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Safe As Houses, Thick As Thieves
for pearl_o
Author's Notes: Many thanks to the lovely people who aided with behind-the-scenes support, and to Aerye for betaing the early draft.
Warnings: The pairing is Ray Vecchio/Frannie Vecchio (as consenting adults). In addition, this story includes violent and disturbing content. (Please note that no Mounties or Kowalskis exist in this pre-series AU, and therefore were not harmed in any way.)
One Day
Vecchio and his partner approach the jeweler's, covering the alley while Munroe and Iscowitz go in the front.
Blam! A steel door slams open. Robinson shouts, "Stop, police!"
The suspect leaps down the steps and sprints for the line of parked delivery vans blocking the mouth of the alley. A moment later they're in pursuit, and Vecchio's registering details: it's a girl, not a guy; she has a small black gym bag in one hand and a large black gun in the other; she's slender, wearing a billowing navy windbreaker, her hair is long and dark, long enough to fly out behind her as she runs.
They take off in pursuit, Vecchio running like he isn't dressed for. A few feet behind him, he hears Robinson radioing the other team. Bright rings sparkle on all of her fingers as she darts past a dark delivery van. He runs, gun drawn; he runs, and is suddenly knocked off his feet, knocked flat, his wind gone. It's like he smashed chest-first into the business end of a battering ram—can't breathe, can't breathe, and God, is that blood? The world swerves left and lurches inside out as Robinson falls on him screaming, "Man down! Officer fucking down!" and shoves his fist inside Ray's chest.
He Opens His Eyes
The baby was born the week before young Raimondo turned eight. Maria was in kindergarten, and he was nervous. He couldn't remember much from when Maria was a baby, except for the crying and Pop yelling all the time and storming out. It had been Ray's job to watch Maria when Mama went to the bathroom or went out to check the mail and talk to Mrs. Rossi across the street, because she always came out to chat when Mama got the mail. And that was okay. Mostly Maria just lay there babbling while Ray crawled around her, racing his Matchbox cars around the edge of the blanket until Mama came back in and it was naptime.
Ray was in school when Mama went into labor. The school nurse came and pulled him out of class, and he was glad because the nun kept thwacking her pointer against the chalkboard in a way that made him jumpy. More jumpy. He was already worried because his pop wasn't being nice enough to Mama. He wasn't helping, even though everyone kept telling Ray that you always had to help a pregnant lady—you had to be an extra-special good boy and help her out, especially with Maria barely five and into everything.
Ray sat in the nurse's office and waited. It got to be such a long time that he started to think maybe they should just send him back to class, but finally his Aunt Maria showed up, mumbling something under her breath about Ray's good for nothing uncle, and took him with her to the hospital. And that's when he met Frannie, tiny, bright pink, and screaming bloody murder.
Years later, Ray liked to tease her that she hadn't changed a bit.
Ray helped. He got a couple of hours after school for homework and street games with the other kids his age, but then it was time for his ma to start dinner and he had to go in and help. He had to watch the girls and peel carrots and help. He was going to be man of the house when he grew up, and so he helped.
A lot of the time, that meant playing with baby toys and Barbie dolls in the girls' room, but later it meant pushing them on the swings and teaching Frannie to catch the big blue plastic ball Mama had gotten her from Kmart while Mama taught Maria to cook in the kitchen. Mostly, it meant keeping them out of the way when Pop got home.
The first time Pop backhanded him, Mama was just a second too late in getting there, crying out for Ray not to talk back and Pop not to hurt him. It hurt so much Ray could barely think, and if he hadn't already been sitting, he probably would've gone flying. It was ugly, afterwards, after Pop shoved Mama into the wall for yelling. Neither of them were talking, but the girls were screaming in terror, cringing back when Pop took a step their way. Ray had to do something, so he bit back his tears and picked Frannie up in his arms. He grabbed Maria by the hand, and hustled them all upstairs, as far away from Pop as they could get.
Once, in junior high, Ray went to confession and told the priest that he wished his pop was dead. The priest said he should be a good boy and stay out of his father's way. Then he gave him twenty Hail Mary's. After that, Ray only confessed about jerking off and being an asshole to kids at school.
The first time Ray's pop knocked him down so hard he couldn't get right back up again, Ray was ten. The bruise took two weeks to heal, but nobody said anything. Family business was family business, and by that time, Ray knew the score: his pop made the money, so he got to do whatever he wanted. A lot of the time, Ma got there in time, crying out, "You kids, is this how good children behave? Go to your rooms!" But not always.
Sometimes Aunt Maria came over with her new baby and her lips would get pinched when she saw Ray and there were bruises showing. But Aunt Maria had six kids to take care of and Ray didn't ever say anything; he just listened to Mama say, "We're fine, fine! Don't worry yourself about us. How many teeth does this one have now?"
Ray learned to duck. He was skinny and wily and growing like a weed. He got pretty good at twisting out of reach and sprinting for the stairs before his pop could get too many good shots in. Then after, Maria or Frannie would sneak down to the kitchen and get him a bag of ice.
Frannie's first memory was of lying under the Christmas tree when she was three years old, gazing up at the lights and shiny ornaments. The front door slammed and a small shower of fir needles came down in her face, someone started shouting, and the lights shone on just like always.
He doesn't know why he knows this, but he does.
When Maria turned ten she got her own room. Frannie, who was just starting kindergarten, had never slept in a room by herself before. As they moved all of Maria's things into the old guest room, Mama consoled Frannie, making a big production of how she was a big girl now, and Ray had always had his own room and Maria had, too, when she was little. So now it was Frannie's turn.
The first three nights, she cried herself to sleep. He knows this. He doesn't know how, but he does; he knows it like he lived it. She was okay for a week, until one night she had a nightmare and woke up scared to death. She went into Maria's room first and tried to wake her up, but Maria only mumbled in her sleep and rolled over. So then Frannie went to Ray's room and, clutching her stuffed pink bunny, climbed up into his bed.
He woke up fast when she bumped his arm, and she was glad. He knows this, knowing it is weird. Weirder still is seeing his skinny, pimply thirteen-year-old self through her eyes.
"Frannie?" he said, rolling up onto his elbow, "Frannie, what's wrong? What happened?"
"I had a bad dream," she warbled, already starting to sob. He sat up and rocked her until she stopped crying. She'd fallen fast asleep.
For a second, he thought about carrying her back to her bed, but his clock said it was two in the morning and he was tired, so he scooted over, pulled the covers over them both, and went to sleep.
In the morning, she woke up early, and he was dimly aware of her getting up to go to the bathroom. Afterwards, she padded back to her own room, and he went back to sleep. When his alarm finally went off, he woke up with her bunny held tight between his legs.
When he realized what it was, shame buried under his skin so that he could hardly eat breakfast. Ray watches, wondering, not remembering the morning at all.
They had this thing they did, having dinner out in a fancy restaurant, just the two of them, once or twice a month—it was like, theirs or something. For Frannie, if it was a choice between a date with a boy with pizza, Conan the Barbarian on videotape, and some clumsy groping on the couch, or else a night at Amoretti's with her brother? She chose Ray every time. Looking though her eyes, he likes what he sees. He's stronger, braver, smarter than he thinks he is, even better looking. For that matter, Frannie is, too.
Halfway through dinner, Ray got to the news, and Ray realizes what he's seeing happened four years back. "So, Lt. Kelly approved me to take the Detective's Exam," he said, and she squealed loud enough to get glares from other tables.
"That's so totally awesome!" she said, imagining what the kids at school would say when they found out her brother wasn't just some beat cop anymore, but a detective just like on Miami Vice.
Ray took a bite of his rigatoni and shrugged, but she could tell he was only playing nonchalant. She always could tell when he was trying to keep cool. He said, "I don't know. It's a lot of stuff to learn. A lot more than just pulling guys in on suspicion, you know?"
"You'll be great." She gave him a huge smile that he couldn't help returning. He started to chuckle. "You will," she repeated. "Trust me."
"Hope so," he said, and then asked about Maria and Tony and whether he was going to have to threaten bodily harm to get Tony to hurry up and propose. Then she had to tell him about their latest spat and totally forgot to ask him if he'd get to wear suits like Sonny Crockett.
Watching them, he's smiling. There's barely even any heartache at all.
When the waitress came, Ray said, "Hey, you want dessert? Let's get something, since we're kind of celebrating, right?"
"No, I'm stuffed." She'd gotten the lasagna again because she was still trying to figure what the Amoretti family recipe had in it that the Vecchio family recipe didn't.
Ray rolled his eyes. "Tiramisu. We'll share it," he said, and the waitress brought back a huge piece of cake covered in chocolate bark and steeped in enough brandy to smell across the table.
"God, heaven," Frannie said around her first bite.
Ray watched her face. He watches his amusement, and he can't believe he was ever actually that innocent. "Haven't found any in the city as good as they make it here," he said.
"Mmmh, totally."
Frannie blissed out on dessert for a few minutes, loving the way the flavors mingled and how the after-dinner coffee balanced the sweetness. Then Ray ruined it all by asking, "You still seeing that Enrico kid?"
Her spine went rigid and she nearly chipped a tooth on her coffee cup. "Sometimes," she said, making a dark face.
He gave her a matching look, one he knew she hated. "What do you mean 'sometimes'?"
"I mean like sometimes we go out," she said defensively. "It isn't serious." He raised his eyebrows and she stared back. "What is this, am I under arrest?"
"Don't be like that, I'm just asking. Can't a brother be concerned?"
"I can take care of myself, Ray."
"You're still my baby sister." And she is, still, his baby sister. He feels a twinge in his chest.
She sighed dramatically and took another bite, one with lots of chocolate on it. "What about you?" she asked. "You seeing anybody?"
He blushed and put his fork down.
"Oh my god, you are! Tell me!" she demanded, forgetting their argument completely. "Tell me everything!"
"No, it's too soon. We only just met and I don't even know if she likes me or not."
"Of course she likes you. Who wouldn't like you?"
He laughed. "All my exes?"
"Yeah, what do they know," she said, dismissing them with a wave of her fork. "Tell me."
He shook his head. "There's nothing to tell."
"Yet," she said emphatically.
He grinned and ducked his head. "Yet."
She smiled back. "Tell me her name, at least?"
It had been years since the last time Ray had really liked a girl—liked to the point of bringing one home for Sunday dinner and everything. That was before he started at the Academy, and she'd only lasted two thirds of the way through his rookie year before dropping him cold.
Ray took a breath and murmured, "Angie." He split the last bite of tiramisu in half with his fork, and said, "Eat up," taking his half.
"I hope it works out," Frannie said, and let the last bite melt on her tongue.
He watches her lips. Her tongue licks the last of the icing off her fork. Angie did that, too, but she was efficient, perfunctory. Frannie looks wanton. His chest really hurts. Angie hurts too much to think about.
One weekend the summer after Pop died, Ma loaded up the station wagon with Maria, Tony, and the rug-rats and headed down to Miami. Ray couldn't take vacation time, not with so many open cases on his desk, and any year he didn't have to go through another sweltering week of recrimination was a good one. Frannie begged off, too, pleading her class at the community college and her job at the mall.
She probably could've gotten free, but Ray didn't blame her for saying no. Her two-month marriage and annulment were still at the front of everyone's minds, even though it was all wrapped up six months ago.
It was nice having the house all quiet. Except for how it reminded Ray of the year he and Angie had the apartment. Things were rocky, what with Ma, Pop, Maria, Tony, their kids, and Frannie all sharing a roof, so they'd tried moving into a little one-bedroom, just the two of them. The break from squalling infants was great, but suddenly there wasn't anything else to hide behind. All the ways they were different were right out there in the open, and all her resentment over the Riv, their savings, where he thought their future was headed...he should've known.
Frannie made a roast. Dessert was chocolate pie, a gift from Mrs. Bellanti for feeding her cats the week she was in California visiting her daughter. It was good.
"Angie's is better," Frannie mumbled. Then she bit her lip and said, "Sorry, sorry. Pretend I didn't say anything."
Ray sighed. "No, you're right. It is."
"You miss her?"
"Sure." Ray got up and started clearing the table. "I mean, I don't miss the fights, but yeah, I loved her. Still do."
Frannie took her plate to the kitchen and turned on the tap to wash dishes. "I miss Mike," she said, when Ray came back with the rest.
"Are you serious?" he said. "Frannie, he wasn't worth the time of day!"
"Hello, I married him! And maybe it was a stupid thing to do, but he—"
"He wasn't good enough for you."
"He was nice to me," she said. "At least at first."
Ray bit his tongue. He put down the casserole dish and wrapped his arms around her. He can't take his eyes off the way their bodies fold together.
She held on for a minute, then stepped back, apparently not on the verge of bursting into tears after all. "I'm okay." She tested the water and let the hot run a little longer. "Put the leftovers in the fridge, okay?"
"I worry about you, you know," Ray said a few moments later, as he won his fight with the saran wrap.
"Yeah, you too."
"Angie," he mumbled, putting his arm around her waist and drawing her close. He went back to sleep.
In the morning, he woke up alone, not knowing he hadn't been.
A few nights later, he awoke to Frannie curled around his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Her right thumb was drawing circles over his heart.
"What's wrong?" he said, wide-awake and worried.
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. Dim light was filtering in through the curtains and from the nightlight on the landing. "Remember this? Remember how I used to crawl into bed with you when I couldn't sleep?"
"Yeah, I do," he said.
She put her head back down on his shoulder. "Most kids climb in with their parents, right? Did you, when you were little?"
"I went to Ma's side and she would get up. Pop never let any of us into their bed."
"What did Maria do?"
"Same thing. We got Ma and she would get up and come tuck us in."
"I never did that," Frannie murmured. "I was too afraid of Pop to go in their room."
"Yeah," Ray said, "I remember." He does.
She rose up on her elbow, and in the blink of an eye she was kissing him, and it was so strangely normal for a moment that all he could do was feel it. Then their childhood rushed up, him scooping her up and racing upstairs, climbing into their blanket fort, and reading her Cinderella while Pop thundered below. He jerked his head back. "Frannie—"
"Ray," she whispered, and kissed him again, harder, twisting her body so they were closer together. She tasted like toothpaste and she felt like home, even though she was skinnier than Angie. Something happened, like the world swerving sideways, and holding her in his arms was like hiding in the blanket fort together while Maria tended to Ma, praying Pop would walk out and never darken their door again.
He realized his hand was buried in her hair and he was kissing her back, learning her mouth with his tongue. She slid over, straddling him, and his hand automatically slid down her back, feeling her warmth through her nightshirt and panties. Her thigh was smooth as silk under his palm. She kissed harder, grinding against him, and his dick went from conflicted to ready-for-action fast enough to make him dizzy. And that—
"Jesus, Frannie, what—?" he said dully.
Catching his hands, she placed them on her hips, holding them there like Angie used to. "You and me against the world," she murmured.
Ray shut his eyes, and his dick twitched and strained against her; Ray can see him slip, lose his grip, and slide right off the edge. His heart aches, and, watching, he wonders if maybe he died and no one told him. Watching is like dj vu: her touch utterly familiar; his hunger piercing him, rending him into so many scattered pieces.
Frannie pulled back a little and traced cool fingers down his neck. She kissed his lips again softly, and he rubbed her back. She kissed him again and his hands slid up under her nightshirt, and god, her back was soft. Ray thought of all the nights of dinner at Amoretti's to catch up on the things they couldn't talk about at home—and she was rocking against him, he was thrusting up with his tongue. The two layers of cotton between them were getting hot and damp, and he knew the point of no return was long gone. Kissing her harder, he flipped her over, and together they fumbled for skin.
He knows what happens next. He woke up before she did, in the early dawn light. His stomach roiled at the sight of her naked skin and the marks he'd put on her neck, but he didn't move. He just stared at her. When she was a baby, he used to go in and watch her sleep in her crib. He didn't understand how a person could be so tiny and be fully there inside. But she was: she was always Frannie from the first time he saw her open her eyes.
Then he did get up.
He spent ten minutes heaving bile into the toilet, eyes streaming and stomach cramping in agonizing knots. He'd never even dreamed, not on his worst days, but now he'd—his baby sister.
Ray's chest hurts.
Flushing the toilet, he brushed his teeth and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like a crime victim, like a guy in shock; and there was a hickey on his shoulder, right above the collar bone.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, wondering what the hell had possessed her—possessed both of them—and then he had to grip the sink and swallow hard to keep from another round of dry heaves. His fingers smelled like pussy, like Frannie's—
He thinks, maybe, maybe...or maybe not. He remembers what Angie smelled and tasted like. That's what he remembers. Angie. He remembers Angie.
Ray turned on the shower and set it to scalding.
When he got out, Frannie wasn't in his room and her bedroom door was shut. He got dressed and knocked on her door.
"Frannie," he called when she didn't answer. He knocked harder. "Frannie, open up." Yesterday he would've just turned the knob, but that was yesterday.
She opened the door, finally, tears streaking her face. She was wearing her pink terrycloth bathrobe closed tight at the neck. She didn't say anything.
He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I'm going to make breakfast," he said in the most normal tone he could manage. "Eggs and toast okay with you?"
She blinked at him, then nodded.
He watches as Ray offered his hand and waited for her to take it. After hesitating for a second, she slid her palm into his. "What—?" she whispered.
He knows Ray was thinking, You and me against the world, kid, but he didn't say it. Ray squeezed her hand and waited until she squeezed back. He didn't even try to say what he'd come up with in the shower.
"Ray—" Two tears fell down her cheeks, and he had to steel himself to keep from pulling her to him, even though part of him really, really wanted to.
"Take a shower—it'll help. I'll have coffee on when you come down." He let go of her hand and took a step back. "Okay?"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry."
He took a breath and let it out slow. If he were really an ass, he'd let her shoulder it all; but what the hell kind of brother would he be if he did that? "What?" he said finally, his voice going rough, "You think I couldn't have stopped it if I'd really wanted to?"
Frannie stared for a moment, wide-eyed, and put her hand to her mouth. It hurts, God, he wants to kick himself so hard. Speechless, she turned and put the door between them.
Ray went downstairs and made breakfast. After more than an hour, Frannie finally showed up.
A few weeks later he asked her to Amoretti's, because they'd made it their habit and because he missed her. "Come on," he said, leaning against his doorsill, "you can tell me how things are at the mall."
"Ray..." She trailed off, biting her lip.
"Or we could go get burgers at Hal's. It doesn't have to be—"
"Damn it," Frannie said, pounding her fist on the banister.
"What?"
"Ma'll notice if we don't."
Ray shrugged. "She might. But...oh." He stopped, realizing what it probably looked like. "Frannie, hey, that's not what I meant. You know you don't have to."
"Don't be an idiot, of course I have to! What would we say?"
Ray let out a sigh. Christ, he was an idiot. "If you really—God, okay, if it's really too weird, it's fine. I'll just...I'll tell her it's an Angie-thing and I don't want to talk about it. She won't argue."
Frannie stared up at him. "You'd do that?"
"Of course I would, numbskull, what are brothers for?"
She arched an eyebrow.
"Yeah, don't answer that."
She snorted. He stood there, waiting, until he finally figured out her silence meant she was accepting his offer to lie to Ma, and all he could do was fold his arms and look down at his shoes, swallowing down his disappointment.
Then Ma called up the stairs, yelling for Frannie to come help with dinner. Frannie squeezed his arm as she passed, and was gone.
Ray didn't move. Seeing her fingers against his sleeve, he flashed to the memory of her fingers around his cock. She'd felt nothing at all like Angie, nothing.
He remembers Angie. Angie's a beat cop and built like it; he remembers how strong, how solid she was under him when they were married. Frannie's like a bird.
Listening to Frannie go downstairs, Ray thought maybe the guys at the station were right. A rebound—a hot, torrid rebound fling to take the sting out of getting divorced—might be right up his alley. Maybe Frannie would even do the same—they could have it in common.
But that meant someone else touching his baby sister. Bile rose in Ray's throat, but he shoved it back. He shoved it all back.
From the doorway of his room, he could see across the landing through Frannie's open door. In five steps, he could be surrounded by the scent of her, and just the idea sent a warm flush where it shouldn't. Her bed, her pillow.
Downstairs he heard kids squealing and Tony yelling encouragement. Ray took a deep breath and went down.
Ray's breath catches in his chest, and, looking down, he sees blood staining his shirt. He can taste copper in his throat. He looks around for a white light, an angel, even Pop's ghost, but there isn't a goddamned thing. Maria's oldest races up the stairs, passing him on the landing; she doesn't have any idea he's there.
On Somebody Else's Life
He opens his eyes and starts gasping for breath like a fish caught high on a beach. It feels like he's dying and if he's dying, he deserves it, and her hand is cool where it's caught his forearm, and wait, oh God, that can't—that can't be right.
"Mr. Vecchio, Mr. Vecchio, calm down and listen to me," the nurse says, chanting, soothing, wiping his forehead. "You're in the hospital, remember? You have sutures, Mr. Vecchio, you need to be easy with your breathing, easy now."
"Ray," Frannie says, petting his arm; there's a strange bright ring on each of her fingers. "Ray, it's going to be okay. You're going to be fine. Ray, can you hear me?"
"Now you're going right back to sleep," the nurse intones. "Sleep's the best thing for you. Be easy now."
"No, no," Ray mumbles, trying to focus.
"Everybody's coming back from Florida tomorrow," Frannie says, "but the doctor says you're going to be fine. The bullet missed everything important." Frannie pats his thigh with her other hand. She doesn't look right, he can't figure it out. "Ruined your good suit, though."
She squeezes his arm, stroking back and forth with her thumb. He sees a wide diamond bracelet sparkle in the light, and her hair's too long. Frannie hates her hair long.
Ray shuts his eyes tight. He doesn't understand what's going on. He needs his partner; his partner is real, solid. Everything's getting fuzzy and he tries and tries, but his mouth won't shape the word "Robinson". All that comes out is a raspy whisper: "bus...bus," and that isn't what he means at all.
"Hush now," the nurse says as the drugs catch the rug underneath him and pull. "Mr. Vecchio, you're going to be just fine."
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