![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
shayheyred.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfiction1319 words. Practically an epic for me. A little bit of sap.
TAKING OUT THE TRASH
"Disgusting, that's what it is."
"Ray?" Fraser pushed the men's room door open at the sound of Ray's raised voice and loud banging. "Something wrong?"
A stall door slammed and the echo of an emphatically flushed toilet bounced off the tile. "Disgusting. Someone, someone we work with, someone I work with, doesn't have the common courtesy to flush the damn toilet after taking a dump. I ask you, Fraser!"
Fraser maintained his relatively safe position in the doorway. "Well, it could conceivably be a visitor to the station, Ray, and not one of your fellow officers–-"
"--Fraser!" The very real promise of violence was in Kowalski's glare and Fraser took an involuntary step back. "It doesn't matter who did it. It's disgusting. And rude. And, and unsanitary, and if I find out who it is, I'll fucking shoot him." He went over to the sink to wash his hands, though he hadn't touched anything except with his foot. "Probably Dewey. Yeah, that's probably who did it. Animal. Fucking animal!"
This time Fraser wisely chose not to respond. It hardly mattered; Kowalski was just warming up. "And look at this place! Doesn't anybody clean it anymore? Bunch o’ pigs!"
"Ray--"
"Jesus Christ. Look at this. No towels—"
"Ray—"
"--Garbage falling out of the can—" The trash can, booted savagely, went sailing across the room, spilling soiled paper towels. "I hate this! I fucking hate this!" Ray's voice had risen steadily throughout his rant, and ended in something that sounded, to Fraser's ears, like the cry of an enraged moose.
"Ray!" Fraser stepped in and grabbed his partner by the elbow just as a sinewy arm was drawing back to hurl the empty soap container after the trash can. "What's wrong with you?"
"Me? Nothing's wrong with me! Just look at all this crap, this shit, this—"
"Come with me." Fraser set his jaw and half-dragged the protesting Kowalski out of the men's room, down the hall and into the supply closet. He snapped on the light, shut the door securely and placed his back against it. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Why'd you do that, Fraser?" Ray's fists were balled up, his eyes squinting in anger. Even his hair seemed furious.
"I'm concerned, Ray. The last time you behaved like this--"
"--Like what? What do you mean? Tell me what the hell you mean, Fraser!"
"If you'll let me finish, I will."
Kowalski's eyes burned and he seemed to be vibrating, but the R.C.M.P. bred brave men so Fraser pressed on. "The last time you behaved like this, you were terribly upset about Beth Botrelle, and I am concerned that something is wrong. Perhaps I can—"
"--Yeah, something's wrong, Fraser, something's wrong, all right, the whole damn world is wrong, filled up with creeps and perps and pigs and assholes who don't flush their shit and people who kill their children and pimps who abuse women, trash cans that don't get emptied and dirt that piles up and noise, noise everywhere, and no one cares, Fraser, no one seems to care about it. No one. Not one person."
"You do, Ray, obviously."
Ray snorted.
"And I do. I care, Ray."
"Yeah, you. You do. No one else gives a shit, okay? Nobody."
"I'm sure you're wrong, Ray. The other detectives care. Lieutenant Welsh--"
"No. No. No one. It's nothing but shit, shit, shit, all over, all around, and no one, no. . ." Abruptly Ray stopped and sagged back against the wall. Fraser watched in alarm as his friend slid down to sit on the floor, head in hands.
"Ray?"
"It's me."
Fraser crouched down next to Kowalski, almost afraid to touch him. The blond head stayed bowed, but Ray's hands dropped to his lap, as if the effort of holding his head had proven too much to bear. "What is, Ray?" Fraser said in a soft, low voice.
"It's me. It's all in me, all the garbage. All the crap. All the noise. I can't make it go away, can't get rid of it, Fraser. Everything's a big mess."
"No it isn't."
"Yeah, it is. I can't fucking think any more. I don't know how to get rid of it. It's. . .backing up on me, Fraser, like a damn toilet." He shook his head slowly. "It's like all the shit in the world clogging up my brain and I don't know how to get rid of it."
"Do you think you need a vacation? You know, some time away to get the work out of your head. . ." Ray laughed bitterly and Fraser shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. It might help."
"I can go anywhere in the world, Fraser, but I come with me, you know?” The anger was gone from his eyes now; only bleak despair remained. “It's not just the job. It’s. . .everything. My life. My I’ve-got-no-life life. Nothing but garbage stuffed in my head.”
Fraser sat down and dared to put a hand on Ray’s arm. Ray didn’t flinch, and didn’t bite the hand, so Fraser let it travel until his arm encircled Ray's narrow shoulders. “Is this about Stella?”
Ray shook his head. “No. Yes. I don’t know. She’s part of it, yeah. She’s part of the garbage in my head, Fraser. No, no, I don’t mean that, she’s not garbage, I mean. . .” He exhaled loudly. “I don’t know what I mean. I just feel like there’s nothing inside that’s me, nothing but other people’s trash they dumped on me and I forgot to take out and now there’s too much to unload, and it’s like I’m drowning in it. Drowning in garbage, how’s that for the sum total of 37 years, huh? Ray Kowalski, landfill.”
“Ray. . .maybe. . ”
“What?” Kowalski didn’t look up.
Fraser considered his words carefully. “Maybe you can get rid of some of the garbage. I could help you.”
Skeptical eyes lifted to his. “Don’t see how.”
“Unload it, Ray. On me.”
“No.” Emphatically.
“Why?”
“You’ll get dirty.”
“What?”
“Look, Fraser.” Ray shifted out of his arm. “You want to be covered in muck like I am, full of crap and garbage and. . . No. I won’t do that. You’re clean. Stay clean.”
Fraser leaned his head back against the wall. Not this again. He’d gone through this with Ray Vecchio, and now. . . “You seem to have an unrealistic image of me, Ray.”
“Do not. You’re a good guy, Fraser, and you’re not covered in dirt like I am, you’re nice, and polite, and you do good deeds, like, like--“
“Let me guess,” Fraser said tiredly. “Like a boy scout?”
That earned a wan smile. “Well, you kinda dress like one. No, like a Good Samaritan. C’mon. You know you are.”
“Fine. Then please let me do a good deed for you, Ray. Let me help you take out the trash.”
“Fraser, I don’t want—“
“--Look, Ray. It’s a favor. You say I like to do favors. Good deeds, if you will. Fine. Then dump your garbage on me, and I’ll help you carry it out, and when it’s gone from your head, you can tidy up and--"
“Okay, you can stop with the anal, uh, analo. . . the metaphors.” Fraser was pleased to note that Ray was smiling a bit now, and looking somewhat more relaxed. “You’d do that for me? You’d let me dump some of my shit on you?”
“Yes, Ray.” Oh, yes, Ray, that and anything else you want, Fraser thought, but that was another discussion, one that probably would never happen except in his own fantasies. “It’s easier to carry a burden when you share it.” Fraser stood up. “Shall we?” He offered a hand to his partner.
“Well, then,” Ray said, grunting as Fraser pulled him upright, “Thank you kindly.”
TAKING OUT THE TRASH
"Disgusting, that's what it is."
"Ray?" Fraser pushed the men's room door open at the sound of Ray's raised voice and loud banging. "Something wrong?"
A stall door slammed and the echo of an emphatically flushed toilet bounced off the tile. "Disgusting. Someone, someone we work with, someone I work with, doesn't have the common courtesy to flush the damn toilet after taking a dump. I ask you, Fraser!"
Fraser maintained his relatively safe position in the doorway. "Well, it could conceivably be a visitor to the station, Ray, and not one of your fellow officers–-"
"--Fraser!" The very real promise of violence was in Kowalski's glare and Fraser took an involuntary step back. "It doesn't matter who did it. It's disgusting. And rude. And, and unsanitary, and if I find out who it is, I'll fucking shoot him." He went over to the sink to wash his hands, though he hadn't touched anything except with his foot. "Probably Dewey. Yeah, that's probably who did it. Animal. Fucking animal!"
This time Fraser wisely chose not to respond. It hardly mattered; Kowalski was just warming up. "And look at this place! Doesn't anybody clean it anymore? Bunch o’ pigs!"
"Ray--"
"Jesus Christ. Look at this. No towels—"
"Ray—"
"--Garbage falling out of the can—" The trash can, booted savagely, went sailing across the room, spilling soiled paper towels. "I hate this! I fucking hate this!" Ray's voice had risen steadily throughout his rant, and ended in something that sounded, to Fraser's ears, like the cry of an enraged moose.
"Ray!" Fraser stepped in and grabbed his partner by the elbow just as a sinewy arm was drawing back to hurl the empty soap container after the trash can. "What's wrong with you?"
"Me? Nothing's wrong with me! Just look at all this crap, this shit, this—"
"Come with me." Fraser set his jaw and half-dragged the protesting Kowalski out of the men's room, down the hall and into the supply closet. He snapped on the light, shut the door securely and placed his back against it. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Why'd you do that, Fraser?" Ray's fists were balled up, his eyes squinting in anger. Even his hair seemed furious.
"I'm concerned, Ray. The last time you behaved like this--"
"--Like what? What do you mean? Tell me what the hell you mean, Fraser!"
"If you'll let me finish, I will."
Kowalski's eyes burned and he seemed to be vibrating, but the R.C.M.P. bred brave men so Fraser pressed on. "The last time you behaved like this, you were terribly upset about Beth Botrelle, and I am concerned that something is wrong. Perhaps I can—"
"--Yeah, something's wrong, Fraser, something's wrong, all right, the whole damn world is wrong, filled up with creeps and perps and pigs and assholes who don't flush their shit and people who kill their children and pimps who abuse women, trash cans that don't get emptied and dirt that piles up and noise, noise everywhere, and no one cares, Fraser, no one seems to care about it. No one. Not one person."
"You do, Ray, obviously."
Ray snorted.
"And I do. I care, Ray."
"Yeah, you. You do. No one else gives a shit, okay? Nobody."
"I'm sure you're wrong, Ray. The other detectives care. Lieutenant Welsh--"
"No. No. No one. It's nothing but shit, shit, shit, all over, all around, and no one, no. . ." Abruptly Ray stopped and sagged back against the wall. Fraser watched in alarm as his friend slid down to sit on the floor, head in hands.
"Ray?"
"It's me."
Fraser crouched down next to Kowalski, almost afraid to touch him. The blond head stayed bowed, but Ray's hands dropped to his lap, as if the effort of holding his head had proven too much to bear. "What is, Ray?" Fraser said in a soft, low voice.
"It's me. It's all in me, all the garbage. All the crap. All the noise. I can't make it go away, can't get rid of it, Fraser. Everything's a big mess."
"No it isn't."
"Yeah, it is. I can't fucking think any more. I don't know how to get rid of it. It's. . .backing up on me, Fraser, like a damn toilet." He shook his head slowly. "It's like all the shit in the world clogging up my brain and I don't know how to get rid of it."
"Do you think you need a vacation? You know, some time away to get the work out of your head. . ." Ray laughed bitterly and Fraser shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. It might help."
"I can go anywhere in the world, Fraser, but I come with me, you know?” The anger was gone from his eyes now; only bleak despair remained. “It's not just the job. It’s. . .everything. My life. My I’ve-got-no-life life. Nothing but garbage stuffed in my head.”
Fraser sat down and dared to put a hand on Ray’s arm. Ray didn’t flinch, and didn’t bite the hand, so Fraser let it travel until his arm encircled Ray's narrow shoulders. “Is this about Stella?”
Ray shook his head. “No. Yes. I don’t know. She’s part of it, yeah. She’s part of the garbage in my head, Fraser. No, no, I don’t mean that, she’s not garbage, I mean. . .” He exhaled loudly. “I don’t know what I mean. I just feel like there’s nothing inside that’s me, nothing but other people’s trash they dumped on me and I forgot to take out and now there’s too much to unload, and it’s like I’m drowning in it. Drowning in garbage, how’s that for the sum total of 37 years, huh? Ray Kowalski, landfill.”
“Ray. . .maybe. . ”
“What?” Kowalski didn’t look up.
Fraser considered his words carefully. “Maybe you can get rid of some of the garbage. I could help you.”
Skeptical eyes lifted to his. “Don’t see how.”
“Unload it, Ray. On me.”
“No.” Emphatically.
“Why?”
“You’ll get dirty.”
“What?”
“Look, Fraser.” Ray shifted out of his arm. “You want to be covered in muck like I am, full of crap and garbage and. . . No. I won’t do that. You’re clean. Stay clean.”
Fraser leaned his head back against the wall. Not this again. He’d gone through this with Ray Vecchio, and now. . . “You seem to have an unrealistic image of me, Ray.”
“Do not. You’re a good guy, Fraser, and you’re not covered in dirt like I am, you’re nice, and polite, and you do good deeds, like, like--“
“Let me guess,” Fraser said tiredly. “Like a boy scout?”
That earned a wan smile. “Well, you kinda dress like one. No, like a Good Samaritan. C’mon. You know you are.”
“Fine. Then please let me do a good deed for you, Ray. Let me help you take out the trash.”
“Fraser, I don’t want—“
“--Look, Ray. It’s a favor. You say I like to do favors. Good deeds, if you will. Fine. Then dump your garbage on me, and I’ll help you carry it out, and when it’s gone from your head, you can tidy up and--"
“Okay, you can stop with the anal, uh, analo. . . the metaphors.” Fraser was pleased to note that Ray was smiling a bit now, and looking somewhat more relaxed. “You’d do that for me? You’d let me dump some of my shit on you?”
“Yes, Ray.” Oh, yes, Ray, that and anything else you want, Fraser thought, but that was another discussion, one that probably would never happen except in his own fantasies. “It’s easier to carry a burden when you share it.” Fraser stood up. “Shall we?” He offered a hand to his partner.
“Well, then,” Ray said, grunting as Fraser pulled him upright, “Thank you kindly.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-07-08 12:16 pm (UTC)And I like the notion of Fraser being there to help Ray with his mental and emotional garbage. Yay Fraser.
Gotta love that Fraser
Date: 2003-07-08 03:46 pm (UTC)Thanks for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2003-07-08 12:30 pm (UTC)Man, it's a good thing Fraser's there to catch him. (Yeah, I know. Mixing metaphors again. Sue me.)
Excellent, excellent, excellent.
Now, it begs (hear me?), absolutely *begs* for the story to continue, leading to that discussion that Fraser thinks would never happen.
And then wild monkey sex.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-08 03:42 pm (UTC)Thanks again for your nice words.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-08 01:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-08 03:38 pm (UTC)Glad the sap-o-meter registered lower than I thought. Thanks!
As a matter of fact...
Date: 2003-07-08 03:25 pm (UTC)Thanks for asking, and for saying I channeled them. Praise indeed.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-08 02:11 pm (UTC)Urk!
Great stuff. Ray getting all worked up and Fraser trying to get past his spotless image. Want sequel!
*g*
Worked up Ray
Date: 2003-07-08 03:36 pm (UTC)Thanks for the comments~!
no subject
Date: 2003-07-08 03:33 pm (UTC)Wish they had, though. Would have been funny as hell, especially if they played a scene in the dark.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-08 09:05 pm (UTC)I, too, want to see some of those other things he'll do.;)
“Okay, you can stop with the anal, uh, analo. . . the metaphors.”
*giggle*
Meltdown Ray is just perfect!
no subject
Date: 2003-07-08 09:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-09 07:11 am (UTC)This was a vary cool take on the challenge. I can hear Fraser's tired frustration at being put on a pedestal, hear Ray's absolute anger at feeling like he's drowning in muck, thinking he has to do it all alone.
Glad Fraser was successful in convincing Ray he can help.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-09 10:05 am (UTC)Thanks for your comments. Glad you thought it was cool, baybee!
no subject
Date: 2003-07-10 03:52 am (UTC)-Beth, up to her neck in final exams
(btw: I *love* your Worldwide Pants (Gay) Icon!!!!)
no subject
Date: 2003-07-10 06:43 am (UTC)(Yeah, isn't this icon rockin'?
SO pleased you liked this.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-10 09:26 am (UTC)Brav-o.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-10 10:13 am (UTC)Thanks!