“Welcome to Canada” by laughingacademy
Feb. 6th, 2005 06:25 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionTitle/Author: “Welcome to Canada” by laughingacademy
Paring: gen, or possibly F/K
Rating: PG-13
Length: 700 words
Notes: For the ds_flashfiction “Neck(ing) Challenge.” Oh my god, I can’t believe I’ve succumbed to this cliché.
***
Ray leaned back against the driver’s-side window. Fraser was no longer in sight, having run—well, staggered fast—from the Goat to the consulate’s front door, which had slammed shut behind him, but Ray could still see the mountie in the passenger’s seat, ghost pale and wide-eyed behind the hand he’d clapped over his mouth.
“Nuts,” Ray said, and started the car. Okay. He’d do a little online research at the station, get some needed supplies, maybe eat, and then he was coming back to finally learn who was going crazy: him, Fraser, or the rest of the world.
But first he was going to go home and dig out a turtleneck so he wouldn’t have to explain the teeth marks on his neck.
*
A few hours later, Ray eased the door to Fraser’s office open as slowly and quietly as he could, peeked through the crack, and stopped breathing.
Fraser was on his back, white-knuckled, with a fair-haired man bent over him. Ray couldn’t see what was happening, but he could hear small, soft, wet noises and nearly inaudible groans. Then Fraser made a Nnnnnnn sound and the guy pulled away, wiped a smear of something dark off his chin, and laughed, a low, nasty little chuckle that drove the suspicion (hope?) that this was just some kinky role-play thing out of Ray’s mind. He drew his gun and kicked the door open.
“CHICAGO P.D., STEP AWAY FROM THE COT AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”
The guy leapt toward him, and Ray had a fleeting impression of eyes! and teeth! as he fired. The intruder stumbled backward but didn’t fall. Instead it shook his—its?—head, hissed, and sprang again. They hit the floor. Ray bucked fruitlessly against the iron grip, then swung his left arm into his attacker’s head, hard enough that the stoppered vial rubber-banded to his wrist shattered. There was a scream and a hissing noise, and then the crushing weight was gone as the assailant fell sideways and curled into a ball. The detective rolled to his feet, pulled the stake from the back of his pants, realized he’d lost the mallet somewhere, grabbed the telephone on Fraser’s desk (it was one of the old, big, heavy models, thank you God), kicked the sonovabitch in the head, straddled it, planted the stake in what he prayed was the right spot, and hammered it home with the phone.
Ray finally stopped when he realized he’d driven the stake all the way through the body. He dropped the telephone, distantly aware of some small cuts on his left hand and wrist, and knew that he was going to ache like hell once the adrenaline wore off.
“R-Ray?”
Ray managed to stand, stumbled to the light switch, flipped it on, and sagged against the wall, grateful for the support. “Hey, Frase.”
Fraser swung his feet off the cot, sat up, swayed, and then steadied, gazing at the thing on the floor. Ray watched too as it shriveled and crumbled and finally collapsed into a very dusty heap of clothes.
“Well, that’s one problem solved,” Ray said, mouth on automatic as his brain gibbered and ran in circles in his skull. Then he heard the choked sobs and rallied enough to make his way across the room (carefully circling the sad pile), pull Fraser into his arms, and make soothing noises while his friend shook and gasped and stammered.
“Oh God…heard h-him tell Dief n-not to move…thought I was dreaming…n-next morning, w-when I found Dief p-paralyzed…still didn’t realize…and it felt g-good, God help me…got dizzy, w-weaker…and then, in the car, w-when you asked what was wrong…t-tried to say…and I c-couldn’t…”
“So you showed me. Shhhh, it’s okay. Look, you get dressed and wait for me while I clean this up, okay? And tomorrow we’ll go pick Dief up from the vet. He should be fine now, right?”
“Yes, I h-hope so.”
“Sure he is. And after that, you’re staying with me until you find an apartment, got it? No way am I letting the Grade A free-range mountie spend another night someplace where everyone who comes in is told ‘welcome.’”
Fraser managed a shaky smile. “Understood.”
Paring: gen, or possibly F/K
Rating: PG-13
Length: 700 words
Notes: For the ds_flashfiction “Neck(ing) Challenge.” Oh my god, I can’t believe I’ve succumbed to this cliché.
***
Ray leaned back against the driver’s-side window. Fraser was no longer in sight, having run—well, staggered fast—from the Goat to the consulate’s front door, which had slammed shut behind him, but Ray could still see the mountie in the passenger’s seat, ghost pale and wide-eyed behind the hand he’d clapped over his mouth.
“Nuts,” Ray said, and started the car. Okay. He’d do a little online research at the station, get some needed supplies, maybe eat, and then he was coming back to finally learn who was going crazy: him, Fraser, or the rest of the world.
But first he was going to go home and dig out a turtleneck so he wouldn’t have to explain the teeth marks on his neck.
*
A few hours later, Ray eased the door to Fraser’s office open as slowly and quietly as he could, peeked through the crack, and stopped breathing.
Fraser was on his back, white-knuckled, with a fair-haired man bent over him. Ray couldn’t see what was happening, but he could hear small, soft, wet noises and nearly inaudible groans. Then Fraser made a Nnnnnnn sound and the guy pulled away, wiped a smear of something dark off his chin, and laughed, a low, nasty little chuckle that drove the suspicion (hope?) that this was just some kinky role-play thing out of Ray’s mind. He drew his gun and kicked the door open.
“CHICAGO P.D., STEP AWAY FROM THE COT AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”
The guy leapt toward him, and Ray had a fleeting impression of eyes! and teeth! as he fired. The intruder stumbled backward but didn’t fall. Instead it shook his—its?—head, hissed, and sprang again. They hit the floor. Ray bucked fruitlessly against the iron grip, then swung his left arm into his attacker’s head, hard enough that the stoppered vial rubber-banded to his wrist shattered. There was a scream and a hissing noise, and then the crushing weight was gone as the assailant fell sideways and curled into a ball. The detective rolled to his feet, pulled the stake from the back of his pants, realized he’d lost the mallet somewhere, grabbed the telephone on Fraser’s desk (it was one of the old, big, heavy models, thank you God), kicked the sonovabitch in the head, straddled it, planted the stake in what he prayed was the right spot, and hammered it home with the phone.
Ray finally stopped when he realized he’d driven the stake all the way through the body. He dropped the telephone, distantly aware of some small cuts on his left hand and wrist, and knew that he was going to ache like hell once the adrenaline wore off.
“R-Ray?”
Ray managed to stand, stumbled to the light switch, flipped it on, and sagged against the wall, grateful for the support. “Hey, Frase.”
Fraser swung his feet off the cot, sat up, swayed, and then steadied, gazing at the thing on the floor. Ray watched too as it shriveled and crumbled and finally collapsed into a very dusty heap of clothes.
“Well, that’s one problem solved,” Ray said, mouth on automatic as his brain gibbered and ran in circles in his skull. Then he heard the choked sobs and rallied enough to make his way across the room (carefully circling the sad pile), pull Fraser into his arms, and make soothing noises while his friend shook and gasped and stammered.
“Oh God…heard h-him tell Dief n-not to move…thought I was dreaming…n-next morning, w-when I found Dief p-paralyzed…still didn’t realize…and it felt g-good, God help me…got dizzy, w-weaker…and then, in the car, w-when you asked what was wrong…t-tried to say…and I c-couldn’t…”
“So you showed me. Shhhh, it’s okay. Look, you get dressed and wait for me while I clean this up, okay? And tomorrow we’ll go pick Dief up from the vet. He should be fine now, right?”
“Yes, I h-hope so.”
“Sure he is. And after that, you’re staying with me until you find an apartment, got it? No way am I letting the Grade A free-range mountie spend another night someplace where everyone who comes in is told ‘welcome.’”
Fraser managed a shaky smile. “Understood.”
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no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 12:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 06:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 12:31 am (UTC)Bwa! Ha! Ha! Ray the Slayer. Wonderful!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 06:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 12:55 am (UTC)(Funny!)
no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 06:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 02:28 am (UTC)Adored this and particularly this line:
“Well, that’s one problem solved,” Ray said, mouth on automatic as his brain gibbered and ran in circles in his skull.
He's having hysterics in his head, but Ray is still all over taking care of Fraser. I always enjoy stories where Ray is intelligent and competent too.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 06:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 07:53 am (UTC)That was an excellent detail. Those old, black plastic ones with the genuine dial were heavy. Wouldn't want to get hit in the head with one, either. When I read that I could imagine/hear the phone making a ringing noise each time Ray hammered the stake with it.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-10 08:13 am (UTC)Every time a bell rings, a pissed-off Chicago cop stakes a bloodsucker who’s messing with his partner. Hee!
*ROFLMAO*
Date: 2005-02-07 02:30 am (UTC)Poor (I assume) Spike, though. I mean, can -he- help it if Fraser's gorgeous?
Re: *ROFLMAO*
Date: 2005-02-07 06:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 06:47 am (UTC)So this is probably, like, cheating...
Date: 2005-02-10 08:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-11 12:15 am (UTC)