have to ask about the assignment. It would be expected, and on rare occasions Ray tried to do what was expected of him, if for no other reason than to keep people off balance. "So what's the job?"
"The FBI has handpicked one of our local detectives to go undercover in a certain Las Vegas crime family because of his uncanny resemblance to one of that family's more influential members. It will be a dangerous assignment, and the brass has decided that to keep that detective's cover intact here in Chicago, another cop will take his place. That would be you."
For a moment Ray sat stunned. This seemed like a perfect opportunity for advancement, yet all he could think of was--"Would I have to change shifts? Because I've gotten so used to working nights that I don't want to change."
Lieutenant Jacobs looked nonplussed, as if that was the last thing he expected Ray to ask. He shrugged his broad shoulders and said, "I don't know how flexible they want to be with this. If the guy works days, you may have to do it too. Look, Ray, I'll have to talk to the Captain and get back to you. It'll be a couple of weeks until the switch anyway. Nothing is finalized yet."
"Okay then. Do I still get my time off?" Ray slid to the edge of the chair and planted his hands on the arms in preparation for standing. He was anxious to get moving again. He had another place to go tonight, and he wanted to get it over with.
"Yes, of course. I'll call you when the final details are ironed out."
Ray nodded and made his escape from the office. He went back to his desk and cleared out anything personal, for some reason he couldn't quite pinpoint. It just seemed like the thing to do, so he did it.
He walked out of the station with a much lighter step than he'd gone in with. He would be getting the distance that he so desperately needed right now.
***
Although the cold air of approaching winter didn't bother him, Ray pulled his jacket close around him as he stepped into the alley. It was purely an instinctive reaction, ultimately useless as a protective measure. He'd had a life altering experience that had begun in an alley quite similar to this one. If there were any other options, he wouldn't be here at all, but he had run out of supplies. He had to go stock up again, and all he had was a contact name and directions to a secret place behind a butcher shop.
For a moment, Ray paused and almost went back to the street. He was tempted to just take what he needed from some passed out wino or junkie. They wouldn't even miss it. He didn't have to go into an unknown situation just to get some blood-to-go. But he needed to explore all his options, and all things considered, this seemed a much safer alternative. His paranoia had already been fairly well developed by his years as a cop, so it could only be heightened by this vampire business.
He wasn't ready to give up that caution yet, so he kept one hand inside
his jacket on the gun in his shoulder holster as he trudged down the dark
alley. The second gun was a comforting weight in his boot.
The department frowned on back-up pieces--too tempting to drop one next
to the dead body of a formerly fleeing suspect--but most cops Ray knew
had them anyway. And Ray was still a cop. He may have to remind
himself occasionally, but he was.
The door was nondescript heavy steel, painted dark brownish red that blended with the brick of the building. A person of average night vision would probably walk right by without noticing its presence. On one side of the door, discarded boxes and bits of ripped cardboard teetered in a precarious pile, and on the other side, large wheeled trashcans, one of them filled with nothing but glass bottles, sat undisturbed in a row. The scene struck Ray as queer--the scavengers should have made off with the bigger boxes for shelter and the glass to sell for recycling. Ray realized he'd seen no homeless people in the area at all, but this was the type of neighborhood that should have been crawling with them. Very queer.
Taking a deep breath and blowing it out sharply, Ray cracked his neck and knocked on the door, hitting twice with the side of the fist, not the knuckles. A small panel in the door slid open at eye level and a deep male voice said, "State your business."
"Trevor sent me. Said to ask for Len." Ray spoke calmly as if his insides weren't twitching like a speed freak in a police lineup. The panel slid shut with no reply, and the door remained closed. He wondered for a moment if he'd failed some kind of test, but then he heard the scrape and click of multiple locks being unbolted.
"Welcome, brother." A large leather-clad man with very short grey-speckled brown hair greeted Ray with a friendly smile, and surprise kept him from taking an instinctive step back. "I can tell by your accent that you're not new to town, so you must be just...new."
Ray cleared his throat and attempted a smile. "Yeah, Trevor sent me."
"You said that already. You mean Trevor *made* you. Hah! That boy's got no control." The man stepped back and motioned Ray inside, then frisked him impersonally. He held up both of Ray's weapons and said, "I'm Roland, and I'll be keeping these until you leave."
"I'm a cop. Ray K--" Ray started to show his badge, but the man was already moving away toward a set of stairs.
"Pleasure to meet you, Ray. Follow me." Roland spoke over his shoulder as he led Ray down the stairs to a hallway lit only with a couple of small wall lamps. Opening one of the three doors that opened off the hall and ushering Ray through, he continued, "Len will fix you up."
"Thanks," Ray murmured absently, as he found himself in a room that could have passed for any liquor store, except that most of the stock was refrigerated. Three walls were lined with glass cases, filled with bottles of various sizes, some single and some in six packs. In the middle of the floor, two sets of shelves stood, holding bottles of wine, rum, vodka, scotch, bourbon, and a few more exotic looking liqueurs. The fourth wall held the door and checkout counter, where a nondescript bald man waited with a smile that could have shown patient friendliness or the fake interest of a really good salesman. Ray couldn't read the man as well as he thought he should.
"Have a look around," the man offered in an indistinguishable European accent. "When you've got what you want, I'll ring you up. Cash, charge or debit cards only. No checks."
Ray nodded and circled the room, inspecting the contents of the different cases. None of labels on the bottles gave any indication of what was truly inside, but small cards affixed to the front of the shelves gave the contents--some were purely the blood of one animal, with breeds of cow and pig being the most common types, but most were blends. Ray's tastes were too new to be specific, so he finally settled on a couple of six packs of the same brand that Trevor had given him, and took them over to the check out.
"So you're one of Trevor's, yes? I'm Len, by the way. Don't think I introduced myself earlier." Len rang up Ray's purchases on a state of the art computerized register, presenting him with a total not much higher than real beer would have cost him. Ray handed over cash, and the storekeeper gave him his change with a smile. "You ever need anything just give me a call. I've known Trevor for a long time in a lot of different places, and while he's great at giving birth, he's a failure at child rearing."
"Giving birth?" Ray had a vision of men having babies that was so horrifying his testicles tried to crawl up into his abdominal cavity, but he shook it off as ridiculous when Len explained.
"Turning new vampires. He likes to make them, but usually loses interest and leaves them to fend for themselves. One time in Mazatlan, must have been around 1923 or '24, he neglected to tell the girl what he'd done and she wandered right out into the sunrise, not knowing any better. Burst into a spectacular conflagration, she did. It was all the townspeople could talk about the next night and as soon as I heard, I asked him about it. He shrugged and said that he'd forgotten to mention it." Len shook his head and sighed. "Well, obviously he's doing better these days if he gave you my card."
"Yeah, he told me a lot of...uh, stuff," said Ray, wondering how in the hell the girl couldn't tell what had happened to her. Since he was in no mood to hear that particular name again, Ray changed the subject with a more general question. "Anything else I need to know?"
"Do you have a job?" Ray nodded as Len pulled a business card from a holder on the counter and held it out. "Doctor Swenson can provide you with medical documentation regarding the allergy to sunlight you have suddenly developed. He's a well-respected doctor and researcher. He's also one of us. Call him and tell him I referred you. He'll see you as soon as possible."
"Thank you." Tucking the card away in his jacket pocket, Ray gathered up his sack and headed for the door. "It's been an experience, but...um, I gotta go."
"Yes, okay. Come back any time. And stay out of the sun! Heh heh."
Ray stepped out into the hallway just as Roland came out of the opposite door. Ray looked past the other man and got a quick impression of smoke, pale golden lights, and quiet music. "Hey, Roland. What's in there?"
The big man shut the door firmly behind him and answered, "That's the lounge. It's for our people to have a place to hang out away from mortals. Ordinarily, you'd be more than welcome to stop by for a drink, but there's a private party tonight."
Ray's curiosity about anything grew in direct proportion to that object's unavailability, but he held his questions and promised himself he'd come back soon. He let Roland escort him to the door and give back his guns, which he quickly checked and returned to their proper positions.
As he walked back to his car, Ray cradled his bag to his chest and wondered what to do next. He'd been so preoccupied with work and 'grocery shopping' that he'd not made any plans for the rest of the night. The image of the Mountie floated through his mind, and for the first time all week, Ray let it settle instead of chasing it away.
Benton Fraser of the RCMP, Ray rolled the name silently over his tongue. He still remembered the man's address. He could go by the place, maybe catch another glimpse of the man who'd captured his eye--and other parts-- so firmly a week ago. Ray had thought of the Mountie often, wondered what his story was, but he hadn't asked around his division or tried to find out about the detective the Mountie had been with that night. He'd planned--wanted-- to ask, but he didn't want to draw any attention to himself or his interest in the Mountie. Ray had tried not to think of the man at all, but the thoughts had crept up on him when he was distracted or asleep.
Oh yeah, sleeping was the worst, because Ray had never learned the knack of controlling his dreams. Nearly every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Mountie or even more often heard his voice. So smooth, so polite, it soothed Ray's nerves and made his heart race at the same time. That couldn't be good, could it?
The dreams always started with the voice, then progressed quickly to sweaty bodies rolling around in Ray's bed. He'd have Mountie Fraser naked and slicked up so nice, whimpering-eager for Ray to fuck that undoubtedly perfect ass. The dreams usually slowed to a virtual crawl at that point, where each moment would last a lifetime. Every time, Ray would come but hold Fraser back so that he'd still be ready to go when Ray pulled out and rolled over onto his back. Ray would then spread his legs, raise his knees, and let Fraser do the one thing that Stella never could. Fuck him until he passed out. And while the pleasure was intense, Ray always woke up feeling disappointed that he never got to see Fraser come. Not once.
Unlocking his car and stowing his package in the backseat floorboard, Ray sat in the driver's seat, considering his options, and came to a quick decision. Maybe he'd drive by there on his way home after all. Fraser's apartment wasn't that far out of his way, a couple of miles at the most.
***
There it was, 231, and Fraser's apartment was right about-- Ray scanned the third floor until he saw a set of windows that appeared lit by candle or lantern light--*there*. He wondered whether the Mountie had forgotten to pay his electric bill or if maybe he was getting romantic with his honey.
There was one way to find out. Ray went behind the buildings across the street from Fraser's, and found a fire escape. He quickly climbed to the roof of the pool hall and went over to the front so that he could see right into Fraser's apartment. His view was aided by his position being at a slight diagonal, which gave him a wider angle of the apartment than being straight across the street would have. The man apparently had no curtains, and his shades were rolled all the way up to the top of the window, further clearing Ray's view.
Ray had been right about the light. The apartment was lit by a small lamp and Coleman lantern, which the Mountie seemed to be using to read a small leather bound book. He was sitting on a narrow bed with his back propped against the wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him. With the red uniform hanging neatly on a hook on the wall, Fraser was wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Even dressed casually and lounging on his bed, Fraser looked neater than Ray did when he was dressed up to go to court.
Ray was both relieved and confused that the soft light wasn't for seduction purposes. He wanted Fraser to himself, yet a guy that good looking couldn't possibly be unattached. He had to have a girl--or boy--friend somewhere. Maybe his sweetie was out of town or they had a fight or something. No way was this prime specimen of a man just walking around loose. With a face like that, he probably got offers every day.
Ray could think of plenty of things to offer him. Unfortunately, those things weren't necessarily something the guy would want, especially if he was the straight arrow he appeared to be. Hell, half the things Ray might offer would be illegal in all of Canada and a good portion of the Midwest.
Ray was jolted out of his thoughts when a big white and grey wolf-looking dog walked into view inside the apartment. It leaped onto the bed, putting its paws on Fraser's chest and tilting its head in silent communication. Fraser set the book carefully aside and appeared to speak a few words that made the dog jump to the floor. It went to wait by the door while Fraser swung his legs over the side of the bed and put on a pair of boots.
"Taking the doggy for a walk, huh?" Ray watched the subject of his stakeout pull on a leather jacket, set the Mountie hat on his head, and leave the apartment with the dog, appearing on the street a couple of minutes later. "Don't mind if I tag along, do ya? No, of course not. You'll never know I'm here."
The dog seemed to be in no hurry to do its business. It wandered
down the sidewalk sniffing at every little thing, stopping for a pat on
the head from a child whose mother pulled him away sharply once she got
a good look at the dog. A few words and a smile from Fraser had her
changing her attitude in no time. Ray figured the woman would eventually
give him the kid if Fraser kept giving her that smile. It was polite
and trustworthy and hotter than hell. It was a smile that wrapped
itself around your insides and squeezed painfully tight while you thanked
it for the experience, and Ray wanted one of his own. He wanted the
Mountie to smile at him like that just once.
But not tonight. Ray wasn't quite ready for it yet, so he remained
on the roofs, just following and watching as Fraser and his dog made their
way down the street, after a few blocks turning around and heading for
home. Ray continued to watch as the man and dog returned to the apartment.
The dog promptly curled up and went to sleep, while the man stripped down
to light red long johns and climbed into bed. When he picked up the
book and started to read again, Ray decided he'd had enough for one night.
He was about to move from the realm of harmless fantasy to the land of
self-torture, and he really wasn't up for that on a windy roof where he
might be interrupted at any moment. He'd save it for later when he
was tucked into his own bed, where he could jerk off in comfort and privacy.
He took the rooftops back to the street where he'd parked, preferring not to have to deal with any people at the moment. When he got to his car, he checked to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be and then drove home to make an appointment with the doctor that Len-the-bloodseller had told him about.
***
The sun was just going down three days later when Lieutenant Jacobs called Ray back to the station house. Since he'd been up for a couple of hours, Ray was already dressed, fed, and ready to go.
When Ray was admitted to his boss's office, he found two other men waiting, middle aged men cut from the same cloth as Jacobs. Lieutenant Jacobs quickly introduced Captain James Alvarado, who would be coordinating the undercover effort, and Lieutenant Harding Welsh, who would be Ray's new shift commander.
After handshakes and greetings and nice-to-meet-you's were passed around, everyone took a seat and Jacobs pushed a tall stack of files to the middle of his desk. "Detective Kowalski, we've reviewed the paperwork from your doctor, and we ran into a slight problem." The lieutenant nodded to the captain, who took over.
"The 27th doesn't have a second shift of detectives. As you may know, some precincts have them and some don't, largely due to budgetary constraints and perceived need. But after careful consideration, it has been decided to give the 27th precinct a second shift." Captain Alvarado looked at Welsh and then back to Ray and explained, "At first there will only be you, your...uh, unofficial partner, and another pair of detectives on this second shift. You all will be working under Lieutenant Welsh for the time being because the current budget cannot support another shift commander."
When Ray finally spoke, it was to address the main thing that had snagged his attention during the Captain's speech. "My *unofficial* partner? What's that all about?"
Alvarado and Jacobs both looked at Lieutenant Welsh with identical I'm-glad-it's-you-and-not-me smiles on their faces. Ray started to get nervous. What kind of guy was he replacing? They didn't have detectives in K-9 units, did they?
Welsh took the top file off the stack and handed it to Ray. "This is the detective whose life you will be taking over. And this is...his partner. More or less." He placed another file in front of Ray. "We know that it's a bit unorthodox, but they do solve cases--"
Ray was vaguely aware of the lieutenant's voice continuing to speak, but he didn't understand another word the man said. His whole world had narrowed to a three by five black and white photograph paperclipped to the first page in the folder. Ray had only seen the man a few times, but he recognized him right away. This was the cop from the alley that night. The balding guy in the flashy suit and green Buick. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the sick certainty that hit him. He didn't have to open the other file because he knew exactly what, or rather *who* he'd find inside.
Silently panicking at what they were asking of him, he stared at the page in front of him until the picture began to blur. He took a deep breath and tried to look outwardly calm, but inside he was shaking so hard he wondered why his teeth didn't rattle. He glanced over the vital statistics next to the photograph, and then looked up at his lieutenant. "Why do they want me for this job? I don't look anything like this...Raymond Vecchio."
While it was the Captain that answered, Ray kept his eyes on his current boss, who was serving as his lifeline right now. "We didn't find anybody suitable who did, so we decided to go with our best undercover man."
Ray almost snorted at that because he didn't believe it for a minute. The grave looks on the faces of the three older men dissuaded him from voicing his contention. He could not argue with his superiors on something like this. Anything else he could, but not this.
Sitting in a small, overcrowded office in an uncomfortable chair, Ray suddenly started to believe in predestination, or fate, whatever. He knew this was what he was supposed to do, even though the reasonable part of his mind told him to just stand up, throw his shield on the desk, and walk out. He could even refuse the assignment without quitting altogether. He could tell them thanks but no thanks, find someone else. But he couldn't.
Without so much as glancing at the second file, Ray nodded at his boss and then at the other two men. "All right, I'll do it. When do I start?"
"You've got nearly two weeks until you have to step into Vecchio's shoes." Lieutenant Jacobs shoved the rest of the files toward Ray, and said, "You'll not be working any new cases, but you will have Vecchio's case files to study and a few people to talk to. I'll give you a list of names and numbers and what their relationship to Vecchio is. It will be up to you to figure out what questions to ask."
Jacobs smiled at him with an almost paternal gleam in his dark eyes. "Ray, I have every confidence that you can do this."
Ray smiled for the first time since he'd walked through the door, and nodded. "From your mouth to God's ear, Lou. I hope you're right."
***
Ray took home two large boxes of files. They were divided into two groups: cases that Vecchio had worked before Fraser, many of which were still open and cases that Vecchio had worked after Fraser, most of which were closed. He set the boxes on his dining table and left the apartment. He was technically on his own time so he was going to do what he wanted before he got to work.
And right now he wanted some coffee.
The Dale Restaurant was a smallish, brightly-lit diner, and the coffee was surprisingly good. It was, not coincidentally, also in the Mountie's neighborhood, which paid off as Ray was stirring sugar into his second cup.
Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio walked in and sat down in a booth by the wall, still carrying on with their conversation. Ray turned slightly so that he could watch them from the corner of his eye, as he unashamedly listened to them.
"Yeah, Benny, it does sound great. I almost wish I was going with you."
"Well, Ray, you know you're more than welcome to come--"
"Almost! I said *almost*." Vecchio laughed, but spoke with a warmth in his voice that was far too obvious to Ray's sensitive ears. "You'll have a great time being alone in the wilderness, and seeing all your Inuit and Mountie buddies. I guess Dief will go completely wild having all that room to run."
"He misses the wilderness terribly. Wolves are not city creatures."
Ray wondered if Vecchio could hear that Fraser was not talking about his dog...or wolf, whatever, as clearly as Ray could. The longing in the other man's voice almost broke his heart, but the realization that Fraser was leaving Chicago, at least for a while, hit even harder. Throwing some bills on the counter next to his cup, Ray stood up to leave.
When he got to the door, Ray paused and looked back at Fraser to fix the image of him in his mind. Instead of the fancier red uniform, the Mountie was wearing a serviceable brown one that made him look much more real, less superhero-ish. Ray decided he liked it much better because, although the red one was sexy, the brown uniform made Fraser look touchable yet very tough. And sexy, of course, but the man really couldn't help that. Hell, even those ridiculous Dr. Denton-looking long johns had been sexy when Fraser wore them. Ray had never had any particular uniform fetish, but it was never too late to develop one. He just hoped he'd have a chance to do so.
Almost laughing at the bizarre turn his thoughts had taken, Ray walked out into the night. He had stacks of work waiting for him, and mooning around after his future partner was not going to get it done. He had to fight the urge to hang around long enough to see if Fraser went home alone or if Vecchio went with him. The thought that the two men might be more than friends sent an irrational bolt of jealousy through him. Just because Ray had felt a strong attraction from the first moment he'd heard his voice didn't mean Fraser belonged to him--in any way, shape or form.
They were strangers. Fraser was a stranger. A stranger that Ray would have to pretend was his friend and partner. He had no idea just how he was going to pull this off.
***
Ray put off opening the last file until he had memorized or at least familiarized himself with all the others. It had taken him days to make it through the boxes of files, but he'd resisted the siren call of the one file that he'd kept separate, lying in the middle of his coffee table like an untouchable centerpiece.
He'd picked up bits of Fraser from all over Vecchio's cases, but now he was faced with the complete story. Or as complete a story as one could get from official words on official paper. He knew there was so much more than ever got written down. Some things could not *be* written down, either officially or not. Words would not do them justice.
With a fresh cup of coffee in hand, Ray sat at his desk, turned on the reading lamp out of habit, and flipped open the last file. He fell headfirst into the story of a man who came to a city thousands of miles from home. Came to a city that was cold and unkind and utterly alien to him just to find the men who had murdered his father. He'd brought those men to justice at great cost to his career, and had stayed in Chicago to catch even more bad guys. Along the way, he'd gained the devoted friendship of Raymond Vecchio and the respect of the Chicago Police Department.
Ray closed his eyes and wondered how on earth he could pull this off. This 'assignment' was starting to feel more like a kamikaze mission. Maybe going up in flames was part of this whole destiny thing he'd so recently begun to believe in.
After taking a moment to settle himself, he started over at the beginning. He had to admit this made for a more interesting read than most of the books on the best sellers list.
When he got to the part about Victoria Metcalf, Ray took down the small, framed picture of Stella and him at the dance competition from the top of his desk. Seeing the way they were smiling into each other's eyes didn't hurt quite as much now as it had right after she left. Her leaving had just about killed him, but he'd held that picture every night for a month while he missed her too bad to cry about it. Now he could smile and be glad that as much as she'd hurt him, Stella had never tried to deliberately make him suffer. She had never turned evil and tried to destroy him. Strange thing to be grateful for, but there it was. He almost felt like calling her on the phone and thanking her, except that she wouldn't appreciate being woken up at four a.m. for anything less than a life or death situation. There weren't going to be any of those as far as he was concerned, not anymore.
He could feel himself beginning to let go of Stella. He'd known all along that it was over and it was time to move on, but he hadn't *felt* it yet. He wondered if he ran into Stella right now how he'd react. Would he get that longing ache to have her back? He'd loved her longer than he hadn't. All of his adult life had been connected with Stella, and when she'd left he'd been completely at sea. How could he be just him when he'd been a part of Ray-and-Stella for so many years? But he'd done it. For months, he'd kept reaching for her in the middle of the night, and expecting her to just be there at other times. Eventually he had stopped doing that, and now he was starting to build a life for himself that was not conditional on getting Stella back.
He'd even been out on a few dates. The very idea of dating anyone but Stella had been completely foreign at first, but he'd slowly gotten used to the idea. He hadn't quite worked up to dancing with another woman, though. That was his and Stella's thing, and he couldn't do it with just anyone yet.
Maybe that's why it had been easier with men-- there were no expectations of the type of romance he'd shared with Stella. He'd really only experimented a bit, going to bars and fooling around a little, until Trevor. He'd done things with Trevor that he'd only dreamed about, and the physical part had been surprisingly easy, even if part of his own reactions had been emotionally jarring. Things had eventually fallen into place. He wondered if that was a by-product of the weirdness they shared or if he could have the same thing with another man. A man like Benton Fraser, for instance.
Ray told himself that he had to stop thinking like that. The man was probably straight as a stick, his closeness to his partner and terrible luck with women notwithstanding. He shook his head regretfully, and returned Stella's picture to its rightful spot. He closed up the file and was not really surprised to notice that daylight was seeping in around the very edges of the curtains. Good thing he kept them closed all the time or he might have been a crispy critter by now.
Standing up for a good spine popping stretch, he decided to go to bed. He'd go over the files again when he woke up this afternoon, and then start doing interviews.
***
That morning Ray dreamed of blood. Rivers of blood, oceans of it. So much blood he was drowning in it. So much blood it ceased to have meaning, like a word repeated over and over becomes nonsensical.
The maroon color that surrounded him started to bend and twist, lightening and morphing into the brighter vermilion shade of the distinctive red serge. Fraser was there and Trevor had him. Trevor's arm was wrapped around Fraser's middle, his hand clenched around the Mountie's throat. Ray froze in panic, muscles locked in conflict. He wanted to save Fraser, but he didn't want to hurt Trevor. He felt pulled and torn in opposite directions.
Ray's fangs dug into his lower lip until his own blood flowed over his
tongue, and down his throat. It was like the kisses he shared with
Trevor, thick-slick and nourishing. Intensifying his hunger rather
than feeding it. Ray closed his eyes and felt soft lips on his, an
impossibly hot mouth burning him. The kisses tasted of sweetness
and something wild. He opened his eyes and stared at Fraser as Trevor's
laughter filled his ears. He reached out his hands, ready to lunge
at Trevor and take Fraser from him, but the blood returned in a big, sweeping
wave that knocked him off his feet. As the blood washed him away,
he could hear Fraser calling for him, calling for help, and Trevor still
laughing.
Ray awoke with a start. The thirst burning the back of his throat was almost unbearable. He hadn't been this hungry since that very first night. He dragged himself from the bed and went to the kitchen. Feeling much too hungry to be picky, he popped open a bottle and drank the contents cold. He still wasn't satisfied, but it was enough for now.
After a long hot shower, Ray sat down at his desk and started to read through the files again. Images from the nightmare kept drifting through his mind, distracting him from his task. He couldn't concentrate on memorizing all these names and places and crimes when his mind kept drifting. He finally closed his eyes and tried to remember all of the details of the dream that he could. Maybe piecing together the parts would make some picture that would give him a clue about the dream's meaning.
Or maybe there was no meaning in it at all. Maybe it was one of those wacky vampire things, and he should just forget it. It was definitely a vampire thing since the main ingredient was blood, but what was Fraser doing there? Did he have some inner fear that Trevor would take Fraser from him? The idea seemed pretty far-fetched considering Trevor had disappeared weeks ago. There was no reason to believe that Trevor knew anything about Fraser.
Ray opened his eyes and let out a frustrated breath. He wasn't getting anywhere this way. It was just a dream and brooding over it wouldn't do any good. He also wasn't going to get any work done sitting around here like this.
After feeding and watering his turtle, Ray fixed himself a warm mug of blood and sipped at it as he looked over the list of people he was supposed to call. The liquid nourishment just wasn't quite as satisfying coming from a cup as it usually was. Although it had been rather horrifying overall, the dream had reminded Ray how much better human blood was, especially coming straight from a live warm body. That thought should be as disgusting as anything but for some reason it wasn't--which puzzled Ray but didn't worry him too much. He was adaptable and that's what made him good undercover. He took advantage of the good breaks he received and worked around the bad ones. Not always successfully, but enough to get by.
Deciding to start at the top and work his way down, Ray called Mrs.
Vecchio and asked if he could come that evening to ask her some questions
about her son. She already knew about the impending charade so she
readily agreed. After politely avoiding the dinner invitation, he
wrote down the directions to the house and hung up the phone.
After knocking on the door of the comfortable two-story house on Octavia, Ray smiled politely as a comfortably middle aged lady answered. "Good evening, Mrs. Vecchio. I'm Ray Kowalski."
"You're not Italian." Mrs. Vecchio smiled as if she hadn't meant to blurt that out and said, "Well, I knew your name, of course, but I thought perhaps your mother...?"
"No. Uh...I'm sorry, ma'am." Ray suddenly felt bad for disappointing this woman, whom he didn't even know. He followed her inside, where she went straight to the kitchen.
"But you're such a polite boy. Your mother must be very proud." Ray shrugged and sat at the table where she indicated. What could he possibly say to that? He really didn't want to talk about his parents, hadn't wanted to think about them at all in the last few weeks. But he continued to make his absent mother proud with his good manners as Mrs. Vecchio introduced her two pretty dark-eyed daughters and her not-so-pretty son-in-law.
As the last one of the younger Vecchios drifted back to whatever they were doing before his arrival, it hit him that he would have to pretend to be a part of this family for an indeterminate period of time. For an only child, mostly estranged from his parents, this was disconcerting to say the least.
He accepted a cup of coffee and pulled out his notebook. "Now Mrs. Vecchio, I'd like--"
"What's this Mrs. Vecchio? You'll call me "Ma" if you're supposed to be my Raimondo. Are you sure you wouldn't like to have a little something to eat, Ray? There's minestrone left over from supper. Let me fix you a bowl."
"No, please, I couldn't." The very idea turned his stomach. "I just ate before I came."
"But you're so thin!" Mrs. Vecchio shook her head at him and pushed the sugar bowl a little closer. "Are you Catholic?"
"No, I'm not--"
"Granted, my son doesn't go to Mass nearly as often as he should, but he does go with the family on occasion. You're welcome to come along anyway--it certainly won't hurt."
Ray wasn't actually sure about that, but he'd test it out on his own some night. Either way, he couldn't be going to any Sunday morning services. He thought about giving Mrs. Vecchio the sunlight allergy story, but decided to save it for later, using it only if it was really necessary. The lady didn't seem to need much in the way of replies from him, so he ignored the questions he'd scribbled out and just let her talk.
"You really don't look at all like my son. They didn't have a policeman who looked more like him? Well, I'm sure you're a very *good* policeman, and you're a handsome boy, but... It's just strange, isn't it?"
Ray nodded and shrugged. He'd wondered the same things himself, but he was committed to the job now, so he couldn't let it matter at this point. He had to go on as if it did make sense. It was the only way he could get though this assignment--not unlike the rest of his life.
For the next couple of hours, Mrs. Vecchio talked about her son, the schools he went to, the church he was baptized and confirmed in, sports he was good at, how he treated his sisters, and anything else she could think of. She told him so many stories about all of her children and other relatives that by the time he walked out of the house, Ray almost felt like he actually was a Vecchio.
Sitting in the silence of his car, Ray laughed quietly to himself. This would certainly be the most *interesting* assignment he'd ever had.
On his way home, he found himself driving down West Racine. He looked up at Fraser's dark windows as he passed, and shook his head at the vague longing he felt just to *see* the man. As if catching a glimpse of a figure in red serge would suddenly make everything feel right again. The clothes didn't even matter. He'd be happy to see Fraser in the brown uniform, the flannel and denim civvies, or nothing at all. That last option squeezed the breath from his lungs and tightened his shorts.
Ray had to quit thinking that way, because he would be working with the man very soon. He couldn't go around in a constant state of arousal. Not only would it be extremely uncomfortable, the Mountie was bound to notice that his partner popped a woody every time he walked into the room. He only had a few days until he had to start work at the 27th and only a few days after that Fraser would be back from his vacation.
***
Tuning out the sounds of uniforms coming and going and Jack Huey arguing with his new partner, Ray shuffled through the piles of papers and folders on Vecchio's-- *his* desk. The one file he needed was nowhere to be found. He'd already checked the file cabinet, so that left...
"Elaine! Hey, good, you're still here. You got that stuff on the Docklands?"
The Civilian Aide handed over some folders before the question was completely out of his mouth. "I was just about to drop it by on my way out the door."
"Thanks. See ya tomorrow." Ray smiled and winked at her and went back to work, cross-referencing details of a couple of cases he was almost certain were connected. He'd been working what looked like a simple hit-and-run, when something about it had twigged a memory of a warehouse robbery that Vecchio had been working right before he left. The trail was already cold but he didn't have anything else pressing at the moment.
"Ray!" The sound of the voice that Ray hadn't heard for weeks except in dreams brought his head up and before he realized what he was doing, he was on his feet, smile in place, stepping into the last untouched vestige of Ray Vecchio's life.
"Fraser! Buddy!" Trying to control his less noble impulses, Ray threw his arms around the man in red for a quick welcome home hug. "It's good to see you. Did you have a good time up there in the Northwest Areas?"
"You mean 'Territories'?" Fraser asked with a slightly stunned look on his face.
Ray walked back to his desk, started to gather up his files into some sort of order, and kept talking, mostly to fill the silence. "Wilderness, huh? Me, I leave the city I come down with this skin condition..."
Fraser interrupted politely, "I'm sorry. I'm looking for Detective Ray Vecchio."
"Yeah. You talked to Welsh, right?"
"Well, yes for just a moment, but--"
The lieutenant should have explained things already so what was the deal here? Ray glanced around at the dwindling evening traffic of the squad room, and said, "Then quit kidding around, Fraser. You know who I am."
"I assure you I am not kidding around."
"It hasn't been the same around here without you. I mean-- look at history and what do you have? Duets--" Ray started to give a rap on partnership that was half carefully chosen references and half free association, but the sight of another Mountie stopped him cold. "Wait a minute. Nobody told me there'd be *two* Mounties. That just screws up the whole a-partnership-is-a-duet dynamic."
The two men in matching red serge uniforms were looking at him but talking to each other. The older one said, "There's something not right about this one, son."
"Well, he's not Ray Vecchio as he claims to be." Fraser spoke in a low voice, out of the side of his mouth, as if he didn't want anyone to notice he was talking to the man next to him. Ray was beginning to think all those heroic deeds had shaken something loose inside the man's head.
"Ah, one Yank's much the same as another." The older man stared at Ray thoughtfully through narrowed eyes. "No, I can't put my finger on it, but there's something *off* about him."
Feeling impatient with being treated like an inanimate object, Ray said, "Well, *he* is not deaf, and who are you calling 'off', huh?"
Fraser appeared quite taken aback as he asked incredulously, "Do you mean...you can see and hear this man?"
"Sure. He's there. I see him. You're there. I see you." Ray shrugged in puzzlement at the bizarre question. "What's the big deal? Can't you see him?"
"Yes, but I'm usually the only one who can."
"What? Why?"
"He's been dead for two years." Still wearing a stunned look, Fraser continued to speak very quietly. "This is my father, Sergeant Robert Fraser."
Ray lifted his hand to offer a handshake, but what Fraser had just said sank in and he dropped his hand back to his side. He took an instinctive step back and tilted a sideways look at the old man standing just behind Fraser's shoulder. "I've been talking to a ghost? A *ghost*? Well, hell."
"It would appear so, yes." Fraser nodded and glanced from his father to Ray.
This was just too freaky weird. Ray staggered back a few feet and fell into his chair. The old man couldn't be a... Ray didn't *believe* in... Then he laughed under his breath. A month ago, he hadn't believed in vampires either. Okay, so not only did he have to work with a guy he had a...a lust-thing for, he also had the man's dead father hanging around as a chaperone. "Wonderful. That's just freakin'...*wonderful*."
Ray didn't quite know how to proceed from here. He'd been prepared to hide his real life from his new partner and live Vecchio's as much as he possibly could, but now he was beginning to wonder if he might be able to tell Fraser the truth. The ghost of his dead father was still hanging around so maybe having a vampire for a partner wouldn't be too much for him to handle. Ray'd have to take it slow, though, and get to know Fraser a bit more personally first so he could predict the Mountie's reaction to the news.
As Ray sat there, something warm and slightly damp touched the back of his hand, snuffling the skin and snapping his attention to the Mountie's pet, who'd just made its appearance. Ray's whole body tensed but he held his hand still and let the wolf get used to his smell. "Hey there...Dief...old buddy."
The wolf let out a sharp yip, and flopped down on the floor with a whine, rolling over to expose his throat and belly. Alarmed, Ray looked up at Fraser and asked, "What'd I do?"
"He's showing submission. He's never-- That's just an odd thing for him to do...especially under the circumstances."
"Well, could you make him stop? It's weirdin' me out, here."
"Diefenbaker...Diefenbaker! You can get up now." Fraser spoke to the wolf with calm exasperation, then pinned Ray to his chair with bright blue eyes. "He knows when things aren't as they should be."
Ray nodded slowly. "You *did* talk to Welsh, didn't you?"
"We said hello, and then he said he was busy with the IRS but he'd talk to me later."
"Ahh, there's your problem. You need to go talk to him *now*. Let him explain why I'm Ray Vecchio."
"But you're not--"
"Fraser! Just go talk to Welsh." Ray made little shooing motions with his hands then turned back to the piles of paper on his desk. As Fraser walked off to presumably find the lieutenant, Ray noticed that his father stayed behind, watching him with a suspicious gleam in his eyes. Ray tried to ignore the old man, but after a few minutes, he snapped, "Don't you have somebody else to haunt, Mister...uh, Sergeant..."
"Call me Bob." He gave a surprisingly friendly little smile. "And no, not at the moment."
Ray narrowed his eyes and thought about trying to get rid of him, but how could he get rid of a ghost? The man would just keep coming back, wouldn't he? Maybe he should try to use the situation to his advantage. He glanced around to make sure no one would see him talking to an empty space beside his desk. "So uhh...what's it like? Being...?
"Dead? Not too different from being alive, except that I can't eat, can't feel as much, can't talk to anyone but a few other dead people and Benton--and now you. I can't work, can't...oh. In short, it's actually nothing like being alive." He gave a nonchalant shrug. "But what can you do, eh?"
"Well, that would be the sixty-four thousand dollar question, wouldn't it?" Ray could certainly get behind the idea of making the best of whatever situation a man found himself in.
"Existentially speaking, you mean? Oh yes, I suppose so." The ghost Mountie continued to look at Ray with mildly suspicious interest, but Ray couldn't think of anything else to say at the moment so he went back to work until the live Mountie came back.
"Well...Ray, I'm fully apprised of the situation now, and I apologize for my earlier confusion." Fraser gave Ray a smile and little nod to let him know he was in on the replacement scheme.
"Well, that's good to know, Fraser, old buddy. Now you wanna give me a hand on this case tonight? I thought we could go poking around, talk to a few--" The ringing phone interrupted him and he snatched it up, saying, "Ray Vecchio."
The raspy voice on the other end of the line said, "It's a shame you left your electric blanket on, but at least your whole family will stay all toasty warm."
"What're you talking about my family? Who is this?"
"Never mind, Detective Vecchio. Tell your friend in red that he's next." And then, incredibly, Ray could hear the distinctive sound of a match striking...and it all clicked into place.
He pushed the disconnect button and called the Vecchio home. "Frannie, get everyone out of the house. Come on, Frannie, I don't have time to argue. Just do it, okay? We'll be right over."
"Ray, what is going on?" Fraser's voice, crisp yet concerned, soothed Ray's rattled nerves.
"I think someone just threatened to burn down my house."
"You mean the Vecchios' house?"
"Yeah, *my* house, Fraser. Get with the program." Grabbing his coat, Ray headed for the door and said, "Let's go see what's what."
"I am 'with the program', as you say. I just wished to be perfectly clear on exactly which house was in danger," Fraser clarified, as they ran downstairs and out the door to the back lot where a green Buick Riviera sat waiting.
"Now why am I not surprised?" Fraser asked, and Ray started to answer then realized it was probably one of those questions that didn't have an answer.
As soon as they got into the car and took off, Dief put his paws up on the back of the front seat as if to get a better view, but one sideways glance from Ray made the wolf lie down on the back seat.
"You have the most amazing effect on him," Fraser said, as they squealed around a corner. "There was a stop sign back there."
"We're going to a fire, for crying out loud." Ray shrugged. "So where'd Bob go?"
Fraser looked at Ray with exquisite surprise etched on his features. "Did you say 'Bob'?"
"Yeah, your old man. That's what he told me to call him. He's not gonna be hanging around everywhere we go, is he?"
"He comes and goes. Do you often see ghosts?"
Ray considered that for a moment, and came to the next logical question. Would he be seeing ghosts all over the place now? That would get real old real fast. "No, he's my first. Do you?"
"No, he's it." Fraser didn't get a chance to say anything else, because they were pulling up in front of the house. The small front yard, which was lit by every porch light on the street being on, was a minor chaos of Vecchios and various neighbors talking excitedly among themselves and milling around.
Francesca rushed up to Fraser, grabbed his hand and pressed it to her chest. "Feel my heart, Fraser--it's going a hundred miles an hour. We caught an arsonist."
Ray stepped in between his pretend sister and his new partner. "Your heart's fine, Frannie. What do you mean you caught the arsonist?"
She frowned at him and said, "She's up on the porch with Ma. Now, Fraser--"
Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a shout from Tony. Ray's fake brother-in-law waved his arms and yelled, "Hey, she's getting away!"
Ray turned to see Ma waving a cast iron skillet at the retreating back of a dumpy figure, which was moving at a surprisingly quick pace toward an old blue van parked on the street. Police sirens could be heard in the distance, getting closer, but the suspected torch had already gotten into the van and was pulling away. Ray ran for his car, yelling for Fraser who was running after the rapidly disappearing vehicle.
He slowed the car down enough for Fraser to open the door and jump inside. "Okay, Fraser, what's the deal here? You can try to burn down my place of employment. You could burn down my bowling alley, even my dance hall, but not my place of residence. That's going too far." Even though he didn't actually live there, Ray was incensed. It was the thought that counted.
"It could have something to do with a previous case, a copycat or someone out for revenge. We need to go back over our shared history and see what fits this scenario."
Ray broke off his mental shuffling of old cases when he suddenly remembered something. "The voice on the phone said you were next."
"Yes, we seem to be heading toward my apartment building, but surely, she knows that we will get there in time to stop her from actually setting fire to the building."
"Who knows? Maybe she's unhinged."
"Well, that's always a possibility, or perhaps she's got something else in mind..." Fraser's voice trailed off as the van slowed down to a crawl.
Out of habit, Ray hit the horn several times and instantly regretted it as smoke started to pour into the car's interior. "Fraser..." Ray didn't like the panic in his voice, but he couldn't seem to do anything about it. Hell, he *felt* panicky. "I gotta pull over. I don't care if she gets away."
"No, you can't, Ray. There're too many people around."
"The car's gonna blow, Fraser."
"It is very, very rare for a car to actually blow up, Ray, just--" the explosion cut off his next words. Coughing lightly, Fraser pointed through the smoke and encroaching flames and said, "That way. The lake they call Michigan."
Ray darted a glance through the fire-framed darkness and said, "Lake Michigan?"
"Yes, the lake they call Michigan."
"Lake Michigan."
Ray shook his head and drove for the water, ignoring both Fraser and Bob, who had just popped in, saying, "Well, this is exciting. The yank's doing okay so far, son."
The car flew over the edge of the dock and plunged into the inky waters of the lake, which extinguished the flames. Ray felt a bolt of fear unlike anything he'd experienced since the night he'd been changed. His success in the water after his one attempt at flying notwithstanding, he still didn't consider himself a swimmer. The water rushed in through the open windows and closed over Ray's head before he could even get his bearings. He started to struggle, kicking his feet, blindly trying to get free of the sinking car, but a hand caught his flailing arm and settled him down enough to open his eyes.
It was too dark to see anything, but he could feel Fraser looking at him, willing him to calmness. Ray shook off Fraser's hand and squirmed around until he could slide out the window. He kicked off the car and his head immediately broke the surface. He sucked in a deep breath and flailed around, in what could be called swimming only by someone rather vaguely familiar with the concept, until he grabbed hold of a support post. Climbing up onto the dock, Ray looked around frantically for Fraser and the wolf, and let out a strangled sigh of relief when he saw them scrambling up ahead of him.
Fraser hit the boards and jumped to his feet, and Ray could see a middle aged blonde closing in on him with a gun in her hand. He stumbled upright and seconded Fraser's demand. "Put the gun down."
"Zoltan Motherwell is a fine painter, a great artist." The woman aimed the gun at Fraser's chest. "And I'm carrying on his work."
"I said put the gun down." Ray didn't stop to consider what he was doing, just stepped in front of Fraser a second ahead of the bullet that slammed into his chest, spinning him around. The burst of fire in his flesh was followed by a blessed numbness as he sank to the ground in what felt like slow motion. In the dreamlike stillness, he watched Fraser take the gun from the woman and tie her hands with the little rope thing from his uniform. The tingling prickle in his chest let Ray know that the wound was already healing, but he'd need blood to replace what he'd lost.
The thought of blood spurred him to action. Climbing painfully to his feet, he pulled his overcoat close around him and thought that he'd never get away with the lie he was formulating if there were more working streetlights in the area and his clothes weren't so dark. Fraser turned around and appeared shocked to see Ray on his feet.
Ray grinned and tried not to look in Fraser's eyes as he said, "I'm okay. I'm wearing a vest."
"Very...ahem, very clever, Ray." Fraser smiled with what looked like genuine relief, and then cocked his head to one side. "Here come the police."
They stood there and looked down at the woman on the ground, and Ray thought about asking her why she was doing all this and then decided he didn't care. He just wanted to go home and feed. The hunger was growing, radiating up from the closing hole in his chest. He could feel his teeth itching, beginning to lengthen and sharpen. He couldn't allow it while he was working.
Secure in the knowledge that Fraser had the suspect more subdued than Ma had, Ray wandered off a little way and stared out at the crash debris floating on the water. For just a moment he felt bad for the real Ray Vecchio, but it passed quickly. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Fraser wasn't looking and then slipped his hand inside his coat. He rubbed his fingertips over his wet shirt, just above his right nipple. The skin was almost smooth again underneath the small hole in the cotton, but it still ached a little. He pulled his hand out and stuck his fingers in his mouth, licking off the traces of blood tainted by the taste of lake water.
"Ray." Fraser's voice had him spinning around to face the man framed by the flashing blue lights of two police cruisers. "Are you all right?"
Ray crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his trembling fingers hard against his sides. His fangs were slightly distended so he nodded and gave Fraser a close-mouthed smile. As they walked over to the squad cars, Ray could feel Fraser giving him a concerned look out of the corner of his eye, but he kept his own gaze fixed firmly on the uniformed officers loading up the would-be arsonist for transport to the station.
The officers in the other car offered to take Ray and Fraser home so they could change into dry clothes, and the two wet men were quick to take them up on the offer. When they reached Ray's apartment building, Fraser got out right behind Ray and said to the cops, "Thank you kindly. I'll catch a ride with Detective Vecchio."
Ray stood on the sidewalk uncertainly, not really wanting to invite his new partner into his home, but having little choice in the matter. Fraser looked at him apologetically and said, "I'm sorry if I was presumptuous, but I wanted to make sure that you're okay."
Ray sighed and ran his tongue over his teeth, which felt more normal now. "Come on in."
As they went up to Ray's apartment, Fraser said, "I thought you said you lived with the Vecchios?"
"Officially, on paper, not in reality." Ray unlocked his door, keeping his face averted. The hunger was starting to return and he was afraid Fraser would be able to see it somehow. The man seemed too perceptive for Ray's comfort.
"So what is that getup? Wool? I'll bet it don't feel too good when it gets wet, huh? I can find something for you to put on." Ray was aware the he was babbling, but couldn't seem to stop trying to fill the silence. "Yeah, I can do that. Have a seat. Keep the wolf away from the turtle. Don't want some reenactment of Wild Kingdom in my living room."
"I assure you that Diefenbaker will not harm your pet, Ray." Fraser remained standing in the middle of the room and it occurred to Ray that the Mountie was certainly too well bred to sit on someone's furniture in wet clothes.
"Yeah, well he's got his nose pressed against the terrarium like he's scopin' out lunch." Not giving Fraser time to reply, Ray went into his bedroom and shuffled through his closet, picking out his baggiest pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt that had always been too big on him. He hesitated by the dresser, unsure if he should offer underwear. Wearing another guy's shirt was no big deal, but wearing his shorts was. Some deeply buried charitable streak told Ray that it'd be cruel to make Fraser go commando, probably against the Mountie rules--Thou Shalt Always Be Properly Attired, Even In Thy Nether Regions. With a shrug of mild defeat, he pulled out socks and a pair of boxerbriefs and took them into the living room.
Shoving the bundle of clothes into Fraser's arms, he pointed toward his bedroom door and said, "Bathroom's through there."
"Oh, you didn't have to go to any trouble. I could have waited until I got home." Fraser looked down at the clothes and then back up at Ray and then smiled politely. "Thank you kindly, Ray."
"No problem." Ray tried to smile back, but the hunger was making him notice the pulse in his wrists, the empty growling of his stomach, and, most strongly, the smell of wet wool and wet Fraser. The combination was making his head spin lightly, and he couldn't relax until he heard the bathroom door click shut, giving him a brief moment of privacy.
Ignoring the wolf who'd abandoned staring at the turtle for following Ray around, he went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of blood. He twisted the top off and downed the cold contents in a few long gulps, shuddering at the temperature-affected taste. The effect was almost immediate. His limbs started to loosen and his stomach settled down, until he felt almost right--still wet and cold but whatever passed for normal in his world.
Carefully rinsing his bottle out, Ray dropped it into a trashcan under the sink and went into the bedroom. He listened to the faint rustling sounds of clothes being changed behind the bathroom door and fought back a wave of arousal. He couldn't be thinking about getting the Mountie naked right now, not while he was right in the next room getting... naked. Ray closed his eyes and took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then cursed quietly under his breath because it hadn't helped at all. He was getting hard--in his *bed*room--just knowing that a few feet and one thin slab of wood was all that separated him from Fraser changing clothes.
Going over to his closet, Ray stripped off his coat and bloody shirt and threw them both inside on the floor. He inspected his chest and there was only a small red spot where the bullet had hit him. He hadn't felt it go out his back, so it must have still been inside him. He suppressed another shudder when he wondered if it would stay in there or if it would come out somehow, the particulars of which he refused to let his mind contemplate. He heard the doorknob make the peculiar little clinking noise that signaled it was being gripped in preparation for turning and grabbed a clean shirt off a hanger. He rammed his arms through the sleeves and pulled the front together just as Fraser stepped into the room. He pulled out a pair of pants and held them casually in front of his crotch.
The shirt he'd given Fraser was an unfortunate shade of green, but the pants fit closely enough to make Ray's mouth water. It was official-- Fraser managed to look edible no matter what he was wearing, and maybe for the first time, Ray fully grasped the enormity of his assignment. He'd thought the dodging-people-who-knew-Vecchio part was going to be difficult, but he hadn't counted on the mind-blowing proximity of one Benton Fraser. And he'd be with him every single blessed day. Yippee, lucky me, thought Ray with fatalistic acceptance.
"Make yourself comfortable, Fraser. I'll hurry it up so we can get on back to the station." Ray hoped he sounded more concerned with professional matters than wanting to get this man out of his place as soon as possible. He quickly got his dry clothes on and went back into the living room to find Fraser sitting at attention on the couch, looking around with polite interest. The guy didn't even have the decency to look as tired as he must surely be at this hour of the evening after travelling all day to get here.
Fueled by his recent feeding, the low thrum of arousal, and the excitement of the evening, Ray himself was humming with energy. He rushed over to the closet in the foyer and pulled out a jacket, saying, "Come on, Fraser, pitter--"
Fraser interrupted him, saying quickly, "Are you sure you weren't injured, Ray? I could have sworn I smelled blood on your clothes."
"Heh. That's a good one. What are ya, a bloodhound?" Ray shook his head as if Fraser was making a joke. "Like anyone could smell anything over the stench of lake water."
"No, I...oh, never mind. You're sure you're all right?"
"Right as rain. Now let's get moving." Ray hustled Fraser
and Dief out of his apartment and down to his own nondescript dark sedan,
which was not nearly as flashy and memorable as the Riviera, the remains
of which were most likely being pulled out of Lake Michigan right about
now. Assuming someone had bothered to call a salvage yard.
Again he felt a twinge of regret on behalf of the real Ray Vecchio, who
by all accounts had really--almost pathologically-- loved that car.
Ray had a nostalgic flash of longing for his old GTO, surely passed on
to some other guy by now. No reason for dad to hang onto it, he thought
wistfully as he drove over to Fraser's apartment.
As he had at his own apartment, Ray felt hesitant about going into the building and into Fraser's personal nest. He just knew that all this non-professional contact was going to throw gasoline on fantasies that were already burning out of control. He had a whole whack of problems to deal with without adding this growing obsession with his new partner, but his body didn't seem to be getting the message because here he was following Fraser up the stairs and trying not to notice how his pants fit Fraser's ass. Very nicely, a traitorous voice in his brain pointed out.
Telling the voice to shut up, Ray fixed his eyes on Diefenbaker and tried to think calming thoughts about furry little woodland creatures, who did not wear big hats that should have looked silly, but somehow didn't.
Fraser gathered up some fresh clothes and told Ray he'd only be a minute before leaving the apartment again for the bathroom down the hall. Ray looked around at the sparse furnishings and wondered how anyone could live without a television and a stereo. Those were necessities, weren't they? A brief draft of cold air broke off his thoughts and he looked around to find Bob Fraser's ghost watching him again.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing. Just trying to figure you out."
Ray snorted. "There's nothing to figure out. Just leave me alone and we'll get along fine. Fraser doesn't need you to protect him."
"Certainly not, but he frequently benefits from my advice and experience."
"Yeah? Well, what does that have to do with me?"
"If I figure you out, I can advise him on appropriate courses of action to deal with you."
"Deal with-- Look, old man, I don't need..." Ray broke off with a sigh and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "I am not gonna argue with a ghost. That is crazy, even for me."
"What's crazy, Ray?" Fraser asked interestedly. He stood just inside the door with Ray's neatly folded clothes in his hands. He was dressed like a lumberjack, a sexy lumberjack that Ray wanted to fuck senseless.
Ray started to point at Bob, but he'd disappeared again, so Ray shook his head and said, "Ah, never mind."
"As you wish. I'll return your clothes once I've had them cleaned." Fraser put the stack of clothing on the kitchen table, and Ray immediately picked them up.
"Nah, don't worry about it. I'll just go ahead and take them now." He cradled them in one arm as they went back down to the car, where he laid them on the back seat. He told Diefenbaker to stay off them, because he didn't want to lose Fraser's scent yet. If Fraser saw anything odd about Ray's actions, he kept it to himself.
***
After they'd finished up at the station, Ray dropped Fraser off at his apartment and went back to work. He only had a couple hours left on his shift so he used the time to review some files, but his mind kept wandering in the Mountie's direction. He finally gave up and went home.
Afraid of having another drowning-in-blood dream, he put off going to bed until he couldn't hold his eyes open another minute. He was dead to the world the second his head hit the pillow.
This time the dream started slowly with Ray walking down a darkened city street. There were no lights anywhere and he could hardly see three feet in front of his face, but he could hear--*things* skittering behind him on clawed feet, odd dripping sounds that filled him with dread, the flapping of wings that didn't sound at all bird-like... He could feel eyes watching him from all sides and they didn't feel friendly...or human. He couldn't remember where he was going, but he knew he had to get there so he ignored his discomfort and picked up his pace. Walking became a jog, which quickened until he was running full out. He ran as fast as he could until his lungs burned and his legs felt rubbery, but he didn't seem to be getting any closer to his mysterious destination.
A flash of red appeared at the corner of his vision and he turned toward it, but stopped moving when he realized it was no longer there. He spun around in a circle and yelled, "Fraser...Fraser...Where are you?" His voice echoing back to him twisted in on itself until it sounded like cruel laughter chattering at him out of the darkness. Another flash of red at the corner of the eye, but when he spun again it was gone. Feeling crushed by the feeling of utter isolation, Ray started walking again, hoping to run into people, somebody, anybody, just so that he wasn't alone anymore.
A voice whispered at him out of the dark, but he couldn't make out the words. It sounded...wrong...dangerous, but he couldn't tell if he should be afraid for himself or Fraser. The worry and anxiety twisted his insides until it didn't matter *what* he was afraid of or *who* he was afraid for, just that he was scared, too scared to scream, too scared to run. He could only stand there and listen to the mumbling whisper grow louder but no more intelligible. The voice scratched at his ears and he still didn't know what it was saying, and that pissed him off even as it terrified him, and finally a scream broke loose from his aching throat and the words echoed back at him: "Fraser...mine..."
But he couldn't tell who spoke them, if it was him or the voice of the other. And before he could figure it out, he woke up, slicked with sweat, blood dripping down his throat from a dozen cuts on his tongue and lips. He swallowed the thick liquid and gasped for breath, wishing with all his heart he could go back to those sex dreams. They'd only been frustrating.
He rolled over and looked at the clock. It was a few minutes after noon. He could go back to sleep--an unfavorable prospect to be sure, or he could call the Consulate and see if Fraser was in yet. That is, he assumed Fraser's schedule had been adjusted to allow for his later nights, working with Ray. If not, he'd feel really guilty for keeping him up so late. He wouldn't stop *doing* it, but he would feel bad about it.
Picking up the phone, Ray dialed the number from memory. He had to go through the cheerfully confusing labyrinth that is a conversation with Turnbull before he finally got to hear Fraser's voice. Ray found himself smiling in the quiet dimness of his room as Fraser's crisp, professional greeting turned warmer when Ray identified himself.
"How are you today?"
"That's what I was calling to ask you. It's not everyday you ride a flaming car into Lake Michigan."
"That's true. It's not everyday one gets shot in the chest either. You avoided my question."
"Oh, I'm just dandy, Fraser. You avoided mine too."
"I'm quite well, Ray. Perhaps a bit confused...ah, well, that's not important. Was there anything else I could do for you?"
"No. I'll let you get back to work."
"I'll see you at the station later."
"Want me to swing by and pick you up?"
"That would be very thoughtful, Ray. Thank you."
"It's nothing. Can't have you wandering all over town after dark dressed like a big red target for all the scumbags out there. See you later." Ray hung up the phone and rolled onto his back. While he was contemplating what he could do to fill the hours until it was time to pick up Fraser, he relaxed into a dreamless sleep.
***