Disclaimer: dueSouth is owned by Alliance, not me. I'm not making any money on this, so please don't sue.
Warnings: BF/RK, but nothing explicit.
Notes: This is a standalone story that takes place in the 3rd/4th season, after "The Ladies Man." Many thanks to Rowan, Birgitt, and Gezebel for the beta!
by Kittie
His tears shock me. I know that they should not. He is as human as I, and just as capable of deep emotions. More so, I daresay, than myself. He has called me "The Ice Prince." At first I thought it was because of my subordinate status to Inspector Thatcher, whom he refers to as "The Ice Queen," but as I grew to know Ray, and realized that he was so much more than he seemed, I began to wonder if it was not because of my tendencies to hide my emotions so deep within that they are invisible even to me. Either way, I do not mind the nickname, as I know he does not mean it to be insulting. He is simply stating what he considers to be a fact.
I reach over and place my hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. He knows that I am here, and he leans slightly into my touch, but does not move to close the distance between us. I know that I should hold him close -- he needs more than just my hand and my silence -- but, in evidence to the appropriateness of the name he has given to me, I seem incapable of doing so. His tears continue to fall unchecked.
The past few days have been torture for him, and this is his release. In the wake of it all, he cries out his grief, and his guilt, and his sorrow. An innocent woman was nearly put to death for a crime that was not a crime, and the man responsible for her incarceration was one that he had looked up to and trusted. Of course, true to form, Ray does not blame this man, but himself. He rationalizes that if he had not contaminated the evidence at the scene, Ms. Botrelle would not have been blamed for her husband's death.
I believe this to be untrue.
Ray did contaminate the evidence, and it was a mistake that a more experienced police officer would not have made, but it was also he who doggedly pursued answers as Ms. Botrelle's execution date grew ever closer. It was Sam Franklin who suppressed that evidence after Ray turned it over to him, whereas an honest investigator would not have done so. Therefore, Ray was not solely responsible for Ms. Botrelle's conviction and incarceration, nor would he have been responsible for her death.
I have attempted to explain this to him -- to make him see these facts -- but his stubbornness is one of his most endearing qualities and he holds on to his guilt tenaciously. So here I sit beside him as he cries out his relief and his disappointment. As he grieves for Beth Botrelle and the eight years of her life which she can never retrieve, and for Sam Franklin, the man who abused his trust and would have killed him despite their friendship, in order to hide his own crimes.
I know why he cries, but still, his tears shock me.
It is his nature to show his emotions. He is quick to anger and just as quick to calm. His every mood is visible on his face and in his eyes. Especially in his eyes. He has honored me by letting me see him this vulnerable, and I am touched by his trust in me. He sits now, within reach of my outstretched hand, and cries out his guilt for Beth Botrelle. Only in this most extreme of circumstances does he cry, and even in my understanding, his tears shock me.
You see, he is Fire.
He is a Fire that burns bright and unencumbered, and it seems impossible that his tears would fall as they do and not turn to steam and vanish. His heat should burn me, but instead I bask in his light and his warmth. He enfolds me. I can feel myself melting slowly and eventually I will turn to steam and float away as should his tears, but I will not mourn. I welcome it -- I long to be that free. I have no further need of Ice.
This realization warms my soul and I find the strength to pull him close, wrapping my arms around him and letting his head rest on my chest. He no longer fears my comfort for he knows I would accept the same from him. He lets my love wash away the worst of his grief and he purges it with the last of his tears. Perhaps it is best that they do not evaporate, as they would only rain down again. Instead, they fall from his cheeks and vanish into my sleeves, where they will touch him no more.
I will see to it that they don't.