This story is slash, containing characters who (sadly) do not belong to me and both happen to be men who want to have sex with each other. I'm not writing this for any gain other than my own personal amusement. Rating - R for non-explicit sexual stuff.

Special thanks to Misha who came to my rescue when I couldn't find my tape of "Call of the Wild." This wouldn't exist without her.

Special note about the title of this piece - it was taken from the "Deathstalker and the Warriors from Hell" episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000. So don't waste a lot of time trying to find meaning from it. (But do, do, do see this episode if possible - the funniest thing on TV since Eddie Izzard.)

What follows is the fourteenth installment in the "One Ray, Two Ray, Old Ray, New Ray" (with all due deference to Dr. Suess) which will have something in it to please or offend everyone, including Fraser/Kowalski pairings, Fraser/Vecchio, and even Vecchio/Kowalski. You have been warned.

This story (and the three to follow) all take place during the final episode, "Call of the Wild." All previous stories archived at http://www.frontierz/com/socket

Permission granted to archive at Witnesslist, and any and all other Due South archives. Any others, please let me know first.

any comments, suggestions, or complaints can be sent to me at magik@socketis.net

"That Was the Last Guy's Name...."

Pt 1: Call of the Wild Cycle

Barbara J. Webb

"C'mon, Fraser, let's go home." My knees are cramping up, so I press against them to get to my feet. Don't know how he can do that - crouch like that - all the time.

He's still kneeling, tracing his finger around the shoe-print with the words "Hotel California" we can see in the dirt. "We should go there."

"Tomorrow. Come *on*. We've been stakin' out this place for three days - I wanna go home and sleep in my bed before we jump back full throttle. I'm tired, and I just got shot at with a flame thrower, and I got nerve gas exposure, an' I wanna go home."

"All right, Ray." Fraser gives me this distracted kinda smile, and stands up. "We'll take the gas to the evidence lock-up, then retire for the night."

The ride back to the station is quiet - Fraser's not saying much, and I'm driving. He's been quiet, last few days. This Muldoon guy, I guess, although I think it's more than that. Homesick, he said. As in sick for his home, which is Canada. Right. Canada. Not here. Here is Chicago.

"Ray, if it isn't too much trouble, would you mind swerving a little so we're back on our side of the road?"

Right. Swerve. Done. Funny to hear him criticize *my* driving. Funny.

Canada's a long way off - well, not really. Canada's kinda close, sorta, but not the part of Canada he wants to go to, which would put Fraser a long way off. Fraser is a long way off. "Hey, Frase, you still there?"

"Always, Ray."

Not sure I believe that. Won't be true if he goes back to Canada like he wants to. Homesick. "You ever think about takin a vacation - you an me - you know, to the Yukon Territories or something?"

"Northwest Territories. Maybe once we've caught Muldoon." Not a very enthusiastic response, but it gets me a smile, a real smile, a real Ray-my-considerate-friend-how-nice-of-you-to-think-of-me smile. So maybe that's okay.

* * * * *

Ray looks tired. That probably means I am tired. He's my safety gauge, my double check. I would keep pushing myself forever, and I've learned that sometimes I really can push myself too far. Not often, but when it does happen, it makes me weak when I need to be strong. So I watch Ray. I push him, push him hard, and when he starts to struggle - really struggle - then it's time for us both to rest.

I know he'll keep going, keep running beside me. But he's not as strong as I am, and if I am not careful, he will break. He's tired now, so we'll rest. I can even confess to myself a touch of fatigue. On the trail, I forget, but still it's there nipping at my heels.

I watch him scribble through the forms to put the nerve gas into the evidence log, blithely unrestricted by the lines on the page. A free spirit, my Ray. Free and beautiful and so very, very alive. As this city sucks my life energy, he breathes it back into me, makes it - almost - home. If only it could be enough.

"Where're we going?" he asks as we leave the station.

"Your place, if that is agreeable." He still asks, even though we spend nearly every night together: most of the time at his apartment - Inspector Thatcher doesn't care much for overnight guests at the consulate. Every now and again, on those rare occasions when our duties pull us in separate directions, we sleep alone, but those nights have become few and far between in the last year.

The apartment seems strangely empty with just the two of us - Dief didn't want to come on the stake-out, choosing instead to stay with Francesca. That's all right; he'd be upset if I came home without food for him, and there are few things less pleasant than that wolf in a snit.

As soon as we're in the door, he peels off all the layers of clothing that cover his top half, stretching. It's almost hypnotic watching him do that, the way the muscles and bones move under the skin, the way he lets out a slight groan as he reaches his arms as high as they will go. My eyes don't leave him as I remove several layers of my own; Ray likes his apartment warm in the winter, so he can walk around comfortably in a t-shirt, and the air is thick with the heat, almost a solid presence rolling over my skin.

* * * * *

Still kinda chilly in here, but Fraser'll really complain if I turn the heat up any more. "I'm gonna take a shower."

"May I join you, Ray?"

"Course." I love it when he comes into the shower with me. Even if we don't fool around, it's nice to have him there, all solid and wet and touching me. Tonight he wraps his arms around me, pulls me against his chest. "You okay, Fraser?"

"I'm fine." Not sure I believe that either.

Homesick.

Wish I could help him. Wish I could be Canada for him - not that a guy can be a country, but like Canada, maybe. Dunno. Least maybe I can get his mind off whatever he's brooding about.

I lean up and kiss him. At first he's kinda hesitant - sometimes takes Fraser a while to warm up, but it's always worth the wait. "Ray, you're tired."

"Never too tired for you, Frase." Mostly true. He finds these hidden reserves of energy in me I never knew I had - god, lips, soft - an I can keep going, keep going, as long as Fraser's there with me like he is now touching me. And his hands feel so good as they start moving, like's he's not even aware he'd doing it, but they start exploring over me. Only word I can use - like those blind people who feel your face to figure out who you are. Fraser's hands are like that, even though he's felt me before lotsa times and can see me and everything. But I still love the way he does that.

This case - this case. Evil Canadians and Fraser's homesick and touching me and I'd go anywhere with him as long as he didn't let me go. Not ever. Whatever he needs from me, wherever he wants to go for vacation or whatever.

Just don't let go.

* * * * *

Back-n-forth, back-n-forth; I feel like I've already spent half my day in this hotel. But I trust Fraser knows what he's looking for, and the big guy said it was here. Said he was here. Muldoon.

Fraser comes towards me, lookin kinda funny. "What?" I ask.

"That man, I think I've seen him before." I don't even know what guy he's talking about - got to pay more attention, better attention. As Fraser bangs against the closing elevator doors, I try to get a glimpse of the guy. "All right; I'll take the stairs."

"Hang on." I toss him my phone - Fraser catches it perfectly, of course. "Use the phone - I'll call you with floors." The courtesy phone is right there - I keep my eye on the numbers above the elevator as Fraser answers my phone. "Five...six...seven...eleven...twelve - hear me?"

"Clearly Ray," his voice comes from the other end of the phone.

"Fourteen, fifteen - breathin kinda hard." Reminds me of - no, gotta not think about that - we're working. "Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two - twenty-four! That's it, Fraser, twenty-four. I'm on my way."

I take the elevator. Mountie may like barreling up twenty-four flights of stairs, but not me. Fraser's right around the corner as I get off on the twenty-fourth floor. "2409." He points at the door, coming up to it all casual like from the other direction.

"You're sure this is the guy? You barely saw him."

"Positive." And if Fraser's positive, then Fraser's right. No question about it.

So I knock on the door, raise my voice. "Housekeeping."

The door swings open. I'm watching Fraser for a signal. "Ray!"

"Ray?" I look at the guy. Takes me a moment to recognize - the mustache -

"Ray Vecchio!"

"Ray Vecchio?" I don't understand. What's he doing here? What's with the mustache? Isn't he supposed to be under - oh, the guy -

"Oh dear."

* * * * *

Ray and Benny, Ray and Benny. Gotta clear my head - gotta think. What are they *doing* here? Of course they're here. At no other single moment could their presence hurt my case more, so of course, here they are. Right here.

"What's going on here?" The last thing I want right now is to have to figure out how to explain things to Muldoon, but there we are. "I was under the impression I was going to meet someone called Armando Langoustini from the Iguana family, South West branch."

"You are." Good come-back, Ray. Right at the level of 'I know you are, but what am I?' Pull it together, Vecchio.

"So who the hell is Ray Vecchio?"

Isn't that just the question of the hour? "How the hell should I know?"

"Perhaps I should explain." Benny. I'm going to kill him.

"Perhaps you should shut up." That's hardly likely. I know better, but I suppose foolish optimism is just one of those things that seems to crop up around Fraser.

"Perhaps he should talk." Would be nice if I could get Muldoon to shut up too. Would be nice if we could start this day all over again. "Don't I know you?"

Do all Canadians know each other? If Muldoon knows Fraser - even knows of him, that could jeopardize this whole deal. "Not directly, no. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my-"

"Fraser, not now."

"Fraser?" There's a sharp look in Muldoon's eye - a hint of recognition. Good job, Raymond. Give him a name to work with.

Gotta distract Muldoon from Fraser, so I turn on Ray. "Who are you?"

"Who me?" Now the kid just looks confused.

"Yeah, you."

"What do you mean?"

Undercover work was never something Kowalski was great at - how the hell did he get this job anyway? I can still read him so well - he knows I know who he is, doesn't understand why I'm asking the question. "What do they call you?"

"Who?"

This is getting ridiculous. Fucking Three Stooges routine we've got going on here. "Am I not speaking English here or what?"

"Yes, boss, beautiful English."

I pull my gun on him, hoping to bring some level of seriousness to this exchange. "What's it going to be, funny guy?"

His eyes meet me - there's a sparkle in the depths. If the room weren't full of mafia thugs, I swear he'd be grinning. Maybe he's not so bad at this undercover business after all. But there's no fear, either in his gaze or in his voice. "Oh, you mean my name. Oh, that." He's just barely not smiling at me as he fishes around in his jacket. "Here."

I take the offered ID, read it allowed. "Ray Vecchio, Chicago P.D." Even knowing what it was going to say, it still feels a little odd to see my name next to his picture.

Everyone in the room jumps - Muldoon looks the most edgy of all of them. "You bring cops to a meet?"

Obviously, no one gave him the briefing on trying to carry on illegal acts in Chicago since Fraser showed up. "It's your room, pal."

"They followed you in."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning this whole set up smelt from the get go. Who are you, buddy? I've seen you before."

That won't do. Time for some more distraction. "Yeah, dead guy." I twitch my gun for Fraser to get up. "Get up. Let's go, get up." Have to think quickly. "The bathroom." I follow them in, gun drawn. Enough time for a quick smile to both of them, then I shoot once into the carpet. As fast as ever, Benny crumples over. A second shot, and Ray follows his lead. Good for them - my boys can be plenty sharp when they have to be. The razor sitting on the sink adds the final touch as I slash the inside of my finger just enough to draw blood, then dot it on my neck and hand. Ready to face Muldoon again, I come out of the bathroom. "You want to play hard ball with the Iguana family, you'd better have hard balls. You still in the game?"

"I'm always in the game. OK, back up location, 9pm."

The boys watch him go. "Hey, boss, you've still got a little blood...."

"Yeah, right. Clean up the bodies." I stare at the mirror, pull off my mustache. "So long, Armando Langoustini. It's been good knowing you." So much for my undercover life. I wait for them to come out of the bathroom - which they do, Ray still kicking at my boys. "For a full year, I'm deep undercover, never waiting in line, always getting the best tables at the best restaurants. I live in a nine thousand square footed adobe house at the edge of the desert, with a butler named Nero who brings me buttermilk night and day and everywhere I go I sit in the back of a black limousine my elbow on the gangster lean and all this, all this, you wipe out with one word?" I'm almost yelling. The first time I've gotten to speak to Fraser in forever, and I'm practically yelling at him.

Of course, this doesn't dampen his glow in the least. "It's good to see you, Ray."

Dammit, but I've missed him. "It's good to see you too, Benny."

I pull him into a hug, but don't miss Ray muttering behind us. "Oh, Benny, that's cute." Jealous much, Raymond?

But there's work to be done, so the sentimental reunion will have to be cut short. "You realize you could have got us all killed," I chide him as I pick up the phone.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I was so pleasantly surprised to see you that I-"

"Said something completely stupid?"

"Yes."

I don't miss Ray over in the corner rolling his eyes. I can tell already this is going to be complicated. I quickly request a clean-up, then turn to face Ray. He stands up when I look at him - the first time I've really spoken to him since we broke up. "So, you're me." Brilliant opening. Somewhere on par with 'nice weather we're having' or 'so, the Mets took the series.'

"And you're not you."

"That's a good one." Trust Ray, no matter how stupid I sound, to make me sound witty in comparison. "Unlike the clothes."

He looks down, as though he needs a reminder of what it is he's wearing. "Sommin wrong with 'em?" His eyes seem to be daring me to step into a fight.

"Well, nothing...if you're a bag lady." He raises his eyebrows at that. "You see, I had a rep. I was a slick dresser."

"Oh yeah, yeah, like a, like a style pig, you mean."

This is falling too quickly into the familiar. All those times I made fun of his clothes and he made fun of mine - only I'm almost serious and he's not quite joking, and I need to get some distance here. "You kill me, funny guy. I see it's going to take a lot of work to get my reputation back in place."

"What place was that?"

"Well you see, these three goons are going to get one call each. They're going to call Vegas and when they do Armando Languistini is going to go up like flashpaper. Time to get my old life back."

"But that's my life."

My life, my family, my Mountie, and no way this kid gets to keep it. "I'm afraid it is." Fraser - I forgot about Fraser - steps up smiling like a fiend. "What are you grinning about?"

"I knew you two would hit it off." Benny, you got no idea.

* * * * *

"Muldoon has weaponry for sale and a buyer he just needs somebody to broker the deal. So the ATF places two agents a Colittle and a Cartwright. Muldoon makes the agents and kills them both. So the ATF suspect an inside leak. They turn to the FBI who turns to me Armando Langoustini. The Mob brokers the deal." We're all sitting in Welsh's office - how well I remember this place - me, Fraser, Kowalski, Huey and his new partner, Frannie, and of course, Welsh.

"How does the deal work?"

Funny, the guy never paid this much attention to what I had to say back when I was one of his cops. "Two stages. The first is the nerve gas that you stumbled upon, and all I know about the second is that it's big and it's scary."

"And who's the buyer?"

"Again don't know, very cagey very secret. The basic idea was that I would broker the deal and then we'd nail Muldoon and the buyer-"

"Which doesn't work out-"

"Because Fraser and Ray show up and blow the whole thing outa the water-"

"Bada chssshhh."

Great. While I was gone Huey and the new guy have become comedians. Just what I need. Welsh doesn't seem to amused by them either. "So what now?"

"The meet with Muldoon's set for 9. My cover should hold until then. That's our window."

"All right we've got to move. Huey and Dewey you run down the location the whole layout all right? Francesca pull everything on Muldoon any possible connection. Fraser, you run it from your end. All right we got six hours let's use them." Everyone breaks for their respective assignments. I end up shouldering my way past Kowalski - the kid's been kinda despondent since we left the hotel. "Oh, Ray...."

We both turn to answer Welsh. "Yeah ?"

"No, I mean, oh, I can see this is going to be confusing. Huh. Look," he points to me, "You be Ray Vecchio cause you were Ray Vecchio to start with..."

"Right." I can't quite resist a smug smile at Ray.

"And who am I?"

I know how he feels. The identity crises are flying fast and furious around here. "Good question. You can be Stanley Kowalski."

"*Stanley* Kowalski?" If that's his real name, no wonder he never admitted it to me.

"His father had a big thing for Marlon Brando," Welsh offers as explanation. I still think it's awfully funny.

And Stanley just looks off balance. "So...err...I just...OK."

I watch him go, can't resist the parting shot. "Later, Stanley." I duck into the office as he turns on me, don't give him a chance to respond.

* * * * *

Ray Vecchio - the real Ray Vecchio. He gets to be Ray Vecchio cause he was Ray Vecchio first and now he's back and all of this goes back to him - his name, his life, his Fraser. Hate him - I hate him. An he's going to take Fraser away and now what's he doing at my desk. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He's moving my stuff around, that's what he's doing. My desk, my stuff. "How can you work in this mess?"

"No worse than the piles of crap you left all over the place."

"Yeah, well my piles of crap were organized."

"My mess is organized." An he still hasn't looked up, hasn't looked at me. Like I don't matter - which I don't, to him. Cause he's the real Ray Vecchio and me, I'm just the other guy - the fake Ray.

It's still my stuff, my desk, my Fraser. Just cause he had it first, Fraser's gotta love me best still. Gotta. And now he's glaring at me. "Well, why don't you just organize it some place else?"

That's it. "OK." When I throw it all across the room, that seems to get his attention. "Is that good?"

"Have you got a problem?" Like he's only just now noticing.

"Maybe, just maybe I don't like the way you're sashaying around trying to take over everything."

And now he leans in real close, like he's trying to intimidate me or something. Maybe that works for him in the mob, but no way am I gonna be afraid of Mr. I'm-the-Real-Ray-Vecchio. "This is my desk, it's my life, now get over it."

Thinks he can just come in here and push me around. He couldn't be more wrong, and I grab him by his expensive shirt. "Well you get over this."

But Frannie comes and breaks us up. His sister. It's all his. Who'm I kidding? Don't even listen to what she's saying - don't even care. He's back and all of this is his and I got nothing and that's just how it is.

"Listen, I uh-"

"Hey," I cut him off. I don't really want to hear him apologize or anything. Don't want him to play nice or be a nice guy or anything. "Forget about it." I don't know what I want - from him, from anybody, from life. "It's just...uh," I don't even really know what I'm trying to say. "It's, you know, so sudden. Look, I knew you were coming back, I just...well, didn't think it would be so soon, so...."

But for a minute, it's just like the old days, like it was between us when we were - cause he knows what I'm trying to say. "I know. It feels like you died and you didn't get everything done. You know, that's how I felt when I walked out of here."

Crazy. Shouldn't be thinking about this, but can't help thinking about when he - what I felt when he walked out - "How's Vegas been?"

But he doesn't really help me change the subject. "Undercover's lonely."

"That it is." Don't know what to say but to agree with him.

"Well, you got Fraser."

Does he even have any idea what he's saying - does he know - does he guess? I stare at him, trying to figure out what he means by that. But he's smiling, and I can only smile back. "Right." I laugh and he laughs and I don't even know why we're laughing. Except...well...Fraser.