ds_flashfiction | Tease challenge, by Chris

the_antichris.livejournal.com posting in

Title: Signs
Author:

the_antichris
Pairing: F/K
Rating: PG?
Notes: The baby Mounties give them an appropriate send-off. Love and cookies to

shoemaster for beta and for the fabulous illustration (that actually predates my getting around to writing this, but anyway). 1200 words or thereabouts.

It was a matter of honour to Sergeant Frobisher that his teams would run forever on tallow and the leavings from his own improvised meals; it was a matter of fervent gratitude to his cadets that the supply office nevertheless saw fit to provide them with the standard cans of dog food. Sergeant Frobisher's approval of a foodstuff seemed contingent on its odorousness, but fortunately his eyesight was going, and his sense of smell apparently long gone. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, the cadets tacitly agreed, and the same went for their own rations.

All of which was to say that there was generally an oversupply of empty tin cans around the camp, and if the temptation to tie them to the back of a conveniently isolated two-man sled proved too much for some cadets, well, youth has never been known for its discretion.

'Hey, Frase.' Ray poked his head out of the tent, squinting into the wind from under a violently orange hat pulled down nearly to his eyebrows. 'What are you doing? Kinda cold out.'

Oh, dear. He'd hoped the unaccustomed work of setting up camp would leave Ray tired and unobservant, but after that one dreadful night at altitude, his energy had returned by leaps and bounds - and was, evidently, more than equal to the demands of their expedition.

Which, in other circumstances, would have been a relief.

'You need a hand?'

Fraser shook his head, but Ray had already unzipped the tent further and clambered out.

'Huh,' he said, more a breath than a word; Fraser imagined he felt it on his neck through the layers of scarf and parka and undershirts.

'It's just a... a prank,' he managed, trying for lightness. Ray had been enthusiastic about their adventure, more eager even than Fraser had hoped to continue their partnership, but he had never seemed to desire more; his frenzied pursuit of women suggested quite the opposite, and at the back of Fraser's mind had always been a certain anxiety about Ray's reaction should he hear any of the rumours that periodically washed through the station on the subject of their relationship. Ray was wonderfully open-minded in many ways, but in Fraser's experience, law-enforcement officers rarely took such things calmly. Ray, he thought, might be different, but the risk remained.

Fraser had learned not to be optimistic.

There had been rumours at Frobisher's camp, too, though Fraser wasn't sure how or when they'd started; they were no more and no less than partners, here as in Chicago, and the rush of action and then of laying in supplies for the expedition had left them scarcely a moment alone. Perhaps he'd been injudicious, allowed his eyes to linger longer than was permissible or wise - but how could he do otherwise? The sight of Ray's lean frame wrapped in Arctic layers, his awkward snowshoe shuffle, his mittened hands on the dogs' tow lines, all stole the ground from under Fraser, left him powerless to do anything but look.

'Funny,' Ray said, with a sharp sideways glance, though his tone was anything but amused.

Fraser sighed. 'I should have noticed it earlier.' The cans had been hidden under piled-up snow and the black-lettered sign under the sled cover; a ridiculous prank, but competent. 'I'd forgotten what recruits are like.'

'Yeah, like you ever messed with a guy's car. Sled.' Ray's grin faded as quickly as it had bloomed. 'So, we've been, uh, decorated the whole way out of town?'

Fraser nodded.

'Really fucking funny.' Ray punched Fraser's shoulder, then squeezed it for a brief moment. 'Come on, dinner time. We got mush to eat, and there's a side of, oh yeah, mush. I think the dogs eat better.'

Ray rolled over, propping himself on his elbow. 'Hey, Fraser?'

Fraser felt his face heat, and bent to the task of lighting the spirit lamp with cold-clumsy fingers. Ray tapped his fingers against the sleeping bag until at last Fraser was forced to admit success and look up. 'Yes, Ray?'

'Don't worry too much about that... that thing. With the cans. It's just kids. It doesn't, you know, mean anything.'

'I don't...' Fraser shook his head. 'I thought you'd be... displeased.'

'Nah. Like I said, 's just kids.'

The lamp secured, Fraser lay back on his own bedroll, searching for space with which to assimilate this newly expanded view of Ray.

A soft, synthetic squeaking came from the other side of the tent, scant centimetres away, and Ray's face swam into view.

'Besides. It's, uh, kind of true.' Ray raised his hand, as if to rake it through his hair, but settled instead for adjusting his hat. 'I mean, you're thinking the same thing I am, right? Just us and the tent, nothing to stop us... You know.'

Fraser stared at the sagging ceiling of the tent, at the frost crystals already forming delicate, alien tracings on the fabric. The words were clear enough, but the sense... He turned the sentence over and over, shaping it between his hands, and from every angle stretched the same open vista, broad and strange and promising adventure.

The night before, at the camp... Ray had crouched beside him, balancing himself with a mittened hand on Fraser's knee. His face dipped in and out of the uncertain ambit of the firelight.

'Fraser.' He'd swallowed visibly, started again. 'Fraser, you remember that stuff we were talking about, the distance thing?'

Fraser had nodded. So. It was happening, and the moment was none the more endurable for having played itself out in his thoughts a dozen, a hundred times since they'd landed in a snowfield that smelled of home.

'I can't do it. I can't do the distance thing, and I don't think you want to, either, so-'

His hand had flexed on Fraser's knee, and Fraser had noticed for the first time the lopsided sweep of Ray's lashes, a counterpoint to the dear, uneven quirk of his mouth. With an effort, he'd lifted his gaze from the enticing gilding of stubble around soft lips. Whatever Ray was about to suggest, it did no good to dwell on what had never been his.

And then, with impeccable timing, Frobisher's lead dog had taken issue with the set of Diefenbaker's ears, and Fraser had pushed the incident to the back of his mind. Later, with time to think, friendship had always seemed the likeliest, the safest interpretation. Ray was a demonstrative man; there was no reason to assume he had any intentions beyond friendship, and friendship was priceless in itself.

Now, though, Ray was looking down at him, worry turning the corner into embarrassment, and it seemed he'd been wrong. Entirely, gloriously wrong, and the realisation rushed through him, as real as his own pulse. His skin prickled - he could feel Ray's hands on him already, touching him with intimate assurance, searching out everything Fraser had kept hidden for so long. So very long.

'I didn't know. I hoped...' Wished would be more accurate; he'd never had a talent for hope, not when it came to himself. 'I didn't know,' he said again, and fell upwards into Ray's waiting arms.

END

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

amireal.livejournal.com

Your LJ cut is broken! *glares at LJ*

From:

Tease challenge, by Chris

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags