Rent Challenge: Alex51324
May. 6th, 2008 02:34 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionTitle: Heroes of Chicago
Author: Alex51324
Pairing: Fraser/RayK, preslash or gen depending on the prescription of your slash goggles
Rating: PG, at worst, for language
Wordcount: 4051
Notes: I started this when the challenge was first opened, then got stuck on it. When I saw this challenge was still open, I decided to bang out an ending. Doesn't really have that much to do with rent, but uses one of the ideas from the challenge post (date auction).
Author: Alex51324
Pairing: Fraser/RayK, preslash or gen depending on the prescription of your slash goggles
Rating: PG, at worst, for language
Wordcount: 4051
Notes: I started this when the challenge was first opened, then got stuck on it. When I saw this challenge was still open, I decided to bang out an ending. Doesn't really have that much to do with rent, but uses one of the ideas from the challenge post (date auction).
Ray lingered in the hallway, trying not to eavesdrop.
Well, okay, that wasn’t true. If he was Fraser, he’d probably be able to turn what he knew he wasn’t supposed to be hearing into Charlie Brown wah-wah-wahs, but since he was Ray, he was just trying not to look like he was eavesdropping.
The Ice Queen’s voice carried a lot better than Fraser’s. Fraser was saying something like, “However worthy the charity is, Inspector, I’m not sure it would be appropriate for me to--” and then something else that was completely inaudible.
“Nonsense! It’s an honor to have been asked to participate, and there’s no one else I can send.”
Fraser said something about “Turnbull?”
“Please.”
“He’s a very nice young man, and has a good heart. Francesca, the civilian aide at the precinct, can vouch that he arranged a very nice lunch date.”
That was when he started to get an idea what they were talking about. Thatcher’s next words confirmed it. “The theme of the program is Heroes of Chicago. Would you characterize Constable Turnbull as particularly heroic?”
“Inspector, he might hear you.”
“He’s outside.”
Ray was just glad nobody was pressuring him to take part in this thing. Welsh himself had decided to be a good sport and be in it, and so had Huey, so the 27th was well represented. There was a rumor going around that Dewey had volunteered too, but the organizers turned him down on account of the smell.
In Thatcher’s office, Fraser tried again. “Well, sir, you are the commander of this unit, and no one could argue that your actions in, say, the case involving the Bolt brothers weren’t heroic.”
Thatcher’s sigh was audible even from the hallway. “Do I look like a bachelor to you, Constable?”
“Heroism knows no gender, sir. I think it would be a very progressive act for you to--”
“Constable, you will be representing the RCMP in the Heroes of Chicago Bachelor Auction, and that is final.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fraser was still blushing when he came out of the Inspector’s office. Ray decided the compassionate thing would be pretend he hadn’t heard, and that he had no idea why Fraser was being so pissy for the rest of the morning.
#
Fraser, spiffed up in the red uniform with the gold belt buckle, looked like he was going to an execution. Maybe even his. It didn’t help any that a few days earlier the paper had printed a list of all the guys in the Heroes auction--complete with photos of the prime studs, of which of course Fraser was one--and everybody at the station had been ragging him about it ever since. Welsh and Huey didn’t get their photos published.
Fraser did a pretty good job of hiding how much he hated the teasing--he just got sort of extra stiff and polite, so Ray was probably the only one who noticed. He’d thought about telling them to lay off, but if Fraser wasn’t letting on that he didn’t like it, maybe he had a good reason.
“Look, you don’t want to do this, you could call off sick or something,” Ray suggested. “They aren’t going to want to put you up on the block if you say you’re puking your guts out.” He wasn’t sure exactly why Fraser was so unhappy about spending a few hours with a woman who, presumably, had money to spare and--probably more relevant for Fraser--an interest in good causes, but it was clear that he was unhappy about it.
“I’m not sick, Ray.”
“I know, but…okay, never mind. How about a car accident? I hit one of those telephone poles, you crack your head on the windshield, and bingo, we’re spending the whole day in the waiting room at the ER.”
Fraser looked like he was considering it. “I couldn’t ask you to damage your car, Ray.”
He had to admit he was a little relieved. “Uh, okay. Tell you what. We have some engine trouble with this one, go back to the precinct and pick up a pool car, then that’s the one we have the accident with.”
“I’m not deliberately damaging city property just to avoid a little…momentary discomfort. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, here’s another idea. Just say you’re not doing it.”
“The event organizers are counting on me. Besides, Inspector Thatcher issued a direct order. I’m afraid I have no choice.”
Well, yeah. That was the genius of the wreck-the-car plan. Not even the Ice Queen could blame Fraser for Ray’s crappy driving. “What about we get a rental car and wreck it?”
“I appreciate your efforts to help, Ray, but I think it’s best if I just--endure--this. The auction itself will be over quickly, and then I only need spend four hours with the winner.” He cracked his neck. “It can’t be noticeably worse than the time I spent thirteen hours clinging to a bridge while an angry mountain cat swiped at me from above.”
“Shorter, at least,” Ray suggested.
“Yes, exactly.”
But he didn’t sound any more cheerful about the whole thing. “Okay, last idea. We pop in that drugstore --” He pointed at a Walgreens up ahead “--and buy some of that ip--ippy-- the make-you-puke stuff. Drink it down, then you really will be sick, and you won’t have to lie.”
Fraser smoothed an eyebrow. “I think, given the choice between spending the next few hours being auctioned off like a prized stud dog and spending them in violent gastrointestinal distress, the auction is the more pleasant alternative. By a slight margin. But thank you for trying to help.”
“No problem. I wish I had some better ideas.”
“They’re fine ideas. I’ve been hoping we’ll witness a serious crime on our way there, but even then I expect Inspector Thatcher would expect me to abandon the pursuit of justice in favor of…this.”
“Yeah,” Ray agreed. “And we’re almost there, anyway.”
The auction was being held in a fancy hotel. Ray bypassed the valet parking and found his own spot in the underground garage. It would be a bit of a hike to the ballroom, but what the hell. Fraser liked hiking.
He didn’t seem to particularly like hiking through a parking garage to a bachelor auction, though. By the time they found the elevator, he was looking even paler than he had in the car, which meant he was just about transparent. Ray wondered if he might be re-thinking that whole gastrointestinal distress thing.
But they made it to the ballroom, where a small herd of women in skirt suits and pearls swooped down on them and dragged Fraser to the table where they’d corralled the rest of the merchandise. Welsh and Huey had saved Fraser a seat, but Fraser grabbed Ray’s arm and gave him the big Mountie eyes until Ray pulled up another chair and squeezed in between Fraser and some guy from the fire department.
They hadn’t been there long when the Ice Queen herself put in an appearance. “Fraser. You’re going on second-to-last, right before the bodybuilder who saved a small child and two kittens from a house fire last month.”
That was just great--it wasn’t like Fraser would want to get this over with or anything. Fraser nodded once, quickly.
“You remember what you’re supposed to say?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And Fraser?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Try to look like you’re having a good time.”
“Yes, sir,” Fraser said miserably.
“Good.”
She left. “What are you supposed to say?” Ray asked.
“Inspector Thatcher was kind enough to write out a description of the evening that she planned for the, ah, successful bidder.”
Ray looked in the direction the Inspector had gone, a nasty suspicion forming in his mind. “She planned your date for you?”
“Yes. Evidently she was concerned that left to my own devices I would choose something inappropriate.”
Like spaghetti cooked over an open fire, maybe? But hell, Fraser had some common sense. He could pick out a restaurant. Well, he could ask Ray to pick out a restaurant for him. And anyway, Fraser wouldn’t want to have spaghetti in the park with a stranger. Some things were private. “What did she decide on?”
“Odyssey dinner cruise.”
“Huh.”
“I did point out that the name of the establishment showed a lamentable ignorance of the classics, but she was…unmoved.”
“I bet.”
Before Ray could decide if he should tell Fraser about his suspicions, the lights went down and one of pearl necklace ladies got up on stage and did a slideshow about the charity--some kind of summer camp thing for poor kids--and waiters started coming around with wine and little appetizers. They came by the men’s table pretty often, which put Ray in mind of some cross between a feedlot and a petting zoo.
After the slideshow, the MC reminded the women that all they were buying was a night on the town. A lot of the women laughed a little bit at that, but Ray hoped it was in writing somewhere--if whoever bought Fraser expected him to put out, she was gonna be real disappointed.
The first guy up was a paramedic named Ernie. Even given the subject was a little abstract for him, Ray didn’t think he looked like much--probably they were saving the best guys for last, and getting the duds out of the way as soon as possible. Ray had a sneaking suspicion that the woman who started the bidding was Ernie’s mom.
After him was a guy from the CPD, then a firefighter, then another ambulance-guy, this one an EMT. Looked like they were rotating through the categories--good way to avoid any arguments over which group was most heroic, Ray supposed.
Meanwhile, Fraser was folding cocktail napkins into a series of smaller and smaller squares. Huey elbowed him. “What’s the matter with you?”
Fraser opened his mouth, sighed, and reached for another napkin.
“He doesn’t wanna do this,” Ray explained. “The Ice Queen’s making him.”
Welsh leaned past Huey. “What’s not to like? You spend some time with a nice woman, the force looks good, the charity gets some money.”
Fraser sighed again and cracked his neck. “I suppose I don’t--and of course my feelings are my own and I don’t judge you for feeling differently--but personally I feel that allowing myself to be turned into a fetish object is--undignified.”
“Fetish object?” Ray repeated. “Like, leather and chains? It’s not that kind of auction, Fraser.”
“I know that.” Fraser actually sounded slightly annoyed, which for him was the equivalent of cussing a blue streak and throwing things. “These women--” He turned his head slightly to indicate the room in general, without doing anything as crass as actually pointing “--know nothing about us except for our profession and physical appearance.”
“So?” Huey asked. “Women like guys with dangerous jobs. It’s evolution--a woman sees a cop or a firefighter, her ovaries go ‘there’s a guy who can bring home a lot of mammoths.’ Nothing wrong with that.”
Fraser frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with physical attraction based on evolutionary imperatives, certainly. But to prioritize them over other factors is….” He hesitated, and Ray mentally filled in, yucky? Stupid? Un-Canadian? “Demeaning,” he concluded. Then he ducked his head and added, “Obviously you feel differently. I don’t mean…well, I suppose I do, but…it’s not important.”
Which was total bullshit. It was really fucking important, and Ray was starting to think that pretending he hadn’t heard Thatcher bullying him into doing this hadn’t been the compassionate thing at all. The compassionate thing to do would have been to drag Fraser into the car and knock some sense into him, because Thatcher had no right to make him let a bunch of sex-crazed women objectify him if he didn’t want to.
Even if lots of guys--a couple of dozen of which were sitting at the table with them--were perfectly fine with being objectified. Some of them--the guys who didn’t know Fraser--were giving him dirty looks, and even Welsh and Huey looked kind of disgruntled.
He nudged Fraser. “Let’s take a walk.”
Fraser glanced at him, then around the room. “I’m in the middle of something, Ray. But don’t let me keep you.”
“You won’t be up for a while. C’mon. We’ll get some fresh air, clear your head.”
Fraser hesitated for a moment, then moistened his lip and nodded, pushing back his chair. Fraser would have made a direct line to the main entrance, a path that would’ve taken him right past the table where Inspector Thatcher was sitting, but Ray spied a red sign marking one of the fire exits and dragged him to that instead.
“You really shouldn’t be doing this,” Ray told Fraser once they were out of earshot of the ballroom.
“We’ve already discussed it,” Fraser said, sounding a little testy--which for him, was like if anyone else was cursing a blue streak and maybe even throwing things.
“Yeah, but I didn’t get it. I thought it was, uh, was kinda funny,” he admitted. “At first.”
“Everyone does.” Fraser scuffed the carpet with his boot. “I don’t exactly understand why.”
Ray sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I, uh, yeah. I don’t think I can explain it.”
“It’s all right. I didn’t expect you could.”
Hearing Fraser say that made Ray want to try. “It’s just…aw, hell, I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway. I think Thatcher’s planning to bid on you.”
Fraser’s head jerked up. “She is? Oh, dear.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if that would be better or worse.”
“Worse. Definitely worse. Are you sure? Did she say she was?”
“No. No, it’s just a feeling I got.”
“Maybe she won’t, then.”
“I think your best hope is that you end up out of her price range. She doesn’t have, like, a secret trust fund or anything, does she?” He figures Mounties must not make much--maybe even less than cops--or Fraser wouldn’t have to live in his office, or a dump like the old apartment that had burned down right before Ray became Vecchio.
“If I knew about it, it would hardly be a secret.”
“Good point. So, don’t worry. It’ll probably be some wealthy widow.”
Fraser attempted a weak smile. “I’m not sure that’s much better.”
“Running away is still an option. We could sneak down to the kitchen, hide in the bottom of a trash barrel, and wait to be thrown out in the alley. Or, you know, walk out the front door.”
“I should go back in.”
When they got back to the table, the other guys looked a little less hostile--maybe Welsh and Huey had explained about Fraser. Well, as much as anyone could explain Fraser.
Ray ate some more tiny appetizers--he was sorry Fraser was unhappy, but it wasn’t quite enough to put him off his feed--and Fraser went back to folding napkins. He must’ve gotten bored with doing squares, though, because he started making these little origami animals. The only one Ray could really recognize was the turtle, but there was also some kind of bird--maybe a duck--a thing that might have been a horse, or else a giraffe, and another thing that was probably a frog. Soon he had a whole little zoo, lined up in a semicircle in front of him.
“Ray,” Fraser whispered to him, folding another animal, while Huey went up on stage.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have a pen?”
Ray found one in his pocket.
“Thank you.” Fraser started putting dots on the back of his latest animal--which, now that it had the spots, looked like it was probably a giant ladybug. He added antenna and a face, too, then started decorating the turtle’s shell.
Huey came back to the table, and the firefighter who’d been sitting next to Ray went up. “Did you see that? Twelve hundred. That’s the most of anyone so far.”
“Congratulations,” Ray said. If Huey went for twelve hundred, maybe Fraser would end up too rich for Thatcher’s blood. He’d definitely be too much for Frannie, anyway--Ray hadn’t seen her here yet, but he wouldn’t put it past her to show up just in time to bid on Fraser. “Wait, did Welsh go yet?”
“While you were out of the room.”
Ray was a little sorry he’d missed that.
Once the upper shell was done, Fraser turned the turtle over and did the plastron. “You don’t have a red pen, do you?”
“No, sorry. If I knew we were gonna do arts and crafts, I’d have brought you some crayons.”
Fraser shrugged a little and kept working on the turtle. Once it was to his liking, he put it in front of Ray.
“For me?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Thanks.” Ray turned the turtle over in his hands. He wondered if he was supposed to take it with him. He could put it in the dresser with the dream catcher Fraser had made for him, or maybe by the turtle tank. But it probably wouldn’t take too long before the turtle started looking like a wadded-up cocktail napkin.
He tucked it carefully into his shirt pocket.
Fraser was putting spots on the horse-or-giraffe when Thatcher came over. “You’re next, Fraser.”
He jumped, crumpling the giraffe. “Already?”
“Yes. Don’t forget to smile.”
Fraser’s attempt at a smile looked more like a grinning skull.
Thatcher shook her head. “Forget about smiling. Just try not to look like you’re in front of a firing squad.”
“Is that an option?”
“Excuse me, Constable?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Just--try not to embarrass me.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
The mistress of ceremonies banged the gavel on the last of the EMTs. “We’re down to our last two bachelors, ladies. Next up we have Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
At least, Ray assumed she said “Police.” The last word was drowned out by the whooping that started up when she said, “Mounted.”
Fraser straightened his lanyard, gave Ray a last, pleading look, and went up on stage.
“Benton grew up in In-you--what does this say?”
“Inuvik,” Fraser murmured in the general direction of the microphone.
“Well that sounds nice. And he came to Chicago--” The MC obviously skipped several sentences from her note card “--to be a liaison with the Canadian Consulate! He--hm. Enjoys nature!”
Ray thought that maybe Thatcher had forgotten to fill out Fraser’s note card for him.
“And he has a dog. Benton, what do you have planned for your date this evening?”
Fraser’s explanation of his date sounded more like he was giving his name, rank, and serial number.
When the bidding started, Fraser looked even worse. Like he wanted to die or something. Ray couldn’t take it any more. He had to save Fraser somehow--but how? He couldn’t buy him--the first thirty seconds took the bidding up past Ray’s savings account balance, and anyway, being bid on by his partner--his male partner--wouldn’t make this any less humiliating for Fraser.
There was only one thing Ray could do. He bolted from the room.
#
“Detective Vecchio!” Welsh, hurrying over to them, did not sound at all happy.
“Yeah? Fraser, you okay? You didn’t strain your back or anything, did you?” Three women had fainted when the fire alarm went off. Fraser had carried out two of them, one over each shoulder, leaving Ernie the paramedic to deal with his mother.
“I’m quite all right, Ray,” Fraser said. “No, I don’t have a statement,” he told a reporter. “Have you seen my commanding officer? I should….” He didn’t say whether he should find her or hide from her. Ray knew which one was the smart thing to do, but Fraser, being Fraser, probably thought he should report in.
Welsh reached them before Thatcher did. “Vecchio, get over here.” He dragged Ray behind a fire engine, away from the reporters. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that the fire department found no sign of a fire. No smoke, no flames, not so much as a stray match.”
“That’s good,” Ray said. “All those people in there. Woulda been a lot worse if there was an actual fire.”
Welsh nodded. “As it is, we just had an entire hotel evacuated for no reason. All the guests, all the staff, a wedding reception, and a charity bachelor auction. Causing hundreds if not thousands of dollars in financial losses for the hotel.”
“The auction thing was almost over, at least.” Ray shrugged.
“You might be interested to know that the hotel management was able to track which fire alarm was pulled.”
“Yeah?” Damn--he hadn’t figured for that. He’d expected that Welsh would suspect, but counted on him not being able to actually know.
“The one by the ballroom.”
“I didn’t see anything,” he said. “I was in the can. Felt like I was gonna puke all the sudden. Gas station sushi. I should know better.”
“I’m sure you know as well as I do that if someone pulled that fire alarm knowing full well that there was no fire, that person could be charged with disorderly conduct, malicious mischief, transmitting a false report, and anything else we can think of to throw at them?”
“Yeah. Uh, yeah, it sounds like that person is in some hot water.”
“You’ve got that right, Detective. And if that person happens to be a police officer, he’d be lucky to find himself writing parking tickets for the rest of his career.”
“Yes, sir. That, uh, that person would have to be one dumb bastard to, uh, risk that.” He probably should have thought this out more. But what choice did he have?
“Yes, he would. Now, the auction organizers are talking about starting the event up again in about half an hour, so I’ll tell them Constable Fraser is going to be too busy helping you investigate this crime to take part.”
Thank God--or thank Welsh. The auction starting up again after the fire alarm was just one of the aspects of his plan that he hadn’t thought through. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“And in case this unique combination of circumstances ever comes up again, point out to Fraser that no matter how they do things in Canada, making someone participate in a date auction against his or her will could be considered sexual harassment under the Illinois Human Rights Act.”
“I’ll, uh, I’ll tell him that, sir.” Stupid. Ray hadn’t even thought of that. And it was just the kind of argument that Fraser would go for. Much better than running the car into a telephone pole. “Uh, do you suppose that we’ll find out who pulled that fire alarm?”
“Hundreds of people had access to it. If there were no witnesses, chances are we’ll never know.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Unless he’s dumb enough to let some Canadian talk him into turning himself in, which I hope he can convince said Canadian would bring more embarrassment down on the department than it’s worth.”
“I read you loud and clear, sir.”
While he was talking to Welsh, Thatcher had found Fraser. “--sorry, sir,” he was saying when Ray hurried up to them. “But I don’t see how I can be held responsible for--Ray!”
“Hey. Welsh wants us to investigate.”
“Investigate what?” Thatcher demanded.
“The false report, I would imagine, sir,” Fraser said. “It would be a misdemeanor, wouldn’t it, Ray?”
“Yeah. Maybe a couple of misdemeanors.”
“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but it sounds like I’ll be too busy to participate in the event.”
“Welsh asked for him specifically,” Ray added.
Thatcher shook her head slightly. “We’ll discuss this later, Constable.”
“Yes, sir.” They headed back toward the hotel. “That was, ah, quite a coincidence. The fire alarm going off just at that moment.”
“Yep. One wacky coincidence.”
“Ray, I hope you don’t feel that I’m…well, as I’ve been assigned to investigate the matter, I do have to ask. I noticed that you left the room shortly before the, ah, offense.”
“Yeah. Welsh said to tell you I’m not allowed to turn myself in.”
Fraser paused. “So our investigation….”
“Should probably take place as far from this hotel as possible.”
Fraser seemed about to say something, but thought better of it. “In that case, perhaps you’d like to have some dinner.”
“Good idea. I could go for spaghetti.”
“Spaghetti?”
“Yeah. I hear it’s good cooked over an open fire.”
“Spaghetti it is.”
Well, okay, that wasn’t true. If he was Fraser, he’d probably be able to turn what he knew he wasn’t supposed to be hearing into Charlie Brown wah-wah-wahs, but since he was Ray, he was just trying not to look like he was eavesdropping.
The Ice Queen’s voice carried a lot better than Fraser’s. Fraser was saying something like, “However worthy the charity is, Inspector, I’m not sure it would be appropriate for me to--” and then something else that was completely inaudible.
“Nonsense! It’s an honor to have been asked to participate, and there’s no one else I can send.”
Fraser said something about “Turnbull?”
“Please.”
“He’s a very nice young man, and has a good heart. Francesca, the civilian aide at the precinct, can vouch that he arranged a very nice lunch date.”
That was when he started to get an idea what they were talking about. Thatcher’s next words confirmed it. “The theme of the program is Heroes of Chicago. Would you characterize Constable Turnbull as particularly heroic?”
“Inspector, he might hear you.”
“He’s outside.”
Ray was just glad nobody was pressuring him to take part in this thing. Welsh himself had decided to be a good sport and be in it, and so had Huey, so the 27th was well represented. There was a rumor going around that Dewey had volunteered too, but the organizers turned him down on account of the smell.
In Thatcher’s office, Fraser tried again. “Well, sir, you are the commander of this unit, and no one could argue that your actions in, say, the case involving the Bolt brothers weren’t heroic.”
Thatcher’s sigh was audible even from the hallway. “Do I look like a bachelor to you, Constable?”
“Heroism knows no gender, sir. I think it would be a very progressive act for you to--”
“Constable, you will be representing the RCMP in the Heroes of Chicago Bachelor Auction, and that is final.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fraser was still blushing when he came out of the Inspector’s office. Ray decided the compassionate thing would be pretend he hadn’t heard, and that he had no idea why Fraser was being so pissy for the rest of the morning.
#
Fraser, spiffed up in the red uniform with the gold belt buckle, looked like he was going to an execution. Maybe even his. It didn’t help any that a few days earlier the paper had printed a list of all the guys in the Heroes auction--complete with photos of the prime studs, of which of course Fraser was one--and everybody at the station had been ragging him about it ever since. Welsh and Huey didn’t get their photos published.
Fraser did a pretty good job of hiding how much he hated the teasing--he just got sort of extra stiff and polite, so Ray was probably the only one who noticed. He’d thought about telling them to lay off, but if Fraser wasn’t letting on that he didn’t like it, maybe he had a good reason.
“Look, you don’t want to do this, you could call off sick or something,” Ray suggested. “They aren’t going to want to put you up on the block if you say you’re puking your guts out.” He wasn’t sure exactly why Fraser was so unhappy about spending a few hours with a woman who, presumably, had money to spare and--probably more relevant for Fraser--an interest in good causes, but it was clear that he was unhappy about it.
“I’m not sick, Ray.”
“I know, but…okay, never mind. How about a car accident? I hit one of those telephone poles, you crack your head on the windshield, and bingo, we’re spending the whole day in the waiting room at the ER.”
Fraser looked like he was considering it. “I couldn’t ask you to damage your car, Ray.”
He had to admit he was a little relieved. “Uh, okay. Tell you what. We have some engine trouble with this one, go back to the precinct and pick up a pool car, then that’s the one we have the accident with.”
“I’m not deliberately damaging city property just to avoid a little…momentary discomfort. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, here’s another idea. Just say you’re not doing it.”
“The event organizers are counting on me. Besides, Inspector Thatcher issued a direct order. I’m afraid I have no choice.”
Well, yeah. That was the genius of the wreck-the-car plan. Not even the Ice Queen could blame Fraser for Ray’s crappy driving. “What about we get a rental car and wreck it?”
“I appreciate your efforts to help, Ray, but I think it’s best if I just--endure--this. The auction itself will be over quickly, and then I only need spend four hours with the winner.” He cracked his neck. “It can’t be noticeably worse than the time I spent thirteen hours clinging to a bridge while an angry mountain cat swiped at me from above.”
“Shorter, at least,” Ray suggested.
“Yes, exactly.”
But he didn’t sound any more cheerful about the whole thing. “Okay, last idea. We pop in that drugstore --” He pointed at a Walgreens up ahead “--and buy some of that ip--ippy-- the make-you-puke stuff. Drink it down, then you really will be sick, and you won’t have to lie.”
Fraser smoothed an eyebrow. “I think, given the choice between spending the next few hours being auctioned off like a prized stud dog and spending them in violent gastrointestinal distress, the auction is the more pleasant alternative. By a slight margin. But thank you for trying to help.”
“No problem. I wish I had some better ideas.”
“They’re fine ideas. I’ve been hoping we’ll witness a serious crime on our way there, but even then I expect Inspector Thatcher would expect me to abandon the pursuit of justice in favor of…this.”
“Yeah,” Ray agreed. “And we’re almost there, anyway.”
The auction was being held in a fancy hotel. Ray bypassed the valet parking and found his own spot in the underground garage. It would be a bit of a hike to the ballroom, but what the hell. Fraser liked hiking.
He didn’t seem to particularly like hiking through a parking garage to a bachelor auction, though. By the time they found the elevator, he was looking even paler than he had in the car, which meant he was just about transparent. Ray wondered if he might be re-thinking that whole gastrointestinal distress thing.
But they made it to the ballroom, where a small herd of women in skirt suits and pearls swooped down on them and dragged Fraser to the table where they’d corralled the rest of the merchandise. Welsh and Huey had saved Fraser a seat, but Fraser grabbed Ray’s arm and gave him the big Mountie eyes until Ray pulled up another chair and squeezed in between Fraser and some guy from the fire department.
They hadn’t been there long when the Ice Queen herself put in an appearance. “Fraser. You’re going on second-to-last, right before the bodybuilder who saved a small child and two kittens from a house fire last month.”
That was just great--it wasn’t like Fraser would want to get this over with or anything. Fraser nodded once, quickly.
“You remember what you’re supposed to say?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And Fraser?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Try to look like you’re having a good time.”
“Yes, sir,” Fraser said miserably.
“Good.”
She left. “What are you supposed to say?” Ray asked.
“Inspector Thatcher was kind enough to write out a description of the evening that she planned for the, ah, successful bidder.”
Ray looked in the direction the Inspector had gone, a nasty suspicion forming in his mind. “She planned your date for you?”
“Yes. Evidently she was concerned that left to my own devices I would choose something inappropriate.”
Like spaghetti cooked over an open fire, maybe? But hell, Fraser had some common sense. He could pick out a restaurant. Well, he could ask Ray to pick out a restaurant for him. And anyway, Fraser wouldn’t want to have spaghetti in the park with a stranger. Some things were private. “What did she decide on?”
“Odyssey dinner cruise.”
“Huh.”
“I did point out that the name of the establishment showed a lamentable ignorance of the classics, but she was…unmoved.”
“I bet.”
Before Ray could decide if he should tell Fraser about his suspicions, the lights went down and one of pearl necklace ladies got up on stage and did a slideshow about the charity--some kind of summer camp thing for poor kids--and waiters started coming around with wine and little appetizers. They came by the men’s table pretty often, which put Ray in mind of some cross between a feedlot and a petting zoo.
After the slideshow, the MC reminded the women that all they were buying was a night on the town. A lot of the women laughed a little bit at that, but Ray hoped it was in writing somewhere--if whoever bought Fraser expected him to put out, she was gonna be real disappointed.
The first guy up was a paramedic named Ernie. Even given the subject was a little abstract for him, Ray didn’t think he looked like much--probably they were saving the best guys for last, and getting the duds out of the way as soon as possible. Ray had a sneaking suspicion that the woman who started the bidding was Ernie’s mom.
After him was a guy from the CPD, then a firefighter, then another ambulance-guy, this one an EMT. Looked like they were rotating through the categories--good way to avoid any arguments over which group was most heroic, Ray supposed.
Meanwhile, Fraser was folding cocktail napkins into a series of smaller and smaller squares. Huey elbowed him. “What’s the matter with you?”
Fraser opened his mouth, sighed, and reached for another napkin.
“He doesn’t wanna do this,” Ray explained. “The Ice Queen’s making him.”
Welsh leaned past Huey. “What’s not to like? You spend some time with a nice woman, the force looks good, the charity gets some money.”
Fraser sighed again and cracked his neck. “I suppose I don’t--and of course my feelings are my own and I don’t judge you for feeling differently--but personally I feel that allowing myself to be turned into a fetish object is--undignified.”
“Fetish object?” Ray repeated. “Like, leather and chains? It’s not that kind of auction, Fraser.”
“I know that.” Fraser actually sounded slightly annoyed, which for him was the equivalent of cussing a blue streak and throwing things. “These women--” He turned his head slightly to indicate the room in general, without doing anything as crass as actually pointing “--know nothing about us except for our profession and physical appearance.”
“So?” Huey asked. “Women like guys with dangerous jobs. It’s evolution--a woman sees a cop or a firefighter, her ovaries go ‘there’s a guy who can bring home a lot of mammoths.’ Nothing wrong with that.”
Fraser frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with physical attraction based on evolutionary imperatives, certainly. But to prioritize them over other factors is….” He hesitated, and Ray mentally filled in, yucky? Stupid? Un-Canadian? “Demeaning,” he concluded. Then he ducked his head and added, “Obviously you feel differently. I don’t mean…well, I suppose I do, but…it’s not important.”
Which was total bullshit. It was really fucking important, and Ray was starting to think that pretending he hadn’t heard Thatcher bullying him into doing this hadn’t been the compassionate thing at all. The compassionate thing to do would have been to drag Fraser into the car and knock some sense into him, because Thatcher had no right to make him let a bunch of sex-crazed women objectify him if he didn’t want to.
Even if lots of guys--a couple of dozen of which were sitting at the table with them--were perfectly fine with being objectified. Some of them--the guys who didn’t know Fraser--were giving him dirty looks, and even Welsh and Huey looked kind of disgruntled.
He nudged Fraser. “Let’s take a walk.”
Fraser glanced at him, then around the room. “I’m in the middle of something, Ray. But don’t let me keep you.”
“You won’t be up for a while. C’mon. We’ll get some fresh air, clear your head.”
Fraser hesitated for a moment, then moistened his lip and nodded, pushing back his chair. Fraser would have made a direct line to the main entrance, a path that would’ve taken him right past the table where Inspector Thatcher was sitting, but Ray spied a red sign marking one of the fire exits and dragged him to that instead.
“You really shouldn’t be doing this,” Ray told Fraser once they were out of earshot of the ballroom.
“We’ve already discussed it,” Fraser said, sounding a little testy--which for him, was like if anyone else was cursing a blue streak and maybe even throwing things.
“Yeah, but I didn’t get it. I thought it was, uh, was kinda funny,” he admitted. “At first.”
“Everyone does.” Fraser scuffed the carpet with his boot. “I don’t exactly understand why.”
Ray sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I, uh, yeah. I don’t think I can explain it.”
“It’s all right. I didn’t expect you could.”
Hearing Fraser say that made Ray want to try. “It’s just…aw, hell, I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway. I think Thatcher’s planning to bid on you.”
Fraser’s head jerked up. “She is? Oh, dear.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if that would be better or worse.”
“Worse. Definitely worse. Are you sure? Did she say she was?”
“No. No, it’s just a feeling I got.”
“Maybe she won’t, then.”
“I think your best hope is that you end up out of her price range. She doesn’t have, like, a secret trust fund or anything, does she?” He figures Mounties must not make much--maybe even less than cops--or Fraser wouldn’t have to live in his office, or a dump like the old apartment that had burned down right before Ray became Vecchio.
“If I knew about it, it would hardly be a secret.”
“Good point. So, don’t worry. It’ll probably be some wealthy widow.”
Fraser attempted a weak smile. “I’m not sure that’s much better.”
“Running away is still an option. We could sneak down to the kitchen, hide in the bottom of a trash barrel, and wait to be thrown out in the alley. Or, you know, walk out the front door.”
“I should go back in.”
When they got back to the table, the other guys looked a little less hostile--maybe Welsh and Huey had explained about Fraser. Well, as much as anyone could explain Fraser.
Ray ate some more tiny appetizers--he was sorry Fraser was unhappy, but it wasn’t quite enough to put him off his feed--and Fraser went back to folding napkins. He must’ve gotten bored with doing squares, though, because he started making these little origami animals. The only one Ray could really recognize was the turtle, but there was also some kind of bird--maybe a duck--a thing that might have been a horse, or else a giraffe, and another thing that was probably a frog. Soon he had a whole little zoo, lined up in a semicircle in front of him.
“Ray,” Fraser whispered to him, folding another animal, while Huey went up on stage.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have a pen?”
Ray found one in his pocket.
“Thank you.” Fraser started putting dots on the back of his latest animal--which, now that it had the spots, looked like it was probably a giant ladybug. He added antenna and a face, too, then started decorating the turtle’s shell.
Huey came back to the table, and the firefighter who’d been sitting next to Ray went up. “Did you see that? Twelve hundred. That’s the most of anyone so far.”
“Congratulations,” Ray said. If Huey went for twelve hundred, maybe Fraser would end up too rich for Thatcher’s blood. He’d definitely be too much for Frannie, anyway--Ray hadn’t seen her here yet, but he wouldn’t put it past her to show up just in time to bid on Fraser. “Wait, did Welsh go yet?”
“While you were out of the room.”
Ray was a little sorry he’d missed that.
Once the upper shell was done, Fraser turned the turtle over and did the plastron. “You don’t have a red pen, do you?”
“No, sorry. If I knew we were gonna do arts and crafts, I’d have brought you some crayons.”
Fraser shrugged a little and kept working on the turtle. Once it was to his liking, he put it in front of Ray.
“For me?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Thanks.” Ray turned the turtle over in his hands. He wondered if he was supposed to take it with him. He could put it in the dresser with the dream catcher Fraser had made for him, or maybe by the turtle tank. But it probably wouldn’t take too long before the turtle started looking like a wadded-up cocktail napkin.
He tucked it carefully into his shirt pocket.
Fraser was putting spots on the horse-or-giraffe when Thatcher came over. “You’re next, Fraser.”
He jumped, crumpling the giraffe. “Already?”
“Yes. Don’t forget to smile.”
Fraser’s attempt at a smile looked more like a grinning skull.
Thatcher shook her head. “Forget about smiling. Just try not to look like you’re in front of a firing squad.”
“Is that an option?”
“Excuse me, Constable?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Just--try not to embarrass me.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
The mistress of ceremonies banged the gavel on the last of the EMTs. “We’re down to our last two bachelors, ladies. Next up we have Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
At least, Ray assumed she said “Police.” The last word was drowned out by the whooping that started up when she said, “Mounted.”
Fraser straightened his lanyard, gave Ray a last, pleading look, and went up on stage.
“Benton grew up in In-you--what does this say?”
“Inuvik,” Fraser murmured in the general direction of the microphone.
“Well that sounds nice. And he came to Chicago--” The MC obviously skipped several sentences from her note card “--to be a liaison with the Canadian Consulate! He--hm. Enjoys nature!”
Ray thought that maybe Thatcher had forgotten to fill out Fraser’s note card for him.
“And he has a dog. Benton, what do you have planned for your date this evening?”
Fraser’s explanation of his date sounded more like he was giving his name, rank, and serial number.
When the bidding started, Fraser looked even worse. Like he wanted to die or something. Ray couldn’t take it any more. He had to save Fraser somehow--but how? He couldn’t buy him--the first thirty seconds took the bidding up past Ray’s savings account balance, and anyway, being bid on by his partner--his male partner--wouldn’t make this any less humiliating for Fraser.
There was only one thing Ray could do. He bolted from the room.
#
“Detective Vecchio!” Welsh, hurrying over to them, did not sound at all happy.
“Yeah? Fraser, you okay? You didn’t strain your back or anything, did you?” Three women had fainted when the fire alarm went off. Fraser had carried out two of them, one over each shoulder, leaving Ernie the paramedic to deal with his mother.
“I’m quite all right, Ray,” Fraser said. “No, I don’t have a statement,” he told a reporter. “Have you seen my commanding officer? I should….” He didn’t say whether he should find her or hide from her. Ray knew which one was the smart thing to do, but Fraser, being Fraser, probably thought he should report in.
Welsh reached them before Thatcher did. “Vecchio, get over here.” He dragged Ray behind a fire engine, away from the reporters. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that the fire department found no sign of a fire. No smoke, no flames, not so much as a stray match.”
“That’s good,” Ray said. “All those people in there. Woulda been a lot worse if there was an actual fire.”
Welsh nodded. “As it is, we just had an entire hotel evacuated for no reason. All the guests, all the staff, a wedding reception, and a charity bachelor auction. Causing hundreds if not thousands of dollars in financial losses for the hotel.”
“The auction thing was almost over, at least.” Ray shrugged.
“You might be interested to know that the hotel management was able to track which fire alarm was pulled.”
“Yeah?” Damn--he hadn’t figured for that. He’d expected that Welsh would suspect, but counted on him not being able to actually know.
“The one by the ballroom.”
“I didn’t see anything,” he said. “I was in the can. Felt like I was gonna puke all the sudden. Gas station sushi. I should know better.”
“I’m sure you know as well as I do that if someone pulled that fire alarm knowing full well that there was no fire, that person could be charged with disorderly conduct, malicious mischief, transmitting a false report, and anything else we can think of to throw at them?”
“Yeah. Uh, yeah, it sounds like that person is in some hot water.”
“You’ve got that right, Detective. And if that person happens to be a police officer, he’d be lucky to find himself writing parking tickets for the rest of his career.”
“Yes, sir. That, uh, that person would have to be one dumb bastard to, uh, risk that.” He probably should have thought this out more. But what choice did he have?
“Yes, he would. Now, the auction organizers are talking about starting the event up again in about half an hour, so I’ll tell them Constable Fraser is going to be too busy helping you investigate this crime to take part.”
Thank God--or thank Welsh. The auction starting up again after the fire alarm was just one of the aspects of his plan that he hadn’t thought through. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“And in case this unique combination of circumstances ever comes up again, point out to Fraser that no matter how they do things in Canada, making someone participate in a date auction against his or her will could be considered sexual harassment under the Illinois Human Rights Act.”
“I’ll, uh, I’ll tell him that, sir.” Stupid. Ray hadn’t even thought of that. And it was just the kind of argument that Fraser would go for. Much better than running the car into a telephone pole. “Uh, do you suppose that we’ll find out who pulled that fire alarm?”
“Hundreds of people had access to it. If there were no witnesses, chances are we’ll never know.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Unless he’s dumb enough to let some Canadian talk him into turning himself in, which I hope he can convince said Canadian would bring more embarrassment down on the department than it’s worth.”
“I read you loud and clear, sir.”
While he was talking to Welsh, Thatcher had found Fraser. “--sorry, sir,” he was saying when Ray hurried up to them. “But I don’t see how I can be held responsible for--Ray!”
“Hey. Welsh wants us to investigate.”
“Investigate what?” Thatcher demanded.
“The false report, I would imagine, sir,” Fraser said. “It would be a misdemeanor, wouldn’t it, Ray?”
“Yeah. Maybe a couple of misdemeanors.”
“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but it sounds like I’ll be too busy to participate in the event.”
“Welsh asked for him specifically,” Ray added.
Thatcher shook her head slightly. “We’ll discuss this later, Constable.”
“Yes, sir.” They headed back toward the hotel. “That was, ah, quite a coincidence. The fire alarm going off just at that moment.”
“Yep. One wacky coincidence.”
“Ray, I hope you don’t feel that I’m…well, as I’ve been assigned to investigate the matter, I do have to ask. I noticed that you left the room shortly before the, ah, offense.”
“Yeah. Welsh said to tell you I’m not allowed to turn myself in.”
Fraser paused. “So our investigation….”
“Should probably take place as far from this hotel as possible.”
Fraser seemed about to say something, but thought better of it. “In that case, perhaps you’d like to have some dinner.”
“Good idea. I could go for spaghetti.”
“Spaghetti?”
“Yeah. I hear it’s good cooked over an open fire.”
“Spaghetti it is.”
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Date: 2008-05-06 07:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 07:10 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2008-05-06 07:36 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2008-05-06 07:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 07:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 08:08 am (UTC)Can I ask what the WIP is about, or are you keeping it under wraps for now?
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Date: 2008-05-06 10:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 11:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 12:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 01:02 pm (UTC)Also, Fraser made him a turtle? That... That's just love, that is. \o/!
♥ this!
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Date: 2008-05-06 01:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 03:12 pm (UTC)&hearts
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Date: 2008-05-06 05:59 pm (UTC)I so appreciate that you didn't go with Ray buying Fraser, exactly for the reasons Ray gives himself. So much fun! \o/
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Date: 2008-05-06 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-06 07:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-07 01:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-07 04:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-07 11:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-08 12:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-09 03:20 am (UTC)Generally I keep my WIPs under wraps, but it's an AU and it's F/K and it has a plot, which I'm currently beating into shape. :-)
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Date: 2008-05-09 03:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-09 03:59 am (UTC):-)
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Date: 2008-05-09 04:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-09 04:20 am (UTC)It must be hard transitioning between fandoms. I've never done it, but I imagine the peer pressure is ferocious (from both the new and the old fandoms). ;-)
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Date: 2008-05-09 04:23 am (UTC)I did convert one Houseketeer to dS, though! After reading my fic, she's ordered the DVDs. I should probably get a toaster oven for that.
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Date: 2008-05-09 04:29 am (UTC)Or maybe a cylon. ;-)
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Date: 2008-05-09 02:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-11 11:14 pm (UTC)This was fun, thanks for writing it!
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Date: 2008-05-13 09:39 am (UTC)Alex, I love your stories, they are so funny and have interesting plots. There is a reason why I like R and PG stories better then NC-17, there is much more action happening and the mental pictures/brain sex are always better then anyone could ever write it.