Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down by Hth They're probably carrying every single thing they own, but it isn't the efficiency of their packing skills that impresses me, it's the way they work together. It's like they have a playbook somewhere, with things like the Dogsled pass and the Checker Cab handoff. It's like the freaking Musical Ride, and they're out of the taxi with everything they own strapped and wrapped around them in ten seconds flat. Kowalski tips the driver, of course; Benny probably to this day refuses to carry any currency that doesn't have the Queen's picture on it. This is gonna be harder than I thought. He hasn't changed, not one trimmed hair, not since the day I saw him last - my wedding day. He's in the brown uniform, which has to be hell in the wet Florida heat, but it's gotta be illegal to sweat in Canada, because he won't do it. Same set mouth, same firm jaw, same walk, same Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP. Nothing ever changes with him - not if he has anything to say about it, that is. Fuck. He's going to fight me every step of the way on this, underhanded and oh-so-reasonable and full of that neurotic, blue-eyed charm, and I'm the bad guy. I'm always the bad guy next to him, and - Don't start this. Don't take it there. I'm me, he's him, and this little reunion isn't about us, anyway. This is business. Businesslike, I scope his little blond shadow. Ray the Latter, wired and handsome and hardened like an over-the-hill hustler, his t-shirt too tight, his fatigues too loose, looking like he's just rolled out of bed after a three-day bender. Wild card. Is he going to fight me, too? I don't know him well enough to guess. He's loyal to Benny, but there's more than just Benny to think about, here. Even Stella doesn't know whose side he'll come down on, in the end, which is enough to make me nervous. He could be the swing vote. And Diefenbaker makes three. Now, he's changed. Aged. Dammit, there's a weird sensation in my sinuses as I brush up against the thought of Dief getting older and slower and wearing out. I'm so fucking hair-triggered lately. With each step he takes up the porch stairs, the memories are trampling toward me, getting closer and pounding out all the years between last time and this time until they might as well be dead, or never existed to start with. Benny, and the way he could sound so patient even when I knew he wasn't feeling patient at all. Benny, and how he used to lure me out with questions and fake misunderstandings that needed correction, and all kinds of other wordy little games, until I ended up saying exactly what he wanted me to. Benny and those eyes that were so honest they could harrow me all the way down when he turned them on me full force, giving me so much of what was in that crazy, contradictory, bright-dark head of his that I thought I couldn't stand it. And I'm sorry all over again, so damn sorry I want to get down on my literal,honest-to-God *knees* and make him forgive me. I was such a coward. But instead of genuflecting, I just shut up and hug him. He feels surprisingly...real, in my arms. There was always some part of Fraser that didn't quite live where the rest of us did, something that was off - I don't know, thinking or sleeping or trying to catch up to him. We've touched each other plenty of times, but it's different now, I guess because we've finally given up the ghost and admitted that we know everything there is to know about each other. No holding back, not anymore. That last wall of awkwardness between us is gone, now that Benny's out of the closet, I'm out of his life, and there's no chance left, not one in a hundred million, that this is going to come to anything more than what it is, what it's always been. Freedom through futility - who knew? "I hope you're well, Ray," he says, in that shy way he has even when he's not feeling shy at all. "Can't complain." And that's sure as fuck a new thing. Back when he knew me, I don't think I did anything but complain. Everything just seems - stupid and trite though it sounds - too important now, for me to waste my time and divide my attention, wishing it was different. I've got all these balls in the air,and there comes a point where you've gotta love it, your life, because there's no backing out now. I pull away, and stick out my hand for Ray. "Hey, Kowalski. Slowin' him down much?" There's a firmness to his handshake that reminds me a hell of a lot of Fraser. "Hey, Vecchio. Yer aging real graceful. I can respect that." He's only two years younger than I am, but give a man in his forties a full head of hair, and he thinks he's the second freaking coming. But there's something a little off about his bravado; he's unfocused, fronting real well, but not really looking at me. A couple of seconds later, I peg it, the almost perfectly concealed tic, his eyes flicking again and again over my shoulder, to the window. Wondering if she's inside. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep your pants on, Kowalski, we're getting to it. Deep down, I'm a little jealous of him, because for a few minutes here, he's totally innocent. He's on vacation in Florida, he's maybe a little nervous about seeing his ex-wife, but mostly he's been Robin up there in the Gotham Territories, having a high old time, in that please-Jesus-Christ-don't- get-me-killed way that Fraser's friends always do. He hasn't been down here, with her, day after day, dealing with this. Having a nice vacation, Kowalski? Yeah, well, fuck you. Welcome to my life. I don't know where this is coming from, this anger that's honing in on him. I'm just *pissed off.* Because Stella loved him first. Because he had the genes, the wiring, whatever, to love Benny back, and I didn't. Because life and death is a game to him, fucking forest-ranger detective supercop adventure boy, and life and death has become my morning, noon, and night and I deal with it all by myself. But I suck it in. Because today isn't about that, either. Today is about Fraser. And like it or not, we gotta get off the fucking porch. Let's take it inside, gentlemen. I reach behind me for the screen door and say, "Mi casa es su casa." "Thank you kindly, Ray." "Yeah, well, don't thank me yet," I can't help but grumble. She's waiting on the sofa, and she puts her hand on the arm when she stands up; she's not weak, she's feeling good today, but it's become habit. She's wearing jeans that aren't cut to be baggy but kind of are on her, and even though she smiles, I can tell she's nervous, nervous out of her mind as her ex-husband stares hard at her. He's a fucking detective. He's not stupid. Stella starts to run a hand over the scarf covering her head, but changes it at the last minute to a tug on her earring. "Hi, Ray. Fraser." "You...Stel...." Fraser's hand comes down on his arm, a low-key Benny gesture that means *Shut up before you embarrass us both.* "Hello, Stella. How-" I almost want to laugh as I see him pull up out of that one, a hard reverse. "This is a beautiful house." "Fuck the house! Fuck the-" "Shhh," she orders Ray sharply, and he shuts up fast. "Please, there's- Just don't yell, Ray." And I don't really envy him anymore. Because I was always the kind of guy who pulled the Band-Aid off slow instead of fast, and this is fast, and I can see him grinding his teeth and shifting from one side to the other and shaking his hands out over and over and wanting to freak out. "Have a seat," I say,pretending just as hard as Benny that this is all really, really okay. But I'm better at it, because I've been doing it for almost a year now. "Tell me," he says quietly, a low, sad voice, and I see her crumple up inside, and I suspect that he had his ways, back in the day, of getting what he wanted, too. "Just...what's going on?" She sits down, prim and straight-backed, and being Stella, she doesn't fuck around, just says it, information, no big deal. "Ovarian cancer." Benny looks over at me, and I know he doesn't want me to see the horror in his eyes, but I do, and I almost want to laugh. Shit, he thinks this is why he's here. Like she's gonna die this fucking weekend or something, and I'm going to ask him to make it all better, and he's wondering what the hell he's going to do to fix this one. Yeah, that *would* be hell on earth for you, wouldn't it, Benny? What are you going to do - talk about your feelings? Move to Florida so I won't be alone? Tell me it's going to be okay? Drag me back to Canada and pretend we're partners again? Shit, now I *really* want to laugh. I can just see him doing any of those things, doing it because it's the Right Thing to Do, and quietly going ballistic inside. How totally fucking absurd. "Hey, come on," I say out loud. "You know, I really hate it when I invite the guys over to my place and all they can do is stare at my wife." She meets my eyes, and she smiles at me. In spite of what Fraser would say, too much honesty isn't always a good thing, and Stella and I, we understand the lie we live, where she's still full of energy and a gorgeous blonde knockout and I have guy friends because I do all kinds of other things besides staying home to take care of her, staying home so I don't miss the time with her that becomes more and more crucial as the months tick by and the doctors say the word "recovery" less often and the words "quality of life" and "pain management" a lot more. So Benny and Kowalski wade right on in, and there's a little small talk, not much, as they put their bags down and get settled in, and Benny's face is blankly polite, and Kowalski looks like he wants to chew through something, but he's keeping a lid on it for the moment. He keeps shooting me these little glares that look a lot like, *What the hell did you do to my wife, Vecchio?* The small talk dies and Kowalski's still glaring and Stella's eyes are narrowing impatiently and Fraser looks like he's gone into cryogenic storage, and I realize, none too patient myself, that they're going to track that good, messy, muddy, Canadian honesty all over my lying-like-a-rug rug, and shit, this is *not* going to work, this not talking about it business. So let's get it over with instead. "All right, look. Stella's gone back into chemo, so we're both pretty busy with that. We were - doing some other stuff, taking care of some things, that we just can't keep up with right now, and Benny...." I don't know how long I stall there. He's looking at me with those eyes, those sympathetic, interested, attentive blue eyes. Benton Fraser, RCMP, who doesn't change. Who doesn't talk about his feelings. Who is so strong that he's brittle with it. Whose every weakness I know, and oh, yeah, this is one of them. This is *all* of them, practically. I take a couple breaths. "Benny, I called you for some help. You've got to step in for us. Take over...." "Of course, Ray. Any help you need from me, you have it." Yeah. Sure. I glance at Kowalski, but I don't think he's even listening. He's still ripping holes in my wall with his eyes. *Processing,* they call it, I guess. And now we're at the moment of truth, the sticking point. The crux - that was a word Benny used to use. The crux of the issue. And I look at Stella, but she doesn't seem to have the words for it any more than I do. "Stel," I say gently, "you wanna just go bring her out here?" We do one of those split-second married-people arguments with our eyes, and I win. She stands up and walks down the hall. Kowalski's twitching so hard now I think he might rattle apart. He wants to follow her. He wants to get her alone, and he probably hasn't even thought far enough ahead to ask himself what he plans to say. I don't look at Benny, even though I can feel him looking searchingly at me. I hear Stella's voice, muffled and soothing, and then she comes back, holding the kid's hand. "This is Grace," I say, striving for that Exhibit-A, suave Stella voice. "Grace, kiddo, this is-" "Company," she says, grave and level, the way she always talks. "We're having company come." I nod, and she turns the eyes on them, observing, noticing. She's like that now, really *watchful.* It's like the old paranoid skittishness, only better, much better. She feels safe now, but still, she watches everything. Not a bad habit to have, really. "Hiya, Grace," Kowalski says automatically, and I can see she's punched his awww buttons, because he looks warmer, calmer than even just a second ago. Grace punches everybody's awww buttons, even more than your average six-year-old kid does. She's calendar-perfect, with her soft brown curls in a ponytail and her kitten-round face and her eyes that look like she's a hundred years old, except that she still *cares* about shit, in the way that only - mostly - a little kid can. Little kids and Fraser. Fraser murmurs a little hello following on Kowalski's heels, but it lapses off, just a token politeness. Grace sits on the couch beside Stella, and she watches Fraser, and Fraser watches her. "Grace has been with us for five months," Stella explains - or doesn't explain, really. Just lobs the ball back to me, sets it up for me to explain. Except that I don't know, I really just don't fucking know where to start explaining. So I go for it, past the explaining part, into the meat of it. "Grace is our foster-daughter. Except that...Stella.... We're just too tied up right now to give her any kind of real attention, you know?" I telegraph it as best I can with my eyes: and we don't want her to see Stella get sicker and maybe die,right there in the house that was supposed to be Grace's safe home. Fraser nods. He gets where I'm going with that. He was around Grace's age when his mother died, and it's funny that I hadn't remembered that until just now. But it's another point in my favor. "But we're not sending her to family services." That's the one thing I know. Grace may not be blood, but she's family enough that I'm not just dumping her off on someone, I don't care if it's freaking Cliff and Claire Huxtable. No strangers. I don't really have to ask; it's very clear to both of them what I'm driving at. They look at each other, Benny and Ray, and they have a split-second married-person argument with their eyes, but I can tell it breaks off unresolved. Probably neither of them really know *what* fucking side they're on right now. And that's when I realize that I've screwed up, because there's more that Benny needs to know, and I'm not sure we can talk in front of Grace. I wanted him to see her, wanted to shoot him up with a little of that baby- mammal juice, make it harder to say no. But now I'm stuck, and I have to find some way to get him alone. "Ray," he says evenly, "may I see you on the porch?" I grin at that, relief and the sudden pleasure of memory. He always knew exactly what had to happen next, like it or not. Behind us as we leave, I hear Grace's high, clear voice, saying, "Is he a policeman? Because Stella said Ray's friend from the police force was coming, but that doesn't look like a police force uniform." I close the door on Kowalski's voice responding. He stands almost at attention, stiff and duty-bound, and his eyes are lost. "Ray...I want to help you. I want to do anything you need. But - Stanley and I - that is, our *lives,* - well, Ray, we just - for a young child, very bad situation, environment-" "Fraser. Fraser, shut up a second. I know that, okay? I know how much it's going to fuck you guys up." "I don't want to sound...selfish, Ray...." I laugh. Benny, *selfish.* Uh-huh, sure. Pull the other one, it's got bells on it. "No, no, you don't, Benny. I know you're worried about her well-being and all that. You gotta believe me, I thought about this too. I thought about it a lot. But you grew up in the Yukon, and I'm not gonna say it didn't do you any harm or anything-" Little joke, little smile, little softening of the ramrod back in response, "but maybe you turned out okay." "Ray, there's - I don't want to sound suspicious, Ray, but I think there's more to this than you've told us yet." "Do you?" "Yes, I do. You said that Stella was undergoing chemotherapy *again,* implying that there's been at least one previous series of treatments, and a full battery of chemotherapy treatments takes several months. If Grace has only been with you for five months - well, I just can't figure out why you would have taken on a responsibility like this if you already knew that Stella's health would be an issue." I sit down on the porch swing, pick at the paint with my nails. "It just...kinda happened." "I see," he says, in that way that means that he's still waiting for me to say something he can work with. Normally I keep the clipping in a fire-proof box, along with some other stuff we wanted to keep for Grace, but this morning I took it out and put it in my wallet. I get it out again now and hand it over to Fraser, and our fingers brush a little as he takes it, and there I am, looking up at him, apologizing for everything from beginning to end. For not being the cop he wanted me to be. For taking off to Vegas when I knew I was the only thing he had anymore. For taking off to Miami when I knew we'd never talked about all the stuff that had been going on between us and around us for years. For throwing the good life he's got going all out of orbit now, dumping all this on him at once and disappearing again. He flushes a little and looks away from my eyes, down at the newspaper clipping as if he can hide and be safe there. Ha ha. I watch, forcing myself to stay cool and let him *process.* He goes white immediately; I'm sure he sees the photo before he reads any of the words, the black-and-white image that has to punch right through at him, worse even than it did when I saw it staring at me over my morning eggs. I watch him force his eyes to scan the words, which I know now by heart. Unidentified woman - hotel housekeeping staff found - noose - suicide - young child found hiding in hotel laundry facility - seeking information. He folds it up, in the same careful way that people move when they know they're drunk and are trying hard to compensate, and he leans back against the pillar on my porch and closes his eyes. After a second he opens them again, and goddamit, he's in tears. Not crying yet, but his eyes magnified by the gloss of goddamn *tears.* That, more than anything else, makes it feel like she just *won't* fucking die. Not ever. "I don't - I don't understand," he says, trying to pull himself together, but sounding so damn lost. "She wouldn't - I never thought of her - not suicide. It doesn't seem-" "Yeah," I say, clipped, bitter. "Seems like a girl like that coulda found plenty of people to do the job for her." I would've volunteered, if I'd known she was in Miami. He looks a little surprised. Well, Christ, Benny, you think *I* cried for her? Trust me, there are only two people in this world who didn't want that woman dead, and the other one is only six years old, so she's got a fucking excuse. But, no, no good. I can't bitch Fraser into this one. Fraser tucks the clipping into a jacket pocket, and I let him. You can't - can't make Fraser do fuck-all where Victoria Metcalf is concerned. I know that. I know that better than anyone. "And so you identified her for the police." "Yeah, I did. I saw her body, Benny. She's dead." "And Grace...." I sort of expected him to get it, but from his lack of expression, I realize I'm going to have to keep at this. Jesus, is this day ever gonna end? "She was with family services, and I couldn't - just leave her there." "That's - very compassionate of you, Ray." How can someone this smart be this stupid? Nah, what am I thinking? Fraser could always be rock fucking stupid when he wanted to be. "Benny. Do the fucking math, all right?" "Math, Ray?" "*Benny, goddammit!*" "Ray, there's no need to yell at-" And then it kicks in, and he stops on a dime, mute and amazed. "No. I - no, Ray, it's not possible." "Of course it's *possible,* you big moose." "No," he says again, quietly, no faith behind it. I don't even bother to argue with him, for once. Benny comes around by me and sits down with me on the porch swing. So here we are, you know? Almost a decade ago, Benton Fraser, RCMP, walked up out of nowhere and asked me to help him fix this awful thing that had happened to him, this thing I couldn't even imagine. Asked me to help find the person who'd taken away the only family he had left. Me, I had plenty of family. I had family crawling the walls. And all I wanted was the easy way out, just coast through to my next raise, and Fraser wanted *everything,* there was never a second of, Oh, just forget that for right now or But that's no big deal. Not with him. We couldn't have been more different. And I don't know what happened, but I know that I give a fuck about my life now, and that's new since I met him. I let myself care, and it brought me here, and it's so fucking hard, it hurts so much more than coasting ever could have, but still, everything's a big deal, I wouldn't want to forget any of the things that led me from there to here, wouldn't give anything away. I reach out and take hold of Fraser's hand, and we keep on sitting like that. He gave me these Fraser-colored glasses, the ability -- even if it doesn't come naturally, even if I don't use it every second of every day - to take things to heart, to treat even the little shit, even the *awful* shit, like it really counts for something. It took a while before I could thank him for that; for a long time it was just scary, terrifying, actually. I ran away from it; at the time I didn't call it running away, but that's exactly what it was. Ran away from the fact that my best friend had these feelings for me, and I couldn't coast through it, I fucking *cared,* cared that he was hurting and that I had a million chances to say something but didn't know what to say. Later on, I began to get it, to see that even this awful thing, the way I let Benny down, the way he wanted me to fill this hole in his life that I just couldn't...even this awful thing was something I wouldn't want to lose. It was him, it was me, it hurt, but it mattered, I felt it, I keep it even now, touching on my heart, like Victoria touches on his, like Stella touches on Ray's. I know I was a coward. I know there were a million times that would have been the right time to say something, just to say, Benny, whatever happens or never happens with us, wherever we're going, I did everything in my sleep before I met you, so thanks. Thank you. Kindly. And it's not like I can ever even things up between us. But once, nine years ago, he came to this total stranger and said, Hey, I'm alone in the world, some fucker went and left me with no family at all, do you think there's possibly something you can do for me? And I guess I gave it a shot, eventually, and I guess we got *something* done, but you have to admit, it was never enough. There was still Benny, still alone in the crowd. Well, here it is, Fraser. I'm giving you this. This girl is your goddamn *family,* and I know that scares the shit out of you, but don't you dare, don't you even think about saying no. You two need each other worse than either of you know. She's six years old, Benny; what's your excuse? "You've been a father to her for months," he says, his voice rough and soft and deep as he stares down at the wood slats under his feet. "I'm not her father." I wonder now if I ever will be -- not Grace's father, but someone's. Whatever happens, Stella won't be having children, so I'm in this weird position of praying to God that I'll never be anyone's father, because that'll mean I'm someone else's husband, too, and Christ, I don't want that, don't want to be anywhere but here with her. "I can't, Ray." I don't know whether to laugh or hit him. "Well, you already did, Benny." "Are you *sure* I'm-" "I'm positive." No one could miss those eyes. They're his eyes, and I knew it the second I saw her, the second she looked me up and down, storing everything away in her memory. "But if you don't believe me, you could always take a blood test." I watch him inch closer and closer to the door, appalled and curious. Wanting to get another look at her, wanting a little space to start flagellating himself for the past again. Fraser doesn't change, not easily. He doesn't roll with the punches, and he doesn't make room in his life for those little things that can raise you up and bring you down just as fast, like sickness and love and kids. This runs against the grain; what I'm asking him to do is everything that Benton Fraser is *not.* Which is why I'm asking it. Because there's always a moment, in every fairy tale, where the hundred years comes to an end, and there's a kiss, and your eyes open once and for all. He was my kiss. Gracie's going to be his; I just know it. He opens the door, and there's Grace's voice, rapid and sweet and even, and everything about her, from her gravity to her sadness to her literal mind to her relentless attention to detail, it all just screams *Benny* to me. Living with her these past months has been just like having him back -- like having a Benny that I can give something back to, one who needs what I've got. I tell people that I saved her, but truthfully, I think she's the one doing the saving. Benny's little girl to the bone. "No," she explains, earnestly, "the school is a real place, but the train that you take to get there, you can only ride it if you're a wizard. It's between the other trains. Not halfway between -- three-quarters." Kowalski is down on the floor with her, holding the book in his hand like he's never seen a book before, keen and interested, or maybe just enraptured by Grace, who has, on top of everything else, that no-fail personal magnetism that was bred and born into her father. Stella is still on the couch, watching them, and I wonder if she notices that she's holding her hands up by her mouth, betraying her tension as she monitors them to see if the bond will take. It seems to be, but it's too early in the game to call it. He's still our wild card. She looks up at Fraser in the doorway, and she smiles once, fleetingly, a little peace offering. I'm standing over his shoulder, so I can't see if he smiles back. "You're from Canada," she says. "And you have a wolf." "He's...half-wolf, actually." "Wolves are my favorite." Diefenbaker grunts with pleasure and lets his head loll to the side, the only clue that he's still awake. "I watch Animal Planet. It's the best channel. My mother was from Alaska -- that's near Canada." It's innocently meant, but it's like a little bomb set off in the room; Benny almost plows me over jumping away from her, Stella leans back like she's suddenly exhausted, and the change in Ray Kowalski is elemental. He rises up out of his crouch, pulling in all the tendrils of connection that he was putting out to Grace, and when he turns around he has his game face on; he fixes onto Fraser and me both like we're in the interrogation room, and I get a clear glimpse of what kind of a cop he used to be. "You. Son. Of a bitch," he says, and I have no idea which of us he's talking to. "You!" he repeats, and he's pointing right at me. "Grace, help me in the kitchen, please," Stella says, clipped and disapproving, and Grace goes without complaint. She's used to taking orders; whatever Victoria did to that kid's head, we try not to take advantage of it now, but there are still emergency situations where it comes in handy. "Now, Stanley--" Fraser begins, placatingly. "Fraser, shut up, okay? You, I can deal with. I *know* why you did what you did. What I cannot figure out is *you,* Vecchio. You knew that woman, and you know that she never did anything good for anybody--" "Stanley...." "--she never brought anything good into the world--" "Stanley...." "--and you bring her kid into Stella's house? What the fuck is wrong with you?" "Stanley!" "*What,* Fraser?" "My. She's my. I'm...." Ray rolls his eyes. "Well, no shit you're the father." "You knew?" "I been looking at those eyes every day for the last six years, Fraser. I'm in love with your fucking pretty blue eyes-- you think I don't know them when I see them?" Yeah. It really is the eyes. "I knew you were the father before I knew who her goddamn mother was." "I would've told you, Stanley. If there had been anybody else." "Well, color me in denial, then." Benny sits down in the closest chair, and I'd forgotten what a hell of a thing it is to see a strong man brought down. I don't know if it's the ghost of Victoria Metcalf, or the intensity of being someone's *father,* hearing that word and knowing it's all him, or maybe the guilt of knowing that now he's hurt yet another partner with that crazy week all those years ago. Whatever, he looks like a hologram of himself, insubstantial and fragile, and as a cop and while I was undercover, I had lots of reasons and lots of tricks for tearing apart a hard guy, but in his own deceptively gentle way, Benny was the hardest of them all. Shit, he was tougher blind and legless than most people ever are. None of my tricks ever worked on him -- just the things I did by accident. It's hell for me to watch him reduced to this, but what the fuck can I do about it? I'm a continent away from him now, and now I always will be. Because of who he is, because of who I am. Because of the way he loved me open-handed, because of the way I loved him, back-handed. For the first time, I'm not just resigned to the fact of Ray Kowalski, but grateful for him, because he can move in where I never could. He steps in between Fraser's legs, and Fraser leans toward him with pure desperation in the taut lines of that strong body. He wraps his arms around his lover and rests his forehead on Kowalski's solar plexus, and Kowalski puts his hands on Fraser's hair. "I'm sorry, Stanley. Oh, God. I'm so sorry to do this to you." "You didn't do it to *me,* Frase. It was a long time ago." "No, I mean...now. Today. We have to...I. Have to. Bring her with us. Home with us." Tick tock. Tick tock. I watch Kowalski catch on. I watch him go through surprise and into confusion. He looks up and meets my eyes, and I don't give him anything. Show's not up here; it's there with Fraser. We always knew it might come down to this. Stella told me he'd be the swing vote, and he could go either way. I wait for it. What else can I do? "No," he says simply. Shit. "I'm not gonna let you, Frase. I'm not gonna let you live under this for the rest of your life." "But I can't...I have a responsibility." "Because you knocked her up? No. That's *not* your responsibility. All your mistakes were about you not cutting the strings, about you thinking you had this -- this -- *responsibility* when it comes to her. You do not, Fraser. You never did. Not for her felonies, not for her jail time, not for her psychosis, not for her kid, and not for her, wherever the hell she is now." "She's dead. She's dead." That stops him for a beat, and his hand makes a gentling circle in Fraser's hair. "And because you couldn't get out, you were almost dead. You never could get out on your own, Fraser. This time I'm not going to give you a choice. She cannot have you back, you get that? I'm not having you go every day of your life -- fucking *thinking* about her, obsessing about shit that went down seven years ago. It's time for you to *get out,* for good this time. Or she'll have you around the throat until the day you die." "I spent so many years...trying to keep that part of my life from touching you. What I did to Ray -- I'll regret it forever. No words can ever make it right. And now I'm asking you to put everything we have aside to help me with this, and it's so wrong, Stanley. You deserve so much better than this." Enough. Enough of this. "Kowalski. I wanna see you outside." He thinks about telling me to screw off, but the truth is that underneath the bluster, there's a guy in there who's got every bit the fetish for fairness that Benny does; it's why they move together the way they do, why they slid into each other's lives like they did. But I didn't count on loyalty tripping this thing up. Time to give New Ray something else to think about. Porch, take two. However much alike they are on the inside, Ray and Benny couldn't carry themselves any more differently; instead of Benny's firing-squad pose, Kowalski puts his elbows on the railing and leans backwards. It's an ostentatiously vulnerable position, wide-open, like he's saying "I'm so in control here that you can hit me with whatever you got." So let's hit it. I step right up to him, closer than the rules of the game allow, until I feel him tense up in spite of himself, and I put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes narrow, but he's gonna play chicken with me, and he doesn't want to be the first to make a sound. "I get what you're saying, *Stanley.* I really do." "Don't call me that." I raise my eyebrows. "Thought that was your new and improved name." "You're not Fraser." "So few are." "Just the one." "Just the two." He doesn't like that thought; funny how what was like a literal God-send to me can be such a threat to Kowalski. Two Frasers -- one to save you and one to save. "There's no way I'm going to let you saddle him with this, Vecchio. You better call in your backup plan." "I don't have a backup plan." He snorts his disbelief, and reluctantly I have to admire his instincts. I've already talked to Tony and Maria. But that's an emergency fallback position, and I'm not at rock-bottom yet. "It's all on the two of you." "You know, I don't get you, Vecchio. I mean, you of all people -- you should hate her. You should get where I'm coming from." "Hey, I got what I wanted. She swung for what she did to Fraser. But it's you I don't get -- blaming that little girl for, what, being born? For disrupting your life with her existence? That's low, Stanley." He squirms under that, but he's a stubborn bastard. "I'm not sharing him." "With his own daughter?" "With Victoria! All bullshit aside, Vecchio, you know better than anyone that he's got no limits when it comes to her. There's no telling how far this could go if it gets started again." "You seeing ghosts, Kowalski?" "I got a right to be. You wanna be roses and rainbows about this, you go right on ahead. I'm the one who looks at the goddamn bullet hole you put in him every night. It's on me to make sure it never comes to that again." It's not that I think he doesn't have a point. I can see where he's coming from. But on the other hand, I've got things on me, too. It was me he came to back in another lifetime, when he thought he was totally alone in the world. It's been a hell of a ride, but finally, I've got something for him. Finally, the answer to "Can you?" is "Yes." And Ray Kowalski -- *Stanley* Kowalski -- may think he's appointed by the angels to heal Fraser's every wound, but this goes back to way before him. This is mine to do, giving Benny back his family. This is the thing he and I set in motion almost a decade ago. "Let me bottom-line this for you. We're going to make it short and sweet." I step even closer, chest to chest, taking full advantage of the hair's worth of height I have on him. "Where I come from, blood still counts for something, and as far as I'm concerned, that girl belongs with her father. You don't like that, fine. That's your right. But coming between a little kid and her father, well, that just ain't right. And it's not going down on my time." "Since when did it become *your* time? Who the fuck are you, anyway? Ancient history, Vecchio. That's all." "You want to know who I am? You really want to know?" He doesn't blink. He's got a hell of a game face, the former Detective Kowalski. "Yeah. Tell me who you are to us." "I'm Armando fucking Langoustini. I was under deep cover with the Mafia for over a year, and on the day your idiot boyfriend blew my cover, my rep as the man who'd kill you for parking in his space was solid as a fucking rock. Now, do you honestly think that happens by accident? Do you think I *bluffed* my way through thirteen months and twelve days as the Bookman? You want to play with me, Kowalski, that's your prerogative. But this is the only warning you get, and you just get it because I like you: I've got games you never even heard of. You keep on fucking with my friend and his family, and Stanley, I don't give a shit how pure your intentions are. I'll put you on the goddamn bench." "You're *threatening* me?" "No, Stanley. I'm doing what I think is best for Benny, just like you are. I'm just saying -- when push comes to shove, I think I'm willing to take it farther than you are. If you think I'm wrong, you're welcome to try me. We'll play it out. I really do like you, Kowalski. But I owe Grace and I owe Benny, and you are only as much in my way as you want to be. Does that lay it all out for you pretty well?" He doesn't like being out-faced. Who does, really? I see him twitch to take a swing at me, but on the other hand.... On the other hand for all that he was one of Chicago's finest, Ray Kowalski is 99.44% pure. Like Fraser, there's a core of decency to him that's untouchable, incorruptible. And he's looking in my eyes now, and for the first time, it's sinking in on him that I never had that kind of core. I'm a good man; I believe that I am, but I came to that over a lot of years and a lot of terrain. I'm a different sort of animal from the two of them, and if I've regretted that from time to time, I can also use it to my advantage. A man needs to hang onto his advantages. "Yeah," he says gruffly. "Yeah. We got a wavelength thing going here." "Good." I pat his chest lightly, and step away. "Trust me, you'll be thanking me in a month. She's a good kid." I flash for a second on Stella's faraway eyes; she said *If he'll give it a chance...he'd make a good father. No one better.* And I was jealous as hell when she said it, even though Ray's as far removed from her life as good old Vicky is from Fraser's now. So, yeah, I know where he's coming from. Maybe we're not such different animals after all. Maybe in spite of his innocence and my opportunism, we both understand that every fire leaves its ashes. When we open the door, she is standing by his knee, and I see Kowalski's breath freeze for a moment, his whole body going perfectly still. It's even a little bit of a shock for me, watching them like that, nearly touching, regarding each other deeply with matched looks of doubt and wonder. Then they both turn to look at us, and Kowalski rubs his eyes. It's a lot of Fraser to take all at once. He puts his hands down, absently pushing leather bracelets further up on his arm. Any married couple can argue with their eyes, but as I watch Ray and Benny, I realize that not every couple can promise each other the world and their lives and their perfect trust in a silent split second. Just the good ones. Benny turns back to his daughter, and he talks to her just like he would to any woman, patient and respectful. "Grace. Stanley and I would like you to come to Canada with us." She looks at him, pondering. "What about Ray and Stella?" He bites his lip, the desire to protect her warring with Fraser's basic honesty. "Stella needs to rest for a while. She's very sick." "Are there bears?" "In Canada? Yes. Some bears." "What should I call you?" I let out a long breath of relief, because now we're just into the semantics. Doesn't really matter what she calls him. He'll be a father to her for the duration, even if both of them spend years being too stubborn to call it what it is. "My...name is Benton," he says, and I'm grinning from ear to ear. Stubborn moose. Benny, Benny, Benny. You'll thank me, too, my friend. All the things you did for me, all the things I could never do for you -- it all brought us to this. "There's a bear on television named Ben." "Ben," he says, and I can tell from the very blankness of his face how deep the feeling runs, like a river under the ice. "Does that mean you want to come with us?" "Can I visit Alaska?" "Yes," he says instantly, and then looks quickly at Kowalski, who rolls his eyes and nods. And if I manipulated Benny into this, I don't regret it. If I had to hit a little below the belt to get Kowalski to take my word for rightness of it, I don't regret it. Certain things can raise you up and bring you low at the same time, like sickness and love and children. I learned that here, from this family, my Stella and my Grace. And the flying and the falling are all part of the same, and it's all worth it. Everything is worth it, even the little things, even the painful things. I learned that from him. My Benny.