Disclaimer: See earlier parts of the series

SequelTo: The Fall Part 1

Cop habits died hard. Ray Vecchio was seated as far back in the unfamiliar, crowded caf as he could be, minimizing the amount of foot trafffic at his back, while allowing an almost full view of the room. He stared into his cooling latte and tried to think of a better plan of action. As for the current plan, he wished that he could say that it at least seemed like a good idea at conception, but it hadn't, not really.

He allowed his attention to be distracted momentarily by the twenty and thirty- somethings that outnumbered him in the bustling room. Maybe I should ask the room for the best course of action to take, he thought. And then he smiled. Doing that couldn't be any more questionable than what he was contemplating doing. Putting a soft surveillance on your kid didn't exactly scream parental trust.

He and Jersey were fortunate with their boy. As his godfather, Jersey already had an established relationship with the suddenly orphaned boy and maybe that's what eased the way. There was virtually no teenage rebellion. Vigilance for signs of trouble, their own difficult adolescences, and the circumstances that brought their son to them greatly informed how they parented. They were braced for verbal lashing out - you're not even my parents, I hate having two dads, fags. They were prepared to have their curfew challenged, their authority blatantly ignored. They kept a list of recommended family therapists and were prepared to do whatever it took to make sure Oscar survived his childhood.

There had only been one bump and for the parents who thought they'd covered everything, it came out of left field. At the beginning of his sophomore year in high school, their boy began to spend all of his time with a pretty Latina girl named Isobel. However, by the beginning of summer, a pale, bookish boy on his soccer team named Adam became his constant companion. Isobel was nowhere in sight. The boys were inseparable. And through the lens of "gaydar" Ray and Jersey saw the boys' absent minded touching and deep occupation of each other's personal space when they were together for what it was. However, by the end of the summer, Adam was history. Isobel once again was in their son's life.

That back and forth triggered a need in both Ray and his partner to have the kind of family talk they never thought they would have to have. They lived in West Hollywood. Their son had two married men as his primary caregivers, their boy had to know that being gay was alright. The Adam/Isobel situation reminded Ray of his painful dishonesty with himself and the women in his life. It reminded Jersey of his first love Bats, and all that he had lost at a similarly young age to be who he was. He needed his son to know that he didn't have to suffer those losses, make those sacrifices.

"I'm not gay." A curly haired fifteen year old, Oscar Velez Alta-Vecchio grinned as he looked from one adoptive parent to the other.

"You and Adam..." Jersey started. "Adam's not gay either." That had shut both Ray and Jersey up.

Experimentation. Well they guessed that made sense, given who was raising him and where he lived. But the sable eyed boy corrected them before the word barely saw the light.

"I like guys and girls mismo, the same." They hadn't been expecting that. Ray had to clamp down really hard on his tongue. Bisexuality was one of the rationalizations he'd tried to hide behind for so many wasted years in his life, in his first marriage to a woman, until he met his first husband Benny and had to confront the pretense for what it was. Jersey knew just how deep that hit Ray and that night Ray felt a supportive, restraining squeeze on his thigh under the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught an almost imperceptible shake of Jersey's head. Jersey then picked up the concerned parent thread and shifted the tone of the talk to the importance of not hurting people, the importance of being honest with the people in his life. At the end of the talk, Oscar fully understood that his choices wouldn't get him condemnation. At fifteen he knew this so why the hell at twenty-two was he playing a version of the pronoun game.

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Ray stared out of the caf window and let his mind drift along on the white noise of conversations he couldn't really understand. What I should really do is just go back to the airport and get on a plane he thought, tell my ol' man that everything is fine. But he didn't lie to Jersey so that wasn't really an option. And the evasiveness in Oscar's e-mails about the `person" he thought he was in love with and what `they' did together really worried Jersey. Ray granted that something was definitely up, `cause when you're evasive about the things you don't have to hide, like your new love's gender, it suggested that there was something larger on the horizon you were afraid of spilling once your mouth got going. He'd seen it with perps all the time. But Oscar wasn't a perp and they shouldn't treat him like one.

Ray reached, finally, to take a first sip of his drink and as he did so his eyes swept toward the front door of the cafe. A mouthful of latte nearly ended up all over the table, but he recovered quickly. Gingerly, he put his cup back on the table and stared.

From what Ray could see, the years had been kind to the Mountie. He watched transfixed as his ex husband, casually dressed in loose fitting jeans and a black pullover, smiled and chatted briefly with the girl at the register. He then stepped to the pastry display case. From Ray's vantage point, the Mountie still looked fit and was as striking as he had been the first time Ray saw him. The distance between them allowed Ray to stare unabashedly. Ah for Dief, he thought as his ex pointed out what he wanted to the cashier. Then it hit him that the chance Dief was still alive after all this time..... And at that Ray felt a pang of grief. He watched as the Mountie accepted the bag. In mere seconds the Mountie would be hitting the bricks. They hadn't spoken in ten years and unless Ray said something it might be another ten. And maybe it meant something that of all the coffee shops, in all of Canada, in all of Montreal, Benny would walk into this one at the same time Ray was trying to formulate a plan of action. That got Ray on his feet.

"HEY BENNY." Benton Fraser's head whipped around and the bag that he held nearly slipped from his fingers to the floor. "Sir." The cashier made a move to catch the bag but Benton recovered on his own and clutched it more tightly. He accepted his change absently as he stared at his former husband who waved and called to him from the back of the room. His feet were moving around chairs and tables toward Ray before he realized what they were doing. It was much too late for him to pretend that he hadn't heard or seen. It was too late to duck for cover.

The two men whose lives had once been so entwined and now couldn't even necessarily be called friends stared at each other across a table that was entirely suitable for one but a little cramped for two. Their knees brushed slightly under the table.

Now that Ray had a better look at the Mountie, he was struck immediately by a dimension to his beauty that had not been present in Chicago, had not been present in their life together. There was a certain lived through quality in the Mountie's face. Ray smiled to himself, yeah they were getting up there in years but it wasn't age he saw in his ex's face. Looking at him now Ray could see the story of challenges met and survived etched in his features. The beauty was less placid. Less plastic. Even to a casual observer, he looked like a man who could have been on the trail of his father's killers, could have been badly betrayed by the only woman who claimed to love him and divorced by a man who made the same claim. He looked touchable. Human.

"What the hell are you doing in Montreal, this seems like way too much city for you." As soon as it was out of his mouth, the arrogance of what he'd said dawned on Ray. There were years of separate life between them that precluded him from now knowing what was too much for the Mountie.

"I am in the process of retiring Ray and to that end there is quite a lot of task force business to handle. I have already been to Ottawa and Toronto. Montreal is the last stop."

"Like a rock star huh, a kind of farewell tour." "In a sense, yes." "Well I know a lot of flatfoots go stir crazy when they retire but I gotta say for me it's been great. It's been official eight years now for me. And I'm almost busier than when I was with the PD. It's amazing the amount of money film people will pay for `authenticity'.

Benton worked to keep his features as unreadable, yet unmask like as possible. He was out of practice with Ray. "Is that why you're here Ray, you're working on a film?"

"I'm here because my husband is a mother hen." The Mountie stared at him blankly and Ray grinned. Some things never change. "I came here to make Jersey feel better." "So you're not here alone?" Benton asked quietly. "Well yeah, I am. Jersey just opened a new restaurant in Malibu so he couldn't get away. Our son's attending a French immersion program at UQAM. You remember Oscar. I'm checking up on him I guess."

At the mention of Oscar's name, Benton had a startlingly inappropriate flash of Ray's son leaning into him and slipping his hand into the waistband of his jeans as he whispered things in French definitely not learned in any University sanctioned language course. Benton stood suddenly.

"What's wrong?" "I'm sorry Ray, I need to step outside and make a phone call. Will you excuse me." "Sure, I'd still like to catch up some more. I mean if you want to." There was only the slightest hesitation before Benton responded. "I would like that as well Ray."

Ray watched the Mountie make his way to the front door and for a split second he thought that Benton was ducking out on him. But then he noticed that the pastry bag was still on the table.

Maybe this trip to Montreal wouldn't be a total bust. He and the Mountie would catch up. After Frannie's wedding, in order to go on with his life, he'd told himself that the Mountie was alright. Ray was gratified to see that he was right. The Mountie looked good, sounded good. Sure the conversation was a little stilted, but that was understandable given the unexpectedness of their meeting, but he hadn't flinched or seemed uncomfortable when Ray mentioned Jersey. Maybe, Ray thought, after the Mountie and I are caught up we'll break bread and I'll go home. I'll tell my husband what I should have said before it ever got to this point. Their son was a grown man, he could make his own decisions and live with them. They had done a good job with him. Oscar never had to know about his parents' momentary lapse of trust.

Outside the caf, the Mountie's hands shook so badly he nearly dropped his cell phone. For most of his post-Ray Vecchio years, Benton understood that he had been unwell. A term he acquired from John, the Mountie he'd been involved with up until he met Oscar. Unwell echoed another term that he could no longer bear to think about. The full text of what John often said was,**"I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell.** A lyric from an old song John's late husband, a cop, liked and used to indicate his mood whenever something on the job went tragically awry. He and John had shared their mutual unwellness..

Plummeting, with realization. And as had always been the case, what was out of control for Fraser appeared as barely a ripple on the surface to everyone else. The facade made easier to carry because there were no friends or family to say otherwise. He'd carried out his official duties with professionalism and aplomb though his personal life was a shambles. In that time he retained enough self-awareness to know that his semi-frequent liaisons with John only put a point on the severity of his unwellness. He knew that he could stop the encounters at any time but, he lacked the will. Upon meeting Oscar he'd rediscovered his will. But while his fall slowed it hadn't been entirely broken. He ruthlessly silenced the part of him that said he had no business in a relationship with a man thirty years his junior, that he had no business in a relationship with Ray's son. He'd known the day would come when he would stop spiraling and simply splatter all over the pavement. Before Oscar, he'd surmised that the end of the spiral would probably coincide with his death. Possibly by his own hand. Five minutes ago, he'd finally met the ground. And it was both worse than he expected and not as bad as he anticipated. He hadn't expected to have any hope at the end. He probably should have expected to land at a Vecchio's feet.

Benton Fraser intended to keep Oscar Velez Alta-Vecchio. He was quite unprepared to give him up. And he wanted Ray's approval. As the saying went, he wanted to have his cake and eat it too. A shaking finger pressed the first number on his speed dial.

"Hey," a sleepy voice greeted him. "Aren't you supposed to be here now?" In his mind's eye Benton saw Oscar sprawled across the crisp white linens they'd bought together three months ago. The hue of his skin deeper, richer and so inviting in contrast. His body pliant and waiting. Benton could feel his tremors coming under control.

"Your father is here." He said quietly.

"What?" Tension crept into Oscar's voice. Benton could hear him getting up.

"Where are you?"

"I wanted to surprise you. I stopped at Caf Saint-Denis and I'm afraid I was the one surprised."

"Which one?"

Benton sighed deeply. "Ray."

"Tu vas bien?"

And because Benton had learned a painful lesson about the difference between telling the facts and telling the truth, he told Oscar the truth. "Je ne sais pas."

"Hang tight. Dix minutes."

"D'accord." As Benton started to flip his phone shut.

"Benton, Benton - "

"Yes, yes I'm here."

"I won't give you up."

"Neither I you."

Ten minutes. Benton slipped the phone back into his pocket and braced himself against the wall to wait.

End part 2 - evans **Lyric from the Matchbox 20 song "Unwell"