You know what I like about Canadians? They're real easy to elbow out of the way.

ooc: In response to this

Ray called in sick today. It wasn't a conscious decision, it wasn't even really a decision. He just woke up and knew he wouldn't be going to work. He's not ill, he's not tired, he's perfectly fit and healthy.

He spent last night trying to figure out the world. Why things happen, who they happen to, who gets to decide. He sat out on the porch with a hot chocolate that Maria had made and watched the houses opposite. He counted eleven lights going on and off, two cars that came home and heard too many bouts of yelling. Kids screaming, couples swearing blue murder, dog growling at the flickering trick of the moonlight that played across the trash cans. He would've watched the stars if it wasn't such a cliche.

He'd left a message for her in the vain hope that she might read it and at least remember he was still alive. The irony of that isn't lost on him. When she'd replied, he hadn't known what to think, knew only that he had to keep her talking, didn't know how long that would last before everything turned back to normal. Back to silence.

He's a cop. He prides himself on being able to figure people out, even if it takes longer than it should. But she confused him, completely and utterly until he felt himself shutting off, felt himself closing up because some part of his brain was telling him this, this, was worse than the silence. Not understanding was worse than knowing where he stood, even if he'd hated where he was standing.

He thought it was a joke. Didn't know which was the funny part to laugh at. He thought she was lying, that it was easier for her to say she didn't remember him so that he meant nothing to her. But she's not like that, he didn't think, she's not capable of something like that and the way she spoke to him...that wasn't meant to hurt, there was no malice or hatred, just mirrored confusion.

It only hurt when he realised he didn't mean anything to her, when he finally got that it was the truth. She didn't remember him, she doesn't remember a thing. He'd wished a thousand times over that he could start them again, that he could wipe out the last months and just...do it right. He never thought that would happen. He knew it was impossible and he thought, if he got the chance, he'd have to work his way back, through it all and put it right that way. Something he was scared to do but willing, nonetheless. Even if she didn't forgive him, he'd try, he had enough respect for her, them, to do everything he could.

Now there is nothing to forgive.

Arguments, dancing, the hurt, making love, the fit, the fit. It'd been easy and tough at the same time. Rough and smooth, good then bad, up then down, then up and up until there's only one way to go. Ray remembers it all. Every single day of it. He remembers the flights to New York, first conversation, Thanksgiving, New Year, January 7th. He remembers the phone calls, Barry White, waffles and calamari, the aggressive flirting that he meant, every grin, every kiss. He remembers the shock, the first time he'd said he wanted her, the second time, the third.

All of it.

Wiped out.

But he can remember it. He wrote it down today, just in case. He'd wanted so much to get rid of the bad. Hadn't planned on the good going with it.

My name's Ray. Vecchio. Not the other Ray. I mean, I am the other Ray since Ynez knew Kowalski first but uh...you know where I can find your daughter?

Great first impression. Really spot on. He sighs and scribbles it out. 

So...heard from your daughter recently?

Nah, that won't work.

...Good evening, sir, I was just wondering if Ynez left a forwarding address when she uh...left...town...

Aw, jeez.

Ray tears out the sheet of paper, screws it into a ball and makes the trash can first time. Always been great at basketball. Too bad those talents didn't stretch as far as holding onto women.

He knows she's in Mexico. He knows she made it to Mexico City. He knows she doesn't want to see him. It's just not enough to stop him. Seeing Ynez is the only way he can try to make things better. He has no clear plan on what he'll do - or say, for that matter - once he gets there, wherever she is, but he's not going to leave it like this.

Even if calling her father, a man he's never met (and truth be told, a man who scares him more than words can express) is the only way he can find her, then there's no question that he'll do it.

So his new plan. Go with the flow. Roll with the punches. Feel him out but tread oh-so-freaking-carefully.

So basically the only plan that's going to work, that's going to actually force him to pick up that phone, is...to have no plan at all. A man doesn't jump off a cliff with no parachute, expecting to fly. He hopes to fly. So Ray's jumping. And hoping he'll find his answer.

He shoves the note book away, takes a breath and picks up the phone. When he'd found her address in LA, so he could send flowers, he'd kept her number just in case. He'd never really expected that he'd need it. Or use it. Had thought all he'd have to do is call her anywhere and she'd answer.

Tried that. Got the sore throat from the dozens of messages he left. Failed.

Asking her father for help will be a blow to his pride, yeah. Like admitting he's not good enough to find her. But he's desperate, still desperate. His pride will have to take a run and jump. Off the cliff. Without a parachute. And hope to fly.

He dials quickly and pulls the phone to his ear.

Leave a message.

Right. Ray sighs. Great, leave another message. Fine. He could do this. He will do this until she picks up and speaks to him.

Hey, beep, wish I could say it's been a while b-

"Ynez, it's me...again. Just, please, just call me back? Or, I dunno, answer the phone next time? Y'can't keep ignoring me, okay, we gotta talk.

...

I am sorry, y'know. I made- okay, I made a lotta mistakes and I know I hurt ya but I nee-"

He sighs, even he wouldn't want to speak to himself after Sunday.

"I really wanna talk to you. Please."

He shuts his phone, shoves it in his back pocket and heads out the door for work.

In his lunch hour, he rings again. The beep starts to get annoying.

"I'm not gonna stop calling, Ynez. I warn ya. You're gonna have a hundred messages on here and then some if you don't pick up."

When he gets home, he hits redial but doesn't bring the mobile to his ear until after the beep. No way can he keep hearing that without hitting something.

"I'm not one for begging, Ynez. But would you believe me if I told ya that I'm on my knees right now? I dunno about you but I'm gettin' tired of listening to my own voice. Please, Ynez, for the sake of my knees.

He rubs his eyes and drops his chin.

"I'm sorry. Really sorry. I can't say that enough times, I know. But I really need to talk to you, see if I can...I dunno, just- explain, I guess. I said stupid, really, really stupid things and I didn't mean 'em but I - I said them anyway 'cause...

He sighs for the fiftieth time that day.

"-'cause I wasn't thinkin'. I wasn't- I was trying to - I made a mistake and I'm sorry.

...

I guess I'll uh, I'll speak to your answer machine tomorrow. It's real nice, you uh, you got a good beep. So...night, Ynez."