Copyright July 26-28, 2000 by Matthew Haldeman-Time

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairings: Ray Kowalski/Ray Vecchio, Benton Fraser/Renfield Turnbull

Disclaimer: "due South," with its related characters and themes, belongs to Paul Haggis and Alliance, not to me.  I make no money from this venture.

Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and Paul Gross.

Wherein Benton Fraser's vocabulary fails him; Ray Kowalski's tub is full of socks; and Ma Vecchio goes postal over an OFC.

Notice: You may assume that everything from the series happened except that Ray Vecchio did not marry Stella and leave for Florida; he's still working at the 27th precinct, partnered with Ray Kowalski.

        "Ray, I can't find my socks."

        "Get a new pair out of the drawer," he called from the living room where he was grabbing his keys.

        "They're not there."

        "They're not there?  What do you mean they're not there?" he asked, heading for Josh's room.  He reached past Josh and pulled open the top dresser drawer.  "They're not there.  None of them.  Josh, where are your socks?"

        "I don't know," Josh said, frowning, eyes filling with tears, backing up a step.

        Ray crouched down and rested his hands on Josh's shoulders, looking into Josh's face.  "Come on, kid, help me out here.  You're not wearing them, I know I'm not wearing them, they can't all be in the wash-"

        "Bathtub!"

        "I'll go check," Ray said, keeping a straight face, rising and heading for the bathroom.  He found a mound of brightly colored kid-sized socks in the tub.  At least Josh hadn't turned on the water.  He fished out two that matched and said, "You put on these, I'll get your shoes, and we're out of here, kid."

        "Out of here," Josh repeated, sitting on the floor and tugging on a sock.

        "Hey, you know what we're going to do tonight?" Ray asked.

        "What?" Josh asked as Ray knelt down and tied one shoe while he tied the other.

        "We are going to sit in the bathroom and have a sock party.  We get to match and fold every last one.  Sound like fun?"

        Josh smiled as they stood.  "That's silly, Ray."

        "You're silly, Josh.  Come on, let's go."  He reflected, as he locked the door, that Josh's last comment had sounded remarkably like something that Fraser would say.  He'd have to keep an eye on those two.

        He dropped Josh off at school and zoomed over to the 2-7.  He got some coffee and found Vecchio on the phone at their desks.  Vecchio handed him a case file which he looked through while Vecchio listened to whoever was on the other end of the line.  Right, the homicide with no suspects, no witnesses, no clues, just one dead woman and a long list of questions.  Sometimes these were the best cases, where they went from nothing to a solid arrest.  Sometimes these were the worst cases, because they stayed down at nothing and had to file it off as one dead woman who'd never get justice.

        Vecchio hung up the phone and stood.  "That was an informative young man who says that if we want to know what happened to Darla Brown we need to ask her neighbors."

        "We asked the neighbors," Ray said.  "They didn't know anything."

        "He says try again.  I tried to explain to him that we don't like to waste our time and that if he knows anything he needs to tell me directly, but he says, ask the neighbors."

        "Did he say which neighbors?"

        "Of course not.  Now we have to bust our balls and waste our time running around a 22-story apartment building knocking on doors of people who weren't happy to see us the first time."

        "We don't have any other leads," Ray said.  "You got any neighbors in mind?"

        "If I thought that one of them knew something, I would've gone back already."

        "What about that couple who lived right above her?  Skinny guy, blonde woman."

        "What about them?"

        "You didn't get a vibe?"

        "I don't get vibes."

        Multiple responses whirled through Ray's head at that comment, but all he said was, "I do."

        "I know," Vecchio replied darkly, looking elsewhere.

        Ray didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or get pissed off at that, so he settled for a shrug.  "Let's go see them.  If nothing happens, we'll go back to Plan A."

        "What's Plan A?" Vecchio asked.

        "Sit here twiddling our thumbs waiting for a break.  Let's go."

        Vecchio knocked on 19B7 with a note of impatience.  Ray tucked away his sunglasses and waited.  The door opened slightly, still chained.  The blonde woman looked out at them.  "Can I help you?"

        "I'm Detective Vecchio, this is my partner Detective Kowalski, we were here two days ago about Darla Brown?"

        "I remember."

        "We have a couple of questions.  Can we come in?" Vecchio asked.

        "My husband's not home now."

        "That's okay, this won't take long," Vecchio said.

        "All right."  She closed the door, unchained it, let them into the apartment.  She locked the door again and said, "Would you like some tea, coffee?  I made some cookies."

        "No thanks," Ray said with a smile.

        "Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing nervously toward the sofa.  Ray sat, resting his knees on his elbows.  Sometimes it worked if he acted like the younger casual cop while Vecchio did the irritable jaded cop routine.  The two of them had several variations on the good cop-bad cop dynamic.  Vecchio sat at his side, taking out a notebook.

        "You're Lindsay Deverough?" Vecchio asked, flipping through notes, not looking at her.  Ray's eyes wandered around the apartment some before he tossed her a smile.

        "Yes," she said.

        "Your husband's name is Greg Deverough?" Vecchio asked.

        "Yes," she said.

        "You weren't familiar with Darla Brown?"

        "I never met her," Lindsay said.

        "Not once?" Ray asked.  "You know, on the elevators?  Down in the parking garage?"

        "Oh, well..."

        "You've lived here for two years?" he asked.

        "Yes."

        "Where'd you move from?" he asked, as though carrying on a regular, casual, getting-to-know-you conversation with someone he'd just met at a party.

        "Kowalski, what does-"

        "I'm just asking," he told Vecchio.  "Where were you before?" he asked her.

        "Florence."

        "You don't work?"

        "Not...not anymore, no."

        "But you used to."

        "Yes, I was a secretary."

        "Really?  Where?"

        "I worked for Kinford J. Beagleman & Sons."

        "What's that, lawyers?"

        "Yes, it was a law firm," she said.

        "Where's your husband working?"

        She blinked as though coming out of something, as though thrown off by the change in conversational direction.  "Horff Grosh."

        "What's that?"

        "It's an accounting firm."

        "He didn't know Darla either?"

        "Oh, no."

        "He wouldn't have run into her in the garage or elevator either?" Vecchio asked.

        She wouldn't meet their eyes now.  "Greg...doesn't...he wouldn't...  Greg doesn't speak with black women."

        "Must make life pretty difficult," Ray said.  "Hey, do you mind if I use your bathroom?  It's totally unprofessional, but like my son says, when you gotta go..."

        "You have a son?" she asked.

        He flashed her a smile.  "Foster kid.  Six years old, named Josh."

        "You and your wife...don't..."

        "No wife.  Just me.  Just me and Josh and whatever strays we find.  I'm always picking up strays.  Can't say no to someone needing help.  That's why I take care of foster kids while they're-"

        "Can you just go to the bathroom?" Vecchio asked.

        "Sorry," Ray said.  "Get me talking and I can't shut up."

        "It's right down the hallway, first down on your left," Lindsay told him.

        "Thanks."

        Minutes later they were heading for the elevator.  "He's abusing her," Vecchio said.

        "You noticed?" Ray asked.

        "Could you have been more obvious?" Vecchio asked.  "'Oh, I just love to pick up strays, anyone who needs help.'"

        "I just wanted to let her know that she had somewhere to turn," Ray said.  "Did you notice that there are no pictures in that apartment?  None at all.  No photographs, no paintings.  No eyes to witness whatever goes on in there."

        "It's right above Darla Brown's.  If there was any noise, they would have heard it."

        "And she's not out at work, so she would have been home when Darla Brown was killed.  And," Ray said, getting involved, mind working, "if there was something leading up to the murder, if there was some bad situation, Lindsay Deverough might have heard some of that, too.  Harassing phone calls, a fight or two."

        "And Darla Brown was probably sitting in her apartment listening to Greg Deverough beat up his wife, doing nothing, not calling the cops, so why should Lindsay help Darla now?"

        "That's no way to think.  And you know that's not what she's thinking."

        "It's what I'd think."

        "No it's not."

        "You should've brought Benny along with you.  Benny'd get that woman crying all over him, telling all about Greg and what happened to Darla."

        "So we'll do a follow-up, bring Fraser along with us," Ray said.  "No, we'll split up, you do the neighbors, so it doesn't look like something special, and I'll check with some people while you check with some others, and I'll have Fraser with me-"

        "We're setting up this woman not because we're trying to help her but because we're worried about a woman who's already dead."

        "Hey, I'm worried about both of them, the one who's already dead and the one who's going to be dead if she doesn't get the hell away from her jackass husband."

        The next day Ray and Vecchio did a little door-to-door with Fraser.  While Vecchio re-interviewed Lindsay's neighbors, Ray knocked on Lindsay's door.  She opened the door.  "Mrs. Deverough, it's Ray Kowalski again.  I'm just doing a little follow-up.  Sorry to bother you again, but we're getting desperate.  We really need to find out who killed Darla Brown."

        She let them into the apartment.

        "Mrs. Deverough, are you all right?" Fraser asked.

        "Who are you?" she asked.

        "Constable Benton Fraser, ma'am, Royal Canadian Mounted Police.  Have you had that tended to at all?"

        "It's nothing," she said.  "And I don't have anything else to tell you about her."

        "I'm sorry to hear that," Fraser said.  "As Detective Kowalski said, the search for Miss Brown's killer is becoming a desperate situation.  We're worried that whoever has committed such a violent and cruel act will go unpunished and may, in fact, hurt someone else."

        "I'm sorry, I can't help you," Lindsay said.

        "As I said, I'm sorry, too," Fraser said.  "We'll be on our way, then.  And, may I say, Mrs. Deverough, that if ever you wish to keep your husband from beating you, perhaps you might call Detective Kowalski."

        Ray handed her his card.  "911 works, too."

        Well, by the end of the day they had arrested Greg Deverough and Roy Wallace, one for abusing his wife and the other for killing his ex-girlfriend.  It was a day well spent, in Ray's opinion.  The guys (Vecchio, Fraser, Turnbull, Diefenbaker) were supposed to come over later, and he had to hurry to leave his mounds of paperwork, pick up Josh, and get home.  When he got home, he had another pleasant surprise.

        At seven, there was a knock at the door.  A polite knock.  "Keep eating," he told Josh, leaving the table to get the door.  "Hey, guys," he said to the trio.  "We're still eating.  We had a little bump in our schedule."

        "We didn't mean to interrupt your dinner, Ray," Fraser said.

        "Come in," he urged.  "You're on time, Frase.  I just told you, something came up, threw us off course."

        "Hey, Josh," Vecchio said.

        "Good evening, Josh," Turnbull said.  "Ray?"

        "What?" Ray asked, grinning.

        "Would you happen to have a baby on the premises?"

        "Why?"

        "Really, Ray," Fraser siad.  "There's no need to be difficult.  Anyone can see clearly that with such baby paraphernalia as diapers, bottles, a changing table, and a playpen in plain view, not to mention-"

        "Rory brought her over," Ray said.  "Josh and I get to take care of her while they find her permanent parents."

        "Is she cute?" Vecchio asked Josh.

        "She looks like a baby," Josh said.

        "May we see her?" Turnbull asked.

        "More peas," Ray told Josh, and went into his room where the crib was.  He picked her up, a little pink girl with a little frizz of dark hair, all wrapped in soft cotton baby clothes.  "Clean diaper, good girl," he told her.  "Come meet Vecchio and the Mounties."  He walked back in and sat at the table with Josh.  "Her name is Juliane."  Diefenbaker watched carefully, curious about this new person.  Ray wondered what Diefenbaker thought, since coming over to Ray's tended to mean discovering different people all of the time.

        "Looks like a baby," Vecchio told Josh.  "Good call."

        "May I?" Turnbull asked.

        "What happened to her parents, Ray?" Fraser asked.

        "Drunk driver," he said, handing Juliane over to Turnbull.

        Ray liked kids.  Ray wanted kids.  He knew what he wanted, what he required to feel good about himself.  So he contacted the local foster care agencies.  Ray's home became a way station for local orphans.  He'd seen many children of all ages and races on their way to other foster families or adoption.  To encourage him, Turnbull and Fraser had donated their own money, and some of their time, to set up a fund for child-related expenses and baby-sitting.  He'd moved from his apartment to a larger apartment with more space and three bedrooms.  Sometimes he had kids only for a day or two; sometimes he had them longer.  He'd had Josh the longest.

        He didn't want them to get attached.  He always said that he wanted them to forget about him, to move on to bigger and better things.  But usually they kept in touch, wrote to him, told him where they were and what they were doing.  And, more than once, he'd felt his paternal heartstrings or his cop instincts touched, and he'd contacted the agency and had kids removed from their new homes.

        Sometimes he got cute small white babies, like Juliane, and they didn't stay with him for very long; they were high in demand.  Sometimes he got children who weren't high in demand - - they were too old, they were crack babies, they were blind or deaf or scarred or, like Josh, developmentally disabled.

        On one wall, behind the TV, was a little cross-stitched sign, Samuel 2 7:14a, which read, "I will be his father, and he shall be my son."  That one was from Fraser.  A little sexist, maybe; Ray liked having daughters, too.

        He never got called "Dad."  He was just Ray, and that was cool.  He wasn't a father, not really.  Not even for Josh.  Not really.

        He was fortunate enough to have good friends.  Vecchio was used to other people's kids, lived with a bunch of them already.  Turnbull loved kids.  And Fraser was good with everybody.  Usually if there was time, if his foster kids were around long enough, he took them over to the Vecchio household.  At first he'd never wanted to, because he was afraid that it would upset the kids.  But they liked it, they always wanted to go again.  Being around a large, vibrant, loving, close family was good for them.  Therapeutic, he guessed.

        "As long as you're here, you get diaper duty," he told Turnbull.

        "Josh?" Fraser asked.  "Why are your socks in the bathtub?  Shall I assume that I've missed out on yet another recent American fad?"

        "We're having a sock party after we finish eating," Ray said.  "We're going to put them all away again, matched and folded."

        "That might be more convenient," Fraser said.  "I'd be glad to...party with you."

        "You say that to all of the boys," Ray said.

        "You still didn't say why they were there," Vecchio told Josh.  "Did you turn on the water?"

        "Then they'd get wet," Josh said.  "I don't like wet socks."

        "Feels pretty uncomfortable," Ray agreed noncommittally.  "Turnbull, you know you can't take her home with you."

        "I'm aware of that, Ray, thank you," Turnbull said.

        "They looked good, all together, all the colors mixed," Josh said.

        "Hey, if you want to mix colors, we have paint, crayons, whatever," Ray said.  "On paper."

        "Not the walls," Josh said.  "Kevin put paint on the wall."

        "I remember," Vecchio said.

        "Rebecca poured the paint in the toilet," Josh added.

        "I remember Rebecca," Fraser said.

        "She had red hair?" Turnbull asked.

        "That was Lisa," Ray said.  "Rebecca was the one with the pigtails."

        "You're the only man I know who can do girls' hair," Vecchio said.

        "I had to learn," Ray said.  "You remember, Allison, in the beginning?  She's the one whose mother used to do her hair up in braids every morning.  She came to me the first morning and asked me to braid her hair.  I couldn't do it, what do I know about girls' hair, so she spent the entire day crying.  So I went out, bought a book, talked to Frannie, and now I do one of the neatest braids in Chicago.  Regular braids, French braids, inverted French braids, ponytails, pigtails, topknots, and even French twists."

        "You never cease to amaze me, Ray," Fraser said.  "Although I have noted in the past that you have very capable hands."

        "Come on, Josh, two more peas and you can take Fraser off for a sock party while I wash the dishes," Ray said.  He was absolutely not going to look at Vecchio.  He didn't want to see Vecchio's reaction or, worse, lack thereof, to Fraser's words.

        "Are you coming?" Josh asked Vecchio.

        "I've never been to a sock party," Vecchio said.  "Am I dressed right?"

        "Yes," Josh said.

        "Then I'll come," Vecchio said.  "Let's go."

        Ray took care of the dishes and checked Josh's homework while the three were in the bathroom matching and folding socks.  Turnbull changed Juliane.  Ray's policy was to use cloth diapers, not disposable ones, thanks to a long argument with Turnbull; as a result, whenever Turnbull was around he made Turnbull change diapers.

        Diefenbaker had elected to stay with Turnbull and Juliane.  Ray checked on the progress in the bathroom.  Fraser and Josh were doing all of the work, Fraser on the floor and Josh in the tub, while Vecchio sat on the closed toilet and watched.  They were talking about Veronica, who seemed to be Josh's shy love interest lately.

        "Paul says I shouldn't marry her," Josh said.

        "You listen to Paul?" Vecchio asked.  Vecchio didn't like Paul, had taken exception to Paul early on when Josh had repeated something that Paul said about Catholics.  Paul was Josh's best friend at school.

        "I don't know if I want to get married," Josh said.

        "Why not?" Ray asked, lounging against the doorjamb.

        "I don't have a suit or flowers or a ring or a cake.  Jessica says you need stuff to get married."  Jessica was Veronica's friend.  "Rings are expensive."  Josh grabbed Fraser's hand in the middle of folding, reaching over the edge of the tub.  "You have a ring."

        "Yes I do," Fraser agreed calmly.

        Josh looked at Ray, then at Vecchio.  "You have a ring and you have a ring, too."

        "Yeah," Vecchio said.

        "Where's your wife?" Josh asked Fraser.

        "I don't have one," Fraser said.  "I'm married to Ren."

        "Men can't marry men," Josh said, giggling.

        "But I have," Fraser said.  "Ren and I are married.  We exchanged rings and wore suits.  We live together like other married people."

        "But you don't have any kids."

        "Some people who marry don't have children," Fraser said.

        "You don't have to get married and have kids," Ray said.  "Some people don't have any.  Some people adopt kids, like you'll be adopted."

        "I don't want to be adopted," Josh said.

        "Why not, Josh?" Fraser asked.

        "I don't want to leave."

        "You got it great here," Vecchio agreed.  "Sitting in the tub folding socks.  Nobody else gets to do that."

        "Done!" Josh exclaimed.  "Now can I watch TV?"

        "Go play with Turnbull," Ray said, helping him out of the tub so he wouldn't step on any of the neatly folded socks.  Josh ran off for Turnbull; Ray and Fraser carried the socks to Josh's room.  Vecchio took Juliane off of Turnbull's hands.

        It was very cosy and familiar.  This was home to Ray, being with his permanent friends and his shifting children.  He absently twisted the ring on his finger.  He was glad that Josh hadn't asked about his ring.  He would have answered, and he would have been honest, but he was glad that he'd been able to avoid the situation.

        Juliane cried, was fed, was burped, was changed, and was put to sleep.  Josh got ready for bed, and Turnbull and Vecchio read him a story, and Ray tucked him in and turned out the light, closing the door.  The four of them held a quiet, friendly conversation.  It was interesting; they were very similar in some ways but extremely different in others, and among themselves no one of them could be called quiet, so their conversations were long-winded and far-ranging.  They didn't have serious fights, not anymore.  When they disagreed, they didn't let it affect their friendships.

        "We'd better get going," Vecchio said.  "I'll drive you guys home."

        "Thank you for a fine evening, Ray," Fraser said.

        "Yes, Ray, thank you," Turnbull said.

        "Hey, as long as you can keep up with the excitement," Ray said.

        "I get quite enough excitement in my work, Ray," Fraser said.  "The simple companionship of friends and family is more than enough pleasure for an evening."

        "You don't have to get all poetic on me here, Frase," Ray said.  He knew what Fraser meant, though.  They got a lot of heart-pounding thrills getting shot at and chasing bad guys during the day.  And Fraser, well, Fraser really seemed to like the whole deal here, having a few close friends, seeing Ray's kids, that sort of thing; probably, Ray guessed, it gave Fraser a taste of cosy home life, in a way, that Fraser had sort of missed growing up with grandparents.  Ray's kids were, well, just kids, cute and fun and energetic and whiny and annoying and messy and scared and loving and shy just like regular kids.

        It was good, especially at times like this, with just Josh, whom Ray knew well by now, and Juliane, who was new but small and easy to take care of without having to figure out what damage life had done to her.  She was so new to the world that she didn't even seem to miss her mother too much, which was sort of sad, to Ray.  It was harder, at other times, when he had more kids, troubled kids.  The ones who cried a lot or tried to hit him or refused to eat or tried to run away or just looked lost.

        Fraser and Turnbull and Diefenbaker headed for the door.  Vecchio found a stray sock and went to toss it in Josh's room.  Ray heard the murmur of voices and crept over to make sure everything was okay.  Vecchio came out again, closing the door softly.

        "He's okay?" Ray whispered.

        Vecchio nodded, moving away from Josh's door.  "He just wanted to know if we were leaving."

        "He's supposed to be asleep."

        "Sorry.  I tried to be quiet."

        "I'm blaming him, not you."

        Vecchio smiled.

        "See you tomorrow."

        "Good work."

        "When?"

        "With the Deveroughs.  You got us Darla Brown's killer and you saved Lindsay-"

        "Just doing my job, Vecchio."

        "Still can't take a compliment."

        "Guess not."

        "She's cute.  See if you can keep her."

        "Juliane?  She'll be out of here fast."

        "It doesn't matter, though.  As long as you have Josh."

         "Yeah.  Hey, get out of here, you're keeping the Mounties waiting."  A wail startled him.  Turnbull, Fraser, and Diefenbaker came in again.  Ray hurried to get Juliane.  He picked her up and held her close.

        "Is it her diaper?" Turnbull asked.  "Is she hungry?"

        "Maybe she's lonely or scared," Fraser said.

        "Ray?" Josh asked, sounding sleepy, coming from his room.  "Is Juliane okay?"

        "Walk around with her, she'll be fine," Vecchio said.

        "You got something to add?" Ray asked Diefenbaker.  Diefenbaker whined.  Ray laughed.  Juliane looked at him, surprised.  He kissed her and gave her a cuddle and she went quiet.  "Okay.  The four of you get out of here before I kick you out for good.  You, little boy, go back to bed.  Juliane, you should be sleeping."

        "You could read to us," Josh said.

        "If Fraser tells you a moose story you'll be asleep in seconds," Ray said.

        "Really, Ray, that's hardly true," Fraser said.  Vecchio smothered a laugh and Turnbull looked elsewhere.

        "Come on, back to bed," Ray told Josh.  "When I get back I don't want to see any of you here," he told the others.  "Except maybe Dief," he amended, shooing Josh off to Josh's bedroom.

        "Read to me," Josh said, climbing into the bed.

        "You should be sleeping."

        "Just one?"

        "A short one," Ray said firmly, then grinned.  "Get comfy.  Juliane, we're going to read Josh a story."  He heard the apartment door open and close; the others were leaving.  He fetched a book from the bookcase; a few books were Josh's, but most were his own, some he'd bought himself and some presents from friends.  He knew that reading was important for kids, no matter how young, so he always read to his foster kids.  He selected Tacky the Penguin and settled down beside Josh, managing to hold Juliane comfortably.  Dealing with kids always meant needing at least three arms and four hands.

        This book was a gift from Vecchio.  A commentary on their differences in dressing, for one, but Ray liked to think that the book's message on it's-okay-to-be-different and everyone-is-valuable / everyone-has-something-to-contribute were intended for him as well.

        When he finished the book Josh wriggled down comfortably.  He ran a thumb over Josh's temple and left the bed, turning off the light, putting away the book, closing the door quietly.  He turned around and almost screamed.

        "What are you doing here?" he asked, having the presence of mind to whisper.  He carried Juliane to the crib and put her down carefully.  Now he was with Vecchio in his bedroom, practically alone.

        "Benny and Turnbull and Dief left."

        "You should get home.  You know your mother worries."

        "She knew I was coming here tonight."

        "She'll still worry."

        "So she'll call."

        "She won't want to wake up the kids."

        "You should bring Juliane over.  She'll be really popular at my house.  And the kids haven't seen Josh for a while."

        "Yeah, maybe we'll visit tomorrow."

        "Come for dinner?"

        "Sure."

        "I'll tell Ma."

        Ray controlled his breathing as he and Vecchio just looked at each other.

        "I'd better go.  She'll worry."

        "That's what I was trying to tell you."

        "She'll be counting on you for dinner tomorrow."

        "We'll be there."

        After work the next day, Ray picked up Josh from the after school program and Juliane from the baby-sitter's.  His baby-sitter was Renee Funicello, the woman down the hall who had a daughter of her own and would watch Ray's kids during the day while he worked, on short notice and low fees.  Renee was a godsend.  He rarely called upon her because he didn't want to abuse the privilege.  He tried to send her only the good kids, not the violent ones.

        He strapped Juliane into the carseat beside Josh in the backseat and drove over to the Vecchio's.  He grabbed Juliane and the diaper bag while Josh and Josh's bookbag followed him to the front door.  He rang the bell.

        "Ray oh my god she's so precious!"

        "Hey, Frannie."

        "Hey, Josh!  We're watching Toy Story 2, come on," and Josh was taken off with a swarm of short Vecchios.  Ray made his way inside while Frannie fluttered at his side.

        "Ma, look at her, isn't she so precious?" Frannie asked as they entered the kitchen.

        "Hi, Ma," Ray said.

        "What's her name?" Ma Vecchio asked, taking Juliane right from Ray's hands.

        "Juliane," he said.

        "Frannie, watch that sauce," Ma said.  "Isn't she a precious one?"

        "You should keep her, Ray," Frannie advised.

        "I can't," he said.  "They're already doing paperwork on some doctor-lawyer couple."

        "Straight white folks," Frannie guessed.  "Rich straight white folks."

        "The beautiful perfect little ones like Juliane always get the perfect parents," Ray said.  "Sometimes it kills me.  But that's what's keeping Josh with me, so maybe I don't mind after all."  He grinned.

        "She's a pretty girl," Ma said, handing Juliane over to Ray again.  "You take good care of her.  Now get out of my kitchen and give me room to work."

        "Where's your brother?" he asked Frannie as she escorted him from the kitchen.

        She stopped walking.  "Oh."

        "What?"

        "He's...out tonight.  On a date."

        "I didn't know that."

        "It's a girl," Frannie said quickly.  "A woman.  Dark hair."

        "I didn't know he was seeing anybody."

        "It's his first date.  First time."  She faced him directly with a loud sigh.  "Look, Ray, I'd like to kick his balls in myself but what am I supposed to do?  He wants to ruin his life and screw around on you, I can't stop him.  He met her at the butcher's when he was getting veal for Ma, she's a good Italian Catholic girl, she's a hairdresser named Georgia Maria Scully."

        "It's none of my business."

        "Of course it's your business!  He's dating some girl when he's married to you!  God, Ray, I'm sorry, I shouldn't - - I'm going to kick his balls in, I swear to God, I can't believe he's doing this, he's screwing up his life, how could he-  He came home late last night, just a little later than usual, for a second I thought, good, he's finally found some brain cells, he's finally making it right with you.  But no, he just comes home, nothing's changed.  And then, now, he's out with some girl - - you know why she has dark hair.  He can't stand blondes anymore.  Can't even look at them."

        "Thanks, Frannie, I feel much better now."  He walked Juliane into the living room where the kids were squirming and watching a movie.

        Dinner was great.  The food was wonderful, the Vecchios were as entertaining as ever, Josh was having fun, Juliane was well-behaved, and Ray wanted to curl up and die.

        Then it got worse.  The kids were off running around under Maria's supervision, Ray and Frannie were standing in the living room, he'd just put the bottle to Juliane's mouth, when Vecchio walked in with a smartly dressed pretty young woman with thick, dark hair and a lipstick-red smile.

        With all of these well-dressed Italian-American Roman Catholics around, Ray was beginning to feel like Tacky the Penguin, and not in a good way.

        "Ray," Frannie said to Vecchio, giving him a quick, cutting glare.  She turned a forced smile to the woman at Vecchio's side.  "You must be Georgia.  I'm Ray's sister Frannie."

        "It's nice to meet you," Georgia said with a warm smile and a brisk handshake.  "Ray's mentioned you.  Oh - isn't she precious?" she asked, coming closer to Juliane.

        "So I keep hearing," Ray said with a smile.  "I'm Ray Kowalski, Vecchio's partner."

        "You're a detective, too?" Georgia asked.

        Which answered the question of whether Vecchio had mentioned him.  "Most days.  I just dropped by to beg for food, but we'd better get going.  I'm going to run up and get Josh.  It was nice to meet you," he said.

        "You just started to feed Juliane," Frannie said.  "You can't leave now."

        "She's not hungry," he said.

        "Give her a little more time," Frannie said.  "She's probably not used to bottles yet."

        "You're weaning her?" Georgia asked.

        "Her mother died in a car accident," Frannie said.

        "Oh," Georgia turned red, "oh, I'm so sorry-"

        Ray had to rescue her, although he appreciated Frannie's attempt.  "She's not really mine.  I'm her foster father.  I'm the way station for just about every kid passing through the system in this city.  Juliane and Josh, he's upstairs, are the ones I have now."

        "You raise foster kids," Georgia said.  "That's wonderful.  How generous."

        "He's a saint," Vecchio said.

        "He puts up with you, he has to be," Frannie said.  "Go introduce Georgia to Ma."

        "Raymondo?"  Ma came into the living room.  She stared at Georgia.  "Who's this?"

        "Ma, this is Georgia Maria Scully," Vecchio said.

        "Who are you?" Ma asked.

        "Ray's new girlfriend," Frannie said.

        "Girlfriend?" Ma asked.  "You're a married man, what are you doing with a girlfriend?"

        Georgia's eyes went wide.

        "Ma," Vecchio began.

        "Thou shalt not commit adultery!" Ma shouted.  Then she said something long and loud involving a lot of Italian that Ray didn't understand.  He took Juliane to the kitchen, away from the shouting, and fed her, burped her, found the diaper bag, changed her, checked on Josh, and ventured out again.  Georgia was gone.  Ma and Frannie were shouting and slamming things in the kitchen.  Vecchio sitting on the living room sofa, elbows on knees, face in hands.

        "Rough night?" Ray asked, sitting beside Vecchio.

        "Ma thinks that I'm going to Hell.  Frannie wants me to go to Hell."

        "I'm on Frannie's side on this one," Ray said.

        "You already hate me, what difference does it make?"

        "The difference is before you were just," he curbed his language for Juliane's sake, "a huge evil jerk.  Now you're a huge evil jerk who's cheating on me.  And what was she thinking?  You're wearing a wedding band, Vecchio."

        "She didn't ask.  She probably thought that I was a widower."

        Ray reached over with his free hand and in one quick movement pulled off Vecchio's ring.

        "What the - - Kowalski, what are you doing?!" Vecchio demanded, sitting up straight, looking at him in shock.

        "You want to start dating, you're not doing it wearing my ring."

        "Kowalski-"

        "You want to be single, you're single."

        "We're married."

        "According to whom?  Not the law, not the United States or Chicago.  Not according to the Pope or the Church."

        "According to me.  We're married because we say so.  We took vows!"

        "I'm taking them back."

        "We're married.  We stood up before God and my family and a bunch of Mounties, and we promised-"

        "I know what I promised.  It wasn't to live miles away from you and watch you date anyone you want."

        "Give me back my ring."

        "No."  Ray stood and went to find Josh.  "Come on, Josh, we've gotta get home."

        "Kowalski," Vecchio said behind him.

        "Is everything in your bookbag?" Ray asked.

        "Yeah," Josh said.

        "Are you sure?"

        "Yeah," Josh said.

        While Josh said good-bye to Maria's kids, Ray went to the kitchen and gathered the diaper bag.  Ma and Frannie were silently glaring at each other in preparation for the next flare-up.  "Thank you for dinner," he said.

        "Never has my son treated anyone so badly!" Ma said.  "I am ashamed of my own son!"

        "You should be!" Frannie said.

        "I will pray for you," Ma said.  "As I have prayed every night.  Let forgiveness into your soul.  He has sinned greatly against you."

        "He can date whoever he wants," Ray said.

        "What?!" Frannie demanded.

        "The laws and the Church don't recognize our marriage," Ray said.  "All we did was make a bunch of promises to each other, and he's broken every one."

        "You're married!" Ma said.  "You married, you made pledges before God!  You stood before the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit!"

        "I have to go," Ray said.  "And I don't want to talk about it in front of Josh."

        "I will pray for you," Ma said.  "And for Raymondo.  And for Joshua.  And for this little girl," she said, passing a hand over Juliane's little head.

        "Thanks for dinner."  He kissed her cheek, then Frannie's.  He said good-bye to Maria and took Josh home.

        When Josh was in bed and Juliane was sleeping, Ray took Vecchio's ring from his pocket and slipped it onto his finger, where it rested above the one that he wore.

        The next morning, he dropped into the chair at his desk and pulled open his drawer, rummaging through it.

        "You're late," Vecchio said.

        "Fuck you," Ray said, yanking the drawer open further, shoving his fingers through the mess.  He slammed the drawer shut and turned fast to face Vecchio.  "And no," he said quickly, softly, viciously, glaring into those wide green eyes, "don't get smug, or pissed, or nervous, because it's not about you.  I have more important things on my mind than worrying about you and your new girlfriend."

        "She's not my-"

        "I don't really give a shit, Vecchio."

        "What's wrong?  What happened?  Is Josh okay?  Did-"

        "Josh is fine.  Josh is just fucking fine."

        "Kowalski-"

        "My name is Ray!  Ray!  R-A-Y-Ray!  I'd think that you, you, would be able to remember it!"

        "What the Hell is wrong with you?"

        "Kowalski!  Vecchio!" Welsh shouted.

        Ray slammed his hand down on his desk and stormed into Welsh's office.  Vecchio followed and closed the door.  Ray was pacing.

        "You want to cut the dramatics?" Welsh asked.

        "He's throwing a hissy fit over something," Vecchio said.

        "Why are you late today?" Welsh asked.  Ray just paced, tensely.  "Kowalski.  I asked you a question."

        "It's nothing," Ray said.  He knew that he was near tears and he knew that they knew it now, too.  He never cried - - okay, he'd cried for Beth Botrelle, and he'd sort of cried when one of his former foster kids had run away from her new home and come to him in the middle of the night across the city because she was scared and she missed him and her new adoptive parents were abusive psychos, but he didn't cry, guys didn't cry, he was a queer pansy-ass enough of the time without fucking sobbing in Welsh's office.

        "Nothing," Welsh repeated.  "Vecchio?"

        "Don't look at me, sir," Vecchio said.

        "I'm going to assume that this is personal, not business," Welsh said.  "Since neither of you's done any work all morning, and you're wearing no wedding ring while you're wearing two."

        Vecchio reached over and grabbed Ray's hand.  Ray jerked away immediately.

        "You're wearing my ring," Vecchio said.

        "So it's not nothing," Welsh said.  "Whatever it is, you're going to fix it right here and right now because I will not have my detectives-"

        "It has nothing to do with him!" Ray shouted.  He told them, to prove it, to prove that he had better things to worry about than Vecchio.  "Rory called this morning.  They're placing Josh."

        "Shit," Welsh said.

        "They can't," Vecchio said.  "They can't do that.  He's been with you for-"

        "They can do whatever they want," Ray said, because it was true.  "He's not mine.  He deserves a good home."  That was true, too.

        "He has a good home!" Vecchio said.

        "I have to tell him tonight.  I couldn't this morning."  There hadn't been time, he hadn't wanted to ruin the kid's whole day, and he just couldn't imagine how to begin.  He needed time to understand it himself before he told Josh.

        "Who's the couple?" Welsh asked.

        "Early thirties, white, straight, teachers, the wife has a background in kids with special needs.  They're looking for a kid like Josh."  They sounded like good people.  Rory liked them.  It wasn't their fault that he hated them.

        "They can't take him away from you," Vecchio said.  "It's where he wants to be."

        "I'm not his father!  He's not mine, they can do whatever they want."  He knew that he was saying things he'd already said, and he didn't know whether he was repeating himself for Vecchio's sake or his own.

        "What about what he wants?!" Vecchio demanded.

        "It'll be a good place for him.  Am I dismissed?" he asked Welsh.

        "Kowalski-" Welsh said.

        "Am I dismissed?" he asked, tense, impatient, wanting to get out of there, away from them.  He didn't want to talk about it.  He didn't want to stand there in Welsh's office in front of the whole 2-7 with Vecchio talking about something he couldn't change.

        "Yeah."

        He took off quickly, went to the bathroom, hid in a stall and shook.  Didn't cry.  When he came out again, he washed his hands, grabbed some coffee, and started his paperwork.  Vecchio took the hint for once - - Vecchio had selective perceptiveness, usually seemed clueless but out of nowhere, when it really really mattered, turned out to be in tune and sensitive, sort of like himself.  So, while under normal circumstances Vecchio would keep fussing at him and talking and arguing, today Vecchio got a clue and left him alone.

        He picked up Josh and Juliane.  He was a single parent himself and he still had no idea how single parents managed to function.  How did he pay attention to Juliane and to Josh while still doing what needed to be done?  How could he talk and listen and feed and change and check homework all while cooking supper and doing the dishes and managing to eat?

        After supper, he put Juliane down and sat with Josh.  "I got a phone call this morning.  From Rory."

        "We're getting another kid?  Is it a boy?"

        "She was calling to talk about you."

        "Am I in trouble?"

        "No."  He squeezed Josh's shoulder.  "You're a great kid.  And it's good news."

        "What good news?"

        "We found a home for you.  Parents."

        "What?"

        "You're going to have a family.  You can meet them tomorrow."

        "I don't want parents."

        "You need parents.  They can rear you, take care of you, love you."

        "Don't you love me?"

        "Josh, you know you can't stay here forever.  I can't be your real father."

        "Why not?"

        He hugged Josh.  "You're getting a real father.  And a real mother.  Two parents.  They'll take good care of you."

        "I don't want parents," Josh said, crying into Ray's shirt.

        "I know, kid, I know.  But we only want what's going to be good for you.  It'll be good."

        Rory came the next day, Saturday, and took Josh off to meet the new parents.  Ray stayed home with Juliane.  Josh came home and cried.

        Two days later Josh was gone.

        The guys came over that night.  Vecchio, Fraser, Turnbull, and Dief.  They talked around Ray and fussed over Juliane and tried to comfort him in their own ways.  Finally he gave up all pretense of being upbeat and sank into a corner of the sofa, feet on the cushion, knees to his chest, staring at the wall and not even trying to pay attention to them.  He heard some noise, and the door.  They were leaving.

        But Vecchio was there, still.  Standing in front of him.  Lifting one of his hands, pulling off the extra ring.  "This is mine."

        He lost it.  Sobbed, bawled, cried, wept, all over Vecchio's thousand-dollar suit, which got wrinkled as well when Vecchio sat beside him and let him grab on like Vecchio was his last lifeline.  When it was all over but the shudders, he felt Vecchio petting his hair and smoothing a hand down his back, murmuring something that sounded like Italian.  He pulled back just a bit and frowned, saying, "What?"

        Vecchio kissed him very gently and didn't let go.

        He didn't know what it was.  Maybe he was seeking human contact, physical comfort, reassurance after a loss.  Maybe he was just horny because he hadn't gotten laid since Vecchio had walked out on him what felt like decades ago.  Maybe he was trying to get Vecchio back and taking the opportunity.  Maybe he was trying to fool himself into thinking that someone cared, that someone would stay, that his life wasn't shit after all.

        Whatever it was, he let Vecchio fuck him.  In the spare bedroom, not Josh's, not his because that's where Juliane was.  Josh's room wasn't Josh's anymore, though, was it?

        "Kowalski."  Murmured into the hair at his temple.  "I have to go home."

        He made a little nodding motion, staring at the ceiling.

        "You'll be okay?"

        He made a small affirmative noise.  Vecchio got off of him, that warmth gone, and in his peripheral vision he saw Vecchio getting dressed.

        "I'll see you tomorrow," Vecchio said, and left.

        Ray rolled over and closed his eyes.

        The next day at work, at first Vecchio wouldn't meet his eyes.  Then, about halfway through the day, when they were in the middle of an interrogation, all of a sudden Vecchio did start meeting his eyes.  And Vecchio looked pissed.  At him.  Mad at him, like he'd done something.  Like he'd been the one to fuck and leave.  Like he wasn't the one feeling like a toilet.

        Fraser joined them shortly after that and picked up on their tension immediately.  Fraser knew, of course, that Vecchio had stayed at Ray's after Fraser had gone home.  Ray figured that Fraser thought they'd had a fight.  Well, they hadn't, because neither of them was going to be the one to bring up the problem first.

        Fraser never had been real big on opening up and discussing feelings.  Of the three of them, probably Ray was the most open.  But Fraser was, on the one hand, their best friend who wanted them to be happy and, on the other, very unhappy with the turn that their relationship had taken.  Fraser knew of his own shortcomings in discussing feelings, so Fraser made the logical next step, getting himself invited over for dinner.  Which meant that Turnbull was invited for dinner.

        The Mountie duo and Diefenbaker showed up on Ray's doorstep, or would have if he'd had one, precisely at six with a box of pizza from Tony's.  Diefenbaker went to check on Juliane, who was sleeping.

        "Ray's not coming?" Turnbull asked as Ray found plates.

        "I'm right here," Ray said.

        "I meant the other Ray, Ray," Turnbull said.

        "He's probably out with his new girlfriend."

        Two blue-eyed Canadian stares, totally shocked.  Floored.

        Ray used two fingers to close Turnbull's mouth.

        "Ray has a girlfriend?" Turnbull repeated.

        "You can't be serious, Ray," Fraser said.  "Surely-"

        "Oh, I'm all the hell serious," Ray said.  "Got introduced and everything.  I don't know if he's still seeing her or if he's moved onto someone else."

        "Ray is...dating?" Fraser asked.

        "How long has this been happening?" Turnbull asked.

        "I dunno, since the night before Rory told me about Josh."

        "Only a few days, then," Fraser said.  "Perhaps it was merely a temporary, that is to say-"

        "Oh, it's okay if he just cheats on me for a day or two?" Ray asked.

        "Of course not, Ray, I never would suggest such a thing," Fraser said.  "I am horrified by Ray's actions, and I never would condone them.  I am hopeful, however, that there has been some misunderstanding."

        "The timing could hardly be worse," Turnbull said.  "You must be having a dreadful week, Ray."

        "Boy, these Mounties are smart," Ray said.

        "I did notice that Ray is wearing his ring again," Turnbull said.

        "He took it back."

        "That is a good sign."

        "Then he fucked me.  Then he left again.  Not such a good sign there.  Pretty much status quo, Turnbull."

        "The evening after Josh left?" Turnbull asked.  "When Ray remained?  I was hoping that he'd give you some comfort."

        "He comforted me all right.  Comforted me right through the mattress."

        "Really, Ray," Fraser said.

        "I gave him the perfect opportunity, though.  Cried all over him.  That's what they teach you, with girls.  Wait until they're weak and vulnerable, then coax them into bed and screw them."

        "You feel that he took advantage of you?" Turnbull asked.

        "No.  I'm just pissed that he took off and ignored me and now he's pissed at me like I did something, and I didn't do anything."

        "Perhaps Ray is conflicted within himself and is blaming you as an alternative to-"

        "That just sucks," Ray said.

        "Yes, Ray," Turnbull said.

        "Felt good, though.  I haven't gotten laid in ages.  Not that you'd know what that feels like," he said, casting a glance from one to the other.  "Horny Mounties fuck like rabbits."

        "Really, Ray," Fraser said.

        "Me and Vecchio used to be like that."

        "Yes, Ray, I'm well aware," Fraser said.

        "I miss him.  Sometimes.  I don't know what it is, Stella divorced me and we had to work together, Vecchio leaves me and we're working together every single fucking day.  I can't get away from these people."

        "You would be distraught if your working partnership with Ray ended," Turnbull said.  "The two of you work very well together.  You have an excellent arrest record, the best in-"

        "I know.  I know, we're good together.  Like me and Frase.  Only different.  More.  Even now.  That's...that's why we're still partners, because we can get married and he can leave me and we're still the best team.  You don't break  up that kind of partnership."

        "If it's so strong that it can survive this situation, if your partnership is so strong that it can be refitted according to-"

        "What are you saying?" he asked Turnbull.

        "Might it not be able to withstand another change?"

        "What kind of change?"

        "We all know why Ray left you."

        "Because I'm a selfish bastard and he's a selfish bastard and we don't love each other enough."

        "Try again, Ray."

        "You tell me."

        "Ray was raised in an Italian-American Roman Catholic home with a father of a difficult type," Turnbull said.  "He finds it difficult to leave that stereotype."

        "Like it's a piece of cake for everybody else?" Ray asked.

        "Hardly," Turnbull said.  "Ray was fortunate enough to find you, to fall in love with you, and to be loved in return.  You made a commitment; you are married.  You share a beautiful and very strong partnership in more than one way."

        Ray waited for more.  There had to be a point here.  Well, not necessarily; it was Turnbull, after all.

        "You are a very generous person, Ray.  You are forgiving and giving.  Ray knows that you will love him no matter what happens."

        "Yeah.  So?"

        "He knows that it is...safe...to leave you.  He can take advantage of your loving nature because he knows that you will be here for him.  He has your love, he has your partnership, he has your friendship, and he needs only to suppress his own desire to be with you."

        "What are you saying?" he asked again.

        "He left you because he knew that he could.  He knew that you'd still be his partner at work, that you'd continue to be his friend, that he would have your love."

        "So he gets to play it straight and act like we're not married, he doesn't have to have a real relationship with me, the day-to-day stuff, the messy relationship stuff, he gets me and he gets his neat little life all at once."

        "Yes."

        "You buy it?" he asked Fraser.

        "I am sorry to admit, Ray, that I do," Fraser said.

        "Okay then."

        "Okay?" Fraser repeated.  "I fail to see how this situation is okay in any sense, Ray."

        "The way it's been, he doesn't have to make a choice.  He got to have it both ways."

        "That doesn't seem quite accurate, Ray.  He hasn't been able to be with you, in any fulfilling sense, outside of your working relationship," Fraser said.

        "No sex, no cute nicknames, no Valentine's Day cards," Ray said.  "Yeah.  He did make a choice.  He walked out, he left me, he ended it.  He just didn't have to pay for it, not really."

        "Oh, dear," Fraser said.

        "He's gonna start paying now."

        "Ray, are you sure-" Turnbull began.

        "I'm damned sure," Ray said.

        "This doesn't bode well," Turnbull told Fraser.

        "It bodes just great," Ray disagreed.

        When Ray saw Vecchio again, he was fine.  Business as usual.  Friends, partners, working together, everything was just great.  Except for his left hand.  It was ringless.  Naked.  Vecchio noticed it fast, right away, but didn't say anything.

        Sunday afternoon Ray was in the park under a tree, in the shade, Juliane in a little baby carrier under a parasol, sitting against the tree, book in his lap, a little kid tucked under each arm.  He heard a bark and looked up, grinning.  The little girl at his left leaned forward, interested; the little boy at his right shrank back against him.

        "Hey, it's okay," Ray said.  "I know him.  Dief and I are best friends.  He won't hurt you."

        "Dief?" the girl repeated.  Diefenbaker came over, gave a happy whine, nosed around for food.  The girl put two hands into thick white fur.

        "Dief," Ray agreed.  "He's part wolf.  He's deaf, too.  He belongs to those guys over there.  They're my friends.  They're not from around here."

        "Where are they from?" she asked.

        Diefenbaker came too close to the boy, who practically climbed inside Ray's side trying to get away; Ray pushed Dief away casually.  "Canada.  You know I'm a cop?  They're Canada cops.  They're called Mounties."

        "Moun Tees," the girl repeated.

        "Hey, guys," Ray said.

        "Good afternoon, Ray.  Good afternoon ma'am, sir," Turnbull said.

        "Mount Ees," the girl said, and giggled.

        "Yes, I am Constable Renfield Turnbull of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and this is my senior officer Constable Benton Fraser," Turnbull said.  The girl just stared at him and giggled.

        "That's Fraser, that's Turnbull," Ray said.  "Dief's with them.  This is Kelly and this is Jordan."

        "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Turnbull said.  "A pleasure, sir."

        "Diefenbaker," Fraser said sharply when the wolf got close to Jordan again.

        "He's deaf," Kelly said.

        "So he is," Fraser said.  "You're quite right."

        "What are you reading?" Turnbull asked, sitting on Jordan's other side, turning Diefenbaker back toward Kelly.  Fraser crouched down beside Kelly.

        "Jordan likes Max," Ray said.

        "So do I," Turnbull said.

        "You're too old," Kelly said.  "These are little kid books."

        "They're my books," Ray said.  "And I'm older than he is."

        "How old are you?" Kelly asked.

        "Ten," Ray said.

        "No you're not!" she said.  "You're too old to be ten."

        "Six hundred?" he guessed.

        "Ray, that's just silly," Fraser said.  "You're younger than I am and I'm only five hundred twelve."

        "Right," Ray said, frowning, puzzled.  "Then I guess I am only ten."

        "Jordan's only three," Kelly said.  "His birthday was two days ago."

        "Really?" Ray asked.

        "His father set their house on fire," Kelly said.  "He didn't get any presents or cake or a party.  His parents are dead."

        Ray gave Jordan a tiny squeeze.  "Aren't you guys here to give Dief some exercise?"

        "Would you like to help?" Fraser asked Kelly.

        "Yeah," she said, getting to her feet.

        "We'll return shortly," Fraser said, walking off with Kelly and Diefenbaker.  Ray read about Max to Jordan and Turnbull and Juliane.

        Kelly was returned to her father a few days after that.

        Ray was pacing the living room with Juliane, who was crying, while Jordan sat on the floor by the sofa quietly playing with blocks.  Ray had a whole set of blocks, chunky brightly colored ones, but Jordan had taken only three little blue ones, fearfully selected.  Ray was singing softly, trying to soothe Juliane, who'd been changed already and wasn't due for another feeding.

        There was a knock at the door.

        Ray decided not to swear.  He walked over and opened the door.  "Vecchio."

        "Juliane's still here?" Vecchio asked.

        "The adoption didn't go.  You want something?"

        "Haven't been here recently.  I just thought I'd drop by, make sure the furniture's all still here."

        "You want something?"

        Vecchio made a disgusted face.  "Ma sent over some lasagne."

        "Come on in.  Jordan, this is Vecchio, he works with me.  He's a cop, too.  His mother cooks the best food.  We can have some of it tomorrow."

        "Hey, Jordan," Vecchio said, coming into the apartment, putting the foil-wrapped dish in Ray's refrigerator like he owned the place.  "Things have been kind of slow in here," he told Ray.  "You used to get a whole bunch of kids at once.  Did Rory find somebody she likes better?"

        "I don't know.  You staying?"

        "I don't have any better place to be."

        "Good.  Make her stop crying."  Ray handed over Juliane and went to the blocks.  He got some out and started building a little castle over on the floor, a few feet away from Jordan.

        Ten minutes later, Juliane was quiet and asleep in Vecchio's arms on the sofa and Jordan was ever-so-carefully resting a little blue piece to top off one of Ray's buildings.

        "Looks great, doesn't it?" Ray asked Jordan.  "We did a good job.  Hooray us."

        Jordan almost smiled.

        "Time for bed," Ray said.  "Come on, let's find you some pajamas."  They stood and went off to Jordan's room, formerly known as Josh's room.  Together they put Jordan into pajamas and brushed Jordan's teeth; he tucked Jordan into bed, read Max's New Suit again, and turned out the light, closing the door.  He always had a nightlight in the rooms; Jordan's room had one in every outlet, with the furniture rearranged for maximum lighting capacity.

        Vecchio was standing over Juliane's crib, watching her sleep.  Ray came to stand beside him, watching too.

        "What's Jordan's story?" Vecchio asked.

        "His parents did a murder-suicide deal.  Dad shot Mom, then burned down the house.  Jordan made it out alive.  Whether both parents abused him or just his dad is under debate."

        "He likes you."

        "I like him."

        "Where's your ring?"

        Ray shrugged.

        "Kowalski-"

        "It's my ring.  I can do what I want with it."

        "You took it off."

        "Picked up on that quick, didn't you?  When Stella divorced me, I couldn't wear my ring forever.  You left me, same thing, same principle."

        "We're not divorced."

        "Vecchio, you left.  We're over.  It's over.  Can't believe I suck so bad at relationships, can't believe I got married and left twice, but that's my life, so..."  He shrugged.  "No hard feelings."

        "We're married."

        "We were married.  Now we're not."

        "If this is about Georgia-"

        "This isn't about Georgia.  You left me way before you ever met her.  We've been over for eons now, it just took me a while to get around to noticing."

        "Kowalski.  We took vows.  In front of God.  You can't just take off the ring like nothing ever happened."

        "I know.  Something did happen.  And then you ended it, and now it's over.  Why are you still dragging on about it?  You're the one who left, you should be happy I'm-"

        "Happy?" Vecchio repeated.

        "You want to start shouting and scaring my kids?" Ray asked in his calm voice.

        "Kowalski, listen to me. We're married.  You can't pretend we're not."

        "I'm not pretending anything.  You left me.  What part of this don't you understand?  You left me.  It's over."

        "We had sex."

        "I was there."

        "It's not over."

        "It was sex, Vecchio.  Just sex."

        "It's not just sex."

        "What are you saying?  You saying you made love to me?  You saying you're in love with me?  You saying you want to be my husband and live with me and help me raise these kids?  Because last time I heard, you didn't want anything to do with me or my kids."

        "You're still in love with me.  You have to be."

        "I have to be?  What, is there some law?"

        "I know you, Kowalski."

        "Is that the deal?  You want to have it both ways?  You don't have to put up with me but you still keep me in love with you?  You get to date pretty little Italian girls and keep me on the side all devoted just waiting for you to give me a screw when your girlfriends won't put out?  Because they're good little Catholic girls and I'm just your blonde whore, I'm the one who loves you, I'm the one you fuck, they're the ones you marry?  I'm not that fucking pathetic, Vecchio.  I won't be anymore."

        "Jesus, Stanley."

        Vecchio looked so shocked that Ray just laughed.  Laughter was entirely inappropriate, and he was trying hard to stay mad, but Vecchio just looked absolutely shocked, comically so.  Shocked enough to call him Stanley, and that was pretty shocked.

        "What the Hell is so funny?" Vecchio asked.

        "You look," and Ray collapsed into laughter again.

        "I don't care how I look, what did you just say?  You think I want to have you on the side?"

        "Problem is, Vecchio, I don't do side dish duty real well.  Not when we're supposed to be married."

        "We are married."

        "You left."

        "I'm here."

        "No you're not.  You left.  That's it.  You made your decision, I'm just accepting what's already done."

        "We're married.  You're my husband."

        "If I'm your husband you'll live with me and raise my kids and we'll stay together like real married people.  We were real married people, we are real married people.  You can't say that, oh, it's a gay marriage, we're both guys, the rules don't count for us.  This marriage is a real marriage.  If you want to say that we're married, you're going to have to be married.  To me."

        "I understand that, Kowalski."

        "So?"

        "So?"

        "Are we married for good or divorced for real?"

        "Where's your ring?"

        "Answer my question."

        "We need to move closer to my family.  We can't move in with them, not if you - - if we are getting seven kids at a time.  But we need to be closer."

        Maybe he could still get Renee Funicello to baby-sit.  "So you want to stay.  Live with me."

        "We're married.  You're my husband and my partner.  Of course we're going to be together.  Where's your ring?"

        "Turnbull has it."

        "What?"

        "Turnbull-"

        "I heard you the first time, Raymond.  Stay here with the kids."

        "You can't go over there now.  They'll be asleep."

        "Not this early."  Vecchio kissed him, fast and deep.