Written for Aerye. Revised and posted here 9/15/06. PG-13.
1. Vecchio.
They spent too much time behaving like schoolboys, always one-upping each other when they should've been touching each other instead. Fraser still wonders if Ray would've gone to Las Vegas at all if he'd only reached out, put his arms around Ray's body, pulled him close, and held him. He could've soothed Ray's nervous shoulders with the steady stroke of his hands, his lips not quite touching Ray's ear. He could've stepped back and said, "Goodnight, Ray," and taken his leave, leaving the choice in Ray's hands to pursue.
But that's hindsight won through two years with Ray Kowalski, and is therefore nothing more than an idle flight of fancy.
2. Smithbauer.
Their last night together, after finally freeing themselves of Ray Vecchio's presence, was both bittersweet and beautiful. Fraser should've followed.
He had sufficient leave accumulated. He could've taken a week and flown north. He considered it for days, for weeks, even. It wasn't easy for a man to start again from scratch, and Mark almost certainly would've been glad of a friendly face. In the end, however, simple cowardice won.
3. Metcalfe.
If given a second chance, he would not race out into the snow as if it were a typical search and rescue. Knowing what he does now, he would wait out the storm and thereby never meet her, never listen to her beautiful voice reciting "The Windhover", never hold her cold fingers in his warm mouth, never make love to her in sight of that steeple, and never shatter his first true partnership as Ray's bullet had done the bone it struck. He doesn't know if that would've stopped Ray going to Las Vegas, or even if the growing tension between them was inevitable. Perhaps it was all inevitable—and ineffable—like his new partner.
4. Thatcher.
Kissing Meg (for surely she was Meg then, rather than Inspector Thatcher) on the roof of the train was one of the most stunning and aesthetically invigorating moments of his life. The crisp air, the bright sun, the shocking red of their serge against the scenery…it was extraordinary. He would do it over again and again, and after the case was complete, he would show her and overwhelm her, and then finally be free of her misapprehension of whom he was willing to be.
5. Vecchio.
He saw it in a movie two years too late, and in point of fact he wasn't nearly courageous enough at the time to dare it, but what he should've done was consult her, in private, perhaps over a nice herbal tea, on the best way by which to woo her brother.
It might've been cruel, but not so cruel as allowing her to waste years of her life living on scraps of ill-founded hope, perpetuating a fantasy. If he'd done it early enough, Francesca might even have become a friend.