Saving Ray	  Disclaimer: This piece of fiction has been written
solely for the enjoyment of the readers (and the author). No infringement
of copyrights has been intended. Words of thanks go out to Anagi, Audra,
Cheryl Barnes, Jennifer Swanson and Surfgirl, for taking the time to beta
read this story.  This is the first time I'm writing a story with Stan
Kowalski, and I haven't written in quite a while (I'm a bit rusty), so
please be merciful.  The story is a companion piece to the poem "Sunset,"
which is featured here as a prologue of sorts.	Merry Christmas, everyone.
  Rating: PG  SAVING RAY by Renny Ramos No one knows  that I wait each day
for the sun to sleep. I wait until I am alone. And then I run  to where
the grains of sand  grow cool under my feet and the waves  whisper
soothingly to me.  I wait until all lovers  are back home, and the birds
are back in their nests, putting their melodies to rest. There is a tall
piece of rock that stands proudly  along the fringes of the shore. This is
where I sit everyday to watch the sky's colors turn mute. Each day, I wait
for that brief moment  just before the light vanishes for good. I wait for
the sun  to flash that streak of red  across the sky.  It makes me happy 
each time I see it. For in that moment,  it's almost as if  I had never
left.  And I could pretend  I could bring things back to the way they
were. I sit quietly upon this rock while the waves  nip at my feet.
Sometimes,  I find the courage to say  the words aloud. I draw the truth 
from my own heart, and my silent friends  listen to me. Today ... I told
the waves how much the sky  reminded me of you. It was a brilliant red,
with a flash of blue.  "Sunset" by Renny Ramos	* * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * He took a deep breath, tapped his lips lightly a few
times with his fingers, then pushed his eyeglasses closer to his face.
"This is it," he told himself. Then, "Damn, I can't do this." He closed
his eyes, breathed again. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay." With a soft grunt,
Stanley Raymond Kowalski crouched down and cupped his companion's face
with his hands.  "Dief, stay," he commanded. The wolf fidgeted in
response, whining softly in protest even as he clamped down on the fringes
of a brown paper bag. Stan laughed and rubbed the animal's neck with both
hands. "Yeah, Dief buddy. I know you're just dying to give your present to
him, but you gotta trust me on this, all right? You gotta give your
present to him at the right time." He paused, then cupped his face a
second time. Dropping his voice to a more serious tone, he said, "Now.
Just stay, all right? Stay. I'll give the signal." The wolf quieted down
and dropped the bag before resting his paws on the cooling sand. With one
last, thoughtful pat, Stan rose to his feet and looked towards the shore. 
Damn. He began to walk, his movements slow and cautious. Pressing his
fists inside the pockets of his jacket, he thought of Fraser and the two
words that had once saved his life. Bloom. Close. Bloom. Close. He played
those words over and over in his head, like a silent mantra.  Only this
time, he wasn't the one drowning. He cast his eyes towards the tall, lean
man who walked barefoot along the shore, lost in thought. He watched him
as he threw each pebble from his hand into a perfect arc sailing down the
blue waves. Each throw he made was precise, elegant. There was a sleek
grace in the way he moved, and for a moment Stan was reminded of a wild
stallion -- handsome, powerful, proud ... hunted, cornered ...	Fighting
for his life.  Stan walked towards Ray Vecchio, and soon his steps
produced soft splashes on the water. Ray turned and immediately backed
off, his body stiff and poised to fight, his eyes hard and glinting.  Stan
raised his hands, palms facing up. "I'm not here to make trouble," he
said. At his words of assurance, Ray's body relaxed, though he continued
to eye the man warily.	"Then what are you doing here?" he asked in a
cool, detached voice. Stan shrugged. "Oh, nothing. I was just in the
neighborhood, thought I'd say hi. There's this seminar up in ... that's
not important." He cocked his head. "How's your wound?" he asked. "Still
hurt?" Ray shrugged. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, it still
feels sore, but ... I'll be okay."  "Good, good," Stan said, before taking
a deep breath. The two men eyed each other silently for a long moment. Ray
rubbed his forearms a few times and shivered slightly from the cold wind.
He wore an unbuttoned, long-sleeved white shirt over his bare torso.
Around his neck hung a cross that glimmered faintly in the dying light. 
"I suppose you know about me and Stella?" he asked.  Stan nodded. "Yeah,"
he answered.  "Did she tell you?" Stan shook his head. "I heard it from
Frannie," he said. Ray licked his lips. "Have you talked to her yet?" Stan
nodded silently in reply. Ray sighed once, then asked, "How is she? Does
she still hate me?" Stan shook his head. "She's not the type to look
back," he answered. "Besides," he continued, "I think by now she knows
what really happened." "What do you mean?" "Come on, Vecchio," Stan said.
"The doctors gave you a clean bill of health. Your psych tests came back
fine. You're gonna be okay. You've got your old job waiting for you, plus
a promotion and a commendation. I'm back to being Stanley Raymond
Kowalski. You can have your old life back. What are you waiting for?"
"It's not ..." Ray paused and shook his head. "I can't," he said.
"Everyone misses you," Stan continued. He was silent for a moment, then
said, "Fraser's back." Ray raised his head and looked up at him. "Benny?
Benny's back?" he said softly. Stan nodded. "He asked to be transferred
back, because he missed ... his home." He eyed Ray silently as the man
stared off into the distance. His voice was kind when he spoke. "Come back
to Chicago with me, Ray. Come home." Ray looked at him with misty eyes. 
"I can't," he softly answered. He shook his head. "You don't know what
you're saying." Ray turned and began to walk away, but Stan pressed on.
"What are you hiding from?" he asked. Ray froze. "What do you think I'm
hiding from?" he asked. He turned to face Stan. "Do I look okay to you?"
Without waiting for his reply, Ray moved closer and pulled the sleeves of
his shirt up to his elbows. "Look at me," he said, his voice a sharp
whisper.  Stan looked in silence at the tracks on Ray's arms, and the
fresh slits across his wrists.	Ray's voice trembled as he spoke. "Look at
this man, this is why I can never go back. You think I'll go back to them
and let them see me like this? Those psych tests? I lied. I said
everything they wanted to hear. You think I'm gonna tell them what really
went on?" He gave a deep, shuddering sigh. "Do you think I'm gonna tell
them just what going undercover is like?"  Stan looked into Ray's eyes,
speechless. "Have you ever lived each second of your life in fear? Do you
ever wake up each day, wondering whether it'll be your last? Do you know
how it feels like to kill to save one's cover?" Ray brought up his right
hand. "This hand ... threw bombs and burnt houses. This hand ..." and his
voice broke. "I used this hand to put a gun to a man's head. I blew his
brains out because I had to keep my cover." His face tightened into a
grimace. He turned and began walking towards a tall piece of rock. He
climbed on it, and Stan did the same.  Together, the two of them sat on
the rock. Stan looked on quietly as Ray shielded his face with his hands.
"I miss them. Oh, God, I miss them," Ray said, "but how can they see me
like this?" His voice dropped to a whisper. I can't. I just can't."  Stan
reached out. After a brief moment of hesitation, he rested his hand on
Ray's shoulder. "Ray, come back with me. We'll get some help. You don't
have to go through this alone. They have to know." "I don't even know who
I am anymore," Ray said, his voice thick with unshed tears. For a long
time, they said nothing to each other. Then Ray spoke. "I never wanted to
hurt Stella, or you," he said. "I really thought I could build a new life
with her. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  "Sure, man. Okay," Stan whispered
soothingly, as he rubbed Ray's back. Together, they waited for the sun to
disappear. "You still love being a cop, Ray?" Stan asked, after a long
moment of silence had passed.  Ray sighed. "Yeah," he nodded. "I do." 
"Then come back to Chicago with me," Stan said. "Everyone misses you --
Fraser misses you." "He doesn't need me anymore. He has you for a
partner." Stan shook his head. "You know what he talks about more than
those Inuit stories?" "What?" "You. And it's kinda hard to shut that
Mountie up, once he starts talking." And they both laughed. Ray looked
down, saw the tracks and the slits and his laughter faded.  "It's gonna be
dark soon," he said. "You'd better go. Just tell them I said hi." "Ray
..." "Please," Ray whispered. "Just go." Stan shook his head and sighed. "
All right," he said finally. "Could you walk with me a little? I got
something for you." Ray hesitated, but finally agreed. "Okay," he said. 
They slipped down the rock and walked back towards the shore. After a few
steps, Stan raised his right arm and a white figure began his approach. 
"What ..." Ray began to say. He stopped walking and watched in a daze as
the wolf came closer. A half-sob, half-laugh escaped his lips, and he
crouched down to greet his old friend. "Oh, my God. Dief ..." Ray said.
"What's this ..." he began to say, and the wolf dropped the bag at his
feet.  Ray opened the bag and laughed. "You brought me doughnuts," he
said. He laughed, as he stroked the wolf's soft white fur. It was a
laughter that quickly dissolved. Ray wrapped his arms tightly around the
wolf. "Oh, God ..." he sobbed. Dief whined softly and moved closer,
putting one of his paws over the man's arms. Stan moved away, leaving the
two. For a long time, Ray just knelt on the sand, hugging the wolf. Then,
at some point, the two began playing fetch using an old tennis ball that
also came inside the bag. When the stars appeared, Ray walked towards Stan
and sat next to him on the sand. "Okay," Ray said. "Okay." Stan smiled and
nodded. Ray smiled back. "You didn't come here for a seminar, did you?"
Stan shook his head and smiled again. "Anyone put you up to this?" Stan
shrugged. "I'm a nosey parker, what can I say?"  Ray grinned. "And Dief?"
"Hey, no good cop goes into a situation without back-up." "Ah." Ray
nodded. He looked at Stan and they both smiled. "Come on, Vecchio," Stan
said, standing up and offering his hand to Ray. "Let's go home."     THE
END 19 December 1999 E-mail the author: Blue_Grey_Eyes@hotmail.com