Dear Benny,

this is stupid, I can't believe I'm doing this. It's not like I can ever send it, I can't even save it for you to read later. But well...

I wish it hadn't ended like that, you know? I mean, I know it didn't end, we're still friends... best friends. (And how many best friends have you had? Do they all end up going mad and risking their lives like this?) I just wish... well, that I could have been there to meet you at the station, that things could have carried on, the same old, same old way.

But you know, you do something to people. You did something to me. They'd never have come to me with this assignment before I met you. Hell, I was so sick of the job, I mightn't even have been a cop now if you hadn't come onto the scene. And made it interesting again, made me care again. So... thank you. Even if it does mean I'm as crazy as you are, and probably going to die in the desert.

Oh yeah, by the way, I have gone crazy. You should see me these days... did I ever tell you about my old man? Well, yes, I know I did, that he was a bit of a … well, never mind. What I mean is, did I ever tell you the old man comes and visits me sometimes? Sits there and calls me names. At least a ghost can't hit you, but then again, goes both ways. I can't hit him either, and the old bastard deserves it. I don't know why I think that's your fault though, me being haunted. It's another thing never would have happened before I met you. Crazy rubs off.

And you know something else crazy... do you know how damn exciting it was, just now, to write the word “cop”? If anyone saw this, I'd be dead. Sleeping with the fishes. Not that there are many fishes in the desert. I don't know what I'm playing at, why I'm writing this.

Just to say... well, thank you. For making it interesting, for being my friend, even if it does mean I'm going to wind up dead, or kneecapped, or back in a straight jacket stuck in a rubber room. (And wasn't that fun?)

Well, I don't know why I did this, why I bothered to write. The sun is rising over the desert, and Nero's going to be bringing me my breakfast tray... buttermilk for my incipient ulcer. That one's not your fault... that's all down the the FBI and having to be Armando. But still, I've developed a taste for buttermilk.

So, yeah... Nero will be up soon, and I have to burn this damn thing. You'll never get to read it, and I don't know why I wrote it in the first place.

Just to say thank you, I guess. Thank you for being crazy, thank you for dragging me into all kinds of crazy shit.

And... yeah. I hope I get through this. I hope to see you soon.

Ray
...


Fraser wakes to the smell of something burning, and for a moment thinks of performance arsonists, then of Ray's riv on fire. And thinking of Ray he gets up off his bed roll, stands in the middle of his office floor. He looks around, but the smell of burning is fading.

The sun is coming up, and for a moment he has the crazy idea that if he opened his closet right now, he wouldn't step into his father's office, but into... a desert, perhaps. Some warm, and empty, and very lonely place. And that Ray might be there.

He looks at the closet door, but he doesn't open it. The smell of burning paper fades, and he starts his morning ablutions. Gets ready for work, ready to meet his other Ray.

Somewhere in the desert Ray Vecchio has put on his Armando face, is drinking buttermilk, and preparing for the day.

Indeed... "Get in the closet Benny!"

I explored that idea in a little more detail in a short fanfic. It's multi chapter, but they're only in the nature of little flashfics, really. Pa Vecchio really is a piece of work. If you're interested, here's the link. http://archiveofourown.org/works/350480/chapters/570361 I'm still quite pleased with this one, for what I found out about Ray.