Alliance owns these characters. Comments: leadpoisoning@hotmail.com This
story is for Marie-Andree, Mary Ann, Katapult and Eugenie. I wrote this
because I can't express my gratitude in a few words. A 'simple' thanks is
not enough. This story is also for John and Heather, my voices of reason.
Thank you for being there. Not just this time, but every time. Miss you
guys. Strangers by Rae ************ It is always there. He screws his eyes
shut and grits his teeth. He falls back against the pillow, twisting
beneath the sheets. There's no peace for him, even in sleep. It's always
there. Every sound is amplified, deafening. His head throbs. Alcohol
doesn't steal away those miseries anymore. Every painful memory comes back
ten-fold, dropping anchors into his exhausted mind. Everyone has gone
away. His mother, his father, Stella. He accepted this goddamn assignment
because his own life was nothing. Living a lie, living someone else's life
was supposed to make this easier....at least for a time. But this life...
His new partner. The Mountie. Supercop. The guy with the classic good
looks and all the talent. He couldn't compete. Couldn't even dislike the
guy, because the Mountie was so damn oblivious. He's--Christ, what's the
word---noble. Right, noble. Ray sees the world through black eyes, sees
everything as this way or that. There's no rhyme or reason or justice. The
weak, the gentle, the pure don't survive in this world. He's lived on that
belief, shaped his life against it. It made him strong, or so he thought.
Then he takes this assignment and meets Benton Fraser of the RCMP. Gentle,
pure, humane and compassionate. Fraser sees good in everyone. Sitting
across from him at dinner tonight, unable to tear himself away from those
glacier blue eyes. He listened silently to those long drawn out stories of
the Northwest Areas. The Mountie's childhood sounded so...lonely. And yet,
here he was, in a place he was too good for, trying to help people who
would gladly put a bullet in him as soon as he turned his back. It hurt so
much to be near him. Fraser was a good person, the kind of person who Ray
wanted to be, but couldn't. Being so close to someone like the that
painfully outlined the detective's own flaws. Ray had forced a smile and
laughed with Fraser. It was so easy to maintain this mask, hide the pain
from everyone. He had mastered that technique fully as his marriage to
Stella had fallen to pieces and now he could convince everyone that
nothing was wrong. Everyone, except himself. Ray groans softly, his head
jerking violently from side to side. No sleep tonight. Perhaps four hours
total this week. No peace. His eyes flutter and open. He stares at the
ceiling a moment, before rolling over and reaching out for the Cuevero
bottle that has taken up permanent residence on his bedside table. He
can't shake the feeling of worthlessness anymore. Nothing makes it go
away. Sweat mixes with tears as he drinks. How the hell is he supposed to
face this Mountie? The guy's probably sick to death of him already. He'll
deal with Ray to protect his real partner's cover, but..... How long
before the Mountie walks away too? Oh, God, what can he expect? Everyone
walks away from him eventually. Dull blue eyes move over the black gun
with the matte finish that protudes off the edge of table. Wouldn't that
be one hell of a way to protect Vecchio's cover? End his pain, stop these
goddamn dreams once and for all. He screws his eyes shut again and
whimpers softly. All he wants is a place to hide. 

 He rolls out of bed now, still clinging to the bottle and picks up the
gun from the nightstand. Not here. He toddles unsteadily into the living
room. The couch. Mmm, yeah, comfortable old couch. He puts the bottle
down, bending down close, because his vision is alittle blurred. He
straightens and sees red. Gun comes up in a flash, cop instinct fighting
through the alcoholic haze. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision.
The figure in red tilts his head ever so slight. "Aw, jeez,", he groans
softly, tension draining from his body, "what the hell are ya doing in
here?" He doesn't think to ask 'how'. Doesn't really care. Fraser looks at
him steadily. "I know we don't know each other well, Ray, but I got the
impression at dinner tonight that you....." The Mountie pauses
thoughtfully. "..were not saying all you wanted." A thin, sardonic smile
tugs at the corners of the detective's lips. "Yer not making any fucking
sense, Red." The Mountie shifts uncomfortably. "Well, I got the sense that
perhaps you were unhappy about something." Ray snorts softly and collapses
onto the couch. He places the gun on his knee, finger still resting on the
trigger. "Oh, so, now yer psychic, huh? Guess we can add that to yer list
of superpowers, eh?" Fraser sighs wearily. "You've been drinking.", he
says, tone distinctly disapproving. "What tipped ya off?", the blond asks.
Fraser's eyes are not on Ray's face and Ray follows the Mountie's gaze to
the gun. He raises it slowly, waving it. "Ya afraid of this, eh? Afraid of
what I'm going to do with it?" He picks up the Cuevero bottle and drinks
deeply from it. "Don't worry, "he mumbles as he replaces the bottle. "I
won't shoot ya, Red." The Mountie shakes his head. "It isn't me I am
concerned about." "Oh. It's me? You've known me for what? Not even a full
day. I'm not yer responsibilty. Walk on, Fraser." Ben's eyes narrow. "You
stepped in front of a bullet for me today. You risked your life to save
mine, but you had known me only for a few hours." Ray stares at him
blankly. "You deserve to live.", he whispers softly. Ben tilts his head
ever so slightly. "And you don't?" The detective looks down at the gun on
his knee. His fingers idly stroke the cold metal. "No." He bites into his
lower lip to fight back tears. No way is the Mountie gonna see him cry.
One shred of dignity left, and he's determined to keep it. "I don't think
you believe that." "What the hell do you know about what I believe?"
"You're in pain. You believe this is your only way out." "It is." "You're
wrong. Right now you're drunk. In the morning, this will seem like a very
bad idea,but it will be a mistake you can't correct." The detective
scoffs. "Lemme ask you somethin', Red. Do ya care about Vecchio?" There is
a moment of silence from Benton Fraser. "Yes, I do.", he replies. The
detective forces a smile, determined to keep his emotions in check. "Well,
isn't this the perfect cover? Hmm?", he asks. Fraser's jaw tightens.
"You're not doing this for Ray Vecchio. Don't use him as an excuse." Ray's
head falls back against the couch. The Mountie has raised his voice. It's
ever so subtle. In any other situation he may not have even noticed it.
But he hears it now. "Oooh. Yer getting angry. How interesting.", he
mutters. His lips close again on the bottle, liquid fire burning his
throat. He canhear himself swallowing, hear the the liquior splashing
against the sides of the bottle. Through that haze there is a voice. "Ray.
Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray" He chooses to ignore it, tries to shut it out.
The problem is that it refuses to go. "Ray. Ray. Ray." Persistant. "Ray.
Ray. Ray." He can't take it anymore. "WHAT?!", he snaps, leaping to his
feet. Too quick. He sways, struggling to settle the room which is now
dancing before him. Ray closes his eyes, takes a breath. Can't loose it
now. Can't loose it now. "Put down the bottle and look at me.", he hears.
The detective shakes his head. "Put down the bottle and look at me.",the
Mountie repeats. Opening his bloodshot eyes, he holds the bottle out over
the table. "Put down the bottle, Fraser?", he asks. The Canadian nods.
"Yes." That thin smile comes to Ray's lips again and he lets the bottle
drop. It strikes the table and shatters, sending tiny pieces of glass onto
the floor. Fraser's eyes never move from Ray's. "Better?", the detective
asks defiantly. "Yes. It is.", the Canadian replies. Ray scrowls. Damn
annoying, this one. Persistant bastard. Not wanting to face this man any
longer, he lowers his gaze, staring at drops of liquior that dot the
coffee table. Like dew on the grass in the mornings. Beautiful. "Look at
me.", Fraser says. Ray is far too fascinated by the reflection of the
broken glass in those droplets. "*Look* at me.", the Mountie says again.
The detective blinks, but looks up again. The Mountie's expression is one
of determination. He will not give up. "Ray, I know very little about you,
not even your real name. But from what little time I've spent with you, I
know you are a good person. Now, for better or worse you are my partner
--" "Vecchio--" "Ray Vecchio isn't here, you are. I can walk on, as you
have asked. I could let you do to yourself what you think you want to do,
but I can't." He takes a step toward Ray. "Will you please give me the
gun?" The blond looks at the outstretched hand, studying quietly the lines
and callouses in the flesh. Hmm, the guy has big hands. "Ray....?" He
looks up again. What is that in the Mountie's eyes. Is that fear? Nah.
Nothing scares Red. Still holding the gun at his side, he moves slowly
away from the table and couch. Away from Fraser. "Ray, please." Please?
Ray wants to laugh. The situation is almost comical. He never saw this
scenerio in the Academy. Never, in all the times he'd comtemplated
suicide, did he ever think that the one time he was truly serious about it
he would have a Mountie trying to talk him down. In his own living room,
no less. Yeah, this was funny. He rubs his hand over his face. So drunk.
So tired. Hmmm, this is funny. Well.....he brings the gun to his temple.
Ray could not put together what happened next. He remembers pulling back
the trigger, but there is no gunshot. Suddenly he is lying on the floor.
The gun is no longer in his hand. He opens his eyes and see Fraser.
Canadian's on the floor too, watching him with concern. "Ray?" Kowalski
sighs and sits up, scooting back against the wall. "Tackled me, did ya?",
he asks quietly. His eyes search the area around them, but he doesn't see
the gun. "I couldn't let you do that to yourself, Ray.", Fraser replies.
Ray nods and closes his eyes, head falling back. "I understand.", he
mutters, "So, I freak ya out enough? Ya gonna walk away now?" "I'm not
going to walk away, Ray. I'm not going to give up on you." The detective
is close to sleep, he hears the voice as if it is part of a dream. It's a
gentle voice, not like the others. Maybe, he thinks, maybe he can trust
this one. "It's unlikely that you will remember any of this tomorrow.",
Fraser continues. "I won't remind you." "Yer a pal.", Ray mumbles softly.
A large hand combs gently through his spikes. "Sleep now, Ray. Everything
will look better in the morning." End.