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2020-11-05
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The Real Ray

Summary:

When Ray vecchio returns Ray Kowalski disappears and Benton Fraser isn't happy about that.

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The Real Ray

 

Done to death I know, but I dreamt this up whilst on holiday, far away from my computer and my required daily dose of Ben and Ray K.  Obviously, Call of the Wild hasn’t happened and in my DS world RayK took over RayV’s apartment, because, like hey, he was supposed to be RayV, and because it’s integral to my story.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ray Kowalski, AKA Ray Vecchio was just coming up from the records dept when he heard his name being called. Over and over. It was a whaddayacallit—a caca-cacophobia—a whatever—it was a hell of a lot of ‘Vecchios’.

 

“Alright already, whadda ya want?” He walked around the corner and stopped short at the sight of what appeared to be every on-duty detective all surrounding a well-dressed, balding man.  There, bigger than life, was the real Ray Vecchio, style-pig extraordinaire, exchanging handshakes and backslaps, grinning like it was Christmas and his birthday all at once. Ray’s breath caught in his chest as he realized that the day had finally come. He knew this life he was leading wasn’t going to be forever, but he’d kinda thought he’d get a bit more warning than none at all. He just stood there, frozen to the spot and watched as Vecchio and his fan group move en masse over to his desk—the very one he’d been sitting at not ten minutes before—the one with his cup of coffee and his drawer full of Smarties. Vecchio opened the desk drawers and started to pull stuff out of them. Ray’s spare glasses, his unfinished (for twenty years) Rubik’s Cube, his Beauties of Classic Cars calendar—the one with a cherry GTO gracing not only May, but September, the precious supply of candy for his coffee.

 

“Jeeze, whadda is he, ten or something?” Vecchio started dumping things into an empty paper box that was leaning against the printer next to Ray’s—Vecchio’s desk. Ray moved at that remark, schooling his face into what he hoped was indifference. He pushed his way past the various detectives still milling around and dumped the report he been holding onto the cluttered desk.

 

“Vecchio,” Ray was pleased to hear that his voice sounded normal. “Back from Mobland, I see.”

 

“Kolwalski. Yeah, safe and sound. Man, it’s good to be back. I’m looking forward to some major down-time at home.”

 

“Yeah, well don’t get too comfy. You’re picking up all my—your—current cases just like I did when you left.” Ray started rummaging around in the other drawers, pulling out the last of his personal stuff and putting it in the cardboard box. “Just one last file I need then I’m outta your hair—oops, sorry, poor choice of words.” Ray smirked as he extracted the empty-looking file from the back of the file drawer. He slid Vecchio’s badge under some papers on the desk. He’d retrieve his real one from his safe deposit box in the morning.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Vecchio turned back to his entourage. “I’m telling you guys, the food was for shit out there. All I’ve been dreaming of the past month is Ma’s mouth-watering lasagna, her pasta primavera, and ohhh, those canoli she makes for Christopher Columbus day.”

 

Ray picked up the box and headed to Welsh’s office. He banged on the door once and poked his head in. “Hey Lieu, can I have a second?”

 

Welsh looked up from the budget report he was struggling with. “Whadda ya need, Vecchio?”

 

“Well, actually I need your signature on this transfer form since Vecchio just came in.” Ray stepped back in a hurry as Welsh moved a lot faster than Ray had ever seen him.

 

“Vecchio—the real Ray Vecchio?”  Welsh went to the door and was gone, all smiles and backslaps for the prodigal son. Ray watched him greet Vecchio and then with a sigh, he picked up Welsh’s discarded pen, filled out the last few remaining blanks on the form, dated it and for the first time in two years, signed his real name to the bottom. Then he forged Welsh’s name under Supervisor. He put the entire form in the box he was carrying—Central could forward a copy to Welsh next week—like he’d care where Fake Ray went, but still. A flash of red caught Ray’s eye and if he thought seeing the bullpen’s reaction to the real Ray hurt, then this was a thousand times worse as he watched Ben—Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP—his partner, best friend and unrequited love—hurry across the room, grinning widely and the Real Ray pull him into a bone-crushing hug with a resounding ‘Benny!’

 

Well, that was it. There was no point in hanging around. Now just vacate Vecchio’s apartment and Fake Ray would be done. No more pretending to be the style-pig. No more Sunday dinners at Ma Vecchio’s, no more Chinese take-out with Dief and Fraser, no more getting shot at because some idealistic unarmed Mountie decided that calmly reasoning with a escaped, gun-toting felon would be so much better than threatening to shoot him. Ray bit the inside of his cheek as he watched Fraser and Vecchio talk and hug and laugh. Yep, yeppers, this was it. Ray steeled himself for the possibility that he might actually have to say good-bye to Fraser. And wouldn’t that just suck big-time to stand there with his box in his hands, listening to the polite tones of Ben saying the usual it-was-a great-pleasure-working-with-you bullshit. Ray was of the rip-it-off quick bandage school; better no good-bye than that. With a sigh he picked up his box and slipped out of Welsh’s office and out the door. Downstairs he ran into Franny just coming out of the ladies room, obviously freshened up for some date.

 

“Hey Ray. Where’s Fraser?” she asked. Ray paused, shifting the box to his other hip.

 

“Bullpen. You should get up there. Big, big celebration going on.” He smiled at her, for all Franny’s irritating habits he was going to miss her too. “You take care of yourself okay?”

 

“What?” Franny looked at him perplexed. “Are you nuts or somethin’, Ray?”

 

He jerked his head towards the stairs. “Just go on up. There’s someone you’ll want to see.” With that, Ray turned and left, leaving Franny staring after him.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It took Benton the better part of an hour to realize his partner was missing. Ray Vecchio was sitting at Ray’s desk, although to be perfectly honest it was Ray’s desk too. Benton thought back. He couldn’t remember seeing Ray this evening, but he’d been distracted by the unexpected reunion with his ex-partner Ray Vecchio. He found Franny talking excitedly to someone on the phone—her mother, Benton surmised, since Ray Vecchio’s return would have to be as secret as his departure two years previously had been. Benton didn’t want to interrupt, but Franny saw him and covered the mouthpiece with her palm.

 

“Isn’t it wonderful, Fraser?”

 

“Indeed, yes. I was wondering if you have seen my Ray, Ray Ko—”

 

“Yeah—yes Ma, okay, hold on—Ray’s with Lieutenant Welsh, Fraser—yeah Ma, yeah, I know . . .” Franny raised her eyes heavenward and Benton suppressed a smile. Mrs. Vecchio, quite easily the most voluble person Benton had ever met, would be even more so at the safe return of her son. He caught sight of Lieutenant Welsh tall frame on the landing outside and hurried over to catch Ray. But it was Ray Vecchio, not Kowalski, standing next to the Lieutenant along with two other officers.

 

“Benny, come and join us! We’re about to head over to Mama’s for a big slice of the fatted calf, and that ain’t no joke. Franny just told me Mama’s already cooking up a storm.” Ray Vecchio

 

“Thank you kindly Ray, but I must decline. Excuse me, Lieutenant Welsh, but have you seen Ray? Ray Kowalski?”

 

“Sorry Constable, I haven’t. Not since he came in to tell me Ray was back.”

 

“Oh dear,” Benton was afraid of that. “I do not think he is there now, sir, but may I check?”

 

“Knock yourself out, Constable.” Walsh turned back to the group and Benton crossed the busy squad room and pushed open the door to Lieutenant Welsh’s office. No Ray to be found and although Benton normally wouldn’t dream of rifling through the Lieutenant’s papers, he felt that this might constitute an emergency. He knew Ray Kowalski, probably better than he’d ever known Ray Vecchio. He knew that Ray Kowalski was a terrific cop, an even better partner, a loyal friend, and caring, sensitive individual. The fact that he was seemingly no longer on the premises didn’t bode well.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ray Kowalski finished loading the last of his cardboard boxes into his car and trudged back up the stairs for the turtle terrarium and his coat. He scrawled a note to Vecchio and looked around the apartment one last time. All the furniture was the real Ray’s. He’d added the chili pepper lights, the dancing steps under the rug, a couple of pictures, and the terrarium. Most of the boxes down in the car contained his clothes and sheets, towels, shit like that. Ray smiled as he remembered just how many times Fraser had stayed over and slept on that couch after just coming in for a cup of tea, thank you kindly. That reminded Ray of the special teapot he’d given Fraser last Christmas. He went to grab it before he remembered he wouldn’t be the one drinking tea with Fraser tomorrow. With a sigh, he put it back in the cupboard. One last sweep of the apartment to make sure he hadn’t left anything and Ray quietly closed the door on the best part of his life. He locked the front door and stuck the keys in a padded envelope that he mailed from the corner postbox.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Benton and Diefenbaker arrived at Ray’s apartment building by taxi, something that Benton hated doing since it almost always involved a discussion with the taxi driver about Diefenbaker’s heritage and a fib or two about his (Diefenbaker’s) association with the police. Ray had always maintained that the amount of times Dief has assisted them in collaring scumbag perps meant that he was a canine police officer and Benton had always maintained that while indeed Deif’s contributions were appreciated and various, that in reality, he was not officially a member of the force. Ray would grin and say “Official, schmicial. In you get Dief,” and Dief would laugh his wolfy laugh and jump in. Luckily, today the driver didn’t seem to care, for which Benton was immeasurably glad, since he would have had trouble lying to the driver, even for something this important.

 

He paid off the driver and Dief jumped out. They both looked up at the darkened windows before using Benton’s keys to enter the building. Dief whined and nudged Benton as he closed the door and headed for the staircase.

 

“I agree it does not seem as though Ray is home, but we should check all the same.”

 

Benton fully expected to find Ray inside, perhaps sitting in the dark with a drink; during bad cases, or when a case really wasn’t going well, sometimes Ray did that.  He’d sit on the fire escape in the summer or curl up on the couch in the winter, slowing sipping his scotch and working the case in his head. But when Benton opened the door the place was deserted. Benton switched on the lights and called out but there was no answer. Dief galloped into the bedroom and back out, whining and snapping a bit.

 

“Again, I agree. This is not good. Where has Ray gone?” Benton looked around and was suddenly struck by the fact that things were missing. The first thing he noticed missing was the clutter. Ray wasn’t a neat person by any means. His apartment wasn’t dirty or anything like that, but usually Benton could count on finding a newspaper strewn about, a jacket carelessly thrown over a chair, and the afghan Ray’s mom had made him bunched up in a corner of the couch. Now not only was the clutter missing, but so were the afghan, the jacket, and even the absurd colored lights that had hung around the fire escape window. Even Ray’s turtle was gone. Benton strode over to the front closet and opened the door. Empty. As was the bedroom closet. Benton checked the bathroom only to find it clean and tidy with every trace of Ray gone. Even the refrigerator was empty. Benton found the note to Ray Vecchio.

 

“I can hardly help reading it, Dief. Ray did not seal it.” He picked it up and read it out loud, less for Deif’s benefit than to make the apartment seem less empty.

 

 Vecchio,The rent’s paid up til the 5th. I tidied up but I’ll have a guy come by next week and give the place a real good going over. He’ll remove those feet marks under the living room rug too. All your papers are in the center desk drawer. Your Buick caught on fire (ask Fraser) and the insurance check got paid into your bank account. The keys to the apartment are in the mail. Tell your mom thanks for me (I never ate so well). Take care of Fraser (he’s still trying to talk the perps into giving up, for chrissakes).Kowalski 

 

“Oh dear, we’re too late Dief. Ray’s left. I need to call Lieutenant Welsh.” Dief barked and cocked his head at Fraser. “Oh, yes, of course, I could try phoning Ray’s cellular phone first. Yes, I agree, I was silly not to think of that earlier. Yes, alright, Diefenbaker, I get the picture. Yes, indeed, you are very intelligent,” Benton muttered as he dialed Ray’s number. Diefenbaker pawed at a desk drawer as a muted buzz began to emanate from it. Benton pulled the drawer open to see Ray’s cell phone vibrating and ringing as it lay on top of some papers. He hung up the landline slowly, and then picked it up again and dialed the precinct. After finally reaching Lieutenant Welsh and ascertaining that he had no idea where Ray used to live or where he might go, Benton hung up the phone again and straightened his lanyard and collar.

 

“Right, there is no cause for alarm, Dief. We seem to have just misplaced Ray temporarily. Let’s look at the situation logically. Ray was at the station this afternoon and he has also been here. We could not have missed him by much so let us go downstairs and see if we can determine which direction he might have taken.” Benton locked the door carefully and exited the building. Since it was after six o’clock in the evening, most of the small-business owners had already closed their shops. The street was quiet, early spring was still too chilly in the evening for the people to linger after work

 

“Well, where shall we begin, Diefenbaker? A canvass of the neighborhood seems unlikely to yield any satisfactory results given the time of day.” Benton stared at the curb, imaging Ray’s GTO parked there, as it had been this morning when they had exited the building, Benton having stayed over the previous evening. Something niggled and teased at Benton’s memory. Something he’d noticed this morning and again at lunch. Something about the car. A rattle? No, a drip!

 

“Dief, look around for a drop of transmission fluid—pink or light red, oh yes, I apologize, I forgot you are color-blind. Look for a small oily patch that smells funny. I noticed Ray’s car was leaking a bit today—yes here is one!” Benton crouched down and drew his finger lightly across the surface of the oily stain. “Yes, I realize that it could have come from any car, but Ray always uses high grade fluids for his car and this particular transmission fluid is an expensive brand. Head down the street towards the Tommy’s Pizza and see if you can find a second drop. I’ll go north.” And should any anyone be passing by on their way home that night they would have seen the strange sight of a red-coated Canadian Mountie (without his mount) crawling along Fillmore street, pausing frequently to sniff the ground, and a half-wolf doing to same at the opposite end of the street.

 

It took the better part of an hour and a half, but Benton had finally tracked the drops of transmission fluid to their source. Ray’s black GTO was parked in front of a rundown hotel incongruously named Hotel Ritz. Pushing open the front door and urging Dief to follow, Taking a small photograph from inside the brim of his hat, Benton approached the older gentleman stationed behind the front desk.

 

“Good evening sir. My name is Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and I am inquiring after a possible guest here at your establishment by the name of Ray Vecc—Kowalski, Ray Kowalski.” The desk clerk just stared, opened-mouth. Benton raised his voice slightly. Perhaps the man was hard of hearing.

 

“Sir? Sir? Ray Kowalski? Is he a guest here?” Benton gently waved the photograph in front of the man.

 

“Are you one of them strippers?”

 

“I beg pardon, what did you say?”

 

“You one of them fancy strippers, right? Like in that movie, The Full Mountie. Where’s your boom-box? And what does he do?” The man jerked his head towards Dief who barked indignantly.

 

“Oh, no, no, you are mistaken, sir. I am actually a member of Her Majesty’s Royal Mounted police force. I came to Chicago on the trail of my father’s killers and, well, I really do not have time to go into it now, but suffice to say, I am a legitimate law enforcement officer and I am inquiring as to whether a Stanley Raymond Kowalski is registered here.”

 

“Hey Trudy, get in here. We got one of those fancy stripper boys here.”

 

It took Benton fifteen minutes and a thorough examination of his clothing by both Henry and Trudy before they accepted that the lack of Velcro on his trousers meant that he would be a very poor stripper and possibly was a proper police officer. Producing his warrant card seemed to settle the matter.

 

“He ain’t done nothing wrong, has he?” Trudy asked suspiciously, handing the identification card back to Benton. “Because we run a legit business here, and we don’t want any trouble.

 

“No, no. I can assure you the Mr. Kowalski is a fine and upstanding member of the community. This is just a general inquiry.”

 

“Yeah, well, okay. He’s in room 14, booked in for a month.”

 

“Thank you kindly. Dief, come!”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It hadn’t taken Ray long to bring in the last of his stuff and shut and locked the hotel door behind him. He sighed as he cracked open the bottle of Johnny Walker Red he’d bought from the corner liquor store. He intended to get smashed tonight and start his life over again tomorrow.

 

“A fuckin’ do-over,” he muttered as he threw back the first shot and lit a cigarette. That’s what he needed, a do-over of his life. Ray looked at himself in the mirror over the battered desk. Who the fuck was he?  Ray Kowalski seemed like a stranger. What had he accomplished so far? The wrong side of thirty, with a failed marriage and a job that brought him in contact with the scum of the earth or their pitiful victims. A job that was slowly killing his spirit and maybe would one day quickly end his life. The last two years of his life, the best two years of his life over and done with. His partnership with one of the best human beings on this earth finished. A person that Ray consciously had been in love with for the past year. Suddenly one bottle of scotch didn’t seem adequate.

 

An hour later, a knock at his door roused Ray from his morose contemplation of the ugly brown brick wall opposite his window. The bottle sat half empty on the window sill next to the remains of half a dozen cigarettes scattered in a chipped ashtray. Ray uncurled himself from the chair he’d placed by the window and stubbed out his cigarette butt. Opening the door, the last person he’d expected to see was Fraser, hat in hand, with the other hand raised to knock again.

 

“Hello Ray. May I come in?” Ray just stared in surprise, the alcohol numbing his thought processes.

 

“Fraser? What the hell are you doing here?”

 

“Talking to you in a hallway. May I come in?” Benton repeated. Ray stepped back to let him in and Diefenbaker bounded up and jumped at Ray as if he hadn’t seen him for days, rather than twelve hours. Benton followed Dief in and Ray closed and locked the door, still a bit stunned by the Mountie’s sudden appearance.

 

“I mean,” Ray said as he returned to the chair and picked up his glass, “I mean, how did you know I was here?”

 

 “I did not know you were here until we were here as well. In fact, I am unable to speculate as to why you are here instead of at home.”

 

“By home, you mean Vecchio’s apartment, right?” At Fraser’s nod, Ray swallowed the rest of the scotch in his glass. “Well, that why, Frase. It ain’t my place, it never was, and now that the Real Ray is back, Fake Ray just fades away.”

 

Fraser frowned as Ray turned away to pour himself another scotch. He looked around the room noting the amount missing from the bottle and the number of cigarette butts in the ashtray. It looked as though Ray was more than a little upset at Ray Vecchio’s return.

 

“Why do you refer to yourself as Fake Ray?” Fraser asked, perturbed at Ray’s morose air.

 

“Well, I’m not the Real Ray Vecchio so that makes me the Fake one,” Ray stated, tossing back the scotch in his glass. He reached for the bottle again, but Fraser forestalled him, gently laying a firm hand on his forearm.

 

“Ray, would you mind terribly if I asked you to not take another drink right now?”

 

Ray flushed an ugly red and wrenched himself out of Fraser’s reach. “Fuck yeah, Fraser. I fuckin’ do mind. What I do now is none of your beeswax. I’m not your partner anymore and I am no longer responsible for saving your ass. I get two weeks leave before I reappear as Ray Kowalski, and I intend to spend most of that time fall-down drunk. So piss off, Constable, and leave me alone.”

 

Fraser could see that Ray wasn’t really angry at him, but that his outburst stemmed from a deep unhappiness. He braced himself for an unpleasant exchange. Ray had struck him once out of anger and then hated himself afterwards. He had insisted that Ben strike him back and Ben had done so, hating to do it but knowing that he needed to if he and Ray were ever going to continue as partners and friends.

 

“I’m sorry Ray but I am not leaving you here to drink yourself into a two-week stupor. You could hurt yourself, or maybe even others without realizing.” Fraser did not attempt to stop Ray from pouring another shot. Pick your battles, he thought. Ray was obviously determined to drink that bottle, but he could make sure that was all he got, at least for the time being. “I would just like to know why you disappeared so suddenly.”

 

Ray sighed and sat down heavily on the side of the bed, motioning Fraser to take the ratty armchair by the window.

 

“Look Frase, it’s how undercover works. Here one day, gone the next. It’s a tough job, that’s why they give you double credit for your undercover work. You aren’t supposed to make friends, hell, most of the time I was being fake drug dealer, or fake pimp, so you can imagine I didn’t want to make any new friends. But this time it was different. I wasn’t being some schmoe that nobody knew, I had to become a real person, Ray Vecchio, and that meant living in his house, doing his job, and being friends with his friends.”

 

“Are you saying we were never friends?” Fraser got up and paced a bit in front of the window. “Because if that is what you are saying, then I say . . .,” Fraser paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “I say that’s bullshit.”

 

Ray choked on a lungful of Marlboro and then choked a bit more on the mouthful of scotch he gulped to clear his throat. Fraser swearing? And not swearing allegiance to the Queen and country, but using profanity? When he could, he gasped in some air and glanced up at Fraser through watering eyes.

 

Fraser was continuing to pace in the small area near the bed. “I don’t understand why you would think we are not friends. It is true we might not have met if not for this undercover work, but we did and despite what you say, we are friends. Yours is the most important friendship I have ever had.”

 

“Yeah, okay, I didn’t mean nothing by that, Fraser. Of course we’re friends. It’s just that it over now. Vecchio comes back and I gotta give back everything: his house, his job, his family, his car if we didn’t total it. And it means I gotta give his partner back too. I’ll be reassigned and probably go undercover again. Pretty much all I got going for me is the ability to be someone else. And you get Vecchio back and things go back to how they were before.” Ray’s mouth twisted into a bittersweet smile and he set the empty glass on the rickety table next to the bed.

 

Fraser stood still, smoothing his eyebrow, looking thoughtful. “So you are saying that our partnership is at an end?”

 

Ray stood up and stubbed out his cigarette. “Yeah.”

 

Fraser’s voice was tight. “And our friendship?”

 

Ray’s lips tightened for a moment, “I’d like to say we’ll stay friends, but I have no idea where they’ll send me next or how deep undercover I’ll have to go. And if it’s something criminal like it usually is, then I’m going to have a hard time explaining our friendship to the bad guys.”

 

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow one more time and then took a deep breath.

 

“Well, if that’s the case, I have little to lose . . .,” he walked over to Ray and looked him intently. Then he put his hands on either side of Ray’s face and held him still.

 

“I love you, Ray,” and then he kissed him full on the mouth.

 

Ray’s brain imploded on itself as he tried to sort out the jumble of feelings coursing through him. Shock, for sure, and confusion, and whoa, disorientation, and then, a flood of warmth, heat, desire, need. Fraser’s lips were firm and soft as they nibbled and pressed against his own. Ray’s mouth opened under the onslaught and Fraser’s agile tongue tentatively flicked against his lips.

 

When Ray didn’t respond, Fraser reluctantly pulled back so he could look into those incredible eyes; eyes wide with surprise and something else. Fraser rubbed one thumb against Ray’s lower lip and made a moue of distaste. “I wish you wouldn’t smoke.”

 

Ray pushed back against that wall of red serge that was Fraser’s chest. “Wha?” He shook his head to clear it. “What the hell was that?”

 

Fraser stepped back and looked a bit unsure of Ray’s reaction. “Well, it has been awhile, but I believe that was a kis—oophh” Fraser broke off in mid-sentence as Ray launched himself at him and knock him onto the bed, landing heavily on top of the surprised Mountie. Their lips met in a hard, desperate kiss that short-circuited a few more of Ray’s brain cells. In between kisses, Ray was muttering something and Ben stilled for a moment in order to make it out.

 

“No, don’t stop. I love you, love you, Frase.” Ben thought his heart would explode with the emotion of hearing Ray say he loved him. He pulled Ray close again and stroked his hand down Ray’s chest to the snap on his well-worn jeans.

 

The two men rolled around on the ancient bed, fumbling at their clothes with Ray becoming increasing aroused by the press of Fraser’s body against his and increasingly irritated at his inability to manage the intricacies of Fraser’s uniform.

 

“Well, shit, that’s no fair,” Ray whined as he realized he was pretty much naked and Fraser was still fully dressed, albeit with his belt gone and his serge unbuttoned. Fraser laughed and jumped out of bed, where he made short work of stripping off the offending articles.

 

Ray smoldered a little as he watched each piece of clothing fly off. “Okay, first off, you gotta teach me how to do that, and secondly, the next time I want to see that done real slow, so I can savor it. Get down here Fraser.”

 

Fraser laughed low in his throat and crawled back into the creaky bed. “Ben,” he murmured, “call me Ben—please, please, call me Ben. No one does anymore.”

 

Ray stroked his calloused hand along Fraser—no, Ben’s side. “Okay, Ben it is. Now get over here.”

 

Ben happily obliged and soon the room echoed with the creak of the bedsprings, the low moans of desire, whispered words of love and lust, and cries of fulfillment, punctuated by loud bangs as the headboard struck the wall repeatedly.

 

Ray grinned goofily up at Ben and curled his lanky body around Ben’s heavier frame. Ben’s chest was damp with perspiration and his hair stood up at odd angles. Ray knew his hair must look ten times worse since it stood on end everyday anyway. Ray buried his nose into the crook of Ben’s neck and sighed happily.


“I got two weeks off and I hope you know we’ll be doing some variation of that every night.”

 

“Oh, not just at night Ray and not just for two weeks. We’ll have morning, noon, and night, next week, next month, and forever because I don’t intend to ever let you go.” Ben hesitated for a moment and then entwined their fingers together. “Would it be too much—can I ask you—would you give up undercover work for me? For us?”

 

Ray’s grin faded and he squeezed Ben’s hand, for once thinking before he spoke. He was good at what he did, one of the best. He was one of Chicago PD’s go-to guys when it came to undercover. He’d been lent out to other departments, even out of state a couple of times. But it was lonely and dangerous. Before it hadn’t mattered, but now . . .

 

“Absolutely, Fraser—sorry, Ben.” He smiled and reached up his free hand to stroke Ben’s face lightly. “I don’t want to pretend to be someone else anymore. I’ve got the best of everything and not only do I not want to lose it, I don’t want to waste anymore of my life living without it—without you.” Ray frowned slightly, “But I don’t think I can work at the 2-7 and watch you and Vecchio.”

 

Fraser shook his head. “No Ray, I won’t be working with Ray Vecchio anymore. He will always be my friend, but he will no longer be my partner. I will end my liaison with the Chicago Police Department if they do not agree to let me partner you. Would you consider staying at the 27th precinct if Lieutenant Welsh agrees? Can you work with Ray Vecchio professionally?

 

“Yeah, I guess I could, as long as I know I’m the one you want for real.” Ray answered, looking down at Ben’s chest.

 

Ben stroked his fingers along Ray chin before tilting it up to look into his eyes. “Always, Ray. I knew Ray Vecchio first, but you, you are my real Ray.”

 

Ray sighed happily and snuggled closer to Ben. It might have been kind of girly, but that’s what he needed to be sure. It was like that book his mom read to him when he was young about the toy rabbit that became real because the little boy loved it so much. Love, love was all he needed to become the Real Ray.