Three months after he left the desert for his ill-fated meeting with Muldoon, Ray Vecchio was going back to Las Vegas. Not as an undercover cop this time, not with the thousands of details he'd memorized in order to be Langoustini, but as himself, Detective Ray Vecchio, expert witness for the People of the State of Nevada versus the Iguana Family.

Ray was going back to Vegas to testify. He was going to sit on a witness stand and spill everything he'd learned in his time undercover as the Bookman, put guys he’d known behind bars—guys whose wives he'd chatted with, whose kids he’d kissed. Ray was the chief witness, the ace up the prosecution's sleeve, and the second his plane touched down at the McCarron Airport, he was going to have to watch his back 24-7.

Ray had always known this was coming. What was the point in gathering all this evidence if he didn't do anything with it? And he'd given plenty of lip service to all of it, because there wasn't much to do while he'd been laid up in the hospital with a gunshot wound--again--but talk to the people who came to ask questions, federal agents with tired eyes and dark suits and no sense of humor.

Ray had answered all their questions as best as he could, though it was difficult to remember dates and names when he was high on pain meds. He was pretty sure that at one point he had quasi-implicated Wayne Newton in a prostitution ring, but since it had involved penguins and those magicians with the floufy hair and tanned skin, he was hoping no one took that seriously. These particular federal agents had been his handlers in Vegas, and they’d gotten a lot of information out of him already.

Then he'd been discharged, sent home with a commendation and an order to rest up, and Ray had figured he'd have to sit in some more meetings with humorless federal agents and bad coffee, talking about Armando's buttermilk habit and his extensive contact list of criminals, petty and otherwise.

What he had not expected, though maybe he should have, was the day Welsh stopped by his Ma's house after work and laid it all on the line, blunt and honest, about Ray going back to Vegas.

"Are you kidding me?" Ray asked, staring at Welsh like the man was certifiable. "No offense, sir, but I think my cover's pretty much blown."

Welsh smiled, looking a little worried in that way that you'd only be able to tell if you'd known him as long as Ray had, and said quietly, "Not to be Langoustini, this time."

"Yeah? You got someone else? How many mobsters can I possibly look like?" It was a lame attempt at a joke, but Ray was starting to feel a sense of uncomfortable foreboding, although he'd never known foreboding to feel anything other than uncomfortable. He sure as hell knew the feeling well enough, having partnered with Fraser, but Vegas was a whole different ballgame of uncomfortable.

"I got a heads-up that the feds want you out there to testify. Thought I’d come by and let you know before you got the call." Welsh looked tired, Ray noticed. The lines around his eyes were more pronounced in the late-afternoon sun filtering through the windows in the "sitting room", his Ma's favorite room, the one with the fancy couch and the breakables. The rest of the house was cheerful chaos with toys and children constantly underfoot, but this room was immaculate, everything dusted and clean and sparkling. Ray remembered this room when his dad lived here, remembering finding his mother sweeping up the pieces of some broken knicknack, shouting at his father as he stormed his way out of the house.

There were still a lot of slamming doors at the Vecchios', and Ray had done his fair share and then some, but none of them ever did that in here. Which was why Ray kind of wanted to leave the room and have this conversation somewhere else.

Except there wasn't anywhere else. His house was a loony bin, and this was the only place you could have a conversation in peace and quiet. So Ray shoved his hands in his pockets and said, "Oh, yeah?" like it didn't matter, like he'd been expecting it, like this wasn't knocking him off balance almost as much as Muldoon's fucking bullet.

"Yeah."

"When?" Ray turned his head, looked at the years-old family portrait hanging on the wall, the only one they left up. It was taken a few years after his Pop had died. There were blank spots on the walls for the others, the ones with Vecchio Sr. in them. Ray remembered posing for them, remembered his father's hand resting proprietarily on his Ma's shoulder, remembered the kids with their tight smiles and starched, uncomfortable clothes. Not for the first time, Ray was glad Langoustini had been a bachelor. If they had tried to make him pose for pictures like that with some poor woman and kids unlucky enough to be born to that bastard Armando—no way.

He almost missed Welsh's answer. "A few weeks. They're gonna need you down there for about a month. So they say. God knows how long it's gonna take, though, so I wouldn't buy a return ticket just yet."

Ray nodded, running a hand over his smoothly shaven scalp. Coming back to Chicago for that meeting with Muldoon wasn't supposed to be permanent, he'd known that when he'd climbed on board the plane and taken his (very nice, very cushy, first class) seat. If things hadn't gone the way they had, he'd be back in Vegas and he'd still be Armando. And while Ray could happily go the rest of his life without ever taking another bullet, he wouldn't lie about how much he'd really, really loved being home.

Even if his family was driving him crazy, even if he was going batshit in the house with nothing to do. He could still take a drive down Lake Shore at the tail end of daylight with the windows rolled down and feel the breeze off the lake on his face. There was nothing in Vegas that compared to that, nothing at all. He'd forgotten how much he loved Chicago, had taken it for granted--the pizza and the Sox and the whiny-ass Cubs fans, the impossible parking and the traffic and the crazy, stupid wind--until he'd been gone, living in the stifling stillness of the desert. Not that Vegas wasn't beautiful in its own way; it was, but it wasn't home.

It was just that being home wasn’t supposed to be a permanent thing; he was supposed to do his meeting with Muldoon and then go right back to being Armando. Maybe he'd just pushed it to the back of his mind and tried to ignore it after he'd gotten shot, the fact that he was here on borrowed time.

He couldn't ignore it now, though. Welsh was standing in the middle of his Ma's living room, hands in his pockets, looking as grim and serious as he had the day he'd told Vecchio about the assignment in the first place. There's not much we can do, Vecchio. It's your choice, of course, but the Feds...they're pretty insistent.

The first time he'd been called on to go to Vegas, Ray--having spent nearly twenty-four hours a day with Benton Fraser, that shining example of duty and perseverance and fortitude--had had no choice but to accept the assignment and do his duty to the law. Which, great, it felt all noble and self-sacrificing up until the minute he had to call one Constable Benton Fraser, and then he'd hung up the phone and thought about calling the whole fucking thing off. Because he couldn't tell Benny what was up, and Benny had sounded so happy to hear from him, and Ray had known there was a slight chance they might never see each other again.

When he'd left for Vegas the first time, he'd had to forget about Ray Vecchio so he didn't get shot in the head by some guy named "Meato" and left to die painfully in the desert, his body eaten by vultures.

So. Here he was again, another one-way ticket to Vegas with an open-ended return.

Great.

"And, of course, they're giving you protective detail," Welsh said firmly. "Coupla guys, professionals. Wouldn't have agreed to it otherwise."

"Yeah," Ray said again, and he appreciated that but they both knew it wouldn't matter. Welsh could protest all he wanted, but in the end, Ray Vecchio would be on that witness stand with or without the Chicago P.D.'s blessing. "Good." Christ, his Ma was going to freak out. If Ray had been pushing aside the whole I'm gonna have to go back thing to the back of his mind, his Ma had buried it in the basement under six layers of concrete.

"Not that I trust those Fed bastards," Welsh said loyally, and that made Ray smile for the first time since he'd shown up at the Vecchios. "In fact, I'm gonna send someone with you. I argued for that, made sure they agreed. They didn't have to, but they realize keeping you safe is important."

And they realize I got shot on the gig and could make their lives hell Ray thought wryly, but he didn't say that out loud. This habit of thinking before he spoke was one he'd picked up in Vegas--had to, when you were pretending to be someone else--and it always felt weird, because it wasn't really him. "Sure. They don't want to lose all that stuff I got up here," Ray joked, pointing to his head. "Even though I swear I told them everything I know."

Welsh gave a fleeting grin. "Penguins? Wayne Newton?"

"Aww," Ray muttered, flushing a bit, a shadow of his old smile curving his face. "Morphine and the Travel Channel are a dangerous combination, sir."

Welsh raised his eyebrows. "You were watching Travel Channel shows about Vegas? What, you weren't there long enough?"

Ray shrugged, his smile widening. "Only damn thing on the Travel Channel is shows about Vegas. Hey, maybe they're owned by the mob. Better send someone to check it out."

"I'll suggest that to the Feds," Welsh said with a laugh. "Let's hope none of my officers look anything like Travel Channel executives."

Ray had to laugh too. "With your luck, it'd be Dewey."

"God help us all. Oh, there's one more thing." Welsh cleared his throat. "This guy I’m sending with you.”

Ray blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "If you say it's Dewey--" he started, because spending a few weeks or months (God, he really hoped it wasn't months) with Dewey in Vegas--well, Ray knew some people from being Armando, and the Feds probably didn't want him putting a mob hit out while he was testifying.

"Nah, I wouldn't send in Dewey, are you kidding me?" Welsh wasn't looking at him, which meant whomever it was, it had to be worse, and Ray couldn't think of anyone who annoyed him more and who could actually be spared the time off. “I'm sending Detective Kowalski with you. He's still on leave from the loss of his cover, since...well, no one expected you to be back this soon."

Ray stared at him, momentarily confused. "Kowals...wait, you mean--Stanley?" Ray snorted. "You want me to get shot, sir? That guy wasn’t real fond of me, case you didn’t notice. He’ll probably leave his glasses at home, and then what? I'll be dead in a week."

Welsh scowled at him. "Detective Kowalski is a damn fine cop. Sure, he's a little...ah, attention-challenged, but you're not exactly a prime example of perfect behavior either, Vecchio."

Yeah, okay, that might be true, but--Kowalski? "Why?" Ray asked, because he wasn't buying Welsh's explanation. The Feds wanted his ass in Vegas, Ray would be in Vegas. They wouldn't have to deal at all with Welsh or agree to any "protective detail assignment", that was just stupid.

Welsh was suddenly very interested in Ray’s Ma's silver spoon collection hanging on the far wall. "It's like I said, Detective. Kowalski ain't got much to go back to. They re-assigned his partner when he took the gig being you at the 2-7, and he doesn't have...he really doesn't have anywhere to go at the moment."

Ray realized suddenly that this wasn't for his benefit, but for Kowalski's, and there was probably no way around it. "Just make sure he wears his glasses," Ray muttered, and Welsh smiled a bit ruefully and promised that he would.

When Welsh left, Ray sat in the room for a few long moments, staring quietly out of the window. He could hear his Ma chastising one of the kids in the other room, and knew she'd be in there in a few minutes to ask him what Welsh had wanted. He was not looking forward to telling her. She was probably going to cry, and Ray hated that, but there was nothing to do about it.

He had a job to do.

* * *
He met Kowalski at a diner a few blocks from the 2-7, several days before they were scheduled to depart for Vegas. Ray had talked to Kowalski briefly on the phone and arranged to meet him somewhere not the station or Ray's house, and, as it turned out, they both liked the diner and knew it well. Ray wondered idly if Kowalski had been there with Benny, and wondered why that made him sad to think that he had.

Because I would've rather been hanging out at a diner with Benny than in Vegas? Which, yeah, because the food in Vegas was great but the company sucked.

Kowalski looked about the same as Ray remembered, spiky blond hair all askew, wearing a t-shirt and leather jacket and jeans that made him look like he was nineteen. His knee was jittering up and down, and he was drinking a cup of coffee Ray would bet he probably didn't need.

"You got a job interview?" Kowalski said, chin tilted.

"What?" Ray blinked at him, confused. "Didn't know I had to win your bodyguard services, Kowalski."

Kowalski smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You always dress like that?"

Ray looked down at himself. He was wearing slacks and a shirt with a sweater over it, nothing fancy. "What, like a grown up? Yeah, I try."

Kowalski's grin looked a little less forced. "Yeah." His body was tense, and Ray--Ray had spent a lot of time in the mob, and he'd gotten really fucking good at reading body language. Kowalski's tenseness wasn't just from being high-strung, though Ray could definitely see that was a part of it. He looked like he was about to jump up and clock someone. Namely Ray, but that was probably just because Ray was there. Kowalski didn't have any reason to actually want to clock him that Ray knew of, but the guy was kind of a loose cannon.

Ray sat down, his own posture a marked difference to Kowalski's insolent sprawl, and wondered how the hell this was going to work. "You ever--I mean, you ever done protective detail, before?"

"I'm a cop, Vecchio." Kowalski's fingers drummed on the table. Ray resisted the urge to ask him to stop and waited for the rest of the sentence. When no other words were forthcoming, Vecchio gave him an expectant look.

"And...?"

"Kinda the point of a being a cop, ain't it?" Kowalski's eyes narrowed, and he slumped a little further down in the slick vinyl seat. "I'm not going to let you get killed. Not on purpose, anyway."

Ray couldn't help the sudden laugh at that. "Gee, thanks, Kowalski."

"Don't mention it. We done here or what? I got stuff to do." Kowalski wasn't looking at him, Ray noticed--his eyes would dart back and forth between Ray and the door, the waitress, the other people in the diner.

At least he pays attention to his surroundings, Ray thought wryly, wondering if there was any point in ordering lunch. It was obvious Kowalski didn't want to be there. Ray wondered for a moment if Welsh actually wanted Ray dead, and was sending the world's most inept bodyguard with him on purpose. Maybe the mob had paid Welsh off. Maybe Welsh had gambling debts.

Ray had to forcibly remind himself that whatever was going on with the twitchy bastard across the table from him, it wasn't Ray's fault, and it really had nothing to do with him. This assignment was Welsh's way of trying to do something nice for Kowalski--though this was the weirdest version of nice Ray had ever heard of. God only knew why Kowalski had agreed to take it. "Look, Kowalski. I don't know why you want this detail, and I really don't care. But if you're going to be an asshole the whole time--"

"--that's probably a given," Kowalski said with forced cheerfulness, and Jesus, the guy was almost vibrating, he was so tense. He reminded Ray of that game he played with Maria's oldest, the one where the board shook and shook until all the pieces flew off the board and landed in a mess on the floor.

"--then you can check the fucking attitude, because I don't want to end up with one between the eyes because you're busy being Mr. Petulant Teenager." Ray smiled at him. "If you don't know what that means, you can look the fucking word up in a dictionary."

Kowalski stood up, fast, springing to his feet in a surprisingly graceful motion. He pointed two fingers at Vecchio and his eyes narrowed. "Look, Vecchio. It's none of your goddamned business why I'm doing this." Kowalski's voice was quiet, almost trembling. Ray had no idea what the guy's problem was, but he was going to call a couple of guys he knew in Vice and ask them to check into Welsh's background because fuck, why would his Lieutenant ever think sending Kowalski with him to Vegas was a good idea? Kowalski seemed just as likely to shoot Ray himself.

"You got a problem with me, Kowalski?" Ray asked, his eyes narrowed. "'Cause unless I'm wrong, it sure seems like you do."

"Ah, ha. I've got a problem with everybody," Kowalski said, but he sighed and raked a hand through his hair, making the blond spikes stick up to an even more unnatural degree. "No. Look, I'm--I'm sorry, okay? It's just...this is really kind of fucked up," he muttered, looking down.

Ray felt a bit of sympathy for the guy, remembering that Kowalski had been living Ray's life, with his partner and his job and even--fuck, even his family--and that Ray had shown back up and Benny was gone, and it was all six kinds of messed up for everybody. "Tell me about it. Maria's youngest kid gets confused, 'cause she thought her Uncle Ray was a blond," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Kowalski looked up, the first hint of an actual smile on his face. "Yeah. Hey, I'll--I'm really gonna do a good job. I mean, I'm pissed off at the world, and at you, but it's not really your fault."

"Thanks, Kowalski," Ray said, biting back a smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. So, we done? I mean, I got the ticket and I'll meet you at the airport. That's all we need to do here, right?" Kowalski was looking towards the door, like a cat who'd been cornered and wanted to escape.

"Sure," Ray said, picking up the menu. If he felt tired after spending less than twenty minutes with the guy, Ray was betting this was going to be a long assignment. "See you."

"Yeah. See you." Kowalski turned to go, and Ray, almost without thinking, called out to him.

"Hey. You heard from Benny--Fraser?" He was honestly just curious, because the last he'd heard from Fraser, the guy was off chasing some kind of international protest logging arsonist or something, using only a dogsled and a Swiss Army Knife. And he'd known Kowalski and Benny had hit it off, and maybe talking about their mutual ex-partner would make Kowalski settle down.

And okay, maybe Ray was just a little anxious he hadn’t heard from Fraser in a few weeks.

Kowalski stiffened, flipped him off, and stomped out of the diner. The door slammed after him, and even the little jingling bell over the door sounded angry.

"Guess that's a no," Ray said out loud, sighing. He realized Kowalski had also left him with the check, which wasn't a problem as he'd just had coffee, but still.

This was going to be fun.

* * *
Kowalski's mood had improved when he met Ray at the airport for their flight. They were taking the red-eye to Vegas, which was good, because Ray was not a morning person and he might actually murder Kowalski if he tried the attitude at six-fifty-three a.m., which was the other available flight option.

Ray was reading a paperback novel, some stupid thing he'd bought in the airport gift shop (the entire family had seen him off, and therefore his Ma insisted they get there almost two hours early), one of those books you could read and then leave on the plane for the next person. Kowalski made it to the airport about half an hour before the flight was supposed to leave, looking a little sleepy but a lot more relaxed than he had the last time they'd seen each other.

Ray resisted the urge to ask him if he'd gotten laid recently. It wasn't his business, whatever Kowalski did to relax, as long as it wasn't illegal or going to end up with them in airport security. Ray was just glad he'd done something, because this Kowalski--the one who said hi like he meant it, who sat across from him and started talking about sports--this one was a lot easier to deal with.

Kowalski had a duffel bag that looked like it had seen better days, and he was dressed in an almost identical outfit to the one he'd been wearing before, but this was--it was almost a different person.

"You like it out there? Vegas, I mean," Kowalski asked him, and he was still slouching but in an offhanded way, a lot less like a sulky kid whose mom had told him he couldn't borrow the car.

"Nah, not really. I mean, it's...bright? The landscape is really something else, it's a lot different than Chicago. It gets really fucking hot in the summer." Ray shrugged, and he felt a prickle of unease as he thought about going back. Funny how that was; he'd spent most of his last few days consoling his weeping mother and dealing with his family, which didn't leave him a lot of time to think about the reality of what he was doing. "Y'know. It's a great city to visit, if you like gambling and paying seven bucks for a piña colada. That thing about having cheap drinks? Only if you're on Freemont Street, or betting so much the casino starts givin' 'em away."

"I don't like piña coladas," Kowalski said, making a face.

"What about getting caught in the rain?" Ray asked him, deadpan, and Kowalski laughed. It was a genuine laugh, which was a good thing.

"Watch out, Vecchio. Jokes like that, and you're gonna give Huey and Dewey ideas. They were saying they wanted to open a comedy club, can you believe that?"

"Yeah. Their version of police work is funny enough, I hear." Ray shook his head.

"Yeah." Kowalski yawned, his t-shirt pulling up a little as he did so--was the guy so broke he couldn't afford to buy clothes that fit? Did he have gambling debts? Ray was beginning to think his time as the Bookman had convinced him everyone in the world was in hock to someone else.

"You nervous about the trial?” Kowalski asked.

Kowalski was watching him with sharp blue eyes, and it struck Vecchio that he was probably a very good cop, when he wasn't at the mercy of his mercurial temper. As for his question...everyone had asked him this. His Ma. The guys from the 2-7 when Ray'd stopped by to visit. Frannie, sitting cross-legged on his bed in a pair of pajamas with cherries on them, her hair up in a ponytail, watching him pack to leave. Again.

And every time, he'd given the same answer. Nah. They got more people looking out for me this time then they did when I was Langoustini. Trained professionals. Probably be more likely to get hit by a bus in Chicago, y'know?

Ray met Kowalski's gaze and nodded, once. He didn't have to lie to Kowalski, because Kowalski could handle the truth of it. His family wanted to hear that he wasn't nervous because that meant they didn't have to worry as much. And the guys at work--well, Ray had his pride, and he fully intended on getting his job back when he was back from Vegas, and those bastards would never let him live it down if he copped to being a little nervous.

But Kowalski--Ray had no reason to lie to him, so he didn't. "Yeah. I am. I know what happens to guys who do what I did. It isn't pretty."

Kowalski nodded. "Guess I'm glad there's no Polish Mafia in Vegas," he said with a wry grin.

"Hey, you never know, Kowalski. They sent you under cover for an Italian once," Ray said, and grinned back. He was feeling a lot better about this now that Kowalski wasn't acting so antagonistic, but he was pretty sure hadn’t seen the last of Kowalski's attitude problem. Kowalski was clearly moody, and Ray was just grateful that his current mood was set to "benign" since they had to sit next to each other for a few hours.

"Those your Feds?" Kowalski asked, jerking his chin towards a couple of guys reading newspapers, seated in the row of seats next to the window. Ray blinked, surprised--they were, but he had no idea how Kowalski had known that. They were dressed like regular passengers, no different than anyone else.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Ray asked curiously.

Kowalski shrugged. "They're reading the paper." At Ray's blank look, Kowalski gave a small smile. "It's almost ten-thirty at night, Vecchio. People who read the paper have already read it. 'Sides, they're sitting so they have a clear view of you and the rest of the terminal."

"Hey," Ray said, impressed despite himself. "Good job, Detective."

Kowalski's smile turned sharp. "I might not know your fancy dollar-words, but I ain't an idiot. I am a detective. I got, whaddya call it." Kowalski tapped himself on the side of the head. "Street smarts, Vec-chi-o," he said, biting out each syllable of Ray's name.

Ray flushed a little, remembering what he'd said to Kowalski at the diner about looking up petulant. And Kowalski obviously meant ten-cent words, but Ray let that go. "Yeah, sorry," Ray said, rubbing his hand against the back of his scalp.

"Nah, don't worry," Kowalski said good-naturedly. "I was being an ass, I deserved it. I'm, y'know. Kinda moody."

That was the understatement of the year.

"So, have you?" Kowalski asked, conversationally.

Ray stared at him, wondering if he'd missed something. "Have I what? Been moody?"

"No. Talked to Fraser," Ray said, as if Vecchio was an idiot for not following a conversation that, one, took place a few days ago, and two, Kowalski had ended by flipping Ray off without answering. He snapped his fingers. "Try and keep up."

Ray gave him a look for that. "I talked to him a few weeks ago. Right when I got out of the hospital. He told me about Muldoon and that he was going to help out with some other case before he headed back."

"Back?" Kowalski made a sound. "Right. Back. He's going to come back to Chicago. Sure, he is."

Ray shrugged. "S'what he said. You ever known Benny to not do something he said?"

Kowalski was going tense again--sheesh, what was with the guy? "Depends on how he said it. He say, before I head back to Chicago or just, before I head home? 'Cause Chicago sure as fuck isn't home for Fraser."

No, it wasn't, and Ray hadn't thought of that. But Kowalski was right, Benny was always really specific, and if he wasn't--well, then there was a reason. But Ray was going to give Benny the benefit of the doubt; he'd known Fraser a lot longer than Kowalski. "Kowalski, I was doped up on morphine, okay? I don't remember his exact words, gimme a break. He just said they'd asked for his help finding some guy burning down trees or oil mining camps or something, and that he was gonna help out before he headed back. Don't know what that means. If you want to know, you can ask him."

"Yeah, okay," Kowalski muttered, and he looked away, and he looked tense and unhappy again. "Probably means he's gonna stay in Canada. God. Why anyone would want to live up there in all that freaking snow is beyond me."

"Tell me about it. Fuck, sometimes I think about leaving Chicago just for that reason. Do something crazy, like open a bowling alley in Miami." Ray smiled a little ruefully.

"Stella used to say that," Kowalski said, and Ray couldn't read his expression. "My ex. She's--"

"The Assistant State's Attorney. Yeah, I met her. Classy blonde. Couldn't see her in a bowling alley."

"Couldn't see you--well, wait, I could. In a velour suit with some gold chains." Kowalski's smile was less tense, although Ray was also a very good detective and knew perfectly well that Kowalski didn't want to talk about his ex-wife. Which, okay, resorting to Italian-in-Florida stereotypes was kind of a dickhead move, but it was better than Kowalski going all tense and angry again.

"Are you kidding? I got better fashion sense than that, and besides, I can't bowl for shit." Ray looked up as they called their flight. "Did you see we got first-class seats? Guess if someone blows up the plane, I'll go out in style."

"Don't make jokes about that," Kowalski said seriously, and he looked a little pale-faced. "I hate flying."

"Yeah?" Ray looked at him suspiciously, standing up with his carry-on and his book, the ticket stuck behind the cover of the novel. Kowalski didn't seem like the kind of guy who would admit that. "Me, too. I didn't used to," Ray hastened to add. "It was just--"

"Wait, don't tell me. You took a trip to Canada with a certain Mountie we both know?" Kowalski grinned at him, sudden and bright--Ray could do nothing but grin back, Kowalski's smile completely infectious.

"You got it," Ray said, and went to board the plane.

Ray resolutely pulled the shade closed when he took his seat. It was dark out, and he really didn't want to be tempted to watch the lights of Chicago fade into the distance as the plane headed towards Vegas, with the nagging thought in his mind that it might be the last time he ever saw them.

* * *

As it turned out, being an expert witness at a Mafia trial meant a whole lot of waiting around.

The hotel they were sent to wasn't all that fancy, but it wasn't a Motel Six, either. The television had cable and there wasn't a hot tub, but the shower had a lot of hot water and some decent water pressure, so Ray wasn't going to complain. Sure, it wasn't Langoustini's sprawling villa, but that'd come with a lot more problems than it was worth.

Didn't mean he didn't miss that hot tub, though.

And while Kowalski was still the moodiest bastard Ray had ever met, they at least had a two bedroom suite, meaning they had their own bedrooms when Ray wanted some peace and quiet. Still, while they tended to bicker over a lot of dumb stuff daily--Kowalski was incapable of watching a television show without talking back to it like some kind of demented parrot--it was mostly okay. They both watched some sports and stuff on ESPN that involved any kind of competition, even if it featured European strongmen or billiards.

So that was all right.

Some mornings, Ray left the hotel in the blinding late-spring sun (which felt like high summer in Chicago, without all the humidity) and went to a federal building on Grand Central Parkway, Kowalski trailing after him in jeans and a t-shirt and hiding behind a pair of sunglasses. Agent Harris, one the feds assigned to him, drove them in an unmarked sedan and the other, Agent Lane, drove in a car a few paces behind them.

Kowalski sat in the back, which Ray was pretty sure he hated, and sometimes kicked Ray's seat just to be a dick. They had the air on full blast and Harris preferred to listen to the local NPR station, which made Ray and Kowalski roll their eyes in tandem and suffer the short distance to the building. Once there, Ray went into a room with a couple of lawyers and some people whose names he never remembered, and went over statement after statement about his time as Langoustini.

After that, Ray usually found Kowalski sitting in the lobby of the federal building, flipping through an old Sports Illustrated and looking bored out of his skull. Agent Lane took over driving, Agent Harris following. Lane seemed to like pop country, which didn't really decrease the eye-rolling any. They got back to the hotel, and without anything to do and without being able to leave, they usually both took a nap.

In short, Ray was already daydreaming about this whole fucking thing being over. The trial was supposed to start in a couple of weeks, and who knew how long it'd last.

The highlight of their day was usually dinner. Agents Harris and Lane were supposed to bring them whatever they wanted, and at first, both Ray and Kowalski had been pretty easy. "A pizza," or "maybe some burgers" being their only request. But as the days stretched on and the hotel began to feel like a benign, beige prison, they started getting a little creative about what they could ask for.

"Sure wish I could have some Thai food," Kowalski would say, hands shoved in his pockets and looking completely innocent. And okay, Vegas was a big city and that wasn't hard to find, but that was before they'd really gotten into the game.

"I really want...a Mediterranean salad with Kalamata olives and feta," Ray said one night, only to have them return pretty quickly with said salad and fresh hummus. (Kowalski waited until the agents left, then hit Ray upside the head and said, "That looks like glue, Vecchio, what the fuck did you have to order that for?") And it was pretty easy to find ethnic food in Vegas, which had a bevy of amazing restaurants, so then they started to get creative.

"Chicago-style pizza with chorizo sausage," and "a calzone with pepperoni and pineapple and banana peppers," and "maybe you could get me a burger made with peanut butter, hey, I've had it before and you know, it's really good, don't judge me," and "pasta with fresh basil, not that dried kind," and then--

Then they discovered the Food Network, and started taking notes.

"Yeah, hi," Kowalski said when Agent Harris came in, looking as pained as Ray figured a federal agent was allowed by law to look. Kowalski was sprawled in the chair in the suite's living room, freshly showered, his hair still damp and wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt and a sweatshirt (they kept the air turned low, because it started to feel stuffy if it got warm enough). Ray was on the couch, in khakis and a sweater, because Kowalski had laughed himself into a tizzy the one time he'd seen Ray in his striped pajamas, and he was deliberately not looking at Kowalski because he knew what he was going to say.

"I would like," Kowalski began, completely seriously. "Chicken thighs in a white-wine reduction, with targonian and juniper berries, and maybe a nice mix of potatoes with some tomme cheese. Oh, and a sour-apple tart with whipped-butter honeyed almond sauce."

Kowalski had messed up the tarragon part, but Ray gave him points for remembering the tomme cheese, which neither of them had ever heard of until that day's episode of Exotic Chef.

Agent Harris blinked at him. "That's what you want for dinner?"

Kowalski nodded, chewing on a toothpick. He rubbed his belly with one hand and went, "Mmm," until Ray had to look away and pretend to be really interested in the movie on HBO before he lost it completely.

Agent Harris had a completely blank expression on his face. "And for you, Detective Vecchio?"

"I'll have...y'know, I could really go for... stuffed brill, but I want fresh fish, and make sure it's a Béarnaise sauce, ‘cause I hate béchamel," Ray said in all seriousness, having written all that down and repeated back to Kowalski six times so he wouldn't get it wrong. "And to drink...maybe a Harvey Wallbanger."

"I'll have an Arnold Palmer," Kowalski added, and then said, "Don't you think you should write this down, Agent Harris? I'd be real sad if you forgot my whipped butter tart thing."

"I'll bet you would," Harris said with nary a change in expression, and then turned and left the room.

They waited approximately sixteen seconds before breaking up into hopeless laughter.

"This sucks," Ray said, banging his head back on the couch. "That's gonna be impossible, and that SOB is gonna come back with McDonalds." Ray didn't have anything against Harris or Lane, not really, but he was a cop and he was supposed to be a dick to the Feds on principle. Besides, he was pretty sure the NPR and the pop-country was Harris and Lane's version of his and Kowalski's Dinner: Impossible stunt.

"In three hours," Kowalski added, his grin fading to a somewhat glum expression. "Fuck. Hey, Vecchio, what the hell is a reduction? I forgot."

"Dunno. Prolly means you'll be hungrier after you eat it than you were before you started." Ray shrugged, then sighed. "Look, you know, you're not on house arrest, here, Kowalski. You want to go out and do something--like, eat dinner--don't let me keep you."

For just a moment, Kowalski looked blissfully tempted, like he'd just gotten a get out of jail free card. But then he shrugged. "Nah. I mean, I came here to be your protective duty, so, y'know. That's what I'll do. But if you promise not to open the door, I could prolly go get us some steaks before Harris gets back with your fish St. Bernard, or whatever that was you ordered."

Ray considered that, and then thought, what the hell? "Sure, we'll have it finished and the evidence cleaned up before the feds get back."

Kowalski, who was halfway to his room to change clothes, grinned at him. "Guess you're the expert on that," he teased, and Ray, who usually didn't like to be reminded of the shit he'd had to do as Langoustini, just laughed and threw a pillow at Kowalski. Something about the way Kowalski did that, teased and got under his skin, it didn't bother Ray as much as he might have thought.

Kowalski came out in jeans and his shirt, sans sweatshirt, and promised to pick up some beer on the way back. And Ray wasn't much of a drinker and never had been, but hey. He'd take what he could get in the way of entertainment. And Kowalski, he was as good as his word. He came back with a couple of nice rare steaks and baked potatoes, a six pack of Coors light, and some kind of chocolate mousse thing that he actually offered to share. They ate sitting cross-legged on the floor and watching an NBA game that neither of them could care less about, and by the time Harris returned a few hours later with some kind of weird thing that Ray could barely recognize, they said thank you, laughed, and both went to bed.

* * *

A few weeks after they'd arrived, they went to a hotel on the Strip.

Not to gamble--Ray took enough chances with his life in Vegas that gambling with money seemed kind of pointless--but to meet with one of Langoustini's former associates, Jimmie "Punchy" LaRusa, who had supposedly turned State’s evidence and was currently in the Witness Protection Program. Jimmie had been one of the Bookman's associates, a charming guy with a pot belly and quick temper. He felt a little uneasy about the meeting, but he dressed in a nice suit and tie and off they went.

The hotel where Jimmy was staying was the MGM Grand--"Why the fuck does the wiseguy get to stay somewhere interesting?" Kowalski had groused--and when they walked in, Ray realized that it was probably a really good thing they were not staying at a casino. Kowalski was like one of those birds that dive-bombed into a street after spotting something shiny--all the flashing lights and jingling noises were obviously pushing his concentration level.

"Geez, if the Iguana family wanted to whack me, all they'd have to do was send me into a casino with you as my only bodyguard, Kowalski. You sure you can handle this?"

"Yeah. Sure." Kowalski blinked, nearly running into a row of slot machines.

"You got a gambling problem I should know about?" Ray asked him as they walked, heading towards the elevator.

"What? Nah. Just too much caffeine this morning and--do you hear that noise, Vecchio?"

"That's the sound of money, Kowalski," Ray said a touch grimly--he remembered that noise, the pervasive low whirring clink clink clink of the casino. Ray had done a lot of business deals in casinos, as the Bookman. He'd learned to tune the sound out eventually, but hearing it again--yeah, it was making him nervous. He'd even done deals here, in the MGM Grand--sitting in the VIP room in a suit that cost more than he made in a year, drinking tonic water with lime and no liquor because it looked alcoholic, staring down guys who killed other guys for a living and talking in a voice that he tried not to actually hear.

And Kowalski, who was so easily distracted that a flashing light could divert his attention, stopped suddenly and put a hand on Ray's back. "You okay, Vecchio?" he asked, his gaze sharp, his attention completely focused on Ray. "Look kinda...not okay."

"You're a real genius with the English language, Stanley," Ray said, with a wan smile. "I'm fine. It's just...I was...done with all this, y'know? And then I'm back, and it's...weird. That's all."

Kowalski nodded, his gaze suddenly shuttered. "Yeah. Undercover, you get into it and it's fine, but something happens to jar you out or throw you back in and you're not ready for it, and it's...tough."

Ray remembered that meeting in Chicago, the relief at seeing Benny's face, Kowalski's seemingly random antagonism. He forgot, sometimes, that Kowalski had been undercover, too. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. Okay, let's go. Just--Kowalski? These guys, up there? They're not like perps back in Chicago. They're...just keep the threats of violence to a minimum." Kowalski scowled, but he nodded, and then Ray cleared his throat. "There a reason you still got your hand on my back?"

Kowalski actually flushed and pulled his hand away. "Okay, yeah, no kicks to the head, no threats, I'll good cop it and--"

"Probably would be best if you just stayed silent, Detective Kowalski," Harris interrupted, materializing seemingly out of nowhere. "In fact, you could probably just stay down here--"

"No," Kowalski said pleasantly, his smile a grimace. "I'm gonna do my job. Don't worry. I won't say a single, solidarity word," he promised, and Ray was pretty sure he'd used that word wrong just to piss Harris off. When Harris made a face and headed towards the elevator, Kowalski shot Ray a grin, and Ray knew he was right.

* * *

Their meeting with Jimmie went pretty much like Ray was expecting. Jimmie had a few Federal guards of his own--somehow Ray didn't think they’d go out of their way to bring Jimmie fish in béchamel sauce or whatever that was he’d ordered--and everyone was tense and posturing and it was exhausting, fuck, how had he done this every day for a year? Jimmie looked surprised to see Ray and ignored Kowalski, who stayed in the background with his head bowed.

"Look, I'm just saying, nobody knows Langoustini--sorry, whoever you are, they didn't tell me your name--"

"You don't need to know his name," Harris said, looking threatening.

"Yeah, well," Jimmie said with a shrug. "Nobody knows what's going on. Everybody thinks Langoustini bit the big one in the desert. Y'know." He pantomimed shooting his temple, and Ray met Jimmie's flat, cold eyes and struggled to keep a stoic expression. "So, no, I don't think anyone's planning to take him out. Now, when the trial starts, you probably got a different sort of dynamic, you know?" Jimmie smiled, and it reminded Ray of those videos of an oil spill in the ocean--the expression just slid over his face, all slimy and looking like it didn't belong there at all.

"You're saying when they find out, someone's going to try and kill him?" Harris pointed at Ray, who stayed silent and realized Harris was avoiding his name on purpose, which meant he'd gone from living here with a name that wasn't his, to living here with no name at all.

Fuck. That was depressing.

Ray looked over at Kowalski, still leaning against the wall. He looked bored, uninterested, but there was something about the tense set of his shoulders and the way he was holding his posture that told Ray he was anything but. Ray had been around Kowalski a lot these last few weeks, and he was beginning to notice when Kowalski's attitude was affected and when he was just being his twitchy, normal self. This was definitely the former.

Ray turned his attention back to Jimmie, who was talking about all the ways the Iguana family and their myriad of associates might find to kill him. No one was really asking him anything or looking at him, and it was kind of surreal.

Something happens to throw you back in, and you're not ready for it.

Ray turned back and saw Jimmie smiling at him, a cold, contained little smile that looked more like icicles and less like an oil spill. And suddenly it struck him, in a way it hadn't before, that he was really back, and what that meant.

Before they left, Jimmie gave Ray another weasel-y smile--back to the slick-guy grin, now--and said, "Hope you make it, whoever you are," and Ray didn't bother to respond. He was quiet the whole way back to the hotel.

Later that night, Kowalski knocked on his bedroom door. Ray was lying on his back, in his suit pants and his dress shirt, sans tie and jacket. He was staring at the ceiling, thinking about the old neighborhood. Marco Matroni. Gardino. Irene. He wondered what might have been different if someone had gone undercover there, infiltrated the Chicago mob scene, maybe. Fewer people dead, or more?

"Hey, Vecchio?"

"Yeah." Ray blinked, seeing the stark white tiles of the ceiling for the first time in an hour.

The door opened, and Kowalski's blond head appeared. Ray had to smile--the man's hair was seriously crazy, did he do that on purpose? He glanced at the clock and said, "It's dinner time, huh? You want to send Harris after Peking Duck, or Cornish Hens? Can't remember if we decided."

"Um, the hens...those are the little chickens?" Kowalski gave a snorting laugh. "Heh. Those are funny. But, nah, that's not--that's not why I'm here." He stayed, hovering at the edge of the door. "Can I come in?"

Ray sat up, eyeing Kowalski. "Sure."

Kowalski was pacing, tightly controlled movements back and forth. He stopped, pointing at Vecchio with two fingers. "Why the hell did you ever sign up for this? You couldn't've said no?"

Ray gave him a strange look. "What would've been the point of being Langoustini for a year and then sayin' no?" He wondered what had Kowalski so agitated. Maybe it was just the forced confinement after the day's outing, when they had to acknowledge other things existed beyond the Marriott and the Federal Building, and it had been made really, really clear to them both what they were missing.

Suddenly, the whole thing with the Food Channel and the white wine reductions and sour-apple tarts seemed kind of lame.

"Not...I get this, you gotta do this. The trial thing. But I mean...why'd you do it in the first place?" Kowalski was tugging at the hem of his t-shirt, twisting it. He seemed more restless than usual, and not in the way he'd been back in the hotel with Jimmie--this was unfocused, scattered. Even his gaze was jittery, refusing to meet Ray's.

Ray watched him, quiet for a bit. "I--well. Y'know. Civic duty, and all that," he said lightly. "We're cops, Kowalski. It's what we do."

"Bullshit," Kowalski said succinctly. "I mean, yeah, we do, but--this isn't regular cop stuff."

"You went undercover as me," Ray reminded him. "Stop pacing, Stanley, you're making me nervous."

Kowalski stopped, scowling a little, though Ray wasn't sure if it was the name--he'd kind of gotten over the Stanley thing, or so it seemed to Ray--or something else. "You're not Fraser, Vecchio."

Ray tensed immediately. "What the fuck does that mean?" he asked warily, eyeing Kowalski. "You think I was scared?"

Kowalski snorted, stepping a little closer. "No. I just...this is above and beyond, Vecchio. You had to know you could get... I mean, let's just say the odds of you ending up dead being a mobster were a lot greater than me getting killed being you."

Ray shrugged, uncomfortable, running his hand over the back of his head. "Can't say that. We have a dangerous job, Kowalski. It's dangerous here, it's dangerous in Chicago. Fuck, I had so many failsafes here, it was probably actually safer than jumping out of windows with Fraser."

Not that Ray actually believed that.

"So, you just decided...was it the money?"

Ray looked up, suddenly offended. "What?" He gave a low, bitter laugh. "Right. ‘Cause they pay the Feds so much better than they do cops, Stanley."

"Well, why'd you do it, then?"

Fuck, did Kowalski ever just stop pushing? "Look, you worked with Fraser. You know how it was, you wanted to do the right thing and then you just kept doing it even when he wasn't there? They asked me to take the job and he was in Canada, but I thought about him, what he'd say, and I--I said yes." Ray didn't look at Kowalski. "You know how that goes. You have to. You were his partner, too. "

"Yeah." Kowalski didn't sound convinced. "That was it? You think Fraser would want you to pretend to be a mobster, so you did it?" He sounded skeptical. "I mean, yeah, trust me--I know what you're talking about, it's like you want to stand up straighter and stop using bad words when he's around, but geez, Vecchio. People, when they find out you're here? They're gonna want to kill you."

"Thanks, Kowalski," Ray said sarcastically, falling back on the bed. "Thanks a lot. I'd been trying to forget about that."

Kowalski walked over and sat on the bed. Ray didn't look up, but he could feel the mattress shift under Kowalski's weight. "So it couldn't have just been Fraser."

"Fine. You know about Frank Zuko?" Ray turned his head, looked up at Kowalski. The room was falling slowly into dimness as the sun faded away; Kowalski's eyes looked like shadows in his face as he stared down at Ray.

"Yeah. Sure. I read your file. Sleazy motherfucker with an attitude problem."

Ray laughed humorlessly. "Yeah. Look, Kowalski, that guy ran my neighborhood. Had for years, ever since we were kids. About a year before I took the Vegas gig, we had a run-in, me and Frankie." Ray's mouth settled into a grim line. He still had nightmares about this--that basketball game, the eerie echo of the ball striking the court, the look on Zuko's face. The way he'd felt, all exhilarated and terrified all at once.

Irene, bleeding out on the floor, dark eyes wide and blank from the shock of the bullet.

He sat up, tense, and gave a pretty quick version of the story. Frank's bullying when they were kids, that incident with Marco Matroni. The whole thing with the church robbery and Paducci, the deal Ray had worked out to ensure Paducci's safety. The fact he, an officer of the law, had beaten a man bloody like some kind of Old-West vigilante.

"...and so, I told Zuko he could come after me if he wanted. Kill me, whatever. I was just tired of having my neighborhood afraid of that scumball piece of shit. He was a coward, he'd always been a coward, and I was tired of being afraid of him. And part of me thought, you know, how many people are afraid of this Langoustini guy? Is he ruining someone's life like Zuko did to Marco? To Padduci? Is Langoustini a fucking coward like Zuko? I just...it makes me so mad, Kowalski. All this...fear. People shouldn't be afraid all the time. Not to go to work in the morning, to walk home at night. To play a fucking game of pick-up basketball." Ray was staring up at the ceiling, seeing the past in the shapes and patterns in the tiles above. "These guys, they're not so tough. They just got a lot of people afraid of them, and if you take that away..." he trailed off, because Kowalski was staring at him, all that twitchiness gone, a model of perfect focus and intent. It was kind of freaking him out. "Kowalski?"

"You beat him up? Just so he'd make a deal with you, so that you wouldn't tell anyone?" Kowalski shook his head. "He could've had you killed. You didn't know."

Ray shrugged, flushed. "Yeah. I know. But I was tired of it. I went back into the car and Fraser was there--he had my badge, my gun. He asked me how I felt. I told him I was terrified." Ray turned his head, looking up at Kowalski. "And it wasn't a lie. But it worked. And they came to me with this whole thing, to go be Langoustini, and I thought, nothing can be as scary as that was, with Zuko. So I did it."

There was more--the thing with Irene, that fucking mess with Victoria Metcalf, other shit Ray didn't want to think about right now--but that was a good enough version of the story. It was more than he'd ever told anyone about why he'd taken the Vegas gig. Just about the only person he’d have been this honest with was Fraser, who was thousands of miles away in Canada, and who Ray realized he really, really missed.

Kowalski's gaze was sharp; Ray's eyes had adjusted to the light and he could see that Kowalski was breathing faster, pupils wide. It took Ray a minute to realize Kowalski was sitting very close to him, so close Ray could feel the heat of Kowalski's thigh next to his own. "That's...fuck, Vecchio."

Well. There was a reaction. Ray grinned up at Kowalski, fierce and just a little self-deprecating. "Yeah. Fuck. 'Course, I could've just stayed home and like, been the head of the neighborhood watch--"

It took Ray approximately four seconds to realize why he'd suddenly stopped talking. In those four seconds, he realized four things.

One, Kowalski moved faster than should really be allowed. Two, Ray had stopped talking because Kowalski was kissing him.

...okay, he couldn't really get past the second one.

Kowalski's mouth was warm, hard, pressed against Ray's. His hand was resting warm on Ray's chest, and Ray remained unmoved for a long moment, his body flashing hot and then cold in turn as he became aware of what was happening.

And it wasn't like this wasn't--Ray had thought about it, sure. A guy wasn't partners with Fraser and didn't think about it, though the way Kowalski was shaking, maybe he hadn't. Kowalski's mouth pressed harder and Ray felt a shot of heat go right down to his groin, and he and Kowalski barely knew each other so this shouldn't be quite as okay as it was, but what the hell, Ray was going with it.

Ray's hand slid up Kowalski's arm, resting lightly on his back. He didn't pull Kowalski forward, he didn't push him away, he just lay where he was and kissed Kowalski easy as anything. He could feel Kowalski's entire body trembling, because somehow Kowalski was lying half on top of him, and that was--huh. And Ray had done this in his head, maybe, a few times, but never for real. And this was so very, very real, Kowalski's body so hot and hard on top of him.

All Ray's thoughts were beginning to filter out of his head, burned out by the sheer heat of Kowalski's body and his mouth and Kowalski was making a sound, some sort of desperate and needy sound, pushing against Ray and Ray had to--he couldn't--they were kissing--

And then they were kissing.

Ray had his hands on Kowalski's shoulders, his mouth open, Kowalski's tongue rubbing against his. Kowalski had shifted so he was lying mostly-on-top of Ray now, and they weren't lying still, they were moving, and unless Kowalski was stupid and carrying his piece in his pocket he was really, really happy to be where he was. And he wasn't the only one, Ray could feel that heavy fullness in his groin that meant he was getting hard and God, this was crazy, it was crazy.

He didn't care.

He felt Kowalski's fingers slide up under his shirt, just a little, rubbing almost lightly over the skin of his lower abdomen. Kowalski was panting against his mouth, and Ray could feel his chest heaving--and something made him push slightly on Kowalski's shoulders because the shaking was kind of worrying him a little, here.

"Kowalski?"

Ray barely recognized his own voice, it was so throaty and fucked-up.

Kowalski looked--fuck, fuck. His eyes were wide and blurry and his face was flushed, his mouth parted. His body was practically vibrating, and he was staring at Ray like he couldn't quite believe what he'd just done.

"Vecchio," Kowalski said, and his voice was even more fucked-up than Ray's. "Vecchio, I--" and then he made a sound, low in his throat, and Ray couldn't--he couldn't seem to stop himself from reaching up and curving his hand around Kowalski's neck, pulling him down and kissing him again.

Kowalski made that sound again, right in Ray's mouth, and that--well, that made Ray's brain short out for a little bit. He used his tongue, licked into Kowalski's mouth and shifted his weight, pushing Kowalski back so Ray was on top of him. And Kowalski went, easily enough, though his fingers were grasping at Ray's shoulders like he was drowning. Ray pressed against him and groaned because that was a relief, it was such a fucking relief--

"Yeah, fuck," Kowalski muttered, and Ray actually startled at the sound of Kowalski's voice, which--okay, this was so messed up, but that low throaty growl was seriously getting him going, and Kowalski was not a girl but this was--fuck, it was good, it was so good. Kowalski's hands were grasping at his shirt, tugging, and his leg was sliding up so he could press against Ray's dick through his pants.

Ray groaned, the sound embarrassingly loud, and realized he was lying flush against Kowalski's body on the bed, his weight braced on his palms on either side of Kowalski's head. Kowalski was staring up at him, wide-eyed and totally fucking gone, lost, and Ray couldn't think.

"What--what are we doing?" he asked, and he shifted his weight to one hand and traced his fingers lightly over Kowalski's swollen mouth. Kowalski moaned and then Ray watched as his fingers slid slow, slow into Kowalski's wet, hot mouth and Kowalski was sucking and Ray's dick liked that, liked that so much, his hips were pushing forward so that Kowalski would know just how much he liked it.

Kowalski let Ray's fingers slide out of his mouth, smearing wet across his cheek and his jaw. "Whatever you want," Kowalski said, husky and low, and God, it was so tempting. Ray had no idea what he was doing, but sex was sex and he was pretty sure they could manage to figure it out even though this was kind of a brand-new thing. At least, it was new for him, he wasn't sure about Kowalski.

"You ever--?" Ray asked, panting, moving his hips because he couldn't seem to stop.

"No," Kowalski said, shaking his head. "Don't care, though. C'mon. Let me?" He was staring up at Ray like it would be a favor for Ray to say yes, to let him, and Ray was breathing hard and nodding and Kowalski's fingers were on his fly, pulling at the buttons of his pants--

There was a knock at the door, out in the living area, and then--

"Detectives? Any requests for dinner? Maybe a nice glazed leg of lamb, or something with a duck?" Agent Harris, exhibiting the worst timing ever, and Ray froze for second before he rolled away from Kowalski and stood up, feeling dizzy (probably because all his blood had rushed somewhere south).

"Uh, no thanks, just--room service, I think," Ray called out, struggling to get his breathing back to normal.

"Room service is expensive," Harris chastised, and Ray almost wanted to laugh. What the hell?

"Have him get us a pizza," Kowalski said from the bed. Ray looked over his shoulder, sort of incredulously, because how could Kowalski think about food...?

Kowalski, who still looked flushed and turned-on, was still sprawled out and staring hot at Ray. Ray got so distracted, he forgot about Harris.

"Detective Vecchio? Pizza? Do you want some kind of rare truffle on it, or maybe some cheese only found in the French wine country?"

"Pepperoni," Ray called, and he really could have cared less, he was still so--had he and Kowalski really been--

"And pineapple," Kowalski added softly.

Ray swallowed hard and said, "Detective Kowalski isn't--he's in the shower or something, dunno where he is, but he likes pineapple. Get that on half. Maybe some beer, some pop?" He sounded like he was babbling, and Harris hadn't even asked where Kowalski was so he didn't really need to mention it, but thinking was hard and he had no idea what was going on.

Agent Harris repeated the order and then there was silence, meaning he'd probably left. Ray turned to look back at Kowalski, at sea. In the time he'd been away from the hard press of Kowalski's body and his really, really talented mouth, he'd started wondering what the hell he was doing. And thinking maybe that wasn't such a great idea, given the fact Kowalski was supposed to be protecting him and that could compromise the job or whatever, and fuck, maybe that didn’t make any sense but Ray just wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea to…

Do whatever it was they'd just been about to do.

Kowalski's face, which usually telegraphed every emotion he was feeling to all and sundry, shut down. He pushed himself off the bed and ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor. "Guess I'll...take a shower," Kowalski mumbled, and Ray moved away from the door as Kowalski went to move past him.

For one wild second, Ray wanted to grab his arm and say, "Take one with me," because the thought of Kowalski's body all naked under the spray was seriously making it hard to breathe.

What the hell? He'd had half-formed thoughts and, okay, mostly they were about Fraser, if they were about guys at all, but--he and Kowalski, that was seriously out of nowhere--like six fields over from the furthest of left fields, in fact. And it would only complicate things, and fuck, maybe they were both just horny and needed to get laid, that explained it, kind of thing that could happen to anyone. Right?

In the time it took Ray's brain to process all this, Kowalski left the room. Ray stood there for a little longer, heard the water start in Kowalski's room, and headed into the bathroom. It was a no-brainer that he was going to have to take care of himself and he was pretty sure that was what Kowalski was doing, too. Christ.

It took Ray approximately sixteen seconds to get off when he thought about it, thought about Kowalski's lean body naked and pressed against the cool tile of the shower, one hand stroking his cock and his head thrown back, so.

That was that.

* * *

He'd thought things might be weird after that, but they weren't. Not any weirder than usual, anyway. Agent Harris returned with their pizza and they sat on the couch and ate it, watched the game, and if they were both acutely aware of each other and the distance between them on the couch, well, that was fine.

The next morning, Agent Lane told him they were done with the preliminary round of interviews and there would be a bit of a break before the next phase started. Ray was glad to hear that, but he was even more pleased when Agent Lane said that because it was fairly obvious no one knew Ray was in town or why, he would be allowed to leave the hotel as long as Kowalski was with him and the agents could provide discreet surveillance ("in other words, they don't want me to visit a whorehouse," Ray had said, to which Kowalski replied, "Those are legal, so they'd have to just wait in the car," and then both of them had snickered at the thought of Lane and Harris fighting over listening to NPR or country music while they waited).

Which meant, for the next few weeks at least, and as long as no one tried to kill him--Ray could leave the hotel, disguised and under heavy guard. Which, okay, he'd spent a lot of time in Vegas and it wasn't really his scene, but anything was better than their boring hotel room, and Kowalski's twitchiness the last few days was beginning to get on Ray's nerves. He'd had one or two unpleasant moments with "diner Kowalski", the antagonistic one who seemed to want to get in a fight instead of act like a reasonable human being.

On a Saturday night, after the word came down about the end of his house arrest, that was the Kowalski Ray found himself dealing with. Kowalski had picked six stupid fights with him, five of which Ray was doing his best to ignore, but the sixth one was about sports and, hey, Ray found himself getting into it until they were filling up the small space of the suite's living room with loud words and a lot of hand waving.

Finally, Ray stopped arguing. "Kowalski?"

Kowalski, who was pacing and flushed and so tense it looked like he might shatter into pieces if Ray tapped his shoulder, actually stopped mid-rant and said, "Yeah?"

"We need to get the fuck out of here," Ray said succinctly. "Come on."

Kowalski stared at him for a minute, rocking on his heels. Ray remembered Kowalski telling him he liked to box, and it was an easy image in Ray's head; Kowalski all tense and moving around, ducking and weaving and using his fists. An easy image, but not one he necessarily wanted to see with himself as the target of all that pent-up energy. Luckily, Kowalski just gave a nod and said, "Yeah, okay."

They ended up at the sports bar in Harrah's, Kowalski nursing a beer and Ray trying hard to ignore the federal agents and the fact he was somewhere on the Strip. It seemed safer to go somewhere more populated than to find some small dive, but Ray knew very well that if the mob wanted you dead, they'd find a way to make it happen no matter where you were. And news of the trial would hit the press soon enough, so fuck it. Ray was going to enjoy being out of that damned hotel room while he could.

The outing was already doing Kowalski a world of good, Ray could tell; he was a lot less tense, his mouth less set, his smile coming easier. Ray found himself, oddly enough, telling Kowalski stories about being Armando. Mostly because Kowalski asked, but just like that joke he'd made about Ray getting rid of the evidence, Ray found it didn't really bother him so much to tell Kowalski about it. Kowalski was, when he wasn't being a twitchy asshole, really easy to talk to.

Kind of like Fraser, but with fewer lectures and/or Inuit stories.

"Did you like it here? I mean, being a mob boss. Had to be something about it you liked," Kowalski said, running his fingers over the rim of his pint glass. Ray was momentarily distracted by that, remembering--not for the first time--Kowalski's fingers on the button of his pants, edging down his zipper.

"Uh--I mean, y'know." Ray shrugged, uncomfortable not just from the sudden rush of heat he was feeling remembering that incident in his room with Kowalski, but also because--well, there were some things he'd liked about Vegas, sure. And he felt kind of guilty about that. Armando Langoustini was a bad man, no questions asked, but...

Not everyone Ray'd met as the Bookman was a horrible person. Some of them were just living the life they'd been born into. And Ray had seen firsthand how hard it was to escape. A lot the guys he met, they had no real choice. Family connections ran too deep, loyalties too strong. Ray could appreciate that, he knew how those ties to family could bind and threaten to choke the life out of you. And sure, there were things these guys did for "The Family" that had no excuse, because they were just terrible, but just like everything else, it wasn't as easy as bad guy mobsters versus good guy cops.

There was so much corruption in Vegas, Ray wasn't sure there were any good guys, to be honest. The casino owners, the cops...just about the only people here who weren't on the take were the showgirls (and even then...) and the tourists.

"Sure, there were...you know. Perks."

"Yeah?" Kowalski grinned, drowsy-eyed and slow. "Like what? Girls?"

Ray flushed hot, because--yeah, girls. "Yeah. The Bookman, he had a few favorites. But I...I mean, sometimes I pretended to be really tired from my stressful Mafia-related activities and just needed a back massage."

Kowalski snorted. "Lame."

"I said sometimes," Ray said, unable to help himself. "But Kowalski, it was weird, all right? These girls, they were paid, y'know? As long as they got their money, it was fine. And I mean, I knew I'd have to--and I'm not saying they weren't really good, they were professionals--but I also knew I had to be careful. Someone might talk to them, so I had to make it...convincing. Both when I was just tired and when I...wasn't. And Armando, he wasn't...I mean. He was very--" Ray realized he was blushing, and Kowalski was laughing, and Ray gave a low laugh and sipped his drink (tonic water and lime--he'd ordered it without thinking, which made him a little weird in the head) to buy himself some time. "Let's just say he was a lot more selfish than I was. Apparently pleasing the ladies wasn't really his thing."

"I guess it wouldn't be. You pick up bad habits, that what you're saying?" Kowalski said, and fuck, he was staring at Ray, blue eyes all sharp and intense. And Ray had a sudden feeling like they were playing some kind of weird game of chicken, and maybe talking about this was kind of embarrassing, but he'd be damned if he would lose. Kowalski raised his pint glass and touched his mouth to the rim, drinking slow.

So Ray stared back and lifted one shoulder in a shrug, refusing to back down, his chin tilted up. It was maybe a little more Armando than he would have liked, but he couldn't seem to help it. "It was work, Kowalski, believe me."

Kowalski snorted. "Right. I had to jump out of windows and you got to fuck gorgeous women."

"You got to eat hotdogs and drive down by the Lake and watch baseball without six guys' lives riding on the outcome," Ray pointed out. He smiled grimly. "And you got Fraser, and I got guys who might put a bullet in my head and bury me in the desert."

"Vecchio, the chances of getting shot with Fraser are pretty high, remember?"

Ray looked down, staring hard at the polished wood table. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I remember."

Kowalski was silent for a few minutes. Ray wondered if he knew about what happened with Victoria Metcalf, how Fraser had almost left with her. He didn't think Benny would have told Kowalski, but from all accounts, they'd been fairly close so maybe he had. When he spoke again, though, he just said, "Okay, so hot chicks were kind of good and kind of bad."

Ray looked up and smirked a little. "Probably more good than bad," he admitted, laughing despite himself. Kowalski smiled at him and raised a glass.

"What else? It wasn't all terror, all the time, was it?"

"Nah. I mean, it was a lot of work, but you kind of get used to it after awhile. And I had a lot of good seats to stuff. Shows, but--you know, it's hard to pay attention when you're worried someone might want to kill you at intermission." Ray grinned a little. "And I got the best seats at restaurants. Didn't even need reservations. That was nice. And I miss Armando's hot tub, even if his villa looked like it came right out of Goodfellas."

Kowalski gave a low whistle and shook his head. "Seems like, in a fair world, the good guys would get the penthouse and the bad guys would be at the Marriott," he said sadly.

Ray snorted. "Yeah, right." When the waitress came back, he ordered a beer. He wanted to remind himself he wasn't running the Iguana family business, here. He had to keep his head on straight--this wasn't a vacation--but one beer would be fine, and the tonic water and lime was fucking with his head more than a Miller Lite.

He ended up having two, nursing them slowly, watching Kowalski as he gradually relaxed and settled down. And maybe it was the fact Kowalski drank more than him, or maybe it was just they were both going stir crazy in that hotel suite, but Ray found himself laughing at Kowalski's stories and then asking him, of all things, about his ex-wife. Ray had met her briefly, during that mess with Muldoon, and had been surprised to learn they'd been married.

Then again, all he'd really known about Kowalski was that he was kind of messed up and had a temper and a bad sense of fashion. Now, Ray was beginning to see Kowalski's good qualities--he was charming in an off-beat kind of way, and when he focused all that intensity on listening, he was a damn good guy to talk to. He was also perceptive as hell.

"Yeah, we've known each other since we were kids. Been together since high school--were together, I mean," he corrected himself. His eyes flickered over to the TV, the waitstaff, the door. He was drumming his fingers on the table. "But it didn't work out. She...I mean, people think we got divorced because she's a fancy lawyer and I'm a cop, but that's not it. Stella wasn't ever--she didn't care about stuff like that."

To be honest, Ray had figured that Stella Kowalski--who seemed very smooth, cultured and capable--probably did want her husband to resemble a nineteen year old a little less. "Yeah? So, what happened?" Ray figured after he'd had to share about having sex with call girls as part of his job, Kowalski could fess up to this and Ray didn't have to feel bad about asking.

Kowalski shrugged. "I guess maybe that was some of it, but...she thought my job was dangerous. She thought we were growing into different people," he said, using appropriate air quotes. "Thing is, Vecchio, I been just about the same person since I was four, you know? I think she just felt like I was holding her back, somehow. Which, yeah, I felt dumb in suits and going to these boring parties but, you know, Stella thought they were boring, too. We'd come home and she'd make fun of half of the people there. So it's not that, but she just...didn't need me, I guess. Not like I..." Kowalski looked away. "You know."

Yeah, Ray knew. "Not like you needed her."

Kowalski looked a little embarrassed, but he nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I'm kinda...intense. I think she was getting kind of tired of it." Kowalski scowled. "Not like I wasn't always that way, but. I took it kind of...hard. The divorce. I'm doing better, now. She's--I hope she's happy, and I wouldn't want to be the reason she wasn't, or whatever." Kowalski tossed back the rest of his beer in one swallow.

"I was married, too," Ray offered, and it felt weird to talk about Angie in Vegas. He'd been divorced long enough, actually, that sometimes it felt weird to talk about being married at all.

"Yeah, your file said that," Kowalski said, peering at him. "What happened there?"

"Same thing, pretty much. Two cops--we were young--bad hours, no money, stress, you know. The usual." Ray took a drink of his beer. "It was all right, we both knew it was the right thing to do. She got remarried. Nice guy, we went to high school together. I see her sometimes. Ma still sends her a Christmas letter."

"She still a cop?"

"Yup. Made detective a few years ago."

Kowalski was watching him strangely. "You're over it, in other words."

Ray shrugged. "Sure. We weren't married very long, and like I said--we were both young. I still like her, she's good people. From the neighborhood, you know." Ray's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Just seems...dunno. I mean, I get not everybody's like me, but...seems like it should bother you more. That you lost her."

Ray blinked at him. "Geez, it was hard at the time, okay? I mean, I missed her 'cause she was a great girl and I liked her--"

"But there's someone, right? Someone you haven't gotten over?"

It was Ray's turn to look away. "Yeah. There's someone." Two of them. And there was a conversation he didn’t really know how to have with Kowalski, either about Irene or Fraser. Because Irene, that was still a fresh hot wound that Ray wasn’t sure he wanted to open in the middle of a Vegas sports bar.

And Fraser was…Fraser. Even though Ray had thought he’d made it pretty obvious in the years of their partnership that he wanted more, Fraser was brilliant at detecting everything except things that had to do with him. More specifically, people having feelings for him.

People like Ray.

Kowalski cleared his throat. "Hey. I--"

Ray was finished with the male bonding for one night. "You want to play darts or something? We could have a friendly wager." Ray jerked his head over to the dartboard.

"We're cops, Vecchio. Gambling for money is illegal." But Kowalski was sliding off his chair, obviously game.

"It's Vegas," Ray pointed out, shoving back from the table. "Everything's legal here."

"Fraser would be disappointed," Kowalski said mischievously, and Ray laughed because, yeah, that was probably true. The very idea of Benton Fraser in Vegas was enough to make Ray laugh harder as he followed Kowalski to the dartboard. Kowalski swung by the bar on his way to the table.

"If you kick my ass, you gonna tell everybody back at the 2-7?" Kowalski asked, returning with two more beers, setting them on the ledge and leaning casually. He gave Ray a smile that made Ray feel suddenly a little too warm.

Ray just gave Kowalski a half-smile in return and said, a little lower than he might have intended, "You know what they say. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."

Kowalski bumped his shoulder with his own. His smile was summer-bright. Ray found it hard to look at anything else in the room. "Yeah. That's what they say."

* * *

Maybe it shouldn't have been that surprising, what happened next. But as much as Ray was theoretically fine with doing stuff with guys--and had been reliving that moment with Kowalski more than he maybe should have--the reality of it was just so intense that it made it hard to think.

Especially when that guy happened to be Kowalski, who wasn't kidding when he said he was intense. Ray was used to Kowalski's attention span being challenged--their dart game had Kowalski changing subjects and moving around a lot and getting in Ray's space more than was necessary--so that when Ray found himself the sole focus of all of Kowalski's intensity--

It was a lot to take in.

They took a cab home, Harris and Lane following discreetly behind, and they knew they were being watched. They both sat in the back of the cab, close enough that Ray could feel the heat from Kowalski's body, but not close enough to invite any attention. Kowalski leaned his head back against the seat and said, real quiet, "You know what I think we should do when we get back?"

And Ray, who was wondering if he was making up the sudden spike in tension and found himself staring kind of intently at Kowalski's hands resting on his knees, said "What?" even though he was pretty sure he knew.

Kowalski turned his head and looked at him, eyes hot. He didn't say anything else. He didn't really have to.

The rest of the car ride went by in a blur. Ray paid the taxi and was so out of it he forgot to keep the receipt. The last thing he was thinking about was getting reimbursed when this was over and he was back in Chicago.

Kowalski was ahead of him thanks to Ray's dealing with the taxi, and when Ray pulled the door closed he looked at Kowalski, standing in the middle of the room, and opened his mouth to say something. He wasn't sure what it was going to be.

Kowalski crossed the room, shoved Ray against the door, and started kissing Ray before Ray could even move. Ray had his hands on Kowalski's back and slid them down, fingers hooking around Kowalski's belt loops, and pulled him forward. Kowalski groaned into his mouth, his hand braced up on the wall next to Ray's head, his body pressed hard against Ray's.

"Yeah, Vecchio, Christ--" Kowalski couldn't seem to stay still and he was shaking again, moving, pressing up against Ray and then moving back, again and again, until Ray was dizzy and he couldn't think. It was hard to do anything but hold on to Kowalski's hips and kiss him back. Eventually, Ray got tired of Kowalski's constant motion and turned them so that Kowalski's back was to the door.

"You ever stay still?" Ray asked him huskily, and Kowalski's hands fisted in his shirt and pulled him in closer to kiss him again. His mouth was hot, and he could feel Kowalski's hands through the fabric of his dress shirt, and fuck.

Kowalski's hands moved down over Ray's chest, which made Ray shudder, and Kowalski grinned against his mouth and sucked at Ray's bottom lip, biting lightly. Ray drew in a sharp breath at that, shoving his hips hard against Kowalski, who was still shaking beneath him. "You okay?" Ray panted, pulling back, looking down at Kowalski with a bit of concern.

"Yeah," Kowalski muttered, breathing hard himself, and then he reached down and rubbed his palm over Ray's dick through his pants. Ray gave a strangled moan and his head went back, andKowalski did it again, shaping him, pressing hard enough that Ray was suddenly concerned he was going to fall down. Kowalski gave a pleased, breathless laugh. "M'fine, Vecchio. You?"

Ray moved in and pressed his thigh against Kowalski's hard-on, a little awkward at first and then finding the rhythm, pressing hard up against him over and over, fiercely pleased when Kowalski's laugh turned into a groan. "Fine. Maybe we should move?"

"Yeah." Kowalski shoved at him, sudden and quick, movements all tight and controlled. "Fuck. I--fuck," he said, and Ray was confused because Kowalski suddenly looked angry but, okay, maybe that's just how he looked when he was turned on. But Kowalski shoved a little too hard and Ray's eyes narrowed because his balance wasn't so great at the moment and what the hell was Kowalski's problem?

"What the hell?" Ray managed, but Kowalski gave a rough shake of his head and put his hands on Ray's shoulders again. He didn't shove again, he just pulled Ray closer and kissed him, wild and messy.

"M'sorry. Sorry. C'mon, just--yeah?" Kowalski wasn't making any sense, but he was pressing instead of shoving, urging Ray backwards, and Ray just...went with it. He let Kowalski maneuver him until his calves hit the couch in the living room and he went back when Kowalski shoved him and then--

Kowalski was straddling him on the couch, hands tight and desperate on Ray's shoulders, kissing him like the goddamn world was ending. He was pulling at Ray's shirt, all rough hands and aggressive, and Ray couldn't think. "You--"

"Mm? Look, I said I was--intense, yeah? Just...fuck, let me, let me, c'mon, I want to," Kowalski muttered, trying to kiss him again, and Ray pushed him back a little because in about two seconds he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to say anything coherent at all.

"Kowalski, you gonna freak out about this later?" Ray asked him, hand on Kowalski's chest, and he was still moving, God, it was so distracting and Ray was kind of pushing up a little with his hips because he couldn't stop himself.

"Last time? When we got interrupted? I jerked off in the shower thinking about sucking your cock," Kowalski told him, staring at him, and that energy focused solely on Ray and what was he supposed to do? "What about you? Gonna freak out after I'm done?"

Really, Ray was just thinking about how impossibly hot Kowalski was going to look on his knees, not about anything that would happen after that. "No--I--no."

Kowalski leaned forward and licked his neck. "You want this?"

"Yeah," Ray said, torn between a groan and a laugh. "Fuck. I want it."

"Me, too." Kowalski grinned, and there was something there, something that would maybe give Ray pause if he was in any condition to think about it. "Then there's no problem."

With that, he slid to his knees, hands going to Ray's pants, face determined.

Ray had had blowjobs before, of course. A lot of them in Vegas, as a matter of fact, because it seemed easier than actually having sex with women who thought they were fucking Armando. And they were good--he was a guy, he couldn't lie and pretend they weren't really fucking good, these girls, who could do amazing things with their mouths and their tongues and take him so deep.

And this was--well, it was obviously Kowalski's first time. It was Ray's, from a guy, and so he was trying to remind himself that just because guys got blowjobs it didn't mean they'd be good at giving them. And Kowalski fumbled a bit at first with Ray's belt, cursing under his breath when he managed to thumb open the button. Then he was tugging the zipper and muttering for Ray to lift his hips, and Ray did and stared at Kowalski's crazy hair while Kowalski pulled his pants and his boxers down.

Then Kowalski took Ray's dick in his hand and paused, looked up at Ray, blue eyes wide and almost desperate. A pause, like he was maybe waiting for Ray to tell him yes or give him reassurance or something and oh, Christ, it was hot, it was so, so hot.

Ray carded his fingers through Kowalski's short hair and tugged a little, watching with half-slitted eyes as Kowalski's body shuddered in reaction. Kowalski leaned forward, still staring at him--God--and drew his tongue up the length of Ray's cock. Slowly. Watching Ray's face the whole time. And oh, Jesus.

Ray's hips pushed up almost without thought and he moaned, loud. His fingers tightened in Kowalski's hair. "Christ. Yeah, that's--fuck, Kowalski, just--do it--"

"Yeah--" Kowalski opened his mouth and took the head of Ray's cock in, just enough to drive Ray crazy, and his hips jerked, hard, driving himself into Kowalski's mouth.

Kowalski moved back, coughing a little, his hand wrapped tight around the base of Ray's cock.

"Sorry, sorry," Ray panted, staring down at him. "I'm sorry, I won't--"

"No, s'okay, I liked it," Kowalski said, blinking up at him, eyes wide and dark. "Just surprised. Never done this before. " With that, he was back on him in seconds, and what Kowalski lacked in practice he sure as fuck made up in enthusiasm. It was technically a messy blowjob, but it was maybe the hottest one Ray'd ever had. Kowalski was sucking him hard and using his tongue, and his mouth was hot and his hand tried to jack him. All the fumbling for a rhythm was just as hot as it was when Kowalski stumbled into it, long fingers tight around Ray's dick, his mouth moving up and down and good, so good.

Ray was trying to keep himself from just fucking losing it and fucking Kowalski's throat for all he was worth. And then Kowalski pulled off and looked up at him and grinned, and said, "Go on, Christ, just do it," and okay, that was--Ray stifled a groan and grabbed Kowalski's hair and Kowalski moaned around his cock, and Ray could feel it and then he just let himself do it, fucked Kowalski's mouth and reached down with his free hand to run his thumb over Kowalski's mouth where it was stretched around his dick. Kowalski's hands were gripping hard at Ray's thighs, fingers pressing in tight enough to bruise through the fabric of Ray's pants.

And Kowalski just took it, all of it, and Ray tried to make it last, but there was no way. Kowalski was up and over him and sucking and his tongue, and the head of his cock hit the back of Kowalski's throat, and Kowalski's mouth tightened in automatic response and that was it, that was it. He tried to shove Kowalski away but he should have known better--Kowalski made a sound and leaned forward, swallowed him down as Ray came in his mouth.

It left Ray wrung-out, sated, falling back on the couch and trying to catch his breath. Eventually he looked down at Kowalski, who was sprawled on the floor, a shaking hand pressed to his mouth. He looked up Ray. "You--okay? That was okay?"

Okay? "Uh," Ray said brilliantly, blinking slow and dumb. "Um. I--um." That was fucking amazing, he tried to say. What came out instead was, "Yeah."

Kowalski laughed, all throaty and low. "Good. That's good." He rose up, wincing a little, and Ray could see Kowalski's erection pressing against his jeans. And it occurred to him, penetrating the fog of lazy satisfaction in which he was happily drifting, that he maybe should take care of Kowalski, here. And okay, it was a good thing Kowalski had just blown his mind because otherwise Ray might be kind of nervous about what he was going to do.

As it was, he could barely think enough to be nervous, so.

"C'mere," he said to Kowalski, reaching down, offering Kowalski his hand. Kowalski reached out and took it and Ray pulled a little, and they both laughed a bit awkwardly as they tried to find some kind of comfortable position on the couch. Ray thought he'd do the same thing for Kowalski, suck him off, but Kowalski started kissing him again as soon as he got up on the couch. Ray kissed him back, noticing that Kowalski seemed a lot calmer than he had before, which was kind of strange, considering that Ray was the one who'd gotten off.

And it was Kowalski who grabbed Ray's hand and brought it down to rub his cock through his jeans. Ray pressed in, kissed Kowalski, learned the shape and feel of his cock as he did so. It was different, sure, but from the way Kowalski was moaning in his mouth and pushing his hips forward, Ray must have been doing an all right job. He worked Kowalski's jeans open and slid his hand inside, curving his fingers around Kowalski's dick and stroking slow. Kowalski was doing the shaking thing again, but Ray was used to that now and he just kept going, and then he started moving down Kowalski's body so he could take Kowalski's cock in his mouth.

Kowalski stopped him, tugging on his shoulder. "Hey. Next--next time for that, yeah? I want--want you to use your hand. Okay?"

Despite the fact he'd already come, that made Ray inhale sharply. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you want," he said, moving back up. He settled against Kowalski so they were lying on the couch, Kowalski's back against the cushions, Ray pressed up against his front. He kissed him again and Kowalski let him, then took his mouth away and started talking.

"Hey--tighter, can you do it tighter? Just--fuck, yeah, like that--harder, I like it hard, yeah, like that, fuck, Vecchio, oh Christ--"

Ray should have figured Kowalski for a talker in bed, given he never usually shut up. Ray pressed his forehead against Kowalski's, felt his breath coming fast and quick on his face as he followed Kowalski's instructions. He twisted his hand a few times, 'cause he liked that, and that made Kowalski grab hard at him and buck his hips. Ray had to shift a few times because his arm was getting tired, and the angle sometimes was wrong and he occasionally lost the rhythm, but Kowalski didn't seem to mind. He was vocal and loud and moving around, going after it.

Ray slid his free hand up under Kowalski's shirt, and his skin was sweat-dampened and his muscles tense; he was close, obviously, but not quite there. Ray licked Kowalski's neck, and then murmured, kind of bossily, "Come on, Kowalski, come, want you to," and then went with his instincts and bit Kowalski on the shoulder, through his shirt. It worked like a charm, Kowalski tensed and shuddered and then came all over Ray's hand.

They lay there for a long time, quiet, afterwards. Eventually Ray had to move, his arm was falling asleep and his hand was sticky, and the couch was really not that roomy. He and Kowalski sort of moved as one, as if they'd reached some non-verbal agreement to do so, and Ray was suddenly aware that this could be really, really awkward.

Except that when Ray stood up, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned (when had that happened?) and his pants still unzipped, he looked at Kowalski, who was still lying on the couch. Kowalski's face was flushed and his hair was sticking up crazily, his eyes drowsy and shirt rucked up, his pants still shoved down. He was rubbing his shoulder, where Ray had bitten him at the end, and he was smiling.

Ray zipped up his pants, but left them unbuttoned. "You--Kowalski?"

"Mmm." Kowalski put one arm under his head, but made no attempt to move.

"You wanna get up? Clean up? Harris is gonna have a heart attack if he walks in." Ray yawned, stretching. He felt good. Better than he had in a while. Getting laid would do that to you, and if he was going to freak out about his first time with a guy, apparently it wasn't going to be anytime soon.

"Mmm."

"You are a genius with the English language, Stanley," Ray said, far more affectionately than he might have actually intended. "I'm gonna take a shower." He waited a minute, but Kowalski didn't move, didn't look like he'd even heard him. Ray shrugged and headed to the shower. He looked at himself in the mirror as the water heated, noticed the lines around his eyes had eased somewhat.

He looked more relaxed than he'd seen himself in a while. Which, okay, he'd had a few beers, finally left this stupid suite for something other than an interrogation (because that's what it was, despite the conference room and the fact he wasn't a criminal) and, okay, he'd just had really amazing sex.

With Kowalski.

If he were honest, he'd always thought the only guy he'd ever do this with would be Fraser. But Fraser was in Canada, and Kowalski was in the other room fucked-out and asleep on the couch. Ray missed Fraser, but he wasn't freaking out about Kowalski, so that was good, that was very good.

After he was done in the shower, Ray dressed in his pajamas and went out into the living room. Kowalski was sound asleep on the couch. Ray thought about taking off Kowalski's jeans but in the end he just covered Kowalski with a blanket and left him there, and if he ruffled his hair, Kowalski would probably never know.

* * *

Ray sort of thought that, despite Kowalski's muttered next time, that it might have been a one-time thing. When he woke up the next morning, Kowalski had showered and was in the small kitchenette, talking to the coffee maker.

"--no, you know, it's fine if you don't want to make coffee, I mean, why the fuck would you do that, you're only a goddamned coffee maker. Please, beep at me some more because I like that better than coffee, c'mon, I--"

"You have to press the timer button, dunno why," Ray offered, giving Kowalski a reserved kind of smile that said, I have no idea how we're supposed to play this but I'm cool if you're cool.

"Oh. Hey. Thanks." Kowalski pressed the button and then crossed his arms, smirking at the coffee machine as it began to brew. "Someone else knows your secrets," he told it smugly, and Ray snorted out a laugh. "So, there's coffee," Kowalski said, leaning against the counter. "Hi."

"Hi," Ray said, clearing his throat, and okay, now was a dumb time to get embarrassed but Kowalski was looking at him again, all intent-like, not focusing on anything else in the room at all.

But Kowalski just smiled and then chattered about something he was watching on television, and Ray made fun of the fact he added M&Ms to his coffee because Kowalski had to buy them from a vending machine, and okay, things were good, things were fine.

And then, on his way out of the small kitchen area, Kowalski moved and got up into his space and kissed him. He tasted like coffee and chocolate and a little bit like toothpaste. "So. You--that was okay?"

"Yeah," Ray said, and he was breathing faster and getting hard, so quick it almost made him dizzy.

"Okay, good. So we can...do it again?" Kowalski asked him, head tilted, his eyes gleaming. "'Cause I'm a quick learner, Vec-chi-o," he drawled.

Ray actually laughed. "I bet you are," he said, and shrugged, feeling embarrassed and a little anxious and pleased and not a little turned-on. "Yeah. I mean--if you want."

Kowalski pushed his hips at him, lazy. "Oh, yeah. I want."

And Ray was going to ask him if maybe this was weird for him at all, if he'd had thoughts about guys before or what, but Kowalski was kissing him again and so he didn't ask.

As it turned out, Kowalski was a fast learner. And he wasn't the only one, either. And suddenly, being cooped up in the stupid hotel suite wasn't nearly as bad as it was before, because Ray had found a good way to spend his time.

He and Kowalski still went out, checked out some sports bars and even did some sightseeing, but mostly they spent a lot of time in bed.

Well. Not just in bed.

Ray sucked Kowalski off for the first time in the shower, which was insanely hot even though it was awkward and kind of hard on his knees, but he did it anyway. It was harder to get the rhythm than with the handjob, but that was okay, Kowalski really seemed to like it and all the noises he made as Ray sucked his cock were really worth it, so who cared about sore knees?

Kowalski shoved him against the wall again when they got home from the sports bar a few nights later, and this time Ray let him control it, let him get them both naked and line their cocks up, thrusting hard. It was fast and quick and hurt a little because of the chafing, but Ray liked it, liked how fast Kowalski moved, the way Kowalski muttered God, Vecchio, so fucking good, come on, fuck, come all hot in his ear.

Ray liked that so much he pinned Kowalski to the bed a few days later and did it to him, but he didn't let Kowalski move, just did it as slow as he could until Kowalski said fuck, please, his whole body tight and so ready he was making inarticulate sounds as Ray finally, finally thrust hard enough to bring them both off.

They still bickered, but it tended to end with them making out, so that was all right.

And if sometimes Ray caught a strange look on Kowalski's face, something fierce and oddly melancholy, he didn't ask about it. He didn't ask anything about Kowalski and guys, because it was pretty obvious they were both new at this, unless Kowalski was a better actor than Ray was giving him credit for. And Kowalski--he was so open in bed, he just reacted and talked and didn't seem to censor himself at all.

But they didn't really talk that much, other than Ray saying things like, "You want me to suck you harder, you like that?" and Kowalski answering with a breathless, "Yes, God, yes," so that was all right. They were guys. They didn't need to talk. They were having sex, and it was good, it was great, and it was helping Ray ignore the start date of the trial, which was rapidly approaching. It would mean the loss of the outings, stricter surveillance, and the only thing making it bearable was the thought that at least he was getting some pretty regularly.

It was sex. Just sex. Good sex, and Ray was still really surprised that it was Kowalski of all people, but when life handed you a gift you just opened it and didn't bitch. So that's what Ray did, he gave his interviews and he told the Feds what they needed, he identified guys and businesses and drew charts with lines connecting names and faces, and he went home and he and Kowalski fucked like rabbits until they fell asleep. Well, okay, they weren't technically fucking, but it was pretty much everything else.
***
And then early one morning at four am, he woke up to see a figure standing in his doorway. Ray shot up out of bed, disoriented, his heart racing, reaching for his gun.

"S'just me," Kowalski said, and Ray slumped back in relief.

"Idiot, you can't just--I'm a Mafia witness, you don't do that, Kowalski. You trying to scare me to death, finish the job for the guys who're gonna want me dead?" Ray hated to be woken up in the best of circumstances, which was this was definitely was not.

"Sorry," Kowalski said, and Ray couldn't see him much in the dim light, he could just see Kowalski was standing there with his arms crossed. He seemed tense. "I--I couldn't sleep."

"Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious. And then you decided to share the wealth?"

"I--yeah. Hey, you--do you mind if I--"

Ray blinked at him. Was Kowalski asking--wait, they didn't do that, the two of them, they did their thing and then they went to bed. Separately. Not--they didn't sleep together. "You need--"

"Just for a minute?" Kowalski sounded kind of freaked out, and then, predictably, he got pissy. "Look, never fucking mind, all right?" He turned, his movements quick and jerky, obviously intending to leave.

"Hey. Don't--just--come here, okay? I'm fine, you just woke me up and scared the shit out of me and now you're being confusing."

Kowalski didn't move. "I said I was fine, just don't worry--"

Ray threw his hands up, exasperated. "Kowalski, stop being a dumbass and get over here."

Kowalski muttered and stomped over to the bed, but he climbed in next to Ray. Ray lay back down, on his back, turning to look over at Kowalski. "So? You couldn't sleep?"

"Yeah." Kowalski wasn't any more forthcoming, so Ray just kind of stared at him and waited. Eventually Kowalski spoke again, as Ray figured he would--he'd learned Kowalski wasn't very good at staying quiet when he had something he wanted to say. "Do you like me?"

Ray was expecting a lot of things, but not that. "What? Were you on the astral plane earlier? In a coma? 'Cause I think I made it pretty obvious, didn't I?"

"No, I don't--I mean, just in general. You know. Like, as a person. Do you like me?"

Ray had absolutely no idea what to say. "I--yeah, of course! I don't usually have sex with people I don't like." Something occurred to him, that weird look he sometimes caught on Kowalski's face. "You--you're not just doing this so I like you, are you?"

Kowalski snorted. "I'm not a high-school girl with low self-esteem, Vecchio."

"Really? Cause I'm not so sure right now, Kowalski." Ray turned, facing Kowalski in the bed. "Why wouldn't I like you?"

"You didn't seem to, when we first met."

Ray stared at him. "Kowalski, you and Benny had just blown my cover, yeah? And you weren't exactly Mr. Friendly, yourself."

"Yeah, I know." Kowalski was silent again. "I--sorry. It was weird. Being--you know, I was you and then in two seconds I wasn't you, and you were you, and I didn't--well, that was a lot to keep up with."

"Yeah," Ray said, remembering the sudden and drastic shift from being Langoustini to being Ray Vecchio. To seeing Benny, something he’d had dreams about in Vegas, to coming face-to-face with the guy they'd gotten to replace him (and really, a blond Polish cop?), to the definite end to his time as a mob boss without having a clue it was coming. "I know."

"I guess you do." Kowalski said at length. "Yeah. And I was kinda...look, the thing is? The Lieu, he sent me on this assignment 'cause I got nothing else to do. Nowhere to go. No one else to be. And I'm...being myself is kinda all messed up."

Ray stayed quiet, because he wasn't sure what Kowalski wanted him to say. Eventually he just said, "Yeah, 'course I like you. Can we go to sleep now?"

"Yeah." Kowalski was quiet again. "You don't--I can leave, if you want."

"Just stop talking," Ray said with a yawn, and closed his eyes. He could hear Kowalski breathing, and then, right before he slipped off into sleep, he heard Kowalski say softly,

"I like you too, Vecchio."

* * *

Ray was jerked out of a nice, sound sleep by a sudden and very, very loud commotion with raised voices and something...barking?

For a moment he wanted to complain and pull the covers--Kowalski had stolen most of them--up over his head and go back to sleep. But then he remembered mob trial and people maybe trying to kill me and that got him up, fast.

Kowalski was up, too, looking wild-eyed and wilder-haired, pajama pants slung low on his hips. "What? What is that? Where the fuck is my gun?"

"I cannot answer any of those questions, Kowalski," Ray said, grabbing his gun and moving to the door. He threw it open, gun pointed, scanning the living room. There was no one there. Whatever was happening was in the hallway, and the door was still locked. Kowalski must have arrived at the same conclusion he did, because he pushed past Ray and disappeared into his room, coming back a few seconds later, still shirtless, but wearing his glasses and holding his gun.

"You can't go in there! Sir, I don't care who you are, it is absolutely not going to happen without some sort of authority from someone from this country--"

"Yes, I do understand that," a familiar voice said, "But if you would just tell Detective Vecchio that I'm here, I'm sure he would vouch for my identity and the fact that I mean him no harm."

Ray looked at Kowalski. Kowalski blinked. "That can't possibly be--can it?"

"Sir, if you and that dog don't stand down--"

There was a very offended bark from the hallway.

Ray grinned. "Yeah, yeah it can." He lowered his gun and went to the door, opening it, and grinned at the sight that awaited him in the hallway. Agent Lane was looking increasingly irritated and befuddled, and there was a half-wolf sitting in the hallway with a very calm-looking Mountie behind him, standing at parade rest in his brown uniform. "Benny?"

"Ray!" Fraser's face lit up, that smile of his that made his eyes shine. "Hello!"

"Um, Benny--what are you doing here?" Ray looked at Lane. "You can--I know him, it's fine, you can let him in."

"Thank you, Detective Vecchio. I forgot that it was your decision about who was allowed past security. Oh, wait." Lane smacked his forehead with his hand. "It isn't! It's mine! And I don't know who this guy is, and more importantly, how he knows you're here--"

"Oh, that was very easy," Fraser said earnestly. "I learned from Lieutenant Welsh that Detective Vecchio was in Las Vegas, and I simply made a diagram of the safest routes to the Federal Building, using the most efficient and direct streets with enough traffic to hinder any sort of attack, while being away from the most congested traffic points, and--"

"Benny," Ray interrupted, running a hand over his scalp. "You're gonna make the Feds feel like idiots for figuring it out so soon. Lane, this is Constable Benton Fraser. He's a Mountie."

"Really? I thought he was a door guard at Caesar's," Lane snapped, still looking pissed.

Fraser gave a small frown. "Well, no, I believe Caesar's Palace strives to maintain a Roman theme for their hotel. In which case I would be wearing a Roman legionnaire's outfit. Not that I have one, of course, and from what I've heard their style of dress is rather historically inaccurate."

"What?" Agent Lane blinked. "I don't even know what to do about this."

"If you wouldn't mind, Diefenbaker could use some water," Fraser said, very seriously. "He is not at all used to this climate and I believe he's quite parched."

Dief barked, and Fraser looked down at him. "Yes, I'm sure you'd like the air conditioning, but you don't actually need that to survive, you know." Dief barked again, and Fraser held up a hand. "I'm not discussing this with you right now. You're the one who insisted on coming." Dief whined but fell silent.

Ray was trying very, very hard not to laugh. Lane was staring at Fraser as if he were insane. "You got any ID?"

"Certainly," Fraser said, chipper as ever, but Ray could see the faint lines of sweat on his brow. Dief wasn't the only one out of his element in the desert. As Fraser handed over his ID, his eyes brightened again. "Ray!" he said, and for a moment Ray almost said, yes, we've established that, this is not making you look any less crazy, Benny, until he realized that Kowalski was standing behind him, and Fraser must have seen him.

Ray had almost forgotten Kowalski was there, he was being so uncharacteristically quiet. "Hey, Fraser," Kowalski said, and his voice sounded kind of weird, but then again--Kowalski was a weird guy.

"So, you know him too?" Lane demanded, handing Fraser back his ID. Ray wondered briefly why he'd actually looked at it--did Lane actually know what a legit RCMP badge looked like? Ray sure as hell didn't, and he'd worked with Benny for two years.

"Yeah." Kowalski moved a bit closer, and Ray could feel the heat from his body against his back, and--okay, yeah, now he remembered Kowalski was there. And bare-chested. Since they'd slept together the night before. "Look, you can call Welsh. All you gotta do is repeat that thing about talking to the wolf, there, and Welsh'll give you a description of Fraser here, right down to the boots."

"Oh, I'm calling Welsh." Lane smiled grimly. "You better believe it. And probably moving you, since apparently finding our expert witness no one knows is here is as easy as a walk in the fucking park."

Fraser looked at him earnestly. "Please, Agent Lane. There’s no need to worry. I assure you, I’m a friend." Fraser smiled at Ray, and Ray felt his whole body turn warm as he smiled back.

"Yeah, he's Canadian. They don't lie." This from Kowalski, and there was something almost like bitterness in his voice, enough that Ray turned to look over his shoulder at him. Kowalski looked tense but that wasn't anything new, so Ray shrugged it off and moved away from the door.

"Call whoever you want, Lane. Come on in, Benny."

Fraser beamed again and Ray grinned back, and Dief barked happily and bounded into the hotel room. Lane threw his hands in the air and pulled out his cell phone.

Ray cheerfully shut the door and turned to give Fraser a hug. "What are you doing here?"

Fraser returned his hug with his usual bear-like grasp, full of sincerity, and pulled back. "I called the precinct when I returned, of course, and Lieutenant Welsh--"

"You came back?"

Ray looked over at Kowalski, who was slouched on the chair and watching them with hooded eyes.

"Oh! Yes, of course. I--had some family business to finish in Canada when the assignment I was helping with was finished, and I headed back when everything was wrapped up. I did try to reach both of you to let you know I was coming, but I was unable to."

"They gave us new cell phones," Ray explained. "Different numbers."

Kowalski slouched lower in the couch, enough that he was about to fall on the floor. "Why?"

Ray stared at Kowalski. "Because we're kind of in hiding?"

"No," Kowalski said, waving a hand and looking back at Fraser. "Why did you come back? You were happy in Canada. I saw you, grinning like a freak in all that snow." Kowalski smiled briefly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Thought you were staying, is all."

"Yes, well, I--" Fraser ducked his head. "As to that, Ray, I wasn't--my future employment options are a bit--flexible, at the moment." He cleared his throat. "And as you'll recall, I left for Canada rather suddenly, and my things were here--my father's diaries, they are very important to me." There was a sudden shadow on Fraser's face--Ray remembered Muldoon that day at the mall and wondered if Fraser's "family business" had been putting the past to bed and coming to grips with what had happened to his family.

"We could have mailed them to you," Kowalski said, still staring at Fraser, and what was wrong with him?

"Jesus, Kowalski," Ray snapped, suddenly irritated and feeling protective. Had he been totally wrong in thinking Fraser and Kowalski had been buddies?

Fraser was looking at Kowalski, and his voice was quiet. "I suppose you could have, yes. But I learned that you were both here, and I--well, forgive me for being so presumptuous, I'm sure the FBI is doing a very good job keeping you safe--"

Here, Kowalski and Ray exchanged a grin. "We're not making it very easy," Ray said with a laugh, remembering his and Kowalski's room-service ordering adventures and the rounds of probably-very-loud sex. Kowalski smiled at Ray, and this smile did reach his eyes. Ray relaxed a little.

"But you see, I--well, you've both been extraordinarily kind to me during very difficult times--several, as it were--and it occurred to me that if I could repay your kindness by lending my services in keeping you safe, Ray, by assisting Ray, here--well, I was honor-bound to do so. And of course, I wanted to," he added hastily. "But to bring myself here out of the purely selfish desire to see both of you would have possibly hindered your safety, and I didn't want that either," Fraser said earnestly. “But I eventually came to the decision that you couldn't be too safe. Either of you. So, here I am.”

Kowalski was grinning now, his earlier weirdness having abated. "So, what you're saying is, you talked yourself into coming because you wanted to see us, but couldn't unless you convinced yourself we couldn't make it without you?"

Fraser looked a little abashed. "Well, not entirely, Ray, you're both very capable. I thought perhaps you'd welcome my assistance, is all.”

Kowalski laughed and stood up, crossed the room, finally shaken out of whatever funk he was in enough to give Fraser a hug. Still without a shirt. And Ray--okay, this was stupid, this was so fucking stupid, but he felt a sudden uncomfortable flare-up of something that was absolutely fucking not jealousy, and something else, something he was absolutely not thinking about. It was definitely not about how Fraser's hands look splayed on Kowalski's naked back as Fraser hugged him back.

Dief bounded up to Ray, distracting him. Ray leaned down and scratched him behind the ears. "Hey, furface. You come along to shed on my nice suits?"

Dief barked, jumping up and putting his paws on Ray's chest. Ray shoved him away good-naturedly. "You have dog-breath. Or, should that be dog-wolf breath? Come on, you probably do need some water." Dief went back to all fours and followed after Ray into the small kitchenette. Ray found a bowl and filled it up with cold water, and Dief nuzzled his hand happily for a moment when he put it on the ground, before lapping up the water enthusiastically.

"You want a glass of water, Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray, thank you. It is--very hot here. I'm afraid I'm not quite used to the climate, myself."

"You bring anything that isn't made out of wool?" Kowalski teased him, and Ray realized he was kind of banging things around in the kitchen and he really wasn't sure why.

He filled up the glass of water and brought it to Fraser, who was seated on the couch, his posture perfect as usual.

"Didn't offer to get me any water," Kowalski said, and when Ray looked at him, he noticed there was still a faint bite mark on Kowalski's shoulder--it didn't look like a bite, it was just reddened skin, but Ray remembered exactly what he'd done to leave it there (Kowalski liked to be bitten, scratched--he liked a little bit of pain and Christ Ray shouldn't know that, he should not be thinking about how hot it was when Kowalski arched under him and moaned, bite me, please, fingers tight on Ray's shoulder), and okay, time to stop thinking about that.

Kowalski was smirking at him. Ray scowled. "Guess I should have, huh, since you're so hot you can't even put on a shirt despite the fact the air's cranked down to sixty-four."

Kowalski's smirk stretched into a leer. "Oh, I'm hot, all right," he said, and laughed. Ray felt himself flushing and turned to Fraser, who was staring at them both curiously.

Ray paused, suddenly wondering if Fraser was going to say, I see you're sleeping together with that crazy logic of his that defied all possible laws of nature and reason. But instead, he just smiled and drank his water without comment.

"Think I'm gonna take a shower," Kowalski drawled, standing up, and then he stretched. He went up on his tiptoes, hands reached towards the ceiling and long fingers crisscrossed together, wiry muscles shifting as he did so. And Ray couldn't look away until Kowalski went back to standing flat-footed, and then he looked at Fraser because okay, Kowalski looked obscene and--

Fraser was staring at him, not Kowalski, and the look on his face made Ray want to--something. When Ray met his eyes, Fraser looked away.

To quote Fraser—oh, dear.

* * *
The suite was spacious, but it wasn't exactly spacious enough for the three of them plus a wolf. For one, there was too much furniture and not enough room to maneuver. For another, they were three guys who just took up a lot of space, physical or otherwise, and there simply wasn't room for them. But Ray was glad to see Benny, and they all had pizza that first night and Fraser lectured them about six or seven things, and Kowalski told Fraser about Harris and Fraser tried to look disapproving about the room service thing, but he ended up laughing about it.

"I always thought you would enjoy béchamel sauce, Ray, given your usual culinary tastes," Fraser had said seriously, and Ray had practically fallen off the couch laughing. Because of course Fraser would have known that, could have listed sauces Ray might have possibly liked on his fish. Because Fraser knew everything about Ray, and having him back—it was great, it was perfect.

That first night, Ray offered Fraser his bedroom and said he'd sleep on the couch, but Fraser insisted that would not be following proper safety protocols and he'd refused, saying the couch was just fine. And maybe Ray had spared a few moments mourning for the sex he wasn't going to be having with Kowalski, but it was probably for the best. With Fraser's arrival came the firm reminder that life did not actually only exist between the beige walls of the hotel suite, and in the boring conference room at the Federal building. Fraser reminded Ray of Chicago and home, and that made him think that maybe his little arrangement with Kowalski was a bad idea. Because Ray—he knew what he was feeling when he looked at Fraser, and their easy camaraderie fell right back into place like Ray had never been gone, and God, he’d missed it—missed Benny--so much.

Not that he and Kowalski ever talked about their arrangement, either the beginning or the sudden end. They were guys. And while Ray was trying to tell himself that it was a good thing to put some distance between him and Kowalski, his body...didn't so much agree. In fact, the first night Fraser was there, it woke him up with a raging hard on and a very distinct memory of how hot Kowalski looked on his knees, mouth wrapped around Ray's cock, Ray's hand fisting his hair.

That necessitated a very quiet jerk-off session, which was stupid, really--he was a grown man, Kowalski was (despite the way he acted) also a grown man, and Fraser was his friend and the least judgmental person on the entire planet. Still, it didn't seem quite right to go to bed and have loud sex with Kowalski with Fraser in the other room, because Ray was having dreams about going out there, shoving Benny against the wall and saying I want you, do you know that? Did you ever figure it out?

The trial was set to start in a week, and as time inched closer (both inched and flew, which Ray thought was unfair--when he started dreading it time sped up at an alarming rate, but when he started wishing it would just start already, time seemed to slow to a crawl), Ray was becoming more tense. Kowalski, for his part, seemed moodier than usual and had started mostly avoiding Ray, which gave Ray a headache when he tried to think about why.

Added to that, there was Kowalski acting strange around Fraser, too. Which was weird, because when the two of them were in a good mood they were funny and got along great; they were in each other's personal space, talking over each other, arguing until someone (usually Kowalski) threw up his hands and walked away. And Ray knew he’d gotten on Fraser’s nerves on occasion but this didn’t seem like the Fraser Ray knew, not at all. As the week continued, Kowalski paced and muttered a lot, his whole body tense, and Fraser looked confused and a little hurt.

And okay, maybe Ray was imagining things, here, but he couldn't help but notice a tension between himself and Fraser, but it wasn't...quite the same as Fraser with Kowalski's. In fact, either Ray had gone crazy with his recent bout of sex-with-a-guy, or else...he was getting the distinct impression Fraser was interested.

In him.

Which, quite frankly, Ray did not know what to do about. He could be wrong, for one thing (Fraser seemed intensely interested in a lot of things, like licking shoes, and Ray wasn't sure he was reading this right because this was all so new), and for another--this was Benny. His best friend. And sure, the guy almost got Ray killed a lot more times than--well, even the mob had managed--but it wasn't like Kowalski, whom Ray barely really knew. He did not want to fuck that up, not at all, not with the best friend he'd ever had.

Ray wasn’t blind or deaf, so the tension was making him cranky, but he couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t wonderful to have Fraser there. They had a lot of good talks, about everything from Fraser’s life during the ten months Ray had been in Vegas, to Ray’s time in the desert as Langoustini. And it was so easy to talk to Fraser, to just open up and say, yeah, he’d been scared a lot of the time and that sure, he was worried about the trial. Fraser was a steady, quiet presence, and when he was finished talking Ray felt cleansed, somehow, because Fraser understood how lonely the pursuit of duty could be. They talked about Muldoon and how Fraser had rendered him up for custody, despite how angry he'd been at Muldoon for what had happened to Fraser's mother.

“I thought of you, Ray,” Fraser had said quietly. “How brave you were when you confronted Zuko, knowing you and your family might suffer as a result. I thought of how much danger you were in, here in Vegas, all because of your duty to the law. I could not dishonor our friendship by shoving the man off a cliff, which I must confess I dearly wanted to do.”

“Aw, geez, Benny,” Ray said, shaking his head. “You make me sound like a saint, here.”

“Not a saint,” Fraser said, smiling, his eyes warm. “Just a good man. A man I’ve always been proud to call my best friend. And I wanted to be worthy of that, Ray.” He cleared his throat. “And my duty to the RCMP, of course. I am glad that I did not fall prey to the heat of the moment and kill him, though…I might have liked…” Fraser trailed off, looking a little guilty.

“To pop him one?” Ray asked, grinning. “Don’t worry, Benny. Even I, this para-whatever of virtue you seem to think I am—“

“Paragon, Ray.”

“—Even I was glad to have punched Zuko in the face. I did my job, yeah. But I’ll be damned if I didn’t enjoy that part. So don’t feel guilty just ‘cause you wanted to pop Muldoon in the jaw. Happens to the best of us, Benny. You got that?”

Fraser smiled. “Understood, Ray.” He looked so perfectly right sitting next to Ray on the couch, Dief sprawled at his feet, just like he had in that crappy apartment on Racine back when they’d both been in Chicago.

They talked of other things, and Fraser made Ray laugh with improbable stories about submarines and jetpacks and Kowalski playing baseball—Ray actually knew that story, because Kowalski had told him about it at least three times—until Ray’s eyes were fighting to stay open and he'd eventually gone to bed.

Through most of those conversations, the heavy and important ones, Kowalski stayed in his room or went to the gym. Sometimes, though, he stayed out in the living room and flipped idly through the channels, throwing in an anecdote or two and smiling despite himself. And those moments, with the three of them—they felt right somehow, in a way Ray didn’t really understand, and was too confused to figure out.

* * *

Two nights before the trial started, Ray decided they had to get out while they still could.

"C'mon. Kowalski, you brought something that resembles a suit, yeah?" Ray was standing at the door to his bedroom, aware of both Fraser and Kowalski's eyes on him. "We should go out. Somewhere nice. I know a place."

"Is that a good idea, Ray?" Fraser asked, concerned, and he was polishing his boots--of course--and Ray was absolutely not watching his hand slide up and down the leather.

"Yeah, I think the nicest we managed so far was that sports bar on the Strip," Kowalski added. Kowalski was chewing on a toothpick--Christ, did the guy have to something in his mouth all the time?

"You got something to wear or not?" Ray demanded, but he didn't really care because he had to get the hell out of here. He was spending a lot of time constantly turned on, thinking about Fraser's hand on his cock or Kowalski's fingers in his mouth, or some other variations on that theme that made even less sense but were just as hot—Fraser's hand in Kowalski's hair, for instance, and what the fuck kept making him think of that?

"Yeah, sure," Kowalski said, standing up. "Gimme an hour? I need a shower." Kowalski had gone down to the gym in the hotel again--clearly he was working out his own tension with exercise instead of sex, which Ray appreciated, but it meant he'd seen Kowalski show back up when he was finished--hair damp and sticking up, face flushed, and that looked an awful lot like Kowalski after other things that got him all worked up.

"I didn't bring the serge, thinking it was impractical because of the color--we don't want to draw attention to you, Ray--but will my brown uniform suffice?" Fraser asked, and he was in jeans and a plain white shirt and jeans, leather boot lying across his lap, and--yeah.

"That's so much less consip--conspica--noticeable. You'll look like one of them guys in a themed casino," Kowalski joked, but it was noticeably flat, and he was looking cranky again. Fraser looked away, but not before Ray could see him looking a little hurt. Great.

They were going to leave Vegas with Fraser and Ray stuck in some horrible sexual-tension holding pattern, Fraser and Kowalski barely speaking to each other, and Ray figured he and Kowalski were going to come to blows if they weren't--well, coming to blows. This was fucking fantastic.

"It's fine, Benny," Ray said, and turned to go get dressed. For a brief and crazy moment, Ray actually missed the Mob.

* * *
As it turned out, they never made it to dinner.

Kowalski was the first one dressed, and he just walked right into Ray's bedroom while Ray was tying his tie. And Kowalski's outfit was--well, it wasn't a suit, exactly, but it was--

He looked really, really hot.

Kowalski had shaved, and his hair was sticking up but in that way that suggested he'd actually done it on purpose, and he was wearing black pants and a dark grey cotton shirt and a black jacket. He looked--well, Ray actually thought seriously about shoving him against something vertical, and that wasn't good because Kowalski managed to look lean and just a little dangerous.

It just wasn't good.

He also smelled really nice, which Ray knew because Kowalski was standing too close to him. And his mind was happily reminding him of all the times they'd been tangled together on Ray's bed. And maybe it hadn't been that many times, but it suddenly felt like he'd been deprived of something he really needed to have. And Kowalski looked--kind of unfriendly, and a little aggressive, and it turned out Ray sort of found that attractive.

Fuck, fuck.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Kowalski asked, hands shoved in his pockets. Ray was grateful for that, if he had to see Kowalski's fingers right now he might forget that Fraser was out there and that he and Kowalski weren't doing anything anymore, even though they'd never actually decided to stop. Then again, they'd never really decided to start either, so...

"Yeah. I mean, the Feds'll be there. And I'm gonna carry, and I assume you are?" Ray finished his tie and looked at Kowalski, the question innocent and seriously concerned with his safety, here.

Kowalski didn't answer. Not in words, anyway. What he did was take his hands out of his pocket and move his jacket aside, so that Ray could see his shoulder holster stretched tight over the shirt he was wearing. He was missing his gun for the moment. "I will be." And Ray's mouth went dry, because he couldn't, he absolutely could not, take that.

In two seconds--maybe less--he had one hand wrapped around the leather of Kowalski's holster and pulled before he could stop himself. And then Kowalski was flush against him and Ray was kissing him and god, he couldn't stop, he couldn't.

Kowalski moaned against his mouth, the sound too loud, and Ray vaguely knew Fraser was in the shower because he could hear the water running. But whatever, he wasn't sure he would have been able to stop even if Fraser had been in the room watching and oh, God--

He was sucking on Kowalski's tongue, still holding onto the leather of the holster, and Kowalski was panting for it, fingers grabbing almost desperately at Ray's belt and one tugging on his tie and Kowalski's hips pushed hard against his and God, he was fully hard already and--

"Christ, Vecchio, fuck you, fuck you," Kowalski panted, angling him backwards, pushing Ray towards the wall. And Ray went, because he couldn't stop Kowalski, didn't want to. "God, fuck you, going to--want to fuck you, you won't--you can't--"

Kowalski wasn't finishing any of those sentences. Which was good because want to fuck you made Ray nearly fall over and oh, look, good thing there was a wall against his back. And this was seriously crazy and insane and hot and Ray had missed this, Kowalski up against him so hard and so good and trembling against him because he wanted Ray so bad.

The water in the shower shut off (Ray could tell, because the shower was right up against the wall where Kowalski had him pushed up and was going after it, rubbing hard against him,) and Ray managed to scrape together a few dregs of common sense from the lust-drenched barrel his mind had become to push Kowalski off of him.

"We gotta...stop," Ray bit out, and he sounded--well, like the last thing he wanted to do was stop, honestly.

Kowalski was staring at him, all burning intensity, practically vibrating. "Why?"

Ray had to actually put his hands on Kowalski's chest and push him back a little. "You know why," he said gruffly. "C'mon."

Kowalski surprised him by moving back, but he pointed two fingers at Vecchio and said, narrow-eyed, "Yeah. I do. Question is, Vec-chi-o, do you?" And with that, Kowalski turned and stomped out of the room, and then Ray heard the door slam as Kowalski went into the hallway.

Great. Fucking great.

Ray sat on his bed, head in his hands, for a long time. He willed his body to cool off, telling himself not to go after Kowalski and drag him back in here to--what? Fuck him senseless? He couldn't do that, could he? He couldn't. And not because of dinner, or Fraser--

Well, okay. It was because of Fraser. Because Ray was in love with Fraser, the kind of love that drove you crazy and made you light up inside, the kind that you didn't just forget about and walk away from. The kind that made you smile and happy to see a guy who plunked himself down in the middle of certain danger just to make sure you were safe. The kind that made Ray look up every time Fraser entered a room, or made him tolerate muddy half-wolf paws on his suits. Nothing bad could ever happen with Fraser around, because Ray trusted him to keep him safe, trusted him in a way he’d hardly trusted anyone in his life. And as much as Ray admittedly couldn’t keep his goddamned hands off Kowalski, he was beginning to think maybe Fraser just might love him, too. That maybe it wasn’t just Ray, quietly wanting someone he was convinced he could never have, because it could be that the time was finally right for the two of them to have a chance together.

"Ray?"

Ray looked up and saw Benny standing in the doorway, dressed in his brown uniform. Every button shined, hair neat, clean-shaven. "Hey, Benny." Ray wondered how long he'd been sitting on his bed, thinking, lost in his own thoughts.

"Are you all right?" Fraser's voice was warm and concerned. Ray stared at him and remembered a thousand things at once--tumbling out of a vault filled with water, trekking through Canada, Fraser's presence steady and calm in the car after he'd met with Zuko. They’d been through so much together, the two of them.

"Yeah. Fine." Ray stood up and smiled at him, then gave a laugh. "Kowalski's--probably waiting in the hallway."

Fraser took a step forward, his face settling into a look Ray knew very well. It was his just trust me, this convoluted plan will work look, his of course the awning is sturdy enough to catch us, Ray look. "Ray," he said, clearing his throat. Ray waited, but Fraser didn't say anything else.

Despite himself, Ray smiled. "Yeah, Benny?"

"Ray," Fraser started again, straightening his shoulders like he was going to give a speech. "I--I want to--a lot of things became clear to me, when I was in Canada. I had a lot of time to think. About family. And---about how I’m very…alone."

Ray felt something inside him soften at that. "Yeah?"

"Yes. Furthermore, I...well, I was very surprised when you left for Vegas." Fraser looked nervous, which wasn't something that Ray was used to seeing. It was both endearing and somewhat terrifying, although if anything would make Fraser nervous, it would have to be telling someone you had feelings for them. Which, unless Ray was a really bad detective, was exactly what Fraser was trying, in his way, to do.

Oh thank God.

"I know. I wish I could have told you that I was leaving. Sooner. But I couldn't." Ray smiled a little sadly. “I wanted to be as brave as you always said I was.”

"You are one of the bravest men I have ever met,” Fraser said, with such touching simplicity that it warmed Ray’s entire body. “But I--Ray, what I'm trying to say is that I--well, it would seem--I seem to have, ah." Fraser took a deep breath. "Feelings. Of the romantic kind. For you."

Ray was smiling, he couldn't help it. It was bittersweet--they'd wasted so much time, and everything was a mess now--and for a man who was good at everything, Fraser was endearingly bad at this. "Yeah. I know, Benny."

Fraser looked relieved. "Oh, thank goodness." Fraser took a hesitant step closer, and Ray's heart started to pound. "I know this isn’t…I mean to say, I’m very bad at this, Ray. I just feel very foolish and wish I had said something sooner--mph."

Fraser didn't get to finish that, because Ray grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him forward, and then they were kissing. Fraser was stiff beneath his hands at first but he got with the program, fast. And kissing Fraser was great, it was amazing, Fraser's mouth was warm and he really did do everything with that same determined focus, and Ray had been thinking about this for so long that the reality of it was probably going to kill him. The mob might get their wish after all.

And then he forgot about the mob, forgot about everything, because Fraser was pressed up against him and that was--Ray couldn't think, couldn't do a damn thing but kiss Fraser and slide his hands up Fraser's back, over the bullet wound that he couldn't feel, but knew was there. Fraser made a low sound in his throat, one hand against Ray's jaw as he held him in place. Fraser sucked on his bottom lip and Ray tried not to groan, and God, this was amazing, slow and hot, and all the times they could have been doing this—

"Hey, don't mind me. Just need to get my gun. You know. Protective detail, and all that."

Ray jerked in Fraser's arms and pulled away, looking over his shoulder to see Kowalski standing in the doorway. Kowalski was smiling, but his eyes were flat and cold and Ray just stared at him and couldn't speak.

"Ray," Fraser started, obviously speaking to Kowalski, but Kowalski held his hands up, still smiling pleasantly. Ray could see Kowalski's hands shaking. There was a flash of something in his eyes, almost like rage, before he blinked and shut down completely.

"Hey, hey. Like I said, just came back to get my gun." Kowalski met Ray's eyes. "You want I should just leave you kids to it?"

As it turned out, no one was leaving to do anything. Not Kowalski, not Fraser, and certainly not Ray.

“Your cover’s been compromised,” Agent Lane said without preamble, walking into the room. Ray spared a moment to wonder how long he’d been hanging around, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. “Jimmie LaRusa. The little fuck played us. You’re going to have to pack up and switch rooms. I got another one, right downstairs. Hurry.”

That necessitated a flurry of packing and gathering up the odds and ends to move to the new location. Lane put them in a room down a floor and further back in the hallway, closer to the back stairwell, and Ray caught Fraser's frown as they carried their stuff down a flight of stairs to the new room. Which, Ray noticed with a sigh, looked just like the old one.

So much for a change in location.

"I don't like this, Ray," Fraser said, scanning the room, Dief sniffing around the corners. He looked up as Agent Lane came in. "Ah. Agent Lane. I was thinking perhaps we should relocate to a room more centrally located, and less along the perimeter of the hotel--"

"Oh, you thought that, did you?" Lane asked, glaring. "Let me tell you something here, Constable Fraser. I am not inclined to listen to anything you have to say. First of all, I don't even know what the fuck a Mountie is even doing here, second of all, I believe I am the federal agent here, am I not? Is it not my job to make sure Detective Vecchio stays safe for the duration of his stay?”

Ray winced. Clearly Lane was beginning to feel the stress of the upcoming trial—Ray hoped the guy got it together, fast. Having the federal agent lose it wasn't a good sign of things running smoothly.

Fraser was speaking, his voice very stiff, the Mountie version of pissy. "I am aware of that, Agent Lane, however I assure you I am only trying to help--"

"Well, stop," Lane snapped. He pointed at Kowalski, who was lounging kind of sullenly against the door leading to the kitchenette. "You got anything to say?"

Kowalski shrugged. "Don't really seem like you'd listen to me if I did."

"But the proximity to the stairwell and the back door--" Fraser continued, voice getting slightly louder.

"Which is locked," Lane pointed out, huffily.

"--and the fact we have moved down a level--"

"Easier to get outside to the cars--you want to take the elevator when the mob comes looking for Armando, here?" Lane shook his head. "I suggest you get some dinner and go to sleep. Especially you, Detective Vecchio. In two days, it won't matter if there's a fucking neon sign with your goddamned name on it right outside your window. Every mobster in this town is going to know you're here."

"All the more reason to move to a more secure room," Fraser muttered, and Lane pretended not to hear him.

Pretended right out the door, slamming it behind him with a bang.

"I don't think he likes you," Kowalski said, breaking the sudden silence.

"No, it appears he doesn't. But I'm right--"

"You're always right," Kowalski said, an odd note in his voice. "At least, you always think you are."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Fraser said, rounding on Kowalski. "Ray, you're obviously angry at me."

"Wow, Fraser. Your skills of deductions are fantastical as usual." Kowalski was still slouched against the wall. He wouldn't look at Ray.

Fraser looked away, but not before Ray could see the hurt on his face.

"Kowalski," Ray said sharply.

"What?" Kowalski's eyes met his. He was obviously pissed off, but Ray couldn't read anything in his expression. He realized suddenly how much he'd been taking for granted how open Kowalski had been, how he'd been easy to read because he'd obviously been letting Ray read him. And sure, Kowalski was shit at hiding what he was feeling, but Ray could at least tell when he was trying and when he wasn't. "You got something to say to me?"

"Perhaps we should talk," Fraser started, looking at both of them, worry written plain on his face.

"Talk about what?" Kowalski asked, pushing off from the wall. "You don't got to worry. I'm not gonna interfere. I'm gonna finish out my job 'cause that's what I do, but it's not like I think I'm even doing anything all that helpful anyway. You got the FBI, the Vegas police, and the Mountie here, Vecchio. You don't need me."

Ray felt something twist in his stomach when Kowalski said that. You don't need me.

"Ray," Fraser said, obviously speaking to Kowalski, his heart in his throat. He looked miserable. "Please, I don't think...of course you're a help. Of course we need you."

Kowalski looked, just for a moment, like he wanted to put his fist through the wall. He stared at Ray, a tic in his jaw, his voice so rough it sounded like he'd eaten a handful of cement for dinner. "That so, Vecchio?"

Ray stared at them both. Fraser, looking somber and serious in his uniform, holding his hat carefully between his hands. Obviously concerned about Kowalski and just as obviously concerned about Ray. Wanting Ray. Loving Ray. And Kowalski, all tied up in knots, a look in his eyes that almost--almost--seemed to be desperation. And Ray, who had one day left of cheerful anonymity in the City of Sin before going on trial against the mob. Ray, who wanted them both and loved one of them. “Yeah. Of course. C'mon, Kowalski. You know that's not true.”

“Right now, I don't know anything,” Kowalski snapped, eyes narrowed. “Just—what do you want, Vecchio? Huh? Just tell me that.”

Ray laughed. He couldn't help it. It wasn't a pleasant sound--in fact, it sounded like he'd had a second helping of Kowalski's cement entree--but he was wrung out, worn out, stressed out. "What I want," he said, very clearly, "is to go to bed. I want to sleep, I want to watch a bad movie tomorrow, I want something good to eat. Because right now? I am fucking convinced I'm going to be shot walking up to the courthouse. And you know what? I'm also convinced you two are going to end up hurt, somehow, being here. And I don't want that, either."

"Because you love him," Kowalski said, nodding towards Fraser.

"Yeah," Ray said simply, because it was stupid to deny it. "And you--look, Kowalski, we don't even know each other that well."

Kowalski pushed away from the wall. "I get it. I do. Nobody's gonna be dumb enough to pick the scrawny Polack over him," he said, with a rough jerk of his head towards Fraser.

Fraser looked away. "It's not about picking sides, Ray."

"You say that, 'cause you won," Kowalski said. He ran a hand over his head, and when he spoke again, he sounded tired. "I get it. Okay? I do. I--look, Vecchio. I don't want you to get hurt. You either, Fraser. And I'm--look, I'm not—I get it. We get back to Chicago, I know how it's gonna be.”

"Ray—" Fraser started, though he never got a chance to finish because the door to the suite opened, and Lane re-appeared, holding a few pizza boxes and a couple of beers.

“Here,” Lane said unceremoniously, shoving the boxes and bottles at Fraser, who was too startled to do anything but grab reflexively at them. “Dinner.” He raked a hand through his hair, eyes darting around the room. “Just....eat up and get to bed early, okay? I don't know what the fuck you're shouting about, but this will all be over soon enough, so you could maybe stop. I'm right in the next fucking room.”

With that, Agent Lane left, slamming the door harder than was strictly necessary as he did so.

"I'm gonna go change clothes,” Kowalski muttered, lugging his suitcases towards his room. “This is the only suit I got, and I'll get pizza stains on it and then nobody's gonna take me seriously as a bodyguard.”

Despite the tension, Ray smiled a little at that, because Kowalski would spill something on the suit, probably within seconds, if he left it on. Ray waited until Kowalski shut the door to his room, then an a hand over his scalp and sighed. "Benny. I--"

Fraser smiled, putting the pizza down on the coffee table. Ray followed him into the kitchen as Fraser found a cup and poured himself a glass of water. "I know, Ray. I'm--I feel like this is my fault. I know how...deeply...Ray Kowalski feels emotions when he's fallen for someone. And he's very obviously fallen for you, and I can't blame him for that. I only wish I had found the courage to tell you how I felt before you left for Vegas. So much could have been different."

Jesus. Fraser looked torn between determined and doomed, which made Ray feel both affectionate and sort of annoyed. Which, okay, that was his default mode around Fraser, wasn't it? He sighed. "I know, Benny. But it's not your fault. I didn't say anything to you, either.”

Fraser was watching him curiously, leaning against the sink. "Ray, forgive me for prying, but I--you and Ray Kowalski, you've been...intimate?"

Ray flushed, but he didn't bother to lie. "Yeah."

Fraser nodded. “Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly, then turned to get the plates. Ray waited, but Fraser didn't say anything else, so he went to the living room and opened the pizza boxes.

Mushrooms, his least favorite topping. It figured.

* * *
When Ray woke up, he knew he was in trouble.

He vaguely remembered the evening prior—eating the world's most uncomfortable dinner with Kowalski and Fraser, all of them making exceedingly painful small talk and staring at the television. Ray and Kowalski were both so distracted they hadn't stopped Dief from stealing bits of pizza off their plates, and Fraser so obviously lost in thought that he didn't even reprimand him for it.

There should have been something after that. More fighting. Shouting. Recriminations. Or at the very least, retreating to separate corners to go to bed. Ray didn't remember any of it. And as he looked down, he realized he was still wearing his suit, suggesting he'd never actually been to bed.

Fuck. The pizza. It was drugged.

He didn't recognize the room, but he did recognize the two guys who were standing in front of him. Agent Lane, and Jimmie "Punchy" LaRusa, who had supposedly fled Witness Protection and gone back to the mob. Ray didn't think this was a federally sanctioned Witness Protection Program kind of gig, though, because he was pretty sure he wouldn't be tied to a chair with tape across his mouth if it was.

Oh, fuck.

"--look, I told you," Lane was saying, sounding vexed and okay, this was not good, this was not good. "I just grabbed Vecchio. The rest of them were still out from the drugs, even the wolf. And if you want to fucking kill them, you can go back and do it yourself. I brought you Langoustini. That is good enough, LaRusa. That was the fucking deal, wasn't it?”

"You think so?" Jimmie asked, chuckling. "You think you get to decide who's a threat and who isn't? I assure you, my men got enough fucking shovels to dig you a grave right next to Armando there, so you stop pretending to be in charge and do what I fucking tell you."

Ray had been trying to keep his eyes closed and pretend that he was still asleep, thinking this might give him an insight into what they were planning. And since it seemed shallow desert grave was the plan, maybe he wished he didn't know that. Fear iced down his spine, but he felt a strong surge of relief that Kowalski and Fraser both were still alive. Oh, thank God.

"Look, Lane. You know the deal, here. You take out Vecchio, we'll dispose of the evidence. I got some guys out right now, they dig fast. They're gonna come back here in a few hours and dispose of the body. So you do what we told you, and you put one in this fucking snitch's temple and we'll be squared away. You got it?”

Lane made a sound that was supposed to be an assent.

Great. Ray'd been assigned a crooked fucking agent, and he was going to be shot in the head while tied to a fucking chair. While this had always been a possibility--Ray knew his job was dangerous even before he'd signed on to be a wiseguy for a year--the reality of it was surreal. He still had enough of whatever they'd drugged him with in his bloodstream to make it all seem like a bad dream, which was maybe for the best. He couldn't afford to freak out.

Ray wondered what the mob had on Lane. Drugs, kiddie porn? Or maybe Lane was just a corrupt agent and there was nothing behind this but money. Ray didn't really want to know. Whatever it was, the fucker had sold him out and Ray was going to end up in a cold grave in the desert if Fraser and Kowalski didn't come to, fast, and figure out a way to get Ray out of here.

Like, within the next sixteen seconds.

Of course, Fraser was unhappy and Kowalski was pissed at him, so maybe they'd just be glad to have him gone for a few hours, not knowing it was going to be forever. Jesus.

Jimmie's footsteps stopped in front of him. "Hope you don't mind we had to talk business in front of you, cop. Just gotta get the plan straight. I know you're awake."

Ray wanted to make some smart-ass comment about that--what are you, a Bond villain?--but his mouth was still taped. But Ray opened his eyes and stared up at Jimmie, as much disdainful defiance in his gaze and the tilt of chin as he could manage--he might be bound and gagged and sixteen seconds away from death, but Ray Vecchio was no coward--and then Jimmie lived up to his moniker and punched him in the gut.

Ray doubled over and breathed through his nose, refusing to make a sound, but the pain was nauseating enough to make him worry about throwing up—choking on his own vomit was even worse than getting shot in the head. He dimly heard Jimmie's footsteps move past him, and the door opened and closed. Ray was alone in the room with Lane.

“Fuck. I thought he was going to do this,” Lane muttered. He was pacing, his standard-issue nine mm gripped in his right hand. Every now and then he looked at Ray and straightened his shoulders, took a few steps closer and raised the gun, but then his hand would drop and he would start pacing again.

“I do this, I can't. But I have to.” Lane turned and started talking to him, which was good. It meant Lane was seeing him as a human being, a person, and maybe he'd freak himself out and wouldn't be able to do it. That was the reason a lot of guys put bags over the heads of people they had to whack—made it easier when you didn't have to think about them as a person. Also the reason the mob liked execution-style shots to the back of the head.

Then again, that could have been because it was convenient. Ray put that out of his mind.

“---and I didn't want you to come back, you know, I didn't ask for this to be the fucking favor I had to do. You're an okay guy, and I tried to get your friend to go away, tried to be an ass so I didn't have to kill three of you--”

Ray's heart sped up unpleasantly at that, until he remembered Lane saying he hadn't killed Kowalski or Fraser. Then again, that was probably next on his agenda after Lane worked up the courage to shoot Ray.

“--isn't it enough I did everything else? Convinced them you needed to go to that fucking meeting with Jimmie? Drugged the fucking pizza? Got you moved to a room where it was easier to get your ass out of? I'm a fucking federal agent and I've given them enough, I shouldn't have to fucking do this, too!”

It's never enough, with the mob. Especially not with guys like you, Lane. Crooked cops they'll use and use up until there's nothing more useful you can do. Ray felt a momentary pang of sadness for the other man, until he remembered the motherfucker was supposed to kill him.

Lane walked over, and Ray felt the press of something cold and metal against his head. Ray's entire body went still, and he waited for that moment when everything flashed behind your eyes, when you saw your life in pictures before it all went black. Ray kept his eyes open. He wasn't afraid to die.

That didn't mean he particularly wanted to.

“Okay. Fuck. I've shot people in the line of duty before. I can do this.” Lane sucked in a breath. “One shot. That's it. One fucking shot, and you're dead. I can do it. It'll be over fast, okay?” Lane stopped pacing, moving closer to Ray. Ray's body went tense as Lane got closer.

Back off. Back off again.

Lane didn't back off this time. He stepped close to Ray, put the gun to next to his temple. The barrel was cold against Ray's skin. He'd been in a lot of situations before where the outcome looked bleak, but this was pretty much the bleakest of them all. Suddenly almost-drowning in a vault with Fraser didn't seem quite so bad.

“It's nothing personal,” Lane said, and his voice sounded wild and a little too high. If Ray had the tape off his mouth, he could maybe talk him out of it. The barrel of the gun was wavering against his temple—Lane's hand was shaking. “Fuck. I can't do this,” Lane muttered suddenly, and then the gun was gone. Lane was breathing hard, like he'd just run a marathon. “I can't fucking shoot a cop. Not like this. Maybe if you were trying to kill me. But not with you fucking staring at me--”

Ray felt a quick surge of hope as Lane stepped back.

Lane pointed at him. “I'm just...LaRusa's goons will be back in a few hours. They'll see you're alive, they'll do it. I'll be out of here before Jimmie finds out I didn't kill you, and it won't matter because you'll be dead anyway.”

Ray would have pointed out that the mob didn't work that way—when they told you to kill someone, they expected you to kill them exactly as they'd ordered—but the tape made it impossible, and besides, pointing that out would be stupid and would give Lane the reasoning he needed to fire the gun. He tried to speak, tried to talk some sense into Lane through the tape that was stretched tight over his mouth—of the let me go and we'll get you out of this together kind--but Lane gave no sign of hearing as he paced back and forth, muttering.

“They'll be here in a few hours.” Lane headed towards the door. He paused, looking back over at Vecchio. “You should have never taken the job, Detective. I'm sorry.” With another wild-eyed look, Lane let himself out of the room, leaving Ray alone.

So. A reprieve, for a few hours. Because Ray knew the next time he heard footsteps in the hallway, they'd be taking him to the desert in a car, make him kneel on the ground, and shoot him in the back of the head. Two guys were, right now, out somewhere digging his grave in the sand. Ray tried to take his mind off of that by looking around and figuring out where they were holding him, but it was hard. It looked like another nondescript hotel room, shabbier than the Marriott but not a dive. Maybe there were kids playing out by the pool. Maybe someone saw them carry Ray in here.

Then again, dragging half-unconscious people into a hotel room in Vegas--it wasn't that unheard of. This was a city of excess, and besides, people saw what they wanted to see.

Ray thought a little about his family, about Frannie, how he wished he had told her a few things before he left—that he was proud of her, that he loved her, that he didn't mean to overfeed her goldfish in the fourth grade, that he would have taken every welt from their father's belt for her if he could've. He would have liked to tell his Ma that he'd always admired her for how well she'd kept the family together when his Pop was on a tear, and after he died. Tell Maria that he hated Tony but he loved her anyway, her and her kids, that he was glad he'd gotten to be in their lives even if living in that house drove him crazy most of the time. Ray thought about his younger brother Guiseppe, the one he'd not seen in years, the one who'd set off on a life of petty crimes and get-rich schemes, and wished they hadn't stopped talking.

Then he thought about Fraser, how he'd said he loved him but hadn't actually said, "I love you." And Kowalski, how he wanted to tell him I wasn't lying, I really do like you. Maybe I like you a lot. How he wished he would have said something to Kowalski about how it wasn't just sex, that it had mattered to Ray. That it still mattered.

Ray spent some time struggling and trying to get out of the ropes binding his wrists, but it wasn't easy. In the movies, there was always some give and the hero escaped. But this wasn't the movies, this was the mob. And they didn't leave loopholes, either the rope-kind or the undercover-cop kind. When that didn't work, Ray tried screaming, tried to figure out some way to get the tape off his mouth and call for help.

No luck. He had to rely on someone having seen him, or Lane having a crisis of conscience and confessing, or Kowalski and Fraser finding him before LaRusa's goons finished digging. Each moment that passed seemed like an eternity, but the numbers on the bedside clock were clicking by with frightening speed nonetheless. Ray was tired and hungry and sore, but if this was it, if this was the last day he was going to be alive, it seemed like a waste to try and sleep.

Eventually, however, he did doze off. In one of his dreams, the door crashed open and Fraser was standing there, Kowalski right behind him. Ray jerked awake, the hotel room dim as the last of the outside light faded, and after that he forced himself not to sleep again. Dreaming of rescue wasn't exactly helping when he just woke up to see the hours creeping towards dawn, when Jimmie would be back.

That led to an intense forty-five minute period where he was fucking pissed off at the unfairness of it all, at the fact he'd tried to do the right fucking thing, he'd been one of the good guys. He thought about Frankie Zuko and Irene and Ange and all the things he'd never really done right, but then he thought about the losers he'd sent to jail and the good things he'd done, and it made him angry that this was gonna be how he went out.

Tied to a chair. Shot in the head. Fuck this. Fuck this.

Anger gave way to sadness, but that was actually worse, so he spent some time thinking of some strategies like Fraser might do.

In the end, though, it all came down to "fight like hell and run."

Visualizing was supposed to be good for you. So Ray did that, visualized himself breaking free and beating the ever-loving shit out of Agent Lane, and then smirking at Jimmie LaRusa in the courtroom with his best happy to see me? expression.

After that, there was nothing left to do. So, for the first time since he was twelve years old, kneeling by his bed and praying that God would make his Pop nice and his Ma stop crying, Ray Vecchio closed his eyes and prayed. He'd stopped praying because his father had died and Ray had always felt guilty, like maybe his prayer was the reason it'd happened. He knew that wasn't true, but somehow, he'd never started again.

No matter what happens, keep the rest of them safe.

There was nothing much to do after that, really. Having made peace with the fact that he might very well die, Ray wasn't sure what to do. He kept repeating fight, run. Fight, run. until he was ready, until his body was tense and buzzing with anticipation for the moment when the door finally opened.

"Ray! Ray, he's in here!" Light flooded the room as the door to the hallway crashed open; Ray would have pinched himself to make sure he wasn't asleep, if he'd been able to move, because that was a familiar voice and a familiar bark, and another familiar voice saying, “Fraser, Jesus, keep it down, we don't know who else is in here!”

Ray said oh thank motherfucking Christ, but it just came out as a muffled stream against the tape. Dief was whining and circling Ray's chair, and Kowalski was checking the room while Fraser leaned down to untie him.

"Ray, Agent Lane! He's working with the Mafia!"

I know, Fraser! Mumble, mumble.

Fraser's fingers made quick work of the rope. "These are very tight. Hmm. Ray, you should know that struggling against the ropes will only force them tighter and could potentially cut off your circulation--"

They were going to shoot me, Fraser.

"Yes, I know it was a precarious situation, but next time you should remember--"

Next time? There will not be a next time. I'm going to open that goddamn bowling alley with Kowalski's wife.

"What was that, Ray?" Fraser asked, pausing, looking at him intently. "I'm afraid I can't make out what you're saying. I don't see what ASA Kowalski and bowling has to do with this."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Kowalski muttered, striding over and ripping the tape off of Ray's mouth. It hurt like a bitch, but Ray didn't care.

"Thanks," he said to Kowalski, his voice hoarse. He sucked in air, filled his lungs.

"Yeah, no problem," Kowalski returned. His hair was standing on end. His clothes were filthy, and the cuffs of his jeans were soaking wet. He had a smear of something on his face, and he was breathing hard, sweat-soaked, and his glasses were covered in something that looked kind of sticky. His hand was gripping his gun. He looked freaked out, pissed off, hyped on adrenaline. He couldn't seem to stand still.

Fraser looked perfect, immaculate, his uniform buttons shining in the lamplight. He was wearing his hat, his eyes bright, and he had barely broken a sweat. He was untying the ropes binding Ray's wrists with careful fingers. "This reminds me of the time when I had to assist in the rescue of a young girl who was kidnapped by an anti-whaling group. The anti-whaling group claimed the whalers were practicing a reprehensible trade at the expense of a living being, but unfortunately, their own policies were somewhat hypocritical. At any rate, one of the members was a former whaler himself and his knots were quite--"

Ray started laughing. Sure, it was mostly hysterical, but he couldn't help himself.

"Fraser," Kowalski said, running a hand through his already crazy hair. "Can we just hurry up before Punchy and the goons get back?"

"Ah, yes. Of course, Ray." Fraser leaned down and the ropes around Ray's ankles mysteriously vanished. Fraser helped him stand, which was a fucking relief. His body was sore, and he really, really needed to go to the bathroom, but the relief at being rescued was so strong he felt his entire body start to shake and his eyes stung.

"Just a sec." He dashed into the bathroom, trying to get himself together. When he was washing his hands, he caught his reflection in the mirror and winced. He looked like hell, body sweat-covered and eyes dark with black circles, and took a second to wash his face. When he came back out, his hands were steadier. "Let's get out of here."

Fraser nodded, and three of them left the room. Ray looked back once, shuddering at the sight of the chair overturned on the ground.

It had been a very near thing.

* * *

They told him what happened in the car. (Which Ray had never seen before and Kowalski was driving, and when Ray said, "Where'd you get this?" Kowalski had coughed and given him a Look, and Fraser said stiffly, "From a place to which we will be returning it, immediately after we get you somewhere safe, Ray.") They were trying to find someplace to hide out for a few hours. The more people around the easier it would be to hide, so Ray told Kowalski to make for the Strip. Loud flashy hotel, lots of tourists, easy enough to hide. Both Fraser and Kowalski were worried there were other agents in on the “get Vecchio killed” plan, so they were wary of taking him back to the Federal building.

Both Fraser and Kowalski—and Dief—had fallen prey to the drugged pizza. Dief, having not consumed as much as either man, woke up first and proceeded to lick them until they were roused from their stupor. Fraser had immediately assumed Lane was untrustworthy, and they'd set out to rescue Ray after leaving Harris a message to have the other agent detained on-sight.

"As you'll recall, Ray, I was very suspicious of Lane's choice of room when he moved us--it seemed the very opposite of a good idea when you are trying to keep someone protected. We were the very last room on our side of the hallway, whereas before, both Harris and Lane had rooms flanking ours. That was suspicious."

"He also brought us the pizza," Kowalski pointed out.

"Yes, of course. But that might not have been his fault. Also, Agent Lane exhibited several telltale signs of nervousness that could easily be construed as lying--looking upwards, extreme fidgeting, that sort of thing. It was the most likely explanation."

"How did you figure out where I was?" Ray asked, curious, leaning over to scratch Dief behind the ears. Man, he would never complain about another muddy pawprint, ever.

That turned out to be a longer story. It involved Kowalski threatening the front desk staff to look at the tapes, Fraser examining tire treads, Dief finding a trail based on some of Lane's cologne (“Deifenbaker found the scent very offensive,”) something completely inexplicable that involved coffee grounds and an irrigation company, and Kowalski hotwiring a car.

"Borrowed," Fraser added, sounding guilty. "We borrowed it."

"I hotwired it," Kowalski said to Ray. "He just doesn't want to say that's what I did."

"You are an officer of the law, Ray. The Chicago police academy does not teach, nor sanction, hotwiring. You merely commandeer the vehicle for official law enforcement purposes."

"Fraser, the Academy didn't teach me how to hotwire a car. Movies did." Kowalski merged the car with a little bit more oomph than was necessary into the left lane, cursed at a driver for going too slow, and then honked at a group of pedestrians. It was past midnight, but judging by the crowds it could have been six-thirty at night.

Kowalski's driving made Ray feel--safe, somehow. Probably because they drove just about the same--graduates of the "traffic rules are suggestions" school--and he could tell it was irritating Fraser just as much as it did when Ray was driving. There was something weirdly comforting about that, as if all their shared history was slowly combining into one.

The rest of the story came out in bits and pieces--Fraser and Kowalski interrupting each other to fill in details or offer praise, whichever the case may be. And it became very apparent to Ray that Fraser and Kowalski worked very well together, like a well-oiled machine, and instead of making him jealous like it might have a few weeks--fuck, a few hours--ago, it just made him really happy. Because the story was as ridiculous and fantastical as Ray remembered stories were when you worked with Benton Fraser, but in this case, he was the happy ending.

So that was all right.

They checked into Caesar's, Ray hoping like hell the Feds would feel so guilty about the crooked agent who almost got him shot that they'd comp him the room, because damn, walking in and asking for a room without a reservation was expensive. They also didn't have any luggage, which probably looked sketchy, but there was nothing to do about it.

"I need a suit," Ray said as they waited for the elevator, looking around, feeling the edge of exhaustion pulling at him. "I gotta testify in a few hours. I can't go like this. Look at me."

"There's a men's store on the lower level," Fraser said, pressing the button for their floor. Ray had, long ago, given up asking how Fraser knew these things. "It's closed now, but perhaps you can ask for them to send something up and charge your room first thing in the morning. I hear Vegas is accommodating."

Kowalski actually snickered at that, and Ray met his eyes, remembering the night they'd gone to play darts and laughed at the thought of Benton Fraser in Las Vegas. And now here he was, Dief at his side, holding his Stetson in his hands and waiting for the elevator at Caesar's Palace after foiling a Mafia hit. And maybe because Vegas was one weird-ass place, but not a single person was giving him a look like he was anything out of the ordinary.

Ray grinned at Kowalski. Kowalski grinned back.

The room was nice, spacious enough, with a king-sized bed, a comfortable couch, and a nice, large shower. While Fraser ordered them some room service, Ray went to take a shower. And okay, maybe he stood there longer than was necessary, shaking a little, thinking how close he'd come to death.

As tired as he was, he wanted to stay up all night and watch the sunrise. The sunrise that he never would have seen, if not for Kowalski and Fraser.

While he was in the shower, Ray thought about a few things. How well Fraser and Kowalski worked together. How Fraser could understand Ray, even when Ray was talking through a thick piece of tape. How Kowalski had committed grand theft auto to save him.

Ray stood with his hands pressed against the wall, thinking. He could hear Fraser and Kowalski talking in the other room. Probably about what to do next, a plan for getting Ray to testify safely and on time. And Ray knew he needed to concentrate on that, the trial, but he was thinking instead about the same thing he'd been thinking about the night they'd nabbed him.

Ray had thought, up until the second someone had dragged him off to kill him, that he had a choice to make. Maybe he didn't. Maybe the answer wasn't one-or-the-other.

Because maybe...

Without both of them, Ray might have been in that hotel room until dawn, and then in an unmarked grave until judgment day.

Fraser and Kowalski. Fraser and Ray. Ray and Kowalski. Fraser and Ray and Kowalski.

Ray switched off the water, finally clean, and grabbed a towel. His clothes were filthy and he refused to put them back on. Ray wrapped the towel around his hips and eyed one of the fluffy bathrobes. He wasn't sure he was quite ready for that, but there really wasn't a better option.

There was a knock at the door. "Ray? If you send out your clothes, there is someone here that will launder them. Luckily, the hotel laundry facilities are open all night."

"Everything is open all night in Vegas, Benny," Ray said, smiling. He exited the bathroom and Kowalski pushed past him, opening the door and throwing his messy clothes out in the hallway. A few minutes later, a man came to their room to pick them up, saying they'd be returned in a few hours. The room service showed up a few minutes later and they ate with Ray and Kowalski in bathrobes.

There wasn't a lot of talking, save Fraser's admonishments to eat some of the steamed broccoli and to drink water instead of beer. "The water costs just as much," Kowalski informed him, pointing at Fraser with the bottle. "Besides, it's been a hell of a day."

He could say that again.

Afterwards, they put everything in the hallway and Ray thought he should sleep, but in spite of his exhaustion, found he wasn't very tired. The other two seemed to be of a similar mindset, and it was also obvious no one wanted to broach the subject of sleeping arrangements. There was a knock on the door and their clothes were returned, washed and cleaned in record time, suggesting that Ray was going to be finding a hell of a dry-cleaning bill on his credit card. Kowalski went into the bathroom and came out in boxers and his t-shirt, and Ray went in and changed into his undershirt and his boxers. Fraser had stripped down to his white shirt and his suspenders and his uniform pants, his boots placed neatly in the corner.

Kowalski flipped idly through the six-thousand channels, and Fraser fed Dief and made him a pallet in the corner to sleep from the comforter on the bed. And while there had been a comfortable silence during dinner, the silence now was veering towards Fraughtville with a side trip through Awkward Town.

And, fuck. Ray had survived a murder attempt. He'd spent a year undercover. He was going to testify against the Mafia in a matter of hours. He could do this.

"Look," he said, drawing in a sudden breath. "I've been thinking."

"Uh-oh," Kowalski said, going immediately tense and switching off the television. He stood up from his sprawl on the couch and started pacing.

Fraser, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded, just looked at him.

Okay. He could do this. "I'm--I'm in love with you," he said to Fraser, softly. Fraser smiled, his eyes lighting up, and the look on his face made Ray's chest burn with a sweet ache. "I love you." Fraser opened his mouth, and while Ray really, really wanted to hear it back, he held up a hand. "Kowalski."

Kowalski had stopped his pacing and was staring out of the window, one hand braced against the window. He didn't look at Ray. "I'm gonna stick it out, here, Vecchio. Until we all get back to Chicago. Then I'm gonna ask for a transfer. Go figure out--go be me. So you can be you. Two. Together."

"I--look, Kowalski. I don't know you, not as well as I know Benny. But I--there's something. With us. Between us. And it's not just sex. Yeah?" Ray's palms were sweating. Fuck. Outing the mob was going to be a breeze after this conversation.

Kowalski turned his head. His face was still shuttered. "Is there?"

"Isn’t there?" Ray asked, an edge in his voice. "Cause if it's just me, then hey, go ahead and tell me. But don't you dare fucking tell me it is just so you can be noble or whatever." His heart was pounding. "Is it just me, Kowalski?"

Kowalski stared at him, and then his face lost that guarded look and he shook his head. "No, Vecchio. It's not just you."

Ray expelled a breath. "Okay. Look, Kowalski, nobody falls in love with someone in a few weeks--"

Kowalski interjected with a sharp, bitter laugh. "That must be nice for you."

Ray didn't even know what to say to that.

"What, precisely, are you saying, Ray?" Fraser asked, and he was looking between Kowalski and Ray with a speculative expression. "That you have feelings for both of us?"

This was the weirdest moment of his life. Considering the he'd woken up that morning tied to a chair by a crooked federal agent, that was saying something. Considering he'd spent two years as Fraser's partner, that was really saying something. "I--I guess I am."

"Look, I do not know what this is, but I know that it is almost two in the morning and we are three men sitting around talking about our feelings," Kowalski said with a sneer, and Ray knew Kowalski was being a jerk because he was nervous, knew the snide tone of voice and the antagonistic slouch was nothing more than posturing. "We should all get some fucking sleep and pretend we never had this conversation."

"If I don't do this now, I'm never gonna do it," Ray said simply.

"Vecchio, this don't seem to me to be a talking out kind of problem," Kowalski informed him, pointing. "You love him," he said, nodding towards Fraser. "He loves you. You two are hot for each other. This seems like a pretty easy math problem. One plus one equals two, and the remainder can just...hang out with the fractions."

"I don't think that's how remainders work, Ray," Fraser pointed out. "And those are commonly used in long division, not addition."

"What if," Ray said carefully, ignoring Fraser's timing problems and apparent inability to keep himself from correcting people, "One plus one plus one equals three?"

"Well, it does," Fraser said, then blinked. "Oh."

Kowalski laughed again, still bitter. "Me and Stell tried that once. A three-way. It didn't go so good. Turns out I get kinda jealous."

"Did you have feelings for whoever it was?" Ray asked him, a bit exasperated. Kowalski had to make everything so difficult.

"What? No. It was a friend of Stella's." Kowalski paused. "It was hot, though."

Ray smiled a little. "I'll bet."

"So you're suggesting the three of us...?" Fraser cleared his throat. His face was flushed. "Oh, dear."

"That won't work," Kowalski said, eyeing Fraser. "Fraser doesn't...feel that way about me."

Fraser stood up, his hands at his back. "Don't feel what way about you, Ray?"

Kowalski looked so tense, Ray was certain he might break in half if someone tapped him on the shoulder. "Like you do about him. You don't--I mean, we're friends."

"Certainly, Ray. You and Ray are the best friends I've ever had," Fraser said sincerely.

"Right, right," Kowalski said, waving his hand. "Ditto, Fraser. I probably would have gone off the deep end if you hadn't been around, what with Stella and the divorce and me being kinda...y'know. Crazy.”

"Thank you, Ray. And you, too, were always there for me. I know we had our moments, but I have always appreciated your friendship more than I can say."

Kowalski grinned at him. "And we make a fucking good team."

"Yes, yes we do."

"But that don't mean you want to--you know." Kowalski cleared his throat. "Jump me."

Fraser blinked. "Well, as to that--I have always found you attractive, Ray, I believe I've mentioned that before."

Kowalski stared at him. His eyes narrowed. "There's a difference between telling a guy you think he's attractive and actually making a move, Fraser!"

"You were very...Ray, you were still in love with Stella. Very much so. And I did not think you liked...that is to say, I had no idea you were amenable to the affections of other men. And I wasn't...I had a lot of reasons that...I didn't think I was in the right place, you know, to be of any use to anyone. After what happened with Victoria--” Fraser looked down. “I lost faith in my ability to trust my emotions. They had led me astray before, and I valued our friendship too much to risk it. And I was--”

"In love with Vecchio," Kowalski finished. "See? That's what this comes back to."

"What about me, Ray?" Fraser asked Kowalski, taking a step forward. There was an oddly aggressive look on his face, and maybe that was just how people responded to Kowalski, including Fraser, but it took Ray a little aback. It was also sort of hot.

"What about you, what?" Kowalski asked gruffly, holding his ground, his chin tilted again.

Fraser took another step forward. "Do you think I'm attractive?"

If this wasn't serious, Ray would have maybe laughed at that. Not because it was funny, but just because of the way Fraser asked; still with that aggressive look, but almost polite about it, as if he were marking an answer on a survey.

"Sure, Fraser. I'm not blind," Kowalski said, then looked a little guilty. "I mean, I--it's not like I never thought about it. But I just wanted--I mean, you're my friend and I--" Kowalski took a step back. He looked trapped, worried, and then he gave Fraser a smile that looked eerily familiar. And Ray realized it was the smile Kowalski had given him that night after the sports bar, looking determined and almost angry. And it struck him that Kowalski did that when he was convinced he was going to be pushed away or denied something he wanted, as if girding himself for disappointment.

Not something. Someone. Ray wasn't really able to tell, but he would almost bet that Kowalski's hands were shaking. Just like he'd done that night, pressed up against Ray.

Kowalski just wanted someone to love him, but it was more than that. He wanted someone to need him. And he was afraid of being left out, of being alone, and he would walk out of that door before he would let himself go through that again. Ray knew that as much as he knew his own name, the name Kowalski had worn for a year while Ray was here in Vegas.

Ray took a careful step towards Kowalski, who had moved back again towards the wall. "I would've been dead, if it weren't for you two. For you two," Ray emphasized. "You get that, Kowalski?"

Kowalski looked from Ray to Fraser, his eyes narrowed. "Yeah. What? I mean...what is...what are you saying?"

"I think it takes all three of us," Ray said, and he was sleep-deprived and anxious but nothing had ever felt like it made more sense in his whole life.

"But that doesn't work," Kowalski said, sounding desperate. "You're gonna like one person more than the other."

"I don't think so," Fraser said thoughtfully. "It's unconventional, assuredly so, but there are benefits to such an arrangement. There are several cultures which practice polyandry, and polygamy continues to be practiced even to this day by some religious sects. Furthermore, polyamorous relationships are becoming far more common, and those are entered into for reasons entirely unrelated to cultural and-or religious reasons.”

"Benny thinks you gotta have two people to put up with you," Ray clarified, and they both had Kowalski pushed up against the wall. “You're intense, Kowalski. You told me so yourself.” He reached out and pressed one hand on Kowalski's chest--even that small bit of physical contact made his mouth dry.

Kowalski looked at Fraser, sized him up. "You and Vecchio--you should--y'know. Me and Vecchio, we already--"

"Oh, there will be time for that," Fraser said, in a tone of voice that almost made Ray's knees weak. "I feel that I should prove to you, Ray, that I do indeed find you attractive. If I don't, I'm not sure how this will work with the three of us."

"This is crazy--"

Kowalski never finished that, because Fraser leaned in and kissed him. And okay, this was the test of his theory, the one that would let Ray know if he was stupid to be urging the guy he loved to kiss the other guy he had feelings for. And it was a little weird, maybe, but it wasn't--it wasn't bad, not at all. Kowalski's eyes closed and his mouth opened, and one hand rested low on Fraser's hip.

Fraser pulled back after a few minutes, his face flushed. "Are you all right, Ray?" he asked, concerned. "You're shaking."

"He does that," Ray pointed out, and okay, that was pretty hot--that he knew that about Kowalski, could tell Fraser. And Fraser and Kowalski kissed again, getting into it, a little rough. Ray just watched, but he ran one hand down Fraser's back and felt him shudder at the touch.

Ray moved and leaned in next to Kowalski, breathed in his ear. "Kowalski."

"Mm." Kowalski pulled his mouth from Fraser's, turning his head, his eyes all blurry. "What?"

Ray kissed him, and heard Fraser give a choked groan, felt Fraser's hand slide around his neck. "Ray," he said huskily, and usually Ray was pretty good at knowing which one of them Fraser was talking to, but this time he wasn't sure. It was probably both of them. Kowalski's tongue was in Ray's mouth, hot and tasting a little like Fraser and oh, God.

Kowalski pulled his mouth away. "It's not the sex," he panted, and then Ray lost track of what he was saying because Kowalski's voice all rough and fucked-up, saying sex, with Fraser's body pressed next to him and his hand on his neck, God, it was hard to think. "It's the part after."

"We're already a team, Ray," Fraser said patiently, reaching out to trace over Kowalski's mouth. “How is this any different?”

Kowalski's eyes searched both of theirs. "You don't understand. We fuck this up, it's me that loses. Yeah? You get that, right? I mean, I know I said I'd try anything once, and I am really okay with this idea of the three of us getting on that bed and fucking each other--and do not tell me to watch my language, Fraser--but when we go back to Chicago, what then?"

"We're partners. We're friends. You and I get to know each other someplace people aren't trying to kidnap me," Ray said, and he and Fraser were practically trapping Kowalski against the wall. "You and Fraser..." have a lot of sex where I can watch "...can hang out without you being mopey over Stella--"

"I wasn't mopey--"

"You were a little mopey," said Fraser solemnly.

Kowalski scowled. "Fine, and you being mopey over Vecchio, here. And you two will--what?"

Also have a lot of sex. "Do the same thing," Ray said, shrugging. "Look, Kowalski, there's no guarantees, okay? But I--I want this to work. Don't you?"

Kowalski nodded, once. "Yeah. But I gotta--look, I gotta know if I can...I get jealous, remember?" He pushed on both their chests, obviously giving himself some breathing room. "I need to make sure that's not going to be a problem." Kowalski rolled his eyes when they didn't figure out his meaning fast enough. "Could you just fucking make out, please?"

"Oh!" Fraser beamed. "Certainly." He grabbed Ray's shoulders, turned him and moved him quick, so that Ray's back hit the wall next to Kowalski. And then Fraser was all over him, body hard against Ray's own. And Fraser kissed him so hot and eager, hands sliding down Ray's side to grasp at his hips, pushing his cock against Ray's thigh. Ray's head was swimming, and Jesus Christ, how had he waited so long for this?

"I wanted to do this," Fraser panted, mouth moving to Ray's neck and up to his ear. "So many times. I was so afraid you would push me away."

Ray would have said something to that, because it was sweet and hot at the same time, but he couldn't seem to take a deep enough breath to speak and his brain was mushy and words were hard. He turned his head, kissing Fraser, pushing himself against him. He could almost feel Kowalski watching them, and fuck, that just made it better.

Eventually, Ray pulled back and looked over at Kowalski.

Kowalski was watching him, face flushed, looking like he'd just chased a subject down the Strip and back. "Oh," he said, and swallowed hard. "That's--fuck, okay, that's greatness." And then he grinned that smile of his, the one that Ray hadn't seen in a few weeks, the one that made Ray think of summer and sunlight and things that were bright and warm and happy. Kowalski looked at them both. "Fine, okay, maybe this could actually work. But let's talk about it later. Can we all fuck now?"

"Ray--" Fraser started, and Kowalski rolled his eyes theatrically and slid his fingers in Fraser's mouth. This made Ray actually groan out loud, watching Kowalski's sinfully long fingers slide into Fraser's fucking gorgeous mouth.

Maybe he had died, and this was heaven. Ray wasn't sure hot gay threesome sex was everyone else's idea of heaven, but fuck if it wasn't his. It sure beat singing cherubs and playing a harp while sitting on a cloud.

Fraser sucked on Kowalski's fingers, doing something with his tongue that was making Kowalski moan and which Ray wanted Fraser to demonstrate, preferably on his cock. "I was just going to say yes," Fraser mumbled around Kowalski's fingers.

"No, you weren't," Ray said with a laugh, tugging his undershirt over his head and jerking his head towards the bed. "C'mon. I gotta sleep at some point." Luckily the trial wasn't set to start until ten-thirty, and Ray functioned well on little sleep. Besides, a freight train couldn't stop him from doing what they were about to do.

"Wow, Vecchio, you're such a smooth talker," Kowalski murmured. "Fraser, you have too many clothes on.” He started pulling at Fraser's suspenders, pushing them off Fraser's shoulders. Ray decided that in the keeping with tonight's theme of partnership, it was his duty to help out.

Fraser stood still, his arms raised, head craning around as he tried to follow what they were doing. He tried to give them helpful instructions, but Ray and Kowalski ignored him. "Now I see why you want me here," Kowalski said to Ray at one point. "You needed someone to help you figure out how to get him naked."

Ray had to stop what he was doing so that he could kiss Kowalski. "I think maybe I can't handle him without help in a lot of ways. You know. Less chance I'll push him into traffic."

"Ray!"

Kowalski snorted.

It was pretty easy to get to the bed in theory, but it was hard with all the stripping-Fraser-pausing-for-kissing they were doing. Eventually they were all on the bed, their clothes a messy heap on the floor. Dief whined and padded over to the bed, gave them all a brief glance, barked, and then took himself off to the bathroom.

Fraser cleared his throat. "Diefenbaker, if you want to be understood, you are going to have speak clearly--” Dief barked again, a little louder. “Ah. I believe he was giving us his blessing," he said, and Ray was glad to hear Fraser sound kind of sheepish, because that just sounded insane. "Although I believe he would prefer to have his own room at the moment."

Kowalski met Ray's eyes and cast his heavenward, but he didn't say a word. Which was okay, because Ray was done with talking for the moment. He pushed Fraser back on the bed and kissed him, running his hands up Fraser's chest, feeling his heart begin to beat faster against his palm.

"Mmm," Kowalski said appreciatively.

Fraser moved suddenly, and Ray found himself on his back on the middle of the bed. Fraser was kissing Ray's neck, his shoulder, down his chest. Kowalski was watching them, his eyes heavy-lidded and hot. Ray groaned as Fraser's mouth went lower, over his stomach, down, down. Two seconds later he had Kowalski's tongue in his mouth, and Fraser's fingers sliding up his cock, and that was--this was just--

He tried to say something, but the words were muffled by Kowalski's mouth. And then Fraser took Ray's cock in his mouth, and Ray bucked a little on the bed and nipped Kowalski's lower lip and shuddered, one hand going down and tangling in Fraser's thick hair. Fraser made a happy, pleased noise, humming a little. Ray couldn't see because Kowalski was kissing him so hard, pinning him down with his hot, open mouth.

Eventually, Kowalski pulled back. "You should watch," Kowalski said next to his ear, his voice rough and low. "Fuck, Vecchio. Watch him, it's--fuck," Kowalski breathed, and Ray could feel Kowalski's arm moving. He opened his eyes--he hadn't realized he'd closed them--and saw Kowalski's flushed face, mouth parted as he watched.

Ray sat up a bit, saw Fraser's mouth wrapped around his cock, Fraser's eyes open and staring up at him, dark and warm. Kowalski was panting, and when Ray looked over and saw Kowalski's wrist moving, fingers stretched around his cock, he couldn't watch because he didn't want it to end, didn't want to come yet. So he lay back down and twisted his fingers in the sheet, hips pushing up, and Fraser just took it, hummed more around his cock and kept one hand warm on Ray's stomach, the other splayed over Ray's hip. Not holding him down, because Fraser was just taking it, whatever Ray gave him, and God.

And then Kowalski started talking. Things like, "Jesus fucking Christ, Vecchio, you look so fucking hot," and "Yeah, Fraser, God, your mouth looks good on his cock," and then he said, "He likes teeth, just a little--" and Fraser paused, as if assessing the information, and then Ray felt the slightest scrape of his teeth against his cock, perfect, perfect.

Ray moaned at that. "Fuck," he gasped, turning to look at Kowalski. Kowalski took his hand off his cock and slid his fingers into Ray's mouth; Ray sucked on them almost desperately.

"He also likes...suck on the head," Kowalski managed, and then Fraser did that, too, his tongue swiping over the head of Ray's cock. Kowalski's fingers were out of his mouth and Kowalski was jacking himself again, panting, staring at Fraser's mouth. Fraser's tongue did it again, and then Kowalski said, "Fuck, suck him, hard," and Ray's cock hit the back of Fraser's throat. Ray came so hard his back arched and he was making a noise between a sob and a moan, his hand around the back of Fraser's neck as Ray came in his mouth.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Kowalski's choked groan as he came, too. And if Ray hadn't just come so hard it felt like his brain had shorted out, the knowledge that Kowalski had gotten off watching him and Fraser--that would have done it right there.

Fraser was sitting up, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth, chest heaving. Kowalski had sprawled back on the bed, arms behind his head, looking smug and really fucking pleased. Fraser reached out and grabbed Kowalski's hand, licking at his fingers, and Ray swallowed hard because Jesus, Fraser looked so hot, naked and flushed, Kowalski's fingers sunk deep in his mouth.

Kowalski grinned over at Ray, lazy and satisfied. "You have good ideas, Vecchio," he drawled.

Ray snorted out a laugh, then leaned over and kissed Kowalski soundly. "Remember when you said you wanted to fuck me?" he murmured against Kowalski's mouth, tasting Kowalski's breathed-out yeah against his lips. "Want you to. Soon. Okay?"

Kowalski didn't answer, not with words. He kissed Ray hard, though, one hand coming up to grip tightly at Ray's neck. Ray felt him nod before Kowalski pulled away. They both looked at Fraser, who was watching them, smiling and looking turned-on. "He's so patient," Kowalski said, sly, sitting up. "Move over, Vecchio. It took two of us to get him naked, let's see if we can both get him off."

Fraser cleared his throat. "I don't think you need to worry--"

"We're not worried," Kowalski interrupted, then shoved at Vecchio's shoulders. "Move over, Vecchio. You had your turn in the middle. If this is gonna work, you're gonna have to learn to share."

"Or you're going to have to be quiet," Ray said, grinning, and Kowalski hit him in the back of the head. Ray moved, but Fraser was just sitting there beaming at them, even though Ray could see Fraser's cock was hard and he was breathing kind of fast.

"Oh, God. Last time I saw you grin like that, we'd just jumped out of a plane into an ice field," Kowalski said, pointing. "Makes me nervous."

"I'm just happy," Fraser said, crawling forward--and okay, Ray could get used to seeing that, Fraser naked on a bed and moving towards him and Kowalski.

"Well, be happy here in the middle of the bed," Ray told him, shifting to put some room between him and Kowalski. And Fraser did, lay right down on his back, and then Ray leaned forward to kiss him while Kowalski started doing something--probably obscene--with his tongue to Fraser's ear.

Fraser was moaning into Ray's mouth in two seconds flat. And Christ, getting Fraser all worked up and moaning was probably the hottest thing ever.

"This may be the hottest thing ever," Kowalski said, echoing Ray's thoughts. "I'm kinda sad I got off already."

Fraser's body gave a sudden shudder, and Ray pulled back to look down--Kowalski's fingers were already wrapped around Fraser's cock. The guy didn't waste any time, which Ray knew for a fact, and he was momentarily mesmerized by the way Kowalski's long fingers moved up and down. Fraser's head was moving on the bed, and he had one hand wrapped lightly around Kowalski's wrist. He was--Jesus, he was showing Kowalski how to do it, how to jack him off.

Leave it to Fraser to give lectures during sex, even when he wasn't talking.

Ray kissed Fraser's chest, taking his time, noticing which spots earned him a shudder and a groan and a choked-out, "Ray," that was probably directed to both of them. Eventually Ray sat up, met Fraser's eyes, and slowly licked his palm.

Fraser groaned.

Ray reached down and joined his hand to Kowalski's. Together, they tightened their fingers, starting slow and then gradually increasing their speed, watching Fraser sprawled naked and panting on the bed, his eyes closed, speaking in disjointed phrases. "Oh, I--I can't--Ray, Ray, I--" his words were lost eventually to moans and gasps. “Please, I--please--”

Kowalski started talking again--"Yeah, that's it, c'mon--Jesus you look good, so hot. Fuck, c'mon, Fraser, we want you to come. Don't we, Vecchio?"

"Oh, yeah," Ray said huskily, tightening his fingers. "Come on, Benny."

Fraser's hips snapped up and he groaned, twisting, coming over Ray and Kowalski's fingers. They stayed where they were for a minute, Fraser panting and resting on his back, Kowalski sitting cross-legged across from Ray. And about four seconds after they were done, Ray made the mistake of looking at the clock and realized he was going to get about four good hours of sleep before showing up at a mob trial.

He also realized he was really, really fucking tired.

"Ray," Fraser said, sitting up. "You need to sleep." He put a hand on Ray's shoulder, his voice concerned.

"Yeah, Benny. I know."

"The bed's kind of a mess," Kowalski said, yawning. He stood up, all energy despite the late hour and the sex, his hair sticking up in a million ridiculous spikes. "Good thing we fucked on top of the covers."

"Such a charmer, Kowalski," Ray said, standing up. He swayed on his feet, suddenly exhausted beyond all sense.

Fraser stood up immediately, turning the bed down, urging Ray to lie down with his hands warm on Ray's shoulders. Ray fell into the bed, practically on his face, Kowalski and Fraser talking about wake-up calls and when to call Harris and what they should do about Lane. Ray fell asleep while the light was still on, before either of them was in bed, the sound of their voices sending him sweetly into dreams.

* * *
For half a second, when he woke up, Ray thought he was back in the chair in that hotel room. It was dim and he couldn't seem to move--

Oh. That was because he had Kowalski wrapped, octopus-like, around him, with his face pressed against Ray's shoulder. And he was turned towards Fraser, who had one leg slung over his and an arm lying warm across Ray's waist. Right.

Ray had a few moments to feel profoundly happy before the alarm went off.

Time to face the music.

Things moved pretty quickly after they got out of bed. The three of them got ready in synch, moving easily together. Ray got dressed in his laundered clothes and went down to the men's store on the mezzanine level with Fraser. He purchased a tie, some cufflinks, and a suit that didn't fit as well as he would like but was good enough that he could have it tailored when he got back to Chicago. He charged them on his Visa, surprised that the combined expense of the suit and the room and however much Caesar's Palace charged for forty-minute laundry service didn't push him over his limit.

Back in the room, Fraser was in his uniform and Kowalski was dressed again in his t-shirt and jeans, shoulder holster stretched tight over his chest beneath his jacket. Not exactly courtroom apparel, but Kowalski wouldn't be there as a witness, and maybe Ray was still tired and a little dopey, but he thought Kowalski looked good. Lean and tough, and okay, maybe Ray was a bit enamored of Kowalski in a shoulder holster.

"You look good in a suit," Kowalski told him, appraising him frankly. "Doesn't he, Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray," Fraser said, smiling, putting his hat on his head. Dief gave a woof, and trotted from Fraser's side over to Ray.

Ray held his hands up. "Hey, furball. Watch it. You know what I paid for this? Full retail price. Been cheaper to hire someone to weave me one out of wolf fur," he said, but Dief just stopped at his feet and barked up at him. "What?" Ray asked, looking over at Fraser. “He mad I didn't bring him a donut? They don't exactly got a continental breakfast in the lobby here, pal.”

Fraser cleared his throat. Kowalski was looking amused. "Diefenbaker is pleased to welcome you into our pack, Ray. Both of you, actually."

"What? That's it? How come he had to jump on me to give me my welcome?" Kowalski asked, eyes narrowed. "If this means I'm lower in the hier-thingy than the wolf--"

"Hierarchy. And don't be silly, Ray," Fraser said, but he was smiling slightly. "You slept in the bed, didn't you?"

Kowalski didn't look convinced.

Ray patted Dief on the head, and the wolf licked his hand and then padded back to Fraser's side. "Did you call Harris?" Ray asked, some vague memory of that discussion from last night stirring.

Fraser nodded. "He'll be here in twenty minutes. Lane is in custody. The federal agents are very upset. I gather Lieutenant Welsh gave them an earful when he found out. He's also angry that neither of you answered your phones," Fraser said reprovingly.

"Hey, I was kidnapped," Ray said, shaking his head. “They didn't exactly let me bring it along.”

"I always forget to plug mine in to the charger," Kowalski said sheepishly, his hands in his pockets. “It was dead this morning when me and Fraser left. Hey, Vecchio? You think I should go buy one of those suits, too? I mean, they're gonna let me in that courtroom or I'm gonna kick them in the head, but--" he trailed off, looking momentarily worried. “Don't want to cause a scene.”

Ray was touched that Kowalski would offer. Not that he would admit that. "As much as it pains me to be seen with a grown man wearing a t-shirt with a skull on it, I think that's gonna have to do, Kowalski," he said, laughing. “Besides, it's a courthouse. They don't have a dress code, I'm pretty sure.”

Kowalski flipped him off with a grin. Fraser sighed, and Ray laughed.

"Hey," Ray said, as they all went to leave. "I--you guys. Thank you. For rescuing me, and for coming, today." Ray expelled a breath. "It's a lot easier to do this knowing you guys will be there."

Fraser clapped him on the shoulder, his face serious. "It is a very noble thing you are doing, Ray. You almost gave your life to stop a syndicate that has been financing organized crime in cities all over Northern America."

"Fraser, it's not 1920's New York," Kowalski said, but he looked a little grim, too. "And Vecchio, you're gonna be fine."

Ray nodded. He believed that, he did. And if something were to happen, at least--at least he'd told Fraser I love you, at least he'd told Kowalski how he felt.

At least he'd had really fucking amazing sex.

Harris was waiting in the spacious lobby, sunglasses on, face completely unreadable. Ray gave Fraser and Kowalski a small wave as he climbed into the car with the federal agent. He paused briefly, wondering if he should have Harris turn the car on before Ray got in. Car bombs on the way to a trial were a Mafia classic. But Ray didn't want to live his life in fear--he refused to do that--and besides, the Feds would have to be freaking out and going over everything with an extra-fine tooth comb after what had happened with Lane.

Ray and Harris didn't talk much, though Ray noticed Harris listened to a classic rock station instead of the NPR. Ray gave him a small grin. "I thought that was on purpose," he said, gesturing to the radio station. “Not in the mood for All Things Considered this morning?”

Harris had the grace to look a little abashed. "Yeah. But, come on, man. Brill? Béchamel? Really?”

Ray laughed, putting his hands up. "Sorry, man. We're cops. You're a Fed. It's a rule."

"Yeah." Harris's attention sharpened. "Surprised you didn't ask me to check the car for a bomb. You've had a stressful couple of hours."

Leave it to the federal government to turn hours of forced restraint and certain death into a stressful couple of hours. "Yeah," Ray said, catching his reflection in the side mirror. He looked a lot calmer than he felt. He'd learned that lesson in Vegas--the first time--and it was good to know that he wouldn't take the stand in front of guys who wanted him dead looking scared or anxious.

"Lane's in custody. They're still interrogating him. He's already given up LaRusa, and they've implicated a couple other guys, but the DA thinks he can get more out of him. Turns out the guy was in deep, but definitely over his head. " Harris' mouth twisted. "I don't think he'll survive jail, if he even makes it there. You of all people know the mob's got ties everywhere, and they don’t like Feds. Even crooked ones."

Ray thought about, wondered if what he was doing here was really going to do any good. Someone else, some other crime family, would just step up with the Iguana family's imminent downfall. But he couldn't worry about that. He'd done his part, and he would see it through to the end, and Ray couldn't be a cop without believing that sometimes the smallest action could make the largest difference. It had to start somewhere, didn't it?

"They know why he set me up? Lane, I mean."

"Well, he did think you were an asshole," Harris said grimly, and Ray gave a small laugh. He could tell by the set of Harris' shoulders, the way he was staring straight ahead, that Harris and Lane had been friends as well as partners. Lane's betrayal was obviously weighing heavily on the other agent. "And he's not...I haven't heard. He wasn't a bad guy. I mean, I know you might not want to hear that. I think he owed a lot of money, just didn't know what else to do. That's the thing about this town, Detective Vecchio. Easy money's always right around the corner, you know? Play one more game, bet another round, sell a few guys up the river."

"Yeah." Ray nodded. He remembered being Langoustini, how it seemed like money changed hands like candy back when he was in grade school. "I can't say I envy you your job. Living here, I mean.” Ray smiled. “You got a real lack of good sports teams around here.”

"Yeah? I hear it snows in Chicago. I don't like snow." Harris pulled the car to a stop, and Ray was surprised to see they were already there. "I won't be back, they're transferring your protective detail after this to someone else. Guy's named Coleman. You won't like him, either. His taste in music really is crap."

Ray smiled. "Thanks for the warning."

"Hey, we're on the same side. Those two guys, there? That's Steerson and Holmes. They'll take you into the courthouse." Harris held out his hand. "Good luck, Detective Vecchio. And thanks."

Ray shook his hand. "Thanks, Harris. You too. You're ever in Chicago, you look me up."

Harris nodded, and Ray opened the door. The sun was bright--he wished he had his sunglasses--and the two federal agents Harris had pointed out came to flank him immediately, walking up the wide stairs. Ray squared his shoulders, tilted his chin up a fraction, and went inside.

* * *
"Detective Vecchio, do you swear to tell the truth and the whole truth, so help you God?"

Ray's hand was steady as it rested on the Bible beneath it. The courtroom was silent, despite the crowd, everyone's focus resting squarely on him. "I do," Ray said, his voice easy, confident. In front of him were four men who had been close personal associates of the Bookman, wearing somber dark suits, murder in their eyes as they looked at Ray on the witness stand.

"Could you please begin by identifying yourself for the court?"

“Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago Police Department.” Ray kept his chin up, sitting straight in his chair.

“Thank you. Could you please state, for the record, exactly what role you played in the case against the defendants?”

“For ten months, I was undercover as Armando Langoustini...”

The questioning was very similar to the interviews he'd had with the federal agents prior to the trial. Ray's adrenaline was buzzing, and it was really fucking hard to calmly meet the gazes of men who would like nothing more than to shoot you between the eyes. But he did it, because this was his job. And Ray was very, very good at his job.

And it didn't hurt that when he needed to take a breath, or look away from a whole lot of people whose day he'd ruined by being alive, Ray could look out in the sea of faces and see Fraser, sitting ramrod straight in his chair, looking impossibly put together and perfect and so, so proud of him. And he could look right next to him and see Kowalski, owning the place even in jeans and his ratty t-shirt and chewing on a piece of gum, his eyes defiant. And if Ray's posture had just a little bit of Fraser in it, and a hint of Kowalski in the fuck you gaze he gave the rest of the courtroom, well-

Ray was used to having bits of other people stuck to him. And in this case, it was a Canadian Mountie and an attention-challenged Chicago cop. Honestly, Ray would take that over a buttermilk-drinking wiseguy with a bad mustache any day. But mostly, Ray just felt like himself, Ray Vecchio, Chicago born-and-bred, White Sox fan, owner of the most beautiful car that ever graced God's grey highways. Three of them, in fact.

Which meant, as he passed by Jimmie LaRusa on his way out, Ray grinned and said in a chipper voice, "Happy to see me?" and then laughed all the way to the car.

END