It begins when Annabelle starts dating, totally against Ray's permission but apparently with a blessing from Walt. "I wasn't dating boys at fifteen," Ray argued, totally reasonably, but apparently being a closet case isn't an excuse, according to mr. high and mighty, knew he was gay at twelve, cocksucking lips over there.
Ray can almost live with that, as long as he keeps an eye on the clocks, and the windows, and his phone every time she goes out, but it hits a point where she's been dating the same guy long enough that it's supposed to be polite to invite him over and interrogate him. Politely.
"When did she grow up?" Ray rails at Brad, an hour before they're supposed to come home. "Now she's got boys, and she just rolls her eyes when I talk," Ray says. "She's like you guys now!"
"She still likes me," Brad says, sounding smug.
That is totally because she has a big fat crush on Brad. Ray will never admit that he knows that, or tell Brad, because that's just awkward.
Ray sighs loudly at the phone.
"Do you want me to come over in uniform?" Brad asks. "And glare?"
"No," Ray says reluctantly, because he does, but he thinks Walt would give him one of those disappointed looks that make Ray's heart break a little, and Ray hates it when that happens.
"Call me if you need him killed," Brad says, and hangs up, leaving Ray to glare out the windows for the remaining hour, Walt staying back a safe distance to mock him. When they get there, Ray's up in his most manly, scary posture to open the door.
The kid's name is Jacob and he shakes their hands and he's very, very polite. Ray hates him immediately. Polite people are hiding things.
Ray glares at him and doesn't say a word, which leaves Walt to offer him a drink and show him the table and be all nice host, which is totally fake, Walt is totally faking and Ray hopes he knows he'll hate him forever for this.
Dinner is quiet for about two minutes before Ray cracks and rolls up his sleeves so his tattoos are more visible. "I was in the military," Ray says threateningly.
"Ray," Walt says.
"So was he," Ray says, gesturing at Walt. "He shot people. Lots of people."
"Ray," Walt says.
"They called me crazy eyes," Ray says.
"Okay, now you're just making things up," Walt says.
"They could have called me crazy eyes," Ray says.
The kid makes a noise. Ray thinks it's a stifled laugh, and oh, that kid is so totally dead. Ray will make Brad kill the shit out of him, because he doesn't have a permit for a gun, and Walt would probably frown on strangulation and then blue ball him or something.
And Ray really needs to stop basing all his decisions on whether they're going to get in the way of his sex life, but it's a totally legitimate concern, especially since Walt's blowjobs seem to continue to get better, and Ray isn't even sure how that's possible, but he is so glad he married those cocksucking lips.
"Crazy eyes," Ray repeats threateningly, then makes crazy eyes at the kid.
"Daddy, stop it," Annabelle says, sounding mortified. Good. She should know not to bring boys home ever because Ray will make crazy fucking eyes at them and make them cry. And not with laughter.
If the kid ever fucking stops laughing.
"Would you like some more potatoes, Jacob?" Walt asks politely, and Ray kicks him under the table, because Walt is not allowed to play good cop. There should only be bad cop and worse cop. Baddest cops on the fucking block. Brad should have pretended to be his husband for the day. The kid never would have come back.
"Thank you Mr., um," Jacob says, then looks awkwardly at Annabelle.
"Mr. Worst Nightmare," Ray says.
"Ray, I will make you go to your room," Walt says, and kicks him right back.
"Our room," Ray retorts. "Because we're gay. Big fucking gay military dudes. Got anything to say, Jacob?"
"Um," Jacob says. He isn't laughing anymore, but Walt's kicks are getting really vicious.
"Dad, please," Annabelle says, looking at Walt.
"You're grounded," Walt says to Ray.
Ray crosses his arms.
Walt raises an eyebrow.
Walt raises the other eyebrow.
Ray takes his plate and stomps to their room. Their. Their big fat gay room where Ray has to sit alone because Walt is busy being reasonable. He chews viciously at the potatoes.
Walt comes in sometime after Ray finishes dinner, kicks the bed in spite a few times, and then gets bored and opens one of Walt's books, perched on the bedside table.
"He seems nice," Walt says. "I let him go to Anna's room."
Ray stands up.
"With the door open," Walt says, and rolls his eyes at him.
"I should have let Brad come over," Ray mumbles miserably. Who knows what kids these days do? Open doors haven't stopped Ray and Walt from fucking. Ever. And maybe the future generation has gotten even more crafty. Craftier. Whatever the fuck the word is.
Walt wraps an arm around his shoulder. "You're an idiot," he says fondly.
"You're an idiot," Ray says, and then kicks the bed for effect.
They're silent for a moment. "Can I go check on them?" Ray asks.
"No," Walt says.
"But I just—" Ray says.
"No," Walt repeats.
Ray sighs and drops his head onto Walt's shoulder. "Who the fuck decided we should have kids?" he asks.
"That'd be you," Walt says, and then turns his face, presses his mouth against Ray's temple. "Idiot."
"I know," Ray says sadly. God, does he know.