Disclaimer: Standard Disclaimer. I only want to hurt them a little bit. Please send comments, questions, compliments, and otters to sdelcul@yahoo.com.
In this series, I was trying to figure out what makes Fraser go from a man who couldn't steal M&M's, to one who could plant a suggestion in someone's consciousness. This one's kind of dark. Helped to finish by reading (two months later) Nona's "When Ray Vecchio Left," part one. Number four in the Box series, but they're unrelated stories.

Author's Notes: Just some more backed up archiving. This ones from feb. 2003.

Story Notes:

This story is a sequel to: the day you left

There are some things that can't be undone. Certain words or actions, soon regretted, that lock you into a staid course from which there is no return. You can't go back in time and erase what happened, even with the most sincere apology.

Loving Ray was painful in a way that was almost tangible in its existence. Something like looking into a very bright light, even though you know it will only hurt your eyes. He felt unworthy of its touch on him. Victoria's love had been cutting; bleeding him in a way that only showed when he stepped away from the red serge protection of his uniform. Ray's love made his chest tight and his heart race like it was going to explode.

The pain was somehow comforting now that things made sense again. Victoria had been burned, seared from his heart. Forever. She held no power now, although she'd always be in his past. Ray, he knew, would be a part of him forever. The pain was simply another friend he lived with, comfortable and familiar. In his almost frozen heart it reminded him that he was alive. It was fitting punishment for believing in a false idol.

Light is not light without a balancing darkness. Ray's kindness brought out his baser needs --an almost childlike need to be punished for his crimes-- to the surface. He wanted Ray to punish him because Ray was the one he'd harmed. The scar on his own back was a pleasant memory now.

If Ray weren't his best friend anymore, his need might have driven him to stalking. Voyeurism he could almost understand. As much as he was a part of almost all of Ray's waking moments, it was those moments he wasn't a part of that drew him now. Every time he was invited to dinner, or church, or stayed the night in the Vecchio house (in Ray's room was the best) was a chance to be part of Ray; a chance to crawl into Ray's shadow and stay there, supported effortlessly.

He didn't deserve or desire the breezy happiness that people around him seemed to crave. Francesca, Ray's sister, might have made a more suitable prospect. She would certainly have been willing, but that only made her even more of a joke. Loving Ray was serious work, a calling, perhaps a dedication.

He would gladly spend the next ten years loving Ray from a distance.

End Addicted by silvina: sdelcul@yahoo.com

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