"We are talking about anger here, Fraser, a human emotion. Are you human? Because if you are, human beings feel things. Okay? They feel anger. They feel love. They feel lust and fear. And sometimes, I know you don't want to hear this, sometimes they even cry."
[ Ray knows he's balanced on a knife edge, and frankly he knows he's going to end up thrown over it one way or another. The real question is when and how. He keeps his eyes on the muzzle of the gun as Stanley trains it on him, circling around to the coffee table with enough care that Ray doesn't remotely consider going for the door behind him.
Knife edge.
Classical music. Made sense, really. Of course it did so happen that Ray left those sorts of things queued up in the machine. He'd grown to like them--he had Armando to blame for that. Still, he licked his lips nervously as Kowalski ramped the music up louder. Louder and louder. It wasn't good. He knew where it led. Then again he'd known it was leading here from the beginning.
Stanley turned to face him, and now the training wheels came off. Now he was ready. He wasn't going to shoot him, which meant they were leading toward some kind of physical violence. He grit his teeth together, waiting, watching him turn slowly red, watching the anger and resentment boil to the surface. Any second now. Ready, Vecchio? Wait for it.
Maybe there's something. Maybe there's a twitch of eyes in toward an expression of anger. Maybe there's nothing. But even if there is nothing, that nothing is Kowalski lunging toward him all of a sudden, drawing his gun up, using it like an extension of his fist and slamming it into his jaw.
His teeth crunch together, tendons in his neck overreaching as his head is snapped to the left, and backward. The gun doesn't go off - that's good - but the edge of the grip tears a gash across his jaw regardless, and knocks him back.
For a second he almost keeps his balance, but his heel catches against the toe of his other foot, and he goes down hard on his left hip. Fuck-- Fucking hell. Ow. Pressing his hand to his jaw, scooting back. ]
[It's the sound that satisfies the most, the recognition of a solid hit that comes from teeth smashing together, his own fist barely even receiving any brunt of the hit thanks to the solid metal of the gun. The fact that Vecchio falls from it only adds to the pleasure of it all, and as tempting as it would be for Stanley to throw himself at the fallen and start fighting tooth and nail, that's not why he's here. He can start a fist fight any day of the year, but right now he needs to try and grapple onto just a scrap more of self-control than normal.
He still follows the scoot back, never keeping too far away intent to loom over as that gun trains straight back on it's target. Self-control or not, he's still seething, teeth just slightly bared as his top lip curls into an animalistic snarl.]
You knew. You fuckin' knew!
[And that's what really gets to him. The pain, even the humiliation, he could deal with. They're virtually daily occurrences in his life. But the fact that 'Armando' knew exactly who he'd been dealing with? That steps way beyond the boundary of undercover.]
You saw my badge, you asshole. You saw the name- Ray Vecchio- and you still, still... [A sniff, jerking his head up and to the side for a swift crack of his neck, like a nervous twitch that he can't quite prevent. He still can't talk about it, he'd never let it leave his lips. This was all the therapy he'd ever need, he's sure of that. No psychologist will ever make him feel as satisfied as fair revenge.]
Fuck. The fuck is wrong with you? I covered for you. Every fuckin' day, I covered for you.
[He had to wonder whether he can really be betrayed by someone he'd never really known, but that's sure as hell what it'd felt like. A knife right in the back, while Fraser had stood there and smiled like the clueless idiot he is. But he wasn't to know, not when Stan had no intention of ever sharing that Vegas fiasco with him.]
[ It was true. Twice he'd seen Kowalski's badge; twice he had the opportunity to do something about it. But he'd only acknowledged it once, and that was what this was all about. In many ways Fraser and Kowalski were fortunate that he'd done as much as he needed to when they'd discovered him in that hotel room. The options otherwise would have been dire. But that was exactly it. He'd meant to shake Stanley up enough that he'd do the best he could to make sure Fraser never stumbled upon him. He'd been meant to keep Fraser out of the way of the mob forevermore, and it hadn't done any of them the slightest bit of good.
But that moment in the room, when Fraser had walked in and said "Ray!", and Kowalski had looked at him with his hard, impenetrable eyes, and he'd put it all together. Armando Langoustini was Ray Vecchio. It all came together, and Ray had been left standing there looking at the two of them hard, with a sick feeling deepening in his gut second by second--a sick feeling that hadn't even started to let up until he'd felt that gun nestle against the back of his neck in the car.
They'd been building up to this moment. It had been inevitable since the moment that hotel door had opened, and Ray had to wonder whether any explanation would ever be good enough; whether any explanation would ever be welcome.
He drew his bloodied hand away from his jaw, straightening himself on the carpet, bracing himself back so that he can look up the barrel of the gun without straining his neck. Kowalski can't even say it, and Ray doesn't blame him. ]
Yeah, I fucking knew. [ He grit his teeth, pulled himself back half a foot further, staring but not glowering up at the man above him. ] I was deep undercover, and in the space of a week I'd had two cops sniffing around me. Two cops from Chicago. You know what sort of liability that makes me?
[ He ducked his head away, scowled at the ground. ] Got you to keep Fraser the fuck away from Vegas, though, didn't it?
[ He could explain the whole thing in detail, tell Stanley about the attempts on his life, and the fact that he never thought he'd live long enough to have to come back and face the music, tell him about how far Fraser had pushed considering he'd gotten off scot free, and how his reputation had been taking a nose dive as a result. He'd done what he'd needed to do, but Kowalski was rightfully angry, and in some small way Vecchio didn't want to dissuade him from his purpose. They both needed this. Hell, he just needed it over so that he didn't have to watch his back for Stanley as much as everyone else. ]
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Knife edge.
Classical music. Made sense, really. Of course it did so happen that Ray left those sorts of things queued up in the machine. He'd grown to like them--he had Armando to blame for that. Still, he licked his lips nervously as Kowalski ramped the music up louder. Louder and louder. It wasn't good. He knew where it led. Then again he'd known it was leading here from the beginning.
Stanley turned to face him, and now the training wheels came off. Now he was ready. He wasn't going to shoot him, which meant they were leading toward some kind of physical violence. He grit his teeth together, waiting, watching him turn slowly red, watching the anger and resentment boil to the surface. Any second now. Ready, Vecchio? Wait for it.
Maybe there's something. Maybe there's a twitch of eyes in toward an expression of anger. Maybe there's nothing. But even if there is nothing, that nothing is Kowalski lunging toward him all of a sudden, drawing his gun up, using it like an extension of his fist and slamming it into his jaw.
His teeth crunch together, tendons in his neck overreaching as his head is snapped to the left, and backward. The gun doesn't go off - that's good - but the edge of the grip tears a gash across his jaw regardless, and knocks him back.
For a second he almost keeps his balance, but his heel catches against the toe of his other foot, and he goes down hard on his left hip. Fuck-- Fucking hell. Ow. Pressing his hand to his jaw, scooting back. ]
Sure. Sure, I deserved that.
no subject
He still follows the scoot back, never keeping too far away intent to loom over as that gun trains straight back on it's target. Self-control or not, he's still seething, teeth just slightly bared as his top lip curls into an animalistic snarl.]
You knew. You fuckin' knew!
[And that's what really gets to him. The pain, even the humiliation, he could deal with. They're virtually daily occurrences in his life. But the fact that 'Armando' knew exactly who he'd been dealing with? That steps way beyond the boundary of undercover.]
You saw my badge, you asshole. You saw the name- Ray Vecchio- and you still, still... [A sniff, jerking his head up and to the side for a swift crack of his neck, like a nervous twitch that he can't quite prevent. He still can't talk about it, he'd never let it leave his lips. This was all the therapy he'd ever need, he's sure of that. No psychologist will ever make him feel as satisfied as fair revenge.]
Fuck. The fuck is wrong with you? I covered for you. Every fuckin' day, I covered for you.
[He had to wonder whether he can really be betrayed by someone he'd never really known, but that's sure as hell what it'd felt like. A knife right in the back, while Fraser had stood there and smiled like the clueless idiot he is. But he wasn't to know, not when Stan had no intention of ever sharing that Vegas fiasco with him.]
no subject
But that moment in the room, when Fraser had walked in and said "Ray!", and Kowalski had looked at him with his hard, impenetrable eyes, and he'd put it all together. Armando Langoustini was Ray Vecchio. It all came together, and Ray had been left standing there looking at the two of them hard, with a sick feeling deepening in his gut second by second--a sick feeling that hadn't even started to let up until he'd felt that gun nestle against the back of his neck in the car.
They'd been building up to this moment. It had been inevitable since the moment that hotel door had opened, and Ray had to wonder whether any explanation would ever be good enough; whether any explanation would ever be welcome.
He drew his bloodied hand away from his jaw, straightening himself on the carpet, bracing himself back so that he can look up the barrel of the gun without straining his neck. Kowalski can't even say it, and Ray doesn't blame him. ]
Yeah, I fucking knew. [ He grit his teeth, pulled himself back half a foot further, staring but not glowering up at the man above him. ] I was deep undercover, and in the space of a week I'd had two cops sniffing around me. Two cops from Chicago. You know what sort of liability that makes me?
[ He ducked his head away, scowled at the ground. ] Got you to keep Fraser the fuck away from Vegas, though, didn't it?
[ He could explain the whole thing in detail, tell Stanley about the attempts on his life, and the fact that he never thought he'd live long enough to have to come back and face the music, tell him about how far Fraser had pushed considering he'd gotten off scot free, and how his reputation had been taking a nose dive as a result. He'd done what he'd needed to do, but Kowalski was rightfully angry, and in some small way Vecchio didn't want to dissuade him from his purpose. They both needed this. Hell, he just needed it over so that he didn't have to watch his back for Stanley as much as everyone else. ]