new ds story

[schmerica]

brooklinegirl: I would like to present to use Exhibit A of why I should not attempt to write Ray/Ray.

Everybody else: Um, this is not really a Ray/Ray story, actually, though it does have a bit of that; it also has some F/K. Mostly, it is a "Ray Kowalski Being Really Fucked Up" story. Take that as warning, if needed.

Title: Cold Dirty Deep
Fandom: due South
Pairing: hints of Ray/Ray, Fraser/Kowalski, and others mentioned
Summary: "Ray ducked his head under the water, closing his eyes tight and holding his breath for as long as he could."
Thank you to visionshadows and china_shop for beta.
About 12k.

Read at my site or below.

*****

The first thing Ray did, he went to Chicago. It was a lot warmer than Canada, but that was about the only thing going for it. Driving around now, all he saw was him being Vecchio, and Mounties on every corner. Fraser was long gone, but his fingerprints were all over the place. Ray could only take it for two weeks.

He drove down to see his parents. Right after he headed to Canada, they'd left Illinois, too, driven all the way back down to Arizona. The sun hurt Ray's eyes, so most of the time he stayed inside the RV, where it was hot and sweaty and the vinyl stuck to any skin he was stupid enough to leave exposed. His mom made him eat his weight in chicken soup -- she'd done the same thing every time he and Stella had broken up in high school, and she'd mailed him a new crocheted scarf and hat after the divorce. Ray thought maybe she had a broken heart confused with a head cold.

He stayed lying around the RV park for nearly a month before all the trailer park old people around started to drive him crazy. He shook his dad's hand and hugged his mom and headed east. He didn't call first, but when he got to Florida, Stella didn't look too surprised to see him, so he thought maybe his mom had talked to her ahead of time.

Now, Vecchio -- Vecchio was surprised. Ray could hear him whining all the way from the guest room.

"Maybe I don't want the guy in my house!" Vecchio was saying.

"Your house?"

Ray could just see the icy look that went with that tone of Stella's. It wasn't aimed at him anymore, though, and Ray didn't find he cared much.

"Our house," Vecchio said, all soothing-like, and then, "It's just, he gets you so upset, baby. I know you guys have history, but you don't need to let him stay in our house while he obsesses over you."

That crap had never worked for Ray, but maybe Vecchio had something he didn't, or maybe Stella had just changed, because Stella's voice got softer and nicer, too, not even pissier like it always had for Ray. "He's going through a hard time right now, Ray. And it's not me he's obsessing over."

Ray halfway wanted to poke his head out into the hall to yell that he wasn't obsessing over anybody, he was perfectly fine, but he didn't think even he believed it.

******

The first day in Florida, Ray slept for sixteen hours; Stella's decorating taste apparently ran to fluffy and comfy now, and the bed was like a giant marshmallow. Ray never wanted to get out of bed, but sometime around the fourth time he woke up, he made himself get up, anyway. The second day he sat around watching soaps all day in his sweatpants while Stella and Vecchio were at work. The third day he went to the beach.

It wasn't that far from Stella's place. Ray walked a little ways, and suddenly there he was. Clear light blue water stretching out forever in front of him. It was really warm and really shallow -- he walked in real far, only stopping when it got to his stomach.

The last time Ray'd been in a big body of water like this was like Lake Superior. This was as far as you could get from that, pretty much -- that'd been cold, dirty, deep and scary as hell, and he'd almost drowned there, would have drowned if it hadn't been for Fraser and his buddy breathing, Fraser there giving him breath, holding Ray still and pulling him back from the dead, from the darkness all around--

Ray ducked his head under the water, closing his eyes tight and holding his breath for as long as he could, until the lack of air forced him to rise, sputtering, to the surface.

When he got back to the house, he took a shower and crawled back into bed.

*****

The fifth day Stella went out to the spa with her friends, and Vecchio invited Ray to the den to watch the game.

Ray was pretty sure Vecchio wasn't looking for his charming company -- Vecchio didn't exactly like him much even when he was a lot more fun than he was now -- so he wasn't surprised when Vecchio turned to him during the first commercial break and said, "Listen, Stella might not care that you're here, but I don't expect you to be staying much longer."

Ray took a long swig of his beer before he answered. "And here I thought you Italians were known for your hospitality."

"Yeah, you gotta read the small print. Turns out we got an exemption clause for ex-husbands and bastards," Vecchio said.

Ray shrugged and took another sip. He didn't look at Vecchio, but he could see the guy glaring from the corner of his eye.

"Look, Kowalski, what the hell do you think you're doing here? This isn't my problem. If you're so fucked up about it, why did you leave in the first place?"

Ray almost wanted to laugh at that. "What makes you think it was my idea?" He set his bottle carefully on the carpet and turned on the couch cushion so he was half-facing Vecchio. His smile felt sharp on his face, like it'd cut anybody who came too close.

"I've known Benny for a long time," Vecchio said, flatly. "I know how he gets about people. I've heard him talk about you. If you'd murdered somebody, he still wouldn't've kicked you out."

"Ding," said Ray, "wrong answer." He leaned forward a little, just barely into Vecchio's personal space. "Stella ever tell you about the first time she left me?"

"I hate to break it to you, but you're not a big feature of our conversations around here," Vecchio spit out.

"Yeah, your loss," Ray said. "You could learn something. See, when me and Stell, we'd been married a year, I cheated on her with this guy--"

"Jesus, Kowalski," Vecchio said, rising up to his feet, "what makes you think I want to hear this--"

"This guy, Will," Ray went on, half to himself. slouching down on the couch and resting his head back on the cushion. "We'd both been friends with him since forever, high school or something, and Stella caught us and she walked out on me. She was gone like a month, and then she came back, told me she could forgive me, give me a second chance, as long as I promised it'd never happen again. And I promised her, and I never looked at a single guy, a single other girl the whole rest of the time we were married." Ray closed his eyes. The game was back on -- he could hear the announcers calling the plays. "I told Fraser that story that first night."

There was a long pause.

"You cheated on Fraser?" Vecchio said, finally, in a real low voice. "You asshole. On Fraser -- how could you, how could you even think--"

Ray kept his eyes closed. It almost felt like confession. Vecchio hated him, anyway; it didn't matter what he said. "We were going to visit Maggie -- Fraser got called away, this important Mountie business. She didn't know we were together, not like that -- it wasn't her fault, it was all me. Fraser thought I did it to punish him or something."

"Sleeping with his sister. No clue where he got that idea."

"No. I don't think -- No. She was pretty, you know? She smelled good. I'd had a little too much to drink, we danced for a bit. I wasn't thinking about Fraser at all." He hadn't been thinking at all, just like he hadn't been thinking with Will Kramer twenty years ago. Instinct and hunches might serve him good ninety percent of the time, but that other ten percent was a bitch.

"I'm sure that made it all better," Vecchio said, sarcasm dripping heavy off of him.

Ray opened his eyes. "Yeah, well. I'm here, aren't I?"

Vecchio was staring at him, with a kind of wonder, almost, shaking his head. One of his hands was half curled into a fist. "Jesus, Kowalski, I never thought you were a genius or anything, but I didn't expect you to be this stupid. I hope at least you got a decent lay out of it."

Ray smiled, wide and mean, as he stood up. "Obviously, you've never nailed a Mountie."

And there it was -- that was what it took to get Vecchio to finally pop him one. A good shot, too, right in his jaw. Ray was expecting it, though, so he got his next punch in right away, and then they were at it -- and, Christ, it felt good. Felt better than anything Ray had done since he left Canada, fighting like this, the punching and the dirty scratches and kicks, the wrestling on the floor. It was messy and dirty and right. The sounds of their punches, them both breathing heavy -- Vecchio got in a real good shot, and Ray crashed into the end table, knocked over one of the lamps so it broke on the floor. Vecchio was faster, stronger than Ray was expecting -- maybe he'd underestimated the guy. There had to be something there if Fraser and Stella liked him; people like them only got one big mistake, and they'd both wasted that one on Ray.

Vecchio was good, Vecchio fought mean and careful and smart, and Ray was gonna be bruises all up and down his body tomorrow. But Ray wanted this fight more, needed it more, and that gave him the advantage.

He ended up on top, kneeling over Vecchio's chest, pinning him down with all his weight. Vecchio was going to have a hell of a black eye tomorrow, and a couple bruises, but other he didn't look too bad. No blood, which was more than Ray could say; his mouth tasted tangy and coppery from where he'd bitten his lip. When he touched his lip to check, his finger was red with it.

Vecchio breathed hard and glared at him. Ray was panting, too, and he stared back down, trying to keep his face blank, staring at the curve of Vecchio's lips and the angle of his neck. He wondered -- he was willing to bet -- and it wasn't like what he did mattered anymore, did it?

He shifted position a little, got his hand down to Vecchio's crotch to check and, yeah, right again. Ray wasn't the only one getting hard here. He kept his hand on Vecchio's cock, rubbing lightly as it got harder in his hand, and he leaned forward to press his mouth hard against Vecchio's. It hurt his lip, but he wanted to. It wasn't anything like kissing Fraser.

"You want a blowjob?" Ray whispered against Vecchio's mouth, and Vecchio shook a little beneath him. Ray was willing to take that as a yes -- he moved again, taking his weight off Vecchio's chest so he could move down his body -- but when Vecchio got his arm free, he shoved Ray off, hard, and Ray fell back and hit his head against the wood on the back of the sofa.

"Fuck you," Vecchio said, his voice harsh. "Just because you're an asshole doesn't mean all of us are, Kowalski." He got to his feet and walked across the room. He stopped at the doorframe and said, in a real slow, careful voice, "I want you out of our house by morning. And if you touch me or my wife again, I'll kill you."

He didn't look back at Ray as he left the room.

Ray rolled onto his back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He wondered where he should go next. Canada, Chicago, Arizona, Florida. He'd pretty much checked off his whole address book.

But, hell, there was the whole world out there, right? He could go anywhere. There wasn't anything holding him back anymore, after all. He could go anywhere he wanted, do anything he wanted. The world was his fucking oyster.

Ray covered his eyes with his forearms and listened to the sound of game still going on the TV and didn't think about anything.