DS Fanfic: Ordinary Heroes
Title: Ordinary Heroes
Characters: Vecchio, Fraser/Kowalski
Word Count: 3700
Rating: PG
Thanks to: ficfinishingfor the help, and
prudence_dearlyfor an excellent beta
Ray inspected each wine glass individually and carefully before putting them on the shelf. Each one was spotless, and each one seemed to be a glaring reminder of everything he, and his life, was not. Every way in which he had failed his family, everything he could not be for Irene, for Ange, for Stella. Every way in which he fell short, shining back at him. Each smooth curvature was in stark contrast to every imperfection that made up one Raymond Vecchio.
He shelved the last glass and turned around, inspecting every corner of the restaurant before locking up for the night. His restaurant, the surprise success, was the only thing he had going in his life. He had crawled back from Florida from another failed marriage and a marginally successful business. He hadn’t had the courage, or the heart, to try to get his old job back at the 2-7. He had been a decent cop, but he couldn’t fool himself; his solve rate had spiked dramatically with the presence of a certain Mountie, and he had no hope of getting that back without him. And Ray wasn’t the man he had been when he had first become a cop. He was jaded.
If he was really being honest with himself, he knew that Vegas had done him in. In the months since his return he wondered, turning it over and over in his mind, what had made him make such a decision in the first place. Projecting, that was the word the shrinks liked to use. He had been projecting his feelings about the Zuko family onto the Langoustine family. He would never be able to bring down the Zukos, but if he could play a role in bringing down one mob family, then maybe it would be like sticking it to all the bastards.
It had been a way to feel like something he did mattered; like something he worked so hard for might actually make a difference. He hadn’t felt that way since he’d first made detective. Over the years that jaded sense had settled in; the criminal justice system failed too often to maintain a sense of faith in it. He wasn’t like Fraser; he couldn’t maintain that sense of endless optimism.
********
Ray shut the door of his apartment firmly behind him and checked the latch and the deadbolt. It was a step down, perhaps, from the house he had lived in with his family for most of his life, but he couldn’t go back, not because they made him crazy, even though they did, but because crawling back to them after he’d abandoned them first for Vegas then for some kind of fantasy life in Florida, wasn’t something he could abide by. Foolish perhaps; there was no judgment in their eyes, but he harbored enough of his own guilt to make up for it. So he found the apartment, the one that was in his name, and the landlady didn’t seem to mind that the twitchy blond-haired Polack had mysteriously turned into a bald Italian. Ray had replaced the furniture, and carefully boxed up the things that Kowalski had left behind, placing the forgotten possessions in rubber storage bins and piling them in the corner of a room, where they gathered dust until the day that Kowalski blew back into Chicago.
Ray was lost in a dream in which Fraser was very earnestly insisting that Ray paint his old Riv maple-leaf red and sell canolis out of it all across Canada. The sounds of keys not working and cursing roused him from his already restless sleep. He peered one sleepy eye through the door’s peephole, blinked in disbelief, considered simply not answering, but figured Kowalski would probably just kick the door down, and finally opened it.
“Vecchio,” Kowalski finally broke the long silence, staring at Ray out of wide eyes, at least a week’s growth of beard covering his face, his hair sticking up at wild angles.
“Stanley,” Ray answered impassively.
Kowalski looked like he was about to correct Ray, then chose to push past him into the apartment, looking around incredulously. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, turning around slowly.
“I live here,” Ray brushed past him and sat down on the sofa, rubbing the back of his neck and peering up at Kowalski. “So, why the hell are you here?”
“I live here,” Kowalski stared at him, the stunned expression seemingly fixed on his face. “Or I did, anyway.”
“The apartment is in my name,” Ray answered dryly. “All your stuff is over there,” he gestured in the direction of the storage bins. “The couch is pretty comfortable.” He left Kowalski standing in the middle of the living room.
The scent of fresh coffee wafted into Ray’s dream the next morning. This time Fraser was insisting that the signs advertising the new cannoli business had to be in both English and French.
Ray stumbled to the kitchen, where Kowalski was very carefully and deliberately dissolving spoonfuls of coffee and sugar in equal parts. Ray poured himself a cup from the carafe and sat down at the table across from Kowalski.
Kowalski didn’t look up from his cup. “Yeah, I don’t think this is going to work.”
Ray took a long, slow sip from his own coffee. “Well, you can always go stay with my family. Ma talks about you all the time.”
Kowalski finally looked at him, incredulous. “It’s your house!” He finally said. “And this is my apartment! Don’t you think it’s a little strange? I’m done being you, Vecchio, and from the looks of things,” he waved his hand around vaguely, “you’re done being me.” He glared at Ray. “What the hell happened with Stella, anyway?”
Ray took another sip. “Stella. In a bowling alley.”
Kowalski blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He was quiet for a moment. “What the hell were you two thinking, anyway.”
Ray shrugged. “I wish I knew.” He leaned back in his chair and slowly traced the rim of his cup with his thumb. “What happened with Fraser?”
Kowalski’s hands clenched and he quickly looked back down at his own cup. “Nothing,” he said quietly. “It was time to come back, that’s all.”
Ray raised an eyebrow. “After six months traipsing around the Northwest Territories?”
Kowalski shrugged and glanced up. “It was a long expedition.”
Ray crossed his arms over his chest. “Uh huh, right.”
Kowalski‘s eyes flashed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Kowalski, you don’t just leave everything behind to go on some ‘adventure’ because you’re buddies.”
Kowalski scowled and stood up with his now empty cup. “It’s none of your business, Vecchio.” He turned toward the sink.
Ray was on him in an instant, forcefully turning Kowalski around, who was too stunned to do anything in retaliation. Ray stared icily into Kowalski’s eyes. “What the hell are you thinking? He’s not good enough for you?”
Kowalski stared at him, stunned. Ray remembered himself and drew back, but didn’t let go of Kowalski’s arm.
“He didn’t feel the same way,” Kowalski said, barely audibly.
Ray regained a sense of himself, let Kowalski go, and stepped back. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just…” he looked back up at Kowalski. “You know, Fraser. I…I have to protect him….” It made little sense to Ray, what he was saying, how it was with Fraser. He couldn’t begin to articulate it, but Kowalski was staring intently at him, a look of understanding in his eyes. Kowalski shrugged. “S’okay,” he said. He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “Look, I’ve gotta get over to the 2-7, see if I can beg my job back.”
Ray nodded. “Right. Um, look, I’m running a restaurant, over on Belmont. You should come by later, so we can…talk.”
Kowalski nodded. “Sure.”
********
“How’d it go?” Ray handed Kowalski a beer and a plate of pasta and sat down at the table in the far corner of the restaurant.
Kowalski took a long pull of the beer and shrugged. “Surprisingly well. Welsh didn’t shoot me.”
“You get your job back.”
“Yeah,” Kowalski dug into the carbonara. He looked up at Ray. “You ever consider going back?”
“No,” Ray twirled the pasta around his own fork. “That’s done with.” He took a slow, deep breath and looked directly back at Kowalski. “Look, Kowalski, I never thanked you.”
“For what?” Kowalski’s eyes filled with questioning.
“You know,” Ray waved his hand vaguely between them. “Keeping the cover, taking care of my family, taking care of Fraser.”
Kowalski smirked. “I think they took care of me more than I took care of them.” He paused. “Did you and Fraser…I mean, were you two ever…” he let the question trail off.
Ray shook his head. “No, it wasn’t like that.” He paused. “I can see where it would be real easy to fall for him though.”
Kowalski nodded and turned his beer around slowly in his hand. “Yeah, well, it didn’t amount to anything, and here I am.” He straightened up suddenly and looked intently at Ray. “You know, Vecchio, Fraser is like a tattoo. He gets under your skin like a dozen needles jabbing at you at once, and leaves you all open and bleeding, then he just irritates you, making you itch and go crazy, and when you finally think that he’s peeled off of you, you look and there he still is, all permanent like.”
Ray was about to say something like “Sure Kowalski, whatever you say, you ADD Polack,” when it occurred to him that Kowalski was right, except, for Kowalski, it was worse. He’d fallen for Fraser, hard, and the pain from it was written all over his face like a fresh, oozing wound. It was damned depressing, Ray decided.
********
Things were fucked up. Ray couldn’t help but come to the same conclusion repeatedly as he lay awake that night, fingers laced behind his head, thinking about Kowalski out on the sofa. He had given up on the idea of happiness for himself, but this just wasn’t right. If there was anyone on the planet who deserved to be happy, it was Fraser. Kowalski had said that Fraser didn’t feel the same way, but it made no sense to Ray. You don’t go on some crazy idea of adventure with some guy just because he was your partner and your friend. If Fraser had wanted something more to happen with Kowalski, Ray wasn’t convinced that he’d go for it. Fraser hadn’t only been burned, he also didn’t know how to go after what he wanted. It wasn’t in his nature. Fraser was some kind of superhero; always self-sacrificing for the greater good. Ray didn’t know how to feel about that, had never known. Fraser was so good, irritatingly perfect. It had always grated on Ray somewhat, but not nearly as much as when Fraser’s goodness got him nothing but hell. That was what had pushed Ray to try to play the superhero, but whenever Ray tried, it was always wrong somehow, whether it was pounding Frank Zuko’s face or putting a bullet in Fraser’s back. Maybe that was what had really driven him to Vegas, some kind of twisted penance, some way of being the hero, of trying to prove to himself that the criminal justice system could work right. But Vegas had left Ray with scars and nightmares and the desire to run away from himself. Of course it didn’t work. He should have known that the moment he asked Stella to marry him.
Ray turned on his side to look out the window of the bedroom, at the busy Chicago streets below, the ones that never seemed to stop, like the thoughts that ran over and over in a loop through his mind. Just once Ray wanted things to work the way they were supposed to. Just once he wanted the chance to be the hero and have it turn out right.
Which was exactly why he found himself standing outside Fraser’s cabin several weeks later, the one that he had helped to build, the one that was some kind of metaphor for re-building their friendship. It was appropriate, Ray decided, that he was at the cabin now, attempting to make something right. Granted, it might have been better if it weren’t negative twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit, but you couldn’t have everything.
“Ray!” Fraser’s eyes were wide, incredulous.
Ray grinned, in spite of the wind and the cold and the chattering of his teeth. “It’s good to see you, Benny.”
“It’s good to see you too, Ray.” Fraser’s puzzled look had turned into a grin.
“Mind if I come in?”
“Oh, of course; I’m sorry, Ray.” Fraser ushered him inside. They were silent for a moment as Fraser pulled out cups, the whistling of the tea kettle the only sound beside the soft ticking of the kitchen clock.
“This is quite the surprise, Ray. I thought you were in Florida.”
“Yeah, well, things don’t always work out like we plan, eh?”
Fraser’s smile faded. “No, I guess they don’t.”
Ray didn’t bring up Kowalski right away. He didn’t want Fraser to shut down. He was also trying to wrap his head around the idea that his opportunity to be a hero had come by playing matchmaker of sorts. Ray would take his chance where he could get it; not for himself, but for Fraser, who deserved to be happy, and for Kowalski, who had grown on him, for one, and who, Ray had decided, was good enough for Fraser. He spent the first two days updating Fraser on his life in Chicago, the restaurant, his family. He helped Fraser cut wood, take care of the dogs, fix meals. When they weren’t working or filling one another in on their lives, they sat in front of the fire in companionable silence. He approached the subject of Kowalski carefully-as carefully as he could manage, anyway.
“So Kowalski came back,” he said casually, and looked steadily at Fraser. Fraser’s own expression changed so subtly that Ray would never have caught it if he hadn’t partnered with Fraser for two years. “How is he?” Fraser asked quietly.
“He’s alright,” Ray said. “He’s back at the 2-7.” He waited for Fraser to answer, and when he didn’t after several long moments, he decided not to waste any more time. “Do you love him, Benny?”
Fraser seemed surprised only momentarily. He looked frankly at Ray. “Yes, Ray. I love him.”
Ray didn’t break his gaze. “Why did you send him away?”
“I didn’t think…I thought it wouldn’t work between us. I couldn’t take him away from his life in Chicago, and I didn’t think I could return there. I thought I needed this.” He made a sweeping gesture at the landscape outside the cabin window. He looked back at Ray, pain written on his face. “But I didn’t know what I had until he was gone.”
Ray squared his shoulders. “Come back to Chicago with me Benny. Tell him how you feel.”
Fraser looked at him sadly. “I can’t, Ray.”
Ray leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Why the hell not, Benny? What’s the worse that can happen? He held out his hands, palms up. “Don’t you think you deserve to be happy?” Desperation was creeping into his voice.
Fraser’s eyes widened. “That’s not it, Ray. I…it’s not about what I deserve. It’s about what Ray deserves. He deserves better.”
Ray looked at him incredulously, his eyes wide. “What the hell Benny? Do you really think he could do better?”
“Ray, you didn’t see his face when I ended things. I don’t think he can forgive me.”
Ray closed the distance between them. “If he doesn’t forgive you, he’s an idiot.” He broke his gaze and looked around at the cabin. “Hell, he should be thanking you Fraser. I’m trying to picture Kowalski up here and it hovers somewhere between comedy and tragedy.”
********
Ray’s hands were clasped between his knees as he stared straight ahead. For some reason, riding in this tiny plane with Fraser was making him nervous, even though Fraser was sitting next to him, an impassive expression on his face, his arms crossed. If he turns to me and tells me this pilot has re-routed the plane to Mexico, I swear I’m going to…“Ray?” Fraser’s voice broke his train of thought.
“Yeah?”
Now Fraser had turned to look at him. “Did you come all the way up here to try to get me to return to Chicago with you?”
“Uh, yeah, that was the plan. Not that I don’t like donning eighteen layers and coming to visit you or anything.” Ray continued to look straight ahead, while barely glancing over at Fraser, studying the pilot and absentmindedly feeling for the ankle holster he no longer wore.
Fraser gave him a huge grin, one that should look stupid, but instead just made everything seem better. He clapped a hand on Ray’s shoulder. “That’s very generous of you Ray.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
********
Ray resisted the urge to drop his head on the table and wonder, for the 82nd time, how his life had come to this. Instead he straightened the silverware one last time and pulled out the chair for Fraser.
“Ray?” Fraser was standing behind him, not yet sitting, his hat in his hands in front of him, his eyes full of uncertainty.
“Fraser,” Ray said as calmly as he could muster. “This is my best private room. If you back out, I will have you killed.”
Fraser looked as if he was about to say something, then seemed to change his mind. He looked at Ray inquiringly though. “Why is this so important to you?”
Ray sighed. “Someday Benny, after a few more years of therapy, I will tell you. For now, sit down and stop fidgeting.”
“I’m not fidgeting, Ray.”
Ray looked at him. True enough, Fraser wasn’t fidgeting. Of course not; Fraser never fidgeted. “Whatever then,” he waved his hand impatiently. “Think up something to charm Kowalski with.”
Speak of the devil, Ray thought as he saw Kowalski wander in. He caught his eye across the crowded room and made his way over to him. Kowalski held out his hands in a questioning gesture. “What’s going on, Vecchio?”
“I have to talk to you,” Ray took him by the elbow and steered him in the direction of the private room.
Kowalski’s eyes narrowed. “Something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong.” He all but pushed Kowalski into the room. “Well then what…” Kowalski stopped dead in his tracks, his voice trailing off.
The silence was just long enough and awkward enough to create the hint of an inkling in the back of Ray’s mind that maybe this was a really bad idea after all, as he watched Fraser and Kowalski all but stare each other down. He brushed it aside. He gave Kowalski his best Bookman glare as he tried to shoulder past Ray. Kowalski hesitated and then backed down.
Kowalski sat down, and there was sorrow in his eyes as he stared at Fraser. “Why’d you come back?”
Fraser was looking at Kowalski with an equally woeful expression. “It wasn’t exactly my intention, Ray.”
For the love of all that is holy, Ray thought, then cursed soundly in his mind. He glared down at both of them. “I got him to come here, Kowalski. Why the hell do you think I’ve set up this room like this? Talk. Work it out,” he all but hissed at the two of them. His patience for match-making had reached its limits. It was no wonder it was usually relegated to chick movies.
Ray had spent the evening resisting the urge to hover over the two. It hadn’t been that difficult, considering that reservations were full for the night. As things wound down, he walked into the kitchen and started spraying off the last of the dishes, loading them into the washer, ruminating over what could have been the worst decision of…no, not his life, there were too many other things competing for that title. He idly considered slamming the door of the dishwasher onto his head, but his train of thought was interrupted by Kowalski.
“Don’t you have hired help for that?”
Ray turned and Kowalski was giving him that sarcastic grin, his hands in his pockets, leaning against a doorframe. “Yeah, but I don’t believe in working my people to death,” he replied as he carefully closed the door and listened to the steady hum of the machine. “I am happy to agree to never speak of this again, if need be.”
“Nah,” Kowalski walked up to him and traced a finger over the stainless steel sink rim. He shrugged. “We’re talking again, it looks like. Buddies, y’know?” He gave Ray a half smile. “It could work out as more, but it’s okay if it doesn’t.”
Ray nodded. For now, it was enough.
Fraser then entered the room, looking, if not like all of his problems had been solved, at least more relaxed than he had before. “You should consider joining us for a beer, Ray.”
Ray felt a strange sense come over him, something alien, but strangely familiar. It struck him that, oddly, he felt safe, in this moment, as if things might actually be okay. “I still have to lock up,” he heard himself say.
“S’alright,” Kowalski said, “we’ll wait.”
Fraser put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, a gesture that said a hundred things without words. Ray closed his eyes. Yes, things just might turn out alright after all.
Characters: Vecchio, Fraser/Kowalski
Word Count: 3700
Rating: PG
Thanks to: ficfinishingfor the help, and
prudence_dearlyfor an excellent beta
Ray inspected each wine glass individually and carefully before putting them on the shelf. Each one was spotless, and each one seemed to be a glaring reminder of everything he, and his life, was not. Every way in which he had failed his family, everything he could not be for Irene, for Ange, for Stella. Every way in which he fell short, shining back at him. Each smooth curvature was in stark contrast to every imperfection that made up one Raymond Vecchio.
He shelved the last glass and turned around, inspecting every corner of the restaurant before locking up for the night. His restaurant, the surprise success, was the only thing he had going in his life. He had crawled back from Florida from another failed marriage and a marginally successful business. He hadn’t had the courage, or the heart, to try to get his old job back at the 2-7. He had been a decent cop, but he couldn’t fool himself; his solve rate had spiked dramatically with the presence of a certain Mountie, and he had no hope of getting that back without him. And Ray wasn’t the man he had been when he had first become a cop. He was jaded.
If he was really being honest with himself, he knew that Vegas had done him in. In the months since his return he wondered, turning it over and over in his mind, what had made him make such a decision in the first place. Projecting, that was the word the shrinks liked to use. He had been projecting his feelings about the Zuko family onto the Langoustine family. He would never be able to bring down the Zukos, but if he could play a role in bringing down one mob family, then maybe it would be like sticking it to all the bastards.
It had been a way to feel like something he did mattered; like something he worked so hard for might actually make a difference. He hadn’t felt that way since he’d first made detective. Over the years that jaded sense had settled in; the criminal justice system failed too often to maintain a sense of faith in it. He wasn’t like Fraser; he couldn’t maintain that sense of endless optimism.
********
Ray shut the door of his apartment firmly behind him and checked the latch and the deadbolt. It was a step down, perhaps, from the house he had lived in with his family for most of his life, but he couldn’t go back, not because they made him crazy, even though they did, but because crawling back to them after he’d abandoned them first for Vegas then for some kind of fantasy life in Florida, wasn’t something he could abide by. Foolish perhaps; there was no judgment in their eyes, but he harbored enough of his own guilt to make up for it. So he found the apartment, the one that was in his name, and the landlady didn’t seem to mind that the twitchy blond-haired Polack had mysteriously turned into a bald Italian. Ray had replaced the furniture, and carefully boxed up the things that Kowalski had left behind, placing the forgotten possessions in rubber storage bins and piling them in the corner of a room, where they gathered dust until the day that Kowalski blew back into Chicago.
Ray was lost in a dream in which Fraser was very earnestly insisting that Ray paint his old Riv maple-leaf red and sell canolis out of it all across Canada. The sounds of keys not working and cursing roused him from his already restless sleep. He peered one sleepy eye through the door’s peephole, blinked in disbelief, considered simply not answering, but figured Kowalski would probably just kick the door down, and finally opened it.
“Vecchio,” Kowalski finally broke the long silence, staring at Ray out of wide eyes, at least a week’s growth of beard covering his face, his hair sticking up at wild angles.
“Stanley,” Ray answered impassively.
Kowalski looked like he was about to correct Ray, then chose to push past him into the apartment, looking around incredulously. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, turning around slowly.
“I live here,” Ray brushed past him and sat down on the sofa, rubbing the back of his neck and peering up at Kowalski. “So, why the hell are you here?”
“I live here,” Kowalski stared at him, the stunned expression seemingly fixed on his face. “Or I did, anyway.”
“The apartment is in my name,” Ray answered dryly. “All your stuff is over there,” he gestured in the direction of the storage bins. “The couch is pretty comfortable.” He left Kowalski standing in the middle of the living room.
The scent of fresh coffee wafted into Ray’s dream the next morning. This time Fraser was insisting that the signs advertising the new cannoli business had to be in both English and French.
Ray stumbled to the kitchen, where Kowalski was very carefully and deliberately dissolving spoonfuls of coffee and sugar in equal parts. Ray poured himself a cup from the carafe and sat down at the table across from Kowalski.
Kowalski didn’t look up from his cup. “Yeah, I don’t think this is going to work.”
Ray took a long, slow sip from his own coffee. “Well, you can always go stay with my family. Ma talks about you all the time.”
Kowalski finally looked at him, incredulous. “It’s your house!” He finally said. “And this is my apartment! Don’t you think it’s a little strange? I’m done being you, Vecchio, and from the looks of things,” he waved his hand around vaguely, “you’re done being me.” He glared at Ray. “What the hell happened with Stella, anyway?”
Ray took another sip. “Stella. In a bowling alley.”
Kowalski blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He was quiet for a moment. “What the hell were you two thinking, anyway.”
Ray shrugged. “I wish I knew.” He leaned back in his chair and slowly traced the rim of his cup with his thumb. “What happened with Fraser?”
Kowalski’s hands clenched and he quickly looked back down at his own cup. “Nothing,” he said quietly. “It was time to come back, that’s all.”
Ray raised an eyebrow. “After six months traipsing around the Northwest Territories?”
Kowalski shrugged and glanced up. “It was a long expedition.”
Ray crossed his arms over his chest. “Uh huh, right.”
Kowalski‘s eyes flashed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Kowalski, you don’t just leave everything behind to go on some ‘adventure’ because you’re buddies.”
Kowalski scowled and stood up with his now empty cup. “It’s none of your business, Vecchio.” He turned toward the sink.
Ray was on him in an instant, forcefully turning Kowalski around, who was too stunned to do anything in retaliation. Ray stared icily into Kowalski’s eyes. “What the hell are you thinking? He’s not good enough for you?”
Kowalski stared at him, stunned. Ray remembered himself and drew back, but didn’t let go of Kowalski’s arm.
“He didn’t feel the same way,” Kowalski said, barely audibly.
Ray regained a sense of himself, let Kowalski go, and stepped back. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just…” he looked back up at Kowalski. “You know, Fraser. I…I have to protect him….” It made little sense to Ray, what he was saying, how it was with Fraser. He couldn’t begin to articulate it, but Kowalski was staring intently at him, a look of understanding in his eyes. Kowalski shrugged. “S’okay,” he said. He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “Look, I’ve gotta get over to the 2-7, see if I can beg my job back.”
Ray nodded. “Right. Um, look, I’m running a restaurant, over on Belmont. You should come by later, so we can…talk.”
Kowalski nodded. “Sure.”
********
“How’d it go?” Ray handed Kowalski a beer and a plate of pasta and sat down at the table in the far corner of the restaurant.
Kowalski took a long pull of the beer and shrugged. “Surprisingly well. Welsh didn’t shoot me.”
“You get your job back.”
“Yeah,” Kowalski dug into the carbonara. He looked up at Ray. “You ever consider going back?”
“No,” Ray twirled the pasta around his own fork. “That’s done with.” He took a slow, deep breath and looked directly back at Kowalski. “Look, Kowalski, I never thanked you.”
“For what?” Kowalski’s eyes filled with questioning.
“You know,” Ray waved his hand vaguely between them. “Keeping the cover, taking care of my family, taking care of Fraser.”
Kowalski smirked. “I think they took care of me more than I took care of them.” He paused. “Did you and Fraser…I mean, were you two ever…” he let the question trail off.
Ray shook his head. “No, it wasn’t like that.” He paused. “I can see where it would be real easy to fall for him though.”
Kowalski nodded and turned his beer around slowly in his hand. “Yeah, well, it didn’t amount to anything, and here I am.” He straightened up suddenly and looked intently at Ray. “You know, Vecchio, Fraser is like a tattoo. He gets under your skin like a dozen needles jabbing at you at once, and leaves you all open and bleeding, then he just irritates you, making you itch and go crazy, and when you finally think that he’s peeled off of you, you look and there he still is, all permanent like.”
Ray was about to say something like “Sure Kowalski, whatever you say, you ADD Polack,” when it occurred to him that Kowalski was right, except, for Kowalski, it was worse. He’d fallen for Fraser, hard, and the pain from it was written all over his face like a fresh, oozing wound. It was damned depressing, Ray decided.
********
Things were fucked up. Ray couldn’t help but come to the same conclusion repeatedly as he lay awake that night, fingers laced behind his head, thinking about Kowalski out on the sofa. He had given up on the idea of happiness for himself, but this just wasn’t right. If there was anyone on the planet who deserved to be happy, it was Fraser. Kowalski had said that Fraser didn’t feel the same way, but it made no sense to Ray. You don’t go on some crazy idea of adventure with some guy just because he was your partner and your friend. If Fraser had wanted something more to happen with Kowalski, Ray wasn’t convinced that he’d go for it. Fraser hadn’t only been burned, he also didn’t know how to go after what he wanted. It wasn’t in his nature. Fraser was some kind of superhero; always self-sacrificing for the greater good. Ray didn’t know how to feel about that, had never known. Fraser was so good, irritatingly perfect. It had always grated on Ray somewhat, but not nearly as much as when Fraser’s goodness got him nothing but hell. That was what had pushed Ray to try to play the superhero, but whenever Ray tried, it was always wrong somehow, whether it was pounding Frank Zuko’s face or putting a bullet in Fraser’s back. Maybe that was what had really driven him to Vegas, some kind of twisted penance, some way of being the hero, of trying to prove to himself that the criminal justice system could work right. But Vegas had left Ray with scars and nightmares and the desire to run away from himself. Of course it didn’t work. He should have known that the moment he asked Stella to marry him.
Ray turned on his side to look out the window of the bedroom, at the busy Chicago streets below, the ones that never seemed to stop, like the thoughts that ran over and over in a loop through his mind. Just once Ray wanted things to work the way they were supposed to. Just once he wanted the chance to be the hero and have it turn out right.
Which was exactly why he found himself standing outside Fraser’s cabin several weeks later, the one that he had helped to build, the one that was some kind of metaphor for re-building their friendship. It was appropriate, Ray decided, that he was at the cabin now, attempting to make something right. Granted, it might have been better if it weren’t negative twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit, but you couldn’t have everything.
“Ray!” Fraser’s eyes were wide, incredulous.
Ray grinned, in spite of the wind and the cold and the chattering of his teeth. “It’s good to see you, Benny.”
“It’s good to see you too, Ray.” Fraser’s puzzled look had turned into a grin.
“Mind if I come in?”
“Oh, of course; I’m sorry, Ray.” Fraser ushered him inside. They were silent for a moment as Fraser pulled out cups, the whistling of the tea kettle the only sound beside the soft ticking of the kitchen clock.
“This is quite the surprise, Ray. I thought you were in Florida.”
“Yeah, well, things don’t always work out like we plan, eh?”
Fraser’s smile faded. “No, I guess they don’t.”
Ray didn’t bring up Kowalski right away. He didn’t want Fraser to shut down. He was also trying to wrap his head around the idea that his opportunity to be a hero had come by playing matchmaker of sorts. Ray would take his chance where he could get it; not for himself, but for Fraser, who deserved to be happy, and for Kowalski, who had grown on him, for one, and who, Ray had decided, was good enough for Fraser. He spent the first two days updating Fraser on his life in Chicago, the restaurant, his family. He helped Fraser cut wood, take care of the dogs, fix meals. When they weren’t working or filling one another in on their lives, they sat in front of the fire in companionable silence. He approached the subject of Kowalski carefully-as carefully as he could manage, anyway.
“So Kowalski came back,” he said casually, and looked steadily at Fraser. Fraser’s own expression changed so subtly that Ray would never have caught it if he hadn’t partnered with Fraser for two years. “How is he?” Fraser asked quietly.
“He’s alright,” Ray said. “He’s back at the 2-7.” He waited for Fraser to answer, and when he didn’t after several long moments, he decided not to waste any more time. “Do you love him, Benny?”
Fraser seemed surprised only momentarily. He looked frankly at Ray. “Yes, Ray. I love him.”
Ray didn’t break his gaze. “Why did you send him away?”
“I didn’t think…I thought it wouldn’t work between us. I couldn’t take him away from his life in Chicago, and I didn’t think I could return there. I thought I needed this.” He made a sweeping gesture at the landscape outside the cabin window. He looked back at Ray, pain written on his face. “But I didn’t know what I had until he was gone.”
Ray squared his shoulders. “Come back to Chicago with me Benny. Tell him how you feel.”
Fraser looked at him sadly. “I can’t, Ray.”
Ray leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Why the hell not, Benny? What’s the worse that can happen? He held out his hands, palms up. “Don’t you think you deserve to be happy?” Desperation was creeping into his voice.
Fraser’s eyes widened. “That’s not it, Ray. I…it’s not about what I deserve. It’s about what Ray deserves. He deserves better.”
Ray looked at him incredulously, his eyes wide. “What the hell Benny? Do you really think he could do better?”
“Ray, you didn’t see his face when I ended things. I don’t think he can forgive me.”
Ray closed the distance between them. “If he doesn’t forgive you, he’s an idiot.” He broke his gaze and looked around at the cabin. “Hell, he should be thanking you Fraser. I’m trying to picture Kowalski up here and it hovers somewhere between comedy and tragedy.”
********
Ray’s hands were clasped between his knees as he stared straight ahead. For some reason, riding in this tiny plane with Fraser was making him nervous, even though Fraser was sitting next to him, an impassive expression on his face, his arms crossed. If he turns to me and tells me this pilot has re-routed the plane to Mexico, I swear I’m going to…“Ray?” Fraser’s voice broke his train of thought.
“Yeah?”
Now Fraser had turned to look at him. “Did you come all the way up here to try to get me to return to Chicago with you?”
“Uh, yeah, that was the plan. Not that I don’t like donning eighteen layers and coming to visit you or anything.” Ray continued to look straight ahead, while barely glancing over at Fraser, studying the pilot and absentmindedly feeling for the ankle holster he no longer wore.
Fraser gave him a huge grin, one that should look stupid, but instead just made everything seem better. He clapped a hand on Ray’s shoulder. “That’s very generous of you Ray.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
********
Ray resisted the urge to drop his head on the table and wonder, for the 82nd time, how his life had come to this. Instead he straightened the silverware one last time and pulled out the chair for Fraser.
“Ray?” Fraser was standing behind him, not yet sitting, his hat in his hands in front of him, his eyes full of uncertainty.
“Fraser,” Ray said as calmly as he could muster. “This is my best private room. If you back out, I will have you killed.”
Fraser looked as if he was about to say something, then seemed to change his mind. He looked at Ray inquiringly though. “Why is this so important to you?”
Ray sighed. “Someday Benny, after a few more years of therapy, I will tell you. For now, sit down and stop fidgeting.”
“I’m not fidgeting, Ray.”
Ray looked at him. True enough, Fraser wasn’t fidgeting. Of course not; Fraser never fidgeted. “Whatever then,” he waved his hand impatiently. “Think up something to charm Kowalski with.”
Speak of the devil, Ray thought as he saw Kowalski wander in. He caught his eye across the crowded room and made his way over to him. Kowalski held out his hands in a questioning gesture. “What’s going on, Vecchio?”
“I have to talk to you,” Ray took him by the elbow and steered him in the direction of the private room.
Kowalski’s eyes narrowed. “Something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong.” He all but pushed Kowalski into the room. “Well then what…” Kowalski stopped dead in his tracks, his voice trailing off.
The silence was just long enough and awkward enough to create the hint of an inkling in the back of Ray’s mind that maybe this was a really bad idea after all, as he watched Fraser and Kowalski all but stare each other down. He brushed it aside. He gave Kowalski his best Bookman glare as he tried to shoulder past Ray. Kowalski hesitated and then backed down.
Kowalski sat down, and there was sorrow in his eyes as he stared at Fraser. “Why’d you come back?”
Fraser was looking at Kowalski with an equally woeful expression. “It wasn’t exactly my intention, Ray.”
For the love of all that is holy, Ray thought, then cursed soundly in his mind. He glared down at both of them. “I got him to come here, Kowalski. Why the hell do you think I’ve set up this room like this? Talk. Work it out,” he all but hissed at the two of them. His patience for match-making had reached its limits. It was no wonder it was usually relegated to chick movies.
Ray had spent the evening resisting the urge to hover over the two. It hadn’t been that difficult, considering that reservations were full for the night. As things wound down, he walked into the kitchen and started spraying off the last of the dishes, loading them into the washer, ruminating over what could have been the worst decision of…no, not his life, there were too many other things competing for that title. He idly considered slamming the door of the dishwasher onto his head, but his train of thought was interrupted by Kowalski.
“Don’t you have hired help for that?”
Ray turned and Kowalski was giving him that sarcastic grin, his hands in his pockets, leaning against a doorframe. “Yeah, but I don’t believe in working my people to death,” he replied as he carefully closed the door and listened to the steady hum of the machine. “I am happy to agree to never speak of this again, if need be.”
“Nah,” Kowalski walked up to him and traced a finger over the stainless steel sink rim. He shrugged. “We’re talking again, it looks like. Buddies, y’know?” He gave Ray a half smile. “It could work out as more, but it’s okay if it doesn’t.”
Ray nodded. For now, it was enough.
Fraser then entered the room, looking, if not like all of his problems had been solved, at least more relaxed than he had before. “You should consider joining us for a beer, Ray.”
Ray felt a strange sense come over him, something alien, but strangely familiar. It struck him that, oddly, he felt safe, in this moment, as if things might actually be okay. “I still have to lock up,” he heard himself say.
“S’alright,” Kowalski said, “we’ll wait.”
Fraser put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, a gesture that said a hundred things without words. Ray closed his eyes. Yes, things just might turn out alright after all.