Disclaimer: This piece of fiction has been written solely for the enjoyment of the readers (and the author). No infringement of copyrights has been intended.

Words of thanks go out to Anagi, Audra, Cheryl Barnes, Jennifer Swanson and Surfgirl, for taking the time to beta read this story.

This is the first time I'm writing a story with Stan Kowalski, and I haven't written in quite a while (I'm a bit rusty), so please be merciful.

The story is a companion piece to the poem "Sunset," which is featured here as a prologue of sorts.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Rating: PG

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He took a deep breath, tapped his lips lightly a few times with his fingers, then pushed his eyeglasses closer to his face. "This is it," he told himself. Then, "Damn, I can't do this." He closed his eyes, breathed again. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

With a soft grunt, Stanley Raymond Kowalski crouched down and cupped his companion's face with his hands.

"Dief, stay," he commanded.

The wolf fidgeted in response, whining softly in protest even as he clamped down on the fringes of a brown paper bag.

Stan laughed and rubbed the animal's neck with both hands. "Yeah, Dief buddy. I know you're just dying to give your present to him, but you gotta trust me on this, all right? You gotta give your present to him at the right time." He paused, then cupped his face a second time. Dropping his voice to a more serious tone, he said, "Now. Just stay, all right? Stay. I'll give the signal."

The wolf quieted down and dropped the bag before resting his paws on the cooling sand. With one last, thoughtful pat, Stan rose to his feet and looked towards the shore.

Damn.

He began to walk, his movements slow and cautious. Pressing his fists inside the pockets of his jacket, he thought of Fraser and the two words that had once saved his life. Bloom. Close. Bloom. Close. He played those words over and over in his head, like a silent mantra.

Only this time, he wasn't the one drowning.

He cast his eyes towards the tall, lean man who walked barefoot along the shore, lost in thought. He watched him as he threw each pebble from his hand into a perfect arc sailing down the blue waves. Each throw he made was precise, elegant. There was a sleek grace in the way he moved, and for a moment Stan was reminded of a wild stallion -- handsome, powerful, proud ... hunted, cornered ...

Fighting for his life.

Stan walked towards Ray Vecchio, and soon his steps produced soft splashes on the water. Ray turned and immediately backed off, his body stiff and poised to fight, his eyes hard and glinting.

Stan raised his hands, palms facing up. "I'm not here to make trouble," he said. At his words of assurance, Ray's body relaxed, though he continued to eye the man warily.

"Then what are you doing here?" he asked in a cool, detached voice.

Stan shrugged. "Oh, nothing. I was just in the neighborhood, thought I'd say hi. There's this seminar up in ... that's not important." He cocked his head. "How's your wound?" he asked. "Still hurt?"

Ray shrugged. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, it still feels sore, but ... I'll be okay."

"Good, good," Stan said, before taking a deep breath. The two men eyed each other silently for a long moment.

Ray rubbed his forearms a few times and shivered slightly from the cold wind. He wore an unbuttoned, long-sleeved white shirt over his bare torso. Around his neck hung a cross that glimmered faintly in the dying light.

"I suppose you know about me and Stella?" he asked.

Stan nodded. "Yeah," he answered.

"Did she tell you?"

Stan shook his head. "I heard it from Frannie," he said.

Ray licked his lips. "Have you talked to her yet?" Stan nodded silently in reply. Ray sighed once, then asked, "How is she? Does she still hate me?"

Stan shook his head. "She's not the type to look back," he answered. "Besides," he continued, "I think by now she knows what really happened."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Vecchio," Stan said. "The doctors gave you a clean bill of health. Your psych tests came back fine. You're gonna be okay. You've got your old job waiting for you, plus a promotion and a commendation. I'm back to being Stanley Raymond Kowalski. You can have your old life back. What are you waiting for?"

"It's not ..." Ray paused and shook his head. "I can't," he said.

"Everyone misses you," Stan continued. He was silent for a moment, then said, "Fraser's back."

Ray raised his head and looked up at him. "Benny? Benny's back?" he said softly.

Stan nodded. "He asked to be transferred back, because he missed ... his home." He eyed Ray silently as the man stared off into the distance. His voice was kind when he spoke.

"Come back to Chicago with me, Ray. Come home."

Ray looked at him with misty eyes.

"I can't," he softly answered. He shook his head. "You don't know what you're saying." Ray turned and began to walk away, but Stan pressed on.

"What are you hiding from?" he asked.

Ray froze. "What do you think I'm hiding from?" he asked. He turned to face Stan. "Do I look okay to you?" Without waiting for his reply, Ray moved closer and pulled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. "Look at me," he said, his voice a sharp whisper.

Stan looked in silence at the tracks on Ray's arms, and the fresh slits across his wrists.

Ray's voice trembled as he spoke. "Look at this man, this is why I can never go back. You think I'll go back to them and let them see me like this? Those psych tests? I lied. I said everything they wanted to hear. You think I'm gonna tell them what really went on?" He gave a deep, shuddering sigh. "Do you think I'm gonna tell them just what going undercover is like?"

Stan looked into Ray's eyes, speechless.

"Have you ever lived each second of your life in fear? Do you ever wake up each day, wondering whether it'll be your last? Do you know how it feels like to kill to save one's cover?" Ray brought up his right hand. "This hand ... threw bombs and burnt houses. This hand ..." and his voice broke. "I used this hand to put a gun to a man's head. I blew his brains out because I had to keep my cover." His face tightened into a grimace. He turned and began walking towards a tall piece of rock. He climbed on it, and Stan did the same.

Together, the two of them sat on the rock. Stan looked on quietly as Ray shielded his face with his hands. "I miss them. Oh, God, I miss them," Ray said, "but how can they see me like this?" His voice dropped to a whisper. I can't. I just can't."

Stan reached out. After a brief moment of hesitation, he rested his hand on Ray's shoulder. "Ray, come back with me. We'll get some help. You don't have to go through this alone. They have to know."

"I don't even know who I am anymore," Ray said, his voice thick with unshed tears. For a long time, they said nothing to each other. Then Ray spoke.

"I never wanted to hurt Stella, or you," he said. "I really thought I could build a new life with her. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Sure, man. Okay," Stan whispered soothingly, as he rubbed Ray's back. Together, they waited for the sun to disappear.

"You still love being a cop, Ray?" Stan asked, after a long moment of silence had passed.

Ray sighed. "Yeah," he nodded. "I do."

"Then come back to Chicago with me," Stan said. "Everyone misses you -- Fraser misses you."

"He doesn't need me anymore. He has you for a partner."

Stan shook his head. "You know what he talks about more than those Inuit stories?"

"What?"

"You. And it's kinda hard to shut that Mountie up, once he starts talking." And they both laughed.

Ray looked down, saw the tracks and the slits and his laughter faded.

"It's gonna be dark soon," he said. "You'd better go. Just tell them I said hi."

"Ray ..."

"Please," Ray whispered. "Just go."

Stan shook his head and sighed. " All right," he said finally. "Could you walk with me a little? I got something for you."

Ray hesitated, but finally agreed. "Okay," he said.

They slipped down the rock and walked back towards the shore. After a few steps, Stan raised his right arm and a white figure began his approach.

"What ..." Ray began to say. He stopped walking and watched in a daze as the wolf came closer. A half-sob, half-laugh escaped his lips, and he crouched down to greet his old friend.

"Oh, my God. Dief ..." Ray said. "What's this ..." he began to say, and the wolf dropped the bag at his feet.

Ray opened the bag and laughed. "You brought me doughnuts," he said. He laughed, as he stroked the wolf's soft white fur. It was a laughter that quickly dissolved. Ray wrapped his arms tightly around the wolf. "Oh, God ..." he sobbed. Dief whined softly and moved closer, putting one of his paws over the man's arms.

Stan moved away, leaving the two. For a long time, Ray just knelt on the sand, hugging the wolf. Then, at some point, the two began playing fetch using an old tennis ball that also came inside the bag.

When the stars appeared, Ray walked towards Stan and sat next to him on the sand.

"Okay," Ray said. "Okay."

Stan smiled and nodded. Ray smiled back.

"You didn't come here for a seminar, did you?"

Stan shook his head and smiled again.

"Anyone put you up to this?"

Stan shrugged. "I'm a nosey parker, what can I say?"

Ray grinned.

"And Dief?"

"Hey, no good cop goes into a situation without back-up."

"Ah." Ray nodded. He looked at Stan and they both smiled.

"Come on, Vecchio," Stan said, standing up and offering his hand to Ray. "Let's go home."

19 December 1999

E-mail the author: Blue_Grey_Eyes@hotmail.com