Dream Challenge by Giulietta
Jun. 28th, 2006 05:40 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mondschein1.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionThis is 17 KB long, gen, and contains weird formatting -- I think I may have cheated with the code, so let me know if it breaks. I've checked for errors, but I only know what my browser does, right?
This is ordered a little weirdly. Bear in mind that there is no significance at all to the order as it is presented linearly. I suggest that you click on the links as they appear and as the fancy strikes you. Liberal use of the "back" button is strongly recommended. When you think you're done, scroll up to the scatter (or scroll down to the bottom, I've linked you to the scatter there) to make sure you haven't missed anything.
"Duck, Ray!" Fraser shouts, and Ray ducks --
-- falls through the ground, screams, and lands on his couch. "Brilliant," Fraser says, smiling.
"The fuck?" Ray demands. "The fuck? What did you -- how -- where -- "
Fraser pats his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, Ray. Everything's all right. For the moment, in any event -- Dief?" The wolf is pawing at Fraser's knee and barking like a maniac, Ray realizes. "What is it? Oh. Oh, dear -- Ray, run!"
Without asking any questions, Ray leaps up and runs -- never mind that there's nowhere to run, seeing as they're inside, because Fraser just told him to run and so he'll run --
-- right through a wall and into the bullpen. "Well!" Fraser says brightly. "That was exciting, wasn't it?" Dief growls; Ray takes the opportunity to do the same. "Now, Ray, let's be reasonable. Here, in this closet -- "
"In the closet?"
"Well, yes, of course," Fraser answers, like he's asking Ray to do something perfectly normal, which he hasn't all day. Why the hell should he start now?
"Thanks, Fraser, I think I'll stay, um, out of the closet," Ray says firmly, taking a step back.
"Out of the closet?" Fraser repeats, looking bewildered. "What for?"
"What for? Because -- because -- because if I go in I'll have to come out of the closet again, that's why!"
Fraser tugs his ear. "Are you trying to tell me something, Ray?"
"I -- no, no, I'm not trying to tell you anything, I'm just trying to act like a sane human being, do you mind?"
Fraser's not listening. "Holey moley, look at that," he says, pointing at where, in a perfect world, the floor should be. There's a giant swirling vortex there now. "That could be a problem."
"This is all your fault!" Ray screams as they tumble through --
-- and land in Welsh's office. Dief's landed squarely on Welsh's desk, which he doesn't look too happy about. "Detective," Welsh rumbles, not looking very pleased himself, "what's the meaning of this?"
"Uh," Ray starts, wondering if he left part of his brain in the wormhole.
Fraser is, as usual, way ahead of him. "Pardon us, Lieutenant, we're just passing through." He heads over to the file cabinet, yanks the top drawer open, and tips his hat at Welsh. "Good day," he says, and jumps into the drawer.
Ray's still trying to figure out why Fraser's vanished and why Welsh's cabinet isn't completely wrecked when Dief groans, jumps off Welsh's desk, and follows Fraser in. Welsh gives Ray an uneasy look. "Uh," Ray says. "Um. Hang on a sec." He stomps over to the cabinet and looks into the drawer. Looks normal, anyway. "You know," Ray shouts into it, feeling like an idiot, "I'm not coming after you. You're on your own -- "
Fraser's hand erupts out of the drawer from between two file folders, grabs Ray's collar, and drags him in.
Ray falls head-first through a sea of forms and papercuts --
-- and smashes his head into his sofa cushion. Back to square one. "Ow!" Ray howls, trying to hold his skull together.
"Terribly sorry about the landing, Ray," Fraser says, sounding embarrassed.
Ray drags himself upright and glares at Fraser. "You!" he yells, pointing a finger in Fraser's face. "You! What the hell're you trying to do, huh? You haven't made a lick of sense since I saw you this morning. You've just been dragging me through wormholes and file cabinets and closets -- "
"Well, you wouldn't go in the closet," Fraser interrupts. "I assure you that you would have found it quite pleasant."
"Pleasant, my ass -- and that's not the point! The point is that I crashed headfirst into my couch and I don't even know why I did! And you -- you've just been being generally weird, okay, and I've -- I've had enough!" Ray punches the air furiously. "Okay? Just -- enough is enough, Fraser! And I've had it! Right here!"
Fraser's starting to look worried. "Enough, Ray?"
"Yeah! Enough! Just -- go away, all right? Leave me alone! Maybe," Ray adds, "maybe the whole falling-through-things thing'll stop if you go."
Fraser takes his hat off and flips it in his hands, staring at it fixedly. "I, ah," he starts, scratching the back of his neck, "I -- are you sure you want me to do that?"
"Yes!" Ray throws his hands up in the air. "Yes! What part of this aren't you getting?"
Fraser clears his throat. "Nothing. That is to say, you've made yourself amply clear. I as just wondering if perhaps -- never mind." He puts his hat back on and sits up straight to look at Ray. "Good day," he says somberly, and pops out of existence --
"Good," Ray grumbles.
-- along with Dief, the TV, the walls, the floor, and the rest of Chicago.
Ray looks down at his feet. They're just sort of hanging out down there, standing on a big old pile of -- well, nothing. "Fraser!" No answer. "Fraser, look, it's okay, I didn't mean you had to actually -- " Still no answer. "Look, that's not buddies! You knew I didn't mean it! You did! You -- " No answer.
Ray sighs, settles down on his big old pile of nothing, and waits for Fraser to come back.
"Ray, we need to talk."
"Um, okay." Ray looks around. He can't see much except for these big, wobbling piles of books with gold-covered titles like "The Bar Exam: Study Guides and Strategies". "Sure," he says, because nobody in their right mind avoids a Talk. "Sure, just -- where are you?"
"Quit changing the subject," Stella's voice snaps. "Just listen to me, would you?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure. I'm listening." Her voice seems to be drifting through a gap between two of the big piles, so he follows it. "What's wrong?" Nope, no Stella -- but there's another path leading off to the right, and that sounds like the right way to go, so he goes that way. Simple.
"It's -- complicated," Stella says, and boy, is it. Got to be, if it's making her sound that confused. "I can't explain it. But I -- I don't think we can go on like this."
Ray starts to panic -- all right, not so simple. Now he's got a time limit. "Whaddaya mean, 'like this'? Like what?"
"Ray -- " Stella starts, in the tired-sounding voice he hears when she phones home to say she'll be in late.
"No -- no, look, it'll be okay. It'll work out. It always does. Just -- where are you? Let me -- "
"No, Ray." Stella's voice is too firm, too harsh. Ray starts to run -- running out of time, running out of time, can't give it up now -- "Just let go. It'll be better this way. You'll see."
"What do you mean, it'll be better?" Frantically, Ray veers off to the left, chasing the sound down the endless rows of books. "It won't. Nothing's better without you -- "
"Stop, Ray," Stella says, but her voice sounds a little watery. "Just -- stop. Don't."
"I can't," Ray insists, and his voice cracks. "I can't and I won't and -- I love you, why can't you -- "
"I know," Stella croaks, and pauses. "I love you too -- " and then Ray rounds a corner and God, there she is, right there, right in front of him.
"Stel -- " and then she's grabbing him, or he's grabbing her, who the hell knows -- he's squeezing her tight and she's kissing him hard, like she'll die if he lets go. That doesn't make any sense, because she's leaving. She said she'd leave. She told him to leave. "Stel," he whispers, pulling away.
She's not quite crying, because she's wearing her suit, and Stella doesn't cry when she's wearing that damn suit. "I'm sorry, Ray," she chokes out, like she means it -- and then she's not there anymore, and all that's left is Ray and the towers and towers of books that're laughing at him.
Ray sitting at his desk, trying to commit some mug shots to memory, when he feels something soft and heavy sit on his foot. "Go away, Dief," Ray grumbles, and jerks his foot a little. He's expecting a whimper -- but instead he just gets a sad little "Nooo."
Ray sits up, frowning. This is new -- and now whoever's down there is back on his foot again. Right. Time to investigate.
Ray ducks his head under the desk, not sure what he's expecting to find -- but whatever it was, it sure wasn't a toddler. Still, that's what he's got: a little chubby mini-person, portable for somebody's inconvenience, who's trying to undo Ray's shoelaces. Ray blinks at the kid for a second or two. "Hey, there," he says finally. "Whatcha doin', buddy?" The kid doesn't even look up at him, so Ray tries something else. "You lost?"
"Nope," the kid says, and starts yanking the laces out of Ray's left shoe -- aw, shit, that's gonna be a bitch to put back in later.
"Okay. Okay, um -- you okay down there?"
"Yup." Triumphantly, the kid tosses the shoelace aside and starts ripping apart the other shoe.
"That's good, that's -- here, gimme that," Ray says, holding a hand out for the shoelace; his mom always said that little boys were suicide risks. The kid pouts and shakes his head. "Look, you'll hurt yourself, and that's gonna suck, believe you me. I get hurt all the time."
"Put it back together," the kid insists, in a singsong voice that he probably learned from Barney or something.
"Okay, you take it apart, I'll put it back together, huh?" The kid considers that for a while, then passes Ray the shoelace. "Attaboy."
"Detective?"
Ray jumps, bangs the back of his head into his desk, and peers out at Welsh, who looks bemused. "Uh, hi, sir."
"Who were you talking to under there?" Welsh wants to know.
Ray rubs the back of his head. "Uh, nobody."
Welsh shakes his head incredulously. "Getting as bad as Fraser," he mutters, then squints at Ray's hand and points at it. "Is that your shoelace?"
Ray looks down at the shoelace. "Yeah, yeah it is."
Welsh doesn't even respond to that; he just wanders off, muttering about unhinged people. The kid seems to find this funny. "Hey, quiet, you," Ray mutters, and the kid complies. "You want lunch in a bit?"
"Yup."
"Okay, great. I can show you around, yeah? Introduce you to Fraser, maybe Stella -- " Ray risks a peek under the desk. "Or do you wanna hang out with me, maybe, buddy around a bit?"
"Yup," the kid agrees, and hands him his other shoelace.
Dief thumps his tail and does his best to look cute. Luckily, Ray's immune to cute when it's not coming from a chick. "Fraser," Ray yells, "your dog's looking at me again."
Dief growls. "Look, I know you don't like being called a dog, but I can't help it -- oh, for Christ's sake, I'm talking to a dog." Ray shakes his head sheepishly and flips the channel.
Dief growls again. Ray ignores him. He barks, puts his paws on Ray's knee, pushes his nose into Ray's face, and tries to lick his ear. Ray pushes Dief's face away and cranes his neck to see the TV.
"Really," Dief grumbles, sounding exactly like Fraser. "Humans are terribly inconsiderate these days."
Ray watches the percolator percolate. Drip, drip, drip, drip -- see, this would be why it's a bad idea to have a coffee machine. You get up, you turn it on so you can drink the coffee and wake up. Instead, you end up watching the coffee drip and falling asleep on the counter. Instant coffee is instant gratification. Instant is --
"Hey," Ray says suddenly, jerking out of his sleep-induced coma. "I don't have a coffee machine."
The coffee machine makes a grinding sound and vanishes abruptly.
Ray stares at the spot where it used to be for a moment. "I suck," he declares, hanging his head.
You've gotta be able to trust your gun when you're about to shoot. You gotta trust all the little gears and things, and you gotta trust the gunpowder, and you gotta trust the trigger -- but mostly, you gotta trust the bullet to go where you want it to go. The bullet's gotta be your best buddy.
"Look, bullet," Ray says, tapping his gun's chamber. "You 'n' me, we've had some issues. But let me tell you something: I'm a cop. I'm gonna try and send you where you'll do something good, huh? Just so you know. So trust me a little, would you? Maybe? Just once?"
"Meh," the bullet says.
"'Meh'? Whaddaya mean, 'meh'?" Ray demands, outraged.
"I mean this deal is a little funky. Who're you, anyway? How do I know your judgement's sound?"
Life, Ray thinks blurrily, has got to be pretty bad, if your bullets talk back to you. "I told you, I'm a cop."
"Oh, so they're teaching you sound judgement in the Academy now?"
"Yeah, uh, sure. Great judgement, right here."
"Bullshit," the bullet snarls. "You know, you're an annoying little prick. I think I want to stick myself in your foot."
"Uh -- thanks but no thanks, yeah? Look, I swear, I'm not gonna use you for nothing but cop work. Law enforcement. Okay?"
"So no holding up banks."
"Okay, no holding up banks."
"And no stealing cars."
"Right."
"And no shooting Fraser."
"Sure, I can do that."
"And no threatening to shoot Fraser." Ray hesitates. "See," the bullet says, "that would be the kind of thing that leads me to question your judgement."
"Okay okay okay," Ray relents, "no threatening to shoot Fraser. Promise. Cross my heart."
"Hmph," the bullet says. "You know, I think I may have just made a big mistake."
"No, you haven't. Really. I'll prove it."
His legs're pumping and his heart's pounding and he's got no clue if he's running to something or away from something. All he knows is that he's gotta keep going, gotta keep his feet moving; he's gotta keep going, fast, or he's gonna explode. He doesn't need to think -- there's no time to think -- all he's gotta do is go, go, go.
An object in motion tends to remain in motion. Whoever the fuck coined that little bitch forgot to mention the bit where Ray loses his knees to sprinting his way through everything.
He doesn't even know if he has his gun. He doesn't know if he's got Fraser behind him, or if maybe he's following Fraser into a trap, or if Fraser's nowhere around and Ray's all by himself, trying to stay alive. Maybe this is the end of the road. Maybe he just can't stop. Maybe this is all there is, in the end: running and running and trying to see in front, trying to see behind, and seeing fuck-all except for the blackness all around.
God, he wishes he could stop. God, he can't stop, 'cause stopping means hbe's finished -- but even if he is dead or dying or whatever the fuck he's doing, he's gotta stop someday. He's gotta give up someday. He's gotta let the big bad guys get him, someday.
Now's as good a time as any.
Ray falls onto his knees, sparks flying as the universe grinds to a stop.
For a second, he thinks everything's actually gonna be all right --
-- and then everything and everybody comes rushing past him, and he gets squished under their tires.
Ray kicks, struggles, even manages to get something in his mouth and bite down hard. He thinks he's winning, even, maybe; it's only when he hears the sheets ripping that he realizes he's in bed.
He freezes, trying to get his bearings straight -- okay. Bed. Right. In bed. Home.
Jesus Christ.
"Cool it, Stanley," Ray tells himself sternly, and pushes himself up off the mattress. He's pouring sweat, which is pretty uncomfortable, and his heart's still trying to convince him that he's facing impending death by pounding about a million miles an hour. "Just cool it," he mutters again, but it's not like his body ever listens to him. So, whatever. He's gotten used to it.
"Okay," he whispers to himself, pushing his palms into his eyes. "Get a grip." He's gotta get some sleep, or he'll do something stupid out on the streets. Crash the car, shoot a bullet in his foot, lose Fraser someplace -- something like that. Ray's pretty god at coming up with stupid things to do to himself. He doesnt even wanna think about how much coffee he's gonna need in the morning.
He balls his sheets up in his fists and chucks them on the floor; he's not gonna be needing 'em right now, and they're just having way too much fun throttling him. So -- toss 'em on the floor, where they'll leave him alone. Then he can roll over, nice 'n' easy, and go back to sleep.
Can't have weird dreams all the time, right?
Scatter
This is ordered a little weirdly. Bear in mind that there is no significance at all to the order as it is presented linearly. I suggest that you click on the links as they appear and as the fancy strikes you. Liberal use of the "back" button is strongly recommended. When you think you're done, scroll up to the scatter (or scroll down to the bottom, I've linked you to the scatter there) to make sure you haven't missed anything.
Fraser Stella Diefrunning kids Awake gunscoffee
"Duck, Ray!" Fraser shouts, and Ray ducks --
-- falls through the ground, screams, and lands on his couch. "Brilliant," Fraser says, smiling.
"The fuck?" Ray demands. "The fuck? What did you -- how -- where -- "
Fraser pats his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, Ray. Everything's all right. For the moment, in any event -- Dief?" The wolf is pawing at Fraser's knee and barking like a maniac, Ray realizes. "What is it? Oh. Oh, dear -- Ray, run!"
Without asking any questions, Ray leaps up and runs -- never mind that there's nowhere to run, seeing as they're inside, because Fraser just told him to run and so he'll run --
-- right through a wall and into the bullpen. "Well!" Fraser says brightly. "That was exciting, wasn't it?" Dief growls; Ray takes the opportunity to do the same. "Now, Ray, let's be reasonable. Here, in this closet -- "
"In the closet?"
"Well, yes, of course," Fraser answers, like he's asking Ray to do something perfectly normal, which he hasn't all day. Why the hell should he start now?
"Thanks, Fraser, I think I'll stay, um, out of the closet," Ray says firmly, taking a step back.
"Out of the closet?" Fraser repeats, looking bewildered. "What for?"
"What for? Because -- because -- because if I go in I'll have to come out of the closet again, that's why!"
Fraser tugs his ear. "Are you trying to tell me something, Ray?"
"I -- no, no, I'm not trying to tell you anything, I'm just trying to act like a sane human being, do you mind?"
Fraser's not listening. "Holey moley, look at that," he says, pointing at where, in a perfect world, the floor should be. There's a giant swirling vortex there now. "That could be a problem."
"This is all your fault!" Ray screams as they tumble through --
-- and land in Welsh's office. Dief's landed squarely on Welsh's desk, which he doesn't look too happy about. "Detective," Welsh rumbles, not looking very pleased himself, "what's the meaning of this?"
"Uh," Ray starts, wondering if he left part of his brain in the wormhole.
Fraser is, as usual, way ahead of him. "Pardon us, Lieutenant, we're just passing through." He heads over to the file cabinet, yanks the top drawer open, and tips his hat at Welsh. "Good day," he says, and jumps into the drawer.
Ray's still trying to figure out why Fraser's vanished and why Welsh's cabinet isn't completely wrecked when Dief groans, jumps off Welsh's desk, and follows Fraser in. Welsh gives Ray an uneasy look. "Uh," Ray says. "Um. Hang on a sec." He stomps over to the cabinet and looks into the drawer. Looks normal, anyway. "You know," Ray shouts into it, feeling like an idiot, "I'm not coming after you. You're on your own -- "
Fraser's hand erupts out of the drawer from between two file folders, grabs Ray's collar, and drags him in.
Ray falls head-first through a sea of forms and papercuts --
-- and smashes his head into his sofa cushion. Back to square one. "Ow!" Ray howls, trying to hold his skull together.
"Terribly sorry about the landing, Ray," Fraser says, sounding embarrassed.
Ray drags himself upright and glares at Fraser. "You!" he yells, pointing a finger in Fraser's face. "You! What the hell're you trying to do, huh? You haven't made a lick of sense since I saw you this morning. You've just been dragging me through wormholes and file cabinets and closets -- "
"Well, you wouldn't go in the closet," Fraser interrupts. "I assure you that you would have found it quite pleasant."
"Pleasant, my ass -- and that's not the point! The point is that I crashed headfirst into my couch and I don't even know why I did! And you -- you've just been being generally weird, okay, and I've -- I've had enough!" Ray punches the air furiously. "Okay? Just -- enough is enough, Fraser! And I've had it! Right here!"
Fraser's starting to look worried. "Enough, Ray?"
"Yeah! Enough! Just -- go away, all right? Leave me alone! Maybe," Ray adds, "maybe the whole falling-through-things thing'll stop if you go."
Fraser takes his hat off and flips it in his hands, staring at it fixedly. "I, ah," he starts, scratching the back of his neck, "I -- are you sure you want me to do that?"
"Yes!" Ray throws his hands up in the air. "Yes! What part of this aren't you getting?"
Fraser clears his throat. "Nothing. That is to say, you've made yourself amply clear. I as just wondering if perhaps -- never mind." He puts his hat back on and sits up straight to look at Ray. "Good day," he says somberly, and pops out of existence --
"Good," Ray grumbles.
-- along with Dief, the TV, the walls, the floor, and the rest of Chicago.
Ray looks down at his feet. They're just sort of hanging out down there, standing on a big old pile of -- well, nothing. "Fraser!" No answer. "Fraser, look, it's okay, I didn't mean you had to actually -- " Still no answer. "Look, that's not buddies! You knew I didn't mean it! You did! You -- " No answer.
Ray sighs, settles down on his big old pile of nothing, and waits for Fraser to come back.
"Ray, we need to talk."
"Um, okay." Ray looks around. He can't see much except for these big, wobbling piles of books with gold-covered titles like "The Bar Exam: Study Guides and Strategies". "Sure," he says, because nobody in their right mind avoids a Talk. "Sure, just -- where are you?"
"Quit changing the subject," Stella's voice snaps. "Just listen to me, would you?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure. I'm listening." Her voice seems to be drifting through a gap between two of the big piles, so he follows it. "What's wrong?" Nope, no Stella -- but there's another path leading off to the right, and that sounds like the right way to go, so he goes that way. Simple.
"It's -- complicated," Stella says, and boy, is it. Got to be, if it's making her sound that confused. "I can't explain it. But I -- I don't think we can go on like this."
Ray starts to panic -- all right, not so simple. Now he's got a time limit. "Whaddaya mean, 'like this'? Like what?"
"Ray -- " Stella starts, in the tired-sounding voice he hears when she phones home to say she'll be in late.
"No -- no, look, it'll be okay. It'll work out. It always does. Just -- where are you? Let me -- "
"No, Ray." Stella's voice is too firm, too harsh. Ray starts to run -- running out of time, running out of time, can't give it up now -- "Just let go. It'll be better this way. You'll see."
"What do you mean, it'll be better?" Frantically, Ray veers off to the left, chasing the sound down the endless rows of books. "It won't. Nothing's better without you -- "
"Stop, Ray," Stella says, but her voice sounds a little watery. "Just -- stop. Don't."
"I can't," Ray insists, and his voice cracks. "I can't and I won't and -- I love you, why can't you -- "
"I know," Stella croaks, and pauses. "I love you too -- " and then Ray rounds a corner and God, there she is, right there, right in front of him.
"Stel -- " and then she's grabbing him, or he's grabbing her, who the hell knows -- he's squeezing her tight and she's kissing him hard, like she'll die if he lets go. That doesn't make any sense, because she's leaving. She said she'd leave. She told him to leave. "Stel," he whispers, pulling away.
She's not quite crying, because she's wearing her suit, and Stella doesn't cry when she's wearing that damn suit. "I'm sorry, Ray," she chokes out, like she means it -- and then she's not there anymore, and all that's left is Ray and the towers and towers of books that're laughing at him.
Ray sitting at his desk, trying to commit some mug shots to memory, when he feels something soft and heavy sit on his foot. "Go away, Dief," Ray grumbles, and jerks his foot a little. He's expecting a whimper -- but instead he just gets a sad little "Nooo."
Ray sits up, frowning. This is new -- and now whoever's down there is back on his foot again. Right. Time to investigate.
Ray ducks his head under the desk, not sure what he's expecting to find -- but whatever it was, it sure wasn't a toddler. Still, that's what he's got: a little chubby mini-person, portable for somebody's inconvenience, who's trying to undo Ray's shoelaces. Ray blinks at the kid for a second or two. "Hey, there," he says finally. "Whatcha doin', buddy?" The kid doesn't even look up at him, so Ray tries something else. "You lost?"
"Nope," the kid says, and starts yanking the laces out of Ray's left shoe -- aw, shit, that's gonna be a bitch to put back in later.
"Okay. Okay, um -- you okay down there?"
"Yup." Triumphantly, the kid tosses the shoelace aside and starts ripping apart the other shoe.
"That's good, that's -- here, gimme that," Ray says, holding a hand out for the shoelace; his mom always said that little boys were suicide risks. The kid pouts and shakes his head. "Look, you'll hurt yourself, and that's gonna suck, believe you me. I get hurt all the time."
"Put it back together," the kid insists, in a singsong voice that he probably learned from Barney or something.
"Okay, you take it apart, I'll put it back together, huh?" The kid considers that for a while, then passes Ray the shoelace. "Attaboy."
"Detective?"
Ray jumps, bangs the back of his head into his desk, and peers out at Welsh, who looks bemused. "Uh, hi, sir."
"Who were you talking to under there?" Welsh wants to know.
Ray rubs the back of his head. "Uh, nobody."
Welsh shakes his head incredulously. "Getting as bad as Fraser," he mutters, then squints at Ray's hand and points at it. "Is that your shoelace?"
Ray looks down at the shoelace. "Yeah, yeah it is."
Welsh doesn't even respond to that; he just wanders off, muttering about unhinged people. The kid seems to find this funny. "Hey, quiet, you," Ray mutters, and the kid complies. "You want lunch in a bit?"
"Yup."
"Okay, great. I can show you around, yeah? Introduce you to Fraser, maybe Stella -- " Ray risks a peek under the desk. "Or do you wanna hang out with me, maybe, buddy around a bit?"
"Yup," the kid agrees, and hands him his other shoelace.
Dief thumps his tail and does his best to look cute. Luckily, Ray's immune to cute when it's not coming from a chick. "Fraser," Ray yells, "your dog's looking at me again."
Dief growls. "Look, I know you don't like being called a dog, but I can't help it -- oh, for Christ's sake, I'm talking to a dog." Ray shakes his head sheepishly and flips the channel.
Dief growls again. Ray ignores him. He barks, puts his paws on Ray's knee, pushes his nose into Ray's face, and tries to lick his ear. Ray pushes Dief's face away and cranes his neck to see the TV.
"Really," Dief grumbles, sounding exactly like Fraser. "Humans are terribly inconsiderate these days."
Ray watches the percolator percolate. Drip, drip, drip, drip -- see, this would be why it's a bad idea to have a coffee machine. You get up, you turn it on so you can drink the coffee and wake up. Instead, you end up watching the coffee drip and falling asleep on the counter. Instant coffee is instant gratification. Instant is --
"Hey," Ray says suddenly, jerking out of his sleep-induced coma. "I don't have a coffee machine."
The coffee machine makes a grinding sound and vanishes abruptly.
Ray stares at the spot where it used to be for a moment. "I suck," he declares, hanging his head.
You've gotta be able to trust your gun when you're about to shoot. You gotta trust all the little gears and things, and you gotta trust the gunpowder, and you gotta trust the trigger -- but mostly, you gotta trust the bullet to go where you want it to go. The bullet's gotta be your best buddy.
"Look, bullet," Ray says, tapping his gun's chamber. "You 'n' me, we've had some issues. But let me tell you something: I'm a cop. I'm gonna try and send you where you'll do something good, huh? Just so you know. So trust me a little, would you? Maybe? Just once?"
"Meh," the bullet says.
"'Meh'? Whaddaya mean, 'meh'?" Ray demands, outraged.
"I mean this deal is a little funky. Who're you, anyway? How do I know your judgement's sound?"
Life, Ray thinks blurrily, has got to be pretty bad, if your bullets talk back to you. "I told you, I'm a cop."
"Oh, so they're teaching you sound judgement in the Academy now?"
"Yeah, uh, sure. Great judgement, right here."
"Bullshit," the bullet snarls. "You know, you're an annoying little prick. I think I want to stick myself in your foot."
"Uh -- thanks but no thanks, yeah? Look, I swear, I'm not gonna use you for nothing but cop work. Law enforcement. Okay?"
"So no holding up banks."
"Okay, no holding up banks."
"And no stealing cars."
"Right."
"And no shooting Fraser."
"Sure, I can do that."
"And no threatening to shoot Fraser." Ray hesitates. "See," the bullet says, "that would be the kind of thing that leads me to question your judgement."
"Okay okay okay," Ray relents, "no threatening to shoot Fraser. Promise. Cross my heart."
"Hmph," the bullet says. "You know, I think I may have just made a big mistake."
"No, you haven't. Really. I'll prove it."
His legs're pumping and his heart's pounding and he's got no clue if he's running to something or away from something. All he knows is that he's gotta keep going, gotta keep his feet moving; he's gotta keep going, fast, or he's gonna explode. He doesn't need to think -- there's no time to think -- all he's gotta do is go, go, go.
An object in motion tends to remain in motion. Whoever the fuck coined that little bitch forgot to mention the bit where Ray loses his knees to sprinting his way through everything.
He doesn't even know if he has his gun. He doesn't know if he's got Fraser behind him, or if maybe he's following Fraser into a trap, or if Fraser's nowhere around and Ray's all by himself, trying to stay alive. Maybe this is the end of the road. Maybe he just can't stop. Maybe this is all there is, in the end: running and running and trying to see in front, trying to see behind, and seeing fuck-all except for the blackness all around.
God, he wishes he could stop. God, he can't stop, 'cause stopping means hbe's finished -- but even if he is dead or dying or whatever the fuck he's doing, he's gotta stop someday. He's gotta give up someday. He's gotta let the big bad guys get him, someday.
Now's as good a time as any.
Ray falls onto his knees, sparks flying as the universe grinds to a stop.
For a second, he thinks everything's actually gonna be all right --
-- and then everything and everybody comes rushing past him, and he gets squished under their tires.
Ray kicks, struggles, even manages to get something in his mouth and bite down hard. He thinks he's winning, even, maybe; it's only when he hears the sheets ripping that he realizes he's in bed.
He freezes, trying to get his bearings straight -- okay. Bed. Right. In bed. Home.
Jesus Christ.
"Cool it, Stanley," Ray tells himself sternly, and pushes himself up off the mattress. He's pouring sweat, which is pretty uncomfortable, and his heart's still trying to convince him that he's facing impending death by pounding about a million miles an hour. "Just cool it," he mutters again, but it's not like his body ever listens to him. So, whatever. He's gotten used to it.
"Okay," he whispers to himself, pushing his palms into his eyes. "Get a grip." He's gotta get some sleep, or he'll do something stupid out on the streets. Crash the car, shoot a bullet in his foot, lose Fraser someplace -- something like that. Ray's pretty god at coming up with stupid things to do to himself. He doesnt even wanna think about how much coffee he's gonna need in the morning.
He balls his sheets up in his fists and chucks them on the floor; he's not gonna be needing 'em right now, and they're just having way too much fun throttling him. So -- toss 'em on the floor, where they'll leave him alone. Then he can roll over, nice 'n' easy, and go back to sleep.
Can't have weird dreams all the time, right?
Scatter
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Date: 2006-06-28 09:59 pm (UTC)They say we're all the characters in our own dreams, so that makes me think that Ray has a lot of questions about himself if he's a Mountie, an ex, a wolf, a kid, and a bullet all in the same night.
Very cool.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-28 10:33 pm (UTC)They say we're all the characters in our own dreams, so that makes me think that Ray has a lot of questions about himself if he's a Mountie, an ex, a wolf, a kid, and a bullet all in the same night.
Huh. Interesting concept; I hadn't heard that. Though I don't think he'd have much trouble extrapolating to the wolf and the kid. *evil grin*
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Date: 2006-06-29 04:45 am (UTC)The bullet conversation was hilarious. And Fraser jumping into the drawer and then pulling Ray in was freaky-weird. Cool fic!
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Date: 2006-06-29 01:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-29 05:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-29 01:28 pm (UTC)Thank you kindly!
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Date: 2006-06-29 11:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-29 01:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-29 01:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-29 01:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-29 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-29 11:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-29 09:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-29 11:21 pm (UTC)Heee, links are just strangely addictive like that. I dunno why. Luckily they have only been known to cause psychological dependence, so.
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Date: 2006-06-30 12:27 am (UTC)You've gotta be able to trust your gun when you're about to shoot. You gotta trust all the little gears and things, and you gotta trust the gunpowder, and you gotta trust the trigger -- but mostly, you gotta trust the bullet to go where you want it to go. The bullet's gotta be your best buddy.
This is something I've never thought about but I can see how it's true. If you depend on something (a gun, Fraser) to keep you alive then you have to trust it (him) completely.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-30 02:21 am (UTC)And generally we like to trust the things that are keeping us alive. I think it's a kind of a preservation of sanity kind of thing.