Six Months
by Matsutakedo
Disclaimer: We don't own the characters of Due South. We slash out of love, not disrespect, and make no profit from our efforts.
Author's Notes: First written by Matsutakedo in Japanese, this story was translated by Sakana for the Mendacity Challenge at ds_flashfiction. Huge thanks to Kalena for betaing the English version. You can feedback the original author Matsutakedo in English, because she can read in the language pretty well :)
If you know Japanese, you'll find more of Matsutakedo's works at Tomo's DS slash archive: http://www.senyou.net/~lcv705/top.htm (This site is Japanese only, sorry; please don't contact Tomo in English!)
Story Notes: Small spoilers for BDtH.
"Look, Benny, I don't know if they have a similar thing up there in Canada, but down here in America we have this thing called friendship. And this is something that a friend would do. Like, for example, if one friend calls another friend and he's supposed to meet him at a certain time and a certain place and he can't be there, he usually calls him to let him know."
"So everything is all right, then?"
"Yeah, Benny. Everything is all right."
--Burning Down The House
I was going to tell him everything when I came back. It was only six months. Six lousy months in Vegas pretending to be a bigshot mob lieutenant, Armando 'the Bookman' Languistini. Who just happened to look exactly like me. Six months. That was it.
I wake up to a scratch at the door. I can smell Ma's breakfast in the air. The wolf, a city dog now, sniffs raptly.
"Morning, Furface." A pat on his head, and he darts down the hall as soon as I open the door. I shower, shrug into my suit, and go down into the kitchen. It's Saturday morning; nobody but Ma's up yet.
"Morning, Ma."
"Good morning, Raimondo. You're up early."
"I'm going in to work today. Management job sucks, but that's life."
"Are you all right, caro?"
It's the same question she asks every morning for six months now, ever since I got back. I put on my usual smile and start tucking in. Ma leaves me alone, more or less, so long as I keep eating what she puts in front of me.
I'm fine. I don't feel a thing. Maybe I've been dead all this time. Maybe I died six months ago.
I dream every night -- two years worth of dreams.
***
I'm fresh out of the holding cell, and he's standing right in front of me in his brown uniform. I tell him I'm in love with him. "I know we only just met, but. . . I am." His eyes widen in surprise, and then he's smiling at me.
***
We kiss on the hood of the Riv, on the shore of Lake Michigan. "I got you . . . I got you in time, didn't I?" he gasps. I forget I almost drowned down there and kiss him back, just as fiercely.
***
In a freezer full of horsemeat, he's holding my shivering body tight. "I'll never let you die Ray, I swear." Wrapped in his arms, I feel peaceful as I close my eyes.
***
Two bodies tangle on top of the pool table. Our breath is white in the cold of the room. "Nobody can have you but me. Nobody." He's crying, nodding over and over at my words, his sobs turning gradually into sweet gasps of pleasure.
***
Dancing. A real dance, a romantic dance, with him finally out of that stupid dress. I can still smell that perfume. I nuzzle behind his ear and inhale deeply. He giggles like he's ticklish.
***
A phone call from Canada. Fraser is being polite but I cut him off. "I said I'll pick you up, okay? And I will. Just wait for me at O'Hare."
"But Ray, I can . . . "
"Don't give me that Canadian politeness crap. I'll be there."
"As my boyfriend?"
His voice sounds shy. He's probably blushing. I smile.
"Yeah, Benny. As your boyfriend."
***
Pulling him aside at the airport, I kiss him thoroughly, unable to hold back. I tell him in the Riv how I turned down the undercover gig the FBI tried to put the screws to me on.
"Two weeks and I was crawling the walls, Benny. How do you expect me to live six months without you?"
Clear blue eyes stare at me. His lashes fall then, and I see a tear roll down his cheek.
"Thank you, Ray."
"For what?"
"For not leaving me alone."
***
I wake up and I'm crying.
Lips that I never kissed. Skin that I never touched. Sweet dreams of happiness that never was.
I walk out my front door and get into the Riv. Instead of heading for the precinct, I find myself in West Racine. That rat hole of an apartment has been replaced by a fancy building; none of his old neighbors are still around. His dad's trunk was never recovered from the rubble. I'm not even sure anymore if he was ever here at all.
Nobody told me about the accident when it happened. They didn't want me to blow my cover. It was a simple case of a drunk driver hitting a pedestrian who was crazy enough to be walking on I-90 toward downtown Chicago. Fatality: the pedestrian, Canadian citizen, on his way back from a two-week vacation. Having no family, he was cremated by his appointed next of kin, and his ashes sent back to be scattered in his homeland.
Six months later, that next of kin -- who had never once met the guy who died -- one Stanley Kowalski, the fake Ray Vecchio, handed me the wolf and a backpack. I opened the backpack in the Riv.
A passport, some papers, and a wolf snack. A brown leather-bound journal. The last date of entry was the day I talked to him on the phone.
I can't be with Ray tomorrow. It's only one extra day after two weeks apart, yet my heart aches, reminding me exactly how much I have missed him. Please, God, that I still have my courage to tell him that I love him when I see him in Chicago.
The world blurred and then disappeared. I heard a howl somewhere that wasn't Dief's. It took me a while to realize it was mine. Only six months. I left you alone, and you left me behind.
I love him. I was supposed to tell him that when I got back. It was only six months. I thought nothing would change.
Six months. And then Benny and I, we would . . . the two of us . . . I love you . . . I love you . . . I love you . . .
They promoted me to lieutenant, and my life is back to normal, but not back to a year ago. It's back to two years before that.
Forty-one cases piled on my desk, all of them frustrating as hell. But none of them are "the dead Mountie thing" that lay on top of my pile that day. The pristine brown uniform is nowhere to be seen.
I park on the hill overlooking Lake Michigan, and take the journal out of my glove box. Benny, I miss you so much.
I dream every night. I dream two years worth of lies.
End Six Months by Matsutakedo
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