Standard Disclaimer. This story adheres to the canon of Call of the Wild and any other pertinent episodes as much as possible except where it, well, doesn't.
Please send comments, questions, compliments, and otters to sdelcul@mail.com.
-Thanks to Anagi for the challenge which led to the inspiration (again). And thanks to Gilda Lily and her alter ego (or is it the other way around) for the inspiration, of a sort, from Crystal Rain. And thanks to Jen for finding the dialogue for me. And thanks to the people of Tuvalu, for naming their capital Funafuti, and thanks to . . .
Help me, I can't stop!! [smack] okay, I'm better now. Thanks.
"Bacon bits and fish."
The phrase caught his attention as he almost walked into the room.
"Are you talking about your stinky partner?"
"You noticed him, huh?"
"Yeah. What's the question?"
"Well, am I obligated to tell him?"
"No, you're obligated to hose him down."
He stopped breathing. They're talking about me. Wait. First things, first. I gotta get out of here before they see me. He refused to think about the rest now. He would deal with that later. Right now, he had to get away from here. He ducked around the corner and into the first door he saw.
As his day . . . no, his life, would have it, this door led to the ladies' bathroom. Thankfully at least, the first stall was empty so he went inside and stood on the toilet. On an afterthought he locked the door to the stall.
He wanted to cry. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He didn't do any of the above. Trying not to cry, he vacillated between holding his breath and hyperventilating. "Not now," he whispered. "Not now. I have to go back out there. It's only," he checked his watch, "only 2:33. I can do this."
He listened to the entire room but didn't hear anything. Cautiously stepping down, he looked across the floor at the stalls beside his. Luckily, they were empty. He stood in front of the mirror and took a deep breath. Okay, straighten tie, breath in, breath out, wash hands, pat some water on face, breath in, out, dry off, in, out, go to door . . .
And the door opened itself and hit his hand, spraining a finger although he wouldn't know it yet. A woman walked in, mumbling an apology which quickly came to a halt when she saw his decidedly non-female personage.
He tried to smile but only accomplished a half-grimace. "Sorry, had to go really bad. Came in the wrong door."
She frowned at him but only gave him a dirty look before stepping around him as he fled from the bathroom. Clearing the door, he took a quick glance around to make sure no one had seen him before going to his desk. He zoned on paperwork to stay in control until he could be alone in a dark, quiet place. As soon as he was off shift he almost ran to the door, muttering something about a hot date to his partner.
He didn't really remember the drive to his apartment. It wasn't important. He gently closed the door, put his keys on the counter, and then threw all his clothes into the garbage, including his tie. He would never be able to wear any of those without remembering. Without turning on a single light he stepped into the shower and turned on the water. The first drops were freezing cold against his skin but he didn't even notice. He sat down, letting the water fall on him. He would only have noticed the water if it could have washed away that day. No one would ever know if the moisture on his face was tears or just water. No one.
Time and water passed by unnoticed until the phone rang. Hurrying to the living room he almost cracked his skull open getting out of the shower, and the joke was on him.
"Hello?" He winced as he felt the extra bumps on his head.
"Is this Thomas Dewey?"
"Yes." Ouch. Ice, I need ice.
"This is Catherine with Trojan Inc., we'd like to offer you a wonderful opportunity to save money on your-"
"Sorry, not interested." He hung up before the telemarketer could continue her spiel. Still wearing only the towel he pulled the cord out of the jack and turned off his cell phone. Dropping the towel in the trash with his clothes, he locked his gun away, went into the bedroom, and closed the curtains. He crawled into the bed, not bothering to dress, and curled into himself. Pulling the blanket over his head to increase the darkness of the room, he closed his eyes and prayed that sleep would find him, but it didn't.
The only thing he could do was keep reliving the events. Why couldn't Jack just tell me the first time? Just pull me aside and say something, anything. Even saying, 'Tom, you and the shower. It's a date.' would have been less humiliating and degrading than talking about it with Vecchio of all people?
And for it to be him. Why couldn't it have been Frannie, or Fraser, or even Welsh? No, it had to be with Vecchio. And it was no surprise to Ray. Oh no, on the contrary, Ray had known exactly who Jack was talking about.
"It's not my fault!" He wanted to scream at the two of them. My parents own a seafood restaurant. If I didn't smell like bacon bits and fish my mother wouldn't recognize me as her son. I have lunch there several times a week and she always brings me the same thing, saying, 'You never have to order. I know my baby's favorite.' as she pinches my cheeks and dad ruffles my hair like I was six years old. What am I supposed to do?
Sleep finally came, but when it did it was only so his mind could continue running variations of the events in 3d, slow motion, color nightmares over and over.
The next day he took an extra shower, scrubbing more than thoroughly before going to work, and he stopped at the store and bought the most expensive cologne they had. He sprayed some on in the store's bathroom and tried not to contemplate the recurrence of bathrooms in his life. He laughed grimly. My life's in the toilet anyway.
When he got to the station he was early so he began to fill out reports from his previous day's notes. Huey came in a few minutes later and approached his desk with a look that was half embarrassment, and half temporizing, that he was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide.
"Uh, hey Tom." Jack said as Tom watched him.
"Jack." He tried not to hear Jack's deep breath to strengthen himself or notice the astonishment fly across at not smelling bacon bits and fish.
"Uh, nice cologne."
"Thanks." Gee Jack, you look like you're about to jump up and down and pop a bottle of champagne about my new cologne. So glad you like it. Let's just get out of here before Vecchio comes in, okay? He wasn't watching where he was going so he bumped right into Fraser.
"Sorry Fraser."
"That's entirely all right Detective Dewey." Fraser smiled at him and went inside.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say he and Vecchio were lovers. He spends almost as time here with Ray as he did with . . . " Huey muttered something before he saw his partners shocked expression and realized what he had said and also what he had almost said.
"Um. No. They're not. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that or . . . "
Tom was relieved that Jack had misinterpreted his shock but his heart was still skipping beats in tune with his tumbling thoughts. Ray and Fraser. That makes it even worse. My chances were microscopic before, but I'm competing with Fraser? I mean Stella's his ex-wife, and Frannie's his sister, even if she does seem to flirt with him. Fraser? He's like the world's smartest, handsomest, politest, most perfect guy. There's no way I can beat that.
He called his mother and said he wouldn't be in for lunch that week but he'd call. She took it rather well considering, and it only took a forty-five minute phone call to convince her that he wasn't dying or anything.
Huey of course, noticed pretty quickly that he was wearing cologne and no longer smelled like bacon bits and fish. Ray probably assumed that Jack had "hosed him off" as suggested.
Jack did attempt to apologize though, in his own strange way.
"Uh Tom." Huey stopped him from getting out of the car on the way back to the station that day.
"Yeah?"
"Listen, um, what's up, uh, with the cologne?"
"That's very tactful, Jack. Nice way of askin' if I heard you and Ray."
Huey had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry man. I just didn't know how to tell you."
"Hmm. How about just telling me? Why ask Ray?" Ray, of all the people you could have asked you had to ask Ray . . .
"Well, he was there. Uh, I really don't know what to say."
"I repeat. The best thing you could'a done was to just tell me. Embarrassing and uncomfortable as that would have been for both of us, it would have been easier than having this conversation now. Imagine how I felt. You're supposed to be my partner." And my friend.
"I said I'm sorry. And I am. I didn't think about that. I guess honesty really is the best policy as Fraser would no doubt say."
Ah yes, Fraser. But he had to pretend like it was no big deal. "Okay." He laughed, trying to fake amusement at the situation. "I accept. But I choose where we stop for lunch, and you're buying."
He took him to his mom and dad's restaurant, of course. He smiled slightly as Jack's eyes widened in understanding after sitting in the restaurant. And shaking hands with his parents.
In the car Jack apologized again and he accepted again. He did feel better now.
And when Christmas came around he was able to trade with Fraser and give a present to Ray instead of Welsh, killing two birds with one stone. He didn't even mind when Ray said he already had one and gave it to Turnbull. Until that night when he began to wonder if there was something going on between Ray and Turnbull.
A true vacation. What more could a man ask for? Well, love certainly, but there's no use agonizing over that. Better to be happy with what you've got. Fitting that the first person he saw was his partner and best friend. After a certain incident, they had worked hard to prevent future such occurrences, and now they were really friends.
"Tom, my man, how was Tuvalu?" Huey asked.
"Sunny and sensational. Wish you had been there. No, really, I swear!" He laughed.
"Oh yeah. I bet you did. Spent all that time thinking of poor little ol' me stuck here, did you?"
"In your dreams." They exchanged grins before Huey continued on his way. Tom took a deep breath.
I can handle this. That's what the vacation was about right? Turning the corner he saw a new face near Vecchio's desk. Perhaps it's better that Ray isn't here yet, gives me a chance to get myself psyched for it.
"Hi, waiting for Vecchio? Maybe I can help?" He inquired.
The man looked at him strangely. "Well Dewey, Nice to see the vacation is still rotting your brain. I'm Vecchio."
Tom blinked. Looked the guy over and blinked again. "Ray Vecchio?"
The man looked him over with surprisingly gentle, understanding green eyes that belied the sarcasm of his words. "Yeah, Ray Vecchio."
"Raymond Vecchio the detective?"
"Since the day I got my shield." And he pulled out said shield.
The ID said the right words and the picture fit the man although he had lost some hair and had a few new lines. Tom was beginning to feel a little flaky. Okay, am I dreaming or hallucinating or have I just gone totally loopy? "But you're not Ray . . . "
A bark drew his attention down to where Diefenbaker was rubbing against the man's Armani suit leg. The man didn't seem to mind, for he scratched Dief behind the wolf's ears and grabbed his jacket. "We'll do a little roll call and then I gotta go." Fraser walked in and headed toward them, his smile as bright and wide as the man's in front of him. "You're Thomas Dewey and I'm Ray Vecchio."
"Good afternoon, gentlemen."
"Benny, what's my name?"
Benny? Nobody called the Mountie Benny. Even Francesca called him Benton. What's going on?
"Ray Vecchio. Might I ask why?"
"Nothing. Let's go." He turned quickly to Tom and said quietly but forcefully. "I am Ray Vecchio. Always have been, always will be. See you around Tom." Just as quickly they were heading out the door.
Why would Fraser lie? Okay. Logically one could assume that he was sane. Therefore, this man was not Ray. But therein lay the paradox because Fraser wouldn't lie. But if he wasn't lying, which was backed up by the man's ID, and this man was Ray and always had been then he had to be hallucinating. Was he hallucinating Ray? Was he going crazy?
He was so absorbed in this thinking that he didn't notice that his partner had returned from his task and was watching him.
"You okay, Tom?"
"Huh? Oh, hi Jack. What'd you say?"
"I asked if you were okay." Jack said softly.
"Oh. I don't know. I think maybe, that I could be, possibly, sort of, going crazy." He stammered.
"Really. Look why don't we get some coffee and you can tell me what you mean."
"Okay." He followed Jack into the break room. When Jack passed him the cup, he tossed in a handful of Smarties and stirred until they started to melt.
Sitting down, Jack waited until Tom had drunk about half the coffee before asking, "What makes you think that you're possibly, maybe, sort of going crazy?"
Tom hesitated before answering. "Let's say there's this person. And you see this person almost every day so you become friends and co-workers and everything, right?"
"Right." Jack nodded.
"And then one day this person seems to disappear."
Jack looked up sharply at the words. "Disappear?"
"But there's someone there who claims to be this person only he doesn't look like him and you've never seen this person before but nobody else seems to have noticed anything including one person who should definitely have noticed and-"
"Breathe, Tom. Let me see if I'm following you okay?" At Tom's nod he continued. "Some person doesn't look like they used to?"
"Yeah. But it's more than a haircut or new clothes or something. He's totally different. There's no way this guy could be Ray unless there was plastic surgery involved."
"Hold on. Ray? Ray Vecchio?"
"Yeah. Ray Vecchio. Skinny guy, short blond hair, quick with the comebacks, Polish. 'Cept now he's some thin, Italian guy in Armani with a big nose and a receding hairline." In his frustration Tom's voice was rising and people were looking at their table.
"Uh, Tom, you're not going crazy. There's something that you need to know but I can't tell you here. I shouldn't be telling you this anyway but I guess you deserve to know."
"What. Just tell me."
"I can't. Not here. You never know who could be listening." He stood up.
"Listening? Listening to what. Just tell me Jack."
"Come on. Let's go somewhere we can talk."
They ended up near Lake Michigan. Jack picked a spot where they could see anyone coming toward them, but because of the cold weather the chances were slim that anyone would.
To say Tom was shocked would be the understatement of the century. It was akin to finding out that your secret crush would be joining the witness protection program and you would never see them again. In fact that described the situation pretty well. Except that Ray wasn't Ray, he was Ray Kowalski, and this other guy who was taking his place was the original Ray. Everyone else remembered him, had a friendship with him, memories. All Tom had was a stranger's face and a broken heart.
For two weeks he hid behind a wall of professionalism. He even became friends with this Ray Vecchio. He wasn't a bad guy really; it wasn't his fault he wasn't the Ray that he wanted to see. For all his creative evasions, he wasn't able to hide it from his partner, who pulled him aside one day to confront him. Not expecting to say anything, he ended up spilling every bit of his problem. The biggest surprise was that instead of being disgusted, Jack was understanding and sympathetic.
"Wipe that look off your face, Tom. What did you expect me to do? Call you names and run away?"
Dewey's expression revealed that he had been thinking along those lines.
"I guess I might have a few years ago."
"What changed?"
"I'd never thought about a guy that way and I didn't know anyone who did, except for girls, and they don't count, you know?"
He made the expected nonverbal grunt to show that he was following the conversation.
"But see, -you gotta promise not to say anything."
"All right, I promise." He put on his most honest and trustworthy expression. "Just get on with it."
"You remember a while back when I said that if I didn't know better . . . "
"Yeah, I remember." I'm not going there, that was in the past.
"Well, I do know better. 'Cause there's no way Fraser would cheat on Ray. Or vice versa."
"You mean Fraser? And Vecchio? But, but-" He sputtered. "He's Italian. And he's Catholic. And . . . "
"Look, you know that doesn't matter. I haven't asked or anything but I know Vecchio was always straight before and I'm pretty sure that Fraser was too, not that he got a lot of action with women or anything. I guess when true love finds you, the package doesn't really matter."
Tom was stunned silent. His partner was defending the homosexual relationship of a fellow officer and the Mountie? And not just defending that relationship but sounding wistful and slightly jealous as well?
"You never met Vecchio before Fraser. He was a cynical, sarcastic loner whose career was half brilliant police work and half being this close to losing his job for mouthing off at the wrong people. Fraser filled something he needed. He still got pissed off but it was more controlled and for better reasons. He was a good man to have as backup. I remember when my partner Louis died-- this was before they were together. Zuko and him had been archenemies for years. We had Zuko cold for it. Too cold. He was being set up. But we didn't want to believe that. We blamed Fraser and accused him of all kinds of things." Jack took a deep breath. "I know that it killed Ray to say those things. And then later, Zuko accidentally killed his sister cause she was going to leave with Ray. She was his first love. I don't think he could have survived that without Fraser."
Dewey was trying to absorb all this new information.
"I think Ray would've really had a really hard time readjusting if he didn't have Fraser. I don't know where he was exactly or what he did, but it couldn't have been easy."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
Nobody said anything for several minutes.
"Wow."
Jack nodded. "Hey, did you ever tell Ray how you felt? I mean the other Ray?"
"Of course not."
"Why don't you?"
"For starters, I have no idea where he is."
"Granted. But there's gotta be a way to find out."
"Even if we do, I can't ask him."
"Why not? Seems to me like this is the perfect opportunity." Tom was shaking his head as Jack continued. "No, wait. Hear me out. See if he doesn't feel the same, you won't see him again so it isn't like it'll be all awkward. What have you got to lose?"
"Pride, love, -shall I continue?"
"Look Tom, the way I see it, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity here. If you don't tell him now, you'll never know. And the longer you wait to gather up your nerve, the less chance you have of ever finding him. Love is a very special thing, man. You can't waste it."
"I don't know." He said hesitantly. "If this goes wrong . . . "
"Then at least you know."
"But where do we start?"
"At the beginning."
They continued simultaneously. "Welsh."
Huey went to talk to the Lieutenant. Dewey would have gone too, except for the butterflies in his stomach. "Butterflies? Get real man. These are at least small penguins." He muttered to himself.
As if in reply, he saw Huey open the door. With a blank face he said, "Go get Ray."
Blindly he got the other Detective. Forty-five minutes later Jack and Ray came out of Welsh's office. Ray flashed him a smile on his way back to his desk.
"Well?"
"Okay, here's the thing. You've got tomorrow off. He's working in Toledo. Do you want some support? I can wait in the car."
"And let you drive? I don't think so. Thanks though Jack. That means a lot to me but you've done enough. I have to do this by myself." I couldn't let anyone see me if he doesn't feel the same way.
"All right. But call me however it goes."
"I promise. Thanks again."
"You're welcome. Besides, I figure I kinda owe you."
"Nah, but this would have more than made us even."
"Don't get all mushy on me now. Get going, it's a long drive."
"I'm going, I'm going. Thank Ray for me would you?"
"Sure."
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. Back and forth he went; ecstatic, terrified, euphoric, petrified. Every thought that crossed his mind was about the possibilities. Would this be the best day of his life? Or the worst?
Tom walked into the station. It was a smaller station than his own, but not the smallest he'd ever seen. "Yes, I'm Detective Dewey, Chicago PD. I'm looking for Detective Kowalski?"
After his identification was examined he was pointed to a desk and sat down to wait. Exactly twenty-three minutes and 37 seconds later a familiar face appeared.
"Dewey? What are you doing here?"
"Uh, can we talk somewhere?"
"Sure. Interview room okay?"
"Yeah."
He followed Kowalski into the room and carefully shut the door behind them. His hands were very slightly trembling.
"So what's up? Is everyone okay? How'd you know where I was?"
"Everybody's fine. I uh, I needed to tell you something. To ask you something really."
"Ask me what?"
"This is hard for me to say so I'm going to talk and hopefully something understandable will come out. Just listen, okay?"
Ray nodded.
"I've been thinking about this for the longest time and I never had the guts to say anything. There was always too much too lose. But it's different now. You don't even have the same name now. And I figure that this is my last chance to ever tell you. Please don't hate me."
"Huh? What am I not supposed to hate you for?"
"Oh. Look, I uh, see I missed you and I uh, remember Christmas when I gave you that water gun and you gave it to Turnbull?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I was jealous and when-"
"I think you're nervous, Tom. If what you wanted to tell me is what I think it is, then you don't have to be nervous."
He was dumbfounded. Was he reading too much into that seductive smile? Or could he be about to receive everything he'd always wanted?
When Dewey didn't say anything Ray backtracked. "Of course if I'm wrong than we can just pretend that I never said anything and you can tell me what you really meant."
"No! You were right. I lo-want you. Not just because of how you look. Wait. That's not what I meant. I like how you look, really. It's just that I-." He blushed, embarrassed. "Uh, guess it's good to know that I can fit both my feet and at least one ankle in my mouth. I think I'm going to be quiet now."
"Quiet is good. Very good, cause there are people out there. We'll just have to keep your mouth busy doing something else . . . How about this?" . . .
Wet warmth. Soft, firm lips pressed against his, opening to him. He let himself fall over the edge and into the kiss. He forgot his nervousness; the fact that he was in a police station kissing a man? So what? In fact, all rational thought was pretty much gone.
Ray broke the kiss before Tom was ready. He blinked and tried to focus on what Ray was saying. A hand on his arm helped clear the fog that his thoughts had become.
"You okay?" Ray was smiling at him. Actually he was grinning a bit smugly, proud of the effect his kiss had had.
"Fine." Well now, there's no shame in being monosyllabic after a kiss like that. No shame at all.
"We shouldn't do this here." He pulled away but Tom followed unconsciously.
"What now?"
"Good question, but I don't have a clue either."
"Oh." Shouldn't he be coherent by now?
Ray really was grinning like an idiot now but neither he nor Tom cared. There was a knock at the door, startling them both. Ray unlocked the door and walked back to his desk with Dewey following close behind.
"I can't leave for at least another half hour. Why don't you go get some take-out and meet me back here?"
Instantly he panicked, but Ray seemed to realize the thoughts running through his mind. The warm hand gently placed on his instantly calmed his irrational fears. He lifted his eyes and met the blue-eyed gaze from Ray who smiled faintly.
"I'm only trying to get rid of ya cause I won't be able to get anything done with you here. It'll be hard enough to work, thinking about you." His smile widened.
"Okay." Tom was smiling again, too. "Chinese okay?"
Later they were both quiet on the ride to Ray's apartment. It was smaller than he'd expected, and messier, but it had its own spirit. They fed each other Chinese food on the couch, using forks to prevent spills.
Over mouthfuls of broccoli beef and cashew chicken they kissed and petted and generally relaxed into each other's company. Fried rice had never been this sexy.
Talk of the future was postponed in favor of taking things one day, one kiss at a time. After all, they were two grown men, no reason to rush. And if, in the morning, one of them decided to move, commute, or transfer closer to the other, well, that would be okay too.