Chances 4: If I Didn't Have Bad Luck, I'd Have No Luck at All
The beginning of the end came on a Saturday.
Of course, Ray didn't have a fucking clue that his world was about to come apart at the seams when he woke up late Friday afternoon and rolled out of bed for a quick shower before work. In fact, he was in a pretty good mood seeing as how he and Fraser had a date the next morning. Well, not really a date date (after six months, Ray had finally gotten it through his thick head that nothing like that was gonna be happening with Big Red), more like two buddies hanging out at a mall to look at a pile of Canadian rocks. Still, with Ray working nights and Fraser working days, even a date with a pile of rocks was looking good as long as he got to spend some time with Fraser.
Work was slow that night; a carpet warehouse wasn't exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, but usually Ray managed to roust a homeless guy or two during his rounds. Not tonight, though. Maybe all those guys he was sending over to the Y on Seventh were actually learning. Course, what they were probably learning was that Ray was a hardass. He could live with that.
Hell, even Ray's lunch break was boring: he ate a bowl of Fraser's leftover goulash (almost edible -- Fraser was improving) and did his usual scan of Las Vegas news sites looking for anyone who looked like Ray Vecchio. He found exactly nothing, just like the last five months of searching.
The one spot of excitement in his daily routine -- if by 'excitement' one meant 'slightly less boring than walking circles around a building' -- came during Ray's nightly self-therapy sessions. Ray couldn't actually afford a shrink and, face it, wouldn't have gone to one if he could, but that didn't mean he didn't know he was fucked up. When he was living on the streets, fucked up wasn't a big deal, but now that he was living with Fraser Ray wanted to get his head screwed on straight. He'd lost his wife because he was a shitty husband; he wasn't about to lose Fraser because he was a shitty friend.
That thought in mind, Ray opened his mouth and said, "Stella." As soon as the word was out of his mouth he took a deep, calming breath. He didn't really need to do it anymore, but it had sorta become habit.
When he'd first started doing this a couple of months ago, the word had felt like a punch to his gut. With a sledgehammer. However, after thinking about Stella for hours on end for the last couple of months, Ray was used to the sound of her name and even bringing up a new memory -- today's was a bit of their honeymoon in Niagara Falls, a wedding present from Stella's mom -- didn't make him cry, though his eyes did sting a bit. Maybe he was finally getting better.
Of course, the really weird thing was the way Ray had started associating Stella's name with those deep calming breaths. Once or twice he even caught himself chanting her name under his breath when stressed, sort of like that martini thing Fraser had told him about. Ray hadn't told him that 'stella stella stella' was his martini, though; that probably would have freaked the Mountie right out.
On that cheery note, Ray headed for the door. He still had another four hours to kill. Maybe he'd get lucky and stumble on a dead body or something.
ooo
Ray got home a little after eight, to an empty apartment. There was note on the table, written in Fraser's impossibly perfect handwriting, that said Fraser was already at the mall, helping the Ice Lady (not Fraser's words) get ready. If Ray got there by noon, they could have lunch before the presentation.
Noon was doable; as long as he caught a couple of hours of sleep during the day, Ray'd gotten himself used to staying up until Fraser went to bed Saturday night. It made it harder to get back into the schedule on Monday, but it was worth it for a full Sunday with Fraser.
Fortunately, Ray'd mastered his alarm clock and he was at the mall by lunchtime. He and Fraser (but not Dief, as the mall apparently had issues with a wolf wandering through their food court, begging for scraps -- Turnbull had taken Dief for the day) had some surprisingly good Chinese food while Ray talked about his boring night and Fraser talked about the cultural significance of donating a big pile of rocks to a shopping mall in another country.
What with the murder that happened ten minutes later, the DA losing his damn mind and giving Lieutenant Welsh six hours to solve a murder, and the rest of Fraser's cop buddies losing their damn minds and not immediately calling a lawyer when their suspects asked for one, the day was pretty much shot to hell. And that was even before Fraser accidentally hypnotized all of the material witnesses at the same time, including Ray.
When Ray realized what had happened, he panicked, though he managed to keep his voice sort of casual when he asked, "Did you get anything from me?"
"Well, it would appear that you were abducted by aliens at the age of ten."
Ray froze. What? What the fuck? Was that somehow Mountie speak for 'you revealed your deep and kind of creepy lust for me (what with me being straight and all), but I'm too polite to kick you to the curb, so I'll just pretend it never happened'? If not, what kind of questions had Fraser been asking, and why?
Ray was just about to ask what potential alien abductions and/or Ray's childhood had to do with a mall knifing, when the Ice Queen asked something case related and the conversation moved back onto the suspects. Ray listened with half an ear while the rest of his brain kept racing over what might've happened while Ray had been under. He wasn't real happy with his thoughts.
He was still stewing when the case wrapped up and the Ice Queen started bitching at Fraser about not being fast enough to get to the car. Fraser turned to her and said, "Eggplant."
The Ice Queen's face went slack and her eyes glazed over as she said, "Of course, if you'd like to stay with your friend, that would be quite acceptable. In fact, why don't you take the rest of the day off."
Still in a freaky trance, she turned and walked away.
Fraser turned back to Ray, his eyes twinkling. "It works."
Ray would have smiled back, except: "Did you do that to me? Did you do weird mind-mojo shit to me?"
Fraser promptly blushed and started rubbing his eyebrow. Well that was a big yes. Goddamn it.
Ray turned and walked out, Fraser's voice following him out the door.
ooo
For the fourth straight evening, Fraser walked into a spotless apartment entirely devoid of any roommates. He sighed as he hung up his hat; it had been a long day, and he'd hoped that Ray would be home so they could talk a bit over dinner, before Ray had to go to work. It had been a tradition before the mall incident, an hour or two that both of them had carefully planned to keep free so they could spend them together. Those hours had been the highlights of Fraser's life in the last few months, and he felt the loss of them keenly.
Next to Fraser, Diefenbaker gave a disgusted woof. Fraser rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm aware that it's my own fault. However, I did not mean to upset him. It was merely intended to be a harmless prank."
Dief snorted and headed to the tiny alcove that served as the apartment's kitchen. Fraser rolled his eyes and followed, adding, "I'm quite sure you would not be so firmly on his side if he didn't keep bribing you with donuts."
Diefenbaker huffed, though his face was turned away when Fraser spoke, so the comment could have been unrelated to the conversation.
The kitchen was as tidy as the rest of the apartment: dishes washed and put away, countertop wiped down, sink scrubbed clean. If it weren't for the fact that a dish of leftovers was gone from the refrigerator, Fraser wouldn't be able to tell that Ray had been at home at all. He sighed again. He hadn't spoken to his roommate since the incident, but Ray had clearly found someone to tell him the details of the post-hypnotic suggestion that Fraser had planted in his mind. Why else would Ray have gone from being a careless and sloppy housekeeper to being pristinely neat?
Looking around the kitchen, Fraser had to admit that perhaps his prank had not been as innocent as he would like to tell himself. After six months, Ray's quirks and bad habits were no longer endearing, and more and more Fraser found himself cleaning up after his roommate, sometimes so diligently that he would be washing dishes before Ray had finished eating, or put the cap on the toothpaste while Ray was still brushing his teeth. They'd had a few arguments on this point, with Ray repeatedly claiming that he was perfectly capable of cleaning up after himself if Fraser would just give him a chance, and Fraser asking for specific deadlines -- an hour after dinner? Two? -- by which Ray would have completed his chores. That was about the point when Ray would usually storm out for the evening.
However, Ray'd never stayed angry this long and Fraser's initial worry was starting to grow into outright panic. Only a lifetime of strict self-control kept him from going to the carpet warehouse and forcing a confrontation. All Ray needed was time to calm down. This argument would pass soon enough, just like all the others.
Maybe if he said it often enough to himself, he might begin to believe it.
With a final sigh, Fraser opened up the cupboard and pulled out the ingredients for spaghetti, one of Ray's favorite dishes. It wasn't much of an apology, but until Ray would speak to him, it was the best Fraser could do.
ooo
Another long day that would no doubt be followed by another long evening. Fraser didn't sigh as he pulled the key out of the door and turned the handle, but it was a struggle.
"Hey, Fraser."
Fraser's head shot up, just in time to see Ray sitting on the couch before thirty-five kilograms of eager wolf shoved its way between Fraser's leg and the doorframe. By the time Fraser had regained his balance, Diefenbaker had somehow managed to knock Ray to the floor and was currently licking Ray's face with gleeful abandon.
"Hey! Hey! He--ew! Oh, gross! Dief, stop it!" Ray's flailing hands finally managed to catch Dief's muzzle. "I thought we talked about this, mutt. No licking on the face."
Dief stared into Ray's eyes for a second, then opened his mouth and ran his tongue over Ray's nose.
While Ray flailed some more, Dief scrambled off and trotted to the door. He stopped to give Fraser a smug look before walking back out into the hallway. Apparently he thought Fraser and Ray need to talk.
Fraser could hardly disagree, but he found himself unaccountably nervous. To cover the unexpected emotion, he hung his hat with an unusual degree of care, making sure it lay perfectly flush against the wall. Really, a hook was not the ideal place for his hat, but the lack of closets in the apartment had necessitated some inventive measures, especially for--
"I don't think the hat's going anywhere, Fraser."
Fraser turned to find Ray staring at him, a small smile on his face. "Seriously, a tornado could hit and that hat would still be stuck on the wall."
"I hardly think that--"
Ray rolled his eyes. "Shut it and come to the couch."
Now Fraser sighed, though he could not honestly say that he was sad or annoyed at this moment. "Yes, Ray."
He dithered a moment at the couch, unsure of how close he should sit to Ray. Too far would imply that he was not open to communication. Too close...well, that would be inappropriate. Especially if Ray ever found out just how inappropriate Fraser's thoughts had been of late.
In the end he chose a spot just slightly closer to the arm of the couch than to Ray. A nice, neutral location.
They sat there for a few moment in silence, until Ray said, "Do you want to start or should I?"
"I think it might improve the efficacy of--"
"You or I, Fraser?"
"You. Please."
Ray heaved a great sigh. "Okay. Okay." In his peripheral vision, Fraser saw Ray turn to face him. "Fraser, look at me, please."
Tugging lightly at the collar of his uniform, Fraser did as asked. Ray looked a little paler than usual, his eyes were dull, and his hair was considerably less experimental than it had been the last time Fraser had seen it. Rather surprisingly, the hair was what brought a lump to Fraser's throat. He'd been disconcerted when Ray had first come home with that haircut, the day after getting his first paycheck. It had seemed a frivolous expense, especially at that time when finances had been tight.
In time, Fraser had come to see that Ray's hair was the only completely frivolous expense that his friend allowed himself and, moreover, that Ray himself acted differently, more confidently, when his hair was heavily styled. Fraser had come to the conclusion that Ray's hair in many ways served the same function as Fraser's hat: an emotional shield that provided an illusion of personal safety. As Fraser had found that the illusion often lent itself to reality, he could neither condemn himself for his affection for his hat, nor Ray for his affection for unusual hair.
Plus, it was rather attractive.
"Fraser, why are you staring at my hair?"
Blushing furiously, Fraser brought his attention back to Ray's face. "I'm terribly sorry, Ray. You were saying?"
Ray raised his eyebrows, but after a moment shrugged and said, "Alls I said was that we should do more talking and less of this passive-aggressive shit we seem to be stuck on."
Fraser frowned. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Ray."
"You have heard of 'passive-aggressive', haven't you?"
"I've heard the phrase before, yes, but I understood it to be an oxymo, er, American slang. Perhaps if you gave me an example."
"How about you passively letting me be a slob and then aggressively fucking with my head so every time you say the word 'cauliflower' I go around telling folks what a shitty roommate I am?"
"Ah," Fraser said, blushing even more. "That."
"Yeah, that," Ray said aggressively. Then he lowered his head a fraction. "Or, you know, me being upset at you being such a neat-freak but instead of talking about it, I just start messing the place up."
Fraser stared at him. "You mean you have been deliberately leaving our apartment in shambles?"
"Well, I wouldn't say shambles, exactly..." Fraser stared at him. "Okay, maybe a little bit messy, but that's not the point here. The point here, Fraser, is that this whole not-talking, passive-aggressive, not-cleaning, mass-hypnotizing, vegetable cauliflower thing is not working. You see what I'm saying?"
"I believe so, Ray. To clarify, you believe we should be discussing our issues with each other, rather than lashing out in a juvenile, unproductive manner."
"Well, yeah, Fraser, but you don't got to be insulting about it."
"I'm terribly sorry, I meant no offense."
"Yeah, yeah. Look, you clearly got issues with me, so why don't you go first."
Oh. Oh dear. Fraser cleared his throat. "Are you quite sure you would not rather go first?"
Ray rolled his eyes. "Yes, Fraser, I'm sure. That's why I said 'Fraser, you should go first'."
"Right," Fraser answered, fighting the urge two wring his hands together. He really wished he'd kept his hat in his possession. "Well...I..." He cleared his throat and forced his hands to rest flat against his pants. "Ray, I... Must I go first?"
Ray shook his head. "It's funny, Fraser. You'll happily confront any gun-packing criminal you meet on the street, but you can't face up to an argument with your roomie?"
Well, when he put it that way. Fraser flushed, but forced himself to say, "Ray, I really wish you'd take on more responsibility for the cleanliness of our apartment."
"See now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
"No, indeed." Fraser smiled. "In fact, I feel considerably better for clearing the air."
"Good," Ray said with a smile. "My turn?"
"Of course."
"Okay then." Ray's smile disappeared and fury flared in his eyes. "Fraser, I wish you would tell me what the fuck you were thinking poking around in my head after I flat-out said that I didn't want to be hypnotized."
Fraser jerked back as if slapped. "I--I didn't intentionally hypnotize you, Ray."
"No, I know. But once I was hypnotized, you figured you might as well ask me about the case, right?"
"Right."
Ray nodded as if that confirmed something he knew. "So how did my childhood come up, Frase? Did I see an alien in the mall and that reminded me of a nightmare I had when I was ten? Or had my ten-year-old self somehow traveled through time to show up at the mall just as some mob boss got murdered?"
"No, of course not, Ray--"
"Then what?" Ray shouted. He stopped abruptly, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Fraser sat and watched, unwilling to say anything at all for fear of worsening the situation.
When Ray was calm, he opened his eyes and said levelly, "What you did to me, Fraser -- that wasn't buddies. That was so far from buddies that there isn't even a word for how bad that was. Do you understand? You fucked with my head, and let's face it, my head really doesn't need to be fucked up any more than it already is."
"I'm sorry, Ray," Fraser said with a hint of desperation. "I never considered how you would react to my actions. I intended no harm and I deeply apologize for my error."
Ray took another deep breath, muttering something under his breath in the process. This time when he opened his eyes, they were calm. "Okay, buddy, I know you mean it. And I know you'll never do it again, right?"
"Never," Fraser answered fervently.
"Good enough," Ray said with a sharp nod. He climbed off of the couch and headed into the kitchen. "How about I cook tonight? Chicken okay with you?"
"That sounds wonderful," Fraser called absently. He moved to the kitchen to add, "Ray?"
"Yeah, Fraser?"
"Are we...still buddies?" Fraser held his breath, waiting for Ray's answer.
It was a few seconds in coming, but when Ray spoke, his words sounded sincere. "Not just buddies, Fraser. You're the best friend I've ever had." He turned to look Fraser in the eye. "Which is why you shouldn't've done what you did."
"I fully understand the error of my ways," Fraser said quickly.
"Good," Ray said. "Then we don't gotta talk about it anymore. Pass me the paprika."
ooo
Ray didn't bring up the whole hypnotizing thing again, just like he said he wouldn't, but it was hard to get the whole mess out of his mind. He wasn't even sure why it was upsetting him so much -- he wasn't this pissed off when it first happened, but every day since he got a little more angry until he just wanted to slug Fraser.
At least their little talk had gotten that out of his system. The way Ray felt about Fraser...well, hitting him would have been like hitting Stella, and Ray would rather cut off his own hand than hit Stella. Hell, hitting her had never even occurred to him while they were married, but time on the streets changed a man. It made him tough. Mean.
Especially if you couldn't remember everything you did while you were out there.
Ray still remembered those two men dragging him into the alley, the stink of alcohol on their breath and their sick, twisted threats as they fumbled with the buttons on his pants.
He remembered the next morning, waking up three miles away, his hands coated in dried blood that flaked away as he clenched his fists.
He remembered the relief he felt as he realized that his clothes were still in one piece and that he wasn't hurt, inside or out.
He didn't remember what happened to the men. But there was the blood. And the fact that no one on the streets would look him in the eye after that night.
Ray never did find out what had happened. He didn't think he'd killed anyone, there would have been cops on the streets if he had, but beyond that he could have done anything. Anything bad, that is. If it hadn't been horrible, he'd be able to remember.
The Stella mantra (not martini, thank god he hadn't said that to Fraser before figuring out the right word) started making a more regular appearance after Ray and Fraser's fight. Ray found himself more on edge all of the time, more angry and the only thing that calmed him was whispering 'stella, stella, stella' under his breath, over and over again.
So really, he wasn't in the best frame of mind to get picked up by a crazy CIA/FBI/NSA/Whatever-A guy, especially when said guy was driving through Chicago at a hundred and twenty miles an hour and spending most of his time not looking at the road. "Hey!" Ray shouted as he hung on desperately to the seat in front of him. "I thought you said Fraser was in trouble."
"He is, if he is who he says he is, which I'm inclined to think he is, even though his old partner who is no longer his partner is no longer who he says he is."
"Uh," Ray said. "Huh?"
"You know his old partner, the former Ray Vecchio who is now Armando Langoustini, unless you're talking about the new Ray Vecchio, who used to be Frankie Vecchio, and who is now Frankie Vecchio again."
"Right. Listen, can we go back to Fraser? What's wrong with Fraser?"
"What's wrong with Fraser? Everything's wrong with Fraser! He's a Canadian forced to live in the US! He's a whistle blower who was persecuted! He's an uninformed combatant who's going up against the Nautilus!"
"What's a Nautilus?"
"Doesn't matter, doesn't matter. Just you tell Fraser to leave the Nautilus alone before he gets hurt. Now get out!"
Before Ray could answer that, his door opened and the crazy spy-guy took a real sharp turn and somehow Ray found himself sitting on top of a really tall bench.
Oh, wait. There was something on the bench.
"Sorry, sorry," Ray said as he handed a pile of electronics over to a sad-looking teen. "Sorry."
As he walked home, he thought about the strange conversation. Mostly about the Vecchio part of the conversation and about how Ray Vecchio was now Armando Langoustini. The name sounded vaguely familiar, maybe from all those Vegas news articles he'd been reading. Definitely something to look up tonight. Maybe he'd even get lucky and find a picture.
As for Fraser and the Nautilus, Ray wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with that information. Apparently he and his roommate were due for another conversation. That in mind, Ray decided he'd cook dinner, even if it wasn't his turn. Hell, he'd be really nice and cook something healthy. Stir-fry, maybe. Fraser liked Ray's stir-fry.
The rice was nearly done cooking and all of the veggies were chopped when Fraser walked through the door, so's all Ray had to do was heat up the wok (Ray's idea, since he made less of a mess with that than with a saucepan) and start tossing stuff in.
Fraser went to the bedroom to change and by the time he came out, dinner was ready. Like a good Mountie, he started setting the table without saying a word.
He continued not to say a word throughout dinner, though he kept shooting glances at Ray, no doubt confused as to why Ray had suddenly decided he needed to make dinner when it was Fraser's turn. Fraser was pretty protective of his turn to cook. He sucked at it, but apparently he thought it was some kind of challenge or a chance to improve himself or something.
Ray sighed and pushed his food around on his plate. Fraser's silence was just another sign that they still weren't back to where they'd been before, and Ray hated that. He hated that they were fighting, even if they weren't actually fighting anymore. "Fraser," he said abruptly. "Who's the Nautilus?"
Fraser looked surprised for a second, then put down his fork and sat straight up, like someone had suddenly shoved a pipe up his ass. "Ray, may I ask how you heard that name?"
Ray took in the posture and the question and sighed. Shit. Apparently this was a work thing. "Some whack-job in a black Caddy picked me up and told me you were in trouble and that you should stay away from some guy named Nautilus."
Fraser relaxed. "Ah, yes. I also encountered Mr. Pike today, though I'm afraid his information was both misleading and untimely."
"So?" Ray prompted. "Who was he?"
"Well, in point of fact, Ray, the Nautilus was a woman, one of the greatest spies from the American Cold War."
"Oh," Ray said. "Huh."
Fraser smiled encouragingly. "I, too, assumed that the Nautilus was a man, which only goes to show that we have been trained by our upbringings to fill certain roles with one gender or the other. In the future, I will try to avoid this trap."
"Uh, yeah," Ray said, like he understood what all of that stuff meant. "But, you know, I was just kind of surprised when you said the Cold War. She must've been kind of old then, right?"
"Actually, she was, Ray, though still quite spry. She escaped custody, in fact."
"Really? Good for her."
"She was a spy for the enemy," Fraser pointed out. "And she held a friend of mine at gunpoint."
"Oh," Ray said. Jeez, he couldn't get anything right in this conversation. "Bad for her, then. Are you going to be able to find her?"
"I believe she's outside my jurisdiction at the moment," Fraser said, picking his fork back up and turning his attention to his food. "But I have no doubt that Mr. Pike is already on her trail."
"Yeah, okay," Ray said. Then, at a loss for anything else to add, went back to eating.
The rest of dinner was silent.
ooo
That night, Ray spent his rounds brooding over his relationship with Fraser. Or maybe the lack of relationship with Fraser. Or -- well, whatever it was, it was falling apart. Not only were they having a tough time talking to each other, but they didn't have many chances to talk at all, since three nights out of four, Fraser didn't even come home. Ray would've thought it was a woman, except this was Fraser (and, anyway, Fraser would have told him if he'd been seeing someone, wouldn't he?), so that didn't make any sense. On the other hand, if Fraser wasn't sleeping at home, where was he sleeping? His office at the consulate? It was the size of a refrigerator box. He'd have to be sleeping on the desk.
Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of other options, unless Ray was being so obnoxious he'd driven Fraser out on the streets. Wouldn't that do wonder's for Ray's reputation. He could see it now: "Ray Kowalski: such an asshole he made the Mountie homeless".
Fuck. Maybe he should just shoot himself in the head now and get it over with.
After a couple of turns around the building, Ray decided to take an early break. Maybe thinking about Stella would help keep his Fraser obsession in check. First things first, though. Ray settled down in front of the computer, pulled up a search engine, typed in "Armando Langoustini Las Vegas", and hit enter. A few thousand hits popped up. Ray clicked on the first one.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Ray went back and tried the next one on the list.
Three hours later, Ray's head was spinning. Armando Langoustini was connected with virtually every crime the country had: drugs, prostitution, human trafficking, theft, murder. You name it, he did it. Arrested a dozen times, but never brought to trial, leaving piles of dead witnesses in his wake. If the feds were going to put out a ton of money to bring anyone down, it would be this guy.
And this guy looked exactly like Ray Vecchio. Ray pulled up pictures from a year ago, when Vecchio was still in Chicago, and from three months ago, when Vecchio was supposedly in New York City and the two pictures were identical. They were also identical to the guy in Fraser's postcard, except the guy in Fraser's postcard was smiling and had clear, happy eyes. These two pictures were of quiet, angry men with shuttered eyes. For Fraser's sake, Ray wanted to believe that Vecchio was still a good guy, that he hadn't been turned. Even if that was true, however, it was obvious that this wasn't the same man in the postcard. Whatever he'd had to do to keep his cover had changed him, made him harder.
Ray sighed and clicked on yet another website. Another picture of Vecchio/Langoustini, this time with a woman on his arm. A blonde woman, who looked...familiar. In fact, she looked like...
Holy fuck, it was Stella.
ooo
Fraser stepped outside of the precinct and paused to rub his eyes tiredly. For the last couple of weeks he, Lieutenant Welsh, and Francesca had all been surreptitiously investigating a body found in the drywall of one of the station's interview rooms. The delicate nature of the circumstances surrounding the corpse -- namely that Ray Vecchio had openly threatened to kill the man for hurting Frannie -- had forced them to work outside of normal police hours to minimize the risk of someone observing their work and handing the entire case off to Internal Affairs. It meant that he'd often arrived home after Ray had gone to work, putting more pressure on their already strained relationship.
Thankfully, the investigation had finally come to a satisfactory close, with Ray Vecchio completely cleared of any involvement. Moreover, it was a Friday night, which meant Ray would be free for the next two days. Fraser smiled at the thought and started towards home, already planning potential outings the two of them could undertake in a bid to rejuvenate their friendship.
He'd come up with several promising possibilities by the time he opened the door to the apartment, and he was positively flush with hopeful energy. The last few weeks had been tough, but he and Ray could overcome them, Fraser was sure of it.
Then he saw the white piece of paper sitting on the counter, and his buoyant smile began to slip.
Fraser,
I had to go. I got things to do and I can't explain them, but I'll be back if I can, I promise. Money for next month's rent is on the counter -- sorry there ain't more, but I needed the rest to get a car.
Tell Dief goodbye for me.
-Ray
Stunned, Fraser fell into one of the barstools and numbly took off his hat before burying his face in his hands. When he felt Diefenbaker press anxiously against his leg, Fraser couldn't hold it in any longer.
He wept.
