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ds_flashfiction2007-06-21 08:32 pm
fearlessdiva.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_flashfiction2007-06-21 08:32 pm
Entry tags:
Time Challenge by Fearless Diva
Title: Something Good
Author: Fearless Diva
Pairing: F/K
Rating: R for language
Summary: Apparitions, true confessions, flexibility and Frankenstein's monster: one very queer night in the life of Ray Kowalski.
Notes: Written for the Time Challenge but also includes the "screw or die" cliche, my first shot at that well-worn trope. I'm surprised there's one I've missed in my long fan fic career, but there you go. The title makes oblique reference to Kate Bush's "Cloudbusting". This was almost considerably longer, but then it wasn't. Unbeta'd and somewhat unpolished due to time constraints and a lack of will. Caveat lector.
Something Good
Now that Ray was single, half the time he fell asleep on the couch watching ESPN with the sound down. Nothing good was waiting for him in the bedroom, just his lumpy-ass bed, so it wasn't like the couch was that much different. Usually he'd wake up after a couple of hours and stumble in to where there was an alarm clock and where the sun didn't come bursting in through the windows at the ass-crack of dawn.
That night, though, something woke him up, all the way up, his heart pounding like he'd been chasing a perp. He sat up, looked around, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he found Fraser standing there in the middle of his living room, glowing in the blue tv light. Fraser was all covered up in cold-weather gear, with snow clinging to his coat, which struck Ray as mighty strange given that it was July in Chicago. And he looked terrible, like he'd dropped thirty pounds. The tiny lines on his face seemed deeper, and his tired, flat grey eyes had wide smears of purple underneath, dark as bruises.
"Frase? What's wrong?"
Fraser smiled at him but he looked so sad. If a smile could be like crying, that's what it would look like, Ray thought. Something was horribly wrong. Ray's stomach started twisting into sick knots.
"Ray," Fraser said, almost whispered. His breath hung in the air like smoke, and Ray could feel cold pouring off him. "God, I'd almost forgotten. It's very good to see you, Ray."
"Fraser, you saw me about six hours ago. What's going on?"
"My goodness, look at you. I remember that shirt, with the holes in it. And those jeans, too, with the rip in the thigh. There were little flashes of skin everywhere on laundry day. And here's the sofa with the mysterious stains, and the chair, Dief's chair, all covered in wolf hair. God."
"Frase, what in the holy hell are you talking about?" Ray stood up and stepped toward him, intending to pull him onto the couch, try to coax him into relaxing, like he always did when Fraser was freaked out enough to show that he was freaked out.
Instead of landing on Fraser's elbow, though, Ray's hand passed right through him, like Fraser was a ghost. Ray shouted, stumbled backward, and fell onto the sofa. "Fuck! What the fuck!"
"Ray, are you all right? I'm terribly sorry. I realize this is rather unexpected."
"Yeah, unexpected. What is this, some kind of dream?"
"If you like. Most cultures acknowledge that dreams contain important messages. Call it whatever you'd like, but you must pay attention."
Ray struggled to sit up. He reached a hand out to touch Fraser's leg, running it back and forth, watching as it passed through each time.
"Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray. Pay attention."
Ray looked up at him, so beautiful and strong, even with the feeling of horror and the cold rolling off him. Whatever this was, he looked like Fraser and he was in trouble. How could Ray do anything but pay attention?
"I was afraid, Ray. So afraid of frightening you away. Every moment I stayed was a step closer to confessing everything, ruining everything. All I thought about was the consequences of action, when I should have been thinking about the consequences of inaction. It was a disaster, Ray, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Tears began running down his cheeks, freezing into slicks of ice on his face. "I was terribly wrong, so wrong. I should have trusted, tried at least, God." He took a deep breath, then another. "That transfer was my greatest failure in a life full of them."
The living room was filling up with cold. Ray began to shiver. "But you didn't take the transfer to Ottawa," he said. "You stayed. We both did. I dropped you off at the Consulate a few hours ago."
"I refused the first transfer, but I took another, later, to Yellowknife. Or rather, I should say, I am thinking about taking it. Ray, you have to stop me."
Ray shook his head. "This doesn't make any sense. How can I stop you from doing something you did already, except you actually didn't?"
"Time is more flexible than you think, especially where the borders between worlds are thin. I made a hideous mistake and it's up to you to fix it, just like always. Our duet, remember?"
"Wait, are you saying you're from the future?"
"A future, I hope. I tried talking to my past self, but I wouldn't listen. I thought I was losing my mind. Why spectral fathers are unremarkable but future selves are evidence of insanity, I don't know. The important thing, Ray, is that you must keep me in Chicago."
"But why? What happens if you leave?"
"Nothing good." Fraser wrapped his arms around himself and shook off a bit of loose snow. "I can't stay much longer, I'm afraid."
"No, wait! Nothing good happens to you? What happens, Fraser? Tell me what you mean."
"Nothing good happens to either of us. Don't let me take the transfer, Ray, that's the thing to remember. And if you can't stop me, then you need to start wearing your vest, all the time, no matter how hot the weather." Fraser reached out and caressed Ray's cheek, a touch without weight, only cold. Fraser smiled, wistful and full of light. "I love you, Ray," he said as he started to fade from view. "I'll see you soon. I hope I'll see you soon."
In a moment, the vision, dream, hallucination, whatever, was gone. Ray sat on his sofa, trembling with cold, ESPN still throwing out silent blue light. He lifted a hand to where Fraser had touched him and his fingers came away dusted with frost. That left him with a serious case of the wiggens. He ran to the window, opened it, and was suddenly covered in a blast of hot July air. How could this be, he wondered. If this is all in my head, how is it so cold in here?
He turned to stare at the spot where that ghostly, horribly sad Fraser had stood. As he leaned against the window sill, a soft rain began to fall inside his apartment.
* * * * * * * *
Twenty minutes later, he was standing on the front door of the Canadian Consulate, picking the lock with his credit card. He still didn't know what to think. Was it just a bad dream brought on by too much kung pao chicken? Some kind of hallucination? Was he going crazy? No matter what, Ray knew he would not sleep a wink until he'd seen a living, breathing, not at all ghostly Fraser with his own eyes.
When he swung the door open, Fraser was standing there on the other side. Just as Ray had hoped, he was living and breathing and not wearing forty pounds of tundra stuff. He was wearing jeans and a worn white t-shirt, in fact, and no shoes. He was holding a cup of tea in one hand looking surprised and maybe a little worried.
But, being Fraser, did he say, "What the fuck are you doing breaking into my place at one thirty in the morning?" No. He said, "Good morning, Ray. Would you like a cup of tea?" Even though he knew Ray didn't drink tea.
Ray walked up to him and put his hand right over his breastbone, over his heart. He was warm. Ray could feel his heart beating under his hand, and the soft, old cotton of the thin shirt. His hand made a couple of affectionate little circles without Ray's conscious permission. He grabbed Fraser and gave him a big bear hug, just because he could.
Then he stepped back and said, "Sure, Frase, tea'd be great."
Fraser gave him a look like he was unhinged, but he obediently headed toward the kitchen with Ray following behind. Ray sat at the little table in the big, steel, gleaming monstrosity of the Consulate kitchen and watched Fraser pour him tea. Fraser set the cup in front of him, added a spoon, sugar bowl and a little pitcher of milk. Then Fraser refilled his own cup and sat down as well. Ray dumped a random amount of sugar in, stirred, and took a sip. "That's not too bad," he said. "Thanks."
"You're very welcome, Ray," Fraser answered. They sat together in a weird, early morning silence.
Since Fraser was dressed, he'd either never gone to bed that night or had his sleep interrupted bad enough that he got up and put on clothes. If Ghost Fraser had been to see Real Fraser that night and Real Fraser was thinking that he was losing his marbles, that would be reason enough to give up sleeping for the night and get dressed. And if that were true, then both of them had seen the ghost and it stood to reason that neither of them were losing their marbles. But it wasn't the sort of topic that was easy to introduce. "Say, Fraser, you didn't get visited by some freaky future ghostly vision of yourself earlier tonight, did you? Nah, no particular reason, I was just wondering."
And just what had Ghost Fraser been implying, anyway? What secret was so big that Fraser had broken up their duet over it? Or was going to break up their duet over it – this time travel thing really fucked with your head. And if Ray got/will get shot because Fraser wasn't/isn't there, then what happened/will happen to Fraser? What was Fraser's "nothing good"? Ray knew that night would be burned into his brain forever, Fraser looking so sad, so sick, so tired, so cold that the chill surrounded him like a death shroud. If there was even a chance of that happening to his Fraser, Ray would move heaven and earth to stop it. He would kick every head between Chicago and the Yukon if he had to.
Ray looked up to find Fraser watching him with a closed expression, closed even for Fraser, King of Neutral Expressions.
"Ray, I was wondering if I might ask you for a favor. It occurs to me that there might come an occasion when I am either physically or mentally indisposed. I thought that, if it isn't too much trouble, you might agree to hold my power of attorney. You'd be the logical choice to make any decisions on my behalf here in Chicago and it would set my mind at ease to know that Dief's care was arranged in advance. I know that he'd be pleased to have you acting in this capacity, as well."
Ray shivered. Okay, that was not a coincidence. No way was that a coincidence. But he smiled as best he could and said, "Sure, Frase. I'm honored you'd ask."
"You mustn't let him get too fat, though, Ray. He's become appallingly gluttonous in Chicago. And don't let him talk you out of getting his teeth cleaned, no matter what he says about the superior dental health of wolves. If he wants to avoid the cleanings, he shouldn't eat so much sugar."
"Well, hopefully we'll never have to worry about it, right?"
Fraser nodded but there was an uncertain light in his eyes that made Ray nervous. Then he seemed to shake it off. "I'm so sorry, Ray, where are my manners? What brings you to Canada this morning?"
I'm so sorry, the ghost had said, tears freezing on his face, so so sorry. . . Ray squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing the memory out of his head. When he opened them again, Fraser was waiting for an answer with that Best Neutral Expression. There was suddenly a chill in the room, just the Consulate a/c, Ray thought. That's all.
"I guess you could say I been doing some thinking," Ray said. "Sounds like you have too, what with the power of attorney and all."
"What have you been thinking about?"
"Life. Fate. Do you believe in fate, Frase?"
"I believe in consequences. Outcomes follow from actions, often irretrievably. But I don't believe anything is predestined, no."
"So you think even if we're headed for some big life disaster, we can change something and go another way?"
"In theory, yes."
"And what about relationships? Do you think you can ever talk someone out of leaving if they decide to go?"
Fraser looked thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose it depends on the person's reasons for leaving. But if someone's mind is decided, I think that can be very hard to change."
"What if you could catch them before their mind was made up? What if you could figure out why they were thinking about leaving and fix it? You'd have a shot at changing everything then, right?"
"I suppose so, Ray. Did you have a specific circumstance in mind?"
Ray jumped up from the table and started pacing through the kitchen. "Well, like, when you almost took that transfer to Ottawa. That was because we weren't getting along good. Our duet was out of whack. But I thought we'd been doing pretty good lately. Well-oiled machine, set 'em up, knock 'em down, kick 'em in the head. But I just got to wonder, here. Is there something you're not telling me? Are you unhappy about something? 'Cause if you are, buddy, you got to know I'll do whatever I can to fix it."
Ray stopped pacing and waited for a response. Fraser looked shocked, which almost never happened.
"I thought we were talking about Stella," he said.
"What? Stella? What does this have to do with Stella? I'm talking about you, you and me. Jesus, get with the program here, Frase. You heard a word I said or what?"
Fraser licked his lip, like he did. "Ah, I'm sorry, Ray. What was the question again?"
Ray rolled his eyes and spoke very slowly and carefully, like he was talking to Dief. "Are. You. Thinking. About. Requesting. A. Transfer."
Fraser rubbed his eyebrow and Ray exploded.
"Godammit, you are! You are and you haven't even said a fucking thing about it. That's not buddies, Frase, that is not buddies at all!" He paced some more, tried to get a grip, calm down. Yelling wasn't going to convince anyone to stay. He should have learned that by now. Ten steps away, ten steps back, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. "Okay. Tell me why. What can I do to make things right?"
Fraser looked like he'd rather be tortured than say. Ray knew he hated talking about feeling stuff, but too bad. Over Ray's dead body would this warm living Fraser become an ice-covered ghost.
"Look," Ray said, "I know you hate this, but we got to work this out." He crossed back to the table and touched Fraser's cheek, just like the ghost had touched him. "We can't split up now, Frase. You've ruined me for all other partners. I'm not happy anymore unless I'm jumping out windows."
Fraser smiled a little but he still looked green. "It isn't you, Ray, honestly. It's just me."
"What, are you homesick?"
"I do miss Canada, of course."
"Yeah, I get that. But nowhere in that sentence did you say that it's why you're thinking about leaving."
Fraser looked even greener and Ray knew he was on to something. "Ray, I don't want to tell you."
"Yeah, I get that, too. What are you so afraid of?"
"Please don't make me do this, Ray."
"I have to. What could be so horrible, Frase? What could scare you so bad? No matter what you say to me, I'll still be your partner. I'll always be your partner. Just tell me and we'll work it out together, just like we always do. Nothing you could say could change how I feel about you, Frase. Nothing."
Fraser laughed, all bitter, and that was a sound Ray had never heard before. "Don't be so sure," he said.
"I am sure. That is one thing that I am four thousand percent sure of. You're the most important person in my life, Fraser."
Fraser sighed. "Oh, Ray." He rested his head in his hands, covering his face. He didn't say anything for a long time and Ray began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep or something. When he finally spoke, his voice was muffled.
"I'm in love with you."
Ray blinked. Did he just hear what he thought he heard?
Fraser still didn't look up. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's inappropriate and I hoped you'd never find out, but I knew that was foolish. You know me too well and you're too perceptive. The very things that made me fall in love with you in the first place destroyed our friendship."
Whatever Ray was thinking it would be, it wasn't this. It made perfect sense, though. Everything the ghost had said slotted into place. His brain was running a million miles an hour, all the little bits of information dancing around and rearranging themselves, every weird gleam in Fraser's eye at an odd moment, every embarrassed eyebrow rub, every single thing suddenly getting a whole layer of meaning it didn't have before. God, it was like stripping all the wall paper out of his brain and putting in new carpet all at once, in like two seconds. It wasn't until he realized that he'd been standing there like an idiot with his mouth open for god knew how long that his head finally caught up with the conversation.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up a minute. Who said anything about stuff being destroyed?"
Fraser looked up, hope and misery competing for top billing.
"Just give me a minute, here, okay?" Fraser nodded, and Ray went back to pacing.
Fraser was in love with him. Him, Ray. Fraser! Jesus. And it was sort of like some kind of sick game you'd play as a kid. Like, would you drink snot for a million dollars? Would you fuck your best male friend if it would save his life? Like, if aliens suddenly came down and said they'd disintegrate him if you didn't suck his dick, would you? And the snot question was bad enough, but there was no good answer to the other question either, because if you would it made you a cocksucker and if you wouldn't then you were a shitty friend. And in this case, it looked like sucking Fraser's cock would save not only Fraser but Ray, too. And the answer to "Would you suck cock to save your own life?" wasn't necessarily pretty, but it was absolutely yes. Ray would suck someone's cock to save his own life. Ray would suck the cock of someone completely disgusting to save his own life. He just didn't have that much pride. He knew that about himself.
He stopped pacing for a second and looked over at Fraser, whose face was worried and miserable and a little bit hopeful, and just as gorgeous as the day was long. His best friend. His only friend. His freaky, wonderful, dead-guy-licking, insanely honorable, unhinged friend. English didn't even have words for how he felt about Fraser. Ray was pretty sure he'd suck the cock of more than one completely disgusting guy to save Fraser. Fraser, though, was not completely disgusting. Not even partially.
Ray sighed and sat back down at the table. "Look, Frase, I admit I didn't expect this. Tonight's been one long parade of stuff I wasn't expecting. But I'm not so stupid I'm going to hate you forever because you have the hots for me. Hell, I'm flattered. Really flattered. People are tossing their panties at you all day long; you could have whoever you wanted."
"Obviously not, Ray."
Again with the bitter, wow, but Ray smiled. Maybe this was something he could fix. "Well, I don't know about that. I mean - I really don't know. During my experimental years, there was no experimenting because I was with Stella. But I'm not a bigot and I'm not a prude. I'm pretty flexible, Frase. If you can give me some time to get used to the idea, maybe we can work something out."
Fraser looked skeptical. "A compromise, you mean?"
"Maybe more like starting on the bunny slopes. 'Compromise' makes it sound like I’m doing something I don't want to and it's not exactly like that. It's not like you're wanting me to eat ground glass or something. You're not exactly Frankenstein over there, you know?"
"I think you mean Frankenstein's monster, Ray. In Mary Shelley's 1818 novel –"
"Okay, whatever, I get the picture. I give you a compliment and I get the Encyclopedia Fraseranica. I'm trying to say making out with you isn't like drinking snot. I mean, I'd rather make out with you than do half the stuff you talk me into on a regular basis. If I never see the inside of a dumpster again, it will be too soon, not to mention the people shooting at us."
"I know, Ray." Just like that, the misery started leaking out of Fraser's voice. "Wildly bizarre ways."
"Exactly. This hardly registers on the weirdometer. And if it doesn't turn my crank, then we'll figure something out. We'll work it out. Together, you and me."
That earned an actual Frasersmile, not exactly as happy as Ray had ever seen him, but relieved, and like he wasn't about to puke up his tea anymore. "All right, Ray."
"Okay. And no transfers, you hear me? Not without proper discovery and disclosure and discussion and all that other shit."
"Yes, Ray."
"Okay, then. I'm glad we got that worked out." He tossed back the rest of his lukewarm tea and stood up. "I'm gonna go home now and crash for a couple of hours. You wanna go to dinner with me tomorrow night? Tonight, I guess, really."
"Are you asking me out on a date, Ray?"
"Yes, Fraser, I am asking you out on a date." Ray rolled his eyes. "Except we go out to dinner together all the time so it's not gonna be all that different. You wanna go or not?"
Another smile, a little bigger, a little realer. Now Ray was getting somewhere. "Yes, I'd like that very much."
"Okay, I'll see you at the office tomorrow afternoon then."
Fraser walked him to the door of the Consulate, which he normally did because he was Polite Canadian Guy, but it felt different than usual.
When they got to the door, Fraser held it open. "Sleep well, Ray."
"You too, Frase." He started to go through the doorway, then turned back on impulse, kissing Fraser on the lips, gently. Fraser tasted like tea and skin and warmth and Ray felt a little frizzle of something starting low in his belly. He pulled back and smiled. "Not at all like snot, Frase. See you tomorrow, 'kay?"
When Ray got into the Goat, Fraser was still standing there with the door open, looking a little dazed. Ray grinned to himself. He might be batting for the other team now, but he still had it. Yeah, baby. Ray Kowalski, 1: Frozen Ghosts of Christmas Future, 0.
Author: Fearless Diva
Pairing: F/K
Rating: R for language
Summary: Apparitions, true confessions, flexibility and Frankenstein's monster: one very queer night in the life of Ray Kowalski.
Notes: Written for the Time Challenge but also includes the "screw or die" cliche, my first shot at that well-worn trope. I'm surprised there's one I've missed in my long fan fic career, but there you go. The title makes oblique reference to Kate Bush's "Cloudbusting". This was almost considerably longer, but then it wasn't. Unbeta'd and somewhat unpolished due to time constraints and a lack of will. Caveat lector.
Something Good
Now that Ray was single, half the time he fell asleep on the couch watching ESPN with the sound down. Nothing good was waiting for him in the bedroom, just his lumpy-ass bed, so it wasn't like the couch was that much different. Usually he'd wake up after a couple of hours and stumble in to where there was an alarm clock and where the sun didn't come bursting in through the windows at the ass-crack of dawn.
That night, though, something woke him up, all the way up, his heart pounding like he'd been chasing a perp. He sat up, looked around, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he found Fraser standing there in the middle of his living room, glowing in the blue tv light. Fraser was all covered up in cold-weather gear, with snow clinging to his coat, which struck Ray as mighty strange given that it was July in Chicago. And he looked terrible, like he'd dropped thirty pounds. The tiny lines on his face seemed deeper, and his tired, flat grey eyes had wide smears of purple underneath, dark as bruises.
"Frase? What's wrong?"
Fraser smiled at him but he looked so sad. If a smile could be like crying, that's what it would look like, Ray thought. Something was horribly wrong. Ray's stomach started twisting into sick knots.
"Ray," Fraser said, almost whispered. His breath hung in the air like smoke, and Ray could feel cold pouring off him. "God, I'd almost forgotten. It's very good to see you, Ray."
"Fraser, you saw me about six hours ago. What's going on?"
"My goodness, look at you. I remember that shirt, with the holes in it. And those jeans, too, with the rip in the thigh. There were little flashes of skin everywhere on laundry day. And here's the sofa with the mysterious stains, and the chair, Dief's chair, all covered in wolf hair. God."
"Frase, what in the holy hell are you talking about?" Ray stood up and stepped toward him, intending to pull him onto the couch, try to coax him into relaxing, like he always did when Fraser was freaked out enough to show that he was freaked out.
Instead of landing on Fraser's elbow, though, Ray's hand passed right through him, like Fraser was a ghost. Ray shouted, stumbled backward, and fell onto the sofa. "Fuck! What the fuck!"
"Ray, are you all right? I'm terribly sorry. I realize this is rather unexpected."
"Yeah, unexpected. What is this, some kind of dream?"
"If you like. Most cultures acknowledge that dreams contain important messages. Call it whatever you'd like, but you must pay attention."
Ray struggled to sit up. He reached a hand out to touch Fraser's leg, running it back and forth, watching as it passed through each time.
"Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray. Pay attention."
Ray looked up at him, so beautiful and strong, even with the feeling of horror and the cold rolling off him. Whatever this was, he looked like Fraser and he was in trouble. How could Ray do anything but pay attention?
"I was afraid, Ray. So afraid of frightening you away. Every moment I stayed was a step closer to confessing everything, ruining everything. All I thought about was the consequences of action, when I should have been thinking about the consequences of inaction. It was a disaster, Ray, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Tears began running down his cheeks, freezing into slicks of ice on his face. "I was terribly wrong, so wrong. I should have trusted, tried at least, God." He took a deep breath, then another. "That transfer was my greatest failure in a life full of them."
The living room was filling up with cold. Ray began to shiver. "But you didn't take the transfer to Ottawa," he said. "You stayed. We both did. I dropped you off at the Consulate a few hours ago."
"I refused the first transfer, but I took another, later, to Yellowknife. Or rather, I should say, I am thinking about taking it. Ray, you have to stop me."
Ray shook his head. "This doesn't make any sense. How can I stop you from doing something you did already, except you actually didn't?"
"Time is more flexible than you think, especially where the borders between worlds are thin. I made a hideous mistake and it's up to you to fix it, just like always. Our duet, remember?"
"Wait, are you saying you're from the future?"
"A future, I hope. I tried talking to my past self, but I wouldn't listen. I thought I was losing my mind. Why spectral fathers are unremarkable but future selves are evidence of insanity, I don't know. The important thing, Ray, is that you must keep me in Chicago."
"But why? What happens if you leave?"
"Nothing good." Fraser wrapped his arms around himself and shook off a bit of loose snow. "I can't stay much longer, I'm afraid."
"No, wait! Nothing good happens to you? What happens, Fraser? Tell me what you mean."
"Nothing good happens to either of us. Don't let me take the transfer, Ray, that's the thing to remember. And if you can't stop me, then you need to start wearing your vest, all the time, no matter how hot the weather." Fraser reached out and caressed Ray's cheek, a touch without weight, only cold. Fraser smiled, wistful and full of light. "I love you, Ray," he said as he started to fade from view. "I'll see you soon. I hope I'll see you soon."
In a moment, the vision, dream, hallucination, whatever, was gone. Ray sat on his sofa, trembling with cold, ESPN still throwing out silent blue light. He lifted a hand to where Fraser had touched him and his fingers came away dusted with frost. That left him with a serious case of the wiggens. He ran to the window, opened it, and was suddenly covered in a blast of hot July air. How could this be, he wondered. If this is all in my head, how is it so cold in here?
He turned to stare at the spot where that ghostly, horribly sad Fraser had stood. As he leaned against the window sill, a soft rain began to fall inside his apartment.
* * * * * * * *
Twenty minutes later, he was standing on the front door of the Canadian Consulate, picking the lock with his credit card. He still didn't know what to think. Was it just a bad dream brought on by too much kung pao chicken? Some kind of hallucination? Was he going crazy? No matter what, Ray knew he would not sleep a wink until he'd seen a living, breathing, not at all ghostly Fraser with his own eyes.
When he swung the door open, Fraser was standing there on the other side. Just as Ray had hoped, he was living and breathing and not wearing forty pounds of tundra stuff. He was wearing jeans and a worn white t-shirt, in fact, and no shoes. He was holding a cup of tea in one hand looking surprised and maybe a little worried.
But, being Fraser, did he say, "What the fuck are you doing breaking into my place at one thirty in the morning?" No. He said, "Good morning, Ray. Would you like a cup of tea?" Even though he knew Ray didn't drink tea.
Ray walked up to him and put his hand right over his breastbone, over his heart. He was warm. Ray could feel his heart beating under his hand, and the soft, old cotton of the thin shirt. His hand made a couple of affectionate little circles without Ray's conscious permission. He grabbed Fraser and gave him a big bear hug, just because he could.
Then he stepped back and said, "Sure, Frase, tea'd be great."
Fraser gave him a look like he was unhinged, but he obediently headed toward the kitchen with Ray following behind. Ray sat at the little table in the big, steel, gleaming monstrosity of the Consulate kitchen and watched Fraser pour him tea. Fraser set the cup in front of him, added a spoon, sugar bowl and a little pitcher of milk. Then Fraser refilled his own cup and sat down as well. Ray dumped a random amount of sugar in, stirred, and took a sip. "That's not too bad," he said. "Thanks."
"You're very welcome, Ray," Fraser answered. They sat together in a weird, early morning silence.
Since Fraser was dressed, he'd either never gone to bed that night or had his sleep interrupted bad enough that he got up and put on clothes. If Ghost Fraser had been to see Real Fraser that night and Real Fraser was thinking that he was losing his marbles, that would be reason enough to give up sleeping for the night and get dressed. And if that were true, then both of them had seen the ghost and it stood to reason that neither of them were losing their marbles. But it wasn't the sort of topic that was easy to introduce. "Say, Fraser, you didn't get visited by some freaky future ghostly vision of yourself earlier tonight, did you? Nah, no particular reason, I was just wondering."
And just what had Ghost Fraser been implying, anyway? What secret was so big that Fraser had broken up their duet over it? Or was going to break up their duet over it – this time travel thing really fucked with your head. And if Ray got/will get shot because Fraser wasn't/isn't there, then what happened/will happen to Fraser? What was Fraser's "nothing good"? Ray knew that night would be burned into his brain forever, Fraser looking so sad, so sick, so tired, so cold that the chill surrounded him like a death shroud. If there was even a chance of that happening to his Fraser, Ray would move heaven and earth to stop it. He would kick every head between Chicago and the Yukon if he had to.
Ray looked up to find Fraser watching him with a closed expression, closed even for Fraser, King of Neutral Expressions.
"Ray, I was wondering if I might ask you for a favor. It occurs to me that there might come an occasion when I am either physically or mentally indisposed. I thought that, if it isn't too much trouble, you might agree to hold my power of attorney. You'd be the logical choice to make any decisions on my behalf here in Chicago and it would set my mind at ease to know that Dief's care was arranged in advance. I know that he'd be pleased to have you acting in this capacity, as well."
Ray shivered. Okay, that was not a coincidence. No way was that a coincidence. But he smiled as best he could and said, "Sure, Frase. I'm honored you'd ask."
"You mustn't let him get too fat, though, Ray. He's become appallingly gluttonous in Chicago. And don't let him talk you out of getting his teeth cleaned, no matter what he says about the superior dental health of wolves. If he wants to avoid the cleanings, he shouldn't eat so much sugar."
"Well, hopefully we'll never have to worry about it, right?"
Fraser nodded but there was an uncertain light in his eyes that made Ray nervous. Then he seemed to shake it off. "I'm so sorry, Ray, where are my manners? What brings you to Canada this morning?"
I'm so sorry, the ghost had said, tears freezing on his face, so so sorry. . . Ray squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing the memory out of his head. When he opened them again, Fraser was waiting for an answer with that Best Neutral Expression. There was suddenly a chill in the room, just the Consulate a/c, Ray thought. That's all.
"I guess you could say I been doing some thinking," Ray said. "Sounds like you have too, what with the power of attorney and all."
"What have you been thinking about?"
"Life. Fate. Do you believe in fate, Frase?"
"I believe in consequences. Outcomes follow from actions, often irretrievably. But I don't believe anything is predestined, no."
"So you think even if we're headed for some big life disaster, we can change something and go another way?"
"In theory, yes."
"And what about relationships? Do you think you can ever talk someone out of leaving if they decide to go?"
Fraser looked thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose it depends on the person's reasons for leaving. But if someone's mind is decided, I think that can be very hard to change."
"What if you could catch them before their mind was made up? What if you could figure out why they were thinking about leaving and fix it? You'd have a shot at changing everything then, right?"
"I suppose so, Ray. Did you have a specific circumstance in mind?"
Ray jumped up from the table and started pacing through the kitchen. "Well, like, when you almost took that transfer to Ottawa. That was because we weren't getting along good. Our duet was out of whack. But I thought we'd been doing pretty good lately. Well-oiled machine, set 'em up, knock 'em down, kick 'em in the head. But I just got to wonder, here. Is there something you're not telling me? Are you unhappy about something? 'Cause if you are, buddy, you got to know I'll do whatever I can to fix it."
Ray stopped pacing and waited for a response. Fraser looked shocked, which almost never happened.
"I thought we were talking about Stella," he said.
"What? Stella? What does this have to do with Stella? I'm talking about you, you and me. Jesus, get with the program here, Frase. You heard a word I said or what?"
Fraser licked his lip, like he did. "Ah, I'm sorry, Ray. What was the question again?"
Ray rolled his eyes and spoke very slowly and carefully, like he was talking to Dief. "Are. You. Thinking. About. Requesting. A. Transfer."
Fraser rubbed his eyebrow and Ray exploded.
"Godammit, you are! You are and you haven't even said a fucking thing about it. That's not buddies, Frase, that is not buddies at all!" He paced some more, tried to get a grip, calm down. Yelling wasn't going to convince anyone to stay. He should have learned that by now. Ten steps away, ten steps back, deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. "Okay. Tell me why. What can I do to make things right?"
Fraser looked like he'd rather be tortured than say. Ray knew he hated talking about feeling stuff, but too bad. Over Ray's dead body would this warm living Fraser become an ice-covered ghost.
"Look," Ray said, "I know you hate this, but we got to work this out." He crossed back to the table and touched Fraser's cheek, just like the ghost had touched him. "We can't split up now, Frase. You've ruined me for all other partners. I'm not happy anymore unless I'm jumping out windows."
Fraser smiled a little but he still looked green. "It isn't you, Ray, honestly. It's just me."
"What, are you homesick?"
"I do miss Canada, of course."
"Yeah, I get that. But nowhere in that sentence did you say that it's why you're thinking about leaving."
Fraser looked even greener and Ray knew he was on to something. "Ray, I don't want to tell you."
"Yeah, I get that, too. What are you so afraid of?"
"Please don't make me do this, Ray."
"I have to. What could be so horrible, Frase? What could scare you so bad? No matter what you say to me, I'll still be your partner. I'll always be your partner. Just tell me and we'll work it out together, just like we always do. Nothing you could say could change how I feel about you, Frase. Nothing."
Fraser laughed, all bitter, and that was a sound Ray had never heard before. "Don't be so sure," he said.
"I am sure. That is one thing that I am four thousand percent sure of. You're the most important person in my life, Fraser."
Fraser sighed. "Oh, Ray." He rested his head in his hands, covering his face. He didn't say anything for a long time and Ray began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep or something. When he finally spoke, his voice was muffled.
"I'm in love with you."
Ray blinked. Did he just hear what he thought he heard?
Fraser still didn't look up. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's inappropriate and I hoped you'd never find out, but I knew that was foolish. You know me too well and you're too perceptive. The very things that made me fall in love with you in the first place destroyed our friendship."
Whatever Ray was thinking it would be, it wasn't this. It made perfect sense, though. Everything the ghost had said slotted into place. His brain was running a million miles an hour, all the little bits of information dancing around and rearranging themselves, every weird gleam in Fraser's eye at an odd moment, every embarrassed eyebrow rub, every single thing suddenly getting a whole layer of meaning it didn't have before. God, it was like stripping all the wall paper out of his brain and putting in new carpet all at once, in like two seconds. It wasn't until he realized that he'd been standing there like an idiot with his mouth open for god knew how long that his head finally caught up with the conversation.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up a minute. Who said anything about stuff being destroyed?"
Fraser looked up, hope and misery competing for top billing.
"Just give me a minute, here, okay?" Fraser nodded, and Ray went back to pacing.
Fraser was in love with him. Him, Ray. Fraser! Jesus. And it was sort of like some kind of sick game you'd play as a kid. Like, would you drink snot for a million dollars? Would you fuck your best male friend if it would save his life? Like, if aliens suddenly came down and said they'd disintegrate him if you didn't suck his dick, would you? And the snot question was bad enough, but there was no good answer to the other question either, because if you would it made you a cocksucker and if you wouldn't then you were a shitty friend. And in this case, it looked like sucking Fraser's cock would save not only Fraser but Ray, too. And the answer to "Would you suck cock to save your own life?" wasn't necessarily pretty, but it was absolutely yes. Ray would suck someone's cock to save his own life. Ray would suck the cock of someone completely disgusting to save his own life. He just didn't have that much pride. He knew that about himself.
He stopped pacing for a second and looked over at Fraser, whose face was worried and miserable and a little bit hopeful, and just as gorgeous as the day was long. His best friend. His only friend. His freaky, wonderful, dead-guy-licking, insanely honorable, unhinged friend. English didn't even have words for how he felt about Fraser. Ray was pretty sure he'd suck the cock of more than one completely disgusting guy to save Fraser. Fraser, though, was not completely disgusting. Not even partially.
Ray sighed and sat back down at the table. "Look, Frase, I admit I didn't expect this. Tonight's been one long parade of stuff I wasn't expecting. But I'm not so stupid I'm going to hate you forever because you have the hots for me. Hell, I'm flattered. Really flattered. People are tossing their panties at you all day long; you could have whoever you wanted."
"Obviously not, Ray."
Again with the bitter, wow, but Ray smiled. Maybe this was something he could fix. "Well, I don't know about that. I mean - I really don't know. During my experimental years, there was no experimenting because I was with Stella. But I'm not a bigot and I'm not a prude. I'm pretty flexible, Frase. If you can give me some time to get used to the idea, maybe we can work something out."
Fraser looked skeptical. "A compromise, you mean?"
"Maybe more like starting on the bunny slopes. 'Compromise' makes it sound like I’m doing something I don't want to and it's not exactly like that. It's not like you're wanting me to eat ground glass or something. You're not exactly Frankenstein over there, you know?"
"I think you mean Frankenstein's monster, Ray. In Mary Shelley's 1818 novel –"
"Okay, whatever, I get the picture. I give you a compliment and I get the Encyclopedia Fraseranica. I'm trying to say making out with you isn't like drinking snot. I mean, I'd rather make out with you than do half the stuff you talk me into on a regular basis. If I never see the inside of a dumpster again, it will be too soon, not to mention the people shooting at us."
"I know, Ray." Just like that, the misery started leaking out of Fraser's voice. "Wildly bizarre ways."
"Exactly. This hardly registers on the weirdometer. And if it doesn't turn my crank, then we'll figure something out. We'll work it out. Together, you and me."
That earned an actual Frasersmile, not exactly as happy as Ray had ever seen him, but relieved, and like he wasn't about to puke up his tea anymore. "All right, Ray."
"Okay. And no transfers, you hear me? Not without proper discovery and disclosure and discussion and all that other shit."
"Yes, Ray."
"Okay, then. I'm glad we got that worked out." He tossed back the rest of his lukewarm tea and stood up. "I'm gonna go home now and crash for a couple of hours. You wanna go to dinner with me tomorrow night? Tonight, I guess, really."
"Are you asking me out on a date, Ray?"
"Yes, Fraser, I am asking you out on a date." Ray rolled his eyes. "Except we go out to dinner together all the time so it's not gonna be all that different. You wanna go or not?"
Another smile, a little bigger, a little realer. Now Ray was getting somewhere. "Yes, I'd like that very much."
"Okay, I'll see you at the office tomorrow afternoon then."
Fraser walked him to the door of the Consulate, which he normally did because he was Polite Canadian Guy, but it felt different than usual.
When they got to the door, Fraser held it open. "Sleep well, Ray."
"You too, Frase." He started to go through the doorway, then turned back on impulse, kissing Fraser on the lips, gently. Fraser tasted like tea and skin and warmth and Ray felt a little frizzle of something starting low in his belly. He pulled back and smiled. "Not at all like snot, Frase. See you tomorrow, 'kay?"
When Ray got into the Goat, Fraser was still standing there with the door open, looking a little dazed. Ray grinned to himself. He might be batting for the other team now, but he still had it. Yeah, baby. Ray Kowalski, 1: Frozen Ghosts of Christmas Future, 0.
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Thanks for the kind words! I am working on the expansion now, although I've spent the last day of work on it having been overrun by an unexpected squadroom full of geese. I'm not sure where those geese came from, and I'm not sure they're staying. It was just one of those weird things that happens sometimes when you're writing and you finish a scene and go, "what just happened?! where the fuck did all these geese come from?" So, yeah, working on it, but it's not exactly going according to plan. Still, I'm hopeful that it may yet come together, with or without geese.
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He has the choice to be all "eww, cock!" or to realize that he loves this person and the person's plumbing just isn't really that important.
I adore that theme (as most people who've read certain of my stories already know). We could call them "the plumbing isn't that important" stories, or "bisexual for the best reasons" fics. Yes. :)
It was just one of those weird things that happens sometimes when you're writing and you finish a scene and go, "what just happened?! where the fuck did all these geese come from?"
Hee! But of course I know! I am a writer also. Geese happen. And then you have all those feathers to clean up. :)
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This is probably too much information.
Of course I recognize your name as a fellow writer. I've got a number of your stories sitting in my collection to get feedback and go in my del.ici.ous. Sadly, I'm kind of shit about feedback, especially in the last couple of years (because of health problem-induced hermiting, mainly) but I'm trying to do better and you'll definitely be getting a long-ass feedback letter from me one of these days. And yeah, I really don't know what is up with those geese. It's so funny. When people ask that question about where you get your ideas, sometimes I can say exactly, "I read this article and it got me thinking about this and that," and then other times it's just, I'm writing and suddenly, geese! Full blown, from nowhere and I couldn't tell you why.
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So, to be totally straight with you (haha--I slay me), I am living in the same ghetto, but, see, I think that you and I are right about this and that if (this is a big if!) IF our society didn't place negative value judgments on people's sexual orientation, then you and I would be in the majority in our thinking, and those people who feel they are heterosexual or homosexual only, from birth--the Kinsey zeros and the Kinsey sixes--would be in a very small minority. I keep trying to imagine why they feel that they couldn't possibly, you know, if they met the right person...but I don't live in their heads, so I just have to take their word for it. I do have a few friends who've actually experimented with going against their monosexual orientation and have concluded they just aren't interested in both sexes. But in most cases the people I know who claim to be monosexuals--which is most people I know, of course--haven't convinced me that their orientation is not the result of conditioning. It just might be.
Because most people fall into that Kinsey 1 to 5 range, yes? So I think that you and I, by positing that "plumbing doesn't matter," are realistic and it is the monosexually oriented people who are unrealistic. So I will make the very non-PC statement that for most people, sexual orientation is somewhat fluid and flexible. However, let me point out that when I say it, I don't mean to suggest that people who want to love others of the same sex should therefore attempt to suppress that inclination! Where I'm coming from (as you know, of course) is that choosing a homosexual relationship ISN'T WRONG, ISN'T BAD, is, in fact, just as valid an option, just as beautiful and positive an option as choosing a heterosexual one.
I understand that most people, at present, feel that they, themselves, were born either straight or gay and that they can't change that. I understand that in both cases, those people have endured societal conditioning that may have skewed their preferences in ways they're unaware of. I understand that people who are gay, in particular, have every reason to want to emphasize the aspects of homosexual orientation that are genetic or otherwise predetermined, because the idea that they could change if they wanted to has been used as a stick to beat them with (often literally) and persecute them horribly, and I sympathize with their desire to live un-persecuted.
At the same time, I think if we allow society to continue telling people that one orientation is good and the other evil, we are never going to solve the problem. We need to let go of this judgmental attitude toward how people express their sexuality with other consenting adults. (Just what is the big deal? I don't get it!) I think we need to make everyone aware of the fact that homosexual--in fact, mostly bisexual--behavior is observed in virtually all animal species. I think we need to make people aware that there are many human societies that do not use or understand the concept of "sexual orientation" at all, and/or do not define it by whom we desire or whom we have sex with. We need to be aware of the tremendous variation in human experience and stop judging others as right or wrong. (Yeah, yeah, I know I'm an idealist. World peace could break out tomorrow and we could save the whales and the baby seals, too. *g*)
I do have a point to make about fiction, and I'm getting there, but will have to continue in another comment. :)
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Until our society has reached the point where no negative judgment accrues to homosexuality, we can't know what the actual ratio of potential bisexuals to dyed-in-the-wool monosexuals is, anyway. So I think it highly premature to declare that the question is decided, you know?
And now to fandom. There's been this sort of...movement, I'll call it, in fandom that has traditionally looked down on the "plumbing isn't important" trope or the "gay only for you" trope as being unrealistic--or worse, homophobic!--and although I acknowledge that some writers of these tropes might certainly fall into those categories, I don't think this is usually the case, and it is not so for me! When I write from one of these tropes it's because the issue interests me and it seems right for the character. Not because I have any personal reason to want the character to be gay or straight! Again, I understand why this is such a sensitive issue! How could it not be? But I'm not going to allow the narrow minds of people of either monosexual orientation to dictate to me what I can and can't write.
Writers of fiction are not preachers. And if they are preachers, they shouldn't be. Nothing spoils a work of fiction faster than a political or religious agenda that is allowed to supersede the artistic agenda of the endeavor (JMO). It's okay to have such an agenda. I'm just saying if the agenda becomes more important to the writer than the art does, then the art's going to suffer. Consider Ayn Rand, C.S. Lewis, Robert Heinlein. When they've been edited strictly and have reined in their tendency to get up on soapboxes, they've been good. When they haven't, they've been horrid. We have examples in fanfic, too, but I won't mention any here.
I'll also go out on a limb and state that character is the most interesting aspect of fiction, and that as individuals we want to see characters who are individuals, not stereotypical members of one or more "groups."
Therefore, when you and I and other writers who write individual characters who are bisexual in the "plumbing doesn't matter" category, we should not be belittled or negatively judged for being "unrealistic" or out of line, or, heaven forfend, "politically incorrect." Go ahead and attack our skills if those are lacking, go ahead and complain if a media character isn't recognizable as the canon version. Go ahead and tell us if we have not substantiated, from canon and in the story, any such assertions we make about the characters. Go ahead and tell us if we haven't convinced you. But don't tell us that it is impossible for a character not to be a monosexual. Don't tell us people can't "switch teams" after a certain age or can't discover, to their surprise, that they are bisexual, even when their teen years are far behind. Not only is every individual unique, but these events, as you note, have happened--and they've happened quite a lot! They've simply been less visual, just as the homosexual behavior of other mammals and vertebrates has been largely invisible--because people's political, religious, and personal prejudices, preconceptions, and agendas have been allowed to prevent the honest reporting of these phenomena.
So writers should not be automatically suspect for writing from one of these "tropes," nor should such fic be dismissed automatically as "unrealistic." So there. :)
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I think in my twelve years or so of writing fiction, I have written one strictly gay character (a future version of Draco Malfoy), one who was bi but wanted to believe that he was straight (an original character who was a *vampire* who wanted to believe he was straight - that boy had *issues*), and maybe one who is actually nearly altogether straight but she isn't actually in the book very much. Everyone else is more or less bi. Hell, "straight" people have been writing "straight" characters for years, I don't see why I shouldn't get to write universes full of bisexuals. That's my ideal, after all, and if I'm to be god of all my own little worlds then that's what I'm going to set up.
But it does kind of suck to be made self-conscious and/or paranoid about one's natural inclinations, and being bi often does mean catching shit from all sides. There are compensations in being able to choose to pass - especially if you're married to a member of the opposite sex, as I am - but there are special irritations as well. Still, slash fandom on the whole is a fairly friendly place to queers of all stripes, and I've only occasionally been badgered by the pc police.
Nevertheless, it's awfully nice to hear a voice of validation; thanks for that!
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Yes, I hear you, and I'm totally on the same wavelength. I probably see most characters as naturally bi, too.
But it does kind of suck to be made self-conscious and/or paranoid about one's natural inclinations, and being bi often does mean catching shit from all sides. There are compensations in being able to choose to pass - especially if you're married to a member of the opposite sex, as I am - but there are special irritations as well.
Yes, yes, yes, and yes. I am with you on all of this.
Still, slash fandom on the whole is a fairly friendly place to queers of all stripes, and I've only occasionally been badgered by the pc police. Agreed, and that's one of the best things about this fandom. I will say, however, that I wrote in the oldest slash fandom first, and I find there was a bit more pressure there from both camps, weirdly enough! I think that's because there is or was some homophobia among those who wrote the "straight but fucking my best friend" trope (!), and there was another contingent who wrote that same trope, but as idealized heterosexuality in disguise (even though those straight writers were not homophobic themselves), and then there was a strenuous reaction from the younger crowd, who, upon entering the fandom with the advent of the Internet, tarred anyone who wrote any of those tropes, including "the plumbing doesn't matter," with the same brush and called all of them homophobes. There were folks who said that if a character had one homosexual urge, he was gay, and denying that he was gay was homophobia, etc. (even though, gosh, isn't that reminiscent of the racist "one-drop" laws? Hmm?) It's tiring even to mention this stuff now, and I'm sure it's all water under the bridge, if you'll forgive an actual cliché. :) But anyway, you're right that the younger fandoms, including dS, are more accepting. Hey, dS is a younger fandom! They all are, by comparison with the earliest ones. :)
Nevertheless, it's awfully nice to hear a voice of validation; thanks for that!
You're most welcome. Yes, this is intended as validation. In fact, let me make clear what I just did here. Back when I did that interview, I ended up editing my epiphanies out, and, in fact, I only told a couple of trusted friends about it. Only one friend has read what I actually wrote that night. I've only hinted on LJ before about what I now understand about my orientation. So actually, I've come out here, in these comments. I hope that you'll receive that as tremendous validation and support, because it is intended as such.
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Frak. I meant "less visible," of course. Okay, the sleep deprivation is showing after all. :)
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And yeah, I realize I was preaching to the choir in my two preceding comments. I did that not only to support you in writing whatever you want from the "bisexual ghetto," but also as a way of organizing my thoughts on the subject. I've been interested--fascinated, even--by this trope for a long time, probably my entire slashfic career (15 years now), and it still fascinates me endlessly, and I still think we need more fic that explores it. And as it happens--and yes, I do get the irony, or perhaps the karmic humor here--I myself am one of those who realized quite late that I was in fact bisexual, had always been so, and had simply never recognized it. Even though I'd been writing slash for years before I came smack up against the realization! *laughs*
The short version of my story is that I had agreed to be interviewed about my writing by a fan publication. The interview was conducted by email, so I was writing the answers to the questions, without the interviewer present, and in the course of writing the answers, I started to write about a particular relationship from my past. In so doing I allowed myself to acknowledge certain truths about it, and the realization hit me like a ton of rubber duckies exactly what that "friendship" was and what I had wanted it to be. I had actually lived one of the biggest fannish clichés: "in love with my best friend and don't know it!" Jealous of her boyfriends, heartbroken when we were apart, the whole deal. There's more; if I gave you the details you'd agree that this would be a convincing slash scenario for any two buddy pairs you could name. Oh, and get this! I didn't come to the realization till years after I'd lost touch with her, and she was "straight" back when we lived in the same zip code...but in the meantime she'd come to some realizations herself (though not apparently about me, but I don't know for sure). In short, she has been living as a lesbian for many years by now. And all that time I still didn't get it! Can you imagine? :)
And as to the fact that I found women as well as men hot? (Not most women, but then, I'm just as picky about men! That's just me, that's just personality, individuality, and probably also the fact that women in general are more choosy, for very good biological reasons.) Oh, well, I'd read something years ago about how most women tend to be able to respond to both sexes, blah, blah...so I must be just a normal straight woman. And did it ever occur to me to wonder why so many straight-identifying women showed evidence of arousal when shown pictures of women--I'm talking clinical studies that were done! Hee! Could it be because most people are bisexual, and society doesn't punish non-straight behavior in women anywhere near as strictly as it punishes the same in men? Could it be? *laughs a lot* I mean, jeez...it's going to be incredibly hard for all of us to climb up out of the quicksand of conditioning we've sunk ourselves into, you know? So I think there are a lot more of us clueless bisexuals out there! Probably many, many more than will ever admit it, no matter how accepting society gets!
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It's not going to be an easy climb. Now that more of us have begun to accept that bisexuality even exists, we find to our shock and sadness that the gay community wants us to be as invisible and nonexistent as the straight community does! The slashfic community, though, when it's on its best behavior, is exemplary in its open-mindedness, and I think we need to encourage that attitude to flourish and to prune away any creeping closed-mindedness that should sprout up.
So for that reason, sister (*g*), I think we have to stick to our fannish guns here, and not allow either camp of monosexuals to dictate to us what "tropes" we should and shouldn't write. They should not be allowed to silence us or pretend that we don't exist, or to pretend that we can't make a sterling case for the fact that Ray Kowalski (to name just one such character) is one of us! :) Because we can easily make such a case. :) And we shouldn't knuckle under to pressure from the monosexuals because we're worried people will dismiss our fic or call us homophobes. We know we're not. We know our writing is not homophobic. We know that what we have to offer the world is a very good thing, a way of being and a way of looking at life that can be enormously beneficial to all people, including those who feel they are inflexibly straight or gay.
So that's why we need to keep writing from our own bisexual vision and why we must not allow our voices to be silenced.
So, um, yeah. I vote for an uprising from the bisexual ghetto. Are you with me? :)
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And I have to say, RayK reads as very bi to me. He sets my bidar a pinging (as does Callum himself but that's another issue). It's not just his clothes (the bracelet), but the way he carries himself, his reactions to people. Fraser is more of a stretch, honestly, but he's also very repressed so I can see there being all kinds of stuff going on in that gorgeous head that aren't visible. And it doesn't hurt that the actors were obviously playing with the boundaries of the relationship. I think Due South has been called one of the gayest straight shows ever produced, and I must concur. I mean, buddy shows are always pretty gay but DS took it to new levels.
I'm looking forward to the day when some buddy cop show introduces a romance between the partners in canon. Maybe Russell Davies will take a crack at that after he's done with Dr. Who.