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ds_flashfictionI pilfered all the good ideas in this from a bit in another ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ds_flashfiction story I betaed for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
calathea. She eventually decided to cut the bit (see her lovely flashfiction here) and was gracious enough to allow me to putter around in her sandbox.
Uh, public apologies tocalathea for taking her bit from a Fraser/Kowalski story and turning it into Fraser/Vecchio. Alas, I have no manners.
Thanks tosprat, calathea, and lynnmonster for beta. No, you wouldn't think something this small needed three of 'em, but there you are.
Ice Storm
For weeks after he left the hospital, he deliberately avoided the streets where he had first seen her, Chicago's well-appointed mile of fashionable hotels and clothing stores. He avoided his apartment as well, where the best--and worst--of the memories lingered. As soon as he was able, he occupied his time taking long walks with Diefenbaker, and let the icy wind cut sharply across his face, his boots sinking deep into the heavy, damp snow.
There were those occasions when Ray bullied him into dinner with the Vecchios, and watched him from across the table with worried eyes. Fraser shouldered his way through the small talk, complimented Francesca on each new dress, and escaped as soon as it was courteous.
The nights passed, and if he occasionally flinched at the glimpse of a dark haired woman on the street, well, perhaps that was part of his penance.
***
It was a major case and Ray had been excited to receive the assignment: a series of jewelry heists, well-executed raids on the larger establishments known for the quality of the gems they sold. It was high profile as well, a chance to be in the spotlight, the kind of thing Ray enjoyed. Fraser kept to the background, although he helped Ray interview witnesses and review the police reports. He stayed late at Ray's desk, discussing the various avenues of investigation, drinking tea while he listened to Ray complain about the quality of the coffee in the break-room machine.
He studied the pictures from the latest crime scene. The robbery had occurred just around the block from the hotel where he'd left her that first night, before she came back to him filled with fire and heat and passion, and a terrible, ruthless anger.
"I'm sorry, Ray, I must go. I've forgotten an appointment."
"Benny, it's nine o'clock at night..."
"Good evening, Ray."
The days were growing longer but the nights still seemed cold.
***
There was a moment when everything seemed to freeze, everything and everyone--the men who were pointing guns at the clerks, the fear etched on the faces of the store's customers, Ray's in-drawn breath right behind him. A showcase that seemed to hover in mid-air, suspended between the act of tilting and the act of falling.
Then a woman screamed and the showcase toppled, exploding with a thunderous crash into a thousand brilliant pieces. A bright wave of shattered glass that sparkled as it spilled across the fine marble floor, like rain in the sunlight, or ice on a bright, clear day, or a handful of diamonds dancing across the snow drenched pavement of a train station. He heard Ray cursing behind him, heard the shouted warning and felt Ray push him out of the way, heard the sound of Ray's voice, angry and frustrated, yelling Freeze! Freeze! Freeze!
Later, when Ray pulled him through the pack of reporters, telling them to back off, he realized he couldn't really remember anything after that. Oh, he'd helped Ray apprehend the perpetrators--there was a new scuff on his boot and his uniform sleeve was torn--so he must have taken some sort of appropriate action. He remembered Ray trying to make himself heard over the babble of witnesses all wanting to tell their story, all of them more excited than hurt and eager to tell stories they would tell again to family, friends, and co-workers--and to the reporters outside, if they got lucky.
Ray pushed a cup of hot coffee into his hands and maneuvered him into the Riviera. Fraser clasped his hands around the styrofoam, shivering, while Ray held his own door for Diefenbaker. They pulled out sharply from the curb and drove for a while, away from the scene, away from downtown, to the edge of the park near Fraser's apartment. Ray pulled the car off to the side, setting the brake with a ferocity that Fraser knew had been there for some time, although he didn't really remember noticing it before.
"Ray..."
"Benny," and there was heat in Ray's voice, heat and anger and frustration and love, and Fraser flinched at the sudden rise in temperature. He opened his mouth to say stop, or wait, because he didn't think he could do this, but Ray wasn't stopping, Ray was touching his arm, running his hand over the torn sleeve, and whispering his name, Benny, Benny, Benny.
And then Ray kissed him, kissed him hard. He felt Ray's hand on the back of his neck, pulling him forward, and Ray's other hand on his shoulder, clenching and unclenching, as if Ray was afraid to hold on, afraid to let go. Ray's tongue flickered over his bottom lip and Fraser opened his mouth on a gasp, and then Ray was there again, filling Fraser's mouth with his tongue and kissing him with all that heat and anger and frustration. Fraser could hear the sound of their breathing--it filled up the small space between them, fast and frantic, like the beating of his heart--and a sound like distant thunder, like the rush of water, spilling over ice floes breaking up in the spring.
He kissed back.
ds_flashfiction story I betaed for calathea. She eventually decided to cut the bit (see her lovely flashfiction here) and was gracious enough to allow me to putter around in her sandbox.Uh, public apologies to
calathea for taking her bit from a Fraser/Kowalski story and turning it into Fraser/Vecchio. Alas, I have no manners.Thanks to
sprat, calathea, and lynnmonster for beta. No, you wouldn't think something this small needed three of 'em, but there you are.Ice Storm
For weeks after he left the hospital, he deliberately avoided the streets where he had first seen her, Chicago's well-appointed mile of fashionable hotels and clothing stores. He avoided his apartment as well, where the best--and worst--of the memories lingered. As soon as he was able, he occupied his time taking long walks with Diefenbaker, and let the icy wind cut sharply across his face, his boots sinking deep into the heavy, damp snow.
There were those occasions when Ray bullied him into dinner with the Vecchios, and watched him from across the table with worried eyes. Fraser shouldered his way through the small talk, complimented Francesca on each new dress, and escaped as soon as it was courteous.
The nights passed, and if he occasionally flinched at the glimpse of a dark haired woman on the street, well, perhaps that was part of his penance.
***
It was a major case and Ray had been excited to receive the assignment: a series of jewelry heists, well-executed raids on the larger establishments known for the quality of the gems they sold. It was high profile as well, a chance to be in the spotlight, the kind of thing Ray enjoyed. Fraser kept to the background, although he helped Ray interview witnesses and review the police reports. He stayed late at Ray's desk, discussing the various avenues of investigation, drinking tea while he listened to Ray complain about the quality of the coffee in the break-room machine.
He studied the pictures from the latest crime scene. The robbery had occurred just around the block from the hotel where he'd left her that first night, before she came back to him filled with fire and heat and passion, and a terrible, ruthless anger.
"I'm sorry, Ray, I must go. I've forgotten an appointment."
"Benny, it's nine o'clock at night..."
"Good evening, Ray."
The days were growing longer but the nights still seemed cold.
***
There was a moment when everything seemed to freeze, everything and everyone--the men who were pointing guns at the clerks, the fear etched on the faces of the store's customers, Ray's in-drawn breath right behind him. A showcase that seemed to hover in mid-air, suspended between the act of tilting and the act of falling.
Then a woman screamed and the showcase toppled, exploding with a thunderous crash into a thousand brilliant pieces. A bright wave of shattered glass that sparkled as it spilled across the fine marble floor, like rain in the sunlight, or ice on a bright, clear day, or a handful of diamonds dancing across the snow drenched pavement of a train station. He heard Ray cursing behind him, heard the shouted warning and felt Ray push him out of the way, heard the sound of Ray's voice, angry and frustrated, yelling Freeze! Freeze! Freeze!
Later, when Ray pulled him through the pack of reporters, telling them to back off, he realized he couldn't really remember anything after that. Oh, he'd helped Ray apprehend the perpetrators--there was a new scuff on his boot and his uniform sleeve was torn--so he must have taken some sort of appropriate action. He remembered Ray trying to make himself heard over the babble of witnesses all wanting to tell their story, all of them more excited than hurt and eager to tell stories they would tell again to family, friends, and co-workers--and to the reporters outside, if they got lucky.
Ray pushed a cup of hot coffee into his hands and maneuvered him into the Riviera. Fraser clasped his hands around the styrofoam, shivering, while Ray held his own door for Diefenbaker. They pulled out sharply from the curb and drove for a while, away from the scene, away from downtown, to the edge of the park near Fraser's apartment. Ray pulled the car off to the side, setting the brake with a ferocity that Fraser knew had been there for some time, although he didn't really remember noticing it before.
"Ray..."
"Benny," and there was heat in Ray's voice, heat and anger and frustration and love, and Fraser flinched at the sudden rise in temperature. He opened his mouth to say stop, or wait, because he didn't think he could do this, but Ray wasn't stopping, Ray was touching his arm, running his hand over the torn sleeve, and whispering his name, Benny, Benny, Benny.
And then Ray kissed him, kissed him hard. He felt Ray's hand on the back of his neck, pulling him forward, and Ray's other hand on his shoulder, clenching and unclenching, as if Ray was afraid to hold on, afraid to let go. Ray's tongue flickered over his bottom lip and Fraser opened his mouth on a gasp, and then Ray was there again, filling Fraser's mouth with his tongue and kissing him with all that heat and anger and frustration. Fraser could hear the sound of their breathing--it filled up the small space between them, fast and frantic, like the beating of his heart--and a sound like distant thunder, like the rush of water, spilling over ice floes breaking up in the spring.
He kissed back.
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 08:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 02:46 am (UTC)Stop doing that to me, I beg you.
Heh. Yeah, right.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 02:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 09:45 pm (UTC)Even though I think this reads like it should be mostly about Fraser, there is a lot of it which seems to reveal how it's affected Ray as well, how it's still affecting him because it's still affecting Fraser.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 02:51 am (UTC)But yes, I think there's a whole 'nother Victoria story for Vecchio--one of the reasons I liked Ces' "Some Strange Prophecy" so much was that it postulated a scenario wherein Fraser could finally let go of Victoria--it was Vecchio who had to have his revenge. Very interesting.
Thanks for the comments!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 10:53 pm (UTC)::fails miserably::
::wants you to know the following things? entirely your fault:
no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 02:56 am (UTC)::g::
no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 06:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 04:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 08:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 08:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 07:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 08:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 08:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 08:41 am (UTC)Thank you for your lovely comments!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 08:47 am (UTC)One moment of confusion: I wasn't sure if you meant the wind and snow to be real or metaphorical. VS happens in summer; all the snow in it is imaginary. Is that the place where the snow here is, too? The magic realism place? Or did you mean it to be real snow?
Apologies if I'm just too clueless to get it.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 08:53 am (UTC)You're kidding.
Uhhh, nope. That was just one big fucking error. I could have sworn "Victoria's Secret" happend in winter. I am the clueless one!
Lesson learned--thanks for pointing that out. And thanks for the lovely comments!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 09:08 am (UTC)You know, it would only take a couple of clever stylistic tweaks to make your real snow into imaginary snow. (: I'm sure you can fix it, if you want to.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 11:45 am (UTC)*cringes*
Well done, by the way! I really liked this. (even though I'm no RayV fan!)
no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 01:27 pm (UTC)And this is absolutely not your fault! You were a beta--getting the Vecchio canon right is my job. And I knew the snow in "Victoria's Secret" was metaphorical but I still have a vivid memory of it being cold.
Anyway, I snuck a very quick peek at the show this afternoon and it appears to me that although it's certainly not snowing at that time of year, people are wearing coats and there are other indications that it's not warm. Frannie's in shorts but she's headed to Florida. So...I don't know. Seems to me from a quick glance that it's not summer, more like autumn.
And if it's already cold during the actual arc, then it could certainly be cold and snowy by the time of this story, which is set several weeks after the arc. Which may mean the image of diamonds falling onto the "snowy" train platform may be the only thing that needs attention--that platform was definitely dry, dry, dry.
I don't know--I have to sit down and actually watch the episode more closely--there may be other things that give it a more definite time stamp. But I don't feel quite so bad that I remembered it so vividly as being winter.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 11:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 01:31 pm (UTC)Thank you again for your services as beta--and thank you for your lovely comments!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 09:32 am (UTC)I have no lines. Really I dont. Because this?
I LOVED THIS FRASER/VECCHIO FIC YOU BIG BIG MEANIE.
Eh hem - now. Onto the comments.
The writing is this is *stellar*, babe. The details alone are perfect and chilling.
The nights passed, and if he occasionally flinched at the glimpse of a dark haired woman on the street, well, perhaps that was part of his penance.
God - just - yes. Because really, how hard must that have been to get over? How long would something like that take??
But this - this is where you killed me:
the showcase toppled, exploding with a thunderous crash into a thousand brilliant pieces. A bright wave of shattered glass that sparkled as it spilled across the fine marble floor, like rain in the sunlight, or ice on a bright, clear day, or a handful of diamonds dancing across the snow drenched pavement of a train station
Because the writing is just so exquisite and haunting and beautiful. I just - really, really love this.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 09:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 11:47 am (UTC)Fraser shouldered his way through the small talk, complimented Francesca on each new dress, and escaped as soon as it was courteous.
Gorgeous. :)
no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 12:43 pm (UTC)Interesting--that line went through a lot of beta debate. Different folks with different reactions. Gotta love the beta process. ::g::
no subject
Date: 2004-11-24 11:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-28 03:22 pm (UTC)Hmm. Let me see what I remember. I think the original line was pretty much the same as what was ultimately used. First beta objected to the use of the word "shouldered"--particularly when contrasted with the words "complimented" and "courteous" in the same line--"shouldered" coming across as less polite than the other two.
So I changed the word to "soldiered", thinking I had just chosen the wrong word to convey what I wanted to say--which was a stoic but on some level forceful pushing through an unpleasant task. Well, third beta didn't get to the story until later in the evening, so I told her not to read the first version and to beta the now second draft. However, she'd already read the first, so her beta often contrasted the two, telling me what changes she liked, and what changes she didn't like. She didn't like the change from "shouldered" to "soldiered"--so I asked her to tell me what the difference between the two words conveyed to her.
Her response was: I particularly liked "shouldered" because it brought to mind two different but effective images: (1) just the weight of it all, how difficult it is for Fraser -- that even friendly, loving conversation is the equivalent of heavy lifting for him; and (2) the mental picture of Fraser forcing his way through a snowstorm -- you know, that leaning-forward-and-pushing-against-the-wind kind of struggling.
Since this interpretation hit what I was trying to convey exactly on the head, I changed it back and that's how it got posted.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-28 04:27 pm (UTC)