Benton Fraser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dogsled) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
dogsled) wrote in thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
Benton Fraser | Due South
 BENTON FRASER。 | |
"You know, Fraser, when they offered me this assignment, they made it sound kind of normal. They say, 'Hey, Ray, here's a chance to start over, ditch the past.' 'What's the catch?' I say. 'Oh, your partner's Canadian.' Canadian? I got nothing against Canadians, except for the time when they won the World Series, which I'm willing to overlook. But at no time did they say, 'you'll be working with a Mountie who's got a wolf that's a florist'" |
NEW READ JOURNAL CREDIT |
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And even if the weather didn't kill them, the wild animals were similarly capable.
It was the wind that had brought them to a stop this time. They'd found a hollow in which to pitch their canvas tent, lit the stove fire and fed the dogs, and then he set off to fetch firewood--they wouldn't get through the night without it. It didn't keep him from almost getting lost on the way back; in fact if not for the sound of the dogs, he'd have walked right past the tent without finding it again.
And as he pulled open the canvas door, the wind roared in behind him, snatching away some of the warmth that had already built up. He dumped his sack of timber on the floor, turning to strap up the canvas again behind him. ]
We were making good time.
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He was out of his depth. Constantly cold, tired, clueless and hungry. And yet somehow... somehow he couldn't help that small sense of achievement that slowly blossomed deep in his chest. The knowledge that together they were setting out to do something, that there was a purpose to all of this beyond just survival. It was different from anything he'd experienced before.
While Fraser was out, Ray made sure the camp was set for the night and kept the warmth going. He'd at least got the hang of the camping thing enough to keep himself occupied, but by the time Fraser returns, he's sat in the tent huddled and waiting.]
Canada is against us, Fraser. [Possibly sulking. Probably. Nothing new there.]
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It'd different for Fraser. He'd gone to Chicago on the trail of his father's killer, left the wilderness, and found that his survival skills suited the city almost as well. Except that cars were harder to dodge and gunfire was easier. And apartments were no place for a sweat lodge.
But this had to be taught. It had to be learned. Ray was on the steepest crash course there could ever be.
Fraser stocked the fire while he appraised his friend's melancholy.
Maybe if he sang? But not now. ]
Canada is, Ray? Oh--because of the storm?
[ Not the whiteouts, and the sled getting stuck and the polar bear... ]
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Nobody in their right mind would do any of these things except for Constable Benton Fraser. And occasionally his partner--a hazard of the job.
His plan to go undercover at the club was simple, really. They'd have to become patrons. It was no different in the long term than it would be to go undercover in a bar for several nights a week, waiting for their target to come in. Well, no different but for the fact that pretending to be patrons of a bar wasn't outside of their relative realms of experience.
A bdsm lifestyle club was so far outside of that realm that Fraser didn't even know where to start, and so far in their investigation Ray had been a closed book on the subject. If he knew more than he was letting on, Benton didn't know it. But Ray would be an awful sub, judging from what he'd learned so far. If anything could blow their cover, that would be it.
But they were out of other options, as far as plans to solve this case went. If they wanted to make any progress and catch these killers, then they'd have to make the attempt.
He sounded resigned to failure when he at last made the proposal, pushing the flyer he'd picked up at the club's front desk away from him. They'd been brainstorming here at the consulate for hours, and the streetlights had come on some time ago, casting a dim glow into the otherwise lowlit room. Fraser was reading by lamplight, and a half eaten pizza lay open on the desk--Ray's idea. ]
An undercover operation seems to be our only option.
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This whole latest case had been an odd one from the start, and the involvement of himself and Fraser had just amped it up. There's something moderately traumatising about his best friend, partner in law, totally clueless Canadian asking him the intricacies of BDSM. Ray knew enough to know he didn't want to tell Fraser all about it, although Ray wasn't exactly an expert when it came to whatever went on in those clubs.
It's with a sigh that he thumps his elbows onto the desk, burying his face in his hands and rubbing at his eyes tiredly. They'd been here for hours trying to think of something, not managing to come to an agreement on almost any suggestion. Or at least Fraser seemed capable of picking
holes in every one of Ray's plans.]
Fraser. We can not go undercover in a club like that.
[Ray's seen enough to know even the dress code doesn't tend to match with either of their fashion choices.]
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Police work often took sacrifice. For Fraser, he'd sacrificed his home, the call of the wild that sang in his veins when he lifted his face into a brisk north wind. Now, in Chicago, he had to turn his face away from that wind, from everything it meant to him; that was his sacrifice. He'd made it up with good friends and companionship, as well as the meaning he felt he had in his life because of his work and because of Ray.
He stared up at his exhausted friend for a moment longer, then folds his arms, leaning against the spot where his forearms braced against the edge of the desk. The impetus wasn't on him to prove it was their only course of action at this point--it was on Ray to prove that it was a bad idea. ]
Perhaps if you gave me your reasons.
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At some point the temperature dropped, the slick sweat clinging to his body dried, and Fraser beat the chill by pressing more firmly against Ray's body, naturally winding his legs into tighter knots around his partner's spidery limbs. Getting warmer without waking up wasn't a challenge.
Dreaming, though. Dreaming Mounties, particularly ones with imaginations like Fraser, were an altogether bad idea. There was something about a teaparty, and Diefenbaker in red serge, and Inspector Thatcher and he were discussing Fraser's bad behavior, and somehow it ended up with Fraser desperately licking tea out of the bone china cups. ]
See. [ He murmured in his sleep, licking Ray's ear. Lick, lick, lick. Wet slobbery licking. ] See, I can do it. No, not Alaska!
[ All while dead to the world. ]
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With the amount of of exertion he'd managed from a long day of work followed by the evening the two of them had managed, Ray was quite capable of sleeping a solid twelve hours or more had he needed to. Such luxury wouldn't be afforded to him this time, though, especially not when he's dragged from his slumber by quiet murmurs and something very wet and very warm lathering up his ear.
He blinks awake in a state of mild confusion as his mind tries to piece everything together; his location, the time of day, the previous night, the warm body next to him and, most importantly, what the hell was happening to his ear.
Fraser. Fraser is happening to his ear. Licking with all the eagerness of a canine while mumbling to himself. Ray draws away enough to try and escape the tongue, daring a side glance to see that his partner is still very much asleep. What a freak.]
Fraser. [A harsh whisper as he tries to wake his friend without startling him.] Fraser. Fraser. Fraser. Fraz-errr.
[Maybe if he just... lifts a very heavy arm off the floor to poke Fraser right between the eyes.
In all fairness he'd leave his buddy sleeping were it not for the tangle of limbs and heavy weight against him making it difficult to move.]
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He licked his tea, but it was empty, and then something got him right between the eyes, and Fraser jolted a foot up the back of the couch, digging an elbow into Ray's chest as he went: ]
Someone warn the Inuinnait! [ And bolt upright as he was, it still took a moment for Fraser to go from completely asleep, absorbed in his entirety by his dream, to awake and confused, barely becoming aware of his surroundings. Had he gone to sleep here? He didn't remember doing it.
And
Oh right. Right. Ray. Sure, he remembered that. Every bit of it in one glorious flash of insight, in fact. Confused twisted to warm, affectionate, then back to confused again, and he lifted off the pressure against Ray's chest apologetically before he trusted himself to speak out loud. ]
What happened to your ear?
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It wasn't because they weren't talking - Fraser knew that - but not a single word had been spoken since he'd gotten in the car, receiving a look from Ray that clearly said 'shut up'. Wisely, he thought, Fraser had done just that. And so they'd sat in silence for the last hour and a quarter, driving south out of the city, then east, following the lake. Much further and they were going to end up in Michigan. Fraser knew their exit came up before the state line, but that didn't mean that Ray would take it. In fact his partner had that look in his eyes that said he might just keep following Lake Michigan, keep driving north, and keep going some more until they ran out of road and hit snow instead.
It would be fair, wouldn't it? What did Stanley Kowalski have left, after all? Fraser? After today any route to ever going back would be closed off to him forever. By Ray Vecchio, the man who had come home and claimed his life back, nevermind whom it meant claiming that life back from. After today he would take everything; Stella would become Stella Vecchio, and it would all be well and truly over for Ray Kowalski's love story.
Fraser still wasn't sure he could have done what Ray was doing, had he found himself in his partner's place. He believed too strongly in true love, unbreakable bonds, in doing anything and everything in his power, up to and including breaking the law, to be with the person he loved. He couldn't have given that up even for a friend.
But Fraser was apprehensive, too. If Ray stood up during the ceremony, he wouldn't know which one of his partners he would stand up for, the former and current or the presently former Ray Vecchio. He cared for both of them, of course--both had taken bullets for him and both were men he dared to call his friend. He wanted both of them to be happy; but Ray Vecchio's happiness came at the expense of Ray Kowalski's. Or at least that was how it seemed to Fraser. And being so happy for one and so conflicted for another was making everything...difficult. Fraser wasn't cut out for such ambivalence.
So he sat in silence and watched the exit come up, and tried not to look as apprehensive as he felt. The fact that he was Vecchio's best man certainly didn't help. In fact in some respects it might even make him a traitor. Fraser shifted uncomfortable in his seat, looked up at the roadsigns again, then shot another glance over his shoulder toward Ray. Decision time.
Even after their adventure in the wilderness, all the time they'd spent together, the struggles to convince Ray to eat dried food, the time they'd gotten lost in a blizzard, the time Fraser had built an igloo barely big enough for both of them to huddle inside, saving them from a sudden cataclysmic drop in temperature that would have killed them both--all those things, and Ray was still an enigma to him in many ways. Ray could still surprise him. He could still make decisions on his own. He could still head north instead of taking the exit for the wedding venue. He could still run--or he could confront it head on.
Just so long as they didn't run out of road first. ]
Ray. [ Fraser flinched first. He broke the blessed silence and took a tight handhold on the grip above his head. ] Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray!.
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for years, but he was working on that. Love took time.He knew it wasn't Fraser's fault though, and would expect exactly the same were he in Vecchio's shoes. To have Fraser take sides would only be upsetting to all involved, although the idea of upsetting Vecchio and his soon to be 'wife' was exceptionally appealing at the moment. Ray's not even sure why he's going, his invitation probably only given out of politeness and likely completely disagreed upon by Stella, but then there's Fraser, all hopeful eyed and silently urging his two friends to get along whenever he gets the opportunity. Ray wants to like Vecchio for Fraser's sake, but it's really hard to like a guy who steals you wife. Ex wife. But still a childhood sweetheart!
For the entirety of the drive his eyes stay locked on the road, but barely focused, driving on instinct as he lets his annoyance seethe and simmer with thoughts of Stella, of their past and happy times, of his constant attempts to draw her back, his failures, and then Vecchio sliding in and getting her with such ease. Well good luck with her, Vecchio. Let's see how long he can make the marriage last before it falls apart, just like it did for Kowalski. They'd argued too much for it not to end, especially about kids and work. The only time they'd ever found a connection by the end of it all was through dancing, but that was okay, he could deal with dancing forever with her. Could. But not any more.
Maybe he shouldn't go. Make sure his no-show is a final 'fuck you' to them both. He could just take it as a holiday. Drive someplace nice and spend a few days. He didn't even like weddings anyway...
A voice drifts into his mind as if from a distance, consistent and building and pretty damn annoying. It's only on that last and final shout of his name that he reacts, jerking the wheel hard to right to make a sudden veer for the exit, barely making it. His Pontiac screeches it's dislike at the turn, but she remains loyal; the only woman he can ever really trust. it's not her fault either, he really shouldn't take it out on the car.]
Fraser! I swear to God I'll punch you right in the teeth. You do not tell me how to drive! I'm driving, you're shutting up.
[Did he mention how it's not Fraser's fault either? Oh well, no else except The Mountie and the wolf to take it out on.]
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You're driving [ He repeated, nodding sagely. ] I'm shutting up.
[ As though by repetition he could convince himself to do it. He untensed his muscles, gingerly releasing the handle, though he didn't look anything more comfortable in the passenger seat because of it. Off duty he wore black; black shirt, blue jeans, black jacket. But his hair was as preened and under control as ever, and even in laid back clothes there was no smoothing out the rigidity just under the surface. Maybe it was the buffed boots. His outfit for the wedding was hanging in the back seat with Ray's.
He kept his eyes on the road; they turned off the freeway, slinking west again toward the glimmering inland sea that was The Lake they called Lake Michigan. All he had to do was stay quiet for the rest of the trip, right? ]
You realize of course-- [ This was it. He was either going to get the words out or Ray was going to pull over on the side of the road and smash his jaw. ] --That out of the two of us, I am the only one under any obligation to attend. You, on the other hand, are well within your rights to withhold your blessings from the happy couple.
[ Maybe he could just stay at arm's length from Ray for the rest of the day? Of course it wouldn't help when they had to share a room in the lodge together that night, but they'd slept in hateful silence of each other before, in much more cramped spaces. A shared hotel room with actual twin beds was nothing. ]
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[ Two fucking days. That was how long he managed to stay away from the precinct; just two fucking days, and even then the second one he'd had to dodge Huey and Dewey who'd been sent out to bring him in like he was some sort of criminal. So he'd skipped out, because Welsh would have people looking for a green Riviera if he really wanted him, and took US Route 45 heading north; a nice long drive in the countryside in the middle of fucking November, only turning around to come back after a nice long exquisite meal in a diner halfway to Canada.
He'd been sat in a booth behind a Canadian family who reminded him way too much of the people he'd met when he'd been traveling up to the Yukon to find Benny years before, but he hadn't allowed it to spoil his meal. In many ways listening to them politely chat with the waitress was like eating dinner with an old friend, when instead he was out here alone dodging his responsibilities.
So the next day he sucked it up and went in to do his paperwork like a good cop, and really it wasn't so bad because he was already semi-retired as it was, and just picking up the slack here in order to close out some old cases that were more than a year old, things Stanley Kowalski hadn't been able to take over for. Wasn't it lucky the mob hadn't killed him? Now he could do year and a half old paperwork so Internal Affairs didn't have an excuse to have him or Welsh for breakfast.
It was hot in the office. He had to take off his scarf to work. The bruise on his jaw and his broken lip had gotten attention, but the teethmarks on his neck required a second explanation: I got attacked by a rabid Canadian. No, he was six. Don't ask me he thought he was a wolverine or something how should I know? No I did not make it up, a crazy story like that, you think I'd make that up? I'd at least invent a hot chick. Make it up this is my life, okay? Gunsmuggling Canadians, and deaf Canadian wolves, Canadians with a vicious loathing for classic cars, and Canadians who come outta nowhere and bite me on the neck. The sooner I can put some distance between myself and the border the better.
And soon enough it was just like every other day at the office, until at around half past one Fraser came in with Kowalski, chatting animatedly about the mating habits of beluga or something. They crossed the room together, heading for his desk, and then Fraser out of the blue seemed to notice he was there for the first time, and that this was in fact not Stanley Kowalski's desk any more. Talk about force of habit.
He said hello, and then Ray said hello: ]
Hello Benny. Hi Stanley.
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So he didn't blink twice when Ray took two days off, but on the third day he called, just to make sure his partner remembered that they were working on a case, and that Fraser would like to speak to one of the suspects again.
Ray, it turned out, was a mess. He was walking with the discomfort of someone who had either taken a great fall, had ridden a horse for eight hours, or had painful hemorrhoids, but Fraser guessed the former given the fact that he also looked like he'd been wrestling with a tiger. Underneath the smell of sweat and antiseptic, though, there was something familiar, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. If he could just find an excuse to lick him...
They were chatting about the mating practices of the beluga, which had been observed by divers for the first time ever and was - to Fraser's mind - an incredibly exciting development in the field of marine science, when they ambled into the 2-7 several hours later. He was so caught up in expounding on his topic that he didn't even notice he was heading for the wrong desk until he was almost sitting on top of Ray Vecchio.
Hello Benny. Said Ray Vecchio. Then: Hi Stanley.
Maybe it was the fact that Ray didn't pour enough loathing into the word 'Stanley', Fraser didn't know, but he did know instantly that his world had been knocked off kilter in the space of two words. It was like all the puzzle pieces had been brought together, and finally he could see that they were supposed to make a picture of a train, but he had no idea why they made a train. What sort of train? Was it coming or going? Steam, diesel, electric? How did he know it was a train at all? His eyes snapped up toward Stanley, then abruptly back to Ray, and he took in all of him, the bruised lips, the damaged jaw, the teethmarks in his throat - teethmarks, he identified instantly, that would match Ray Kowalski's set perfectly. Another bruise, crossed the muscles at the back of Ray's neck, like an arm had been wrapped tightly around him, and were those nail scratches on the back of Ray's neck, visible barely beneath the open collar of his shirt? They ran bottom to top, like someone had raked upward--an odd angle to be scratching someone's back. All of these bruises were as old as Stanley's injuries, dating back mere days to the first day that Stanley had taken off. The day after the night before.
Ray smelt of antiseptic too - of sweat, and the Riviera, and french fries. But he also smelled of something else, underneath his clear effort to scrub it off him.
He smelled of Stanley Kowalski.
Oh, he could assume they'd been fighting, but he'd seen Stanley and Ray fight. They fought with their fists - pow pow pow until the other guy went down. They didn't bite people. Or scratch them. He should be uncomfortable, he realised, but suddenly all he felt was angry. They didn't think they could tell him about this? Weren't they his friends? His partners?
His expression instantly turned moody, and he raised a hand to point down the hall. No 'If you'd kindly' or 'I'd be grateful'; mad Fraser was mad, and politeness went out the window. ] I'd like to speak to both of you alone. I believe Interview Room A is empty.
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The second day was much the same as the first, although he'd escaped his apartment in the vague hope of taking his mind off the whole situation, finding it really hard to forget when he could barely move without flinching from some injury. He could barely walk, barely sit, barely turn, barely do anything a normal functioning adult could do. He wasn't ready for Fraser calling him, but he couldn't say no. Welsh needed him back and Fraser was requesting follow ups on a case and Kowalski didn't want to be that guy who couldn't even help his partner out.
The excuse he came up with for the sheer amount of injuries he'd sustained was an easy one. He'd got a little over eager at the boxing club he'd gone too. Upset the wrong guy. So maybe they did wail on him a little too hard, but it was all in the ring, fair was fair. Yeah, they'd laid him out flat, he took a few falls, maybe he'd bruised his coccyx- whatever that was. Fraser had seen Ray in the ring before, had seen him against a much bigger guy and had seen how sore he was after that. It should be believable enough and Ray was pretty good at covering up when he needed to. Lies were sometimes essential, no matter what the Mountie thought.
Kowalski's grateful when Fraser doesn't push the matter, and he's oddly grateful that the Mountie can talk some boring shit about whales that Ray couldn't give two shits about. It's like normal. It's like the days before Vecchio.
Speaking of... yeah. That's not Stanley's desk any more. But it is Ray's, and Ray's there looking like he'd taken a few too many hits in the ring too, but still greeting the two of them like nothing is up. The second Ray says Kowalski's name, he's dropping his gaze, grunting a vague greeting in return and hoping his awkwardness is covered by his general dislike and reluctance to speak too much to Vecchio.
His downcast gaze misses some of Fraser's thoughtfulness, of his possible realisation, but Ray doesn't miss that tone. The tone that had him snapping his gaze back up, looking towards the Mountie with brows furrowed in curiosity. What's his problem? Does he think they'd been fighting? Or...?]
Both us alone? What even is that? C'mon, Fraser, we got work to do.
[Complaints or not, Ray isn't going to decline a request. Especially not when Fraser's looking like that. If Fraser wants to speak in private, it's very likely something he doesn't want said in public.
Fuck...]
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But then, before this morning...
His happy note changed up a key, and he turned away from his study of Ray to look out the window. The city looked different this evening; the light seemed to glance off windows differently, the people seemed happier, the streets friendlier. It was an illusion of his mood, he knew, but Fraser couldn't help himself. He was an impossible romantic, and this thing with Ray - this thing finally with Ray - completed him, put a satisfactory bow on his life that made him thrive in all the ways he couldn't have imagined it would. Life really was good; here he was, glowing, sitting in a car with his beloved partner, doing real good in the world. He felt happy, fulfilled, and warm.
He looked away from the road, then carefully reached out, letting his hand be seen before he slid his hand across the back of Ray's, squeezing his fingers where they held the wheel. He let go as they pulled toward the junction, where Ray would need to change gear, and settled back again, smiling angelically at the changing traffic lights--red to green. Everything was good. Floating was good, aching was good, even the sore welts on his back, the bruises on his neck and ear, his cut lip, left behind a sort of itchy fuzziness to every corner of his being. ]
Park here, Ray. It's over on the left.
[ From the street, it would be impossible to tell what kind of shop it was. The signage was small and inoffensive, black letters said 'livery' in small letters, cramped up on the far left. A phone number, similarly small, was inscribed on the opposite side. The windows were huge and empty, but for sheets of faded red paper on chipboard that crossed from top to bottom, blocking out the shop floor.
Fraser knew what it was because this had been his neighborhood once upon a time; he knew what every one of these shops was, and who owned most of them, and where there were tailors and leatherworkers working on the upper floors and back rooms, he knew those people too. Ray might know the criminal infrastructure of the city like the back of his hand, but Fraser knew people. He'd lived here for too long not to, and while he'd never actually bought anything from this particular store, he knew he'd be welcomed none the less.
He leant forward. ]
I'm feeling good about this plan, Ray. [ Too good to consider he might be jinxing it. ]
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When he did finally wake it still hadn't felt like he'd had enough time to rest, groggy and sluggish until he'd had a coffee to get him going. But he was happy, content and maybe even cheerful even with the tiredness tugging at his eyes. Suddenly Fraser's perkiness after waking up was contagious rather than an annoyance, which might actually be a first.
It even lasted for the drive, Ray's focus still locked on the road for the most part but sparing Fraser the odd glance and smile, like he's paranoid that the Mountie might suddenly disappear, or that all of this was some dream that'd be ripped from him in the space of a split second. Sure, Ray was paranoid about that, anxious too. But trying to stop Ray being that way was a virtual impossibility. Anxiousness was hard wired into him just as much as the over excitability and the odd speech was. It was just part of him. The hand squeeze is a reassurance though, grounding the two of them into something as real as a touch and giving Ray a second to inhale deeply and just focus on the warmth of Fraser's fingers and the deep thrum of the car beneath the touch of the wheel.
He pulls in where instructed, parking up and leaning forward to try and get a proper look at where they're meant to be going. There was nothing special that caught the eye, but Ray's almost glad of that. He's not sure he can face having to enter a shop that's flashing neon signs about kinky shit. Still, maybe Fraser doesn't quite get what they're after, maybe this is another lost in translation thing that Ray's going to have to stand in the street explaining to his friend.]
You sure this is the place, Frase?
[Sure, he trusts his partner implicitly, but that doesn't mean he can't question him over stupid decisions. Because even Mr. Perfect makes mistakes, Ray's witnessed it first hand.
Nevertheless he moves to get out of the car, although not going far as he leans on the roof and waits for his partner, because there is no way he's going to be the one leading the way to some place like this.]
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[ He seemed genuinely puzzled, but only for a moment, following Ray up out of the car and leaning his left arm against the side of it while he locked up.
Even so, he wasn't really confused. He had full understanding that this wasn't their usual fare, that their partnership didn't lead them, generally, to places like this. Apprehension sounded acceptable. Even if they were doing this for themselves - which to some degree they most certainly were, at least so far as Fraser was concerned - it wasn't the kind of place one boldly walked into without hesitation, and without genuinely meaning to do it.
So he let Ray hesitate, and then he tapped the car reassuringly and led the way, picking up the facade that was his usual everyday Mountie self--in Ray's shirt and too-small brown jacket. Yes, they'd made love, and it was tempting to let that change him - heaven only knew he wanted to put his hands on Ray and never take them off - but at least a little bit he had to reassure him that some things would stay the same; the things that had made them interested in each other in the first place, mostly. ]
It's perfectly normal to find visiting a place like this to be a challenge, Ray, particularly with the intention of doing more than browsing, however I'm told Louise does quite a service in discretion regarding the anonymity of her client's purchases.
[ When they'd crossed the road and were closer to the door, he reached across and slid his hand into Ray's, pressing his chest up against his shoulder, inching closer by the moment. It was intimate, personal, a moment pressed just between them, like the moment back in the closet. ]
Remember your role. The community here in Chicago isn't large, and if our true purpose is exposed now, it could only put us in danger at the club tonight. [ His free hand wandered higher across Ray's chest, like he was distracted by his warmth, his head tilting to the left, looking up into his partner's face. ] Just don't pick out anything too shiny, you've been doing this for a while, and remember: everything you need to cover these expenses is in my hat. Spend it as you see fit, ask my permission for nothing.
[ He leaned up, his mouth soft and reassuring against Ray's, exhaling a slow breath into the kiss like a sigh. They were on the street, yes, but nobody was looking: just two guys, one in a hat, one with mad 90s hair, kissing in a dark shop entrance. Could be San Francisco. ]
You can do this, Ray. And don't forget to buy a leash. You've learned your lesson from earlier; you have no intention of allowing me to wander again. Do that for me.
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These two men had blundered into this situation--walked in headfirst and jumped into trouble, the same way things always happened when Fraser was involved, and now it was up to Ray to fix it. Joy of joys. The thing was he had a choice: he could fuck this up once and for all, throw away his position in the mob, or he could find a way round it. He'd handled mistakes like this before, and god only knew he wouldn't have it so good with the FBI if he fell at the first hurdle--or the sixteenth.
It'd sort of be nice to let it go, though, wouldn't it? He could legitimately claim that there was no way out of this but to let his cover collapse. This was a shitty job. He wanted to come home for good, wanted to be himself, wanted to see his family again. That could happen, if only he let it.
But he had so much good work left to do, no matter his feelings about it. He might even be able to bring down the Iguana family once and for all. Could he let all that go because it might put Fraser at risk?
And how did he feel about this replacement guy anyway? What was his name again?
"Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD." He tossed the badge at the guy, fixing him with a glare. This was a goddamn fuck up. Muldoon was snapping at him about bringing a cop to a meet, and Ray snapped right back "Yeah, well he followed you up here." Like it was this guy's fault and not Fraser's. It was always Fraser's fault.
"I'll deal with it," he snapped, irritably. "If we went around killing every cop that came down on us--well, we got ways. You," he circled two of the guys with a wave of his hand. "Go nextdoor, buy two video cameras and uh--a pair of those novelty fluffy handcuffs. And uh--some jazz. Go."
He turned back to Muldoon, put his hand on the guy's shoulder. "You were wondering how we might open up that border? Cop in our back pocket might just work. Don't worry about this, I got it in hand. I'll see you at the meet."
He had to keep from sighing in relief as the door shut behind Muldoon and his guys, leaving him with Ray, Fraser, and just two of his thugs. "Alright up. Stand up."
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He wasn't really sure what they were expecting by knocking on the door of a possible terrorist, but they'd done it anyway and it'd landed them in a huge pile of fuck. Seriously, one day he really needed to learn to call for back up.
Ray Vecchio, Fraser had said. Armando Langoustini, Muldoon had said. Ray didn't really give a shit who it was, he was more concerned with the guns trained at them and the mobsters making shop talk about cop killing. Fraser owed him big time for this, if they ever got out of it alive, and that was a big if considering Muldoon's track record for leaving a trail of dead bodies. Although he doesn't stick around long, and it's frustrating to witness the guy they've been chasing walk casually away while they're stuck in some hotel room with a group of Italian slime balls.
There's only the briefest roll of his eyes towards is partner before Stan slowly pushes himself to his feet, tempted to resist at first but realising his little dumb act can only get him so far.]
It's cute that you guys think you can get away with this, but we got cops posted outside waitin'.
[Mumbled, hands held neutral by his sides. It's a half hearted attempt at a threat that he already knows isn't going to cause any concern.]
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Ray scoffed, stepping back toward him and pausing. Another step, and he accepted a gun from one of his men, bringing it up to Kowalski's throat, stepping into his space. ]
You ain't got nothing. And your Captain or whatever, back at the station, he's not gonna waste time and resources on anything but a sure thing. This ain't a sure thing.
[ He tilted his face in close to Kowalski's. ]
Thing is I could shoot you dead right now, and nobody would give a shit. So you can play the hard man if you like, but the fact is, the only way you - either of you - are gonna get out of this alive, is by playing my game. My rules.
[ He looked at Fraser. ]
So your name is Ray. Who's your friend? Partner? What's his name?
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But that wasn't the way police work went. Ray got a short vacation, and then they were back to being ground to the bone. Fraser's vacation terms were better--he had a lot more freedom, and days built up that he hadn't taken besides, and it wasn't really...a holiday. He was still working every day that he could. He took the time, for Ray, but missed him every single second.
He hadn't expected to come back and find Ray missing, replaced. But that...that was a problem. Fraser needed Ray too. They depended on each other more than just in the field, not that it was just about the sex either. They cared about each other, trusted each other all the way into the bedroom, and when Ray had begun to learn to put his life into Fraser's hands there, it had spiraled out into their work. It had helped Fraser find his balance too, and a reason to stay, a heady romance and passionate physicality that he hadn't ever experienced before.
That was all gone. This new Ray didn't have that kind of relationship with him, didn't even know he could, and it had left a chasm. What would he do if Ray never came back? Did he even realize how much Fraser missed him?
But the new guy wasn't really so bad. Fraser had warmed to him, seen into his personal life, had his life saved by him. He was worthy enough--and attractive. Very attractive, obviously.
Not that that was good reasoning to break into the guy's home on a Friday night, sans Diefenbaker, dressed in an uncharacteristic black shirt and jeans - after the day they'd had, after Stella and the bombs and being subjected to the proverbial cold shoulder - and sit waiting in the dark for Ray Kowalski to make his way home. ]
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Sure, Ray had been all too happy to prove that this guy was a lying scumbag unworthy of Stella's attentions. Ray would happily keep doing that each time a new guy came into her life. But what difference would it make? It hadn't made her happy, and as a result it hadn't really made him all that happy either. It wasn't enough to get them both back together to live happily ever. Perhaps nothing would ever make that happen and they were both (Ray, more specifically) starting to realise that. The dancing was good though, as was the likelihood of a night of passion, but all that had been interrupted before it even got a chance to start.
He'd have loved to blame Fraser for it all, because it's easier to blame someone you know, but that psychotic fucking asshole had been the real issue. Maybe it was just the universes way of keeping Stella and Ray apart. Like a divine intervention to stop them hooking up for just one night of great sex. And what better way to do it than throwing a bomb into the mix and a psychotic, abusive asshole with a gun?
So of course Ray wanted to be alone. Of course he wanted time to wallow and pitifully weep and drink his sorrows away. And maybe he'd been a little over the limit on his final drive home but he'd made it back in one piece, dragging his feet all the way back to his apartment and fiddling just a little too long with the lock. With the door shut behind him, he even took a moment to lean against the doorway in the dark, sighing lightly and rubbing his palms heavily into the sockets of his eyes.
Even with the light finally flicked on, he doesn't pay much attention to his surroundings during the first few instinctual seconds of tossing his keys aside and drawing closer into his home. He barely even registers the figure, his brain more focused on weighing up the options between beer and coffee, but then there's something clicking into place, right at the forefront of his thoughts that gets him jerking towards the other in a startled sort of double take. One hand jerks towards the holster hidden under his jacket, but just as quickly as the panic starts, it subsides, quickly recognise the uninvited guest.]
Jeez, Frase, I coulda shot ya.
[He sounds tired, worn out and just a little agitated. Not entirely welcoming. Especially when he starts considering why the fuck Fraser's taken to sitting in the dark in his home.]
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It was just about sufficient to Fraser needs to keep him occupied, at least work wise, and it let him have the home life that he'd--hoped for, but never expected, and with Ray of all people. God, with Ray; if anyone had ever told him that it was a possibility then he would have entirely disbelieved them, but he had a family, children under his roof whom he had raised as his own, a job he loved in a place that belonged in his heart.
With a man who belonged in his heart.
But back to wood. Since it needed to be brought up by truck, it had to be burned carefully too. Too small pieces and it would burn fast and hot, and heat would be wasted up the chimney. Too big and they wouldn't catch, and the smoldering log would bring the temperature down and then go out, meaning more waste with kindling. Ray had learned to do it eventually, and Fraser trusted him, which was why after he dropped the children off at their school for the day (what there was of it), he'd trundled home with the expectation of the house being warm, and maybe - for once - just curling up for an hour or so before feeding time.
The dogs yapped at him as he pulled the snowmobile and its trailer back into the yard - or what yard there was under hard packed arctic snow - hungry and impatient none the less; but Fraser ignored them and head inside, dropping to take off his boots before taking off his coat. ]
Ray?
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So maybe that'd been why he'd somehow fallen into this life with Fraser, the both of them aware of the power of companionship and Ray willing (perhaps just slightly reluctantly at first) to drop everything else to bundle away into the depths of the Arctic. He'd follow Fraser anywhere and it'd only taken the return of some slick Italian all those many many years ago in Chicago from him to truly realise that.
There were times when it got lonely, especially in the earlier years when Fraser was away and Ray was left to adjust to the silence of the wilderness, but he learned to adapt and boy, he was a quick learner. They even got themselves a family, one full of sled dogs and, eventually, children as well. It was the kind of life he'd always dreamed of having, not caring where it happened so long as it was with his best buddy. Even the hardships were something he could cope with, as familiar as he was with a life of scraping by.
Scraping by was just a way of life around here, even when it came to something as simple as wood, which Fraser had long ago drilled into him was an important commodity through all seasons. Ray never had been quite as skilled at making a fire as his partner- not when he spent years thinking the most efficient way was surely to dump a whole load of fuel over a few logs and light it all- but he still got by with it all. Today wasn't a great day for it, he could admit that, especially not after dropping an armful in the snow and having poor luck with the kindling. But he got it going eventually, perhaps a little too close to Fraser's return to really warm up the place, but it could hardly be helped.
The baying of dogs and the familiar sound of a snowmobile signalled Fraser's return long before his voice did, but Ray stays by the fire, poking it curiously. Impatiently.]
Fraser, we gots damp wood.