Disclaimer: Alliance owns Benton Fraser, Ray Vecchio and Ray Kowalski

I apologize for this.

Mirror
by
Rae
*********

He saves the broken glass. All the small pieces. The ones with sharpest
corners and the most jagged edges. The ones that break skin so easily.
All he needs to do is drag it across the soft flesh of his wrist and
a wound opens. It takes a moment for the blood to rise. Tiny red drops
on the surface of his skin. Sometimes he cuts so deep that it trickles
down, just a tiny bit, before it clots. Never deep enough to kill. Never
that deep. He has thought about it, and he has tried. The truth, is that
he is a coward. He can't seem to muster the strength to do it. So he
just wounds himself, watches the blood rise and clot. Watches the wounds
close and heal. But the scars are there, ever a reminder. A reminder
of every mistake and every tortured moment in his wasted life.  Now he
sits back against the wall and pulls up the sleeve of his red coat. Not
far, just enough to expose his wrist. The old scars are there. One. Two.
Three. Four. From the last time. The night after the Beth Botrelle incident.
Ray's pain was not his own, and that was unbearable. Unacceptable. So
he had found a way to share the suffering. Beneath those, a lighter shade
are the ones that he inflicted after the Ray Vecchio left.   He brings
the glass to the edge of his wrist. He takes a breath and pulls it across
the skin. Pain. He grits his teeth, willing himself to maintain composure.
He doesn't cry out, doesn't whimper. The blood begins to dry and darken,
so the cut now appears like a black line running across his wrist. Near
the end, the skin is swollen, but not broken. This displeases him. He
brings the glass up again, adjusting his grip around it, so the sharp
edge is pressing into the already sore flesh. The next cut is so quick
, that when he opens his eyes again, the blood is already beginning to
drip down. He clamps a towel over the wound, but not before a single
drop strikes the carpet. He watches as it is slowly absorbed.  How many
times has Ray complained about his self-control and his composure? He
wonders if his blond partner would complain so much if he knew the price.
Perhaps Ray would complain ever more. Perhaps he would be horrified,
or even disgusted. But Ray can't understand. This practice he started
as a teenager helps him. It punishes him for his mistakes, but it also
teaches him. It teaches him control. It teaches him to tolerate the things
he can not change. Pain is the best teacher.  
   In the beginning, he cried, but now he takes it without a sound. Only
a tightening of his jaw. Sometimes he grits his teeth. Eventually, he
won't do that either. Eventually, he will have total control. He wonders
now what Ray would say if he could see him like this. Sitting on the
floor with a dish towel clamped over a self-inflicted wound on his left
wrist. He chuckles to himself at the thought. What would Ray say if he
could see him now? *What the hell are you thinking, Fraser?* Ray can't
understand how much he needs this. He could loose himself in drink, or
in drugs. But what would be the purpose? Pain is awareness. It is consciousness
on a new level. Pain does not dull the senses, it sharpens them. Ultimately,
pain is life.  He draws in a breath and climbs to his feet. He goes into
the bathroom and takes the towel off his wrist. He lets his hand run
beneath under the cold tap water, carefully cleaning his wounds with
antibacterial soap. Then he dries his hands, adjusts his uniform and
prepares to face the day. 

End