Darkness Challenge - Wait Until Dark
Oct. 12th, 2003 09:40 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
chesamus.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionThis story was actually started during the cliche challenge, but I couldn’t figure out where it was going so I let it brew for a bit. 1117 words.
It was eerie, the way the glass-faced building flickered for the split second lightning burned across the sky. It was an amazing storm - I’d never seen a thunderstorm move through so fast.
Unfortunately, I'm going to have plenty of time to think about it, since I happen to be stuck in an elevator. And not just any elevator, but a glass elevator, about 30 stories up in the Thompson Center. I didn’t need my glasses to know power was out in more than this building.
“How much of downtown is affected, Frase?”
“It looks considerable, Ray. While my line of sight is limited from this venue, I’d say most of the city proper.”
I use my cell phone to check in with the precinct, then slide down the wall and sit on the floor with a thump. At least it's carpeted. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable - somehow I don’t think we’re going to be high on the priority list.”
Fraser joins me, more gracefully. “I’m sorry, Ray. If I hadn’t insisted on going tonight--”
“Yeah, that apology took about five seconds longer than I expected.” I grin, although Fraser probably can’t see it. “ I’m the one who suggested the show in the first place. Besides, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen any art that wasn’t a courtroom sketch.”
“It was a wonderful exhibit, wasn’t it, Ray? I hadn’t expected to see such a representative sampling of Canadian landscape artists on this side of the border.” Fraser starts babbling about post-modernistic romanticism or something. I just nod at what I figure to be the right times, in spite of the fact that it’s pretty likely he can’t see me do that either.
He finally winds down. I can feel him all along my right side, but he’s not touching me. Fraser doesn’t believe in “Public Displays of Affection,” even with only us stuck in this elevator that’s practically hanging in the sky. So I’m really surprised when I feel his hand reach over and slide down my arm until it’s right on top of mine.
See, me and Ben, we do a lot of talking in the dark. Daytime we’re cops, and we talk then, but mostly it’s about work stuff; perps and motives and evidence and which window we’re gonna have to jump out of, with the occasional conversation about food and what I should eat and what I shouldn’t feed to Dief. Cop talk is the way Ben and me solve most of our cases, because even though everyone else thinks we’re a couple of freaks, the way we can skip around a conversation lets me talk out what my gut is feeling. And it gives him time to sort it all out and make my cases okay for Welsh.
At home we talk more about food and dishes and whose turn it is to do the dishes and whether we should watch the curling or the nature show on turtles. Sometimes Dief tries to throw in his two cents, but I figure they’re Canadian cents and not worth as much as mine, so he gets outvoted.
During sex, we don’t talk much at all except for the occasional direction. “More” is always good, and “harder” makes me happy, but usually it’s just “Ray” or “Ben” or “God” or something. For someone who talks as much as he does, Ben ain’t much for going into those kind of details.
So, the only time we do any real talking is after the lights go off. Most times we fall asleep like guys do. Ben will spoon behind me and we just drift off. I love that, love that he likes to cuddle. I’m a pretty touchy feely kind of guy, and cuddling is one of my favorite things after sex.
Sometimes though, it’s different. Sometimes, he’ll roll on his back and tuck an arm behind his head. Then, like he’s maybe afraid I’ll pull away, he kinda reaches for my hand and just lays his on top. First time he did that, he told me about some guy named Steve he knew in high school. His hand didn’t shake, but I could tell he was nervous, like I would kick him out of bed for messing around in high school. So I told him about Gary and everything was cool.
Next time, the night I asked him to move in since he was practically living there anyway, he told me about Victoria Metcalf. I knew some of it, yeah. Vecchio briefed me on anyone who might be gunning for the Mountie before I took the gig. But Vecchio left a lot out to protect Ben, I guess, because most of it was completely new to me, and not what I expected at all. That time, Ben’s hand was shaking, all of him was. Even after he was done, and I held him until he was finished crying, I think he was still shaking inside. Took him a month to realize I was still serious about him moving in.
There were other times. I got to hear about Eric, and his mom and grandparents and his father’s ghost - he was great after that one, but it took me awhile before I could open my closet door without thinking about who might be living in there. I learned all about detachments and how he loved long patrols because the detachments were lonelier for him.
I heard all about Mr. Mustafi and other neighbors in his old building and how he tried to find them all after the building burned down to make sure they had places to stay. And how guilty he felt because there were two families he couldn’t find and make sure they were okay.
Some stories were great - the caribou, the boomerang, the otter. How he and Dief hooked up. How Dief decided to stay with him and how he sometimes thought Dief was the only friend he had until he met Ray Vecchio.
So now we’re in this glass elevator and he’s got the hand thing going. Could mean nothing, but like I said, Ben and PDAs do not mix. I don’t say anything. Figure he’s got something he needs to say and a time when he needs to say it, so I just try to relax and let him know it’s good.
Time passes and we just sit there in the dark. Finally, Ben slides his hand under mine and squeezes it tight, then pulls it up a little and holds it to his chest. I guess you don’t always need words to say some things.
I rest my head on his shoulder and we wait for the lights.
It was eerie, the way the glass-faced building flickered for the split second lightning burned across the sky. It was an amazing storm - I’d never seen a thunderstorm move through so fast.
Unfortunately, I'm going to have plenty of time to think about it, since I happen to be stuck in an elevator. And not just any elevator, but a glass elevator, about 30 stories up in the Thompson Center. I didn’t need my glasses to know power was out in more than this building.
“How much of downtown is affected, Frase?”
“It looks considerable, Ray. While my line of sight is limited from this venue, I’d say most of the city proper.”
I use my cell phone to check in with the precinct, then slide down the wall and sit on the floor with a thump. At least it's carpeted. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable - somehow I don’t think we’re going to be high on the priority list.”
Fraser joins me, more gracefully. “I’m sorry, Ray. If I hadn’t insisted on going tonight--”
“Yeah, that apology took about five seconds longer than I expected.” I grin, although Fraser probably can’t see it. “ I’m the one who suggested the show in the first place. Besides, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen any art that wasn’t a courtroom sketch.”
“It was a wonderful exhibit, wasn’t it, Ray? I hadn’t expected to see such a representative sampling of Canadian landscape artists on this side of the border.” Fraser starts babbling about post-modernistic romanticism or something. I just nod at what I figure to be the right times, in spite of the fact that it’s pretty likely he can’t see me do that either.
He finally winds down. I can feel him all along my right side, but he’s not touching me. Fraser doesn’t believe in “Public Displays of Affection,” even with only us stuck in this elevator that’s practically hanging in the sky. So I’m really surprised when I feel his hand reach over and slide down my arm until it’s right on top of mine.
See, me and Ben, we do a lot of talking in the dark. Daytime we’re cops, and we talk then, but mostly it’s about work stuff; perps and motives and evidence and which window we’re gonna have to jump out of, with the occasional conversation about food and what I should eat and what I shouldn’t feed to Dief. Cop talk is the way Ben and me solve most of our cases, because even though everyone else thinks we’re a couple of freaks, the way we can skip around a conversation lets me talk out what my gut is feeling. And it gives him time to sort it all out and make my cases okay for Welsh.
At home we talk more about food and dishes and whose turn it is to do the dishes and whether we should watch the curling or the nature show on turtles. Sometimes Dief tries to throw in his two cents, but I figure they’re Canadian cents and not worth as much as mine, so he gets outvoted.
During sex, we don’t talk much at all except for the occasional direction. “More” is always good, and “harder” makes me happy, but usually it’s just “Ray” or “Ben” or “God” or something. For someone who talks as much as he does, Ben ain’t much for going into those kind of details.
So, the only time we do any real talking is after the lights go off. Most times we fall asleep like guys do. Ben will spoon behind me and we just drift off. I love that, love that he likes to cuddle. I’m a pretty touchy feely kind of guy, and cuddling is one of my favorite things after sex.
Sometimes though, it’s different. Sometimes, he’ll roll on his back and tuck an arm behind his head. Then, like he’s maybe afraid I’ll pull away, he kinda reaches for my hand and just lays his on top. First time he did that, he told me about some guy named Steve he knew in high school. His hand didn’t shake, but I could tell he was nervous, like I would kick him out of bed for messing around in high school. So I told him about Gary and everything was cool.
Next time, the night I asked him to move in since he was practically living there anyway, he told me about Victoria Metcalf. I knew some of it, yeah. Vecchio briefed me on anyone who might be gunning for the Mountie before I took the gig. But Vecchio left a lot out to protect Ben, I guess, because most of it was completely new to me, and not what I expected at all. That time, Ben’s hand was shaking, all of him was. Even after he was done, and I held him until he was finished crying, I think he was still shaking inside. Took him a month to realize I was still serious about him moving in.
There were other times. I got to hear about Eric, and his mom and grandparents and his father’s ghost - he was great after that one, but it took me awhile before I could open my closet door without thinking about who might be living in there. I learned all about detachments and how he loved long patrols because the detachments were lonelier for him.
I heard all about Mr. Mustafi and other neighbors in his old building and how he tried to find them all after the building burned down to make sure they had places to stay. And how guilty he felt because there were two families he couldn’t find and make sure they were okay.
Some stories were great - the caribou, the boomerang, the otter. How he and Dief hooked up. How Dief decided to stay with him and how he sometimes thought Dief was the only friend he had until he met Ray Vecchio.
So now we’re in this glass elevator and he’s got the hand thing going. Could mean nothing, but like I said, Ben and PDAs do not mix. I don’t say anything. Figure he’s got something he needs to say and a time when he needs to say it, so I just try to relax and let him know it’s good.
Time passes and we just sit there in the dark. Finally, Ben slides his hand under mine and squeezes it tight, then pulls it up a little and holds it to his chest. I guess you don’t always need words to say some things.
I rest my head on his shoulder and we wait for the lights.
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no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 03:07 am (UTC)Sweet and nostalgic. That's about all the coherance I can give right now I'm afraid.
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Date: 2003-10-13 11:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 03:11 am (UTC)That made me giggle. And the ending was perfect. Beautiful job, Ches.
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Date: 2003-10-13 11:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 11:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 12:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 01:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 01:41 pm (UTC)I rest my head on his shoulder and we wait for the lights.
::sigh:: That was just lovely, Chesamus.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 02:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 02:07 pm (UTC)[I thought at first that they'd end up having hot, wild, monkey sex but I actually like this version better. Heh.]
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Date: 2003-10-13 02:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 02:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 02:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 02:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 04:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 05:11 pm (UTC)Fraser's gesture, pulling their linked hands to his chest, is so beautifully simple and speaks volumes without saying a word.
*sigh*
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Date: 2003-10-13 09:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-13 10:00 pm (UTC)Closet romantic, huh? This fandom sure spends a lot of time in those things. I have to admit to being one, too. Romance is good for the soul - whether it is romantic love, romantic adventure, etc.
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Date: 2003-10-13 11:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-14 02:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-15 04:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-15 12:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-15 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-16 10:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-28 06:51 am (UTC)*happysigh*
Signed,
a lurker who's been exploring the memories all day and LOVED your trasportation challenge stories
no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 03:00 am (UTC)And thanks for the comments on the transportation stories - they were some of my favorites.