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ds_flashfictionTitle: Context
Rating: R?
Pairing: RayK/Fraser
Summary: There are times when you can't be the hero. There are times when priorities change.
Muchas gracias to my two betas,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
xtricks and mondschein1.
WARNING: I wrote this several weeks ago -- before the challenge was issued, in fact. But it fit so well. And then Katrina hit, and I had to step back. This story deals with natural disasters (albiet of the wacky Due South variety) and their emotional impact, and other generally Not Happy things. Just so's you're aware.
--------------------
Dimly, from somewhere in the darkness, there is a pounding at his door. Before he can truly wake up, though, the door is thrust open and footsteps are heard.
“Fraser! Get up!” It is Ray, of course. Fraser tries to fully wake up, but it is late, and this is the first night of true rest he has been able to get in almost a week. “We gotta go. The dinosaurs are attacking the city.” Fraser blinks, trying to prove to himself that his eyes are indeed open and he is not dreaming. Not that he has ever dreamed about dinosaurs before -- woolly mammoths, yes, but that was only after the unfortunate incident with the -- “Fraser! C’mon, let’s go!” Ray shakes his shoulder for a moment, then returns to haphazardly picking up items from the cramped office and cramming them into a duffle bag. He is moving quickly, with more than his usual restless energy. Diefenbaker is waiting by the door, but his submissive stance and his refusal to move are what finally bring Fraser to full wakefulness.
“Ray, what are you talking about? Dinosaurs have been extinct for millennia.” He sits up on the edge of the cot, bracing himself with one hand and rubbing his eye with the other.
“Oh yeah? Tell that to the giant lizards that are taking apart downtown.” Ray’s voice becomes somewhat muffled as he moves into the kitchen down the hall. Fraser can hear the cabinet doors being thrown open. “And I can tell you don't believe me -- you weren’t here the last time it happened, were you? Turn on the radio.”
Something has obviously alarmed Ray -- and Diefenbaker as well, even if it isn’t dinosaurs. But Fraser has always trusted in Ray’s sanity, even when Ray had cause to doubt it himself, so he gets up and turns on the small transistor radio he keeps by the window. The signal squeals alarmingly for a moment, before it settles down into the steady beeping of the Emergency Broadcast Signal. Fraser turns. “Ray, what --“
“No time.” Ray returns, shoving the full duffle bag into his hands. “I got most of what I think we’ll need. Grab anything else you can’t leave behind and let’s scram. I got a car waiting downstairs but if we don’t leave soon traffic’ll be too bad and we’ll have to walk.” As Ray leans in, Fraser notices his hair is ungelled. There is no scent of product in it.
“Walk where?” Fraser folds his spare uniform tightly -- he can pack his entire kit in under five minutes, and having a spare bedroll will be handy no matter the situation, so he grabs the extra Hudson Bay blankets from the closet.
“The emergency shelters. Geez, didn’t you get any kind of briefing when you got sent down here?” One long-fingered hand is tapping impatiently against his leg, sending the metal beads on his wrist jangling.
“Well, yes, Ray, but I was under the impression that the emergencies referred to for these shelters were a tad more mundane, such as earthquakes or a particularly bad blizzard.” He is dressed now as well, his leather jacket thrown on over all else and his feet jammed into hiking boots.
“Yeah, well, we also use ‘em for dinosaurs, and that one time with the volcano, and back when I was about nine there was a scare with maybe some aliens, but I don’t really remember that.” Diefenbaker scrambles to stand as Ray turns to exit the apartment. “Stick close, Dief, I don’t know what all’s gonna happen, but you don’t wanna get too friendly with these guys.” Diefenbaker’s replying whine sends the first stab of fear through Fraser.
As they leave the Consulate, Fraser can smell the scent of something heavy and acrid in the air. They keep the windows of the pool car rolled up. Traffic is surprisingly heavy for -- Fraser checks the clock -- almost four in the morning, but it is moving at an orderly pace, so Ray is able to swing the car into the flow fairly easily, and he picks up the radio.
“Dispatch, this is unit 117. I’ve got Fraser, and I’m gonna head up to the Parks shelter, unless you got something for me.”
“Copy, 117. Get yourself outta there.”
Fraser turns away from the window. The voice over the radio is not the familiar voice of the night dispatch officer, Peterson.
“Dewey? Izzat you? What happened to Peterson?”
The radio crackles, and Detective Dewey’s voice is shaky when it comes back on. “She’s got first aid training, so I sent her outside to help with triage.”
There is silence in the car, Ray’s thumb stroking over the button without depressing it. Out of the corner of his eye, Fraser can see the horizon brightening, though the sun won’t rise for a while -- and not in that direction. “Once I drop Fraser and Dief off at the shelter I’m gonna swing around and --“
“No!” Ray is jamming the button with his thumb, but Dewey seems to have cut off his line. “There isn’t anything you can do. You’re not part of Special Services. Just get the hell out.” The line goes dead. Ray slams the receiver down, then beats on the steering wheel frustratedly for a minute before slumping forward. When he looks up at Fraser at last, he seems very tired, and Fraser finds himself wondering how much sleep Ray had gotten tonight.
The car continues to move forward, and Fraser is amazed by how unnerved he is by the quiet.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t be going downtown to help there?” He speaks almost for the sake of speaking, to hear something besides the engine and Ray’s breathing.
“Dewey’s right, Fraser,” Ray is trying for dispassionate but the tiredness bleeds through into his tone. “We’re not equipped to deal with this. Getting in the middle of a situation like this with no training -- it’s a bad idea.” He shakes his head, his face pale. His hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. “They’ll get out when they can. The less people they have to worry about, the smoother this whole thing can go.” Ray keeps his eyes on the road.
Fraser clears his throat, feeling out of his depth in a way he hasn't in years. “...this whole thing?”
“How do you think you get rid of dinosaurs, Fraser?” Fraser doesn’t reply, and the brightening of the horizon is accompanied with a rumble that makes Fraser wish for the quiet again.
-----
The Parks shelter is damp and cold and crowded, and it’s giving Ray the jitters, despite the fact that he hasn’t slept since Tuesday. There are too many people, and the acrid smell of cement and mildew and inch-thick dust is setting Ray on edge and he wants to get up and go, go, go, when he knows, from long experience, that the only thing he can do in this situation is sit down, shut up, and do what he’s told. He doesn’t even really know what’s going on -- well, he knows what’s really going on, because as ‘an officer of the law’ Welsh called him and told him what’s what; but he doesn’t know the official story, or even the unofficial story, so whenever somebody asks him what’s going on he just shrugs.
Fraser’s looking a little lost as well, sitting in the corner with his pack and his bedroll, his red long underwear showing through his shirt where he missed a button. Dief is sticking to him like glue, and Ray is briefly comforted by the fact that if civilization as they know it comes to an end, they will have a way to track down kielbasas and the occasional wild doughnut. Then he realizes what he’s thinking and decides he needs to sit down and get some sleep before he loses it.
But he can’t stay still, and pretty soon more people are coming in, faster now, so Ray ends up getting commandeered by Mary Jean, the tiny woman with the glasses and mousy hair who seems to be in charge of the shelter. She’s got him taking names and info on all the people who come in, and when she kind of hints it’d be OK to flash his badge at anyone who might make trouble, he finds himself getting along with her, and wondering if she’s maybe related to Welsh. It’s mindless busy-work, but at least he’s doing something now, so he sits at the cheap folding table, and lets lines of text and check-boxes fill his head, pushing away the images of rubble and sharp teeth and smoke.
At some point Fraser sits down next to him with a clipboard of his own, so Ray assumes Dief must be staking out their spot for them and keeps going. Fraser’s the paperwork king, and he doesn’t say anything about dinosaurs or downtown being torn to rubble, so Mary Jean must have filled him in somewhat, but there’s still the occasional stutter or backstep every now and again that reminds Ray that Fraser’s new at this, is taking his cues from a damaged, half-asleep CPD detective and a lady who’s been working this job so long she’s doing half of the steps internally where Fraser can’t see it. He nudges Fraser briefly with his foot, a kind of good job, and Fraser nudges him thanks back.
Somewhere around his twentieth family full of screaming toddlers Ray’s mind goes blank, and the next thing he knows Fraser’s shaking him, and trying to take the clipboard away from him, though he’s got a bit of a deathgrip on it. When he finally realizes what’s going on, he lets go of the clipboard and pen and Fraser eases him out of the rickety folding chair. Some fresh-faced kid with a UIC t-shirt slips into his place, and suddenly Ray just feels old. He leans into Fraser, and Fraser takes his weight easily. No one seems to notice, or care.
“They don’t have stuff like this up in Canada, do they, Fraser?”
“No, Ray, we just have blizzards.”
“Good.”
-----
It’s dark now, even though it’s only early afternoon, but Fraser decides this is a good thing, because Ray is finally asleep, his head on Fraser’s thigh, Diefenbaker stretched out along his back. There are construction worklights spaced throughout the shelter on tripods, but the light is dim here, no more illumination than one would find at night on a stakeout. Fraser feels as if he is on some sort of odd stakeout, looking out for trouble and hoping for information or insight as he watches over Ray, one hand stroking over the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. Ray’s leather coat is draped over him awkwardly; he’d been shivering earlier in just a t-shirt.
He still isn’t quite sure what they’re doing here, safe and out of harm’s way, instead of downtown, putting their skills to good use. Fraser might not have prior experience dealing with dinosaurs -- which he still finds hard to believe, despite Mary Jean’s anecdotes -- but still, he has first aid training, and both he and Ray have a responsibility... But Ray has been oddly silent, withdrawn. After his initial outburst in the car, he has made no more mention of returning to the station, or even made an attempt to explain the situation further to Fraser.
Fraser has never enjoyed being outside the loop, or feeling so useless, like dead weight on a sled. But Ray’s presence is helping – even if Ray says there is nothing they can do, he can always look out for Ray. Especially since Ray seems so unconcerned with his own well-being at present.
Ray shifts a little in his sleep, wedging a hand under Fraser’s knee.
He wonders if this is what it’s like for ordinary people, who didn’t go out endangering each others’ lives every day, who weren’t used to being in such precarious situations, who were powerless to do anything besides stay with those they loved. He is no longer thinking about right and wrong -- his world has shrunk to those around him, to those who are most important to him: Diefenbaker and Ray. Ray is here, with him -- they are partners, as always.
Fraser had always thought that he and Ray had carried over their trust from their work at the station into their personal relationship, letting it evolve into love, but maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe they had gone into all those crazy situations together because they loved each other -- maybe they had just loved each other, but had hidden it at first -- even from themselves. He is glad they don’t now.
Diefenbaker starts snoring, and Ray elbows the half-wolf automatically so he rolls over and quiets. Neither wakes up.
-----
Ray wakes up a little before 5:30, when the alarm on his watch goes off. He gets up without a word to Fraser -- just a tug on his wrist to pull him up, and he follows. They pick their way through the patches of people, most of them quiet now, gathered in groups to eat food, or play cards, or listen to a radio and talk in low voices. It’s easy to pass unnoticed in a large group like this, and no one looks up as they go by. They slip outside, and there’s smoke in the air, he can taste it. It’s cold, too, and he left his jacket behind, so he draws nearer to Fraser, around the corner from the shelter entrance, behind a row of shrubs. The light is dim, like twilight, and they are in the shadow of the building.
He turns on his cell phone, and is half surprised to get a signal. But that doesn’t really mean anything, so he punches in the number and dials. Fraser is gripping his arm tightly, and he doesn’t even know why.
When the phone rings, Ray starts. It is picked up right away, and he has never been so glad to hear Welsh’s voice in his life.
“What’s going on, Lieu? I haven’t heard anything since I checked in with dispatch after my last stop this morning.” He doesn’t name names, holding them safe like a talisman. Those names are his, those people are his.
“The situation’s settled down a little. We still haven’t figured out how the hell they got here, but we’ve been able to determine that it’s mostly big ones -- none of those velociraptors this time.”
Ray shudders and nods. “Yeah, those guys were the shitkickers last time, caused most of the deaths. I remember.” Fraser’s hand is big and warm against his neck, rubbing and squeezing against the tension, and Ray leans into it, his thoughts flitting briefly to the scar on his thigh that he told Fraser was a knife wound.
Welsh’s voice is a strong rumble, even over the tinny connection of the cell phone. There are probably more than a few towers out. “Lotsa property damage down here, though -- one of the brontosaurs wanted to take a stroll by the lake, but he got in a bit of a tiff with -- I don’t know, but it had a lot of teeth.” Welsh stops talking, and Ray can hear muffled voices. He doesn’t recognize them. “Listen, detective --“ Welsh hesitates, and Ray knows why. “The best thing you can do is stay low. The last thing you need is to get injured again. We’ve got teams in, and this whole situation should blow over some time tomorrow. Check in tomorrow if you don’t hear otherwise.”
Ray nods his head automatically. “Good luck, sir.”
“Keep safe, detective.” A click, and Welsh is gone. It is quiet outside as Ray pockets the cell phone. The glow from the city is dim but still present, and the taste of ashes on his tongue refuses to fade.
Ray groans, and turns to embrace Fraser, burying his face against his neck. The beat of his pulse is irresistible, and Ray laps against it with his tongue, letting the warmth and soft salt flavor dissolve into his mouth. Fraser’s hands wrap around him, heavy and secure, the lower one sliding up under his shirt to rest bare against his back. He gives in then and outright kisses Fraser, and the warmth and wet of his mouth is so much better, the tongue pressing and caressing and invading him until he can’t think about anything else any more because he is totally surrounded by Fraser. He pulls himself closer, grinding his pelvis against Fraser’s, hands braced on the wall behind them to keep from falling over.
Fraser moans into his mouth and his hips jerk instinctively. But then he is withdrawing, one hand stroking along Ray’s jaw, rough with stubble now, and planting light kisses over Ray’s face -- lips, cheeks, eyes, forehead -- and Ray is breathing raggedly.
“Ray, we can’t. Not here...” Fraser’s voice is a rough whisper, and maybe this is harder for him to do than Ray thought. Fraser has almost as much trouble staying still as Ray does.
“Please.” Ray’s own voice is trembling, and that surprises him -- he doesn’t know why. He bites down lightly on the juncture of Fraser’s neck and shoulder where his collar has slipped, and he can feel the sharp rise of Fraser’s chest as he takes in another breath. “Please.” Then he is scrabbling at the opening to Fraser’s jeans, but Fraser has beaten him there, capturing his hands and drawing them up between their bodies, using them to hold him tight as he drops kisses over every inch of Ray that he can reach.
Fraser keeps doing it, just kissing him, until Ray finally calms down, his breathing slowing to match Fraser’s as he leans against that warm, solid chest. He blinks away the moisture from the corners of his eyes and tries to will the strength back into his knees, which have turned to jelly.
With a sigh, he backs up a step. Fraser is watching him patiently, concern evident in his gaze. “Thanks.” He cups Fraser’s jaw with his hand, and Fraser’s lips follow the brush of his thumb into a smile.
Fraser doesn’t say anything about dinosaurs, or how Ray is losing it -- hell, has lost it, or even how Dief could probably do with a walk. He doesn’t say anything about trauma issues, or tomorrow, or next week. He just stays there, waiting for Ray, and when Ray is ready, he leads them back inside.
-----
No one here besides Ray -- and possibly Mary Jean, but he hasn’t seen her in hours -- knows that Fraser is a Mountie, and duty-bound to serve the public. He is glad. For once, he isn’t concerned with the safety of others -- he is wholly concerned with Ray, and Ray’s obvious unrest. Ray’s inability to act is stressing him greatly.
They lie back down in their spot, and Fraser wraps himself around Ray again, who is curled up with his face pressed in Fraser’s chest. He doesn’t think Ray knows it, but he is clinging to Ray as tightly as Ray is clinging to him. But for all that, he feels oddly calm.
Maybe he is beginning to realize that although he has not done all he can do, he has done the things he should do.
-----
Ray lies in the dark, listening to Fraser’s heartbeat. He stays still, not letting Fraser know he’s awake.
He’s not hiding. He just... doesn’t feel the need to move. He’s not working up to a panic attack, he’s got those figured out by now. This is just Fraser -- him and Fraser, being there. That calm pulse, slowing his own down so he can think, breathe. Ray has never been so glad for the silent communication between him and Fraser, their ability to understand one another. He might complain about Fraser’s pushiness sometimes, but it’s not always true. Fraser is smart, and he knows when to let things be, to not rock the boat -- Fraser only pushes him when he needs it.
Right now he doesn’t need it. Right now he is exactly where he needs to be. It is the only place he can be. They’ll deal with everything else tomorrow -- dinosaurs, the precinct, a cooped-up wolf. They can lay that all aside right now, and just be.
They don’t need anything else.
Rating: R?
Pairing: RayK/Fraser
Summary: There are times when you can't be the hero. There are times when priorities change.
Muchas gracias to my two betas,
xtricks and mondschein1.WARNING: I wrote this several weeks ago -- before the challenge was issued, in fact. But it fit so well. And then Katrina hit, and I had to step back. This story deals with natural disasters (albiet of the wacky Due South variety) and their emotional impact, and other generally Not Happy things. Just so's you're aware.
--------------------
Dimly, from somewhere in the darkness, there is a pounding at his door. Before he can truly wake up, though, the door is thrust open and footsteps are heard.
“Fraser! Get up!” It is Ray, of course. Fraser tries to fully wake up, but it is late, and this is the first night of true rest he has been able to get in almost a week. “We gotta go. The dinosaurs are attacking the city.” Fraser blinks, trying to prove to himself that his eyes are indeed open and he is not dreaming. Not that he has ever dreamed about dinosaurs before -- woolly mammoths, yes, but that was only after the unfortunate incident with the -- “Fraser! C’mon, let’s go!” Ray shakes his shoulder for a moment, then returns to haphazardly picking up items from the cramped office and cramming them into a duffle bag. He is moving quickly, with more than his usual restless energy. Diefenbaker is waiting by the door, but his submissive stance and his refusal to move are what finally bring Fraser to full wakefulness.
“Ray, what are you talking about? Dinosaurs have been extinct for millennia.” He sits up on the edge of the cot, bracing himself with one hand and rubbing his eye with the other.
“Oh yeah? Tell that to the giant lizards that are taking apart downtown.” Ray’s voice becomes somewhat muffled as he moves into the kitchen down the hall. Fraser can hear the cabinet doors being thrown open. “And I can tell you don't believe me -- you weren’t here the last time it happened, were you? Turn on the radio.”
Something has obviously alarmed Ray -- and Diefenbaker as well, even if it isn’t dinosaurs. But Fraser has always trusted in Ray’s sanity, even when Ray had cause to doubt it himself, so he gets up and turns on the small transistor radio he keeps by the window. The signal squeals alarmingly for a moment, before it settles down into the steady beeping of the Emergency Broadcast Signal. Fraser turns. “Ray, what --“
“No time.” Ray returns, shoving the full duffle bag into his hands. “I got most of what I think we’ll need. Grab anything else you can’t leave behind and let’s scram. I got a car waiting downstairs but if we don’t leave soon traffic’ll be too bad and we’ll have to walk.” As Ray leans in, Fraser notices his hair is ungelled. There is no scent of product in it.
“Walk where?” Fraser folds his spare uniform tightly -- he can pack his entire kit in under five minutes, and having a spare bedroll will be handy no matter the situation, so he grabs the extra Hudson Bay blankets from the closet.
“The emergency shelters. Geez, didn’t you get any kind of briefing when you got sent down here?” One long-fingered hand is tapping impatiently against his leg, sending the metal beads on his wrist jangling.
“Well, yes, Ray, but I was under the impression that the emergencies referred to for these shelters were a tad more mundane, such as earthquakes or a particularly bad blizzard.” He is dressed now as well, his leather jacket thrown on over all else and his feet jammed into hiking boots.
“Yeah, well, we also use ‘em for dinosaurs, and that one time with the volcano, and back when I was about nine there was a scare with maybe some aliens, but I don’t really remember that.” Diefenbaker scrambles to stand as Ray turns to exit the apartment. “Stick close, Dief, I don’t know what all’s gonna happen, but you don’t wanna get too friendly with these guys.” Diefenbaker’s replying whine sends the first stab of fear through Fraser.
As they leave the Consulate, Fraser can smell the scent of something heavy and acrid in the air. They keep the windows of the pool car rolled up. Traffic is surprisingly heavy for -- Fraser checks the clock -- almost four in the morning, but it is moving at an orderly pace, so Ray is able to swing the car into the flow fairly easily, and he picks up the radio.
“Dispatch, this is unit 117. I’ve got Fraser, and I’m gonna head up to the Parks shelter, unless you got something for me.”
“Copy, 117. Get yourself outta there.”
Fraser turns away from the window. The voice over the radio is not the familiar voice of the night dispatch officer, Peterson.
“Dewey? Izzat you? What happened to Peterson?”
The radio crackles, and Detective Dewey’s voice is shaky when it comes back on. “She’s got first aid training, so I sent her outside to help with triage.”
There is silence in the car, Ray’s thumb stroking over the button without depressing it. Out of the corner of his eye, Fraser can see the horizon brightening, though the sun won’t rise for a while -- and not in that direction. “Once I drop Fraser and Dief off at the shelter I’m gonna swing around and --“
“No!” Ray is jamming the button with his thumb, but Dewey seems to have cut off his line. “There isn’t anything you can do. You’re not part of Special Services. Just get the hell out.” The line goes dead. Ray slams the receiver down, then beats on the steering wheel frustratedly for a minute before slumping forward. When he looks up at Fraser at last, he seems very tired, and Fraser finds himself wondering how much sleep Ray had gotten tonight.
The car continues to move forward, and Fraser is amazed by how unnerved he is by the quiet.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t be going downtown to help there?” He speaks almost for the sake of speaking, to hear something besides the engine and Ray’s breathing.
“Dewey’s right, Fraser,” Ray is trying for dispassionate but the tiredness bleeds through into his tone. “We’re not equipped to deal with this. Getting in the middle of a situation like this with no training -- it’s a bad idea.” He shakes his head, his face pale. His hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. “They’ll get out when they can. The less people they have to worry about, the smoother this whole thing can go.” Ray keeps his eyes on the road.
Fraser clears his throat, feeling out of his depth in a way he hasn't in years. “...this whole thing?”
“How do you think you get rid of dinosaurs, Fraser?” Fraser doesn’t reply, and the brightening of the horizon is accompanied with a rumble that makes Fraser wish for the quiet again.
The Parks shelter is damp and cold and crowded, and it’s giving Ray the jitters, despite the fact that he hasn’t slept since Tuesday. There are too many people, and the acrid smell of cement and mildew and inch-thick dust is setting Ray on edge and he wants to get up and go, go, go, when he knows, from long experience, that the only thing he can do in this situation is sit down, shut up, and do what he’s told. He doesn’t even really know what’s going on -- well, he knows what’s really going on, because as ‘an officer of the law’ Welsh called him and told him what’s what; but he doesn’t know the official story, or even the unofficial story, so whenever somebody asks him what’s going on he just shrugs.
Fraser’s looking a little lost as well, sitting in the corner with his pack and his bedroll, his red long underwear showing through his shirt where he missed a button. Dief is sticking to him like glue, and Ray is briefly comforted by the fact that if civilization as they know it comes to an end, they will have a way to track down kielbasas and the occasional wild doughnut. Then he realizes what he’s thinking and decides he needs to sit down and get some sleep before he loses it.
But he can’t stay still, and pretty soon more people are coming in, faster now, so Ray ends up getting commandeered by Mary Jean, the tiny woman with the glasses and mousy hair who seems to be in charge of the shelter. She’s got him taking names and info on all the people who come in, and when she kind of hints it’d be OK to flash his badge at anyone who might make trouble, he finds himself getting along with her, and wondering if she’s maybe related to Welsh. It’s mindless busy-work, but at least he’s doing something now, so he sits at the cheap folding table, and lets lines of text and check-boxes fill his head, pushing away the images of rubble and sharp teeth and smoke.
At some point Fraser sits down next to him with a clipboard of his own, so Ray assumes Dief must be staking out their spot for them and keeps going. Fraser’s the paperwork king, and he doesn’t say anything about dinosaurs or downtown being torn to rubble, so Mary Jean must have filled him in somewhat, but there’s still the occasional stutter or backstep every now and again that reminds Ray that Fraser’s new at this, is taking his cues from a damaged, half-asleep CPD detective and a lady who’s been working this job so long she’s doing half of the steps internally where Fraser can’t see it. He nudges Fraser briefly with his foot, a kind of good job, and Fraser nudges him thanks back.
Somewhere around his twentieth family full of screaming toddlers Ray’s mind goes blank, and the next thing he knows Fraser’s shaking him, and trying to take the clipboard away from him, though he’s got a bit of a deathgrip on it. When he finally realizes what’s going on, he lets go of the clipboard and pen and Fraser eases him out of the rickety folding chair. Some fresh-faced kid with a UIC t-shirt slips into his place, and suddenly Ray just feels old. He leans into Fraser, and Fraser takes his weight easily. No one seems to notice, or care.
“They don’t have stuff like this up in Canada, do they, Fraser?”
“No, Ray, we just have blizzards.”
“Good.”
It’s dark now, even though it’s only early afternoon, but Fraser decides this is a good thing, because Ray is finally asleep, his head on Fraser’s thigh, Diefenbaker stretched out along his back. There are construction worklights spaced throughout the shelter on tripods, but the light is dim here, no more illumination than one would find at night on a stakeout. Fraser feels as if he is on some sort of odd stakeout, looking out for trouble and hoping for information or insight as he watches over Ray, one hand stroking over the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. Ray’s leather coat is draped over him awkwardly; he’d been shivering earlier in just a t-shirt.
He still isn’t quite sure what they’re doing here, safe and out of harm’s way, instead of downtown, putting their skills to good use. Fraser might not have prior experience dealing with dinosaurs -- which he still finds hard to believe, despite Mary Jean’s anecdotes -- but still, he has first aid training, and both he and Ray have a responsibility... But Ray has been oddly silent, withdrawn. After his initial outburst in the car, he has made no more mention of returning to the station, or even made an attempt to explain the situation further to Fraser.
Fraser has never enjoyed being outside the loop, or feeling so useless, like dead weight on a sled. But Ray’s presence is helping – even if Ray says there is nothing they can do, he can always look out for Ray. Especially since Ray seems so unconcerned with his own well-being at present.
Ray shifts a little in his sleep, wedging a hand under Fraser’s knee.
He wonders if this is what it’s like for ordinary people, who didn’t go out endangering each others’ lives every day, who weren’t used to being in such precarious situations, who were powerless to do anything besides stay with those they loved. He is no longer thinking about right and wrong -- his world has shrunk to those around him, to those who are most important to him: Diefenbaker and Ray. Ray is here, with him -- they are partners, as always.
Fraser had always thought that he and Ray had carried over their trust from their work at the station into their personal relationship, letting it evolve into love, but maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe they had gone into all those crazy situations together because they loved each other -- maybe they had just loved each other, but had hidden it at first -- even from themselves. He is glad they don’t now.
Diefenbaker starts snoring, and Ray elbows the half-wolf automatically so he rolls over and quiets. Neither wakes up.
Ray wakes up a little before 5:30, when the alarm on his watch goes off. He gets up without a word to Fraser -- just a tug on his wrist to pull him up, and he follows. They pick their way through the patches of people, most of them quiet now, gathered in groups to eat food, or play cards, or listen to a radio and talk in low voices. It’s easy to pass unnoticed in a large group like this, and no one looks up as they go by. They slip outside, and there’s smoke in the air, he can taste it. It’s cold, too, and he left his jacket behind, so he draws nearer to Fraser, around the corner from the shelter entrance, behind a row of shrubs. The light is dim, like twilight, and they are in the shadow of the building.
He turns on his cell phone, and is half surprised to get a signal. But that doesn’t really mean anything, so he punches in the number and dials. Fraser is gripping his arm tightly, and he doesn’t even know why.
When the phone rings, Ray starts. It is picked up right away, and he has never been so glad to hear Welsh’s voice in his life.
“What’s going on, Lieu? I haven’t heard anything since I checked in with dispatch after my last stop this morning.” He doesn’t name names, holding them safe like a talisman. Those names are his, those people are his.
“The situation’s settled down a little. We still haven’t figured out how the hell they got here, but we’ve been able to determine that it’s mostly big ones -- none of those velociraptors this time.”
Ray shudders and nods. “Yeah, those guys were the shitkickers last time, caused most of the deaths. I remember.” Fraser’s hand is big and warm against his neck, rubbing and squeezing against the tension, and Ray leans into it, his thoughts flitting briefly to the scar on his thigh that he told Fraser was a knife wound.
Welsh’s voice is a strong rumble, even over the tinny connection of the cell phone. There are probably more than a few towers out. “Lotsa property damage down here, though -- one of the brontosaurs wanted to take a stroll by the lake, but he got in a bit of a tiff with -- I don’t know, but it had a lot of teeth.” Welsh stops talking, and Ray can hear muffled voices. He doesn’t recognize them. “Listen, detective --“ Welsh hesitates, and Ray knows why. “The best thing you can do is stay low. The last thing you need is to get injured again. We’ve got teams in, and this whole situation should blow over some time tomorrow. Check in tomorrow if you don’t hear otherwise.”
Ray nods his head automatically. “Good luck, sir.”
“Keep safe, detective.” A click, and Welsh is gone. It is quiet outside as Ray pockets the cell phone. The glow from the city is dim but still present, and the taste of ashes on his tongue refuses to fade.
Ray groans, and turns to embrace Fraser, burying his face against his neck. The beat of his pulse is irresistible, and Ray laps against it with his tongue, letting the warmth and soft salt flavor dissolve into his mouth. Fraser’s hands wrap around him, heavy and secure, the lower one sliding up under his shirt to rest bare against his back. He gives in then and outright kisses Fraser, and the warmth and wet of his mouth is so much better, the tongue pressing and caressing and invading him until he can’t think about anything else any more because he is totally surrounded by Fraser. He pulls himself closer, grinding his pelvis against Fraser’s, hands braced on the wall behind them to keep from falling over.
Fraser moans into his mouth and his hips jerk instinctively. But then he is withdrawing, one hand stroking along Ray’s jaw, rough with stubble now, and planting light kisses over Ray’s face -- lips, cheeks, eyes, forehead -- and Ray is breathing raggedly.
“Ray, we can’t. Not here...” Fraser’s voice is a rough whisper, and maybe this is harder for him to do than Ray thought. Fraser has almost as much trouble staying still as Ray does.
“Please.” Ray’s own voice is trembling, and that surprises him -- he doesn’t know why. He bites down lightly on the juncture of Fraser’s neck and shoulder where his collar has slipped, and he can feel the sharp rise of Fraser’s chest as he takes in another breath. “Please.” Then he is scrabbling at the opening to Fraser’s jeans, but Fraser has beaten him there, capturing his hands and drawing them up between their bodies, using them to hold him tight as he drops kisses over every inch of Ray that he can reach.
Fraser keeps doing it, just kissing him, until Ray finally calms down, his breathing slowing to match Fraser’s as he leans against that warm, solid chest. He blinks away the moisture from the corners of his eyes and tries to will the strength back into his knees, which have turned to jelly.
With a sigh, he backs up a step. Fraser is watching him patiently, concern evident in his gaze. “Thanks.” He cups Fraser’s jaw with his hand, and Fraser’s lips follow the brush of his thumb into a smile.
Fraser doesn’t say anything about dinosaurs, or how Ray is losing it -- hell, has lost it, or even how Dief could probably do with a walk. He doesn’t say anything about trauma issues, or tomorrow, or next week. He just stays there, waiting for Ray, and when Ray is ready, he leads them back inside.
No one here besides Ray -- and possibly Mary Jean, but he hasn’t seen her in hours -- knows that Fraser is a Mountie, and duty-bound to serve the public. He is glad. For once, he isn’t concerned with the safety of others -- he is wholly concerned with Ray, and Ray’s obvious unrest. Ray’s inability to act is stressing him greatly.
They lie back down in their spot, and Fraser wraps himself around Ray again, who is curled up with his face pressed in Fraser’s chest. He doesn’t think Ray knows it, but he is clinging to Ray as tightly as Ray is clinging to him. But for all that, he feels oddly calm.
Maybe he is beginning to realize that although he has not done all he can do, he has done the things he should do.
Ray lies in the dark, listening to Fraser’s heartbeat. He stays still, not letting Fraser know he’s awake.
He’s not hiding. He just... doesn’t feel the need to move. He’s not working up to a panic attack, he’s got those figured out by now. This is just Fraser -- him and Fraser, being there. That calm pulse, slowing his own down so he can think, breathe. Ray has never been so glad for the silent communication between him and Fraser, their ability to understand one another. He might complain about Fraser’s pushiness sometimes, but it’s not always true. Fraser is smart, and he knows when to let things be, to not rock the boat -- Fraser only pushes him when he needs it.
Right now he doesn’t need it. Right now he is exactly where he needs to be. It is the only place he can be. They’ll deal with everything else tomorrow -- dinosaurs, the precinct, a cooped-up wolf. They can lay that all aside right now, and just be.
They don’t need anything else.
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Date: 2005-09-08 09:23 am (UTC)Fraser had always thought that he and Ray had carried over their trust from their work at the station into their personal relationship, letting it evolve into love, but maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe they had gone into all those crazy situations together because they loved each other -- maybe they had just loved each other, but had hidden it at first -- even from themselves. He is glad they don’t now.
This is my favorite part of this whole lovely story. The magical realism at work (dinosaurs, of course, again?), the way you've captured Fraser and Ray's partnership and all the ways they don't need words, the slightly claustrophobic sense of being out at the shelter with them and only getting bits of information, never enough to satisfy ... well done. I only wish it were longer.
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Date: 2005-09-08 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-08 01:31 pm (UTC)Very nice work!!
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Date: 2005-09-08 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-08 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-08 09:46 pm (UTC)*blinks a few times*
Date: 2005-09-08 05:46 pm (UTC)Re: *blinks a few times*
Date: 2005-09-08 09:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-08 06:46 pm (UTC)Yay! And the warnings work, I think.
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Date: 2005-09-08 09:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-08 07:52 pm (UTC)I liked it. Thank you! :)
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Date: 2005-09-08 09:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-09 06:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-09 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-09 09:54 am (UTC)*
A briefing for al the poor Canadian lads who get dumped in the windy city would be a nice idea. Sure, they would take their Bags and run back home to plead on there knees to be allowed to stay above the border.
*
And Special Services… They have a Unit to cope with this stuff? Would love to see a description of a advertisement of vacancy for this.
*
And they can't just make it dam cold in short time? Dinos depend on the warmth of the surrounding area. If its to cold they can't move anymore.
*
>He nudges Fraser briefly with his foot, a kind of good job, and Fraser nudges him thanks back.
That's soooo sweet. ^^
And this too:
>"They don't have stuff like this up in Canada, do they, Fraser?"
>"No, Ray, we just have blizzards."
>"Good."
Maybe it's time for a relocation. Ray can always work as a police officer in Alaska close to the border and go home to Fraser every evening.
Another wonderful line:
>Maybe he is beginning to realize that although he has not done all he can do, he has done the things he should do.
*melts*
I Love this Story. Im gona save it on my hard drive. It's a perfect RayK / Frase love / care story.
Thank you for writing it. :-)
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Date: 2005-09-09 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-09 05:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-09 06:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-09 09:21 pm (UTC)I love how it's impossible to know what's actually going on, and the ... impotance of action, because sometimes there's really nothing you can do, and it drive you insane.
I love the frantic kissing, and Ray's begging for it, how he seems so desprate and out of control and needy.
Little details... Ray got hurt last time? How? I picture him doing something he shouldn't have, and having to be rescued, which is why he's so determened to NOT be part of the problem, and oh god, I'd love more of this.
I have this vision of Chacago having problems in the spring with small sized (compy or lower) dinos infesting the city...)
Great job!
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Date: 2005-09-09 11:35 pm (UTC)Yeah, last time he didn't listen, and got hurt pretty bad. That, and maybe aliens when he was little. Either way, he's a) learned his painful lesson, and b) now on the department list from his injury, meaning they're trying to look out for him, I guess. Because normally, no way would he back down.
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Date: 2005-09-09 11:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-10 02:03 am (UTC)Oh, and this line? Maybe he is beginning to realize that although he has not done all he can do, he has done the things he should do. Was perfection.
Different! In a good way! Thank you!
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Date: 2005-09-10 07:04 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2005-09-10 03:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-10 06:35 pm (UTC)I didn't have anyone in mind when I created Mary Jean, though I got the name from one of the dance instructors at our University. Though our Mary Jean is a redhead, and reaaally tiny.
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Date: 2008-04-07 03:26 am (UTC)And dinosaurs! Regular dinosaur attacks on Chicago! Awesome!
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Date: 2008-04-07 07:22 am (UTC)