They're Coming to Take Me Away	They're Coming to Take Me Away

 by Beth Green

  

 

 Disclaimer: Not mine, more's the pity. Just took 'em out of the box to
play for a bit.

 Author's Notes: This was inspired by something I read recently. Hope
y'all like it!

 Story Notes: 

 

 

 They're Coming to Take Me Away
 by Beth Green 

 This was inspired by something I read recently.  Stanley Raymond
Kowalski, aka Ray Vecchio, paced across the consulate waiting area, as
Constable Renfield Turnbull did his best to ignore him. One, two paces in
a half shuffle to the right, and a partial turn, one, two more paces,
another half turn, another two paces. Turnbull soon found it impossible to
keep his concentration focused on the paperwork piled on the desk before
him. Instead, he found his gaze straying to the increasingly agitated
detective. 

 Despite his obvious impatience, Ray's movements became increasingly
graceful as his steps continued. They took the form of a bizarre dance,
for his audience of one. Turnbull, much to his surprise, actually
identified an emotion in himself which one could almost describe as
resentment when his superior, Constable Benton Fraser, finally made his
appearance, and Ray ceased his frenetic movement. 

 Ray stopped abruptly in mid-step. He hurried over as Fraser exited
Inspector Thatcher's office. He grasped Fraser's wrist tightly enough to
cause discomfort, were Fraser the sort to admit to such a thing. Instead,
he bore it stoically, as an obviously agitated Ray dragged him along,
entreating, "Fraser, c'mon, lets get outta here. What took you so long?
You were supposed to get off at five o'clock and here it is, already..."
Ray took a moment to glance at his watch before continuing, "five fifteen
and you're still on duty." 

 Fraser endeavored to correct Ray's misapprehension. "Actually, Ray, I've
been dismissed from duty for the day, and, were it not for the fact that
Inspector Thatcher is going to be out of town for the next three days,
attending a conference in Toronto, I would have joined you at five
o'clock, as originally agreed upon. She had to apprise me of the
details..." 

 Ray did not allow Fraser to complete his sentence, as he dragged his
partner towards the exit. "Whatever. Fraser, I have got to talk to you,
like, yesterday." 

 Perplexed, Fraser stated, "As I recall, you and I conversed numerous
times yesterday. If you are trying to tell me that something occurred
yesterday that I was not informed of..." Again, Fraser found himself cut
off by his friend and partner. 

 "Today, last week, and too many times before that." 

 With Ray propelling Fraser rapidly along, they'd already arrived at the
GTO. Fraser was dismayed when Ray resorted to politeness, something
utterly foreign to his nature. Ray opened the passenger door prior to
going around to the driver's side, stating, "In. Please." Now, Fraser was
certain that whatever his partner needed to talk to him about, was
certainly nothing trivial. He quickly took his place, balancing his
Stetson precisely in the center of his lap as he sat down. 

 Ray wasted no time in putting his car in gear, leaving a trail of burning
rubber as he screeched away from the curb. Normally, Fraser would have
commented on Ray's driving skills, or lack thereof. However, he was wise
enough to know that he'd best hold any such comments for the time being,
as they would only add to his friend's already agitated state. As he
wished Ray to focus as much of his attention as possible on the activity
of driving, Fraser forced himself to remain silent, merely bracing himself
with his hands resting on the dashboard, as the car accelerated into
traffic. 

 Ray was too upset to keep his mind fully on the task of driving. "Fraser,
I gotta talk to you." Ray was interrupted by a driver who decided to
create a space between the GTO and the car he'd been following, despite
the fact that there had previously been only room enough for a gnat. Ray
stood on the brakes, sharing a few choice curse words, and somehow managed
to avoid sandwiching the aggressive driver between the goat and the car
he'd been following. Ray inched closer, riding the man's bumper, muttering
curses under his breath. 

 Fraser was vastly relieved when the aggressive driver suddenly swerved
into the next lane, cutting off some other unfortunate. The other driver
was not as skilled as Ray, and as they left him behind, the sudden squeal
of brakes and ear-splitting crashing of metal could be heard. Ray remained
oblivious, as Fraser tried to convince him to investigate, and perhaps aid
the now tangled vehicles. 

 At Fraser's insistent, "Ray... Ray... Ray!" he glanced into his rear-view
mirror, noting that the drivers involved were uninjured, and engaging in
the time-honored Chicago practice of screaming at each other at the top of
their lungs, as all of the nearby vehicles called for assistance on their
cellular phones. They heard the call go out over the radio as a squad car
was dispatched to follow up. At Fraser's third "Ray!" he was finally
answered. 

 "Fraser, that asshole got what he deserved, and I've got enough shit
coming down on me as it is without taking on any more." 

 Fraser responded with an "Ah," figuring that Ray would now get around to
informing him of the reason for his frantic phone call earlier in the
day... 

 "Fraser, how soon can you get free? I gotta talk to you, the sooner, the
better. I just can't take this any more." 

 Further questioning during the phone call gained him nothing, as Ray
insisted that he did not wish to share anything where he might be
overheard, as he was calling from the police station. They'd agreed to
meet at five o'clock, when Fraser's shift would be over. 

 As Fraser waited patiently for Ray to reveal the reason behind his
frantic phone call, he observed his partner as he drove. Beyond his
driving skills, or lack thereof, Fraser did not like what he saw. Ray had
previously seemed uncomfortable the few times he'd caught Fraser looking
at him as he was at the moment, with intense scrutiny. Fortunately, Ray
did not seem aware of Fraser's current inspection. The usual bushy and
upright shiny spikes of hair appeared dull and missing their usual sheen.
The piercing blue eyes seemed shrouded in fog, as well as more prominent,
due to the dark circles which surrounded them. 

 In addition to the obvious signs of sleep deprivation, the planes of his
face seemed sharper and more well defined, and his clothes did not fit as
snugly as usual, indicative of a previous unnoticed loss of weight. Fraser
was appalled at himself, for not having previously noted these nonverbal
signs of distress in his partner. True, he'd had a hectic time at the
consulate the past few weeks, but that was no excuse for his lack of
attention to more important things. When another fifteen minutes' time
passed with no further word from Ray, Fraser decided to initiate
conversation. "Ray, as you seemed most anxious to meet with me this
evening, perhaps you'd like to share the reason for your current state of
anxiety with me?" 

 Shaking his head, Ray looked at Fraser rather than the road, a
circumstance which caused Fraser no little consternation. "Yeah, I would,
but it'd be easier to just lay it all out in front of you at one time,
instead of in bits and pieces. Although, I guess that's how this whole
thing has gone down, in little bits and pieces, that just keep getting
uglier and uglier. It's like when you start putting the pieces of a puzzle
together, hoping for a little glimpse of heaven, and instead you get a
nasty surprise when you see the underside of hell starting to form." 

 Fraser was rendered speechless, and too shocked to comment on his
partner's inattention to the road. "Ray, that was... That was quite
impressive: a remarkable descriptive allegory." 

 From Fraser's tone of voice, as well as his awe-struck impression, Ray
guessed that he'd been complimented. Rather than admit that he wouldn't
know an allegory if one came up and bit him on the ass, Ray graced his
partner with a half smile. "Yeah, every once in a while my mouth decides
to demonstrate that I'm not a total moron. Anyways, I'll tell you all
about it when we get to my place." 

 Ray drove the rest of the way in silence, as he darted in and out between
vehicles. Fraser was graphically reminded of why he hated being involved
in rush hour traffic of any sort. He let out the breath he didn't realize
he'd been holding as they finally pulled up in front of Ray's apartment,
somehow having managed to avoid the thirteen potential collisions Fraser'd
noted on the way. 

 When they entered the apartment, Fraser hesitated at the entryway,
waiting to take his cues from Ray. Ray made his way to the kitchen,
grabbing a beer for himself, and putting the kettle on for some tea for
Fraser. Ray settled into the sofa, patting the cushion next to himself.
When Fraser remained immobile, Ray invited, "C'mon, sit down. Take a load
off." 

 The kettle began to whistle as Fraser stepped away from the door. He
prepared his bark tea, which Ray always kept on hand for their evenings
in, and joined his friend, lover, and partner. 

 Fraser had noted the manila file folder which Ray had brought up from the
car. Much as it strained him to do so, he refrained from commenting on its
presence until Ray was ready to do so. As they settled down, shoulder to
shoulder and thigh to thigh, Ray began. 

 Waving the file folder, he began. "God, Frase, I was really hoping you'd
never have ta see what's in here. I mean, I've gotten some fan mail from
some kooks from time to time, it kinda comes with the territory; but
this... Well, this is just gettin' to be a little too much." 

 "What is it?" Fraser was desperate to uncover the contents of the file
which was the obvious source of Ray's discomfort. He laid a hand on the
folder, but Ray was not yet ready to relinquish it from his grasp. 

 Frowning, he told Fraser, "Now, wait a minute. Let me tell this like it
happened, and then maybe you won't get too mad that I never said anything
before this." 

 "It started about a month ago. Just this letter." Ray pulled out a
photocopy of a document. It was written in an amateurish scrawl, with
misspelled words scattered throughout. The script was hazy, and written by
hand. "U better leave him a lone. Signed, A frend." As Fraser examined the
reproduction, Ray supplied, "The original was written in purple crayon. It
came anonymously, through the mail. I figured, hey, no big deal. Right?" 

 At Fraser's nod, he continued. "In my line of work, you tend to attract
the nutbags. I have a special file I keep for `em, just for shits `n
grins. So, I added this to it. Then, exactly a week later, I get another
one." He pulled out another photocopied document, this one slightly longer
than the first. "Same purple crayon and everything." 

 Fraser read, "I tolled U to leave him alone. U better lissen if you no
what's good for you, or else. Signed, A frend." 

 "Again, it's no big deal. Somebody just needs to take away this kid's
crayons and slap his hands, or something." 

 "Then, a week later, I got this one." Ray's hand shook just slightly
enough that Fraser noticed as he handed over the photocopy. It read,
simply, "The mountie is mine." 

 Ray instantly perceived by Fraser's body language that he was not happy
that this was the first time he was hearing about this. Ray hastily
explained, "You were right in the middle of that Armenian thing over at
the consulate. You had enough to deal with, without my demented fan mail.
Just for the heck of it, I had forensics check it out, and then I started
to get worried maybe just a little. Whoever this was from, they didn't
leave one fingerprint, or one hair follicle behind. If they'd been careful
enough to use a dictionary, I might've actually taken `em seriously." 

 Fraser added this note to his growing pile, frowning. "So, I shouldn't be
concerned about a threat to my partner because...?" Fraser looked sharply
towards Ray, waiting for him to complete the sentence. 

 Ray replied defensively, "Because it wasn't really a threat! At least, I
didn't think so at the time. You expect me to start shaking in my boots at
some moron with a box of crayons?" Ray snorted disgustedly. "Get real,
Fraser." 

 "It wasn't until today that it started getting serious. When I got my
mail, my usual Monday morning threat was in my mailbox." Ray passed over
another photocopy. This note read, simply, "I warned you." 

 "I'm thinking, `Yeah, right, no big deal.' At least, until Welsh calls me
into his office. He's gotten an anonymous note in the mail, and he wanted
to talk to me about it. His wasn't in purple crayon. It was a copy of a
letter, on fake letterhead and all, showing that I'd been a resident at
Northville Regional State Psychiatric Hospital back in 1995, and was
accompanied by a letter asking if he knew what kind of people he had
working for him?" 

 "To make it even better, I get a phone call from Stella, telling me she's
gotten the same crap sent to her. God only knows how many of these this
asshole sent." 

 Ray handed the latest copies on to Fraser. He received them more
carefully than was his wont, as his instinct was to shred anything which
threatened his partner into small, insignificant bits. He would prefer to
thus shred the author of the anonymous notes, but restrained himself for
the time being, not having access to the actual source. He studied the
notes carefully, finally contributing, "I suspect that whoever sent the
note was at one time, himself, a resident of that facility. That would
most easily explain access to the letterhead, as well as the accuracy of
the note." 

 Leaning his head against Ray's, he held the letter at eye level, as he
explained. "If you look closely, you can see that the portion of the
letter which contains your name and address is slightly offline from the
rest of the letter. Obviously, it was added by someone other than the
author of the original letter. Unfortunately, the year also seems to have
been altered, possibly to hinder us from discovering that your maleficent
correspondent has, himself, been a resident of the aforementioned
psychiatric facility. Not knowing what year our libelous offender was an
inmate certainly hinders any investigation into that possibility." 

 Ray had become increasingly distracted by Fraser's nearness, inhaling his
strong, masculine scent as if it were a heady perfume. When Fraser noticed
Ray inhaling his scent, he found his cock slowly rising in response to the
erotic action. As he continued his explanation, he leaned ever closer, so
that the two were sharing breath on his last word. As he finished, his
lips lightly brushed Ray's. Ray's entire body roared up in response, as
their positions were quickly reversed. Fraser found himself the happy
recipient of a full frontal assault. Their actions grew more frantic as
belts were unbuckled and buttons were unfastened. Although Ray was majorly
appreciative of Fraser's effort to touch every square inch of visible skin
on his partner's body with his tongue, they were both sliding off of the
too small sofa. He removed his lips from Fraser's earlobe long enough to
gasp out, "Bed! Now!" 

 Fraser rapidly agreed, and spent the rest of the evening distracting his
partner from their unknown adversary. 

 The next morning, Fraser hovered around Ray, as if fearful that their
enemy could strike at any time. In light of the escalation of the current
threat, Fraser had decided that he was not going to let Ray out of his
sight, and planned to accompany him to the station. Ray knew how scared
Fraser was for him when he made that announcement, as that meant that
Turnbull would be in charge of the consulate. A sane Fraser would not even
consider such a thing. "Frase, as much as I love you, you know that the
consulate will fall apart if you're not there." 

 Fraser sternly disagreed. "I know no such thing. Inspector Thatcher made
certain that nothing of any importance would take place during her
absence. Even Turnbull can handle answering the phone, and he'll be more
than happy to give up guard duty." 

 "But what if an emergency comes up?" 

 "I have already directed Turnbull that I may be reached via your cellular
phone, should anything occur which he is unable to attend to." 

 Ray's muttered, "Gee, thanks," was loaded with sarcasm, as he experienced
a sudden flash of a day filled with a countless stream of frantic
telephone calls along the line of, "We've run out of postage stamps! I
can't find any paper clips!" Shaking himself both mentally and physically,
he prepared to face the day. 

 Despite the fact that Fraser had risen well before Ray needed to report
for work, they'd let the opportunity for a shared shower turn into
something that had them entering the station somewhat later than
originally planned. Ray's first instinct was to immediately leave, when he
was greeted by a chorus of obnoxious music from the Duck boys' boom box.
The sounds issuing forth were irritating enough; but, more irritating by
far was the chorus, which was all too clear to hear: "They're coming to
take me away, haha! They're coming to take me away, hoho, hee, hee! To the
funny farm! Where life is beautiful all day long. And, I'll be happy to
see those nice young men in their clean white coats and they're coming to
take me away!" 

 As Ray changed course for the offending boom box, intent on doing great
bodily harm, Huey quickly hit the "off" button. "Hey, Ray, chill out,
can't you take a joke?" 

 Ray bounced on the balls of his feet, looking every inch the fighter just
waiting for the bell to ring. Francesa walked up, making certain that her
course took her well within Fraser's personal space, as she cooed, "Hiya,
Fraser." Her voice rising several octaves and increasing several decibels
in volume, she yelled at Ray, "Hey, bro', can't take a joke?" She waved a
familiar looking piece of paper in his direction, the words, "Northville
Regional State Psychiatric Hospital" quite visible. "Don't worry, your
secret's safe with us." 

 Ray seethed, wanting nothing more than to rip the paper from Frannie's
hand, and shove it down the Duck boys' throats. Unfortunately, by the
snickers and comments which swirled around him, everyone in the entire
goddamn precinct had seen the note. He was saved from a charge of assault
and battery when Lieutenant Welsh stuck his head out of his office, "If
you people have so much time to stand around doing nothing, I guess I
needed to give you more work to do." Ray was instantly surrounded by a
frantic blur of activity as his colleagues hurried to look as busy as
possible. Ray slammed his fisted hand against his palm, when what he
really wanted to do was slam his fist through somebody's face.
Unfortunately, he had no name to stick on the anonymous face. But, he
would. 

 Fraser kept a polite distance from Ray, noting the tense body, the
narrowed eyes, all screaming, "Just give me an excuse to hurt somebody."
He knew that an offer of comfort would not be appreciated at his time, and
might only serve to cause Ray to misdirect his anger towards a surrogate,
such as himself. Perhaps he should have allowed Ray one quick assault on
the radio.. He immediately scolded himself for such a thought. Damage to
property was as much a criminal act as was damage to person. 

 However, damage had been done to Ray's person, in the form of libel, and
slander. The anonymous note writer must be found, and punished to the full
extent of the law. 

 Fraser decided to obtain a list of all of the inmates of the Psychiatric
Hospital in the past ten years, particularly any who'd recently been
released. Although Ray recognized more than a few of the names, none of
those he'd had any contact with had been recently freed. As it was the
only lead they had, Fraser was determined to follow where it led. "Ray, we
just need to determine the current whereabouts and circumstances of any of
the familiar names on this list." 

 Shaking his head, Ray disagreed. "No. Not possible. Number one, Welsh
will fry my ass if we spend all of our time doing that, instead of
following up on any of the dozens of case files sitting here on my desk."
Ray slammed his fist on a teetering stack of files to emphasize his point.
Only Fraser's quick reflexes prevented the pile from becoming a waterfall
of paper onto the floor. Number two: You seem to have forgotten one little
fact - As many of these guys as I know, you don't know a single one of
`em." 

 At Fraser's "Ah" of agreement, Ray continued. "As much as our anonymous
letter writer doesn't like me, he definitely seems to have a thing for
you." 

 Fraser questioned, "He, Ray? It could just as easily be a she." 

 "Hey, I know that, I'm just using it... gener-... gen-... generally." 

 "Asexually?" 

 "Yeah, that. He she, or it. Most definitely, It. Look, this creep doesn't
have the guts to carry out any fight other than on paper. I really don't
think I gotta worry too much. Hey, if worse comes to worse, and there's a
total smear campaign going down, we just bring back Vecchio, and Stanley
Kowalski goes on with a clean slate." 

 Confidently, Fraser replied, "I know you don't mean that." 

 Ray agreed, "Nah, but a guy can think, can't he?" With a smile, Ray
grabbed the top file from his desk top, and stated, "Let's get back to
work, and hope the rat crawls back into his hole." 

 A week later, Ray and Fraser had finally started to relax. The malicious
letter writer had actually gone nine days without another word, and Ray
was feeling hopeful. He and Fraser were in the kitchen, preparing dinner.
Ray's Mom was visiting her sister. Unfortunately, Mom's brother in law and
Ray's Dad hated each other's guts, so Mom had gone solo. Knowing that his
Dad was at loose ends without Mom around, they'd invited Damien for Sunday
dinner. 

 Ray commented, "Aside from the usual murders and thieves, it's been a
quiet week. Maybe the Mental Hospital reclaimed its lost wacko." 

 Smiling, Fraser responded, "One can only hope." His smile disappeared as
he reflected further on Ray's comment. "You know, Ray, only in Chicago is
a week of police work involving murders and thieves considered a `quiet
week'." 

 Immediately on the defensive, Ray responded, "Only in Chicago? Get real.
Any place where there's more than two people living within a hundred
acres, or hectares, or litres, or whatever the heck you call it up in
freezerland, you're gonna have crime." 

 As Fraser was taking a breath, preparing to launch into what Ray was sure
would be some long, involved Inuit story, Ray was literally saved by the
bell. Tossing an oven mitt in Fraser's general direction, Ray moved to the
door. "That must be Dad." 

 Being a cop, Ray almost always checked his peephole before opening his
door. Had he done so, things might have turned out quite differently.
However, Ray flung the door open wide, his cheerful greeting of "Dad!" cut
off by the sight which greeted him. 

 His father was being held by a large, gun-wielding woman. Her wild eyes
showed no sign of sanity. She held one well muscled arm around Damien's
neck, while the other held a Saturday night special, it's tip pressed
tightly against his temple. She stared at Ray as if he were the devil
incarnate, and shrieked, "You die!" as she pushed Damien in his direction.
The older man tumbled to the ground. 

 As her finger tightened on the trigger, she hesitated for just a moment
when she saw Fraser, her dismay evident in her cry. "Darling! You're not
supposed to be here! I would've taken care of everything, all neat and
tidy. I didn't want you to have to see. But, maybe if you do see what's
really inside of him when I pull the trigger..." 

 Ray had stood, frozen, when she'd first turned the gun on him. There was
no way he could outmaneuver a bullet. As she raved at Fraser, Ray had the
time to think, "I'd rather it be me and not Fraser or Dad," before she
pulled the trigger. 

 Ray closed his eyes, as everything seemed to happen at once. He'd steeled
himself for a fatal blow, but was surprised in a distant part of his mind
when the gun he'd thought for sure was aimed directly for his heart, fired
a bullet into his left upper arm instead. The burning searing pain hurt
like hell, and dropped him to the floor, but he quickly rolled away as
Fraser leapt to place himself between his lover and the gun-toting
lunatic. 

 Fraser had watched the drama as it unfolded before him, preparing to
attack his lover's murder, but knowing that he'd never reach her in time
to stop her from firing her weapon. 

 They had all reckoned without Damien Kowalski. It was bad enough when
someone threatened him, but when they threatened his boy... As soon as
he'd been freed, Damien wasted no time in trying to regain his feet.
Instead, he kicked out at his captor's legs, causing her to fall as she
fired. When Damien saw Ray go down, he literally lost control. Later, he
would say that he found out for the first time what a blind rage was. He
didn't remember going to her, battering away at the woman who dared shoot
his son. He was in the process of choking the life out of the woman when
Fraser pried his fingers from around her throat, saying, "Ray needs you!
He's going to be all right! Let me handle this! Please!" 

 He reluctantly loosened his grip as Fraser's words seeped through his
maddened brain. Leaving the gasping fiend in Fraser's capable hands, he
went to his son. 

 "Stanley, oh my God, Stanley, are you all right?" He helped his stricken
son to a seated position. Ray held his right hand over his bleeding bicep.


 "It's okay, Dad, I'm okay. Just, could you get me a towel or something?"
He hastily returned with the towel, helping Ray with a makeshift bandage
over the wound. 

 They looked over at Fraser, who was currently restraining their attacker
by the simple expedient of sitting on her. "Damien, who you be so kind as
to retrieve Ray's handcuff's from his bedside table? Thank you kindly." 

 As Damien left the room, Fraser blushed as remembered just how the
handcuffs had ended up in their current location. The room fell silent
after Fraser had properly restrained their prisoner. Ray and his Dad
watched quietly as Fraser called to report the shooting, and request an
ambulance. All three of them were caught up in the "what if's" presented
by the situation. 

 Much later that evening, they had returned from the emergency room, Ray
having sustained and through a through gunshot wound which had been
sutured closed. It so nearly so much worse. Damien looked at Fraser,
deciding to say what was on his mind. "You should have let me kill her.
It'd be like putting down a mad dog." 

 Fraser sighed. "Sir, I don't wish you to have the stain on your soul of
having been responsible for the taking of another's life. If anyone should
have killed her, it should have been me." 

 Ray contributed, "Well, stand in line, buddy. Anyone who holds a gun on
my Dad ain't long for this world." 

 Ray and his Dad exchanged a long look across the table. Then, Damien did
what he'd been wanting to do all night. He enfolded his son in his arms,
being careful of his injury, and hugged him as tightly as he could, while
Ray hugged back. He tried to hold back the tears which threatened to fall,
as he choked out, "God, son, I almost lost you. I almost lost my baby." 

 Ray made no attempt to hide his tears. "Oh God, Dad, when I saw you with
that gun to your head... Oh God, that was too close, that was just too
damn close." As they pulled back from their mutual clasp, both said the
words which had been uttered too few times between them over the years: "I
love you." 

 Ray and Fraser shared a mutual glance, which Damien was too tired to
notice. Each man, in his own way, knew that the other loved him
unconditionally. This had shaken all of them, but also helped to remind
them of what was really important in their lives; the best four letter
word there is: love. 

 And, when Damien finally left, Fraser and Ray spent the rest of the night
demonstrating just how powerful a force it could be.  ~end~ 

End They're Coming to Take Me Away by Beth Green: bethgreen@aol.com

Author and story notes above.