ds_flashfiction | Refusal Challenge by keerawa (Reply)

Title: Unthinkable
Author:

keerawa
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 3196
Summary: When Gerome Laferette offers to cast a love spell on Ray, Fraser refuses to even consider it - at first.
Notes: I started this piece almost two years ago, but it took the Refusal Challenge to pull it together. Thanks to

nos4a2no9 for the speedy and thoughtful beta!

My eyes followed Ray, as they tend to do when not otherwise occupied. He was speaking on the phone, tethered to his desk by the length of the cord, pacing back and forth while gesturing emphatically. I tried to give him some privacy, even while his vibrant movement captivated me from across the room.

"I could help you with that," said a quiet voice.

I startled. Gerome Laferette was standing next to me.

"With what?" I asked. I must have been truly distracted, for someone to approach close enough to touch without my noticing.

Gerome jerked his chin at Ray. I cleared my throat. Had my attraction to Ray become so transparent?

"I owe you a debt, Constable, and it's one I'm not so eager to carry. Now, Ezili Freda has a weakness for beautiful men, and she doesn't mind if they have a weakness for each other. I think, with a little help from the right wanga, you and your detective could be very happy together."

Wanga were spells worked by practitioners of Vodoun. And judging by the context, Mr. Laferette was suggesting some type of love spell. Well, this was awkward.

I cracked my neck as I checked to be certain that none of the other officers were listening in. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I'm not convinced of a wanga's efficacy, given that neither Ray nor I are Vodouisants. And … what's more, I’m uncomfortable with the thought of compelling Ray's affections in such a manner. Free will is - "

Gerome interrupted with a rude snort. "Free will is something dreamt up by the rich and powerful. Our people do what we must to survive."

I could hear an echo of the Tonton Macoute, sweatshops, and starving children in his voice. It called to my own memories of a land so glorious and harsh that a moment's inattention could kill. Where wants were nothing, but needs were everything. And I needed Ray. Of that there was no doubt.

“I was just doing my duty, Mr. Laferette. There is no debt between us. And I’m not interested in any sort of wanga.”

He seemed amused. “Should you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

I once captured a murderess by the name of Eleanor Telsworth. She confessed to me that the idea of poisoning her husband had first occurred to her years before, and that she had dismissed it out of hand. But it preyed upon her mind. Eleanor called it the ‘unthinkable thought that she couldn't stop thinking’. And so it was with Gerome's proposal.

I might go days without considering it, and then, as Ray flirted with a waitress or was rebuffed by ASA Kowalski, Perhaps I could …

I didn’t act on these thoughts, of course. I don’t believe I ever would have, if it weren’t for Maggie Mackenzie.

When I first met Constable Mackenzie, I found her an attractive and compelling woman. But it wasn't until Ray demonstrated an interest in her that I began to pursue Ms. Mackenzie in earnest. It brought out the worst of my character – competitive, possessive, and petty. Finally, my father confessed to his own indiscretion. Maggie Mackenzie was my half-sister.

My sister. I had a sister. And then Ray kissed her.

All of my joy in discovering a living member of my family disappeared in that instant. Maggie and I had so much in common. We shared a profession, background, interests, abilities – we even looked quite similar. And that Ray would be romantically inclined towards her, after a single meeting, and not towards me, his best friend … it was intolerable.

It meant that the thing, the only thing, preventing Ray from looking at me that way was my gender. And that was just a, a stupid prejudice. And surely helping a friend to overcome a prejudice was a good thing?

Even in my own head, the argument didn't quite make sense. But it didn't matter. I simply couldn't wait any longer.

From what I'd read on the subject, Gerome would require something of both the subject and the object in order to cast a wanga. At the close of the workday, I slipped a pencil Ray had been gnawing on and the notepad from his desk into my cartridge case. I refused his usual invitation to dinner with a vague excuse about errands to run.

Diefenbaker and I arrived back at the Consulate. I stepped into my office, firmly closing the door with Diefenbaker outside. I didn’t want any distractions. I methodically removed my tunic and boots, and then stripped out of the rest of my uniform, down to boxers and an undershirt. It was still too warm.

I carefully pulled Ray’s notepad and pencil out of my cartridge case, sat down at the desk, and closed my eyes to compose my thoughts.

A failing fluorescent light out in the hallway buzzed at me, flickering on and off. The cloying lemon-scent of the cleanser Turnbull preferred suffused my small office. A rough spot on the chair chafed the back of my thigh. I pushed the chair backwards into a stack of boxes and eased myself up slowly, careful to avoid the hard edge of the desk and the metal rim of my narrow cot.

I was in no condition to get any work done, and it was too early for bed, even by my standards. Were I to lie down I would only lie awake for hours, thinking of Ray and willing myself not to act on my desire for him.

Finally accepting defeat, I retrieved a pair of jeans from the closet. I moved too quickly and my elbow bumped the ironing board that was balanced precariously against the closet door. It clattered to the floor and I stared at it for a moment, struck by the sudden urge to throw the heavy padded board through the window, and send the boxes of paper and office supplies, the heavy desk and the stacks of memos out after it. There wasn’t any damn room in here!

I pulled on the jeans, shoved my feet into my hiking boots, snatched up the pad and pencil, and rushed out the door. Diefenbaker leapt out of the way and followed me outside.

I set a fast pace as we walked to and around the nearest park, waiting for the crowds to wane with the sun. As the street lights came on I settled onto a park bench. One evening a few weeks ago, Ray had joined me on this bench. I had pointed out Venus and explained why the Greeks had called the planets ‘wandering stars’. Ray had put on his glasses and leaned his head back against my shoulder to watch Venus move across the firmament.

“What about that one?” he’d asked after a few minutes, pointing at a red object in the night sky. “It’s almost as bright. Is that one Mars?”

I squinted at it and checked my watch, hesitant to discourage his sudden interest in astronomy. “Actually, Ray, I believe that’s the Orbcomm satellite.”

“Really? Cool. Do it yourself stars.”

He was warm, pressed up against me, smelling of coffee and coconut hair gel. I remember wanting to turn and kiss him in that moment. But I didn’t move. After a minute Ray got up, yawning, and offered me a ride home. I refused, and spent the rest of the night sitting on that bench, feeling the ache of another chance lost.

I was done with waiting, and wanting, and hoping, and never getting. I pulled out the notepad, ran my fingers along the pencil where Ray had left his teeth marks, and began sketching him. First, the shape of Ray’s face, his jaw line, those small ears that both Diefenbaker and I found so tempting. Then his hair, as energetic and idiosyncratic as Ray himself. I started on his features, and the pencil slowed to a stop.

Ray’s face is so expressive. I’ve seen him amused, excited, angry, frightened, playful, exhausted, anguished. Ray was never ashamed to show the world what he felt. But this sketch wasn’t for identification purposes. It was magic, a dream, a prayer. What should I draw? I let myself slide into the warm bath of my memories of Ray, searching for the one that was most precious.

I once watched Ray dancing with his ex-wife. He had smiled at her with pure joy, as if they were the only two people in the world. That. That was what I needed. I looked down at the notepad to find it already captured in pencil, such warmth in Ray’s eyes, his smile, that I found myself smiling back as I sat alone on a park bench in the unquiet, undark Chicago night.

As I stood up, Diefenbaker emerged from under the bench with a pointed glare that reminded me we’d not eaten yet.

“We’re going to visit Mr. Laferette,” I told him. He wagged his tail.

The trip was a blur of dim lit side streets and glaring neon, smooth roadways and broken sidewalks until I found myself pounding on Gerome Laferette’s door, out of breath as if I’d run the entire way.

He answered the door after a time, in a plaid bathrobe, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Diefenbaker greeted him eagerly.

“Constable? Changed your mind about the wanga, have you?”

“Please,” I gasped, holding out Ray’s picture while I bent over, panting.

Gerome took the drawing. He studied it, and then me. “This will do,” he said once I’d got my breath back. “I should warn you, though. The wanga, it will work on him. But it will work even stronger on you. That’s the nature of things.”

The harsh sound that came from my lips might have been a laugh. “It’s a little late to worry about that,” I told him.

Gerome nodded. “I’ll start on it tomorrow,” he said.

Diefenbaker whined eagerly as I turned to go. My first impulse was to say no. But I am well aware of my own possessive nature, and I try not to give into it.

“Of course, you can stay as long as you like, Diefenbaker. I’ll be fine,” I assured him.

After a long interrogative sniff, Diefenbaker pushed his muzzle into my hand and accompanied me back to the Consulate. I spent a sleepless night on my cot, alternately fantasizing about and fearing the form the wanga’s influence might take.

Ray and I met for lunch the next day at our usual diner. Ray was eating a bacon cheeseburger with obvious pleasure. I was waffling on about something, some story from my father’s journal, using the opportunity to study Ray. He finished his burger, and was licking the barbecue sauce from his fingers with great gusto when he suddenly paused and looked at me. It was a real look, head tilted a bit to the side, a considering look.

I found I was holding my breath. Yes, look at me, Ray. See me. Want me, the way I want you.

I knew that Ray would be a loyal and thoughtful lover, from observing his interactions with Ms. Kowalski. To him, a fifteen year marriage was tragically short, and he cared for her still, even after all she had put him through. Whereas I ...

Oh. I felt a sick lurch in my stomach.

Ray leaned forward, concerned. “Frase, you okay?”

“I’m, uh, I think the chowder might be a bit off. Excuse me.”

I hurried into the bathroom, locked the stall door behind me, and settled, shaking, onto the toilet. I’d been a part of three romantic relationships in my lifetime. The longest, with Mark, had lasted five months. Mark was strong, attractive, popular and charismatic. I’d coveted him; set out to lure him into a friendship. We gradually moved from afternoons competing on the ice to eager kisses and fumbling, enthusiastic touches in his bedroom. When my grandparents informed me that we would be moving at the end of the school year, I held off telling Mark until the last moment.

He wrote me four letters that summer. I never replied. I had all sorts of reasons for it. Fear of discovery, lack of common interests, uncertainty about how to carry on a long-distance relationship. But the fact is that I never wrote back to him. It’s no wonder Mark pretended not to recognize me when we met in Chicago years later.

Inspector Janelle Trudeau was my first superior officer after I left the Depot. Janelle was intelligent, beautiful, elegant and experienced. She was my native guide to the city of Moose Jaw, so different from the townships where I’d grown up. I was giddy from the attention, the compliments Janelle showered me with, the things she taught me both in the field and in the most intimate of settings. We had been together for a month when Janelle called me into her office and handed me my transfer papers. I was, well, stunned, certainly. When I asked her why, the Inspector snapped out that orders were orders, and we all had to follow them. I took some comfort in the fact that, while her voice was firm and clear, Janelle’s eyes were red as if from weeping. I was shipped back to the Territories within the week.

A year later I heard a rumor that Inspector Trudeau had a young child, father unknown. I called her that evening at home, determined to do the right thing. I offered to transfer back to Moose Jaw, or to request a leave of absence if that proved impractical. Janelle hesitated, and then explained that she had met someone. They were raising Sophie together. Having a handsome young officer appear out of the blue would only raise awkward questions. I never asked her if Sophie was my daughter, and Janelle never volunteered the information. Perhaps Maggie shouldn’t have been such a shock.

Then there was Victoria, if six days over the course of eight years counts as a relationship. I sent her to prison, and she tried to destroy me. I can’t blame her, any more than I can Mark.

The door of the bathroom swung open, then shut.

“Fraser?” Ray called out hesitantly.

“Yes.” My voice sounded clipped, shorn of meaning.

“Here, I brought you a glass of ginger ale, should help settle your stomach.”

“That’s very kind of you, Ray. Could you leave it on the sink, please?”

A quiet clink, and the sound of the bathroom door closing.

Ray cares for others. It comes naturally to him. And I am the true son of a man who, after months out on patrol, would rather spend the night with his dogs than his family.

I shouldn’t be entrusted with a pet rabbit, never mind the heart of a good man like Ray. Will I give him up without a fight, as I did Janelle and Sophie? What about when I am finally recalled back to Canada? Will I abandon him, as I did Mark? Or drag him along with me, away from everything he knows and loves, the way I have Diefenbaker?

Oh God, the wanga.

Luckily there was a pay phone just outside the restroom, and Gerome Laferette’s number was listed.

He answered the phone with a grunted, “Busy.”

“Mr. Laferette, its Benton Fraser.”

He chuckled. “Impatient? I just finished tying the wanga an hour ago. It’s one of my best, I think –“

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you,” I blurted out, “but I’ve changed my mind again. I need you to undo it, right away.”

There was a moment of quiet breathing. “I can do that, if you’re sure. Fire’s best.”

“I am. Destroy it, please. I’ll wait.”

He stepped away from the phone. My imagination supplied an image of my drawing of Ray, edges curling brown away from the flame, until there was nothing left but ash.

“Done. Any effect the wanga had, it’s all gone now.” Gerome said sharply. “And my debt to you is paid.”

“Of course. Thank you.” I hung up the phone. This hollow feeling must be hunger. I’d barely touched my chowder.

I walked back into the main room of the diner. Our table had been cleared. Ray appeared to be deep in conversation with Diefenbaker. He looked up as I settled into the booth, his smile twisting into a frown.

“You look like hell,” he informed me.

“No, I’m fine,” I said.

Ray shook his head with an exasperated sigh. He got up and was soon speaking to our waitress, leaning into her personal space with an engaging grin. It was for the best, really. Ray returned to the table a few minutes later with a mug and plate in his hands. He placed the food on the table and slid into his side of the booth.

“Weak tea and dry toast,” he announced.

I’m afraid my lack of enthusiasm showed on my face.

Ray pointed at me. “None of that,” he said. “We’re buddies, right? And buddies look after each other.”

“That’s right,” I agreed fervently. Exactly why I couldn’t allow us to move beyond friendship, into a relationship where Ray might be hurt.

“Which means you can’t say no,” Ray added. I gaped at him. How could he … oh. Ray was holding out a piece of toast. I accepted the toast and took a bite.

Ray nodded with satisfaction and wriggled back into his seat to get comfortable as Diefenbaker settled onto my feet under the table. Two good friends who cared for me – that was more than I’d hoped for. It would just have to be enough.

Once I finished my tea and toast, I looked up to find Ray watching me intently, a tiny smile curling his lips. “So, Fraser.”

I licked my lips nervously. Why was Ray looking at me like that? Did I have crumbs on my face? “Yes?”

“I’ll give you a ride back to my place; you can rest up this afternoon while I finish the Camparelli interviews,” he offered.

“Really, Ray, that’s not nec –”

“Then we’ll grab some dinner tonight. You’ll probably be starving by then.”

Ray was up, steadying me as I slid out of the booth and stood up. His hand lingered at my elbow a moment longer than necessary.

“My treat,” he said, “so pick someplace nice, okay?”

That was unusual. We always split the bill. I scrambled to come up with an appropriate restaurant, ‘nice’ but not too expensive. “There’s a Cuban restaurant off of Noble that Francesca recommended.”

“Sounds great,” Ray said, his entire body bobbing with enthusiasm. “They got music?”

“Yes, and I believe she mentioned a dance floor.” I flashed on my memory of Ray, dancing with Stella.

“Perfect,” Ray said, eyes glancing down my body and then back up to my face. He smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth enticing me. “I haven’t gone out dancing in a while.”

Ray took a few graceful, cadenced steps around me, hand at the small of my back, and headed towards the register. I followed, unable to think of a single reason why I should refuse.