[ If he hadn't guessed it before, it would have been difficult to guess from the reaction that the pair of them were lying through their teeth. But soon enough Ray Vecchio the former former and current is babbling about something unrelated, and Ray Vecchio the current former--well, he cast Fraser that look that said 'I know you're onto me but just watch me, Fraze, I am the master of the duck and weave'.
Fraser followed behind both Rays, like he was marching suspects down the corridor, and he took the door from Ray Vecchio and urged him in before he closed and locked it.
This was the room without the mirror glass wall. Fraser preferred it that way, and suspected that Ray and Ray did too. Or would, if Fraser managed to get anything incriminating out of either of them. ]
If you'd both care to sit down.
[ He gestured toward the table, hovering back himself and folding his hands behind his back.
The thing was, he hadn't really had time to think about what he knew, or work out how he felt about it. Knowledge had been thrust upon him in such a way as he was simply incapable of ignoring it. Piece A went into Slot B--it was there, right in front of his eyes. Clinically, from the perspective of a detective, the facts all lined up. They'd had sex: the bruises on Vecchio's throat matched Kowalski's teeth, and it had been three days ago now, judging by the purpling of the bruises. Kowalski had been the receptive partner, though who knew how they had decided that, but his stiff slowness and the wobble in his legs 'The tailbone, you know? The whatchumacallit--coccyx' were more than evidence enough.
But those were facts. Facts led to 'I'm angry you didn't tell me' like he was pissed that Ray had held out vital information in a case they were investigating. It didn't even close to touch on how he felt about it. How did he feel about it? It was a complicated question. He hadn't prepared in advance. And now here he was expected to say something about it. ]
I just--
[ He opened his mouth, closed it again, then seized on the first thought he had that wasn't seething rage and hurt. ]
You hate each other.
[ Good, good. That was a good point. They hated each other. How did that work? ]
no subject
Fraser followed behind both Rays, like he was marching suspects down the corridor, and he took the door from Ray Vecchio and urged him in before he closed and locked it.
This was the room without the mirror glass wall. Fraser preferred it that way, and suspected that Ray and Ray did too. Or would, if Fraser managed to get anything incriminating out of either of them. ]
If you'd both care to sit down.
[ He gestured toward the table, hovering back himself and folding his hands behind his back.
The thing was, he hadn't really had time to think about what he knew, or work out how he felt about it. Knowledge had been thrust upon him in such a way as he was simply incapable of ignoring it. Piece A went into Slot B--it was there, right in front of his eyes. Clinically, from the perspective of a detective, the facts all lined up. They'd had sex: the bruises on Vecchio's throat matched Kowalski's teeth, and it had been three days ago now, judging by the purpling of the bruises. Kowalski had been the receptive partner, though who knew how they had decided that, but his stiff slowness and the wobble in his legs 'The tailbone, you know? The whatchumacallit--coccyx' were more than evidence enough.
But those were facts. Facts led to 'I'm angry you didn't tell me' like he was pissed that Ray had held out vital information in a case they were investigating. It didn't even close to touch on how he felt about it. How did he feel about it? It was a complicated question. He hadn't prepared in advance. And now here he was expected to say something about it. ]
I just--
[ He opened his mouth, closed it again, then seized on the first thought he had that wasn't seething rage and hurt. ]
You hate each other.
[ Good, good. That was a good point. They hated each other. How did that work? ]