Button challenge by rose
Feb. 25th, 2007 10:17 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
rosekay.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionSong of Experience
by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rosekay
Fraser/RayK, pg-13, AU (spoilers for Strange Bedfellows)
“What?” said Fraser, appalled. “You named your daughter Blanche?”"
6,143 words.
The thing is, there were clues.
When he’d asked Ray Kowalski to dinner after their first, rather trying day, he hadn’t been expecting a home cooked meal.
In the dim, comfortable light of Ray’s cluttered apartment, it wasn’t gourmet, more of the meat and potatoes affair, but that was more than sufficient for Fraser, and Dief, the greedy lump, had immediately set himself to sneaking off with half the entrée.
Ray hadn’t seemed to mind though, which had shortly won him a devoted lifelong fan. Sometimes Fraser had to concede that wolves really were simple creatures.
He had spent most of his life on the move. He thought of his grandparents when he thought of home, of the memory of his mother, maybe the snow and wide open spaces. Dief certainly, though he might protest that. He couldn’t even find it in his heart to miss his old apartment now that the real Ray Vecchio was gone, and the Consulate felt like a queer, in-between place even when it was full of voices, which it rarely was.
He’d never felt lonely in the North, with Dief at his side, the wind at his back, or even in Chicago, the vast, strange tracery of an alien world to explore. His old apartment had been bare because he didn’t need more, a sign of self sufficiency rather than a lack of anything, but here, he could feel the gulf.
Ray, had dishes in the sink and clothes on the couch, pictures on his walls. In the worn bike, the frayed, well thumbed edges of old magazines, and the accrued mass of candy wrappers near the battered coffee machine, he could see a life yawning back at him.
The place smelled like his new partner in a way that the places Fraser slept never seemed to smell like him, or anything at all. He tried to find Stella in the nicely curtained windows, the surprisingly neat dining table that looked like it hadn’t been touched in months, but it was a wasted effort. He didn’t even know what she looked like. She could have been hiding anywhere.
There were little cracks in the walls, painted indifferent pastels that seemed to open to the brightness of everything else they held, thin, webbed lines of age and use.
Fraser had learned once that the Japanese valued their broken things as much as their whole ones, that they filled their cracks with gold, a sign of beauty and pride. He wondered why Ray had chosen to slip himself into another man’s life.
“Best thing that Stella and I ever did,” Ray had said, lonely and young looking in the cemetery, his glasses shielding his eyes, but he didn’t finish his sentence, the moment stringing out between them. It hadn’t seemed right to push him.
He was in the station early, but the place was already beginning to swell with the noise of the day, Lieutenant Welsh’s booming voice rumbling from inside his office and Huey was leading what looked like a clown into one of the interview rooms.
Ray didn’t appear to be at his desk yet, but someone was already there, spinning around in the chair.
For a horrified moment, Fraser imagined another hand outstretched, “Hi, I’m Ray Vecchio,” belong to a face that was neither of his Rays, and he had to gather himself, because he wasn’t ready for that – he needed -
Dief barked at his side, apparently pleased with the new acquaintance.
Fraser frowned at him. “Really, Dief, you haven’t even been plied with food yet, and already you’re – “
Then the chair stopped spinning, and Dief’s favorable impression began making more sense. After all, he’d always liked blondes.
“Hi,” said the girl.
She could have been anywhere from fourteen to twenty, with an attractive, changeable face and honey blonde hair that fell to her shoulders in what Fraser supposed was a fashionable haircut. She had long, skinny legs that were sprawled in front of her, and a faintly curled lip.
“Hello,” he managed, and then remembering his manners, extended his hand. “I am Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
The girl gave him a supremely disbelieving look, and Dief, the traitor, was already nuzzling at her hand. Her eyes trailed from his hat to his boots with a something that seemed half fascination and half disdain.
Fraser hadn’t dealt with many adolescents in the past, but it seemed to be a gift peculiar to that age group. He couldn’t seem to remember ever possessing it though.
“Oh you’re Canadian.” Fraser wondered why everyone insisted on using the term in an explanatory manner. He had the vague feeling he should be somewhat insulted. Then she licked her lips and said, “Ok, so what, you on a vacation?”
Dief whined for her attention and licked at her fingers, but her eyes, wide and pale and blue in her face, were trained intently on Fraser. There was something that was not entirely alien about the way she cocked her head at him.
“Well,” he took a breath, “I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father – “
“Button! What the hell’re you doing here?”
Ray’s voice from behind him surprised him, and he moved aside instinctively to let him barrel through.
“B,” shouted the girl, apparently horrified, “It’s B! Oh my God, I thought we talked about the not in public thing,” there was a terribly wronged expression on her face. “Just – oh my God,” she finished.
“Like the letter?” Fraser felt a little stupid as soon as the question came out.
Now both sets of blue eyes were focused on him, and he felt compelled to take a step back.
“Well,” the girl – B – relented. “Sorta.” She seemed to think about it for a bit. “You could spell it B – e – e too I guess.”
“Oh yeah,” Ray rolled his eyes, “like a bug is so much cooler.”
“Shut up!”
“How’d you find this place? I thought I told you to come to the apartment if you needed anything.” Ray didn’t exactly look angry, but Fraser suspected the expression decorating his features wasn’t pleasure.
“I know people, Vecchio,” the girl said with an acid voice.
Ray snorted, “Bullshit, you’re a kid. You don’t got connections. How’d you find me?”
The girl huffed, “Mom told me.” At Ray’s suspicious look, she looked down at her hands. “Ok fine, maybe I overheard. You think she isn’t keeping track?”
“Jesus, does everyone know? I’m undercover, I’m – “ Ray looked like he was about to go off on a rant, and Bee apparently had the same thought as Fraser, because she cut in efficiently.
“This place is kinda lame by the way. I liked your old precinct better.”
Ray, well, he bristled. It reminded Fraser of Dief in a rather unsettling way.
“Ray?” Fraser asked weakly.
They seemed to break their standoff, connecting to the rest of the world at last. Dief was already settling himself happily between the two of them, one eye on Bee, and other on the box of donuts Ray had tucked into the crook of one arm.
Fraser spared him a reproachful look while he waited for an answer. Dief serenely ignored him.
“Oh,” Ray had one elbow up, scratching the back of his head with something like embarrassment. “My bad. Fraser, this is my brat,” he looked at her, mouth twitching, “Bee. Brat, this is Fraser, my – “
Fraser quietly recalculated her age. She had to be a little younger than she looked, since according to his files, Ray was only thirty six, and he didn’t seem to be the type who would be a teenage father, though it was always possible, and one shouldn’t judge, he supposed.
Bee looked on, interested.
“ – partner,” Ray finished.
“Who came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of his father?” she parroted, a hint of wryness in her voice. Fraser quelled the need to blush.
“Oh jeez,” Ray gave him a look, “you started with that already?”
“Well,” Fraser began, taking a breath, but then Ray’s attention had already flitted back to his daughter, who was still staring at Fraser with a disconcerting directness.
“What’re you doing here? Does your mother know? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
Best thing Stella and I ever did, Fraser remembered.
Bee seemed nonplussed by the barrage of questions. She just slouched more.
“I have information for you. Duh, of course she doesn’t. And I have first period off. The Bitch cancelled class.”
Fraser could only presume “The Bitch” was one of her instructors. Somehow, he could hear his grandmother’s paper thin voice lecturing him.
Ray rolled his eyes. “Ok, fine, you pass. This time. But you better haul ass back to school once we’re done here, got it?”
There was a sullen silence from the chair.
Ray leaned forward, the holster stretching across his shoulders.
“Got it?” his voice didn’t change, but there was a charged quality to the air between them. Fraser wondered vaguely if he should excuse himself.
“Fine,” Bee acceded, quite mutinously it seemed. Then she straightened her shoulders. “God, you’re acting like Mom.”
“Don’t you start that with me,” Ray growled. “Now spill.” He crossed his arms. It reminded Fraser unnervingly of one of his interrogations.
Bee leaned in close, chancing a look at Fraser that was half suspicious and half a smile.
Ray gave a quick nod.
“There’s a guy.”
Ray was absolutely still, but Fraser could see his fists tightening. Even his hair, normally quite lively in the first place, seemed to be standing on end.
“Who is he?”
Bee made a face. “Well, Mom said I shouldn’t talk about it, especially to you.”
Ray rustled around in his pocket and slapped a twenty down on his desk.
“Ray,” Fraser couldn’t help himself.
Ray didn’t even spare him a glance. “My kid, my rules, Fraser. What’s the rest of it, brat?”
The twenty had already disappeared by the time Fraser looked back to Bee. She shifted around uncomfortably.
“Some older dude. Lame hair, lame suits, lame everything. Some sort of big shot politician I think. Or he talks likes it at least.”
“Great,” Ray ran a distracted hand through his hair. Silver flashed off one narrow wrist. “Just great.”
He looked from side to side, and Fraser thought if he were a wolf, he might have been turning in an agitated little circle.
Finally, he looked back to Bee, his expression a good deal less certain. “She like him?”
The girl looked stricken, but then her face smoothed itself over in a way that strongly reminded Fraser of Ray himself.
“Well,” she started. “Not really.”
Ray looked at her.
“Maybe,” she said.
Ray crossed his arms.
“Ok, yeah,” said Bee at last, and her voice was small. “But I don’t.”
“He gotta name?”
“Yeah, something Italian,” Bee managed to make it sound like a disease. “Orsini?”
“Fucker,” said Ray, but he didn’t sound angry.
“Yeah,” Bee muttered. Fraser crushed the urge to issue a reprimand for language. The two of them made a charming, if sad, tableau, Bee’s fingertips tucked under her thighs, her legs dangling to the ground, their blond heads bowed together.
At last, Ray said, “So what’s the other thing?”
“What other thing?” Bee answered too quickly.
“There’s always another thing.”
“No there isn’t.” Now she crossed her arms. Fraser recognized it as a Ray habit, when he was feeling threatened.
“Is it that Gavin kid? Huh?” Ray was starting to pace again, the stillness apparently too much for him.
“What?” Bee’s eyes were wide, her mouth small.
“I’ll kill him,” Ray promised instantly. “I knew that kid was trouble, coming around my place, thinking he could – “
“Dad,” wailed Bee. “You’re making a scene.”
Ray shrugged. “In here? You’d have to do a lot more than that, brat.”
“It’s not Jimmy,” she said, before leaning back and crossing her legs. It made her look more adult, edging her back to twenty, too old to be Ray’s daughter, Ray who still played with his hair and wore a boy’s glasses.
“In fact,” said Bee, and she only sounded a little nervous, “I dumped him.”
“Good,” said Ray, smirking.
“He was oppressing my rights, suppressing my femininity,” she sounded wooden, like Ray trying to recite something. Finally, Bee sighed, “Fine, you were right. He was kind of an asshole. Anyway, I’m becoming a lesbian.”
She said the last part so quickly Fraser thought he’d hallucinated it for a moment. Ray looked equally poleaxed.
“Come again?” he had one hand on his hip.
“I’m a dyke,” said Bee, more blithely now. “I like pussy.” She smiled like a cat licking cream off its paws.
Ray recoiled, “Please do not say that. I do not need to hear my kid saying that.”
Bee’s lower lip trembled a little. “Does that mean, you – “
Dief whined, low.
“Yes, I know, Dief,” Fraser whispered, “but we appear to be trapped at the moment. Just wait it out.”
“What? No! It’s just, I meant the word, and I - ” Ray put one hand on her shoulder. His long fingers looked comfortable there. “No, that’s fine. That’s more than fine.”
He gave her a small smile, and Fraser’s chest was suddenly warm.
Bee suddenly wrapped her arms around Ray’s shoulders. She had the same hands, slim and articulate, curling pale against the dark fabric of Ray’s T-shirt.
“I knew you’d understand,” it was muffled against Ray’s neck.
“You’re mother’s gonna freak.”
They pulled part, bearing identical smirks that had Dief whimpering again.
“Yeah, I know.”
Then Bee was off the chair with a quick, “Gonna be late, bye, Dad!”
“Bye, kid,” Ray said quietly as she disappeared around the corner.
Fraser allowed him a moment, but found he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“Out of curiosity, Ray, what exactly is her real name?”
Ray seemed startled out of some reverie. “What?” he said, then ducked his head with something like embarrassment when the question seemed to process.
“Ray?” Fraser prompted.
“Blhmmm,” said Ray.
Fraser narrowed his eyes. “What was that?”
“Blanche,” Ray finally spit out.
“What?” said Fraser, appalled. “You named your daughter Blanche?”
Ray had the good grace to blush. “It was my dad again. Stella was drugged out of her mind, out like a light as soon as she stopped swearing she would kill me, and I was barely outta the academy, got called on a shift almost as soon as she popped. Everything was signed and sealed by the time we realized.” He rubbed his face. “I thought he was joking.”
Dief woofed at them.
“You shouldn’t be judgmental,” Fraser told him.
“She was ugly when she was born, right?”
Fraser stared at Ray, but his face was soft and not cruel, hair a little limp.
“I mean, no, well, ugly, like babies are, kind red and wrinkled, but I thought she was, Christ, I thought – “
“ – she was beautiful?” Fraser supplied, gently as he could.
“Yeah,” Ray stared at the wall, “beautiful. She was all warm, wrapped up, and I swear, I swear she looked at me first thing, just opened those little eyes, and I was so happy, like all the arguing had been worth it, you know?”
Fraser didn’t, but Ray seemed keen to let it all spill out.
“I mean, Stella and I, we were just kids, tied the knot at eighteen – I mean, who are you when you’re eighteen anyway, Christ, Button’s gonna be eighteen in a few years – and well, yeah, married at eighteen and then she was knocked up barely outta college. Fraser, she was so freaking mad,” he laughed at that, “but she didn’t even defer law school or nothing, just went right back into it. I had night shifts coming out of my ass after Button was born, because Stella had to go to classes, and she had this job too, an internship. It was fucking crazy. Ma helped out when she could, but that wasn’t a lot, so neither of us slept for what, musta been a year or something, and Button, she didn’t want to talk, nah, not until she was ready. Stella was freaking out, Stella’s bitch of a mother was freaking out. They wanted to call the doctors, but then, it happened, you know? Whassat they say? When it rains - ?”
Dief barked.
“That’s right,” Fraser told him, “when it rains, it pours.”
Ray nodded, jiggling one leg, foot propped up on the desk. His hands were shoved in his pockets.
“Well, she poured. It poured, I mean. And she didn’t start out with something simple, like mama or dada, like normal baby stuff, huh? She’s playing with my uniform one day, drooling all over it, little freak, and she looks at me, and says, clear as anything, ‘button.’ Button, she says, like everything’s normal!”
“Ah,” said Fraser, “so that’s when you – “
“ – yeah, when we started. I mean, we sure as hell weren’t gonna call her Blanche. But it’s a helluva thing, Fraser, kids, you know?”
He didn’t.
“They just snap up. I mean, it’s like yesterday, she was drooling on me, and Stella was there, and now she wants to be Bee or whatever that is and – “
He looked at Fraser, finally taking a breath. “Well yeah, so anyway. I gotta daughter.”
Ray said it with a hopeful sort of look in his eyes, like he was apologizing for not telling Fraser earlier, like the whole sudden thing, a rush of nervous energy that was more than anyone had ever told Fraser, was just that – an apology. There were creases around his eyes and mouth, but they seemed to speak of laughter, and there was something unexpectedly soft about his hard angles and bony shoulders.
“She’s lovely, Ray,” Fraser said uncertainly, feeling he’d been given something delicate, and if he took a wrong step, he might accidentally squash it.
Now Ray looked a little embarrassed, ducking his head to one side, the paleness of his long throat glowing under the bullpen’s bad lighting. Fraser swallowed.
“Shall we, shall we,” he began wretchedly.
“Get to work?” Ray grinned at him, wide and white. “Yeah, let’s shall, Fraser.”
*
“I’ll try anything,” said Ray, low, prickly, and Fraser’s palms were sweating. His grandfather had once managed something about growing hairs, perhaps he should –
But then he saw the gunman, and they were both out of the car.
Stella turned out to be something like he’d imagined, though now he could see that Bee was clearly Ray’s daughter, a little gawky and too gangly by half, her mother shining through only in her sometimes crisp enunciation and her even features. All the charm in her though, Fraser thought, perhaps a little unfairly, in her small mouth that could go wide with a smile, and her hands that didn’t stop moving, long fingers and narrow wrists, that was Ray.
Stella, however, was undeniably lovely, and even separated by a seat, Ray seemed drawn to her.
“How’s Button?” he interrupted one of Orsini’s political anecdotes, for which Fraser was privately grateful.
“For God’s sake, Ray,” Stella sighed. “She’s fifteen. You can call her Blanche.”
“Like it matters, Stell.”
“She’s not a child anymore, Ray. In a few years, she’ll be off to college – “
“If she wants to go,” Ray said shortly. His face darkened, and Fraser knew it was an old saw between them.
“She will go to college,” Stella’s voice was not to be contradicted.
“You can’t control her like that, Stell. Or else she’s not gonna tell you anything.”
“What, and she tells you?” Stella sounded disbelieving. “Did you know she kissed a girl at school?”
Fraser closed his eyes.
“Yeah,” Ray said belligerently. “I did.”
“You knew?” Her voice curled up at that, disbelieving. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her it was ok,” Ray said, remarkably calm.
“How could you – “ Stella sounded shocked. Dief whined piteously beside her. Fraser chanced him a look of sympathy.
“Far as I’m concerned, better she’s off with a couple girls than that freaking Gavin kid.”
“Jimmy’s nice,” Stella protested. Then she paused, “Ok, maybe not, but this isn’t about that. It’s about – “
“What? That I can tell her I understand her, and you can’t?”
“You don’t understand, Ray. You never did. This isn’t about Blanche,” and Fraser could see Ray make a face at that, “you know I love her. This is about how you never grew up. She’s just a child. Maybe she can’t see how hard this is going to make everything for her, but you’re her father. You should.” Fraser watched her rub her eyes. Dief nuzzled at her comfortingly, but she just brushed him aside, upset. “You never get it, Ray. That’s why, that’s why we, well you know.”
There was a terrible silence from Ray, and his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He dropped his head briefly, one hand going to his hair, distracted.
“If you hadn’t stopped trying, then we would – “
“Me,” Stella returned, leaning forward so she was nearly screaming in Ray’s ear. “You wanted to raise a daughter with me, Ray, and you pull bullshit like this undercover thing. You don’t know what responsibility is – you – “
“Like hell I don’t. I didn’t give up, Stella,” Ray’s voice was low now, tightly controlled, but no less intense in the confines of the car.
Fraser and the Alderman exchanged a helpless look.
“Neither did I,” Stella whispered, and now she was quiet too, the two of them with this trick of shutting everyone else out. Fraser tasted something bitter in his mouth.
“Jesus, Stell,” Ray rubbed his face with one hand, face pale in the light. He looked tired, the ball of his wrist skinny and alone, body slouched. “It’s like suddenly, I don’t even know how to talk to you anymore.”
“No, Ray,” Stella sounded obscenely gentle. “That took years.”
There was a silence that could have upset The Cold War that lasted until they finally reached the house.
The pause that ensued as the car pulled to a halt was almost worse.
At last, Stella said, “I think I’m going to go in with Frank. Good night, Ray.” She stepped out, her shoulders tight in her sundress. “Good night, Constable.”
Orsini shot them a single, searching look, before slipping his arm around her and hailing the police officers already gathered around his driveway.
Ray seemed to deflate as they left, his head coming down between his wrists, crossed on the steering wheel.
“Come on, Ray,” Fraser urged him gently.
At the Consulate, Ray looked him full in the face, with tired, baggy eyes and a thin mouth.
He said, “You like me right, Fraser?”
Do you find me attractive?
“Well,” he reached for something, “yes, yes I do, Ray.”
“Good,” Ray reached out with one hand, cupping Fraser’s cheek, and the touch stung like fire. But then he wasn’t worrying about his cheek, because Ray’s lips were on his, softer than they looked, and then Ray’s tongue was past his teeth, hot against his own.
Fraser inhaled it, home and loneliness all in one, the blond stubble scraping him raw as he leaned back against the door, wiry body pressing nearly into his lap. His face was hot, and he could feel himself hardening between his legs.
“Ray,” he started to protest, embarrassed, but Ray just leaned in for another kiss that was more like a bite, and ground himself down, one hand impossibly tight on Fraser’s shoulder. He dimly noticed that his hat had been knocked off.
He looked at Ray’s face, his eyes tightly closed, lashes shadowing his cheeks, mouth tight, maybe unhappy. His throat looked vulnerable in the moonlight, stretching out from the dark angle of his jaw.
The lull didn’t last, because a hand wound itself between Fraser’s thighs, and he jumped at the touch, Ray’s clever fingers.
“Christ, how the hell do you get this thing off?”
Fraser could easily imagine an entire lurid scenario of giving Ray detailed instructions on the exact process, and he thought much of his blood had already rushed between his legs, but he forced himself to stop, breathing hard.
“Ray. Do you think – perhaps – Stella – well – “
He was suddenly unacceptably inarticulate, but Ray seemed to grasp his point well enough. He paused in his enthusiastic exploration, part of Fraser had to sigh at that, and his face looked older again, all sharp angles in the dim light.
There was a sigh, and Fraser stared at the sharp cut of his collarbone, strong, the tender skin under his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah,” a little awkward shifting and he was back in the driver’s seat, shirt rumpled but none the worse for wear. “You’re right. This is – this isn’t – I’m sorry, Fraser.”
Fraser stared Ray’s lips, still slick and a little swollen from their activities, and couldn’t help but feel that a world of possibilities had suddenly opened for him, only to snap shut again. Now that he’d felt it, he couldn’t imagine thinking that mouth was thin or unforgiving again. He could still smell Ray, and it made him think of their meal the other night, the cozy apartment.
He imagined that Ray had cooked for Bee and Stella that first year, when he worked the night shift, his hands grazing pots and pans, measuring out ingredients. He maybe had tiny scars if Fraser could look close enough, from little cooking accidents and tea left on the stove too long. He’d give Bee a kiss on the forehead in the yellow kitchen light, and Stella one on the lips, something wholesome.
It filled him with something that was neither joy nor sadness. He only knew that it made his chest ache.
Ray didn’t look at him when he got out of the car and went up the stairs.
It was only when Dief barked that he remembered the wolf was even there.
“Yes, I’m sorry, Dief. I’m being maudlin again, aren’t I?”
*
“Cat fight,” Dewey hissed at him gleefully on his way into the station.
“Excuse me?” Fraser frowned at him, but the detective was already whisking himself away, folder in hand.
He heard the screeching before he rounded the corner, and a knot of dread began to develop in his stomach.
He realized two things as the fight in question came into view. One, that Bee Kowalski was actually taller than Francesca Vecchio, though she wore only what looked like sneakers, and two, that they looked liable to tear each other’s hair out if someone didn’t separate them.
He looked around at the rest of the bullpen, all of them suddenly fascinated with their work. Cowards, Fraser thought balefully, and he took a deep breath.
“Miss Vecchio? Miss Kowalski?”
The blonde and dark heads turned almost simultaneously. It was quite eerie.
“Fraser!” They crowed together, and then promptly glared at each other.
“She was trying to – “ Bee began, just as Frannie yelled, “Frase, this hussy wanted – “
“Oh, dear,” said Fraser. He gathered himself with some effort.
“Miss Vecchio, perhaps if you would fetch me the material on the project?”
He himself was a little vague as to exactly which project he was referring, but Frannie seemed happy enough to comply. She primped her hair a little, settling for one last glare at Bee, before she flounced off.
Bee stuck her tongue out at her retreating back. Then she seemed to notice Fraser was watching, and blushed.
“Miss Kowalski?” he said, nervous. He hadn’t seen Ray since the night before, and talking to his daughter now seemed almost, well, inappropriate.
“Fraser,” she said again, looking relieved. “You won’t believe what my dad did.”
Maybe, Fraser thought darkly.
“This whole shooting thing with Mom? He made some stupid beat cop pick me up from school and drop me off here. I had plans, and now – “
She seemed distraught, so Fraser awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.
“She’s very pretty, son,” his own father said at his shoulder, staring at Bee speculatively.
“Dad,” Fraser hissed, scandalized, “she’s a child.”
“What was that?” Bee looked up.
“Nothing,” Fraser said quickly.
“Tall though,” his father said approvingly, “hips not too good for childbearing I guess. I’ll have you know your mother wasn’t much older than that the first time we, well, you know.”
Fraser could only stare at him in mute horror.
“I’m kidding,” said his father, no sign of any change in his expression. “She wouldn’t let me touch her until I made that shot. What a shot, son.”
“Fraser?” Bee was waving a hand in his face now.
“Yes, sorry?” he tried to look attentive.
“It’s just,” she looked to the side, apparently frustrated, “I’m not a little kid anymore, you know? I wish he’d just be here, instead of ordering me around.”
“I understand,” said Fraser with feeling.
“Now that’s unfair, son,” his father began.
“How long have you known him anyway?” she squinted at him. “My dad?”
Unreasonably, the question made Fraser blush. He prayed that she wouldn’t notice.
“Oh they do, women. They always do,” his father contributed helpfully.
“Not long,” he admitted to Bee. “The situation is,” he paused, “complicated.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she waved, “undercover, secret agent-y, I get it.” She sighed. “It’s just, I miss them together sometimes.”
Fraser felt the burn of Ray’s lips on him as if it had just happened, suddenly guilty in the face of Bee’s obvious distress. He was practically an adulterer, might as well have had the A pinned to his uniform, perhaps not scarlet – it wouldn’t show, but –
“But they’re awful together too, you know? They used to have these fights.” Bee was twisting one strand of hair in her fingers. It made her look all of twelve. Fraser wondered if she’d even noticed she was doing it. “When I was six, my dad got shot saving this kid, and he didn’t come to pick me up from school. I was, well, I guess I was selfish back then. I just remembered being so mad that that he didn’t show, and then he was in the hospital, and he looked dead.”
She inched closer, as Fraser wondered whether it was in the Kowalski genes to divulge old history to Mounties, or if Bee had somehow sensed his discomfort, and she had only inherited Ray’s unorthodox style of apology.
He could imagine that too, Ray in the hospital bed. He hadn’t been much older when his mother had died.
“Terrible thing,” his father muttered, right on cue, and he was watching Bee intently, her tight face. Fraser suddenly wanted to shield her from the intrusion, ridiculous as it was.
“And my mom, she was so mad, oh man, but she just at there and cried, for hours and hours, until he woke up. They had this fight – I don’t even know if they knew I was there, I hid I guess - and they said these freaking awful things to each other, and obviously, the divorce wasn’t pretty either, but that was just the end of it all.” She looked straight at him. “Then he takes this weird undercover thing.”
Fraser wondered for the security of Ray Vecchio, the real one, if everyone seemed to know exactly what had happened between the two of them.
Bee seemed to lose her rhythm a little. “Basically, well, he can be a pain in the ass.”
Fraser nodded, sympathetic.
“Careful, son,” his father said reproachfully.
“But he’s my dad, and well, I guess, he’s just trying to take care of me, right?” She looked at him, more earnestly than he’d ever seen her.
“I’m sure he’s only looking out for your best interests, Bee,” Fraser said, neutral.
“It’s a hard thing, that,” his father offered, and he looked old in the way of parents.
“And well, oh God,” she wiped at her eyes a little, “this is embarrassing.”
Fraser was slightly paralyzed. He’d never dealt with crying women well. His grandmother was never given to great emotion, and Victoria didn’t even bear thinking about.
“Quick,” said his father, “get your handkerchief. She’s about to blow.”
Bee did not, in fact, blow. She only allowed herself one more sniffle, before she straightened.
“I guess you’re here right, justice and everything?”
Fraser remembered the psychological tests. It seemed that it was all he saw these days.
“As it should be, son,” said his father, now behind Bee. “You know, in the winter of 79, Buck Frobisher and I were on the leeward side of this mountain, and Benton, you know that – “
“Well,” said Fraser, carefully cutting him off, “it is my duty to enforce the peace and ensure that – “
“Right, whatever,” Bee cut him off just as skillfully, “but you’ll be there for him, right? Like partners?”
“An important thing, Benton,” his father nodded sagely.
“Yes,” Fraser said, “I will. Certainly.” He offered her a smile.
Bee started rifling through Ray’s desk. “I’m still gonna yell at him when he gets back. You know if he keeps any money in here?”
Fraser closed his gaping mouth.
“Disgraceful,” his father shook his head.
*
Fraser privately thought that Ray’s glee over Orsini’s corruption seemed a little over the top, but Bee was winking at him, and Stella didn’t seem upset, so he couldn’t begrudge his partner a moment of having been proven right.
Ray caught his eye easily, no tension in his wide grin, mouthing thank you over Bee’s head.
Fraser smiled, ignoring the heat in his gut.
“Hey, Button,” and Bee didn’t even complain this time, “you wanna go home?”
She hugged him, “Yeah.”
“Stella?”
“We shouldn’t,” said Stella, and then she smiled, all heat. “We’re dangerous, you know.”
Ray drew her close, “Yeah, I know.”
Bee recoiled, “Oh, ew, cut that out.”
Ray gave Stella a look that might have been illegal in several states, or at least according to the 1818 Illinois Code, which Fraser was tempted to steal from Ray’s car at the moment.
“Guys!” Bee shouted in horror.
Ray slid a hand around Stella’s waist.
“Therapy,” Bee moaned, “hours and hours of therapy.” But her parents just laughed, and they were three again, wrapped together.
“You know,” said Welsh from behind him, “it’s twenty blocks to the Consulate. We could get a blue and white to take the ladies.”
“No,” said Fraser mildly, “a brisk walk in the night air will do me good.”
Then Frannie was upon them with the serial numbers, and he had his hands full getting to the apartment on time.
*
A bomb, a gun and a madman didn’t really make a difference, Fraser meditated, when you were left with the same scene.
And he was, left with the same scene that is.
Weston was already in custody, but the Kowalskis were standing together in the door, Bee wrapped in her mother’s arms, and Ray hovering over them, face tense. They looked like a painting. They looked like a family.
He caught Fraser’s eye, and a slow smile slid across his angled cheeks and thin mouth, except Fraser really shouldn’t have been thinking of his mouth.
“Good job with the bomb, huh?”
Bee grinned at him, her father’s grin, “You fish like that up in Canada?”
“Well, it’s illegal to use a bomb to – “ he saw that she was laughing, and caught himself. “I guess, I’ll be, well,” he straightened his hat nervously, “I’ll be going then.”
“Hey, Fraser!”
It was Ray, cutting away from his wife and daughter.
“Ray, really, you should probably stay here, and – “
“Hey, wanna get something to eat?”
“Of course, Ray,” he replied without thinking, surprised.
They commenced with farewells, and the door eventually shut, Stella’s and Bee’s voices still drifting out occasionally.
“You know,” said Ray calmly, as they proceeded down the hallway. “I talked with Stella, and well,” now he looked nervous, “I’m sorry about that – “
“Think nothing of it,” Fraser said urgently. He thought of Uncle Tiberius, of cabbages, and Turnbull in his apron.
“What I mean is,” Ray rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, sliding his eyes to Fraser’s. “The thing, it, well, it wasn’t just Stella and that prick – “
Fraser hardly dared to breathe. Ray looked at him, and slung a hand around his shoulder, brotherly, but he curled a long finger over the uniform collar, brushing bare skin for just an instant, and Fraser nearly jumped.
“What I meant,” Ray said, looking at the floor. “Well, what I meant was – that, I, uh, meant it.” He looked up. “Does that make sense?”
“Not at all,” but Fraser was smiling, thinking of the apartment, filled with life, and Ray’s capable hands.
“Good,” Ray grinned, and they walked on, shoulder to shoulder.
*
end
Notes: I just discovered due South horrifically after the curve (*g*), so this is my first, and of course, it turns out to be crack kidfic. Oops. Blanche, of course, as in Blanche Dubois, Stella's sister and Stanley's obsession. Bee after Anna Wintour's daughter, who's a teenager and a real piece of work. I shuffled around the events and timeline of the episode to suit my purposes for those of you canon hawks, and dude, a full transcript site? This is the best fandom ever.
by
rosekayFraser/RayK, pg-13, AU (spoilers for Strange Bedfellows)
“What?” said Fraser, appalled. “You named your daughter Blanche?”"
6,143 words.
The thing is, there were clues.
When he’d asked Ray Kowalski to dinner after their first, rather trying day, he hadn’t been expecting a home cooked meal.
In the dim, comfortable light of Ray’s cluttered apartment, it wasn’t gourmet, more of the meat and potatoes affair, but that was more than sufficient for Fraser, and Dief, the greedy lump, had immediately set himself to sneaking off with half the entrée.
Ray hadn’t seemed to mind though, which had shortly won him a devoted lifelong fan. Sometimes Fraser had to concede that wolves really were simple creatures.
He had spent most of his life on the move. He thought of his grandparents when he thought of home, of the memory of his mother, maybe the snow and wide open spaces. Dief certainly, though he might protest that. He couldn’t even find it in his heart to miss his old apartment now that the real Ray Vecchio was gone, and the Consulate felt like a queer, in-between place even when it was full of voices, which it rarely was.
He’d never felt lonely in the North, with Dief at his side, the wind at his back, or even in Chicago, the vast, strange tracery of an alien world to explore. His old apartment had been bare because he didn’t need more, a sign of self sufficiency rather than a lack of anything, but here, he could feel the gulf.
Ray, had dishes in the sink and clothes on the couch, pictures on his walls. In the worn bike, the frayed, well thumbed edges of old magazines, and the accrued mass of candy wrappers near the battered coffee machine, he could see a life yawning back at him.
The place smelled like his new partner in a way that the places Fraser slept never seemed to smell like him, or anything at all. He tried to find Stella in the nicely curtained windows, the surprisingly neat dining table that looked like it hadn’t been touched in months, but it was a wasted effort. He didn’t even know what she looked like. She could have been hiding anywhere.
There were little cracks in the walls, painted indifferent pastels that seemed to open to the brightness of everything else they held, thin, webbed lines of age and use.
Fraser had learned once that the Japanese valued their broken things as much as their whole ones, that they filled their cracks with gold, a sign of beauty and pride. He wondered why Ray had chosen to slip himself into another man’s life.
“Best thing that Stella and I ever did,” Ray had said, lonely and young looking in the cemetery, his glasses shielding his eyes, but he didn’t finish his sentence, the moment stringing out between them. It hadn’t seemed right to push him.
He was in the station early, but the place was already beginning to swell with the noise of the day, Lieutenant Welsh’s booming voice rumbling from inside his office and Huey was leading what looked like a clown into one of the interview rooms.
Ray didn’t appear to be at his desk yet, but someone was already there, spinning around in the chair.
For a horrified moment, Fraser imagined another hand outstretched, “Hi, I’m Ray Vecchio,” belong to a face that was neither of his Rays, and he had to gather himself, because he wasn’t ready for that – he needed -
Dief barked at his side, apparently pleased with the new acquaintance.
Fraser frowned at him. “Really, Dief, you haven’t even been plied with food yet, and already you’re – “
Then the chair stopped spinning, and Dief’s favorable impression began making more sense. After all, he’d always liked blondes.
“Hi,” said the girl.
She could have been anywhere from fourteen to twenty, with an attractive, changeable face and honey blonde hair that fell to her shoulders in what Fraser supposed was a fashionable haircut. She had long, skinny legs that were sprawled in front of her, and a faintly curled lip.
“Hello,” he managed, and then remembering his manners, extended his hand. “I am Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
The girl gave him a supremely disbelieving look, and Dief, the traitor, was already nuzzling at her hand. Her eyes trailed from his hat to his boots with a something that seemed half fascination and half disdain.
Fraser hadn’t dealt with many adolescents in the past, but it seemed to be a gift peculiar to that age group. He couldn’t seem to remember ever possessing it though.
“Oh you’re Canadian.” Fraser wondered why everyone insisted on using the term in an explanatory manner. He had the vague feeling he should be somewhat insulted. Then she licked her lips and said, “Ok, so what, you on a vacation?”
Dief whined for her attention and licked at her fingers, but her eyes, wide and pale and blue in her face, were trained intently on Fraser. There was something that was not entirely alien about the way she cocked her head at him.
“Well,” he took a breath, “I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father – “
“Button! What the hell’re you doing here?”
Ray’s voice from behind him surprised him, and he moved aside instinctively to let him barrel through.
“B,” shouted the girl, apparently horrified, “It’s B! Oh my God, I thought we talked about the not in public thing,” there was a terribly wronged expression on her face. “Just – oh my God,” she finished.
“Like the letter?” Fraser felt a little stupid as soon as the question came out.
Now both sets of blue eyes were focused on him, and he felt compelled to take a step back.
“Well,” the girl – B – relented. “Sorta.” She seemed to think about it for a bit. “You could spell it B – e – e too I guess.”
“Oh yeah,” Ray rolled his eyes, “like a bug is so much cooler.”
“Shut up!”
“How’d you find this place? I thought I told you to come to the apartment if you needed anything.” Ray didn’t exactly look angry, but Fraser suspected the expression decorating his features wasn’t pleasure.
“I know people, Vecchio,” the girl said with an acid voice.
Ray snorted, “Bullshit, you’re a kid. You don’t got connections. How’d you find me?”
The girl huffed, “Mom told me.” At Ray’s suspicious look, she looked down at her hands. “Ok fine, maybe I overheard. You think she isn’t keeping track?”
“Jesus, does everyone know? I’m undercover, I’m – “ Ray looked like he was about to go off on a rant, and Bee apparently had the same thought as Fraser, because she cut in efficiently.
“This place is kinda lame by the way. I liked your old precinct better.”
Ray, well, he bristled. It reminded Fraser of Dief in a rather unsettling way.
“Ray?” Fraser asked weakly.
They seemed to break their standoff, connecting to the rest of the world at last. Dief was already settling himself happily between the two of them, one eye on Bee, and other on the box of donuts Ray had tucked into the crook of one arm.
Fraser spared him a reproachful look while he waited for an answer. Dief serenely ignored him.
“Oh,” Ray had one elbow up, scratching the back of his head with something like embarrassment. “My bad. Fraser, this is my brat,” he looked at her, mouth twitching, “Bee. Brat, this is Fraser, my – “
Fraser quietly recalculated her age. She had to be a little younger than she looked, since according to his files, Ray was only thirty six, and he didn’t seem to be the type who would be a teenage father, though it was always possible, and one shouldn’t judge, he supposed.
Bee looked on, interested.
“ – partner,” Ray finished.
“Who came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of his father?” she parroted, a hint of wryness in her voice. Fraser quelled the need to blush.
“Oh jeez,” Ray gave him a look, “you started with that already?”
“Well,” Fraser began, taking a breath, but then Ray’s attention had already flitted back to his daughter, who was still staring at Fraser with a disconcerting directness.
“What’re you doing here? Does your mother know? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
Best thing Stella and I ever did, Fraser remembered.
Bee seemed nonplussed by the barrage of questions. She just slouched more.
“I have information for you. Duh, of course she doesn’t. And I have first period off. The Bitch cancelled class.”
Fraser could only presume “The Bitch” was one of her instructors. Somehow, he could hear his grandmother’s paper thin voice lecturing him.
Ray rolled his eyes. “Ok, fine, you pass. This time. But you better haul ass back to school once we’re done here, got it?”
There was a sullen silence from the chair.
Ray leaned forward, the holster stretching across his shoulders.
“Got it?” his voice didn’t change, but there was a charged quality to the air between them. Fraser wondered vaguely if he should excuse himself.
“Fine,” Bee acceded, quite mutinously it seemed. Then she straightened her shoulders. “God, you’re acting like Mom.”
“Don’t you start that with me,” Ray growled. “Now spill.” He crossed his arms. It reminded Fraser unnervingly of one of his interrogations.
Bee leaned in close, chancing a look at Fraser that was half suspicious and half a smile.
Ray gave a quick nod.
“There’s a guy.”
Ray was absolutely still, but Fraser could see his fists tightening. Even his hair, normally quite lively in the first place, seemed to be standing on end.
“Who is he?”
Bee made a face. “Well, Mom said I shouldn’t talk about it, especially to you.”
Ray rustled around in his pocket and slapped a twenty down on his desk.
“Ray,” Fraser couldn’t help himself.
Ray didn’t even spare him a glance. “My kid, my rules, Fraser. What’s the rest of it, brat?”
The twenty had already disappeared by the time Fraser looked back to Bee. She shifted around uncomfortably.
“Some older dude. Lame hair, lame suits, lame everything. Some sort of big shot politician I think. Or he talks likes it at least.”
“Great,” Ray ran a distracted hand through his hair. Silver flashed off one narrow wrist. “Just great.”
He looked from side to side, and Fraser thought if he were a wolf, he might have been turning in an agitated little circle.
Finally, he looked back to Bee, his expression a good deal less certain. “She like him?”
The girl looked stricken, but then her face smoothed itself over in a way that strongly reminded Fraser of Ray himself.
“Well,” she started. “Not really.”
Ray looked at her.
“Maybe,” she said.
Ray crossed his arms.
“Ok, yeah,” said Bee at last, and her voice was small. “But I don’t.”
“He gotta name?”
“Yeah, something Italian,” Bee managed to make it sound like a disease. “Orsini?”
“Fucker,” said Ray, but he didn’t sound angry.
“Yeah,” Bee muttered. Fraser crushed the urge to issue a reprimand for language. The two of them made a charming, if sad, tableau, Bee’s fingertips tucked under her thighs, her legs dangling to the ground, their blond heads bowed together.
At last, Ray said, “So what’s the other thing?”
“What other thing?” Bee answered too quickly.
“There’s always another thing.”
“No there isn’t.” Now she crossed her arms. Fraser recognized it as a Ray habit, when he was feeling threatened.
“Is it that Gavin kid? Huh?” Ray was starting to pace again, the stillness apparently too much for him.
“What?” Bee’s eyes were wide, her mouth small.
“I’ll kill him,” Ray promised instantly. “I knew that kid was trouble, coming around my place, thinking he could – “
“Dad,” wailed Bee. “You’re making a scene.”
Ray shrugged. “In here? You’d have to do a lot more than that, brat.”
“It’s not Jimmy,” she said, before leaning back and crossing her legs. It made her look more adult, edging her back to twenty, too old to be Ray’s daughter, Ray who still played with his hair and wore a boy’s glasses.
“In fact,” said Bee, and she only sounded a little nervous, “I dumped him.”
“Good,” said Ray, smirking.
“He was oppressing my rights, suppressing my femininity,” she sounded wooden, like Ray trying to recite something. Finally, Bee sighed, “Fine, you were right. He was kind of an asshole. Anyway, I’m becoming a lesbian.”
She said the last part so quickly Fraser thought he’d hallucinated it for a moment. Ray looked equally poleaxed.
“Come again?” he had one hand on his hip.
“I’m a dyke,” said Bee, more blithely now. “I like pussy.” She smiled like a cat licking cream off its paws.
Ray recoiled, “Please do not say that. I do not need to hear my kid saying that.”
Bee’s lower lip trembled a little. “Does that mean, you – “
Dief whined, low.
“Yes, I know, Dief,” Fraser whispered, “but we appear to be trapped at the moment. Just wait it out.”
“What? No! It’s just, I meant the word, and I - ” Ray put one hand on her shoulder. His long fingers looked comfortable there. “No, that’s fine. That’s more than fine.”
He gave her a small smile, and Fraser’s chest was suddenly warm.
Bee suddenly wrapped her arms around Ray’s shoulders. She had the same hands, slim and articulate, curling pale against the dark fabric of Ray’s T-shirt.
“I knew you’d understand,” it was muffled against Ray’s neck.
“You’re mother’s gonna freak.”
They pulled part, bearing identical smirks that had Dief whimpering again.
“Yeah, I know.”
Then Bee was off the chair with a quick, “Gonna be late, bye, Dad!”
“Bye, kid,” Ray said quietly as she disappeared around the corner.
Fraser allowed him a moment, but found he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“Out of curiosity, Ray, what exactly is her real name?”
Ray seemed startled out of some reverie. “What?” he said, then ducked his head with something like embarrassment when the question seemed to process.
“Ray?” Fraser prompted.
“Blhmmm,” said Ray.
Fraser narrowed his eyes. “What was that?”
“Blanche,” Ray finally spit out.
“What?” said Fraser, appalled. “You named your daughter Blanche?”
Ray had the good grace to blush. “It was my dad again. Stella was drugged out of her mind, out like a light as soon as she stopped swearing she would kill me, and I was barely outta the academy, got called on a shift almost as soon as she popped. Everything was signed and sealed by the time we realized.” He rubbed his face. “I thought he was joking.”
Dief woofed at them.
“You shouldn’t be judgmental,” Fraser told him.
“She was ugly when she was born, right?”
Fraser stared at Ray, but his face was soft and not cruel, hair a little limp.
“I mean, no, well, ugly, like babies are, kind red and wrinkled, but I thought she was, Christ, I thought – “
“ – she was beautiful?” Fraser supplied, gently as he could.
“Yeah,” Ray stared at the wall, “beautiful. She was all warm, wrapped up, and I swear, I swear she looked at me first thing, just opened those little eyes, and I was so happy, like all the arguing had been worth it, you know?”
Fraser didn’t, but Ray seemed keen to let it all spill out.
“I mean, Stella and I, we were just kids, tied the knot at eighteen – I mean, who are you when you’re eighteen anyway, Christ, Button’s gonna be eighteen in a few years – and well, yeah, married at eighteen and then she was knocked up barely outta college. Fraser, she was so freaking mad,” he laughed at that, “but she didn’t even defer law school or nothing, just went right back into it. I had night shifts coming out of my ass after Button was born, because Stella had to go to classes, and she had this job too, an internship. It was fucking crazy. Ma helped out when she could, but that wasn’t a lot, so neither of us slept for what, musta been a year or something, and Button, she didn’t want to talk, nah, not until she was ready. Stella was freaking out, Stella’s bitch of a mother was freaking out. They wanted to call the doctors, but then, it happened, you know? Whassat they say? When it rains - ?”
Dief barked.
“That’s right,” Fraser told him, “when it rains, it pours.”
Ray nodded, jiggling one leg, foot propped up on the desk. His hands were shoved in his pockets.
“Well, she poured. It poured, I mean. And she didn’t start out with something simple, like mama or dada, like normal baby stuff, huh? She’s playing with my uniform one day, drooling all over it, little freak, and she looks at me, and says, clear as anything, ‘button.’ Button, she says, like everything’s normal!”
“Ah,” said Fraser, “so that’s when you – “
“ – yeah, when we started. I mean, we sure as hell weren’t gonna call her Blanche. But it’s a helluva thing, Fraser, kids, you know?”
He didn’t.
“They just snap up. I mean, it’s like yesterday, she was drooling on me, and Stella was there, and now she wants to be Bee or whatever that is and – “
He looked at Fraser, finally taking a breath. “Well yeah, so anyway. I gotta daughter.”
Ray said it with a hopeful sort of look in his eyes, like he was apologizing for not telling Fraser earlier, like the whole sudden thing, a rush of nervous energy that was more than anyone had ever told Fraser, was just that – an apology. There were creases around his eyes and mouth, but they seemed to speak of laughter, and there was something unexpectedly soft about his hard angles and bony shoulders.
“She’s lovely, Ray,” Fraser said uncertainly, feeling he’d been given something delicate, and if he took a wrong step, he might accidentally squash it.
Now Ray looked a little embarrassed, ducking his head to one side, the paleness of his long throat glowing under the bullpen’s bad lighting. Fraser swallowed.
“Shall we, shall we,” he began wretchedly.
“Get to work?” Ray grinned at him, wide and white. “Yeah, let’s shall, Fraser.”
*
“I’ll try anything,” said Ray, low, prickly, and Fraser’s palms were sweating. His grandfather had once managed something about growing hairs, perhaps he should –
But then he saw the gunman, and they were both out of the car.
Stella turned out to be something like he’d imagined, though now he could see that Bee was clearly Ray’s daughter, a little gawky and too gangly by half, her mother shining through only in her sometimes crisp enunciation and her even features. All the charm in her though, Fraser thought, perhaps a little unfairly, in her small mouth that could go wide with a smile, and her hands that didn’t stop moving, long fingers and narrow wrists, that was Ray.
Stella, however, was undeniably lovely, and even separated by a seat, Ray seemed drawn to her.
“How’s Button?” he interrupted one of Orsini’s political anecdotes, for which Fraser was privately grateful.
“For God’s sake, Ray,” Stella sighed. “She’s fifteen. You can call her Blanche.”
“Like it matters, Stell.”
“She’s not a child anymore, Ray. In a few years, she’ll be off to college – “
“If she wants to go,” Ray said shortly. His face darkened, and Fraser knew it was an old saw between them.
“She will go to college,” Stella’s voice was not to be contradicted.
“You can’t control her like that, Stell. Or else she’s not gonna tell you anything.”
“What, and she tells you?” Stella sounded disbelieving. “Did you know she kissed a girl at school?”
Fraser closed his eyes.
“Yeah,” Ray said belligerently. “I did.”
“You knew?” Her voice curled up at that, disbelieving. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her it was ok,” Ray said, remarkably calm.
“How could you – “ Stella sounded shocked. Dief whined piteously beside her. Fraser chanced him a look of sympathy.
“Far as I’m concerned, better she’s off with a couple girls than that freaking Gavin kid.”
“Jimmy’s nice,” Stella protested. Then she paused, “Ok, maybe not, but this isn’t about that. It’s about – “
“What? That I can tell her I understand her, and you can’t?”
“You don’t understand, Ray. You never did. This isn’t about Blanche,” and Fraser could see Ray make a face at that, “you know I love her. This is about how you never grew up. She’s just a child. Maybe she can’t see how hard this is going to make everything for her, but you’re her father. You should.” Fraser watched her rub her eyes. Dief nuzzled at her comfortingly, but she just brushed him aside, upset. “You never get it, Ray. That’s why, that’s why we, well you know.”
There was a terrible silence from Ray, and his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He dropped his head briefly, one hand going to his hair, distracted.
“If you hadn’t stopped trying, then we would – “
“Me,” Stella returned, leaning forward so she was nearly screaming in Ray’s ear. “You wanted to raise a daughter with me, Ray, and you pull bullshit like this undercover thing. You don’t know what responsibility is – you – “
“Like hell I don’t. I didn’t give up, Stella,” Ray’s voice was low now, tightly controlled, but no less intense in the confines of the car.
Fraser and the Alderman exchanged a helpless look.
“Neither did I,” Stella whispered, and now she was quiet too, the two of them with this trick of shutting everyone else out. Fraser tasted something bitter in his mouth.
“Jesus, Stell,” Ray rubbed his face with one hand, face pale in the light. He looked tired, the ball of his wrist skinny and alone, body slouched. “It’s like suddenly, I don’t even know how to talk to you anymore.”
“No, Ray,” Stella sounded obscenely gentle. “That took years.”
There was a silence that could have upset The Cold War that lasted until they finally reached the house.
The pause that ensued as the car pulled to a halt was almost worse.
At last, Stella said, “I think I’m going to go in with Frank. Good night, Ray.” She stepped out, her shoulders tight in her sundress. “Good night, Constable.”
Orsini shot them a single, searching look, before slipping his arm around her and hailing the police officers already gathered around his driveway.
Ray seemed to deflate as they left, his head coming down between his wrists, crossed on the steering wheel.
“Come on, Ray,” Fraser urged him gently.
At the Consulate, Ray looked him full in the face, with tired, baggy eyes and a thin mouth.
He said, “You like me right, Fraser?”
Do you find me attractive?
“Well,” he reached for something, “yes, yes I do, Ray.”
“Good,” Ray reached out with one hand, cupping Fraser’s cheek, and the touch stung like fire. But then he wasn’t worrying about his cheek, because Ray’s lips were on his, softer than they looked, and then Ray’s tongue was past his teeth, hot against his own.
Fraser inhaled it, home and loneliness all in one, the blond stubble scraping him raw as he leaned back against the door, wiry body pressing nearly into his lap. His face was hot, and he could feel himself hardening between his legs.
“Ray,” he started to protest, embarrassed, but Ray just leaned in for another kiss that was more like a bite, and ground himself down, one hand impossibly tight on Fraser’s shoulder. He dimly noticed that his hat had been knocked off.
He looked at Ray’s face, his eyes tightly closed, lashes shadowing his cheeks, mouth tight, maybe unhappy. His throat looked vulnerable in the moonlight, stretching out from the dark angle of his jaw.
The lull didn’t last, because a hand wound itself between Fraser’s thighs, and he jumped at the touch, Ray’s clever fingers.
“Christ, how the hell do you get this thing off?”
Fraser could easily imagine an entire lurid scenario of giving Ray detailed instructions on the exact process, and he thought much of his blood had already rushed between his legs, but he forced himself to stop, breathing hard.
“Ray. Do you think – perhaps – Stella – well – “
He was suddenly unacceptably inarticulate, but Ray seemed to grasp his point well enough. He paused in his enthusiastic exploration, part of Fraser had to sigh at that, and his face looked older again, all sharp angles in the dim light.
There was a sigh, and Fraser stared at the sharp cut of his collarbone, strong, the tender skin under his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah,” a little awkward shifting and he was back in the driver’s seat, shirt rumpled but none the worse for wear. “You’re right. This is – this isn’t – I’m sorry, Fraser.”
Fraser stared Ray’s lips, still slick and a little swollen from their activities, and couldn’t help but feel that a world of possibilities had suddenly opened for him, only to snap shut again. Now that he’d felt it, he couldn’t imagine thinking that mouth was thin or unforgiving again. He could still smell Ray, and it made him think of their meal the other night, the cozy apartment.
He imagined that Ray had cooked for Bee and Stella that first year, when he worked the night shift, his hands grazing pots and pans, measuring out ingredients. He maybe had tiny scars if Fraser could look close enough, from little cooking accidents and tea left on the stove too long. He’d give Bee a kiss on the forehead in the yellow kitchen light, and Stella one on the lips, something wholesome.
It filled him with something that was neither joy nor sadness. He only knew that it made his chest ache.
Ray didn’t look at him when he got out of the car and went up the stairs.
It was only when Dief barked that he remembered the wolf was even there.
“Yes, I’m sorry, Dief. I’m being maudlin again, aren’t I?”
*
“Cat fight,” Dewey hissed at him gleefully on his way into the station.
“Excuse me?” Fraser frowned at him, but the detective was already whisking himself away, folder in hand.
He heard the screeching before he rounded the corner, and a knot of dread began to develop in his stomach.
He realized two things as the fight in question came into view. One, that Bee Kowalski was actually taller than Francesca Vecchio, though she wore only what looked like sneakers, and two, that they looked liable to tear each other’s hair out if someone didn’t separate them.
He looked around at the rest of the bullpen, all of them suddenly fascinated with their work. Cowards, Fraser thought balefully, and he took a deep breath.
“Miss Vecchio? Miss Kowalski?”
The blonde and dark heads turned almost simultaneously. It was quite eerie.
“Fraser!” They crowed together, and then promptly glared at each other.
“She was trying to – “ Bee began, just as Frannie yelled, “Frase, this hussy wanted – “
“Oh, dear,” said Fraser. He gathered himself with some effort.
“Miss Vecchio, perhaps if you would fetch me the material on the project?”
He himself was a little vague as to exactly which project he was referring, but Frannie seemed happy enough to comply. She primped her hair a little, settling for one last glare at Bee, before she flounced off.
Bee stuck her tongue out at her retreating back. Then she seemed to notice Fraser was watching, and blushed.
“Miss Kowalski?” he said, nervous. He hadn’t seen Ray since the night before, and talking to his daughter now seemed almost, well, inappropriate.
“Fraser,” she said again, looking relieved. “You won’t believe what my dad did.”
Maybe, Fraser thought darkly.
“This whole shooting thing with Mom? He made some stupid beat cop pick me up from school and drop me off here. I had plans, and now – “
She seemed distraught, so Fraser awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.
“She’s very pretty, son,” his own father said at his shoulder, staring at Bee speculatively.
“Dad,” Fraser hissed, scandalized, “she’s a child.”
“What was that?” Bee looked up.
“Nothing,” Fraser said quickly.
“Tall though,” his father said approvingly, “hips not too good for childbearing I guess. I’ll have you know your mother wasn’t much older than that the first time we, well, you know.”
Fraser could only stare at him in mute horror.
“I’m kidding,” said his father, no sign of any change in his expression. “She wouldn’t let me touch her until I made that shot. What a shot, son.”
“Fraser?” Bee was waving a hand in his face now.
“Yes, sorry?” he tried to look attentive.
“It’s just,” she looked to the side, apparently frustrated, “I’m not a little kid anymore, you know? I wish he’d just be here, instead of ordering me around.”
“I understand,” said Fraser with feeling.
“Now that’s unfair, son,” his father began.
“How long have you known him anyway?” she squinted at him. “My dad?”
Unreasonably, the question made Fraser blush. He prayed that she wouldn’t notice.
“Oh they do, women. They always do,” his father contributed helpfully.
“Not long,” he admitted to Bee. “The situation is,” he paused, “complicated.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she waved, “undercover, secret agent-y, I get it.” She sighed. “It’s just, I miss them together sometimes.”
Fraser felt the burn of Ray’s lips on him as if it had just happened, suddenly guilty in the face of Bee’s obvious distress. He was practically an adulterer, might as well have had the A pinned to his uniform, perhaps not scarlet – it wouldn’t show, but –
“But they’re awful together too, you know? They used to have these fights.” Bee was twisting one strand of hair in her fingers. It made her look all of twelve. Fraser wondered if she’d even noticed she was doing it. “When I was six, my dad got shot saving this kid, and he didn’t come to pick me up from school. I was, well, I guess I was selfish back then. I just remembered being so mad that that he didn’t show, and then he was in the hospital, and he looked dead.”
She inched closer, as Fraser wondered whether it was in the Kowalski genes to divulge old history to Mounties, or if Bee had somehow sensed his discomfort, and she had only inherited Ray’s unorthodox style of apology.
He could imagine that too, Ray in the hospital bed. He hadn’t been much older when his mother had died.
“Terrible thing,” his father muttered, right on cue, and he was watching Bee intently, her tight face. Fraser suddenly wanted to shield her from the intrusion, ridiculous as it was.
“And my mom, she was so mad, oh man, but she just at there and cried, for hours and hours, until he woke up. They had this fight – I don’t even know if they knew I was there, I hid I guess - and they said these freaking awful things to each other, and obviously, the divorce wasn’t pretty either, but that was just the end of it all.” She looked straight at him. “Then he takes this weird undercover thing.”
Fraser wondered for the security of Ray Vecchio, the real one, if everyone seemed to know exactly what had happened between the two of them.
Bee seemed to lose her rhythm a little. “Basically, well, he can be a pain in the ass.”
Fraser nodded, sympathetic.
“Careful, son,” his father said reproachfully.
“But he’s my dad, and well, I guess, he’s just trying to take care of me, right?” She looked at him, more earnestly than he’d ever seen her.
“I’m sure he’s only looking out for your best interests, Bee,” Fraser said, neutral.
“It’s a hard thing, that,” his father offered, and he looked old in the way of parents.
“And well, oh God,” she wiped at her eyes a little, “this is embarrassing.”
Fraser was slightly paralyzed. He’d never dealt with crying women well. His grandmother was never given to great emotion, and Victoria didn’t even bear thinking about.
“Quick,” said his father, “get your handkerchief. She’s about to blow.”
Bee did not, in fact, blow. She only allowed herself one more sniffle, before she straightened.
“I guess you’re here right, justice and everything?”
Fraser remembered the psychological tests. It seemed that it was all he saw these days.
“As it should be, son,” said his father, now behind Bee. “You know, in the winter of 79, Buck Frobisher and I were on the leeward side of this mountain, and Benton, you know that – “
“Well,” said Fraser, carefully cutting him off, “it is my duty to enforce the peace and ensure that – “
“Right, whatever,” Bee cut him off just as skillfully, “but you’ll be there for him, right? Like partners?”
“An important thing, Benton,” his father nodded sagely.
“Yes,” Fraser said, “I will. Certainly.” He offered her a smile.
Bee started rifling through Ray’s desk. “I’m still gonna yell at him when he gets back. You know if he keeps any money in here?”
Fraser closed his gaping mouth.
“Disgraceful,” his father shook his head.
*
Fraser privately thought that Ray’s glee over Orsini’s corruption seemed a little over the top, but Bee was winking at him, and Stella didn’t seem upset, so he couldn’t begrudge his partner a moment of having been proven right.
Ray caught his eye easily, no tension in his wide grin, mouthing thank you over Bee’s head.
Fraser smiled, ignoring the heat in his gut.
“Hey, Button,” and Bee didn’t even complain this time, “you wanna go home?”
She hugged him, “Yeah.”
“Stella?”
“We shouldn’t,” said Stella, and then she smiled, all heat. “We’re dangerous, you know.”
Ray drew her close, “Yeah, I know.”
Bee recoiled, “Oh, ew, cut that out.”
Ray gave Stella a look that might have been illegal in several states, or at least according to the 1818 Illinois Code, which Fraser was tempted to steal from Ray’s car at the moment.
“Guys!” Bee shouted in horror.
Ray slid a hand around Stella’s waist.
“Therapy,” Bee moaned, “hours and hours of therapy.” But her parents just laughed, and they were three again, wrapped together.
“You know,” said Welsh from behind him, “it’s twenty blocks to the Consulate. We could get a blue and white to take the ladies.”
“No,” said Fraser mildly, “a brisk walk in the night air will do me good.”
Then Frannie was upon them with the serial numbers, and he had his hands full getting to the apartment on time.
*
A bomb, a gun and a madman didn’t really make a difference, Fraser meditated, when you were left with the same scene.
And he was, left with the same scene that is.
Weston was already in custody, but the Kowalskis were standing together in the door, Bee wrapped in her mother’s arms, and Ray hovering over them, face tense. They looked like a painting. They looked like a family.
He caught Fraser’s eye, and a slow smile slid across his angled cheeks and thin mouth, except Fraser really shouldn’t have been thinking of his mouth.
“Good job with the bomb, huh?”
Bee grinned at him, her father’s grin, “You fish like that up in Canada?”
“Well, it’s illegal to use a bomb to – “ he saw that she was laughing, and caught himself. “I guess, I’ll be, well,” he straightened his hat nervously, “I’ll be going then.”
“Hey, Fraser!”
It was Ray, cutting away from his wife and daughter.
“Ray, really, you should probably stay here, and – “
“Hey, wanna get something to eat?”
“Of course, Ray,” he replied without thinking, surprised.
They commenced with farewells, and the door eventually shut, Stella’s and Bee’s voices still drifting out occasionally.
“You know,” said Ray calmly, as they proceeded down the hallway. “I talked with Stella, and well,” now he looked nervous, “I’m sorry about that – “
“Think nothing of it,” Fraser said urgently. He thought of Uncle Tiberius, of cabbages, and Turnbull in his apron.
“What I mean is,” Ray rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, sliding his eyes to Fraser’s. “The thing, it, well, it wasn’t just Stella and that prick – “
Fraser hardly dared to breathe. Ray looked at him, and slung a hand around his shoulder, brotherly, but he curled a long finger over the uniform collar, brushing bare skin for just an instant, and Fraser nearly jumped.
“What I meant,” Ray said, looking at the floor. “Well, what I meant was – that, I, uh, meant it.” He looked up. “Does that make sense?”
“Not at all,” but Fraser was smiling, thinking of the apartment, filled with life, and Ray’s capable hands.
“Good,” Ray grinned, and they walked on, shoulder to shoulder.
*
end
Notes: I just discovered due South horrifically after the curve (*g*), so this is my first, and of course, it turns out to be crack kidfic. Oops. Blanche, of course, as in Blanche Dubois, Stella's sister and Stanley's obsession. Bee after Anna Wintour's daughter, who's a teenager and a real piece of work. I shuffled around the events and timeline of the episode to suit my purposes for those of you canon hawks, and dude, a full transcript site? This is the best fandom ever.
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