ds_flashfiction | Shopping List Challenge by Giulietta

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Implied F/K, humor, rated G. 994 words.

It starts simply enough. "Oh, hey, Fraser," Ray calls after him, as he leaves the bullpen late one night, "could you pick up some instant for me?"

[Disclaimer: I haven't got the commitment capabilities to own this show. No, seriously, that's totally the only thing in my way.]
Returning Favors

It starts simply enough. "Oh, hey, Fraser," Ray calls after him, as he leaves the bullpen late one night, "could you pick up some instant for me?"

Fraser blinks. "I was only going to close the Consulate. I thought it might be best to return immediately -- "

"Nah, don't worry about it, I'll just be here shuffling papers, yeah? You give me some instant, I'll be good to go all night. We'll knock Welsh's socks off, just you wait."

As it happens, it takes him a total of seventy-two minutes to return to the precinct, and by then Ray has disappeared. It's a simple but singular case, involving a crate of unfortunate peahens and an open carton of prophylactics, and they wrap it up in just over two hours. The instant coffee, however, is quite forgotten until the next morning, when Ray finds it lurking in the backseat on a pile of old towels.

"Hey," he says, grinning and holding the tin up. "Thanks. I owe you one."

Fraser flushes. "That's not necessary, really -- "

"Bull. C'mon, get in the car already, you're wasting my precious time."

The words on the form under Fraser's nose have just started to blur into altogether meaningless gobs of ink when he blinks once, and a large platter replaces them.

He rubs his eyes and stares at it. Someone has haphazardly arranged a hamburger, a plastic cup of cole slaw, and a sizable pile of french fries on it. "Ah," he says, without thinking, "I'm famished."

He looks up to see Ray smirking at him. "I'm gonna bet you didn't take your dinner break, did you."

"Yes, well, I was hoping to finish up before I turned in, though I suppose in hindsight -- "

Ray waves at him impatiently. "Shut up, before your wolf eats it all," he suggests, and Fraser decides that this advice is quite sound.

"I'll make it up to you," he promises, digging in and pretending not to see the fried chicken leg that Ray's slipping under his desk.

The rims of Ray's ears go red. "Uh, you don't have to -- "

"I insist," Fraser presses, and Ray's only response is to turn on his heel and walk out, rubbing the bright red nape of his neck.

Fraser knocks on Ray's door. He's answered by a not especially encouraging "Shit! Shit shit shit!", which is shortly followed by an even less encouraging thud. "Ow, shit shit shit -- "

"Ray, could you let me in?"

"No! No, I cannot, Fraser, because I have a hearing in half an hour and I'm out of shaving cream -- "

"Ray -- "

" -- which, you ever gone to a hearing with stubble? No, 'course not. Well, let me tell you, there's nobody who'll take you seriously for even a second if you've got my disreputable stubble."

"Ray -- "

"This look is good for picking up somebody at a bar, maybe, somebody who wants a little danger in their action, which me personally I do not get, but -- "

"Ray -- "

" -- not for a hearing, you understand?"

"Ray, if you'll open the door, I've brought you shaving cream."

There is a pause; then the door is flung open and Ray is seizing the can, wearing a look of tremendous ecstasy and half of a three-piece suit. "Fraser, you are a fucking miracle," he whispers fervently, and slams the door shut again.

Somehow, Fraser suspects that the shaving cream will only help with a fraction of Ray's troubles. Nevertheless, he twirls his hat between his hands, perches it on his head, and heads downstairs to wait.

Fraser reaches for the new tin of boot polish, twists it open, and frowns. "Ray?"

Ray is sprawled out on the Consulate's sitting room floor, eyes closed and long fingers steepled on his chest. "Mm?"

"Did you replace my boot polish?"

Ray considers this for a moment. "Nope."

"You're quite sure?"

"Yup."

"Ah." Fraser folds his arms and glowers down at him. He, of course, takes no notice. "I only ask because you've gotten quite the wrong shade for my boots."

At this, Ray sits up straight. "No way!" he protests. "I checked! I checked and I wrote it down on Consulate paper 'cause I didn't have any on me and I -- uh."

Shaking his head, Fraser heads back to his office and resumes his chores, leaving Ray to sulk for Dief's amusement. In point of fact, the boot polish is exactly the sort he usually purchases for himself.

But it was quite an interesting demonstration, wasn't it.

The toilet paper roll, Fraser notes, is down to the last few squares. It does not surprise him at all when he checks Ray's closet and cupboards for a new package and fails to find one. With a sigh, he retrieves a pencil from Ray's desk and scans the grocery list pinned to the refrigerator, not expecting to find any toilet paper there, either.

He doesn't find it, but he does find something much more unlikely. Item number six, scrawled in Ray's unmistakable and nearly illegible hand, is "~~dog~~ wolf food." Dief whuffles approvingly from his new place of residence, the warm area just beside the oven.

"Oh, was that your doing?" Dief woofs agreeably. "Oh, well, of course not. Wolves do typically roam urban environments, scavenging for pastries and hot dogs. Why, if a dog were to do the same, he would be practicing cannibalism, wouldn't he?"

Dief grumbles and trots off in a huff, tail held at an irked angle. "Aw, c'mon, Fraser," Ray mumbles, looking up from his mail for a second to watch Dief parade sulkily about the apartment. "Lay off, would you? Next thing you know, he'll be marking territory in my bedroom, and I just do not swing that way, you dig?"

Fraser looks back at the grocery list, back at Ray, and then back to the list again. "Fair enough," he murmurs, and adds the seventh item.

--fin

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From:

keerawa.livejournal.com

So sweet! I love the way they are looking after each other, anticipating each other's needs.

There is a pause; then the door is flung open and Ray is seizing the can, wearing a look of tremendous ecstasy and half of a three-piece suit. "Fraser, you are a fucking miracle," he whispers fervently, and slams the door shut again.
That just jumped into my head, it is so clear and in-character. Perfect use of a semi-colon to give just the right length pause before Ray answers the door.

And sneaky Fraser, tricking Ray into confirming he bought the boot polish!

I caught a tiny error. "Ray slipping" should be "Ray is slipping."

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Shopping List Challenge by Giulietta

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