Refusal Challenge by Alex51324
Aug. 7th, 2008 03:44 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionTitle: There's No Stopping Her
Author: Alex51324
Pairing: Fraser and Ray K, gen or preslash depending on your slash goggles prescription
Rating: G
Word Count: 888
Summary: Mom Kowalski won't take no for an answer
Notes: A few hours late--I've had the first page for weeks, but had trouble with the ending.
Author: Alex51324
Pairing: Fraser and Ray K, gen or preslash depending on your slash goggles prescription
Rating: G
Word Count: 888
Summary: Mom Kowalski won't take no for an answer
Notes: A few hours late--I've had the first page for weeks, but had trouble with the ending.
Ray opened the door and gestured for him to come in, the phone held between his ear and shoulder. “Uh-huh. Have fun. No, Mom, I have plenty of--” his voice dropped, but not enough that Fraser couldn’t make out the word “--those. Okay, one shirt. Blue. Fraser, you want something to drink? Help yourself. Yeah. No, we’re just hanging out. How would I know? I am not doing that. For one thing, he’s wearing the uniform. For another thing, guys do not look at the tags in each others’ shirts. That is not something that we do.” Ray sighed and let the receiver drop away from his mouth. “Fraser, my mom wants to know what size shirt you wear.”
“Sixteen and a half thirty-four,” Fraser answered automatically, looking in Ray’s refrigerator. The milk was the same outdated carton that had been in there the last time Fraser visited. It had been sour then--perhaps Ray was taking up cheese making.
“Sixteen and a half thirty-four. Yeah. I don’t know, red? No way. I am not asking him that. I am not. You want to know so badly, you ask him. Really? Okay. Fraser, my mom wants to talk to you.” Ray held out the phone.
Fraser put the orange juice carton back in the refrigerator and took the phone. “Mrs. Kowalski?”
“Benton, do you have enough underpants?”
He couldn’t recall anyone asking him that particular question since he’d left his grandparents’ house for Depot. “I believe so.” Underwear, like pemmican and rifle cartridges, was something one could never really have too much of. You’d need it eventually, and it didn’t spoil.
“Hmph! What size do you take?”
“Thirty-six.”
He heard the light scratching of a pen--no, a pencil--on the other end of the line. “Good! And socks, how are you fixed for socks?”
“I have an abundance of socks, as a matter of fact. There was an excellent sale at--well, that’s not important. I took the opportunity to stock up, and I’m quite glad I did.” When he’d returned from vacation to find his apartment had burned down, he’d at least been able to comfort himself with the knowledge that he had a five-year supply of socks in his duffel bag. That had been some time ago, but it would still be another two and a half years before he needed to think about socks.
“What about jeans? Do you wear jeans?”
“Yes. I have two pair.” Fraser began to wonder why Mrs. Kowalski was asking so many questions about his wardrobe. After answering several more questions about gloves, sweaters, and linens, he returned the phone to Ray.
“Mom, don’t do this,” Ray said. “One shirt. If you have to.” He listened. “He can buy his own--yeah, I know. All right. Yeah, you can leave it here when you come to do the laundry. Yeah, I’ll give it to him. Bye. Yeah, you too. And Dad.” He hung up the phone and let his forehead rest against the wall. “Mom’s going to the outlet mall,” he explained. “They have outlet malls in Canada?”
“Possibly. Not in the Northwest Territories.”
“She used to drag us there every fall, to get new clothes for school. Hated it--partly cause it meant summer was really over, partly cause it’s just a rotten day--couple hours in the car, couple centuries going around to the stores, trying shit on, couple more hours in the car, crammed in the back seat with all the bags of stuff. Now she can’t make me go along, but she always gets me stuff.”
The light began to dawn. “You don’t mean to say that your mother is going to buy clothes for me at the outlet mall? Ray, I can’t let her do that.”
“You can’t stop her.” Ray considered for a moment. “Unless we burn down the outlet mall.”
“I’m sure there’s no need to resort to such extreme measures. I’ll simply call her back and tell her that I have all the clothes I need, and it’s completely unnecessary for her to buy me more.”
Ray stared at him for a moment, lips pressed tight together, then laughed in his face. “Yeah, you try that,” he said, shaking his head and handing Fraser the phone.
“Mrs. Kowalski? This is Benton Fraser.”
“Of course, Benton. Is there something else you need?”
“Er, no. In fact, it’s very kind of you to think of me, but I have all the clothing I need. And I’m quite able to buy my own.”
“Of course you can,” Mrs. Kowalski answered.
Contrary to Ray‘s predictions, this was going well. Perhaps it was a simple matter of not being her son. “Right. So…thank you for thinking of me, but it’s not necessary.”
“You’re welcome, Benton.”
“Ah. Yes. Er, goodbye, then.” He ended the call and returned the phone to Ray. “There. All straightened out.”
Ray bit his lip and put the phone back on its cradle. “Sure it is.”
#
One day the next week, Ray came into the Consulate lugging a large plastic shopping bag. “Told you so,” he said, dumping the bag on the reception desk.
Fraser looked at the pile of clothing, noticing several pair of jeans, a red flannel shirt, and an economy-size package of underwear, among other things. “Oh, dear.”
“Like I said, Fraser, there’s no stopping her.”
Fin.
“Sixteen and a half thirty-four,” Fraser answered automatically, looking in Ray’s refrigerator. The milk was the same outdated carton that had been in there the last time Fraser visited. It had been sour then--perhaps Ray was taking up cheese making.
“Sixteen and a half thirty-four. Yeah. I don’t know, red? No way. I am not asking him that. I am not. You want to know so badly, you ask him. Really? Okay. Fraser, my mom wants to talk to you.” Ray held out the phone.
Fraser put the orange juice carton back in the refrigerator and took the phone. “Mrs. Kowalski?”
“Benton, do you have enough underpants?”
He couldn’t recall anyone asking him that particular question since he’d left his grandparents’ house for Depot. “I believe so.” Underwear, like pemmican and rifle cartridges, was something one could never really have too much of. You’d need it eventually, and it didn’t spoil.
“Hmph! What size do you take?”
“Thirty-six.”
He heard the light scratching of a pen--no, a pencil--on the other end of the line. “Good! And socks, how are you fixed for socks?”
“I have an abundance of socks, as a matter of fact. There was an excellent sale at--well, that’s not important. I took the opportunity to stock up, and I’m quite glad I did.” When he’d returned from vacation to find his apartment had burned down, he’d at least been able to comfort himself with the knowledge that he had a five-year supply of socks in his duffel bag. That had been some time ago, but it would still be another two and a half years before he needed to think about socks.
“What about jeans? Do you wear jeans?”
“Yes. I have two pair.” Fraser began to wonder why Mrs. Kowalski was asking so many questions about his wardrobe. After answering several more questions about gloves, sweaters, and linens, he returned the phone to Ray.
“Mom, don’t do this,” Ray said. “One shirt. If you have to.” He listened. “He can buy his own--yeah, I know. All right. Yeah, you can leave it here when you come to do the laundry. Yeah, I’ll give it to him. Bye. Yeah, you too. And Dad.” He hung up the phone and let his forehead rest against the wall. “Mom’s going to the outlet mall,” he explained. “They have outlet malls in Canada?”
“Possibly. Not in the Northwest Territories.”
“She used to drag us there every fall, to get new clothes for school. Hated it--partly cause it meant summer was really over, partly cause it’s just a rotten day--couple hours in the car, couple centuries going around to the stores, trying shit on, couple more hours in the car, crammed in the back seat with all the bags of stuff. Now she can’t make me go along, but she always gets me stuff.”
The light began to dawn. “You don’t mean to say that your mother is going to buy clothes for me at the outlet mall? Ray, I can’t let her do that.”
“You can’t stop her.” Ray considered for a moment. “Unless we burn down the outlet mall.”
“I’m sure there’s no need to resort to such extreme measures. I’ll simply call her back and tell her that I have all the clothes I need, and it’s completely unnecessary for her to buy me more.”
Ray stared at him for a moment, lips pressed tight together, then laughed in his face. “Yeah, you try that,” he said, shaking his head and handing Fraser the phone.
“Mrs. Kowalski? This is Benton Fraser.”
“Of course, Benton. Is there something else you need?”
“Er, no. In fact, it’s very kind of you to think of me, but I have all the clothing I need. And I’m quite able to buy my own.”
“Of course you can,” Mrs. Kowalski answered.
Contrary to Ray‘s predictions, this was going well. Perhaps it was a simple matter of not being her son. “Right. So…thank you for thinking of me, but it’s not necessary.”
“You’re welcome, Benton.”
“Ah. Yes. Er, goodbye, then.” He ended the call and returned the phone to Ray. “There. All straightened out.”
Ray bit his lip and put the phone back on its cradle. “Sure it is.”
#
One day the next week, Ray came into the Consulate lugging a large plastic shopping bag. “Told you so,” he said, dumping the bag on the reception desk.
Fraser looked at the pile of clothing, noticing several pair of jeans, a red flannel shirt, and an economy-size package of underwear, among other things. “Oh, dear.”
“Like I said, Fraser, there’s no stopping her.”
Fin.
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