[ Stanley Kowalski came and went as he pleased. It was a rhythm that Fraser had gotten used to years before, when Ray Vecchio had been his partner, because not every day would involve adventures in the Riviera. Sometimes Ray had actual policework to do, apparently, and this did not involve mounties or deaf wolves or Inuit stories. Fraser suspected Ray had been protecting him. He brought Fraser in on serial arsons and car thieves and gambling rings, but for those first two years Fraser had hardly seen a body. There'd been few assaults, no rapes, no murders masquerading under the guise of suicides. Which was remarkable considering Chicago's position as the second most violent city in the United States.
So he didn't blink twice when Ray took two days off, but on the third day he called, just to make sure his partner remembered that they were working on a case, and that Fraser would like to speak to one of the suspects again.
Ray, it turned out, was a mess. He was walking with the discomfort of someone who had either taken a great fall, had ridden a horse for eight hours, or had painful hemorrhoids, but Fraser guessed the former given the fact that he also looked like he'd been wrestling with a tiger. Underneath the smell of sweat and antiseptic, though, there was something familiar, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. If he could just find an excuse to lick him...
They were chatting about the mating practices of the beluga, which had been observed by divers for the first time ever and was - to Fraser's mind - an incredibly exciting development in the field of marine science, when they ambled into the 2-7 several hours later. He was so caught up in expounding on his topic that he didn't even notice he was heading for the wrong desk until he was almost sitting on top of Ray Vecchio.
Hello Benny. Said Ray Vecchio. Then: Hi Stanley.
Maybe it was the fact that Ray didn't pour enough loathing into the word 'Stanley', Fraser didn't know, but he did know instantly that his world had been knocked off kilter in the space of two words. It was like all the puzzle pieces had been brought together, and finally he could see that they were supposed to make a picture of a train, but he had no idea why they made a train. What sort of train? Was it coming or going? Steam, diesel, electric? How did he know it was a train at all? His eyes snapped up toward Stanley, then abruptly back to Ray, and he took in all of him, the bruised lips, the damaged jaw, the teethmarks in his throat - teethmarks, he identified instantly, that would match Ray Kowalski's set perfectly. Another bruise, crossed the muscles at the back of Ray's neck, like an arm had been wrapped tightly around him, and were those nail scratches on the back of Ray's neck, visible barely beneath the open collar of his shirt? They ran bottom to top, like someone had raked upward--an odd angle to be scratching someone's back. All of these bruises were as old as Stanley's injuries, dating back mere days to the first day that Stanley had taken off. The day after the night before.
Ray smelt of antiseptic too - of sweat, and the Riviera, and french fries. But he also smelled of something else, underneath his clear effort to scrub it off him.
He smelled of Stanley Kowalski.
Oh, he could assume they'd been fighting, but he'd seen Stanley and Ray fight. They fought with their fists - pow pow pow until the other guy went down. They didn't bite people. Or scratch them. He should be uncomfortable, he realised, but suddenly all he felt was angry. They didn't think they could tell him about this? Weren't they his friends? His partners?
His expression instantly turned moody, and he raised a hand to point down the hall. No 'If you'd kindly' or 'I'd be grateful'; mad Fraser was mad, and politeness went out the window. ] I'd like to speak to both of you alone. I believe Interview Room A is empty.
no subject
So he didn't blink twice when Ray took two days off, but on the third day he called, just to make sure his partner remembered that they were working on a case, and that Fraser would like to speak to one of the suspects again.
Ray, it turned out, was a mess. He was walking with the discomfort of someone who had either taken a great fall, had ridden a horse for eight hours, or had painful hemorrhoids, but Fraser guessed the former given the fact that he also looked like he'd been wrestling with a tiger. Underneath the smell of sweat and antiseptic, though, there was something familiar, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. If he could just find an excuse to lick him...
They were chatting about the mating practices of the beluga, which had been observed by divers for the first time ever and was - to Fraser's mind - an incredibly exciting development in the field of marine science, when they ambled into the 2-7 several hours later. He was so caught up in expounding on his topic that he didn't even notice he was heading for the wrong desk until he was almost sitting on top of Ray Vecchio.
Hello Benny. Said Ray Vecchio. Then: Hi Stanley.
Maybe it was the fact that Ray didn't pour enough loathing into the word 'Stanley', Fraser didn't know, but he did know instantly that his world had been knocked off kilter in the space of two words. It was like all the puzzle pieces had been brought together, and finally he could see that they were supposed to make a picture of a train, but he had no idea why they made a train. What sort of train? Was it coming or going? Steam, diesel, electric? How did he know it was a train at all? His eyes snapped up toward Stanley, then abruptly back to Ray, and he took in all of him, the bruised lips, the damaged jaw, the teethmarks in his throat - teethmarks, he identified instantly, that would match Ray Kowalski's set perfectly. Another bruise, crossed the muscles at the back of Ray's neck, like an arm had been wrapped tightly around him, and were those nail scratches on the back of Ray's neck, visible barely beneath the open collar of his shirt? They ran bottom to top, like someone had raked upward--an odd angle to be scratching someone's back. All of these bruises were as old as Stanley's injuries, dating back mere days to the first day that Stanley had taken off. The day after the night before.
Ray smelt of antiseptic too - of sweat, and the Riviera, and french fries. But he also smelled of something else, underneath his clear effort to scrub it off him.
He smelled of Stanley Kowalski.
Oh, he could assume they'd been fighting, but he'd seen Stanley and Ray fight. They fought with their fists - pow pow pow until the other guy went down. They didn't bite people. Or scratch them. He should be uncomfortable, he realised, but suddenly all he felt was angry. They didn't think they could tell him about this? Weren't they his friends? His partners?
His expression instantly turned moody, and he raised a hand to point down the hall. No 'If you'd kindly' or 'I'd be grateful'; mad Fraser was mad, and politeness went out the window. ] I'd like to speak to both of you alone. I believe Interview Room A is empty.