Merely You	  Merely You

 by Alison

  

 Author's Website: http://uk.geocities.com/asylum_girluk/utopia.htm

 Disclaimer: 

 Author's Notes: 

 Story Notes: It's smarm, angst and h/c; if you don't like it, steer
clear!

 

 

 Fraser woke suddenly from his half doze, and lay still. He was on the
couch, in the living room, and Ray still hadn't come home. 

 Rubbing his hands over his face, Fraser sat up. The movement attracted
Diefenbaker, who had been lying in the kitchen, and the wolf trotted over,
putting his head on Fraser's leg. He whimpered, and Fraser looked down,
reaching to absently scratch behind Dief's ears. 

 "I don't know," he said quietly. "I don't know what to do, Dief. It
scares me. I always know what to do, but not this time. He's good at his
job; I don't even know where to start looking. And I don't know if I
should. He needs to be alone." Fraser stopped and sighed, shaking his head
to try and dispel the confused thoughts whirling around in his brain. 

 Usually, when his mind became too full, routine helped him get back into
some kind of order, but this time nothing seemed to help. Dragging himself
up from the couch, Fraser went into the bathroom and showered, preparing
for the day. Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, all he could hear was
Ray's voice claiming, "routine is the silent killer," and he wanted to
cry. 

 The ringing of the telephone startled him out of his thoughts, and a
blaze of wild hope went through him as he almost ran to pick up the
extension by the bed. 

 "Hello?" 

 "Constable. Is he back?" Fraser closed his eyes at the sound of
Lieutenant Welsh's voice, and sank onto the bed. 

 "No, sir, there's no sign of him," he said. 

 "This isn't good, Constable, not good at all," said the Lieutenant.
"Vecchio's a cop; if he vanishes without trace then we have certain steps
which must be taken, do you understand me?" 

 "Yes, sir, of course I do," Fraser answered. "But I promise you that he's
not in any danger. He has a few problems and he needs to work through them
alone. Sir, he's entitled to the leave." 

 Welsh snorted. "Yes, Fraser, I am able to work that out for myself.
That's not the issue here. The issue is that a Detective has vanished.
Even you don't know where he is, and I don't think there's been a day
since you partnered up that you haven't known where he is at any given
moment. There's something going on here that I don't like, and when I find
out what it is, and when Vecchio is back on duty, I'm going to nail his
ass to the wall, and then I'm going to do the same to you. Do I make
myself quite clear?" 

 "Crystal, sir," muttered Fraser. 

 "That's good, Constable. Very good." Welsh slammed the phone down hard
enough to make Fraser wince. 

 "Oh, Ray," he muttered to himself, replacing the handset and standing up.
"Where are you?" 

 He walked over to the closet and opened the door, once again searching
through the clothes Ray had left behind, hoping for the hundredth time
that some kind of clue would present itself. But unless Ray had crept in
during the night and left a map with a large red `X' marking his location,
Fraser knew that there was nothing there to help him. 

 Sighing, he turned resolutely back towards the bathroom. Routine, that
was the answer. That had to be the answer.  

 Ray Kowalski twisted until he was peering over his shoulder at his
reflection in the bathroom mirror. He had promised himself that he
wouldn't do this; wouldn't inspect the injuries Harry had inflicted on
him, but in the way that he always prodded bruises to see if they hurt, he
couldn't help it. They were fading, anyway, he told himself. He was just
checking . 

 Most of the bruising had faded now; when he pressed on one
experimentally, it hardly hurt at all. His ribs still hurt when he tried
to do anything fancy, like breathe, but things were getting better. Or at
least that was what he kept telling himself. So what if he couldn't face
leaving this dirty, musty room? So what if he couldn't sleep because he
didn't want to know what his mind had in store for him? So what if he
missed Fraser so much it hurt? 

 He pulled on a loose shirt, trying to keep as much pressure as possible
off anything fragile. All his clothes were loose now; he didn't really
want to eat, didn't really want to do anything, except look out of the
window and wonder where all this rain was coming from. 

 He hadn't slept in a couple of days, and he was beginning to think he was
hallucinating. He kept seeing flashes of red out of the corner of his eye,
but whenever he turned to check it out, there was nothing there, so when
it happened again, he forced himself to ignore it. He missed Fraser, and
not every injury had to be prodded.  

 Fraser sat at his desk, staring into space. He jumped when his father
suddenly appeared in his direct line of vision, but didn't speak, simply
sighed. 

 "Son, this is getting ridiculous," 

 "Thanks, dad," said Fraser. "It's at times like this that I realise just
how much more empty my life would be without you." 

 "Well there's no need to take it out on me!" snapped Bob, perching on the
edge of Fraser's desk. 

 "How do you do that, anyway?" asked Fraser, momentarily distracted from
his thoughts. "How can you sit on things? How can you eat? And don't think
that I've forgotten that you stole my Stetson." 

 "Needs must, son, needs must. I have a reputation to maintain, even in
the Afterworld," said Bob, perfectly matching his son's tone. 

 "Oh for god's sake, dad, I don't have time for this now," said Fraser.
"What is it you want, or are you just bored?" 

 "I thought you might like to know that the Yank's doing all right," said
Bob, idly inspecting his fingernails. "Of course, I may have misjudged
you..." 

 "What do you mean, the Yank's all right?" snapped Fraser. "Have you seen
him? Where is he?" 

 "Well of course I've seen him," said Bob patiently. "Otherwise I wouldn't
know that he was all right, would I?" He glanced at his son's face, and
changed his tone. "He's fine, Benton. He's in a hotel room somewhere -
don't ask me where, I know nothing of the geography of this absurd city.
But he's alone, and he's safe. He's just thinking." 

 "Dad, please, you have to find out where he is!" Fraser reached out for
his father before remembering that he couldn't touch him. "I have to speak
to him, get him to come back." 

 "Son, he doesn't want to, not yet," said Bob. "I know that as a family
we're not over-blessed with sensitivity, but I can tell you this much; he
hates himself, and he hates what's happened to him. He's a good man, this
Yank, but he has to learn that alone. Nobody can help him get there, not
even you." 

 "But - ," Fraser stopped. His father was right. Nobody could help Ray get
over what had happened to him. He shook his head, not knowing what to say.


 "I'll keep an eye on him for you," said Bob. 

 Fraser nodded, and looked down at his desk. 

 "Thank you," he said softly, but when he looked up again, the room was
empty. 

 "Thanks, dad."  

 Ray sat in the centre of the bed, his jacket pulled tightly around him,
ignoring the twinge of pain from his ribs. He gazed fixedly at the
cellphone in front of him, trying to pluck up the courage to use it, to
dial a number which was all too familiar. 

 "Come on, Kowalski," he muttered to himself, reaching out to stroke one
finger down the cold plastic. "How hard can it be?" 

 He knew how hard it would be; he knew that if he switched the phone on,
then there would be messages for him, and those messages would be from
Fraser, and Ray's emotions were too close to the surface to deal with
Fraser right now. He had other things to do before he could think about
Fraser. 

 He stood up suddenly and paced to window. Still fucking raining. It had
been raining for so long now. Ray hated rain; it depressed him in a way
nothing else did. He hated the way that it made the city look grey and
dirty, and most of all he hated the way the air felt and tasted when it
rained. 

 He turned his back on the rain, and looked again at the phone on the bed.


 How the fuck had he gotten here? How had he reached this stage in his
life, when he was frightened of a piece of plastic and wire? He was a cop,
for god's sake, and a good one; he had been a husband and a provider, he
knew how the world worked. Where had it gotten so screwed up for him? 

 "No," he said suddenly. "No more. I won't be screwed around any more." 

 He went to the phone and switched it on, ignoring the waiting messages.
It was the only way he could do this, the only way he would get through it
was alone. 

 Trying to ignore the tremble in his hands, he dialled the number. As soon
as he heard the voice on the other end of the line, he disconnected, and
dropped the phone as if it had suddenly turned into a poisonous snake. 

 "Shit!" he said quietly, "Shit. You useless, useless screwup, Kowalski." 

 The phone shrilled, and he jumped. Looking at the number displayed, he
shook his head and switched the machine off. 

 "Can't do it," he whispered. "Useless bastard. Can't do it." 

 Very deliberately, he crossed his arms in front of his ribcage and
pressed down, hissing a breath through his teeth at the sudden explosion
of pain. 

 "You want this again?" he said. "You want this when you go back? You
don't do it now, you're fucking dead, you know you are." 

 A flash of red again caught his eye, and he looked towards the corner.
There was nothing there, as usual, but in his mind, Ray conjured up a
picture of Fraser, standing in front of the Consulate, rod up his ass, and
he almost smiled. 

 Straightening, he switched the phone on again, and dialled the number.
This time he didn't hang up when it was answered. 

 "Hi, Harry," he said quietly. "I want to see you." 

 "I knew you'd call eventually, wuss," said Harry. "You don't know what to
do without me around, do you? You need me." 

 "I want to see you," Ray said again. "Will you come?" 

 "Of course I will, Ray. I've missed your scrawny little ass. Does it need
a good fucking?" 

 "Today?" persisted Ray, refusing to answer the question. "I want to see
you today." 

 "Just tell me where you are, and I'll be there," Harry answered.  

 Ray couldn't keep track of the number of times he had almost chickened
out and run away from this meeting. Since he had told Harry where he was
staying, he had divided his time equally between the window, watching the
street, and the bathroom, throwing up what little he had eaten. 

 By the time there was a knock at the door, Ray had worked himself into
such a frenzy of nerves, that he found himself paralysed with fear,
genuinely unable to move. He stared at the door as if it was about to open
of its own accord. Just what the fuck was he thinking? 

 "Open the door, Ray," Harry's voice startled him out of his paralysis. "I
know you're in there, so just open the door, okay?" 

 "'Kay," he muttered, pushing himself away from the wall. He glanced at
the rain still sheeting down outside the window, and shook his head. He
could do this; soon it would all be over, one way or the other. 

 He opened the door, and stepped back so that Harry could get into the
room. Harry was a big man; he seemed to fill the tiny space, and Ray
immediately felt insignificant and overwhelmed. He recognised the feelings
and tried to put them back in their box, determined not to lose the fight
before it had even started. 

 "So, Ray, have you decided to behave at last?" Harry said, seemingly
casual, but Ray wasn't fooled for a moment. Harry could often start off
seemingly calm, but his temper was explosive, and Ray knew better than to
believe that easy stance. 

 I said, have you decided to behave?" Harry said again, beginning to
frown. 

 "Yeah, I have," answered Ray. "I'm going to do what's right. 

 "Good," said Harry. "So how are you gonna say sorry for how you've been
acting?" 

 Ray took a deep breath, licking his lips nervously. 

 "I don't have anything to be sorry for," he said. "I only ever did what I
thought was right; what you wanted." 

 "Until the Mountie," retorted Harry, taking a step away from Ray, and
seating himself on the bed. "He made you think you were worth something,
didn't he? You realise now that you're not? You're not worth shit, Ray,
you must know that by now." 

 "Then why are you here?" asked Ray, folding his arms defensively around
his body. "If I'm not worth anything, why are you here?" 

 Harry shrugged, and seemed to give it some thought. Then he reached down
and began to unfasten his jeans. 

 "Because you know how to suck cock," he said. "So get over here and show
me just how sorry you are." 

 Ray stepped backwards rather than forwards, and Harry stopped what he was
doing and scowled. 

 "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demanded. "Don't get
all brave on me, Ray. Maybe that works with your police cronies, but I
know what you're really like." He stood up and walked towards Ray. 

 Ray took another step backwards until he felt the solid door of the room
behind him. He had to do it now, before Harry took control. 

 "There's a great word for people like you, Harry," he said quietly.
"You're a bully." 

 "Bully?" Harry snorted with laughter. "I'm not some kid in the playground
threatening to whip your skinny ass, Ray. This is way bigger than * bully
*. You know that if you don't do what I want you to do right now, they're
gonna be scraping you up off the sidewalk." 

 "A bully can be any age," said Ray. "you don't have to be a kid. You pick
on people who you know you can control, and you move in on them. You did
it to me, and you'll do it to other people. But you're not doing it to me
anymore, understand? I don't need you; I've grown up." 

 "Well, good for you, Ray," said Harry, taking a step closer. Ray held his
ground, but couldn't completely hide the flinch, and he cursed himself for
it. 

 "Big talk, that's all," Harry took another step. "You're just as much of
a wuss as you always were. You've just forgotten everything I taught you.
Just because you got a pity fuck from the Mountie doesn't mean you're
worth anything." 

 "Don't think I've ever had a pity fuck in my life," replied Ray, holding
his ground. "But I've given you a few." 

 He ducked under Harry's fist and landed a blow of his own in the other
man's belly, causing Harry to double over as the air was driven out of his
body. 

 Ray was horrified by what he had done, but at the same time, a feeling of
elation began to make itself felt as the adrenaline kicked in. He waited
for Harry to begin to straighten up, and then lashed out again, catching
him on one cheekbone, opening up a cut which began to drip blood. 

 Ray danced away, invincible, immortal. 

 "You shit!" Harry almost screamed, putting a hand against his bleeding
cheek. "I'll fucking * kill * you for this." 

 "You can't, not anymore," answered Ray. "I don't need you, I don't need
your approval, and I don't need the crap you gave me. Would still give me,
if you could. No more, Harry. It fucking stops now." 

 "It stops when I say it stops, shithead," said Harry, one hand still
pressed against his cheek. "Who died and made you god? You don't do
anything without my say so." 

 "I do, Harry. I do now," said Ray. "I want you gone, do you understand? I
want you so gone that you have to learn a different language. If I see you
near me, or hear about you, I'll arrest you and lock you up so fast that
your ass will have scorch marks on it. Could you handle that, Harry? Could
you handle prison? Having to prove what a tough guy you are all the time?
Think about what would happen to you in there." 

 "And you'd be the one to put me there?" Harry laughed derisively. "You
won't even get out of this room in one piece." He looked at the blood on
his hand, and then back at Ray. "You shouldn't have done that." 

 "Yeah, I should," replied Ray. "I should have done it to you a long time
ago. What you do isn't right, Harry, and you need to stop doing it." 

 Harry lunged for Ray, who once again stayed just out of reach. 

 "No!" he snapped. "Just get the fuck away from me, Harry. Get away from
me, and from everybody who knows me. It's finished. You touch me again and
I'll fight back, and this time I'll win. I swear to God that I'll arrest
you if you so much as look at me again." 

 "And testify?" demanded Harry. "You'd let your cop buddies hear about
what we did? Would you like them to hear about how you let yourself get
fucked up the ass? How I tied you to the bed using your own handcuffs and
fucked your mouth? Do you want to tell them what my come tastes like?" 

 "If I have to," answered Ray, trying to ignore the churning in his
stomach. 

 "You'll never be able to work in Chicago again," sneered Harry. 

 "There are plenty of places I can go," said Ray. "And are you willing to
go on the stand and describe what it's like to fuck me? You want to admit
that you're nothing but a fruit? And a fruit who's into hurting other
people? You wouldn't last a second in jail." 

 They were at an impasse, and they both knew it. They both stood to lose
everything. 

 "Look," Ray said finally. "Neither of us can win like this. Get out of my
life, okay? Whatever it was that made me do what you wanted has gone, I'll
fight you every step now, and you know that's not what you like." 

 "It's the fucking Mountie, isn't it?" demanded Harry. "Before he came
along, things were fine. What's he done to you that's made you change?" 

 Ray paused. What had Fraser done? Made him realise he was worth
something? Made him understand that loving and being loved were emotions
to be cherished, not something to be trodden on? 

 "He made me remember what it's like to live," was all he said. 

 "Oh, very sweet," Harry dabbed at his cheek again. "Very ... romantic.
You deserve each other." 

 "Yeah, I think we do." 

 "If you cross my path again, Ray, I'll kill you, you do know that?" said
Harry, and Ray let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. 

 "Harry, if I never see you again, it'll be too soon," he replied. 

 Harry turned and made his slow way towards the door, turning to look Ray
up and down in a way that made him want to hide. 

 "I liked you," said Harry softly. "That's why you're not dead. Watch your
back. You never know who might be there."  

 "Good afternoon, Canadian Consulate ...." 

 "It's me, Frase." 

 Fraser's legs gave way and he sank into his chair. 

 "Ray? Where are you?" 

 "I'm at the apartment, if you still want me." 

 Fraser almost laughed. The only thing that stopped him was Ray's voice.
He sounded tired, unsure. 

 "I've missed you so much that I can't find the words," he said, and then
had to swallow past a sudden, absurd lump in his throat. There was silence
at the other end of the line for a few seconds. 

 "Me, too," Ray finally replied. 

 "What happened, Ray?" Fraser looked up and signalled to Turnbull to close
the door. Once Turnbull fathomed that Fraser wasn't just waving at him, he
complied. 

 "He's gone this time, Frase. I mean really gone," said Ray. 

 "You haven't...?" Fraser didn't know how to phrase the question, but Ray,
being who he was, understood. 

 "No, I haven't done anything stupid. I guess I just called his bluff
properly this time. I kinda took out some of my frustration though. He's a
bit bruised." 

 "Where have you been?" Fraser dismissed Harry from his mind. Any
repercussions could be dealt with later. Ray was the priority at the
moment. 

 "Just across town. I've never been far away." In the apartment, Ray held
the receiver a little closer to his ear, trying to hear Fraser breathing.
He hoped he hadn't made a huge miscalculation; he hoped Fraser still
wanted him. 

 "And you're home, now?" asked Fraser, and Ray smiled in relief. Home. 

 "Yeah, I'm here," he said. "Got laundry and domestic stuff to do. Will
you be here later?" 

 "Try and stop me," snapped Fraser quickly, and this time Ray laughed. 

 "Wouldn't want to do that," he said.  

 Fraser opened the door quietly, and looked into the apartment. He could
see that Ray was back - clothes were draped over various items of
furniture, and the aroma of strong coffee hung in the air. 

 "Ray?" 

 "Hey, Frase," Ray's voice was quiet but steady, and Fraser quickly closed
the door and made his way into the living room. 

 Ray was sitting in one corner of the couch, legs pulled up defensively.
He looked tired and thin, unsure. 

 "God, I've missed you!" It was out before Fraser could stop it, and Ray
smiled slightly, nodding. 

 "Me, too," he said. "Didn't know if you'd want me back." 

 "I don't want to think what it would be like without you," answered
Fraser, shedding his tunic, and sitting at the other end of the couch.
Slowly, Ray straightened his legs until his bare feet were tucked under
Fraser's thigh. The touch seemed to reassure them both, and the tension in
the small room eased a notch. 

 It eased even further when Diefenbaker head-butted the door in an attempt
to attract Fraser's attention. 

 "Oh my god," said Fraser, standing up. "I've shut him out." 

 He opened the door, and Diefenbaker gave him a disdainful look. However,
once the wolf realised his packmate was back with them, he forgot his
annoyance and flung himself at Ray with all the abandon of a puppy. 

 "Could you get him offa me?" Ray gasped, pushing at the furry body
currently pinning him to the couch. "Don't just stand there and smirk." 

 "Well, he's deaf..." began Fraser. 

 "Don't gimme that!" said Ray. "He's deaf in the same way I'm blind. He
can function. Get him off!" 

 Finally, Dief was persuaded to leave Ray alone, but he sat close. 

 "Are you okay, Ray?" Fraser asked, sitting on the couch again, this time
a little closer. 

 "Well I've been half drowned in wolf drool, but apart from that, I'm
fine," answered Ray. 

 "No, that's not what I meant," said Fraser quietly, and watched as Ray's
face became still and expressionless. 

 "I dunno," he said finally. "I feel ... weird, I guess. What's the word?
Liberated, that's it. I think ... no, I know ... it's over, but there's a
part of me that won't let go. Not yet." 

 "Will you tell me what happened? Where were you?" Fraser put a cautious
hand on Ray's shoulder. 

 "No. Well, not yet," said Ray. "One day I'll tell you, I promise. I just
needed some time to get my head round what was happening. I don't want to
think about it now." 

 "Have you let Lieutenant Welsh know you're back yet?" asked Fraser. 

 "God, yes," answered Ray. "Chewed my ear off. I've got some serious
explaining to do there, I can tell you. I've got to go in tomorrow and see
him." 

 "You're thin," said Fraser, moving his hand on Ray's shoulder. "Do you
want some food?" 

 "In a little while," Ray said, his voice little more than a whisper. He
turned his head and his gaze locked with Fraser's. Both men moved at the
same time, holding each other tightly, Ray's head tucked into the crook of
Fraser's neck, Fraser's hands moving constantly on Ray's back. 

 "I missed you. I missed you," Ray whispered over and over again. "God,
I'm sorry, Fraser. I'm sorry for everything." 

 "I should have been there, Ray. I should have seen Harry come into the
apartment. I wanted to help." 

 "Nah," Ray said, tightening his grip even more. "I had to do it by
myself. It'll be okay now, I promise." 

 Fraser pushed himself away and held Ray at arm's length. 

 "You're too thin," he said. "And you're exhausted. Do you want to sleep
for a while, and we'll talk later?" 

 As if the question had triggered something in his mind, Ray felt his
whole body sag at the thought of his own bed, and he nodded without
speaking. 

 "Come on, then," said Fraser, standing up and pulling Ray to his feet.
"Let's get you into bed. Sleep as long as you need." 

 "You'll be here?" There was a note of uncertainty in Ray's voice, and
Fraser hastened to reassure him.  

 It was dark before Fraser heard sounds of movement in the bedroom. He
stayed where he was on the couch, but listened as Ray went into the
bathroom and had a shower, then came out and began to look for some
clothes. 

 After what seemed a long time, Ray emerged from the bedroom, not looking
at Fraser. 

 "Ray? Are you okay?" Fraser watched as he walked towards the window and
looked out at the night. 

 "I think the rain's stopping," Ray said after a minute. 

 "That's good," answered Fraser. "It's been raining for a long time." 

 Ray nodded, and rested his head against the glass, silent for a long
time. 

 Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, Fraser said Ray's name,
turning it into a question. 

 Ray turned from the window and smiled; not a real Ray smile, but a vast
improvement on previous efforts. 

 "Hey," he said. 

 "You went a long way away then, Ray," said Fraser softly, wanting to
reach out but not sure how he would be received. 

 "Nah, I was always here," answered Ray. "I was a long time ago. There's a
difference." As ever, choosing the most direct route, he climbed over the
back of the couch and slid down until he was sitting close to Fraser.
Reaching over he put a hand on the denim clad thigh next to him. 

 "I'm back now," he said. "Now's better than then." 

 "Oh Ray, I'm so glad," said Fraser, with more feeling than he intended.
"I didn't know what to think when you went. I thought you'd gone for
good...." 

 "I couldn't leave you, Frase," said Ray seriously. "I couldn't ever do
that. I just needed to prove I could do it alone, y'know? Just me. Well I
can, and now I know that, I don't have to do it again. Make any sense at
all?" 

 "As much sense as you usually make," answered Fraser, giddy with relief. 

 "That much, huh?" said Ray. "Nice to know I haven't lost my touch." 

 "No, I didn't mean that," Fraser hastened to correct, but was stopped as
Ray kissed him. 

 "Don't matter," he said against Fraser's lips. "It's over now, okay?
We're here and we're together. I don't plan to go anywhere anytime soon." 

 Fraser gave into his impulse, and gathered Ray into a fierce hug, sliding
his hands under the thin shirt, letting his fingers trail over the
separate vertebrae that made up Ray's spine, marvelling that someone who
felt so fragile was in fact one of the strongest people, in every sense,
that Fraser knew. 

 They held each other, content. And outside, the rain slick street stayed
empty. 

 The End 

End