The Words Unsaid, by Rae
Nov. 21st, 2004 03:19 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionI really didn't mean to do two, but at about 3am, Ray was poking at my brain.
F/K, post-CotW. Sometimes the words left unsaid are harder to live with than they are to leave behind. 924 words.
It's the middle of the night and the cabin is warm when Ray's mind drifts back to the ice field. There are logs crackling in the fireplace only three yards away and the sound of Fraser's breathing is coming from the opposite side, where Fraser's sleeping in his bedroll. The cabin doesn't actually have beds, but the heat alone is worth any size mattress.
They'd been traveling for weeks, getting really no closer to that reaching out hand than they were when they started, but Fraser was being nice, pretending, for Ray's sake. Two days ago, they came to some little village, with a name of five letters and six syllables. It was Ray who said "Stop, I've had enough," though those weren't really the words he used.
Close enough, though, and while Fraser maybe hadn't exactly said, "I think you've had enough as well," there was still a whole lot of relief and agreement in his, "Understood, Ray."
So now they've stopped and Ray has spent the last two nights staying up way too late. He's not as tired as he normally is, what with the whole having to move to survive aspect out of the way. They're on downtime, real downtime, like a real vacation. Except instead of playing tourist, Ray has been spending two nights too awake for too long thinking about ice and Fraser and where home is.
Somehow, though, Ray's mind has drifted back to the beginning of their adventure, when Fraser first told him about Franklin while they were stuck down one of those deep mine-freezers in the damn ice field. Now seems like a good time to remember it, when he's not cold and numb and facing imminent death.
Because for a couple of seconds, he and Fraser were staring each other and death in the face and the only thing in his head other than "I'm gonna die" were ABBA lyrics and the thought that that really wasn't the song he wanted playing at his funeral. Well, that, and the thought that dying with Fraser maybe wasn't the worse way to go, except for the whole he and Fraser were going to be dead part.
Ray's had those thoughts about dying with things unsaid and he's pretty much said everything to Stella he could ever say, except maybe she was right. Since he figures she knows that, she doesn't need him to tell her. There's a lot of stuff he'd like to say to Fraser, though, but Ray figures he could die without ever saying any of that and that'd be okay.
Except now they're not going to die, unless the cabin catches on fire, but Fraser was careful about it and it's all in the fireplace and that's just not fucking likely at the moment. So, dying isn't a problem. What is the problem is that Ray figures he's going to have to be living with all those things unsaid and he wishes, really wishes, he'd gotten around to saying it while down in that crevasse, because even though they lived, Fraser would have been too busy at the time to notice. Or so Ray likes to think.
Now, they've got all the time in the world, or at least until Fraser shoves Ray on a Chicago-bound plane, which could be days or weeks or, if Ray is really lucky, years. They've got all that time and Ray knows he can't live with those words, because he wasn't ever supposed to live with that much stuff unsaid.
At the moment, his best plan to get those words out is to shove Fraser down a hole and jump in after him and pretend they're going to die. If Ray is quick, he can spill everything before Fraser finds a way to get out and away again.
In the dark of night, Fraser is close and the ice fields, those ice fields, are far away. And everything Ray has to say is slowly choking him, and maybe he is about to die. Maybe it's time to get everything out before Fraser wakes up in the morning and finds Ray with a blue-purple-black face, unbreathing.
Ray sits up and climbs out from under the blanket he rolled into a few hours ago. He crawls his way across the floor, with the cold seeping through the wood, and leans over Fraser. "Frase? Fraser?" He's pretty sure Fraser woke up the first time he said his name, but he doesn't get a reply until the second one. And suddenly he's cold, and the wood is ice under his hands and through the material of the long johns covering his knees, and the words are gone. They're gone or wrong, or both, because what comes to Ray's mind are the lyrics to "Dancing Queen."
"Ray?" Fraser says, sitting up and making Ray lean back to avoid knocking their heads together. Except when Ray leans back Fraser leans even farther forward and Ray is pretty sure they're breathing the same air. "Are you okay?"
He's not. Suddenly, Ray can feel the warmth again and the ice disappears and there is nothing and somehow, he knows that by morning, he'll have convinced Fraser it's nothing because neither one of them is about to die.
"We should leave tomorrow. Keep going. To the hand," Ray manages finally. His voice is desperate even in his own ears and he can practically feel Fraser's frown.
All Fraser says though, with what sounds like relief and maybe, if Ray is lucky, hope, is, "Understood, Ray."
F/K, post-CotW. Sometimes the words left unsaid are harder to live with than they are to leave behind. 924 words.
It's the middle of the night and the cabin is warm when Ray's mind drifts back to the ice field. There are logs crackling in the fireplace only three yards away and the sound of Fraser's breathing is coming from the opposite side, where Fraser's sleeping in his bedroll. The cabin doesn't actually have beds, but the heat alone is worth any size mattress.
They'd been traveling for weeks, getting really no closer to that reaching out hand than they were when they started, but Fraser was being nice, pretending, for Ray's sake. Two days ago, they came to some little village, with a name of five letters and six syllables. It was Ray who said "Stop, I've had enough," though those weren't really the words he used.
Close enough, though, and while Fraser maybe hadn't exactly said, "I think you've had enough as well," there was still a whole lot of relief and agreement in his, "Understood, Ray."
So now they've stopped and Ray has spent the last two nights staying up way too late. He's not as tired as he normally is, what with the whole having to move to survive aspect out of the way. They're on downtime, real downtime, like a real vacation. Except instead of playing tourist, Ray has been spending two nights too awake for too long thinking about ice and Fraser and where home is.
Somehow, though, Ray's mind has drifted back to the beginning of their adventure, when Fraser first told him about Franklin while they were stuck down one of those deep mine-freezers in the damn ice field. Now seems like a good time to remember it, when he's not cold and numb and facing imminent death.
Because for a couple of seconds, he and Fraser were staring each other and death in the face and the only thing in his head other than "I'm gonna die" were ABBA lyrics and the thought that that really wasn't the song he wanted playing at his funeral. Well, that, and the thought that dying with Fraser maybe wasn't the worse way to go, except for the whole he and Fraser were going to be dead part.
Ray's had those thoughts about dying with things unsaid and he's pretty much said everything to Stella he could ever say, except maybe she was right. Since he figures she knows that, she doesn't need him to tell her. There's a lot of stuff he'd like to say to Fraser, though, but Ray figures he could die without ever saying any of that and that'd be okay.
Except now they're not going to die, unless the cabin catches on fire, but Fraser was careful about it and it's all in the fireplace and that's just not fucking likely at the moment. So, dying isn't a problem. What is the problem is that Ray figures he's going to have to be living with all those things unsaid and he wishes, really wishes, he'd gotten around to saying it while down in that crevasse, because even though they lived, Fraser would have been too busy at the time to notice. Or so Ray likes to think.
Now, they've got all the time in the world, or at least until Fraser shoves Ray on a Chicago-bound plane, which could be days or weeks or, if Ray is really lucky, years. They've got all that time and Ray knows he can't live with those words, because he wasn't ever supposed to live with that much stuff unsaid.
At the moment, his best plan to get those words out is to shove Fraser down a hole and jump in after him and pretend they're going to die. If Ray is quick, he can spill everything before Fraser finds a way to get out and away again.
In the dark of night, Fraser is close and the ice fields, those ice fields, are far away. And everything Ray has to say is slowly choking him, and maybe he is about to die. Maybe it's time to get everything out before Fraser wakes up in the morning and finds Ray with a blue-purple-black face, unbreathing.
Ray sits up and climbs out from under the blanket he rolled into a few hours ago. He crawls his way across the floor, with the cold seeping through the wood, and leans over Fraser. "Frase? Fraser?" He's pretty sure Fraser woke up the first time he said his name, but he doesn't get a reply until the second one. And suddenly he's cold, and the wood is ice under his hands and through the material of the long johns covering his knees, and the words are gone. They're gone or wrong, or both, because what comes to Ray's mind are the lyrics to "Dancing Queen."
"Ray?" Fraser says, sitting up and making Ray lean back to avoid knocking their heads together. Except when Ray leans back Fraser leans even farther forward and Ray is pretty sure they're breathing the same air. "Are you okay?"
He's not. Suddenly, Ray can feel the warmth again and the ice disappears and there is nothing and somehow, he knows that by morning, he'll have convinced Fraser it's nothing because neither one of them is about to die.
"We should leave tomorrow. Keep going. To the hand," Ray manages finally. His voice is desperate even in his own ears and he can practically feel Fraser's frown.
All Fraser says though, with what sounds like relief and maybe, if Ray is lucky, hope, is, "Understood, Ray."
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 04:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 10:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 05:14 am (UTC)And suddenly he's cold, and the wood is ice under his hands and through the material of the long johns covering his knees, and the words are gone. They're gone or wrong, or both, because what comes to Ray's mind are the lyrics to "Dancing Queen."
But I sighed with relief, much like Fraser must have felt with that last sentence. Good story.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 10:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 05:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 10:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 09:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 10:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 02:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 02:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 08:02 pm (UTC)The idea that you have to be in a "special" situation of some kind to say important things resonated with me. I used to think that, then I finally realised you could say them any time and that waiting for the right occasion is a good way to ensure you never say them!
There's a lot of stuff he'd like to say to Fraser, though, but Ray figures he could die without ever saying any of that and that'd be okay.
This part is a bit unclear to me. It *wouldn't* be OK, would it? You go on to explain that Ray wishes he'd said those things in the crevice, and that he doesn't think he can live with the words unsaid.
I really like the ending, with Ray's few words having a much deeper meaning.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 09:25 pm (UTC)But to have to live with a secret like that, to have to deal every day with his feelings unspoken... that would be so much more difficult because then he has to face the decision of not speaking every day. So yeah. Sometimes it's easier to die with things unsaid than to live with those things still locked inside.
It made sense at the time, at least. *dies*
I'm glad you liked it, though. I think, if I should ever pick this up and extend it, that Ray's realization will be much the same as yours: that the words have to be spoken, whether all the requisite conditions are met or not. One of these days, Ray will get those words out.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 11:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 11:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 10:42 am (UTC)And suddenly he's cold, and the wood is ice under his hands and through the material of the long johns covering his knees, and the words are gone. They're gone or wrong, or both, because what comes to Ray's mind are the lyrics to "Dancing Queen."
Wonderful writing - I especially loved this last bit. Thanks so much for writing and posting!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 12:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 12:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 02:37 pm (UTC)I'm glad you like it and that it was so vivid for you. ^__^ I was listening to ABBA at the time, and it was a toss-up between "Dancing Queen" or "Take a Chance on Me." The former was definitely the least romantic of the two, and therefore, the least likely to be helpful.