Safe

[kassrachel.livejournal.com]

It's not voyeurism, exactly. Fraser might be surprised he knows that word, but he knows it, and he thinks a lot about where exactly the line is. With voyeurism, you gotta be watching something...sexual, maybe. Something the guy doesn't want you to see. It's sneaky, right?

This isn't sneaky. All he's doing is watching Fraser sleep.

Which he isn't sure whether Fraser would let him do, if Fraser knew, but sometimes he gets a funny feeling in his chest that tells him Fraser would. Would say yes. To the watching. Or the whatever.

Ray doesn't really think about what that "whatever" means, but it makes his fingers tingle and his palms sweat. When he thinks about it. Which he isn't doing now.

They're in the car in the dark and Ray's got the binoculars and the shithead who's been selling hasn't moved a muscle up there, not as far as Ray can see, so there's probably not going to be a bust tonight: it's going to be a long, slow night shift.

And Fraser hasn't been sleeping right. He hasn't said so, but Ray can tell. Something's bothering him, something at the consulate maybe. There's shadows under his eyes, and sometimes in them, too.

So when his breathing evens and slows, and his shoulders slump just a fraction of an inch, Ray lowers the binocs and holds them in his lap, and tries to slow his breathing to match his partner's, and tilts his head to watch the steady rise and fall of Fraser's uniform. And if his palms sweat a little, and his heartbeat stutters, it's okay, because the binoculars are on a neck strap, and they won't fall.

And even if they fall, Ray knows they're safe. They’re fragile, but they won’t break.