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ds_flashfictionSorry to keep spamming, but I just wanted to do one more before the amnesty ends.
For the Mute Fraser challenge. (Borrows a quote from "Seeing Is Believing".)
Pairing: Fraser/Ray K
Rating: G?
About 1350 words.
Toy Soldier
"I cannot believe you put up with this bull."
Ray leaned in close enough to go out of focus. "Are you even in there? You're listening to me, right? What would you do if some wise guy came up and spat on you or something?"
His mouth hung open a little as he bobbed around Fraser from different angles, teeth showing. He skated a hand close to Fraser's ear and out again to test his peripheral.
"You'd just let 'em, wouldn't you. 'Course you would."
It was a chilly spring day, with not many passers-by. Fraser's eyes stayed fixed on the building opposite the Consulate. Or on some faroff horizon that only he could see.
"How about if you see an old lady getting mugged? You get to help her out? Or just keep standing here like the Tin Man?"
Ray obviously knew the answer to that one, which could be why it didn't get a reaction.
"Frase, you gotta try out for, like, the Canadian Olympic Standing team. You'd be a shoo-in."
He came around to the front and stared at Fraser's collar. "Check you for a pulse sometimes," he muttered.
"Don't even blink. Um. Creepy. Did you do this with Vecchio?" His voice got higher. "When he used to come around looking for you, did you pull this crap? Look, if you used to talk to him, you have to talk to me. You know anything you did with him you have to do with me, you know that, right?"
"Forget it. I'm leaving, this case won't wait." He hadn't even finished turning before he turned again, making it a complete circle. "Okay, it'll wait, in the sense that I'm going to wait, because they told me your shift's almost over, but don't think it's, you know... don't think I'm not..."
"Look, don't you ever want to go wild, be kooky, just look 'em in the eye and say hey I'm a cop not a doorstop, yeah it's still fifteen minutes before the bell rings but I got places to go and bad guys to catch? Tell Thatcher and everybody where to get off?"
"Cause that would be pretty funny, right? Some kid comes up and starts doing the bunny ears over your head and you go, 'Welcome to Canada, now get out of my flippin' face.'"
"Come on, Fraser, what would you say if you could just-"
He put his sunglasses on and went back to the car.
I might begin, Fraser thought, by pointing out that you're well inside what anyone would consider my personal space at times like these. Why does my being on duty justify your coming within inches of my face? Just because I'm not moving doesn't mean I can't see you.
And I would add that your jealousy of Ray Vecchio is unnecessary. Well, it's more than that, Ray, it's unmanly.
Why a detective of your capacities would feel the need to constantly measure his self-worth against another... not to mention the boasting and other signs of blatant insecurity that just aren't fitting in a grown man, although they're possibly a little endearing.
I suppose it's true that my friendship with the first Ray was closer than the one we've formed; we were tested more than you and I have been, and we came out the stronger. I know he cared for me. Maybe it sounds strange, but I almost didn't know what to do with so much affection. Oh, I presume my grandparents must have loved me, my father would no doubt say he did. Does. Did. Victoria... that's different, of course. Unfortunately, the darkness in her wouldn't let her love with kindness. Ray Vecchio was kind.
You know, I really think he was always happy to see me, would have done anything for me. It felt good to take that for granted.
And Ray was good to work with. It was an adult partnership we had, one between equals. He was devoted to this city and to justice. And he was a good man to have at your side in times of danger: almost casual in a firefight, keeping his head in a brawl. I appreciated his courage.
It's different for you. When you see a gun come into play, it's not play. It's as if it is the first gun ever drawn and could be the last one fired. You race to neutralize the perpetrator like some terrified angel of death. You know lives are at stake. In a way, I admire that more.
Or perhaps I'm simply besotted. That's Diefenbaker's opinion. Oh, I believe he does like you, but if I talk about you too much he starts giving me that look again.
Insubordination aside, he may be right.
Ray had been leaning against the car, arms folded, staring at Fraser's feet, then near his ear, then his elbow, as if Fraser were surrounded by invisible bees. Now he kicked the car door behind him, turned, opened it, got in. He left his feet sticking out.
One would think being separated from a friend like Ray Vecchio would cause a great deal more pain, but before I even understood that he was gone, there you were, an effective counterirritant.
You're always crossing lines, Ray. Always pushing.
You think you want to see my control break, but you don't want to see what would happen if it did. Believe me, no one does. I certainly don't. Being at the mercy of one's passions isn't freedom, not in the least. And terrible things can happen. You can lose yourself. I wasn't meant to - give way.
The feet pulled in and the car door slammed.
If only they would all stop testing him and just be grateful that he knew better. But history suggested that there was little hope of that.
Ray Kowalski was a danger, the first real danger he had come across since his failure to die in a hospital bed. The more so because it had begun so naturally. There had never been a chance to evaluate him and keep him at a distance. One day he had simply been there, too close, and he'd never backed away. He'd never gotten comfortable, either. He had a static field around him that kept Fraser on edge, although it was an enjoyable edge. He wanted something from Fraser, some kind of moral direction, inspiration perhaps. Or maybe just company.
Fraser worried sometimes: that on some occasion when he was weak or distracted, he might listen to his instincts, which lacked the sophisticated interpretive skills necessary for full social functioning and only heard Ray saying he wanted more, more, more.
Of course, it was theoretically possible that Ray's more was the same as Fraser's more. It would make a sort of sense. And yet, he wouldn't say his life had exactly been marked by joyous coincidence. He literally couldn't imagine Ray saying that he reciprocated his feelings, or picture the two of them being happy together, except in a limited physical sense which he... could not afford to think about while on duty.
You're watching a herd of caribou thundering across the snowy wilderness. The wind whips at your face. Long ago you lost all sensation in your feet. The icy fingers of hypothermia . . . ah, that's better.
Ray was still waiting in the car. He was drumming his hands on the steering wheel. There was a toothpick in his mouth, which meant that he wanted to smoke, but he wouldn't do it. He never did. Ray wasn't notorious for his self-control, but he clearly had more than most people might think.
But he wanted. More.
An expectant grinding began, the subtle sound of gears catching in the clocktower that meant the bells were about to ring to signal the end of his shift. Another of those sounds that apparently only Fraser could hear.
Son, never chase a man over a cliff.
The bells began to ring. They rang. They kept ringing. They stopped; his shift was over.
Fraser didn't move.
For the Mute Fraser challenge. (Borrows a quote from "Seeing Is Believing".)
Pairing: Fraser/Ray K
Rating: G?
About 1350 words.
Toy Soldier
"I cannot believe you put up with this bull."
Ray leaned in close enough to go out of focus. "Are you even in there? You're listening to me, right? What would you do if some wise guy came up and spat on you or something?"
His mouth hung open a little as he bobbed around Fraser from different angles, teeth showing. He skated a hand close to Fraser's ear and out again to test his peripheral.
"You'd just let 'em, wouldn't you. 'Course you would."
It was a chilly spring day, with not many passers-by. Fraser's eyes stayed fixed on the building opposite the Consulate. Or on some faroff horizon that only he could see.
"How about if you see an old lady getting mugged? You get to help her out? Or just keep standing here like the Tin Man?"
Ray obviously knew the answer to that one, which could be why it didn't get a reaction.
"Frase, you gotta try out for, like, the Canadian Olympic Standing team. You'd be a shoo-in."
He came around to the front and stared at Fraser's collar. "Check you for a pulse sometimes," he muttered.
"Don't even blink. Um. Creepy. Did you do this with Vecchio?" His voice got higher. "When he used to come around looking for you, did you pull this crap? Look, if you used to talk to him, you have to talk to me. You know anything you did with him you have to do with me, you know that, right?"
"Forget it. I'm leaving, this case won't wait." He hadn't even finished turning before he turned again, making it a complete circle. "Okay, it'll wait, in the sense that I'm going to wait, because they told me your shift's almost over, but don't think it's, you know... don't think I'm not..."
"Look, don't you ever want to go wild, be kooky, just look 'em in the eye and say hey I'm a cop not a doorstop, yeah it's still fifteen minutes before the bell rings but I got places to go and bad guys to catch? Tell Thatcher and everybody where to get off?"
"Cause that would be pretty funny, right? Some kid comes up and starts doing the bunny ears over your head and you go, 'Welcome to Canada, now get out of my flippin' face.'"
"Come on, Fraser, what would you say if you could just-"
He put his sunglasses on and went back to the car.
I might begin, Fraser thought, by pointing out that you're well inside what anyone would consider my personal space at times like these. Why does my being on duty justify your coming within inches of my face? Just because I'm not moving doesn't mean I can't see you.
And I would add that your jealousy of Ray Vecchio is unnecessary. Well, it's more than that, Ray, it's unmanly.
Why a detective of your capacities would feel the need to constantly measure his self-worth against another... not to mention the boasting and other signs of blatant insecurity that just aren't fitting in a grown man, although they're possibly a little endearing.
I suppose it's true that my friendship with the first Ray was closer than the one we've formed; we were tested more than you and I have been, and we came out the stronger. I know he cared for me. Maybe it sounds strange, but I almost didn't know what to do with so much affection. Oh, I presume my grandparents must have loved me, my father would no doubt say he did. Does. Did. Victoria... that's different, of course. Unfortunately, the darkness in her wouldn't let her love with kindness. Ray Vecchio was kind.
You know, I really think he was always happy to see me, would have done anything for me. It felt good to take that for granted.
And Ray was good to work with. It was an adult partnership we had, one between equals. He was devoted to this city and to justice. And he was a good man to have at your side in times of danger: almost casual in a firefight, keeping his head in a brawl. I appreciated his courage.
It's different for you. When you see a gun come into play, it's not play. It's as if it is the first gun ever drawn and could be the last one fired. You race to neutralize the perpetrator like some terrified angel of death. You know lives are at stake. In a way, I admire that more.
Or perhaps I'm simply besotted. That's Diefenbaker's opinion. Oh, I believe he does like you, but if I talk about you too much he starts giving me that look again.
Insubordination aside, he may be right.
Ray had been leaning against the car, arms folded, staring at Fraser's feet, then near his ear, then his elbow, as if Fraser were surrounded by invisible bees. Now he kicked the car door behind him, turned, opened it, got in. He left his feet sticking out.
One would think being separated from a friend like Ray Vecchio would cause a great deal more pain, but before I even understood that he was gone, there you were, an effective counterirritant.
You're always crossing lines, Ray. Always pushing.
You think you want to see my control break, but you don't want to see what would happen if it did. Believe me, no one does. I certainly don't. Being at the mercy of one's passions isn't freedom, not in the least. And terrible things can happen. You can lose yourself. I wasn't meant to - give way.
The feet pulled in and the car door slammed.
If only they would all stop testing him and just be grateful that he knew better. But history suggested that there was little hope of that.
Ray Kowalski was a danger, the first real danger he had come across since his failure to die in a hospital bed. The more so because it had begun so naturally. There had never been a chance to evaluate him and keep him at a distance. One day he had simply been there, too close, and he'd never backed away. He'd never gotten comfortable, either. He had a static field around him that kept Fraser on edge, although it was an enjoyable edge. He wanted something from Fraser, some kind of moral direction, inspiration perhaps. Or maybe just company.
Fraser worried sometimes: that on some occasion when he was weak or distracted, he might listen to his instincts, which lacked the sophisticated interpretive skills necessary for full social functioning and only heard Ray saying he wanted more, more, more.
Of course, it was theoretically possible that Ray's more was the same as Fraser's more. It would make a sort of sense. And yet, he wouldn't say his life had exactly been marked by joyous coincidence. He literally couldn't imagine Ray saying that he reciprocated his feelings, or picture the two of them being happy together, except in a limited physical sense which he... could not afford to think about while on duty.
You're watching a herd of caribou thundering across the snowy wilderness. The wind whips at your face. Long ago you lost all sensation in your feet. The icy fingers of hypothermia . . . ah, that's better.
Ray was still waiting in the car. He was drumming his hands on the steering wheel. There was a toothpick in his mouth, which meant that he wanted to smoke, but he wouldn't do it. He never did. Ray wasn't notorious for his self-control, but he clearly had more than most people might think.
But he wanted. More.
An expectant grinding began, the subtle sound of gears catching in the clocktower that meant the bells were about to ring to signal the end of his shift. Another of those sounds that apparently only Fraser could hear.
Son, never chase a man over a cliff.
The bells began to ring. They rang. They kept ringing. They stopped; his shift was over.
Fraser didn't move.
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Agreeing with all, about it all
Date: 2005-12-31 05:19 pm (UTC)Re: Agreeing with all, about it all
Date: 2006-01-01 11:07 pm (UTC)