Shakespeare Challenge

[lamardeuse.livejournal.com]

I know, I suck. Wrapping Christmas presents took a lot longer than I thought it would, and then I was a little daunted by this one. Nothing much came to me, so I went with the obvious. Dark thoughts, hauntings and the nature of reality, the Bard in a nutshell. The last one should come tomorrow, though they seem to be getting longer every time, so I'm a little frightened.

If you missed the earlier bits, Head Trip I can be found here. From there you can go through the sections in order.







Head Trip V: Shakespeare
by lamardeuse


Okay.

Don't panic. Don't stroke out.

"You're awake," panted Ray. "Just relax. You're awake now."

Throwing off the sheet, Ray bounded to his feet and strode into the bathroom, shedding his boxers as he went. Fucking Chicago heat wave was messing with his head, creating a dream that felt way more real than any dream had a right to be.

Despite the bake-oven stuffiness of the darkened apartment, he shivered in spite of himself as he stepped under the stinging spray of the shower. The look in Fraser's eyes, raw and open as Gable's in that movie, still haunted him. Ray'd never seen him look like that before.

No. That was a lie.

He'd seen that look at the airport, when he turned back at the last minute. He promised himself he wouldn't do anything dumb, but he couldn't resist that, couldn't resist that one last glimpse of Fraser, and so at the door leading to the tarmac he'd turned back and seen the look Fraser had never intended him to see.

Raw. Open.

It scared the shit out of him, because he'd never seen the other man look quite that vulnerable. It was as though he'd stepped down off that pedestal and joined the rest of the human race, the rest of the slobs who wanted something so bad they could taste it.

And before Ray could think too hard about what that look meant, Fraser realized Ray was watching him, and it disappeared so quick that he was sure he'd imagined it.

So that was how his brain had created it. God, just like on the ship, when he'd gotten all worked up over that buddy breathing thing, convinced himself it meant more than it did. Was the history of their friendship, every look, every gesture, every touch, going to be served up in his dreams night after night?

Man. Might as well fill up the tub and drown himself, get it over with now.

"Oh, for heavens' sake, son, surely it's not as bad as all that."

"JESUS CHRIST!" Ray shoved back the shower curtain with one arm, revealing--

--a dead Mountie in his bathroom.

"JESUS CHRIST!" he yelled again, because it seemed like the right thing to do.

"There's no need for dramatics--"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BATHROOM!" Ray roared, because it was occurring to him that he was naked and there was a big puddle pooling on the floor, and if Mrs. Rafferty's ceiling leaked again he was going to be in the shit.

The old guy narrowed his eyes at Ray. "You're not going to end your sea of troubles in the next five minutes, I take it."

"NO!"

"Good." Fraser Sr. turned to leave, then turned back. "Because I've put a lot of effort into coming here."

"GET OUT!" Ray yelled.

"I'll wait for you to finish, then," the old guy said, and left.

Ray stood there, shaking, for a good five minutes, until the tepid water turned unbearably, ball-freezingly cold, and then he got mad, because if he was headed for a rubber room, he was damn well going to face it dry and with his clothes on. So he shut off the taps and climbed out of the tub and toweled off, then yanked open the door and shot the dead guy a look that said, I will punch you, on his way to his bedroom, where he put on a semi-clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

"Okay," he said, walking back into the living room and flinging himself on the couch. "You have exactly one minute to state your case, and then if you are not gone I will call the funny farm and tell them to send the truck for me."

"You're not making this easy," the old man--ghost--whatever--pouted.

"Let me try," Ray said, baring his teeth. "You're going to tell me you sent me that dream I just had. That you are here to convince me Fraser loves me, wants me, needs me, can't live without me."

"You've hit it right on the head, son!" Fraser Sr. crowed. "Good for you!"

"Not only that, you're going to get me to hop on the next plane to North Bufu, find Fraser and declare my undying devotion. Then, after a wet, passionate--"

"Well, ah," the old man interrupted, "no need to give me any more details than that. As long as you're both happy. So, you're convinced then?"

"Yeah, I'm convinced," Ray muttered. "Convinced I'm nuts." Leaning over the side of the couch, he picked up the phone.

"Wait!"

"Wait for what? I've finally done it. Stella didn't do it, working undercover until I forgot my own name didn't do it, oh no, that would've been too easy. No, I have to go over the deep end on account of a tight-assed--"

"I told you, no details--"

"--pemmican-eating, curling-watching Canadian Mountie freakazoid from a place that makes Chicago in January look like Tahiti." He shook his head, stabbed the 9 with his index finger.

"Before you do that, call him first."

Ray's hand stilled over the keypad.

"It's like, six a.m. Five his time, I think. Too early even for him."

"He's not asleep."

Ray scowled at him. "How the hell do you know that?"

The old man regarded him steadily. "You know it too."

Ray's heart tripped over itself in its race to escape from his chest.

"Dial the number, son," Fraser Sr. said gently.

Ray hung up, then began punching the keypad slowly, carefully.

Fraser picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

Ray nearly dropped the receiver.

"Hello?"

"It's, ah, it's me," he said, ending it with a chuckle that sounded stupid to his own ears. "Sorry to wake you up."

"I wasn't--that's...that's all right."

Ray's heart pounded against his ribs.

"How are you, Ray?"

"Fine. Good. I'm good." He tried to breathe in enough air, but it had disappeared from the room. "How you doin'?"

"I'm--well, thank you."

"They treatin' you good up there?"

"Not as well as I was treated in Chicago," Fraser said, and there was a smile in his voice, but it was a thin one.

"That bad, huh?"

The crack earned a chuckle. "It's horrible," Fraser said lightly.

Ray tried not to read anything into that. "So, ah, you liking the weather up there?"

"It's really quite beautiful here at this time of year. The tundra is covered with flowers. Though it was a little chilly tonight."

Ray frowned. "Windy?"

"No, it was unusually calm. Not a breath of wind."

Ray's fingers tightened on the receiver.

"Ray?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

Here. Here. You were never there.

"Ray, I--"

"Yeah?"

Over hundreds of miles of phone line, he could hear Fraser breathing. "It's--it's just odd that you called. Because, uh, that is, I was thinking of you earlier."

"Yeah, me too. That's why I called."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He was starting to sound like a broken record.

Ray, do you miss me?

Yeah.

Ray, do you love me?

Hell, yeah.

"--Ray. Ray."

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, sorry."

"I--I asked if there was a particular reason you called."

"Yeah, yeah, there was." Ray ignored the churning in his gut, the tightness of his skin. "You, ah, I don't suppose you got a copy of the tape from our going-away party, do you? The one at the station? 'Cause I tried to play my copy the other day, only the tape seems to be busted or something, and I can't get a picture."

"Yes, I have a tape of that. I'll be happy to make a copy of it and send it down to you."

Ray was amazed he could still speak, considering all the spit had suddenly left his mouth. "Great. Greatness. You still got my address?"

"Yes, Ray."

"Okay, good. I'll send you some sauerkraut or something, maybe a box of donuts for Dief, huh?"

Another chuckle, though this time Ray knew it was forced. "Sounds like a fair trade."

"Okay, well, I'll let you get some sleep. Talk to you later."

"Take care, Ray."

It took Ray three tries to hang up the phone. When the receiver finally slammed home, he
looked up at the old man and said, "Okay. You win."

Fraser Sr. shook his head. "No, lad. You both do."


*~*~*~*~*


O'Hare was pretty busy even at nine on a Sunday morning. Guys in business suits, women dragging efficient little plastic suitcases on wheels that looked like they could hold about half a toothbrush.

"Gate 56," the woman behind the counter said. "Is that all your luggage, sir?"

Ray stared at her for a second, completely zoned, then slung the duffel over his shoulder and onto the scale. He couldn't even remember what the hell he'd packed. "Yeah. Here."

"Thank you," she said, tagging it quickly and hauling it off the scale and onto the conveyor, then handing him his ticket. "Pre-boarding is in twenty minutes. Have a pleasant flight."

"Thanks," Ray murmured, and then he was moving, moving forward, trying like hell not to look back, not to think about how crazy this was. He changed planes in Edmonton; he could call Welsh from there. He'd used up most of his vacation time already, but he thought he still had a few days coming. Of course, Welsh was going to be kind of pissed about the short notice, but he couldn't help that.

He felt like he couldn't help anything. But maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad way to be.

"I'll leave you here, son."

Ray stopped and faced the old man. "Thanks. I think."

"You're welcome."

"Look, ah--I know you don't want details, but I just want you to know--he is more important to me than my life."

Fraser Sr.'s smile was full of understanding. "I knew that from the first. Take care of yourself, Yank. And remember this:

"If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumb'red here
While these visions did appear."

And with a wink, he was gone.

"Freak," Ray said affectionately. And without a backwards glance, he headed into his future.




(1713 words)


Next: Head Trip VI: Recipe