[ He said it so quickly and sharply that he was immediately aware that there was more to this than just making his partner happy, though if that had been all it was then Vecchio would at least understand. They'd been partners themselves for two years, and Ray would know where his loyalties lay, and how strongly they lay there: if Kowalski needed him, then Fraser had to go to him.
Fraser had to go to him, had to make him happy, had to heal the wounds he'd inflicted on him and take his mind off Stella in her white dress, and those were all legitimate, reasonable excuses for bailing on the photographs. He quickly amended his statement, knowing that even in this state Ray would see right through him. ]
Don't argue with me about this, Ray. I've made my decision.
[ But they weren't the only reasons. The fact that he was a terrible person, and owed Ray this - those were reasons too - and the fact that he loved this man--god, top of the list. All of them vying for position.
What reason didn't touch on at all was Fraser's sudden fear of being in those photographs, his frozen, paralyzed, heartsick face forever framed and put away on Ray Vecchio's mantlepiece in Florida. His best man, his oldest friend, a flash of unmistakeable red in every photograph. For Ray he'd be frozen that way forever, a toy soldier in red, never aging, never changing, always and forever Benny the Mountie, my former partner, "We had some good times, didn't we?" and Fraser didn't want it. He didn't want it, and maybe he was being selfish again but he didn't think Ray would want it either. He'd be in those photographs, a flash of vibrant red distracting from his beautiful wife, and somehow allegorically distracting him from the new and happy wedded life he was supposed to be leading away from memories of Chicago.
Fraser didn't want to be remembered that way. He couldn't spare the fraction of the soul it would chip away from him to be captured in those photographs. And suddenly more than anything he wanted to get out of his suit. He could only do that by stopping off at the hotel with Ray on the way to the reception.
His sharp ears could hear them looking for him now, and he took Ray's hand more tightly in his own. He's probably with Kowalski. Anyone seen Kowalski? And they were off - faster now - using a mausoleum to block the view of them in case anyone decided to look along the edge of the church. When they had the full building between them and the wedding party, Fraser stopped, stripped off his belt and his tunic and turned the latter inside out briskly. He folded it over his arm, tucked his hat against his chest, and shot a look at Ray as though daring him to question him. ]
Let's-- [ And now at last a shattered, emotional exhale, and Fraser stopped dead, eye to eye with Ray, feeling the sudden rush like a great spring had suddenly erupted inside of him, floodgates whipped open by building pressure. There was no fighting it; he burst - literally exploded - into tears before he was even really aware that he was doing it, putting his free arm across the bridge of his nose a half second later. It was humiliating, horrifying, and yet he was frozen on the spot, his face a river, and he hiccuped a single expletive--just one, but it would have been more than enough to betray his emotional state if suddenly becoming a human waterfall hadn't done the trick already: ] Damn.
[ God, look at the two of them. What a bloody mess. ]
no subject
[ He said it so quickly and sharply that he was immediately aware that there was more to this than just making his partner happy, though if that had been all it was then Vecchio would at least understand. They'd been partners themselves for two years, and Ray would know where his loyalties lay, and how strongly they lay there: if Kowalski needed him, then Fraser had to go to him.
Fraser had to go to him, had to make him happy, had to heal the wounds he'd inflicted on him and take his mind off Stella in her white dress, and those were all legitimate, reasonable excuses for bailing on the photographs. He quickly amended his statement, knowing that even in this state Ray would see right through him. ]
Don't argue with me about this, Ray. I've made my decision.
[ But they weren't the only reasons. The fact that he was a terrible person, and owed Ray this - those were reasons too - and the fact that he loved this man--god, top of the list. All of them vying for position.
What reason didn't touch on at all was Fraser's sudden fear of being in those photographs, his frozen, paralyzed, heartsick face forever framed and put away on Ray Vecchio's mantlepiece in Florida. His best man, his oldest friend, a flash of unmistakeable red in every photograph. For Ray he'd be frozen that way forever, a toy soldier in red, never aging, never changing, always and forever Benny the Mountie, my former partner, "We had some good times, didn't we?" and Fraser didn't want it. He didn't want it, and maybe he was being selfish again but he didn't think Ray would want it either. He'd be in those photographs, a flash of vibrant red distracting from his beautiful wife, and somehow allegorically distracting him from the new and happy wedded life he was supposed to be leading away from memories of Chicago.
Fraser didn't want to be remembered that way. He couldn't spare the fraction of the soul it would chip away from him to be captured in those photographs. And suddenly more than anything he wanted to get out of his suit. He could only do that by stopping off at the hotel with Ray on the way to the reception.
His sharp ears could hear them looking for him now, and he took Ray's hand more tightly in his own. He's probably with Kowalski. Anyone seen Kowalski? And they were off - faster now - using a mausoleum to block the view of them in case anyone decided to look along the edge of the church. When they had the full building between them and the wedding party, Fraser stopped, stripped off his belt and his tunic and turned the latter inside out briskly. He folded it over his arm, tucked his hat against his chest, and shot a look at Ray as though daring him to question him. ]
Let's-- [ And now at last a shattered, emotional exhale, and Fraser stopped dead, eye to eye with Ray, feeling the sudden rush like a great spring had suddenly erupted inside of him, floodgates whipped open by building pressure. There was no fighting it; he burst - literally exploded - into tears before he was even really aware that he was doing it, putting his free arm across the bridge of his nose a half second later. It was humiliating, horrifying, and yet he was frozen on the spot, his face a river, and he hiccuped a single expletive--just one, but it would have been more than enough to betray his emotional state if suddenly becoming a human waterfall hadn't done the trick already: ] Damn.
[ God, look at the two of them. What a bloody mess. ]