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ds_flashfiction2004-11-16 12:02 am
what-we-seek.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_flashfiction2004-11-16 12:02 am
Entry tags:
"Ice" Challenge (by Brandi)
So I'm writing a lengthy Ghost!Caroline story, or trying to, at least, and researching canon references to her character, when I rediscover Fraser Sr.'s anecdote from "The Witness." For those of you that haven't seen that episode, part of it goes like this:
And because he's obviously going to be biased, I wrote Caroline's version of things:
"The thing is," said Caroline, in a carefully neutral tone that would've been interpreted as "Don't Fuck With Me" by anyone other than Bob Fraser, "I miss the desert."
With her unwavering gaze fixed on her husband's pale blue eyes, she tried to smile pleasantly. It came out as tight and close-lipped, almost a spasm, and anyone other than Bob Fraser would've been smart enough to feel wary.
She was, unfortunately, talking to none other than Bob Fraser, and therefore she knew from experience to steel herself against the least helpful suggestions any man could think of.
"Tell you what," he said cheerfully, spreading some mustard onto the bread for his sandwich. "I'll buy a bag of sand from the general store next time I take the dog sled into town. You can spread it out back, fence it in, make yourself a rock garden. Sit down in it, close your eyes, you'll feel right at home." He smiled at her enthusiastically, and then turned to slice some cheese.
"Yes, Robert," she said, and her voice was glacially smooth and cool. "I could do that. I could feel right at home sitting on dirt-covered ice in sub-zero temperatures while shaggy wolves licked at my frostbitten face. Or--" She paused to breathe for a moment, just to make sure she didn't scream the next time she opened her mouth. "Or I could just go home."
Bob turned to look at her, puzzled. The way he licked some stray mustard off his finger made her want to throw things at him. Everything he did these days, every small tic, seemed aimed to trigger some repressed violent streak in her being; just yesterday the shape of his lips as he pronounced the word "cauliflower" had driven her close to blind rage. Not that she'd mentioned it. Not that mentioning anything seemed to ever do her any good.
Across the room from her, her husband was now cutting into a tomato, and seemed vaguely bemused when he said, "Don't be silly, Caroline. We're already here."
She could have killed him. "I've been 'here' for three months now, Robert. 'Here' is a cabin with a three hundred and sixty degree view of the strip mine and a husband who's away half the time. I'm going crazy here, I can't take it here. I want to go home." Her voice was becoming clipped, so she paused again to reign in her emotions before finishing simply, "Back to Arizona."
He looked positively baffled. "Whatever for?"
“Whatever for?“ she repeated numbly. She mentally corrected her previous thought: she could, in fact, have killed him twice over. And in the face of his utterly clueless expression she gave in to the urge to just get it all over with, get it all out of her head and into the space between them. “To get away from this.” Gesticulating wildly, she let all the bitterness and loneliness she’d been keeping buried pour out of her: “To get away from the shacks, and the mining, and the lack of civilization, and the coal for that goddamn stove! To get away from one tiny, single, claustrophobic room!” Caroline couldn’t have stopped herself now if she’d tried. She felt possessed. “And the dogs! Let’s not forget the dogs, or the half million things named Nelson. Nelson, of all fucking things! And the emptiness and the cold and the ice, all this fucking ice, Robert, it’s everywhere, it covers everything! I feel like I’m-- I feel…”
She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until the weight of Bob’s hands on her shoulders surprised her into opening them. She hadn’t noticed him moving across the room, but now he was standing before her, concern creasing his features. Caroline, in an oddly detached way, noted to herself how much she hated it when that happened; it always made her imagine exactly what he would look like when he was old.
He was speaking to her, she could see his lips moving, but there didn’t seem to be any sound. She wondered if this was what Bob experienced whenever she spoke to him, this not-quite-communication, the impression of a dialogue that turned out to be just a shadow of the thing. She took the moment of surreal quietness to study his face, the increasingly urgent look in his eyes, the few stray gray hairs just barely noticeable above his left temple. I love you so much, Caroline thought, but I can’t stand the sight of you.
Caroline raised a hand and slowly, carefully moved it until it covered Bob’s silent, still-speaking mouth. He stopped talking and stared back at her, stricken. She felt horrible for thinking it, but finally, at last, she’d found a way to gain his undivided attention. All it took was the beginning of a full-on nervous breakdown.
When she opened her mouth, she fully intended to say, “We really need to talk, Robert.”
What came out instead was, “I’m just so unhappy, Bobby.” Tears began to well in her eyes, blurring his face, but she could feel him pull away from her hand and knew he must have looked lost. “I’m so sorry, Bobby. I thought I could do this for you, but I can’t.” Caroline had hated to cry in front of other people for all of her life, but she couldn’t help it this time. Her voice breaking, she tried to make him understand. “There was a person I thought I could be for you, but I can’t. I want to go home. I have to. I have to go home.” Then she couldn’t speak anymore, and she felt Bob gather her into his arms. She let him.
“Sweetheart,” he said. Her face was pressed into his chest. It made his voice sound far away.
Bob ran a hand up and down her back while she sobbed, and then she heard him say, “Do you really have to go all the way to the States? I can’t stand the thought that you might not come back to me.”
Caroline fisted her hands into his soft plaid shirt like she’d fall down if she let go. Breathing out unsteadily, she managed to say, “I can’t stand it either. But, Bobby, this place is killing me.” It was so much easier to talk while they were touching like this, when they were too close to really see each other. “I just don’t know what else to do.”
There was a pause, and then Bob replied pensively, “Maybe we could buy you a sun lamp.”
Caroline barked out a short, hysterical laugh. It was followed by another, and then another, until Bob had to support all her weight because she couldn’t stand up on her own, she was laughing so hard. If she hadn‘t already been crying, she would have started then. As she laughed, she felt something inside her, some dark hidden thing that had been growing taut and breakable for months now, relax just a little.
When she finally managed to pull herself together, she looked at her husband and shook her head at him slowly, wiping tears from her cheeks. He looked so forlorn and concerned, but not old at all to her now, except for his eyes, which seemed ancient. And she did love him. There was no denying she loved him.
“You are so fucking clueless,” she whispered affectionately, cupping the side of his face in her hand.
He smiled faintly. It was an old joke between them. “But you knew that before you married me,“ Bob said, his eyes worried.
“I know. I forget sometimes, though.” Caroline raised her other hand to Bob’s face, and they looked steadily at each other for a long moment. “I can’t ever remember what you’re like when it’s just me and the ice out here alone together.”
Bob took one of her hands in his own and pressed a kiss against her palm. “I’ll try to come home more often, sweetheart. And…” He paused. “We can sell the cabin. Move into town. So you wouldn’t be so… alone.” The last word seemed to hurt him.
“Promise you’ll try to get a job where you can be here with me all the time?” It wasn’t the first time she’d asked, but it was the first time she let herself request a yes or no answer.
“I promise to try,” Bob said. But his eyes, already sad, now looked defeated.
Caroline pressed her face back into his chest, and felt Bob’s arms cross behind her back. They stood together like that. Neither wanted to move, but neither knew what else to say.
Bob Fraser: “Ah, Fort Nelson. Your mother and I had a cabin. One bedroom with stove, and all the coal she could carry. And a three-hundred-sixty degree view of the strip mine.”
Fraser: “Sounds attractive.”
Bob Fraser: “Three months and your mother was a raving lunatic.”
And because he's obviously going to be biased, I wrote Caroline's version of things:
"The thing is," said Caroline, in a carefully neutral tone that would've been interpreted as "Don't Fuck With Me" by anyone other than Bob Fraser, "I miss the desert."
With her unwavering gaze fixed on her husband's pale blue eyes, she tried to smile pleasantly. It came out as tight and close-lipped, almost a spasm, and anyone other than Bob Fraser would've been smart enough to feel wary.
She was, unfortunately, talking to none other than Bob Fraser, and therefore she knew from experience to steel herself against the least helpful suggestions any man could think of.
"Tell you what," he said cheerfully, spreading some mustard onto the bread for his sandwich. "I'll buy a bag of sand from the general store next time I take the dog sled into town. You can spread it out back, fence it in, make yourself a rock garden. Sit down in it, close your eyes, you'll feel right at home." He smiled at her enthusiastically, and then turned to slice some cheese.
"Yes, Robert," she said, and her voice was glacially smooth and cool. "I could do that. I could feel right at home sitting on dirt-covered ice in sub-zero temperatures while shaggy wolves licked at my frostbitten face. Or--" She paused to breathe for a moment, just to make sure she didn't scream the next time she opened her mouth. "Or I could just go home."
Bob turned to look at her, puzzled. The way he licked some stray mustard off his finger made her want to throw things at him. Everything he did these days, every small tic, seemed aimed to trigger some repressed violent streak in her being; just yesterday the shape of his lips as he pronounced the word "cauliflower" had driven her close to blind rage. Not that she'd mentioned it. Not that mentioning anything seemed to ever do her any good.
Across the room from her, her husband was now cutting into a tomato, and seemed vaguely bemused when he said, "Don't be silly, Caroline. We're already here."
She could have killed him. "I've been 'here' for three months now, Robert. 'Here' is a cabin with a three hundred and sixty degree view of the strip mine and a husband who's away half the time. I'm going crazy here, I can't take it here. I want to go home." Her voice was becoming clipped, so she paused again to reign in her emotions before finishing simply, "Back to Arizona."
He looked positively baffled. "Whatever for?"
“Whatever for?“ she repeated numbly. She mentally corrected her previous thought: she could, in fact, have killed him twice over. And in the face of his utterly clueless expression she gave in to the urge to just get it all over with, get it all out of her head and into the space between them. “To get away from this.” Gesticulating wildly, she let all the bitterness and loneliness she’d been keeping buried pour out of her: “To get away from the shacks, and the mining, and the lack of civilization, and the coal for that goddamn stove! To get away from one tiny, single, claustrophobic room!” Caroline couldn’t have stopped herself now if she’d tried. She felt possessed. “And the dogs! Let’s not forget the dogs, or the half million things named Nelson. Nelson, of all fucking things! And the emptiness and the cold and the ice, all this fucking ice, Robert, it’s everywhere, it covers everything! I feel like I’m-- I feel…”
She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until the weight of Bob’s hands on her shoulders surprised her into opening them. She hadn’t noticed him moving across the room, but now he was standing before her, concern creasing his features. Caroline, in an oddly detached way, noted to herself how much she hated it when that happened; it always made her imagine exactly what he would look like when he was old.
He was speaking to her, she could see his lips moving, but there didn’t seem to be any sound. She wondered if this was what Bob experienced whenever she spoke to him, this not-quite-communication, the impression of a dialogue that turned out to be just a shadow of the thing. She took the moment of surreal quietness to study his face, the increasingly urgent look in his eyes, the few stray gray hairs just barely noticeable above his left temple. I love you so much, Caroline thought, but I can’t stand the sight of you.
Caroline raised a hand and slowly, carefully moved it until it covered Bob’s silent, still-speaking mouth. He stopped talking and stared back at her, stricken. She felt horrible for thinking it, but finally, at last, she’d found a way to gain his undivided attention. All it took was the beginning of a full-on nervous breakdown.
When she opened her mouth, she fully intended to say, “We really need to talk, Robert.”
What came out instead was, “I’m just so unhappy, Bobby.” Tears began to well in her eyes, blurring his face, but she could feel him pull away from her hand and knew he must have looked lost. “I’m so sorry, Bobby. I thought I could do this for you, but I can’t.” Caroline had hated to cry in front of other people for all of her life, but she couldn’t help it this time. Her voice breaking, she tried to make him understand. “There was a person I thought I could be for you, but I can’t. I want to go home. I have to. I have to go home.” Then she couldn’t speak anymore, and she felt Bob gather her into his arms. She let him.
“Sweetheart,” he said. Her face was pressed into his chest. It made his voice sound far away.
Bob ran a hand up and down her back while she sobbed, and then she heard him say, “Do you really have to go all the way to the States? I can’t stand the thought that you might not come back to me.”
Caroline fisted her hands into his soft plaid shirt like she’d fall down if she let go. Breathing out unsteadily, she managed to say, “I can’t stand it either. But, Bobby, this place is killing me.” It was so much easier to talk while they were touching like this, when they were too close to really see each other. “I just don’t know what else to do.”
There was a pause, and then Bob replied pensively, “Maybe we could buy you a sun lamp.”
Caroline barked out a short, hysterical laugh. It was followed by another, and then another, until Bob had to support all her weight because she couldn’t stand up on her own, she was laughing so hard. If she hadn‘t already been crying, she would have started then. As she laughed, she felt something inside her, some dark hidden thing that had been growing taut and breakable for months now, relax just a little.
When she finally managed to pull herself together, she looked at her husband and shook her head at him slowly, wiping tears from her cheeks. He looked so forlorn and concerned, but not old at all to her now, except for his eyes, which seemed ancient. And she did love him. There was no denying she loved him.
“You are so fucking clueless,” she whispered affectionately, cupping the side of his face in her hand.
He smiled faintly. It was an old joke between them. “But you knew that before you married me,“ Bob said, his eyes worried.
“I know. I forget sometimes, though.” Caroline raised her other hand to Bob’s face, and they looked steadily at each other for a long moment. “I can’t ever remember what you’re like when it’s just me and the ice out here alone together.”
Bob took one of her hands in his own and pressed a kiss against her palm. “I’ll try to come home more often, sweetheart. And…” He paused. “We can sell the cabin. Move into town. So you wouldn’t be so… alone.” The last word seemed to hurt him.
“Promise you’ll try to get a job where you can be here with me all the time?” It wasn’t the first time she’d asked, but it was the first time she let herself request a yes or no answer.
“I promise to try,” Bob said. But his eyes, already sad, now looked defeated.
Caroline pressed her face back into his chest, and felt Bob’s arms cross behind her back. They stood together like that. Neither wanted to move, but neither knew what else to say.
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Oh, this is fantastic. This is a relationship which so rarely draws fan attention, and when it does the attention tends to be either comic (Bob's a dunce!) or less nuanced than this (Bob's a jerk!). This story is heartbreaking and completely believable; I can understand how she married him, how they fail to understand each other, how much she loves him and how much she hates where she is...Really, really nice work, here. Thank you.
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I'm a little disappointed in the lack of exploration of Caroline's past/personality on the show. I mean, we didn't even learn how she died until the series finale...
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That's it. I'm in love with them, poor fools.
And Fraser's mother as an American. Well, well, well.
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Thanks for commenting. :)
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just yesterday the shape of his lips as he pronounced the word "cauliflower" had driven her close to blind rage.
because yes, yes, I have been exactly there. :)
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Bobby?
Re: Bobby?
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That's so very true and sad and kind of funny.
Good fic.
Want more of them.
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Loved this and will welcome more.