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Police and Thieves
for Omphale23
Author's Notes: Thank you forever to my twin sis, JS, for the support and help and beta.
"You won't have to get a Mohawk, will you?"
Ray looked up from his sandwich to see Fraser frowning down at his plate like he couldn't quite figure out what it was for. He'd been quiet ever since they left Welsh's office, but Ray didn't think it was because Fraser was so concerned about the state of Ray's hair.
"No, Fraser. Of course not." Fraser looked up at that, one eyebrow raised, his mouth all scrunched up as he studied Ray.
"Then you intend to dye it?"
"Not any more than I usually do, no."
And now Fraser simply looked confused, and Ray could tell that he'd honestly believed that later this evening, or possibly right after lunch, Ray was going to shave the sides of his head and dye whatever was left electric blue.
"But all my research indicates that such steps would be necessary to blend in within your new environment."
"First of all, I'm not taking the assignment. Second, your research is wrong, Fraser. So can we stop talking about this?"
"I hardly think you can fault my research. I assure you that all of the sources I consulted are of superior quality."
"When the hell did you look all this shit up? And what's with the blending in to my environment? You make it sound like I'm a salamander or something."
"I believe you mean a chameleon, Ray. And after an assignment when I was stationed here with, well, with your predecessor, I found it in my best interest to become more knowledgeable about the various subcultures which exist in Chicago."
Ray thought about asking for the story behind that assignment. Then he thought about jamming an icepick through his skull.
"Look, Fraser, do you want me to get a Mohawk?" he asked, sliding out of the booth and pulling out his wallet.
"No, Ray," he said, with a definitive shake of his head.
"Greatness. 'Cause I'm not getting one. Everyone's a winner. Now, if you're done playing with your food, let's get back to the station." He tossed a few bills on the counter, and Fraser followed silently behind, waiting until they were both in the car to start up again.
Fraser did that a lot, Ray noticed. Stopped conversation for a minute or two, like he was waiting for Ray to let his guard down just long enough for Fraser to spring a new line of questioning on him.
It never worked, but that didn't keep Fraser from trying it.
"I just wonder if you'll stand out if you don't."
"Fraser, for the last time, I'm not doing it. And even if I was, I promise the Mohawk would stand out way more than my actual hair."
"But, Ray--"
"Fraser, I promise you that I know more than you do about this."
"So you've read up on the subject, then?"
Ray couldn't tell if he was actually curious or just doing that thing where he was being a jerk, but all sneaky-like. So Ray just pulled into traffic and answered honestly.
"I haven't read anything. I lived through it."
Over the course of their partnership, Ray had found that the best way to stop Fraser from annoying him was to find something that annoyed Fraser more and get him to focus on it. It was kinda like finding a shiny object and putting it in a crow's line of vision: Fraser would move on to the latest annoyance and forget about everything else. Unfortunately, Ray didn't come up with a good Fraser-distraction in the car, which meant he had to listen to seven minutes of A Concise History of the Mohawk Hairstyle, by Benton Fraser. He used the seven minutes to think up a strategy for use in the station.
So when they got back to Ray's desk, he sat down to type up a report Welsh had asked for a week earlier. And when Fraser talked about piercings and safety pins, Ray asked for spelling help. It started working right away, as Fraser's end of the conversation died out and his responses became more and more resigned.
"Wait a minute, Fraser, does 'suspect' have a k in it somewhere?"
"Ah, Ray?" And he looked up to see Fraser looking slightly pained, smoothing his eyebrow with his thumb. Jackpot.
"Yeah, buddy?"
"Would you prefer that I type up the report instead?"
"Sure, if you really want to do it." Which was how Ray ended up comparing the testimonies of two suspects for inconsistencies and periodically being pulled away by Welsh.
Welsh began by trying to guilt Ray into taking the assignment with, "Detective, they're really in a bind over there."
When that didn't work, he tried threats. "I can order you, you know."
Finally, he hit Ray with: "Is it remotely possible that you'll stop whining and at least give this thing a shot?"
Ray spent most of the last twenty minutes of his shift watching the clock. An attempt to get Fraser to leave early had only resulted in the newest version of a lecture that was mostly about taxpayers and responsibility. Ray slammed his head on his desk a few times, but Fraser continued on as if nothing had happened. Dief put his head on Ray's knee and made a small sound which Ray chose to interpret as support for his side. Ray snuck him what was left of the donut on his desk, and even though Dief had spent his lunch hour with Frannie, and had very likely eaten better than anyone else in the station, he swallowed the donut whole, as if he'd been starved for days.
When 5:00 finally rolled around, Ray was set to just grab Fraser and run for the door, but Welsh was at his desk before he had the chance.
"Kowalski. Just go out this weekend. See if you still fit in, see if you think you might be able to help. If you're sure you can't do it after that, I'll call Daniels myself and let him know."
And then Welsh was back in his office, and Ray knew there was a pretty good chance he was going to be stuck taking this assignment and seeing it through to the end, and that meant he'd be miserable for weeks.
So he wasn't exactly in the best mood when he got in the car to take Fraser home and Fraser started up with the "Honestly, Ray, I don't know why you're so reluctant to take this job. It seems perfect for..." and Ray had to threaten to crash the car three times to get Fraser to shut up. Ray hoped he'd remember that it was easy to make Fraser shut up if you implied you might ram your car into the Consulate.
When Ray stopped to let Fraser out, though, Fraser didn't move. He sat and stared at Ray, his eyes wider than usual. Ray dropped his head back against the seat.
"You're allowed to talk again without fear of harm to any Canadian property. You can say good night or whatever."
"I didn't mean to upset you, Ray." He sounded so damn sincere that Ray almost felt guilty, even though just about anyone else would've twigged hours ago to how little Ray wanted to talk about this.
"It's fine. I just don't want to talk about it any more today."
"I understand, but I do feel that it's in your--"
"I don't want to listen to anyone else talk about it either."
"Ah. Would you like to get dinner and not discuss the matter?"
"Nah, not tonight."
"Tomorrow, perhaps?"
"Sure."
"All right. Good night, Ray."
So Fraser got out, and Ray watched him until the Consulate doors closed, and then Ray headed for the nearest bar.
Hours later, 150 dollars richer after four successful games of pool, and still only lightly buzzed, Ray found himself walking down streets still familiar, for all that he hadn't been there in over a decade. He stopped below the mural of Humphrey Bogart and tango dancers, still in surprisingly good condition, for several minutes before muttering to himself, hanging a left, and walking into Club 950.
The place looked exactly the same. Like it had just been frozen or on pause or something since the last time Ray had been there.
The walls were still painted black; the floors and ceiling, too. It took a moment after you walked in to orient yourself. To figure out where to put your feet, to keep from walking into a wall instead of into more nothing. But once you left the entrance and moved through the short hall, everything was easier. The bar still ran along the left, red lights underneath. There was always a moment when you moved from the darkness and into the light where it looked like it was hovering.
He headed immediately for the bar, and once he had a drink in him and another in hand, he took some time to look around.
The stools and tables were different, newer, the metal picking up the red of the bar in places, giving the whole setup a weird glow, but they were in the same position as they always had been. There were even still those little Aladdin lamps everywhere. Ray wondered how many of those lamps the owners had bought over the years, because they were always getting stolen back when Ray'd been here.
And now that he actually decided to focus on it, the music registered. It was amazing that it hadn't at first. This had been the background noise of his life for years, the important growing-up years. It'd actually been harder to get used to being without it than it was now to hear it again.
A DJ was working at the moment, but he could see a band setting up on the stage. It took Ray a minute to place the song, but he eventually remembered it as an early one by the Effigies. He sang along under his breath and sipped his drink as he took in the main room, which was separated from the bar only by the fragments of a dividing wall that had been ripped out before the club opened.
The dance floor was new, too, and the stage a bit larger. But that was necessary now. Hell, it had been necessary before Ray'd left. In the beginning it was all DJs. There hadn't been enough local bands, or even bands passing through, to make a large stage worthwhile. Most everything was just records of the bands from anywhere that wasn't Chicago. And even once the local music scene developed, they weren't picky about space; they'd all played to smaller audiences than the typical crowd at 950. Most bands must've been overjoyed to find they warranted a stage at all. But now you had local talent, and you could bring in bigger talent, too. Chicago was city enough to bring in whoever you wanted, and the scene had fractured so much that almost anything would fly.
To the right of the dance floor were more new stools and tables, but the furniture on the left seemed like the same old couches and chairs. The disco ball still hung from the center of the ceiling. Ray had found it funny the first time he'd walked in. At the end of the disco age, as the flashy, trendy, materialistic disco fad died out, a piece of it still lived in this dingy warehouse, now full of amateurs and kids who never bothered to learn the songs they were covering. Ray was certain there was a law on the books somewhere that you couldn't have a club without a disco ball.
"New here?"
Ray spun back around to face the bartender, a guy a few years older than Ray, with a little silver skull hanging from one ear and a scar through his left eyebrow.
"Back after a long time away." The bartender's unscarred eyebrow went up.
"Were you a La Mere kid?"
"Yeah. How'd you know?"
"I was one too. Recognized the look. You might like it better tomorrow. We do these La Mere Vipere tribute nights. Might be a little more your scene."
Ray looked around the club, full of kids in their early 20s. "Were these kids even alive when it was open?"
"Most of them. Had identification and everything. Anyway. You should come. Members of the old guard only add to the realism."
Ray nodded, feeling a little better about the gig. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all.
Ray woke up the next morning and started pulling boxes out of his closet. Half the time, when he opened a box that had "Ray" written across the top in Stella's handwriting, he'd find more boxes inside, older and also labeled "Ray." Ray remembered watching Stella box this stuff up the first time, hiding the evidence of as much of the unacceptable parts of Ray as she could.
Ray didn't see her do it the second time, when she threw him out. By then, he already had an apartment full of the stuff he was actually going to use, plus all the new crap he'd had to buy. So when he picked up his boxes from Stella, he'd just thrown them into storage and tried to ignore them. Started pretending this was always his life and nobody had ever taken his old one and boxed it up.
And when that didn't work, he started pretending he was someone else altogether.
He spent much of the day listening to records and sorting through everything, trying to remember what stuff he'd even liked, when he heard somebody knocking on the door.
Ray opened it to find Fraser on the other side with Dief, a pizza, and an expression of polite greeting.
"Hello, Ray. I hope..." He trailed off, his mouth hanging open.
"Hope what?" But Fraser didn't answer, just stood there staring at Ray's face.
"Fraser? Fraser. Fraser!"
Fraser visibly shook himself back to consciousness, and his expression turned curious, like he was waiting to be told why he was there.
Ray snapped his fingers. "Hey, Frase. You were standing there hoping something."
"Oh, right. Of course. I was hoping...Ray, are you wearing eyeliner?"
"Yeah, why--does it look bad?" Ray asked, turning back into the apartment.
"Not at all," Fraser replied, following Ray inside. Ray went into the kitchen. He heard Fraser murmuring softly to Dief and Dief's nails clicking on the floor before he finally heard the door close. When he came back out, carrying a beer and a glass of milk, he saw Fraser standing with the pizza box still in hand, staring down at the living room floor.
It was still covered in the debris of Ray's life at age 25.
"Sorry about the mess. Stella packed up more than I'd expected." He put the napkins and milk on the coffee table and dropped onto the couch with his beer.
"The boots? The t-shirts? All of this was boxed up?"
"Yeah. Actually a nice surprise when I opened it. I figured she'd thrown most of it out. So at least she knew..." Ray trailed off, which he knew was only going to make the situation worse. He didn't want to say what he'd been thinking. Fraser wasn't going to let it go. He'd have to say it and then the wait would just make it sound worse.
"Knew what, Ray?" Fraser said, right on cue, putting down the pizza and walking around the table to sit on the couch.
"Knew I'd want it back someday, is all." And yeah, there was Fraser's pity face, and Ray shrugged awkwardly. "It's okay, Fraser. I had fun going through it all. I'm excited about this now. I listened to Welsh, turned out he wasn't insane. I learned how to put on eyeliner again and you're here with pizza. I'm counting this as a good day."
"All right."
He ate his half of the pizza before Fraser had finished one piece, and then he pulled together his most pitiful expression and wore it until Fraser picked up one of his remaining slices and gave it to Ray.
"Thanks. Just realized I didn't eat today."
"That doesn't seem healthy, Ray."
"Well, of course not, but it's not an all-the-time thing. I was excited, is all. Got distracted. And now I'm fed, so it's cool." He shoved half the slice in his mouth. Fraser rolled his eyes, picked up another piece for himself and turned back to the TV.
When the game ended, it was past late enough for Ray to head out, and he said so.
"Would you like me to come with you?"
Ray only just managed to keep from laughing.
"No thanks. I'll be fine. I don't need backup for this."
"Well, for moral support, then?"
"I'm good, Frase. No support needed, moral or otherwise. Plus, you'd stick out like a sore thumb, especially since you refuse to lie."
"When working undercover, I've found it best to consider myself as an actor playing a role. And I should mention that I have gone undercover before, and successfully."
"Not like this. You need background here."
"I've done extensive research, Ray."
"Fine. Fine. Get into character. What shows have you seen?"
"I saw the Sex Pistols on their American tour." Fraser looked pretty proud of himself for thinking that one up, which made it even more ridiculous.
"You did not. Nobody is ever going to believe that."
"I don't see why not; they're a popular band, it stands to reason I would've wanted to go see them."
"They broke up halfway through their own tour! The number of people who saw them is tiny. Nobody would believe you're one of them."
"Well then, the chances of anyone contradicting my version of events is very slim."
"Okay. So what was the show like?"
"Well, it was loud." Ray threw his arms up and fell back against the wall with a groan. He dropped his head into his hands and asked, "Do you not see why you suck at this?" He looked back up at Fraser who seemed offended and confused in equal measure. "It's like if I was posing as you and people asked how Canada was and I said "cold." People who go to these shows don't think the music is loud."
"Well, you could teach me."
"Not in the next ten minutes, I can't." He stopped for a moment and tried a gentler tone. "Frase, look, I appreciate that you want to help me out and all. But you're going to have to deal with the fact that this is a thing you cannot do."
Fraser didn't look any happier about the situation, so Ray tried again. "Frase, any other situation, you know I'd want you at my back. But this is one of those times where it's best for the case if I do it myself."
"Of course, Ray. I understand." His smile was just a little too understanding.
And Ray knew that he didn't and that he was still upset. But he could also see that Fraser was done talking about it. So he just said, "Good. I'll talk to you later, then?"
"Of course, Ray."
Ray gave up on dancing after an hour. He wound his way through the crowd with his hand up to fend off backs and shoulders, and a path opened for him far more easily than you'd have thought.
Once he'd broken free of the swarm, he spotted a group abandoning one of the couches. He would've run for it if he could've but he was far too exhausted to do more than walk slowly and hope no one beat him there. Hope actually worked out for him: when he got there, the couch was still miraculously free for him to collapse onto.
He'd just dropped his head back, wondering if he should push his luck and try to get a drink now and come back, when he felt the couch sink down. He turned his head slightly. A wiry kid now sat to his right, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees, his head dropped down a bit. Ray turned again and stared at the ceiling, trying to get his heart rate back under control. It had been too long since he'd been out like this. If he ever left the scene for over a decade again, he'd have to remember to ease back into the dancing aspect.
"You looked good out there."
Ray turned again to see that the kid had twisted around to sit sideways on the couch, one leg pulled up on the seat.
"Thanks."
The kid smirked and leaned in like the next bit was confidential, an impression matched by his tone. "This is the part where you're supposed to tell me I looked good, too."
Ray stared at him a moment and the kid smiled under the scrutiny. He was good looking, with wavy brown hair that brushed against his chin, and Ray could see sideburns hiding behind the curls. In the low light, Ray couldn't make out the color of his eyes.
"Can't. Didn't see you dance."
The kid raised both eyebrows, obviously this wasn't the response he'd expected, but it only deterred him for a second. "I can go back out if you want."
"You'll dance for my entertainment?" And now the smirk had changed into a full grin that was almost too big for his face.
"If you want."
Between his appearance and tone, he reminded Ray more than a little of Mike, his best friend throughout high school. Who used to go to La Mere Vipere and then Oz with him, and who would've probably made the move to O'Banion's with him too, if they'd still been talking by then.
He remembered a thousand conversations like this one with Mike, with other people, and nights that always began and ended with them brainstorming long lists of possible explanations for where they'd been.
Because there was no chance of giving the truth to their parents. It didn't matter that once a club started regular punk nights, it quickly transitioned from a gay club to the city's only punk one. It would always have a certain reputation among anyone who didn't actually go there. Not to mention that anyone who went there before the switch tended to continue going afterward. The early scene had been all about the people who didn't fit in anywhere else, and 1976 wasn't exactly a big year for gay-pride parades. There weren't many other options, so sticking together was practical.
"Or you could come and dance with me. You're new. You'll need help finding your way around."
Ray must've missed his line. He moved the conversation in a different direction. "New? I was coming here before you were born."
"Not possible. I was six when this place opened."
"I was here when it opened. So you're newer than me."
The guy laughed lightly, standing up and adjusting his t-shirt and bracelets, before saying agreeably, "Fine. I'll reintroduce you to the scene, then?"
Ray smiled and took his offered hand and let the guy pull him up to stand chest to chest with him.
"I'm Neil," he said, and that too big-grin was back on his face.
"Ray," he replied. The moment before he was tugged back into the crowd, he noticed that Neil's eyes were brown.
When Ray went into work the next morning, he walked straight into Welsh's office and climbed into a chair.
"Fine, I'll do it."
Welsh didn't so much as glance up from his desk, directing his response instead to the papers he was reading. "While your giving in to the inevitable pleases me, detective, I should stress that people who barge into my office still risk angering me a great deal."
"Sorry, sir. It won't happen again."
"Why do people always say that? Does anyone expect me to believe it?" Ray struggled for a response, but it turned out Welsh wasn't actually expecting one. "What changed your mind?"
"Took your advice. Found out I still fit in and all. Even got myself a native guide."
"Seriously?" Welsh's expression was equal parts disbelief and something Ray would've called pride if it had been anyone else.
"Yep. I tell stories of the old scene, he tells me all about the current one. Already gave me the names of clubs I should avoid. I think he called them shady."
"How soon will you be able to get to them?"
"I can start tonight, if it works for Daniels."
"Good. I want you to wrap this thing up as quickly as possible. I don't like being short a detective around here."
"You really like mixed messages, don't you sir?" Ray asked, remembering that on Friday Welsh had come pretty close to begging him to consider the job.
"Pick up Fraser and head over to the 1-9 to talk to Daniels."
"Fraser, sir?"
Welsh was staring at his paperwork again. "Just because you're off reliving your teenage years doesn't mean we can't put the Mountie to work doing research."
So Ray went off to free Fraser from the Ice Queen's clutches. Since Ray had slept through most of Sunday, he hadn't had the chance to talk to Fraser since Saturday night, and apparently Fraser had spent that time doing more reading, because he kept up a steady stream of oddly specific questions.
Ray hadn't really thought before about how Fraser would react to not being the expert in this scenario. It looked like his plan was to absorb as much material as possible, and that wasn't going to work well if he didn't have a clue how to tell the good information from the total crap.
Ray suddenly found himself looking forward to the assignment a lot less. Especially when Fraser poked him in the ribs, hard, while they threaded through the hallway of the 1-9 to Daniels' office.
"Look Ray, a Mohawk!" he whispered just after one of Daniels' detectives passed them in the hallway.
"Just proves I'm right."
"I don't see how it does. I said that you'd need a Mohawk to fit in, and look, your contemporaries seem to agree."
"The contemporaries who had to call me in because they haven't found a thing the whole time they've been working this case?"
"Ah."
Ray made a mental note that sometimes Fraser's "Ah" actually meant, "Ray, you're absolutely right, but I will never admit that in a million years."
It was almost a week before he met up with Neil again. He'd told Ray that there was a great band playing at Rut's on Thursday, and so Ray was there, complete with a new cell phone and a list of contraband to look for.
After he paid his cover and headed upstairs, he found Neil quickly, standing at a table right by the entrance with a group of people.
Neil couldn't have been paying much attention to his friends, because he looked up almost the second Ray walked in. When he met Ray's eyes, his face lit up and he said something briefly, and Ray figured it was about him, because everyone turned to watch Neil walk over to him. He waved awkwardly before focusing on Neil, who looked fucking thrilled.
"You came!" He said, leaning in close to be heard over the band.
"I said I would."
"What do you think?" He asked, gesturing broadly at the dance floor. "It's great, right?" He sounded as proud as if he'd built the club himself.
"You come here often?" Ray realized what he'd said just as Neil's smile switched over to a sly grin.
"Aren't you supposed to use that line the first time you see me?" Ray rolled his eyes and Neil dropped the teasing and answered honestly. "Yeah, this is one of my favorite clubs. It hosts more hardcore stuff. Come on and meet my friends, and then we'll hit the floor."
He took Ray by the arm and pulled him along for a few steps and then stopped so abruptly that Ray crashed right into him. Neil dropped his arm and spun around, his eyes a little wide. "Oh, we, uh, we'll need to be more discreet here."
"Because of your friends?"
"No, no, it's not that. I don't know what it was like before, but not every place is like La Mere Vipere night at 950. I mean, 950 isn't even like that most of the time. You have to be careful in most places."
"You'll tell me which ones?"
"Sure. Remember? I'm here to remind you how to fit in."
A few days later, after Ray had updated Daniels on his progress so far, which mostly amounted to the physical description of one of the guys people had seen dealing and the name of a club that was worth checking out, he went into the 2-7.
Ray had time to do some follow-up on his current cases, but Welsh wasn't throwing him any new ones for a while. In the meantime, he and Fraser had research to do, not only on his club assignment, but also on a shitload of new cases Huey and Dewey had been saddled with.
Ray came back from the break room with ice for his hand and flopped into what he thought of as Fraser's chair, stuck his feet up on the desk, and checked over the folder in his lap. Fraser was sitting in Ray's chair, pulling up files from the database. He was doing it way faster than Ray did; Ray should have punched the computer sooner.
"Nice shirt," said a familiar voice behind him.
There was a moment there where Ray and the chair almost went down, but he recovered before he totally embarrassed himself. He looked up to see Stella, now perched on the edge of his desk right where his feet had just been, her palms smoothing down her pale blue skirt. How had she snuck up on him like that? What had happened to his special Stella radar that let him know when she walked into the building?
The silence caught up to him. "Thanks," he said as if on autopilot. She smirked a bit, and he had a pretty good idea what she was thinking.
"I got that for you, right?"
Okay, he had no idea what she was thinking. He had no idea what he was wearing, either, so he was somewhat surprised when he looked down and saw a once black Ramones shirt, faded gray where it hadn't been worn transparent. Oh. So, when Stella called it nice, she was being sarcastic. Great.
"Yeah, you did," he said carefully, waiting for the other power heel to drop.
"After the concert in '81, wasn't it?" But she didn't sound sarcastic. She sounded kind of...fond. Which was weird, because Stella didn't do fond. Stella had never done fond.
"'82," he corrected automatically. Looking past her, Ray could see Fraser frowning at the screen and doing a really bad job of pretending that he wasn't paying attention.
Stella laughed. "That's right, '82. God, that was an amazing show, wasn't it? Do you remember how..." And Ray pretty much stopped listening at that point because he was still back on Stella, this Stella, thinking that show was amazing.
The more he looked at this Stella, the harder it was to see that girl who'd gone with him to The Ramones show, bouncing along with the music, her ponytail flipping behind her. He remembered a moment when she turned to look at him and smiled and Ray knew he was so happy, like perfectly happy at that exact moment. And he'd pulled her to him, spinning her back out, and she laughed brightly, and they sang along, "today your love, tomorrow the world." He remembered that--but he couldn't remember how that happiness actually felt. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like something that had happened to someone else.
In fact, looking at Stella now, polished and pressed and lovely as ever, all he could see was the young woman who sat on the floor of their apartment and boxed up anything that didn't fit her new life and put it away. And even though he hadn't witnessed it, had just come home from work and found his stuff gone, hadn't said anything, had just gone about the routine as if nothing had happened, he still knew exactly what she'd looked like when she boxed up his youth and put it away. He could see it better than Stella could, apparently, since she was sitting on his desk acting like she'd never boxed up the old version of Ray.
Stella finally wrapped up her story with a smile and a "those were good times, weren't they?"
And Ray smiled back, or tried to anyway, and nodded vaguely. She sat there, obviously waiting for him to say more, but the only thing Ray could think of as a response was "are you fucking kidding me?" And he'd probably shout it, too, and that would help nobody at all. So he just sat there in the awkward silence until Stella said something about having come to see Welsh and Ray watched her go.
Maybe he couldn't remember what it felt like to be happy and in love with Stella, knowing she loved him back, but he sure remembered what it was like to have her throw him out.
"Hey, Fraser?"
"Yes, Ray?" Fraser was looking at him with his concerned face, and Ray rubbed at his eyes with his palms and wished he could learn to do the mask thing Fraser was so good at.
"Can we go anywhere that isn't here for a while?"
"Certainly, Ray," he said, shutting down the computer and reaching for his hat. "Perhaps you'd like to take Diefenbaker to the park?"
"Fraser, that sounds like the best idea in the history of ideas."
Ray woke up the next morning and slid out from under Neil's arm. Neil made a tiny snuffling sound and reached for Ray before drifting right back to sleep.
Ray's first move, after starting coffee and putting on pants, was to hide evidence of his normal life. It'd been a dumb move not to do this earlier, and he was lucky that Neil had been a little occupied when he first came in. So all the mail and the tape from his answering machine went into a box along with the pictures of Stella, and the whole mess was surprisingly easy to move. His badge went in a drawer. He hadn't taken his gun with him when he went out last night, so that was safely put away already. He looked around the place for a second. There really wasn't all that much to hide, actually.
Neil came out of the bedroom in his boxers just as the coffee finished brewing, and he nodded sleepily when Ray asked if he wanted any. Ray poured two cups, dropping M&Ms into his own, and walked over to hand one to Neil, who was now standing in the living room, staring at the pile of stuff still on the floor. He gave a thumbs-up and started sipping, so Ray didn't bother with the milk or sugar question, just sat down on the couch with his cup while Neil remained standing.
"You know what I like about you?" Neil said into his coffee cup as he took another sip.
"That I've got a lot of records you badly want to steal?"
"Ha. Yeah. But mostly that I asked you to take me home and you made me wait until the band finished."
"They were really good!" When Neil had asked, Ray hadn't even heard the question. He just waved in Neil's direction and tried to quiet him long enough to hear the band finish. When he processed it a few minutes later he couldn't think of a reason not to take him home. Neil was good looking, charming, and cocky without annoying Ray. He was like a slightly older version of the kids he'd hung out with at the beginning of the scene, so completely comfortable in their outsider status.
So it seemed perfect: a guy Ray liked who liked him back, no big emotional risk, and sex. Good deal, all in all.
"I can't believe you liked that." Ray said, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Yeah. Weird, I know. But it was cute." And he winked at Ray over the rim before finishing the rest in one gulp.
"Cute really wasn't what I was going for, you know."
Neil kissed him on the top of the head and made his way back to the kitchen. "Well you messed up, then." He dropped his mug into the sink, and five minutes and a trip to the bathroom later, during which Ray did not move from the couch, he came back into the living room fully dressed. He leaned against the wall and ran his hands through his hair a couple times.
"Okay...um, are we doing a spend-the-day-together thing here?"
"I don't know." Ray said, trying to stall for time by putting down his cup and getting up off the couch. It didn't help him think of anything. "Are we?"
Neil looked relieved by Ray's non-answer. "I think it's way too early in this to spend daylight hours in each other's company. I think we should go our separate ways and see each other tonight maybe. Perhaps. If that's cool with you."
"Yeah."
"Good. Good. Okay, I should go." Ray walked him over to the door, and Neil pressed him against it and kissed him hard, but pulled back far too soon. "I'll call. Or you can call. There will be calling."
Ray nodded and Neil grinned, giving him another quick, hard kiss. "Bye, Ray," he said, pulling open the door and heading out into the hall.
There was a knock at the door less than a minute later. Ray opened the door, laughing. "What happened? You forget your--Fraser!"
"Did I forget my Fraser?" Fraser looked strange, somehow. A little bit angry, maybe, but mostly just hidden behind the Mountie mask. Ray really didn't like seeing Fraser use the mask with him. Even Dief looked strange, sitting partially behind Fraser's legs and looking kind of nervous for a wolf.
"No. Sorry. Thought you were someone else. Come in."
"Oh? If you're expecting someone, I can leave."
"Told you to come in, didn't I? Not expecting anyone." Ray went ahead and walked back to the bedroom to get a shirt. He was halfway there before he heard Fraser step into the apartment, closing the door behind him. Then Fraser started talking to Ray's back.
"Well, Ray. If you thought I was someone else, logically you were expecting someone who wasn't me."
"Fine. I was expecting someone. Someone you don't know, so it doesn't matter." He paused to pull his head through the neck, and headed back to Fraser, still pulling his arms through the sleeves. "Why are you here, anyway? It's early."
"Do you not want me here?"
"Of course I want you here. What is it with you this morning? You're getting all snippy every time I say anything."
"Snippy?"
"And you keep asking stupid questions instead of answering me." He paused, realizing that Fraser hadn't moved more than a foot away from the door. And Dief hadn't gone into the kitchen looking for anything edible within his reach. "What's going on?"
"I should go."
"What? Frase, you just got here. What is it? Did something happen?"
"Nothing's wrong, I just...I don't feel well. I think I'll return to the Consulate and lie down." Fraser had started to look like a caged animal, which only worried Ray more.
"You don't feel well? Fine, whatever. I'll drive you."
"No, Ray. I'd prefer to walk. It might help." And then he was gone. Ray went to the door, which hadn't quite closed, but Fraser wasn't in the hall anymore, and Ray didn't have shoes on. So Ray went to the window. Fraser was already a block away.
Ray had just parked and was walking three blocks to one of the clubs he'd been told to avoid--and thus needed to go to--when his cell phone rang. Only a few people had the number, and Fraser was one of them. Ray really hoped it was Fraser calling. He'd been avoiding the precinct, finding reasons to be needed at the Consulate at all hours, and giving Turnbull the job of talking to Ray whenever possible. But a glance at the number told him he wasn't in luck.
"Hey."
"Ray! Wherever you are right now, stop going there."
"I'm going to see Apocalypse Hoboken."
"No! No, no, no. For lots of reasons, no. Come to Artful Dodger immediately. There's actually a band tonight and they're fucking amazing!"
"At Artful Dodger? Really?"
"Yes, I know it sounds strange, but don't mock. I know you've got experience with the old scene and whatever, and you think you're some kind of expert. But I'm the wave of the future, you need to listen to me when I tell you that this band, whoever they are--I'm not sure they gave their name and hey, they might not have a name--is amazing, and Apocalypse Hoboken sucks, and you'll be disappointed if you go see them."
"We'll see."
"Really? You're not going to come? Damn, I thought I sold that speech. What if I beg more? I'm not above begging."
"I want to give this band a chance. I've actually heard good things."
"Fine. You'll come to Neo tomorrow, right? I have to find the name of the person who's been telling you lies, plus I've got an I-Told-You-So dance that you need to see."
"Wouldn't miss it."
Ray hung up, paid his cover and went in, heading straight for the bar and checking the place out. It was way too dark to do any kind of surveillance, and the band did, in fact, suck, but he had to stick it out for at least a little while.
Since the start of this assignment, Ray had been to seven different clubs, which was the complete opposite of his previous experience. For years he'd had a habit of going to a single club as often as possible, until it closed down, burned down, or converted back into a gay bar. And then the whole scene would move to whatever club rose up to pick up the slack until the process repeated itself.
Sometimes a closed club would reopen, like Oz or 950, but usually not for long. Oz number three had only stayed open for four months before it became a gay new wave disco. That it was still in business 16 years later was amazing, since Ray couldn't remember a single person who was happy with the change. Even the manager looked like he wanted to kill himself the one night Ray had gone to check it out.
Ray had been there twenty minutes when Lewis Carol walked into the room, gave it a quick once-over, and ducked through a door just behind the bar. And Ray could've stuck around to see if anyone else on his list showed up, but this was really all he needed. Plus, he wasn't sure how much more of Apocalypse Hoboken he could take before he went through with one of the seven ways he'd already thought of to make himself deaf.
He finished his drink, threw some money on the bar and left, debating for a second going to the Artful Dodger before settling on home.
"Okay, Neil, he's here," somebody said. Ray was pretty sure it was Kyle, one of Neil's friends. He used a lot of hand motions that Ray figured meant "be quiet" and "pay attention to me."
"Who?" Asked Ray.
"Apparently there's a guy who's been going around to a few of the clubs asking questions about," and Neil turned back to the guy who might be Kyle to get clarification, "what, drugs?"
"The phrase is 'evidence of any illegal activity,'" answered Kyle. "Anyway, I've seen him three times, and Lenny's seen him once and we thought he was a cop at first, except he's like freakishly polite and trusting, so now we just think he's insane. Except for Neil, who thinks he's imaginary."
"Fuck." Well, at least this explained where Fraser had been. Everyone at the table looked at him curiously and he smiled what was obviously a fake smile and said, "I'll be right back."
He reached Fraser just in time to hear him tell someone, "Well, I've recently become quite fond of the band The Clash," and Ray groaned inside and grabbed Fraser's arm, hard. Fraser turned quickly, ready to strike out, and froze in place, all big-eyed Mountie once he realized it was Ray.
"Outside," Ray said, shoving Fraser toward the door. Right now." Fraser went willingly, and once outside, followed Ray around to the side of the building where Ray slammed him up against a chain-link fence.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Fraser? What the fuck?"
"I'm here to help you with your investigation, Ray."
"First of all, shut up right now." Ray said, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper. "Second of all, I don't need help with this. I've got it covered. Fuck, I'm practically done."
"I find that hard to believe, Ray." And, God, Ray didn't know it was possible to sound that condescending.
"Why, 'cause I can't do anything without you? I'm not your fucking sidekick here. I know that I follow you when you leap off buildings and whatever, but I'm a real cop and I did this job for a long time without you. I've done undercover without you and I've done this job just fine without your help."
"You seem to be spending more time trying to satisfy your libido than you are trying to finish this assignment."
"So what's your beef? Is it the job or is it Neil? Cause if it's the job, you're right, Fraser. You are so fucking right. I'm doing a shitty job on this case. In a month and a half, a team of seven found absolutely nothing, while I've gotten names, physical descriptions, license plates, and a distribution center, just to list the shit we've confirmed. But you're right. I've just been going out to get laid and completely ignoring the case."
"Ray, he could very well be involved in this whole thing."
"Okay," Ray said, with a laugh that sounded all wrong to his ears, "I suppose it's good to know that it's not some problem with me."
"What do you mean?"
"That it's not that I meet someone and start to wonder what's wrong with them. It's that I meet someone and you tell me they're a criminal."
"Ray, I was merely advising you to exercise some caution." And it was unbelievable, but Fraser managed to out-condescend himself with every sentence.
"Fraser, I don't need your approval or your advice here. I can fuck whoever I want."
"Can you?"
"What the fuck is that supposed--"
Then Fraser spun him around, pressing Ray into the fence. He shoved a hand into Ray's hair, grabbed his hip with the other, and stuck his tongue in Ray's mouth before Ray even realized there was kissing happening here. And Ray responded--at least while his brain was stuck on pointing out what a surprisingly good kisser Fraser was. But it quickly reminded him that not only was he still pissed at Fraser, but kissing Fraser was a bad, bad idea.
So he moved the hand that had been holding onto the fence and brought it to join his other hand on Fraser's chest, and he shoved, hard. He stopped for a second to breathe again and looked at Fraser, holding onto the fence, all rumpled and confused and looking fucking terrified, breathing heavily in an alley.
"What the fuck was that, Fraser?" But Fraser didn't answer.
"Ray?" Neil was standing at the end of the alley, his friends poking their heads around the side of the building, not even bothering to pretend they weren't watching. "You all right?"
"I'm fine," he called. Then he looked at Fraser and added, a little softer, "Go home," before turning and leaving the alley to walk off with Neil and his friends. Neil wrapped an arm around his waist as they went, and Ray recognized the gesture for what it was, but he let him do it anyway.
Ray started drinking the second he got home, because there was just no way he'd be able to deal with any of this sober.
Because, oh God, this was Mike all over again, begging Ray not to go back to Stella. She'd phoned the night before to call an early end to "the break, not break-up" that she'd wanted till she finished her freshman year. And there was Mike, looking close to tears and asking Ray not to leave him and only growing more upset each time Ray explained that there was no leaving happening here. They'd still be friends, they just had to stop everything else.
Ray hadn't even been aware they had a relationship--and then it hit him that, in Mike's mind, they did. And while he'd been spending the last seven months waiting for Stella to end her "let's see other people" phase, Mike had spent it waiting for Ray to end his "do whatever Stella asks" phase.
The only problem was, Ray didn't know how to end it. It wasn't a phase, it was his life. And he didn't want to change it. Stella was the only thing in the universe for him.
But when Ray tried to explain that, Mike switched from distraught to furious so quickly Ray couldn't keep up, and he was throwing punches before he was even aware of it. He could feel blood on his face and a knee in his stomach, and he still wasn't sure what happened, except that he'd just told Mike that he was in love with Stella and now they were beating the crap out of each other.
He was so happy when he finally got Mike on his stomach with his arms pulled back behind him, because he was exhausted and couldn't keep going like that any more.
"Are we done?"
"Yeah," Mike said and his voice didn't sound like someone giving in, it sounded like someone still pretty fucking furious, and Ray knew that Mike wasn't only talking about the fight.
Ray waited a second and then let go of Mike's arms, rolling to the side to lie on his back while he caught his breath. Then he pulled himself up to sit, leaning against the wall, and catalogued his injuries. The pain in his shoulder really stood out; Ray figured he must've landed on it pretty hard when Mike first tackled him.
He glanced over to see Mike sitting next to him, looking like Pinocchio or something after his strings had been cut. He was breathing heavily, and Ray didn't know how he managed to whisper so softly, "You're really going back to her? She doesn't even like you."
"Stella loves me." And it wasn't something he just believed, it was something he knew. He wasn't reading anything into the way Stella looked at him most of the time. When she called him to ask him to take a break, she'd spent as much time sobbing as explaining what she wanted. Ray still couldn't understand why she'd suggested something that made her so sad.
Neil let out a small, bitter laugh and said, "They're not the same thing."
Ray didn't respond, just wiped the blood off his lip with the back of his wrist and used the wall to lever himself back to standing. He glanced down, but Mike wasn't making any move to get up, so Ray left him there and walked back to his car. His chest hurt.
He heard Mike's ragged breathing right up until he drowned it out with the sound of the engine. And that was the last time he saw Mike.
So Ray had learned his lesson then, or thought he had. It took Stella leaving for it to really sink in: You don't fuck your best friend, no matter how much you want to. You just ignore the desire. Don't even let it be an option. Hope it goes away.
You can't tie up your world in just one other person, because when they leave you (and they will, everyone does), you're left with nothing and no one.
The knock at the door caught Ray by surprise. He'd been bouncing around his apartment listening to a Diodes album and watching the game with the sound off.
Finding Neil on the other side was even more surprising.
"Hey," he said. "Thought we were meeting at the club."
"We were." And wow, did that sound bad.
Ray pulled the door open all the way and asked, "Want to come in and let me know what's going on?" Then he turned and headed for the kitchen, but Neil started talking before Ray had taken more than a few steps.
"I don't think we should see each other anymore."
Ray turned back around. "Wow. That was...blunt. And fast. Can you come inside for the rest of this?"
Neil nodded a bit and stepped through, pulling the door shut behind him.
"Look, it's obvious you've got some issues with your ex and I don't really want to be in the middle of things while you work them out."
Ray must've looked like he was about to protest because Neil raised his voice a bit and started talking faster.
"I mean, I've seen him coming up to your apartment and then it turns out that he's following you around to clubs and checking up on you, and it's weird, and I don't want to get caught in it. If you get through all this and decide you're really done with him and you want to try things with me, great."
He paused for breath and then continued, sadly. "But I don't think you're done with him. Are you?"
Ray was surprised when he shook his head no and more surprised when he found that he meant it. Obviously he wasn't done with Fraser; the man was his partner and his best friend. But he really didn't want to be done with Fraser. He didn't want the alley to be the last kissing he and Fraser would ever do.
Neil nodded like this was exactly what he'd expected.
"I think we should maybe not see each other for two weeks and then try being friends. I think that would be the thing to do here."
"You want to be friends?" Ray was maintaining a constant state of surprise now.
"Of course. If you do. I mean, I like you and all, Ray, but whatever we are, it just started. You haven't exactly broken my heart or anything. I just don't want to get dragged into a messy situation. I've done the messy situation and it and I are no longer friends. So I'm going to take myself out of the equation here. You figure things out, then we'll, uh, re-figure. Deal?"
"Deal."
Neil gave a small smile, but a real one.
Ray had to wait a few days before he could go see Fraser. To finish the assignment, first he had to head off with Daniels and his team to make arrests. And then there were interrogations and testimony and reports and then adjusting back to a schedule not favored by vampires, so Ray was busy.
He'd actually hoped the time apart would help a bit. Give him a chance to get his thoughts together, make a plan of attack.
Mostly it just gave him the chance to freak out.
And every time Ray started to panic, which was often, he remembered that no matter how badly things went with Fraser, Neil wanted to be friends, and that life undercover had been pretty good, and so what if life with Fraser would be infinity times greater than life without him. Ray could settle for pretty good. He'd settled for far less.
But it turned out the panicking was really unnecessary, because once Ray finished his long, rehearsed speech about sex and friendship and why they didn't mix, and how fucking your best friend meant being left alone, Fraser just stepped forward and took Ray's face in his hands and said, "I won't stop being your friend if we stop being anything more. And as long as I live there will be nothing about you that I'll ever box up and hide in the closet."
Which was just so exactly what Ray had needed to hear that he had to start kissing Fraser pretty much right away.
Ray scrubbed at his hair with a towel as he left the bathroom, ignoring Fraser. He saw that the clothes he'd thrown onto the bed had been neatly folded and placed at the foot, and he figured that since Fraser was still sitting on the couch, pouting and pretending to read, this was one of the ways Fraser showed that he was angry at someone: he folded their clothes.
Ray left the bedroom, now dressed, and headed to the kitchen for coffee, still ignoring Fraser. Then he stared at the leather cuff on his wrist and wondered if it was stupid or cliched or trying too hard. Ultimately he decided that it wasn't worth that much thought and took it off.
He picked up his keys, wallet, and coat, and turned to Fraser. "All right. I'm leaving now."
"I still don't know why I can't come."
"You don't have a ticket and you won't make a fake one."
"But why do you have to go?"
"Cause I haven't heard Naked Raygun play in over a decade, and this might be the last chance I have to see them ever. That's why."
"And why does Neil have to go?"
"Because he has a ticket and he helped me get mine. And because he's my friend, Frase." Fraser looked far from convinced, but he nodded. "Hey. He's just my friend now, I promise."
"You'll come back as soon as the concert is over, right?"
"Do I get a reward if I do as I'm told? Or," he continued with a sly grin, "or a punishment if I don't?"
Fraser blushed and stammered and then stared at his feet until Ray took pity on him and promised to head home the very second the band stepped off stage.
And then the rest of the night was just a long list of good things in what was turning out to be a pretty good life.
Like that Naked Raygun was still ridiculously good for a band that hadn't played together in years.
Or that he and Neil still made pretty good friends even without the sex or crime-solving.
"You know, I saw their first show." Ray said as they walked out of the club, once Neil stopped talking about the concert and using the word "unbelievable" every three seconds.
"You're fucking kidding me."
"Nope. At the Oz. The first Oz."
"That's so fucking unfair." Neil said, punching Ray in the arm and pouting. "You're just way too unfair."
Or that when Ray got home, Fraser was almost asleep on the couch, a Naked Raygun album playing at a ridiculously low volume, the others stacked next to the stereo.
"How was it?" he asked as Ray turned off the stereo and tossed his coat on the chair.
"Amazing." He knelt on the floor in front of Fraser and ran his fingers through Fraser's hair, smiling when Fraser craned his neck so he could kiss Ray's palm.
"You really want to learn about this stuff?"
Fraser looked back at Ray and nodded.
"Come on." Ray said, taking a hand and pulling Fraser into the bedroom. "We'll go to bed now and tomorrow we'll start your education. I'm thinking we'll cover Lesson One: Influences you Never Would've Expected, or, Why Springsteen is Punk."
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