AN: There you go, 3 chs of this week together.
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[1 week later]
The cemetery was empty. There were only birds, wind moving through the trees, and the faint sound of traffic far away, reminding him that the world kept moving whether he liked it or not.
Ray knelt in front of the headstone with a piece of cloth in one hand and a small bottle of cleaner in the other, taking his time as he worked in slow circles. He cleaned the stone the same way he did everything else that mattered, as if rushing might cause him to miss something important.
The name came into focus as the dust lifted.
Alicia Wells.
He brushed his thumb across the engraved letters once, gently. The stone was cool beneath his skin.
"Hey," he said quietly. "Sorry I took so long."
He sat back and took a deep breath. His jacket lay folded beside his bag on the grass. He had not brought flowers. Alicia used to say flowers were a scam, pretty for three days and dead by the fourth. She preferred food, or books, or bad coffee and worse jokes.
"I got him," Ray said. There was no anger in his voice, only a simple statement. "The monster is gone for real this time."
He stared at the ground for a moment before lifting his eyes to the headstone again.
"I know you do not need details. You never liked hearing about ugly things. You used to cover your ears and tell me to shut up whenever I got too serious." A small smile flickered across his face and faded just as quickly. "So I will spare you that part."
The wind picked up, and leaves skittered across the path behind him.
"There was this guy," Ray continued. "Not a good one, but not a monster either. He had a daughter. Five years old. Guess what's her name?"
He shook his head softly. "Yeah. Alicia."
Ray swallowed and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
"I took care of her," he said. "I found her a good family. Not perfect. No family ever is. But they are kind and stable, and they will protect her. I made sure she will never have to worry about money, about school, about college, about whatever she wants to do. It is all covered."
He tapped the stone lightly with two fingers, the way he used to tap the doorframe before leaving the apartment they had shared years ago.
"She will grow up safe and happy," he said. "She will still miss her dad. But she will have people there when she wakes up crying. I made sure of it."
Ray sat there for a long moment, his eyes unfocused.
"I think you would have liked her," he added. "She has that look, like she is already planning something. Probably trouble."
A breath slipped out of him that was almost a laugh.
"We had a little chat and I told her about you," he said with a little chuckle. "Yeah, yeah. Only the good parts and how strong you are... were..."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He did not open it. He only held it between his fingers.
"I kept my promise," he said. "All of them."
The words lingered in the air, simple and heavy.
"I know I am not perfect," Ray admitted. "I still do things my way. I still cross lines. I still scare people when I get quiet." He glanced down at his hands. "But I am trying not to let the worst parts of me run the show anymore."
He looked up at the headstone again.
"You do not have to worry," he said softly. "No more nightmares..."
Ray reached out and rested his palm flat against the stone.
"You can rest now," he said. "And don't worry about me, I'm doing great. Oh, I almost forgot." He opened his bag and took out a detective book, a pack of Cheetos, and a Sprite can. He placed them before the stone. "Don't stay up late..." He chuckled.
He stayed a little longer, until the sun dipped lower and the shadows stretched across the grass. He stood up and wiped the stone one last time, brushed away a leaf that had settled near the base, and stepped back.
He took his jacket and bag.
"See you later, sis," he said.
Then he turned and walked down the path without looking back.
...
[10 PM] [Bar]
Ray sat in a corner booth with his jacket tossed beside him, one foot hooked around the table leg. A half-empty glass rested in his hand. The alcohol buzz flickered and died within a minute or two, thanks to his healing factor, but he kept drinking anyway. Habit mattered more than the effect. The pause mattered more than anything.
The door opened.
Derek Morgan walked in. He walked to the bartender and ordered whiskey. He looked around the bar and saw Ray, drinking at the corner table. He ordered another glass of whiskey. Then he took the drinks and walked up to him.
Ray looked up.
"Hey, man," He said, lifting his glass in greeting. "It's been a while. Sit. How are you doing?"
Derek slid into the booth across from him. He pushed one of the glasses toward Ray and kept the other.
"I've been better," Derek said. His eyes stayed on Ray's face, reading it the same way he used to in interrogation rooms. "You?"
Ray shrugged. "Still breathing and annoying people."
Derek snorted despite himself, but the humor drained just as quickly.
He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. "Was it you?"
Ray laughed softly. "You've gotta be more specific than that," he said. "I've had a busy life."
Derek did not smile. "The factory," He said. "The bodies. Skinner disappearing off the face of the earth the same week without a trace."
Ray took a slow sip and set the glass down.
"You know how this goes," He said. "You ask a question like that, you're supposed to pretend you don't already have an answer."
Derek exhaled through his nose. "I don't need a confession. I need to know if I'm sitting across from the same guy I used to trust with my back."
Ray met his eyes. No jokes this time.
"'The same guy I used to trust with my back,' you say," He chuckled. "Well, can't say the same for you or the team, but I never stopped being that guy. Give me a call if you or the team ever need anything or any help... I'll be there regardless of our past. It's just that I stopped pretending the system always gets there in time."
Silence stretched between them, filled by bar noise. Laughter drifted in from the dartboard. A bottle shattered behind the counter.
Derek looked down at his drink. "You crossed a line."
Ray gave a side nod, once. "If you say so."
"You didn't leave any trace," Derek said. "There are no fingerprints or witnesses. None of the survivors are willing to talk."
"Funny thing about survivors," Ray replied. "They don't testify."
Derek looked after taking a sip. "People died."
"So did a lot of people who weren't supposed to," Ray said, calm and flat. "Not anymore."
Derek's jaw tightened. "You don't get to decide that."
Ray leaned back against the booth. "Neither did Skinner. Besides, you can't accuse me like that. Where are the proofs? If you got them, feel free to arrest me."
Derek stared at him for a long second, then looked away.
"We pulled kids out of cages, Ray," Derek said quietly. "Kids who will wake up screaming for the rest of their lives."
"I know," Ray said. "Therapy should help a bit, but the scar Skinner left will remain forever. That'll be on you and everyone at the BAU. If only you guys had listened to me back then..."
Derek closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, there was anger there, and something else. Relief he did not want to admit.
"Yeah, that's on us," Derek said with a heavy sigh. "But if this comes back around…"
"You worried about me?" Ray chuckled before taking another sip of his drink.
"Yeah, I'm worried that one day you'll go too far from where there'll be no turning back." Derek nodded.
They sat there a moment longer.
Then Derek picked up his glass and clinked it lightly against Ray's.
"This is me officially not asking any more questions," Derek said. "And you officially not telling me anything."
Ray smiled, real this time. Small, but real.
"Good talk," Ray said.
Derek stood. "Take care of yourself."
Ray watched him go.
Ray finished his drink and let the useless burn fade. He stared at the empty glass for a moment before standing.
"Time to start a new chapter..."
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