ds_flashfiction | Transportation challenge

thehoyden.livejournal.com posting in

I've spent a lot of time on trains lately, so I knew where this one was going to be. Thanks to

harukami for the read-through. Title nicked from Strummer and Jones, who are the best part of my daily commute.

Train in Vain

I expect Ray to sit in the seat in front of me, or perhaps across the aisle. But to my surprise, he sits down next to me. There is no way to preserve any sort of polite distance, let alone angry distance, since the Chicago Transit Authority did not precisely design train seats to accomodate two men of our stature. The warmth of his body where is is companionably crammed against my own is reassuring on some basic level.

Ray is no longer tense with frustrated anger. I can feel his even breathing as his chest rises and falls against mine. In and out, in and out, a symbol of Ray's inward calm, even though his finger taps a restless beat against his knee. I wait for him.

"Look," he says finally, turning to meet my eyes. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

I nod cautiously, and take in a breath, prepared to apologize again for this morning's debacle.

He pokes me in the shoulder. "And don't go saying you're sorry again, either. 'Cause it wasn't your fault, not really. Just bad luck that you told me to turn down that alley."

"But I am sorry, Ray," I protest, guilt still gnawing away at me, the memory of Ray's horrified face still too fresh in my mind.

"Don't be sorry, be quiet," he says, an odd smile quirking his lips. I obediently shut my mouth. "Let a guy apologize, Fraser. Geez." His fingers wrap around my wrist, warm where they touch the skin below the cuff of my uniform. "I know I went off on you. It's just that, you know, it's new to me. Symbolic, kinda. But a good powerwash, and it'll be good as new. Okay?"

I nod, suddenly and pathetically grateful for this wonderful man, who learned how to apologize from the heart without resorting to the formulaic phrases I've internalized.

"Fraser, I'm serious. There's no way you could have known about the avocados."

The avocados. The terribly ripe avocados, spilled out across the alley we turned into while in pursuit of a suspect. Which promptly became a sort of instant guacomole under the tires of Ray's beloved Gran Turismo Omologato. The lack of traction meant that our suspect escaped us handily, and that Ray was forced to call a towing company, all the while bemoaning the undercarriage of his car.

There are still smudges of avocado puree on my boots. "May I take you out to lunch?" I ask him, although I know that apology is not my only motivation.

Ray's eyes meet mine again, and there's something there, something I hesitate to name. But I know that it means that disagreement does not equal separation. That Ray, for all of his quick, passionate temper, never threatens distance as the price to pay for arguments. I am free to be less than perfect, because Ray has never had a problem with telling me to make room for him when the shouting is over.

"I could go for Mexican," Ray says, deadpan.

"You're a contrary man," I tell him, trying to sound disapproving, when all I want to do is to grin like a fool at the wonderful joy of making up with him.

"Hey, we already have guacomole - I think we should go for the whole enchilada," Ray says, unrelenting, giving me the same grin I am trying to hide.

I groan at the pun, and Ray cackles a little.

"Seriously, though. I'm starving. We could go to Rosa's - you liked the flautas there, remember? And they have those really killer nacho plates..."

Ray continues to wax eloquently about the food that awaits us, and his hand has slid down to rest comfortably on top of mine. It occurs to me that maybe we both know our destination after all.

This is no train in vain. We'll get there in time.

(646 words)