Constancy It's funny how life can be so simple in one moment, and completely altered in the next. It isn't even the big things that affect this change, but the small, instantaneous ones. A sob. A smile. A kiss. A shot. A simple knock on the door. When that door opened and I beheld the wary green eyes of my former best friend, I knew that nothing would be the same. The time for change had come. *Ray*. *Ray Vecchio*. No mistaking the quick flash of panic in his eyes, or the equally sudden flare of jealousy in those of Ray's. The other Ray. My Ray. *What do they call you*? *Who*? Do either of them recognize how incredibly appropriate that question is, as is its answer? My world may be changing, tilting on its axis, but my Ray's is being pulled out from underneath him. He left his old life behind, almost forgotten; the new life he has forged is being taken from him without warning. He is floundering, drowning again, and I greatly fear that, this time, no amount of my air can save him. This time, I have my own life to save as well. Two shots into the bathroom wall. I catch on immediately and drop to the floor, my Ray right behind me. Ray has saved us, though with a cold harshness I have never seen on his features. Or was that the last vestiges of Armando Langoustini, working by his own agenda? Are the two even separate, after all this time? I am suddenly, terribly concerned about the fate of my friend. My Ray is no longer Ray Vecchio, but the Ray Vecchio he replaced has yet to reappear. Those of his faith believes in Purgatory, a sort of limbo for souls not yet damned and not yet redeemed. I fear my friend's soul has been added to their ranks, caught in an endless tug-of-war between opposing forces. He must face this battle alone, though. My own path is diverging from his; I cannot lend my weight to his conflicts until I have overcome my own. And by then, I am afraid it will be too late. It has been said that a Mountie cannot refuse help to any soul in distress. This is not true; I have done it before. The tearful, pleading eyes of an old lady, robbed and abandoned in an alley, will haunt me to the end of my days, as will the cold green eyes of a man I once called my best friend. I have no choice; I must do my duty, and no amount of change can alter that. ***************** We reminisce briefly about our days together. We come to the conclusion that they are best forgotten. At least, Ray does, and I am forced to agree. If they mean so little to him, then they cannot mean more to me. Can they? Did we waste two years on false promises and happiness? Can he truly dismiss me, and my influence in his life, so easily? Muldoon arrives and so, shortly thereafter, do the feds. Some things, at least, never change. ****************** Nothing is constant. Certainties I have held sacred all my life have suddenly become myths. Memories of tearful silences and of hushed conversations overheard by innocent ears move suddenly from blurry confusion into clear focus. My gentle, loving mother, the one person who I could never associate with violence or the harshness of life, brutally betrayed and murdered. By a friend. By Muldoon. And now it is up to me to right my father's thirty-year-old wrong. Has Ray even seen his own mother since he got back? Certainly Francesca was surprised to see him. Even through her delighted reaction, though, I could see shock in her eyes. Certainly that sibling dynamic will never be the same; he isn't the only Vecchio to have changed in the past year. This maturity of hers which is nothing new to us, who have watched it develop, must be quite a surprise to this man who left behind a flighty, flirting sister. Or has he even noticed it? Has he noticed any of the changes in what used to be his environment? Elaine has gone, Louis has been replaced. Or can his eyes not see past the glory of his welcome, the open arms greeting the prodical son's return, and, behind it all, the confused, helpless floundering of his doppelganger. Nor, apparently, has he seen his family, with the exception of Francesca. Once the most important aspect of his life, more so even than his beloved Riviera. I would give almost anything for just one more moment with my mother, while he seems to be willingly disregarding his. Muldoon has stolen both our mothers: directly, in my case, and indirectly in Ray's. I hear the shot even through my grief, see Ray fall, and I must amend my thoughts. Perhaps Muldoon has, instead, stolen Mrs Vecchio's son. ****************** So much time spent in hospitals, together or apart. I look to him for comfort, for solace, for forgiveness, maybe. What I get are wisecracks and platitudes. I leave, I must go get my man for him, and nothing is resolved. ****************** *If you'll have me*. Does my Ray know what he asks of me? Does he want me to accept him as the man he is, or was, or will be? Does he even know himself? In any case, I have no choice. We are bonded in a way I could never be with Ray Vecchio. You shall have me, Ray, and together we will search for that lost part of yourself. You must be patient though, a while longer - I have my duty to perform, and this time, if I fail, all will be lost. ****************** *Nothing's permanent, son.* After all that I've lost in the past few days, I shouldn't be surprised at the departure of two people I said goodbye to long ago. I am surprisingly happy, though: after all these years I got that one last moment with my mother, felt her gentle touch on my cheek, saw the wonder in her eyes at the man her little boy had become. No words are spoken but, since the memories I have of maternal joys were mainly of warmth and caresses, I am comforted nevertheless. ****************** Six months in the arctic with my Ray, and, although the Hand of Franklin still remains undiscovered, we have blazed an infinite number of trails within ourselves. He has finally discovered himself and, in so doing, we have found each other. Our thoughts turn now to far-away friends and loved ones, to familiar surroundings, to the city, and I realize that my conception of home has changed too. ***************** Our arrival in Chicago is met with open arms from some, with hostility from others, and with indifference from most. We have not been open about our secrets, but our friends are not stupid people, and their conjectures have been quite accurate. Not that I am particularly concerned about public opinion, nor is my Ray; however, the contempt in one pair of eyes gives me pause. His attempts to find his own lost happiness has failed miserably; he found no light in the sunshine state, and so he has brought his darkness back home with him, and I despair now to find it turned on me. He waits until we are relatively alone at the precinct. *You know, Benny, I've been hearing some pretty wild rumors about you.* He is deluding himself, trying hard not to believe something that is abhorrent to him. I had hoped- foolishly, perhaps, that he could overcome this, surpass his upbringing, accept that light and love of any kind is a rare and precious commodity in this world. I was wrong. I remain silent, and his eyes narrow. *So, you sleeping with him?* I did not answer these questions when he asked them regarding his sister; I will not answer now. *You're screwin' him, Benny, is that it? Or maybe he's screwin' you.* My heart is pounding with each harsh word, as he turns this beautiful gift I have discovered into nothing more than cheap refuse. His voice is getting louder; we are attracting attention, but neither of us care. They hesitate to step into the middle of an altercation between friends, though whatever bonds were once are on the verge of breaking, perhaps irrevocably. *I bet Stanley just loves bending over for you...* I am slowly filling with icy fury at these words; not towards Ray - I feel nothing but coldness now where he is concerned - but towards the situation in which I find myself, towards the endless, unbreakable chain of events and of changes which have led us to this particular point in time. I no longer even hear the words. My mind is buzzing, my stomach constricting, my fists clenching despite themselves. I know only that he is still speaking, though, and that this litany of hatred and disgust must be stopped. My fist flies out, makes violent contact with hard flesh and bone. A shocked, blessed silence fills the room. I have faced this situation before, being goaded into losing control. Striking a friend has always seemed to me to be the ultimate betrayal of trust. Yet this time I lack the numbed shock, the guilt I felt that evening by the lake. This time, I feel nothing but the residual pain of my bruised knuckles. Ray fingers his swelling jaw, and smiles bitterly. "You've changed, Benny." Ah, Ray, I am who I have always been, which you would have recognized had you ever bothered to look. It is you who have changed. The light that first drew me to you such a long time ago - an eternity, it seems - is gone. Perhaps it is merely dormant. Perhaps it has been snuffed out for good. Only you know the depths to which your spirit has sunk since you left Chicago; though perhaps not even you know whether it can ever again resurface. I cannot wait for my Ray to return; I must leave this place immediately. My Ray will find me. I cannot hide from him; he knows me too well. After all, through all these endless changes and distortions of our lives, I, Benton Fraser, have managed, for better or worse, to remain constant. Such is my duty.