[ He weathers the slap and the "Fraser" without so much as blinking, still consumed by his own guilt, his eyes still fixed on his hands even as Ray settles into the chair opposite him. Ray assumes his interrogation stance, he notices absently, so that when Ray makes it clear that they have to talk he's not remotely surprised. Except--
Except those words seem wrong from Ray, and he can't place why. We gotta talk. It wasn't the number of syllables, or the fact that Ray had changed four words into three and used 'go' instead of 'have' and 'to' by no means sounded like tah. No, it was none of those things. Maybe it was the words themselves. There was a gravitas to them, a slowing down that was really...unusual. He hadn't needed to talk last night, hadn't needed to confirm anything beyond their usual nods and glances.
But this. Talking. Talking wasn't Ray Kowalski. Oh, he was good at it. But talking? About relationships? There was meant to be something ominous about that, right? There had always been something ominous abut it when Thatcher had been the one saying it. And Ray was the kind of man who let his body talk. When he loved someone he didn't use words to convey that affection.
Why was he worrying about it, anyway? Of course they had to talk--there was a lot to talk about. Oodles to talk about, in fact. The case. How they were going to approach that evening. How they intended to get out alive. What constituted moving beyond unprofessional. How - assuming they survived - Fraser ever intended to get through an entire day without giving the entire game away. Maybe Ray was going to suggest that if he couldn't cope they'd quit right now. Maybe that was why, the instant his partner said "We gotta talk", Fraser froze up like he'd been shot in the back again, wide eyed and staring, and it wasn't surprise that put him there it was horror. ]
I-- [ Words, Fraser. ] I suppose that would be a good idea, at this point.
[ Good, with words out he could go back to his radio station of internal panic, while he smoothed his expression into something less lost and fearful and more implacable, confident. He could do this. He was the master of masks. ]
no subject
Except those words seem wrong from Ray, and he can't place why. We gotta talk. It wasn't the number of syllables, or the fact that Ray had changed four words into three and used 'go' instead of 'have' and 'to' by no means sounded like tah. No, it was none of those things. Maybe it was the words themselves. There was a gravitas to them, a slowing down that was really...unusual. He hadn't needed to talk last night, hadn't needed to confirm anything beyond their usual nods and glances.
But this. Talking. Talking wasn't Ray Kowalski. Oh, he was good at it. But talking? About relationships? There was meant to be something ominous about that, right? There had always been something ominous abut it when Thatcher had been the one saying it. And Ray was the kind of man who let his body talk. When he loved someone he didn't use words to convey that affection.
Why was he worrying about it, anyway? Of course they had to talk--there was a lot to talk about. Oodles to talk about, in fact. The case. How they were going to approach that evening. How they intended to get out alive. What constituted moving beyond unprofessional. How - assuming they survived - Fraser ever intended to get through an entire day without giving the entire game away. Maybe Ray was going to suggest that if he couldn't cope they'd quit right now. Maybe that was why, the instant his partner said "We gotta talk", Fraser froze up like he'd been shot in the back again, wide eyed and staring, and it wasn't surprise that put him there it was horror. ]
I-- [ Words, Fraser. ] I suppose that would be a good idea, at this point.
[ Good, with words out he could go back to his radio station of internal panic, while he smoothed his expression into something less lost and fearful and more implacable, confident. He could do this. He was the master of masks. ]