ds_flashfiction | Easier Than Finding Rocks, by eli

elishavah.livejournal.com posting in

New year, new fandom. An attempt, at least, but I figure I need to make the jump sometime. And also

cesperanza somehow tracked down my "What am I doing?" post and gave me a push. So...hi.

1,157 words for the "ink" challenge, PG-13, basic beta by

minnow1212.

Easier Than Finding Rocks

Ray's never been real good at taking notes. Teachers couldn't drill it into him; lieutenants failed a little less. He's missing some link, some piece, some thing, whatever, it's not there. All those times he's had to, though -- suck it up, do it, or get slapped with herding traffic times -- those times have taught him something he's betting no one ever would've bothered telling him. Something important, that maybe you have to learn on the fly: This is a city where even your mouth'll freeze shut one winter if you don't keep it moving, and you sure as hell aren't going to be writing anything out in it if all you've got is a Chicago PD-issue pen.

So of course he laughs when Fraser hands him one.

"What, you kidding?"

Fraser's eyebrows shoot up. "Why would I be kidding, Ray?"

The pen is out there between them, hovering above the broken bottle that's sprayed green glass and piss-yellow beer all over. That bottle just missed little Ricardo's head ten minutes ago. No big deal. They were walking, Fraser took off running. Welcome to Tuesday. But now they're standing on a street corner and Ray's in danger of losing important body parts to the really fucking cold for that no big deal. So the old guy over bonding with the kid's mom is a nutcase -- open window, dead of December, not Canadian, that says it all to Ray -- so what? He didn't mean to do it. Ray hadn't even needed to haul him down after Fraser snatched the kid out of the drop zone. And how Fraser knows what a half-empty bottle falling from four floors up sounds like, that's something they'll be discussing later. Maybe while standing knee-deep in a snowbank.

None of that's the point now, though. The point right now, right here, is the blue ballpoint, cap off, that Fraser's holding out like he's only looking to be helpful, not a smile in sight.

Still, Ray blows into his curled hands again and jerks his chin at the thing with another short laugh. "Right, Fraser. Put it away. Joke over."

"You asked for something to write with -- demanded, actually -- and I offered you my pen," Fraser says, and he's beginning to get that Mountie-in-the-'hood look around the eyes, like the langauge isn't on his filter. Except Ray's speaking nothing but English, and a sharp head-shake doesn't rattle stuff back into normality. Never does with Fraser.

"Didn't ask for a pen. What I--"

"Well, no, Ray, but you didn't ask for any other particular writing implement, either."

Okay, back this circus up. Fraser interrupted. He interrupted and his eyes are narrowing. Ray sacrifices a hand to take a stab at that look, because there's none of that that's right.

"Hey, no getting snippy on me, Fraser. Icicles for fingers. That's me. You? You are the one insisting we get names and numbers from a freaking accident."

Fraser opens his mouth and Ray almost breaks his fingers curling them so he can point and say "Ngt!" because it's a good sound, an intimidating one...okay, also one that usually throws Fraser long enough to keep him from talking over a guy.

"Look," Ray says when Fraser finishes his blink, "just give me the pencil and go rescue your wolf from the kid."

Ray gets another quick blink, then Fraser twists to look at the six- or five- or however-old boy who's recovered just fine and is going in circles trying to catch Dief's tail for him.

"He doesn't need rescuing," Fraser says slowly as he turns back, frowning.

"And little Ricky doesn't need his head splitting open on the ice."

"Dief wouldn't let that happen." Fraser waves his hand absently back that direction, but his head is cocked and he's examining Ray like a compass that's suddenly pointing west. "I don't have a pencil, Ray. I wasn't aware that I was supposed to have one."

Okay, to hell with his fingers, his brain is frozen. Ray drops his head to stare at his feet. Nope, still on dry land. So, okay, he's not in the lake, he's just got a block of ice in his skull and the doctors are hmm-ing and he's going to be stuck behind glass and trotted out for show-and-tell every half hour for a dollar so moms can point and say, "See, this is why I tell you to wear a hat."

"--ay. Ray. Ray."

"Yeah, I hear ya," Ray mutters, and Fraser shuts up. Good. Because Fraser, man of cold and snow, mister prepared, super-Mountie...doesn't know to have a pencil when it drops from balmy to why-do-I-live-north-of-Jamaica.

Ray's frozen brain hurts.

He raises his head and half-heartedly glares at the source of the pain. "Way to screw with reality, Fraser."

All that gets him a quiet, almost-offended huff. "Because I don't have a pencil?"

Giving in to the begging of his fingers, Ray tucks his hands into his armpits and peers at Fraser's face, checking one last time for the hint, the cue that he can yell at Fraser for screwing with him. When it's twenty below livable is not the time to be playing with your partner's head. Not unless it involves snowballs.

"So what you're telling me is, all that tromping around in snow, sliding on ice, falling off glaciers, whatever it is you do, you never had a pen go dry without running out? Just stop working because it's that damn cold?"

Fraser's mouth opens, shuts. He shifts his feet -- anyone else, it'd be a fidget -- then settles again. "I...don't think I've ever had the occasion to use a pen in the field," he finally confesses.

"Not ever?" Ray asks, but the bell has rung, he's done for the day. Fraser could whack him with that parking meter there and he'd still be out of "surprised."

Fraser does his not-shrug thing and yep, thumb-to-eyebrow, all systems normal. Ray lets out a sigh as Fraser starts up.

"Messages and markers are usually best left using more permanent means of communication, such as a piece of cloth tied to a tree branch, or a series of rocks placed along a path. Of course, there are other options. Once I had to use the arm of--"

"Whoa!" Ray yanks his hands free and waves them frantically, stopping whatever possible story there is about arms that may or may not have still been attached to still-alive people. Not surprised, no. Grossed out? Oh yeah. "Jesus, Fraser, no bodies. I believe you."

Fraser raises his eyebrows just enough to be too much. "Thank you, Ray."

Ray snorts. "Right. Wanna try that without the smug?"

Fraser blinks at him, the absoute picture of innocence.

"Uh-huh." Ray just shakes his head and reaches out to pull Fraser around to face the music. "Pencil, Frase. Trust me on this. Hell of a lot lighter than rocks."

##

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

merelyn.livejournal.com

I really like this. I think you've got Ray's voice and the wacky-ass feel of the show down perfectly. :) This was my favorite line:

"Not ever?" Ray asks, but the bell has rung, he's done for the day. Fraser could whack him with that parking meter there and he'd still be out of "surprised."

Teehee. Great Job!

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Easier Than Finding Rocks, by eli

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