"Hey, Fraser," Ray called enthusiastically from behind his desk as Fraser entered the bullpen at the end of Ray's shift. "You ready to grab that bite to eat I promised you?"
Fraser approached Ray's desk and was bewildered he could actually see the metal top. "You cleaned your desk?" Fraser trailed his fingertips across the cool surface.
Ray shrugged his shoulders as if it was nothing. "Just put together a few files and actually filed them today. Why? You saying I'm a slob?" he asked, slightly amused at the bewildered expression on his partner's face.
"No. I just haven't seen the top of your desk since…" Fraser's expression changed to one of sadness. He lowered his voice and forced a small smile, finally making eye contact with Ray. "Not since you took over for Ray Vecchio." Fraser snuffled like he was coming down with a cold, then swiped a knuckle across his eyebrow. Ray knew better. "I'm sorry. Yes, I'm ready."
Ray understood Fraser's shift in mood. Every once in a while, something would trigger a memory of the Mountie's previous partner, Ray Vecchio. You don't just forget about someone because they up and disappeared on you. Memories and friendships don't work that way. Ray came around the desk and rested a hand on Fraser's shoulder. "It's okay, Frase."
Fraser motioned towards the swinging doors as Ray grabbed his leather jacket off the coat rack in the corner. "Shall we?"
The diner was unusually quiet for a Thursday evening. Ray gathered it was because of the Bears home football game. Fraser seemed distracted with his memories of Vecchio and enjoyed the quiet setting for a change. He wasn't feeling well, emotionally or physically and excused himself to the restroom to collect himself while Ray went to the counter to pay for their meal.
Fraser was rinsing his face with cool water when he heard the first shot. His head snapped up, eyes glued to the closed door. There was a second and then a third before Fraser had time to react. The two shots sounded different. Two different guns, two shooters.
Fraser's heart skipped a beat.
Ray.
He flung the restroom door open with all his might, grabbed hold of the corner of the partition wall and hurled himself around it without any regard for his own safety. He needed to get to Ray, to make sure he was…
Fraser stopped breathing when he saw the scene before him. The shooter had his gun trained on the waitress behind the counter. On the ground was his partner, his friend, his… his Ray.
A shot rang out and tore through Fraser's upper right shoulder, knocking him off balance. He fell into the booth beside him before he could make any advancement to check on Ray's well-being. Fraser struggled against the confined space of the table and booth. When he managed to pull himself free he was hit with a second bullet. This one grazed his left temple. He felt the sting of the bullet as it sliced through his skin, leaving a burnt trail behind. Fraser stumbled backwards again. His legs buckled underneath him. The last thing he saw before the world went black around him was the shooter fire another bullet into his friend and then turn and flee into the night.
Fraser awoke to a throbbing headache. The constant blip of a heart monitor beside the bed told him the nightmare he was having while asleep was in fact real. He had been shot. Ray had been shot.
"Ray," he mumbled voice harsh and scratchy from having a tube down his throat during surgery to have the bullet removed from his shoulder. He managed to open his eyes into thin slits, but closed them abruptly when the brightness of the room lights overloaded his senses. He had no idea of the time or the day. Just searing pain radiating from his shoulder and temple.
"He's awake," someone called from a nearby chair. "Francesca, get the nurse."
Fraser felt a hand settle on top of his. The weight wasn't familiar, the touch wasn't the same as…
"Ray," he called again.
"Fraser," Lieutenant Welsh's voice broke through the chitter-chatter of several people.
Fraser squeezed his eyes shut against the bright lights once more.
"Someone kill the lights," Welsh barked a command. There was the sound of skin being slapped and a quiet apology. "Sorry. Someone get the lights, please." Fraser could hear footsteps moving away. In an instant, the room lighting was bearable and Fraser could open his eyes without being blinded.
"Ray," he tried once more. He glanced to his right. Inspector Thatcher had one hand on the bed railing, the other covering his. To his left was Lieutenant Welsh, hands shoved deep in his front pockets. Francesca Vecchio had resumed her position at the foot of the bed. Ray was not among them. He started to panic, the heart monitor accurately displaying his stress level.
"Fraser," Inspector Thatcher began quietly. She gave Fraser's hand a gentle squeeze. "Detective Vecchio isn't here."
At the end of the bed, Francesca swiped at a falling tear.
"Where is he?" Fraser questioned as he tried to sit up, tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He was too weak to do either.
Frannie moved beside Thatcher and placed a trembling hand on his thigh. "I'm so sorry, Frase," she sobbed out.
Fraser's eyes darted between the three occupants of the room. They were all brimming with tears, some falling, some unshed.
"I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you, Constable, but Ray didn't make it." Welsh's voice was flat like he had already expelled all of his emotions.
"No!" Fraser heard himself scream. It couldn't be true. Ray was the other half of his duet. Ray was the red ship to his green ship. Ray was his…
"The doctor's did everything they could," Thatcher spoke softly and held his trembling hand.
"I have to see him." Fraser tried to sit up again.
With a firm hand, Welsh pinned him to the bed. "It's too late."
Fraser stared at the three people before him, horrified. "Too late?" his voice quivered as he spoke.
The three exchanged nervous glances before Francesca spoke up. "His funeral was three days ago, Frase." She dotted her eyes with a tissue before continuing. "You were pretty bad for a while there. We thought we were going to lose you as well."
Fraser took a moment to take stock in his own injuries. He remembered now, he had been shot twice. "His parents…" Fraser croaked. "His parents wanted him buried in their family plot. We can take you there when you are well enough to leave."
Fraser sank his head back into his pillow and closed his eyes tightly, blocking out the world around him. And then he began to sob. His world had just been shattered.
Francesca moved to Fraser's head and wrapped her arms around him and held him as he cried. Welsh and Thatcher silently excused themselves.
~*~ Two weeks later ~*~
Frannie held Fraser's hand tightly as they walked silently towards Ray's grave. Fraser had distanced himself from everyone since they had released him from the hospital. He was mourning the loss of his partner, his friend, his…
"There's something we haven't told you yet, Fraser," Frannie broke the silence when the stopped at the freshly unearthed dirt. Fraser didn't respond, just stared numbly ahead. "Ray was undercover as my brother."
Fraser's breathing stopped. In the midst of this tragedy and his loss of Ray, he had forgotten about his other Ray. If Ray Kowalski was undercover as Ray Vecchio and dies, what happens now with the real Ray Vecchio?
"Jesus, Francesca…" Fraser's voice was rough and nasally. He had spent the better part of the last two weeks an emotional wreck. "What happens to him now?" Fraser could feel Frannie's hand trembling in his.
"When he's done with his assignment," her voice was small. "He can't come home. He's officially dead." She dotted her eyes with a tissue. "Welsh says he will be given a new identity and will be placed in some sort of witness protection." She let out a bitter chuckle. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Nobody thought of what might happen if Kowalski died."
A strong hand settled on Fraser's shoulder. It was Lieutenant Welsh accompanied by Inspector Thatcher. "We're very sorry, Fraser, but it has to be this way. Vecchio can't come back."
"I'll never get to see him again? I'll never get to see either one of them again?" Fraser's eyes filled with tears as his voice and body quivered.
"None of us will." Frannie squeezed his hand and began to sob as well.
"I need to go home," Fraser stated as he stared at the temporary headstone of his partner.
"We figured as much," Welsh said and Thatcher nodded in agreement. "I'll drive you to the airport."
Fraser wasn't sure how he made it from Chicago to his home with no memory of the journey. He stood on the porch of his cabin a small duffle slung over his good shoulder and stared blankly at the door before him. He was home. He couldn't bear the thought of ever returning to Chicago without either of his Ray's there. He slid the key into the lock, twisted the door knob and stepped into his own little world. He looked around and felt empty. Frannie had kept Diefenbaker with the promise to bring up in a week. Fraser had reluctantly agreed. He was still recovering physically from his injuries. He wasn't sure the emotional damage he had endured with the loss of his Ray's would ever heal.
Fraser had discovered in the days following the incident at the diner while he was still recovering in the hospital, two separate funerals were held in the city. One grave contained an empty coffin. Ray Vecchio. A life still to live, but no longer as his own. The city mourned the loss of an upstanding officer of the law. A fine detective with a high arrest rate. They knew no different. A mother and family mourned the loss of a son they knew was still alive, yet would no longer get to see.
Across town, the funeral was smaller. Two parents who would never get to see their only son again, killed while trying to protect another man's life. Two Lieutenants, both who lost a good man.
Fraser never got a chance to say goodbye to either man.
Fraser dropped his duffel to the floor. The thud echoed throughout the empty cabin. Empty like Fraser felt. He made his way to the couch and settled into its embrace. He toed off his shoes and carefully lay down. He pulled his Grandmother's quilt from the back of the couch, covered himself until only the tip of his nose was exposed and cried himself to sleep.
He wasn't sure how long he was asleep. He didn't care. The world around him stopped spinning the moment Ray was taken from him. Fraser flipped an eye open. He didn't remember starting a fire before he lay down. He closed his eye and basked in the warmth of the flames. When he opened them again, movement from across the room caught his attention. He forced himself into a sitting position and stared in disbelief.
"I'm sorry, Ben, it had to be this way." Before him sat Ray Kowalski.
"You're dead," Fraser managed to say as shock still played on his features.
Ray's lip was quivering as a tear slipped from his eye. "It all happened so quickly," he began to explain. "There wasn't time to fill you in. Vecchio's life depended on an instant decision. I didn't like it one bit, but I didn't have much choice in the matter."
Fraser sat in silence. What did you say to a ghost?
"You're confused, hurt, angry." Ray locked eyes with his partner, his friend, his… "There wasn't time to tell you the plan. Welsh got word that Zuko took a hit out on Vecchio. So we had to make Vecchio 'die' before anyone could find out that Vecchio wasn't really Vecchio."
"You're not dead?" A fresh tear slipped down Fraser's cheek.
"Not even a little." Ray gave him a small smile and moved to the floor in front of the couch. He reached out and took Fraser's trembling hands in his own and held them tight.
"We had to make it look like Vecchio died before anyone could actually attempt the hit on his life." Ray moved from the floor to the couch. "The diner was a set up. It was empty for a reason, not because of the Bears game." Ray looked away. "It wasn't supposed to go south like it did. You weren't supposed to get hurt." Ray turned and touched the bandage above Fraser's eye tenderly. "The bullets were all supposed to be blanks. The guy was supposed to fire two shots at me, I returned two shots of my own. I don't know what happened. I was playing dead when I heard the rest of the shots. You were supposed to have been locked in the bathroom. They whisked me out of there before I knew how you were. Someone drove me all the way up here and dropped me off, told me to stay put until I heard from the Feds." Ray wiped the falling tear away from Fraser's cheek.
Fraser leaned into the tender touch, his heart beating wildly in his chest for the first time in weeks. "I thought you were dead."
Ray shook his head and let his own tears fall. "I'm so sorry."
"Your parents…" Fraser sobbed out as Ray held his face between his palms, their foreheads touching.
"They know the truth."
"What about Ray?"
"He gets a new life in Florida running a bowling alley after he's done with the mob. The Vecchio family will be retiring there as well."
"And you?" Fraser questioned.
"I get to stay with you." Ray leaned forward and brushed his lips against Fraser's.
His partner, his friend, his lover.