Disclaimer: Set loosely in the same universe as Questing but can standalone.

Author's Notes: Beta: Shrewreader

Story Notes: Spoilers for CotW

Stella slammed her purse down on the marble toped table in the hall. She hated that table, and the mirror that sat above it, but her mother had insisted on buying them for their new place. Behind her, she could hear Ray sigh as he locked the door and turned on the alarm.

"Stella." Ray was sighing again, coming up behind her. She could see him in the mirror, those striking green eyes that had captured her attention from the first. Ray's hand slid onto shoulder, warm and comforting.

Jerking away from his touch, Stella crossed her arms and walked -- stormed -- into the living room. "I'm going to bed." She announced. Ray's fish ignored her as always, finding the treasure chest bubbles more interesting.

Ray didn't argue, but she swore she could hear him muttering in Italian under his breath. He had a lot of nerve, Stella decided. She took off her jewelry as she headed up the stairs. Who did he think he was acting, like that towards her father?

The more Stella thought about it, the angrier she became with Ray. She was too damn tried off gathering the energy or the outrage at her to be pissed at him for not letting this go.

By the time she'd changed into a nightgown, she had decided that Ray Vecchio, `I think I'm a big shot mobster' could just sleep in the guest room for the night.

If Ray wanted to act as if he was still the Bookman, well then he could pack his ass up and go back to Vegas.

"Do I even get a clue to what I did wrong, Stella?" Ray looked worn, more so than he had when she'd married him almost a year before. "Because I honestly don't have a freaking clue here."

Stella glared at him, standing there in the door way still wearing his silk Armani suit. He looked good. "Too good to have a drink with my father were you Ray?"

"Aw, Christ, Stella, it wasn't like that." Ray protested, rubbing his forehead.

"Then what was it? You couldn't have just one drink, no you had to purposely snub his attempts to include you." Stella was on her feet now.

Ray snorted. "Stella, your father would have heart failure if I joined his country club. The drink didn't change anything." Ray had never lied about what he thought of country clubs.

Stella threw her hands up; the man was more infuriating than her other Ray. Did they both have to pick fights with her father and her? "One drink would have made him happy, Ray. Was it too much to ask?"

"It's never just one drink with them, Stella. We both know that. I'd have one, then they'd be trying to pour me another and another..." Ray tried to explain, green eyes desperate for her to understand.

Stella just didn't care. "What would be so bad about that? I had a few drinks with my mother and her friends."

Ray's jaw tightened. "You had more than a few, Stella."

"It didn't hurt anyone, Ray." Stella tossed her hair and wobbled on her feet.

"Stella." Ray leaned a hand against the doorframe, hand to his forehead.

Stella was sure that this was it. This would be the start of the all out screaming fight that had been brewing all week. She'd scream at him until she was hoarse and he'd storm off and go sleep---wherever the hell men slept when they stormed off. Back to their mother's most likely.

"My father wasn't a good man, Stella." Ray said so softly Stella had to strain to hear him. "He wasn't a good husband, or a good father, or a good provider."

That threw her, and she was sure she wanted to hear the rest. "Ray?" Stella stared at him, one hand reaching out.

Ray held a hand out as if to ward her off. "He was good at two things. Getting drunk and hitting people." He looked up at her and Stella had to sit down on the bed.

"He hit you?" Stella asked and it shouldn't have been so shocking to her. She was an attorney; she'd dealt with abuse cases. But this was Ray. This was her Ray.

"He hit me, he hit Ma, he hit anyone that got in his way when he was feeling drunk and mean." Ray snorted again. "That meant pretty much anytime he was home and awake."

Stella could suddenly see in her head a young Ray Vecchio, trying to comfort his sisters, trying to protect his mother, and she wanted to cry for him.

Ray crossed the distance between them and sat beside her on the bed. His shoulders slumped. "I don't want to become him, Stella."

There were a million reasons why just one drink wouldn't make him his father, but Stella understood. At least she tried to. Sliding an arm around his waist, she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." Her eyes felt wet.

"Aw, sweetheart, don't cry." Ray reached up to wipe away her tears with gentle thumbs. "Please don't cry."

Stella turned her face into his shoulder more and cried.