Bullet Challenge: Three by abbybanks
Aug. 17th, 2008 05:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionTitle: Three
Author: abbybanks
Pairing: Fraser/Rayk
Rating: R for bloodshed
Word count: 1100ish
Episode: post-COTW
Summary: Bad memories
Author: abbybanks
Pairing: Fraser/Rayk
Rating: R for bloodshed
Word count: 1100ish
Episode: post-COTW
Summary: Bad memories
Three am in a cabin in the Northwest Territories. Sergeant Benton Fraser leaps out of bed and into the bathroom, the sound of gunshots still echoing in his ears, bam, bam, bam, bam. He turns on the water and ducks his head under for a long minute. It’s been months since he had that nightmare last, he thought he was done with it now. Hoped he was. Finished with waking up in the small hours, breathless, hoarse, trying to wipe the spray of aspirated blood from his eyes. The image of Ray’s face before him, grey beneath the bloody streaks, twisted at first, then slack. The slippery, wet warmth of Ray’s leather and denim under his hands. The memory of Ray’s hand clutching his arm convulsively, which was bad, then loosening and dropping away, which was worse, infinitely worse.
He shakes his head, as though that would shake the memories away. He has good things in his life, he should focus on them. In the morning everything will be normal again. It’s only because it’s three am that he can’t escape these thoughts.
He stumbles into the kitchen, puts the kettle on. Turns and leans back against the counter, his eyes resting unfocussed on the trunk that doubles as a coffee table. The whistle of the kettle startles him badly, “Jesus, Frase, jumpy much?” asks Ray’s voice in his head.
He takes a deep, unsteady breath. That was a long time ago, he tells himself. Years. He makes the tea by rote and moves to the armchair. The mug goes on the floor beside him, and he eyes the trunk again. It’s tough, sturdy, and has survived generations of Frasers. You’d think that memories locked in here would stay put. Without making a conscious decision to do so, he lifts the lid, and digs down, down to the bottom. Beneath the letters and official paperwork, carefully filed in manila folders. Beneath the Quest journals, beneath the package containing a scruffy Bulls t-shirt, a handful of photos and a clunky bracelet. Right at the very bottom is a padded envelope. He takes it out, drops it on his knee, and looks at it. Will he open it or won’t he? Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t, but he never knows until it happens which it will be; whether he will strip the tape off and tip out the contents, or thrust it back down to the very bottom of the trunk, where there is no coming upon it by accident.
The empty envelope drops to the floor and he looks at the contents of his hand. There are three of them, and he knows them individually.
This is the one they took from under Ray’s armpit, after; it has a slightly flattened profile from hitting his sternum at an angle and skidding around his ribcage, tearing flesh from bone.
This is the one someone picked up after it had torn through Ray’s thigh by way of his femoral artery. Squashed and scuffed where it hit the sidewalk.
And this one. Well. This one was meant for Fraser, Ray stepped in front of it like the first time, just like the first time. Only this time they were off duty, and Ray hadn’t been wearing a vest when they interrupted the mugging. This one they took from his chest cavity, when they opened him up to find that his lung was ripped open, arteries torn, muscles desecrated, ribs shattered.
The fourth one...
The phone rings suddenly and his hand clenches, pressing the bullets into his palm. The RCMP issues cells as standard to all peace officers in remote areas these days, and sometimes he tries to be glad of it. Sometimes he really is.
“Sergeant Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
“Hey, Sergeant Benton Fraser. Guessing you couldn’t sleep either, huh, buddy?”
“Ray!” The memories fade like morning mist into the air of the cabin. For the first time since he woke, Fraser realises that it is quite cold and he’s standing here with wet hair.
“Ray, how are you? Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s fine, I just, and you said, if I needed to call...”
“And I meant it, Ray, of course. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yeah, you too buddy. I just... I hate this, you know? What if it’s moved this time? What if they decide to operate?”
“Then I’ll be there, Ray, I’ll be there whatever happens.”
“I know.” In a very small voice, “Tell me.”
“I’ll call Andy and we’ll be at the airstrip in thirty minutes.”
“And he’ll fly you to Normal Wells.”
“Norman. And I’ll get on a plane to Yellowknife.”
“And you’ll get a cab to the hospital.”
“It’s only four kilometers, Ray, I don’t need a cab to travel four kilometers.” A beat. “That’s two-and-a-half miles, Ray.”
Ray laughs, and God, it’s a relief for Fraser to hear that.
“Thank you kindly for that translation, Sergeant Fraser. Anyway, you would get a cab, because I’d need you here, and you wouldn’t keep me waiting while you walk.”
“All of this is academic, naturally.”
“Nat-u-rally. Because they’ll look at the x-rays in the morning, and everything will be fine, same as always.”
“So you’ll call me and let me know that.”
“Yeah, ‘cause otherwise you’ll be having tiny Mountie kittens, worrying. Then I’ll get a cab for four kilometers, because I’m a citizen now, not a freak.”
“Then you’ll fly to Norman Wells, where Andy will be waiting.”
“And he’ll fly me back home and you’ll be waiting at the airstrip.”
“Of course.”
“And I would tell you what I’ll do then, but I’m not giving the guys on the nursing station cheap thrills.”
Fraser laughs, then yawns, surprising himself with both.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, Frase.”
“Could you sleep, now?”
“I will if you will, bud.”
Fraser picks up the envelope, the phone tucked between his shoulder and chin, and wraps the bullets back up. He stuffs the envelope back to the bottom of the chest, so he can pretend they aren’t there, and Ray can pretend he doesn’t know.
“I will, Ray. I’m going back to bed now.”
“Night, Frase. I...”
“I know. And I, you. Goodnight, Ray.”
The line clicks and buzzes, and he hangs up. He rinses out the mug and rubs a hand over his hair on his way back to bed. It’s almost dry now, and he needs his sleep. Ray will need him to be at his best tomorrow, whatever happens. Whatever happens.
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no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 05:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 06:17 pm (UTC)They'll be fine.
He stuffs the envelope back to the bottom of the chest, so he can pretend they aren’t there, and Ray can pretend he doesn’t know.
Oh, guys!
Also, funnily enough I drew a picture that (almost) fits this story last night. Here. (http://wihluta.livejournal.com/128078.html?#cutid1)
I will go have a glass of warm milk now, to calm down. :-)
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 07:37 pm (UTC)...THIS time!
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 08:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 08:56 pm (UTC)Yes, I don't think that call was made entirely for Ray's benefit.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-18 12:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-18 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-18 06:57 am (UTC)Really fine work. Thanks for sharing this.
*whew*
no subject
Date: 2008-08-18 07:10 pm (UTC)Yes, he's evidently well enough to live in the wilds of the NWT, but I wonder if he could have walked the 4km if he had wanted to?
no subject
Date: 2008-08-21 12:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-07 08:40 pm (UTC)Thank you - I'm glad you enjoyed it!
no subject
Date: 2008-08-25 02:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-07 08:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-28 06:14 pm (UTC)Spot on voices - I could totally hear them. And that they now both have bullets to worry over - kinda sweet and sad.
I especially loved:
**Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t, but he never knows until it happens which it will be; whether he will strip the tape off and tip out the contents, or thrust it back down to the very bottom of the trunk, where there is no coming upon it by accident.**
and
**He stuffs the envelope back to the bottom of the chest, so he can pretend they aren’t there, and Ray can pretend he doesn’t know.**
no subject
Date: 2008-09-07 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-08 02:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 10:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 01:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 11:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-29 02:01 am (UTC)Because this story is gripping and unforgettable.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-29 12:23 pm (UTC)Thanks very much for commenting - it's always great to get feedback on older stories, just to know that they're still alive out there somewhere. I'm glad you enjoyed this one, I've recently dug out the prequel I started, so watch this space... :)
no subject
Date: 2009-03-29 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-14 11:17 am (UTC)