Constancy

It's funny how life can be so simple in one moment, and completely altered
in the next.  It isn't even the big things that affect this change, but
the small, instantaneous ones.  A sob.  A smile. A kiss. A shot.  A simple
knock on the door.

When that door opened and I beheld the wary green eyes of my former best
friend, I knew that nothing would be the same.  The time for change had
come.

*Ray*. *Ray Vecchio*.

No mistaking the quick flash of panic in his eyes, or the equally sudden
flare of jealousy in those of Ray's.  The other Ray.  My Ray.

*What do they call you*? *Who*?

Do either of them recognize how incredibly appropriate that question
is, as is its answer?  My world may be changing, tilting on its axis,
but my Ray's is being pulled out from underneath him. He left his old
life behind, almost forgotten; the new life he has forged is being taken
from him without warning.  He is floundering, drowning again, and I greatly
fear that, this time, no amount of my air can save him.  This time, I
have my own life to save as well. 

Two shots into the bathroom wall.  I catch on immediately and drop to
the floor, my Ray right behind me.  Ray has saved us, though with a cold
harshness I have never seen on his features. Or was that the last vestiges
of Armando Langoustini, working by his own agenda?  Are the two even
separate, after all this time?  I am suddenly, terribly concerned about
the fate of my friend. My Ray is no longer Ray Vecchio, but the Ray Vecchio
he replaced has yet to reappear. 

Those of his faith believes in Purgatory, a sort of limbo for souls not
yet damned and not yet redeemed.  I fear my friend's soul has been added
to their ranks, caught in an endless tug-of-war between opposing forces.
He must face this battle alone, though.  My own path is diverging from
his; I cannot lend my weight to his conflicts until I have overcome my
own. And by then, I am afraid it will be too late.

It has been said that a Mountie cannot refuse help to any soul in distress.
This is not true; I have done it before.  The tearful, pleading eyes
of an old lady, robbed and abandoned in an alley, will haunt me to the
end of my days, as will the cold green eyes of a man I once called my
best friend.  I have no choice; I must do my duty, and no amount of change
can alter that. 

*****************

We reminisce briefly about our days together.  We come to the conclusion
that they are best forgotten.  At least, Ray does, and I am forced to
agree.  If they mean so little to him, then they cannot mean more to
me.  Can they?  Did we waste two years on false promises and happiness?
Can he truly dismiss me, and my influence in his life, so easily? 

Muldoon arrives and so, shortly thereafter, do the feds.  Some things,
at least, never change. 

******************
Nothing is constant.  Certainties I have held sacred all my life have
suddenly become myths. Memories of tearful silences and of hushed conversations
overheard by innocent ears move suddenly from blurry confusion into clear
focus.

My gentle, loving mother, the one person who I could never associate
with violence or the harshness of life, brutally betrayed and  murdered.
By a friend.  By Muldoon.  And now it is up to me to right my father's
thirty-year-old wrong.

Has Ray even seen his own mother since he got back?  Certainly Francesca
was surprised to see him.  Even through her delighted reaction, though,
I could see shock in her eyes.  Certainly that sibling dynamic will never
be the same; he isn't the only Vecchio to have changed in the past year.
This maturity of hers which is nothing new to us, who have watched it
develop, must be quite a surprise to this man who left behind a flighty,
flirting sister.  Or has he even noticed it? Has he noticed any of the
changes in what used to be his environment?  Elaine has gone, Louis has
been replaced.  Or can his eyes not see past the glory of his welcome,
the open arms greeting the prodical son's return, and, behind it all,
the confused, helpless floundering of his doppelganger.

Nor, apparently, has he seen his family, with the exception of Francesca.
Once the most important aspect of his life, more so even than his beloved
Riviera.  I would give almost anything for just one more moment with
my mother, while he seems to be willingly disregarding his.  

Muldoon has stolen both our mothers: directly, in my case, and indirectly
in Ray's. 

I hear the shot even through my grief, see Ray fall, and I must amend
my thoughts.  Perhaps Muldoon has, instead, stolen Mrs Vecchio's son.

******************

So much time spent in hospitals, together or apart.  I look to him for
comfort, for solace, for forgiveness, maybe.  What I get are wisecracks
and platitudes.  I leave, I must go get my man for him, and nothing is
resolved.  

******************

*If you'll have me*.  Does my Ray know what he asks of me?    Does he
want me to accept him as the man he is, or was, or will be?  Does he
even know himself? 

In any case, I have no choice.  We are bonded in a way I could never
be with Ray Vecchio.  You shall have me, Ray, and together we will search
for that lost part of yourself.  You must be patient though, a while
longer - I have my duty to perform, and this time, if I fail, all will
be lost. 

******************

*Nothing's permanent, son.* After all that I've lost in the past few
days, I shouldn't be surprised at the departure of two people I said
goodbye to long ago.  I am surprisingly happy, though: after all these
years I got that one last moment with my mother, felt her gentle touch
on my cheek, saw the wonder in her eyes at the man her little boy had
become.  No words are spoken but, since the memories I have of maternal
joys were mainly of warmth and caresses, I am comforted nevertheless.

******************

Six months in the arctic with my Ray, and, although the Hand of Franklin
still remains undiscovered, we have blazed an infinite number of trails
within ourselves.  He has finally discovered himself and, in so doing,
we have found each other.

Our thoughts turn now to far-away friends and loved ones, to familiar
surroundings, to the city, and I realize that my conception of home has
changed too.

*****************

Our arrival in Chicago is met with open arms from some, with hostility
from others, and with indifference from most.  We have not been open
about our secrets, but our friends are not stupid people, and their conjectures
have been quite accurate.  Not that I am particularly concerned about
public opinion, nor is my Ray; however, the contempt in one pair of eyes
gives me pause. 

His attempts to find his own lost happiness has failed miserably; he
found no light in the sunshine state, and so he has brought his darkness
back home with him, and I despair now to find it turned on me.

He waits until we are relatively alone at the precinct.

*You know, Benny, I've been hearing some pretty wild rumors about you.*

He is deluding himself, trying hard not to believe something that is
abhorrent to him.  I had hoped- foolishly, perhaps, that he could overcome
this, surpass his upbringing, accept that light and love of any kind
is a rare and precious commodity in this world.  I was wrong. 

I remain silent, and his eyes narrow.

*So, you sleeping with him?*

I did not answer these questions when he asked them regarding his sister;
I will not answer now. 

*You're screwin' him, Benny, is that it?  Or maybe he's screwin' you.*

My heart is pounding with each harsh word, as he turns this beautiful
gift I have discovered into nothing more than cheap refuse.

His voice is getting louder; we are attracting attention, but neither
of us care.  They hesitate to step into the middle of an altercation
between friends, though whatever bonds were once are on the verge of
breaking, perhaps irrevocably.

*I bet Stanley just loves bending over for you...*

I am slowly filling with icy fury at these words; not towards Ray - I
feel nothing but coldness now where he is concerned - but towards the
situation in which I find myself, towards the endless, unbreakable chain
of events and of changes which have led us to this particular point in
time.

I no longer even hear the words.  My mind is buzzing, my stomach constricting,
my fists clenching despite themselves.  I know only that he is still
speaking, though, and that this litany of hatred and disgust must be
stopped.

My fist flies out, makes violent contact with hard flesh and bone.  A
shocked, blessed silence fills the room.

I have faced this situation before, being goaded into losing control.
Striking a friend has always seemed to me to be the ultimate betrayal
of trust. Yet this time I lack the numbed shock, the guilt I felt that
evening by the lake.  This time, I feel nothing but the residual pain
of my bruised knuckles.

Ray fingers his swelling jaw, and smiles bitterly.

"You've changed, Benny."

Ah, Ray, I am who I have always been, which you would have recognized
had you ever bothered to look.  It is you who have changed.  The light
that first drew me to you such a long time ago - an eternity, it seems
- is gone.  Perhaps it is merely dormant.  Perhaps it has been snuffed
out for good.  Only you know the depths to which your spirit has sunk
since you left Chicago; though perhaps not even you know whether it can
ever again resurface.

I cannot wait for my Ray to return; I must leave this place immediately.
My Ray will find me. I cannot hide from him; he knows me too well.  After
all, through all these endless changes and distortions of our lives,
I, Benton Fraser, have managed, for better or worse, to remain constant.

Such is my duty.