******   

Title: Exhausted
 Author: necessary angel
 Pairing: BF/RK
 Rating: PG-13 for m/m implications, and references to het. sex and
finally for 
 Ray's potty mouth.
 Spoilers: For Strange Bedfellows
 Disclaimers: They don't belong to me, but I've never been good at
resisting
 other people's toys. The title is lovingly borrowed from the track of the
same 
 name on the new Headstones CD "Nickels for your Nightmares". 
 Summary: Late night thoughts from Ray some time after the tag scene.
 Thanks to Maxine, Rowan, Alison, Ruthie and Kate for encouragement and
 suggestions and also to Denise for her smart, incisive comments, which
 really helped to turn this around. And a final thanks to the ever lovely
 Megan for fine beta. 
  

This one's for Megan, Happy Birthday. 

Tell me what you think necessary_angel@yahoo.com
  

******
 Exhausted by necessary angel
 ********
  

"Fuck!"
  

The word has been screaming through his brain for so long that it takes
Ray 
 a few seconds to register that he's yelled it out into the heavy, quiet
air.
 Dancing does that. You go at it for a while, and the air gets hot,
sticky, thick. 
 Shit; he was going to catch yet more bitchin' from the neighbors.
  

"Fuck it."
  

Ray had danced himself out a while back, but it hasn't brought sleep like
it 
 usually does. He's frayed, pushed past his limit for... well, anything. 
 Certainly sleep and most definitely company, even...especially Fraser's.
Ray 
 sighs; he hadn't missed the flash of pain in Fraser's eyes earlier when
he'd 
 rejected Fraser's offer of dinner. Ray scrubs a hand through his hair,
almost 
 enjoying the dull tug of his fingers against his scalp.
  

The quiet is getting to him and he's back over at the stereo, his finger 
 hovering over the play button again. Yet another loop of the track Stella
and 
 he' d danced to earlier. Ray knows it's fucking stupid. It doesn't make
any 
 difference. He's never smart around Stella, about Stella. But his hand
moves 
 and, dazed, Ray watches it take the CD out. He wants to break it, to
stamp 
 on it as if that would clean the music out of his nerves. For a moment
he's 
 almost sure he has done it, but the disk is still whole, balanced between
his 
 fingers. Ray eases his fingers away and lets it drop on top of the
stereo. His 
 hand is stinging sharply and he isn't surprised to see the thin grooves
on his 
 fingertips.
  

Ray backs away from the stereo. No more music; maybe coffee, yeah that 
 would do it. He'd drunk himself out of his few bottles of beer hours ago.
He'd 
 stopped keeping much booze in his place not long after Stel and he had
split. 
 ease of access was not a good thing. Days of stumbling through work with 
 the pain in his head not quite enough to smother the ache in the rest of
him 
 had taught him that one.
  

Real coffee, that is the way to go; instant will give too much thinking
time, 
 too much standing around. The spit and gurgle of the machine takes the 
 edge off the silence. He leans against the counter, trying to make out
the 
 drip of the coffee in the dim light.
  

The coffee is hot and tasteless despite the extra candy, but he keeps 
 drinking. Keeps drinking and keeps moving. The dull thud of his boots on 
 the floor is more soothing than anything else has been tonight. His whole

 body feels gritty, like his eyes do after a stakeout. His T-shirt is
scraping 
 over every nerve he owns, and he ditches the coffee long enough to get
rid of 
 it. It doesn't help much. It's not his clothes; the itch is deeper than
that, 
 right inside him.
  

Ray throws himself on the couch and stares at the play of lights from
outside 
 on the ceiling. His life has shifted and changed tonight. He still can't
work 
 out why he walked away from Stella's door. 
  

He could be there now, tangled up in her. It would be good. It always was,

 lying next to her, breathing her in, feeling her small, strong hands and
sharp 
 teeth on his skin. Stella, stripped of her layers, skin gleaming in the
light as 
 she moves against him, over him, around him. Stella' s head heavy on his 
 chest, her eyes almost closed beneath tousled, tawny hair, her body warm 
 and lax against his as they drift and recover. They could always talk
then, no 
 attitudes to get in the way. He had always been able to find the woman
he'd 
 married in bed. 
  

He's not there. He's here and that is his choice. Something has broken the

 loop, thrown the dance into a new pattern. Not something, someone.
  

Fraser.
  

Ray puts his hand over his eyes and groans. He shifts on the couch,
pushing 
 his neck back against the arm. Oh, Christ. His guts twist, a tight, cold
lump 
 settling where his stomach should be. He presses one hand hard against
his 
 belly. It doesn't help much. He shivers, but his skin is slick beneath
his 
 fingers. 
  

There it is, out in the open. 
  

Fuck. 
  

Stella had ripped him apart over the years, as he had her. She still could

 tear into his underbelly, if the last few days were any indication, but 
 Fraser... Jeez. Fraser, with his clear, honest eyes, could reduce him to 
 nothing. The man was already deep inside. He had simply walked right in. 
 Ray had never had any sense and this proved it without any doubt. 
  

Ray's fingers are shaking as they ease the seam of his jeans away from his

 sudden, aching erection. His chest is tight and the back of his neck is
damp. 
 The knot in his guts squeezes and he groans again. Yeah, he had noticed 
 Fraser, noticed him that first day, but it was nothing...like noticing
the color
 of the sky. You'd have to be dead not to notice Fraser. This is
different, very 
 different. Trouble, big time trouble.
  

It is the best partnership Ray has ever had. They had fitted - like his
favorite 
 leather jacket had from the first moment. It is the only thing about his
new 
 life that has. Vecchio was as far from Ray Kowalski as you could get, and

 that suited him just fine. 
  

It had been pure freedom to step into the other man's existence, even if 
 everything he'd learned about the man had made his teeth ache. The bubble

 of his new job had closed around him as if it had been made for him. 
  

Ray could function, at last. Smooth, clean, cut off from the mess he'd
made 
 at his last precinct. No history to weigh him down. For the first time in
what 
 seemed like forever he was back in the groove, and his nerves were back
on 
 the inside where they belonged.
  

He's good at undercover; that's what he did, at least until Stella and he
had 
 got it together properly. He had done less of it after that and he had
missed 
 it...he hadn't realized how much until he had started this gig. To do a
long 
 term assignment right, you have to live it. No time out; that was just
what he 
 had needed. Vecchio's life had closed around him with its clear
boundaries, 
 and once he had learnt to breathe it had been fine. 
  

Vecchio'd had enough baggage of his own for Ray to have to let go of his.
It 
 helped, actually; numbed things so that he could deal with Stella working

 the 27; mostly, anyway.
  

He had settled into the work okay, smoothed out some of the rough spots at

 the 27. It'd been all right. Welsh was a good Lieutenant, and whatever he

 had going on with Vecchio didn't hang over on Ray. The rest of the shift 
 followed his lead. That made his life easier, better than he'd thought it
would 
 get. Good, even. 
  

He was untouchable. 
  

Or he had been, until Fraser had returned and cracked the glass 
 surrounding him. One conversation in a crypt, of all fucking places, and
the 
 air was touching Ray's skin for the first time in months.
  

Now he realizes it's much worse than that. 
  

Ray's on his feet, moving, pacing again, his arms wrapped tight around his

 chest as if that will keep everything together. Fraser really has walked
right 
 in. He cracks his neck. It doesn't help; his neck is still as tight as a
fucking 
 drum. You don't fall for your partner. You really don't fall for your
partner 
 when you're undercover. 
  

Undercover as another cop.
  

Jesus, if there are medals for stupidity then Ray is the golden guy. He 
 shakes his head but it doesn't go away. It's out there now, alive and
real. So, 
 how to deal? He has no real choice. Undercover really does make life
simple.
  

Not that Vecchio would get himself into this mess. Would he?
  

No.
  

He shakes his head again. Not going there. Stella and Fraser are more than

 enough to deal with.
  

Stella.
  

His throat's dry and tight like it always is these days when he lets
himself 
 think about her, about not having her. It's over, it is over. The
familiar chant 
 is complete and final in a way it never has been before.
  

It's over.
  

The realization settles into his head; it feels good, in an odd whacked up

 way. Like the end of a fever or a bad night, when the air feels cool and
sweet 
 and the dreams are over. He should thank Fraser for that at least. 
  

The image of Fraser opening the car door into Orsini's groin floats to the
top 
 of the mess in his head, and Ray grins for the first time since it had 
 happened. There it was the real man beneath the ridiculous target red.
The 
 sarcastic, pissy Fraser that he usually keeps well guarded. Ray has
started 
 digging for that Fraser at every opportunity. His spontaneous appearances

 were always the best, though.
  

Shit. He looks at his watch. It is almost time for the day to start again.

  

This is not good. He's way too stretched and open to want to see Fraser.
His 
 game face is splintered. Ray knows that Fraser will see straight through
into 
 him with one look. 
  

His hand hovers over the phone but he doesn't pick it up. Calling in sick 
 won't do it. He drums his fingers on the counter while he tries to
scrabble 
 his head together. Fraser will track him down here, and Ray won't stand
any 
 chance of keeping this...of keeping them safe, keeping them partners. He 
 heads for the shower. He's got an hour or so to get it together. It has
to be 
 enough. 
  

End