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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By the time Fraser finally heads over, Ray's flicking his current cigarette to the ground, crushing it neatly beneath a polished leather shoe and shaking his head slowly. Fraser's started talking of 'what ifs' and even Kowalski knows that it's stupid to even try to think that way. Even if Fraser hadn't interrupted them that night, it'd be the same as every other time Ray and Stella had fucked since their break up; a brief reminder of why the two of them worked so well together, and then a morning full of regret, bad feelings and arguments, all blending into the reminder of why they'd parted ways. Stella had said herself that she still loved Ray, but the two of them seemed incapable of being near each other without eventually arguing. They were both firecrackers, and when left too long together, they'd end up exploding into anger, only fuelled by their own stubbornness. Maybe Vecchio would be better at handling it, maybe he'd cater to her inflexibility better than just raising his voice to it. Maybe Vecchio would be a better husband. Kowalski just didn't want to know the outcome of it all.
Stella was gone. That had been signed away on a piece of paper just minutes ago. But Fraser was still there for him, even if he was throwing up in bushes and looking just a little lost by everything. Ray couldn't read minds, but he could certainly see some level of uncertainty in Mounties actions. Probably still reeling from the idea of losing his 'best friend'.]
It's fine, Fraser.
[He glances down at his hand and Benton's second attempt of grabbing for it, shrugging the concern off tiredly, and it's that tiredness that has him not even even fighting against the directional tug even as he gives the weakest of verbal protests.]
S'only a few scratches. You should be over there for the photos, I can go sort myself out and catch up later, yeah? Promise I won't jump off any bridges or drown myself.
[Jealousy or not, he supposes he shouldn't have his friend missing an important moment in Vecchio's life, even if he himself had absolutely no intention of going over there again and seeing Stella glowing with happiness about not being with him. Bitch.]
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[ 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. ]
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Fraser loses his partner to Kowalski's wife. There must be some sort of irony in that, somewhere.
With such finality to the Mounties' voice, Ray doesn't argue, speeding up as Fraser does to quickly put ground between them and the happy wedding guests. While Ray didn't quite understand the urgency to get away, he didn't question it, being just as eager to run from all this as Benton seemed to be. The removal of clothing was yet another nail in the already unusual coffin, met with the slightest eyebrow arches from him as he watches, his conclusion settling on the Mountie red being a little too easy to spot, even if two figures- one blonde, one brown haired- running away from the scene would be just as recognisable with or without the serge.
None of that bothers him though. He's used to Fraser's eccentricities by now.
What does surprise him is the sudden outburst of sobs, erupting almost out of no where as Benton breaks down right on the spot. Ray's not expecting it. He'd never expect it from Fraser, the patient and restrained partner who barely batted an eyelid under most situations. Kowalski is the one who usually shows it, emotions bursting out like fireworks when he does let them release, but Fraser? Fraser just shouldn't be crying. It was surreal and made Ray feel just as dejected as losing Stella did. He doesn't want his partner to be sad, it makes him sad, and he's not sure how he can solve this problem with any level of helpfulness.
When he does reach out a hand to offer a supportive grip at Fraser's shoulder, he suddenly realises his own cheeks are wet again and he's huffing out a stuttered exhale that sounds remarkably like a sob.
And there they are, two grown men hiding behind a church, sobbing their eyes out and totally embarrassing themselves in front of one another.
It's that thought alone that gets Ray smiling just slightly against the tears, one particular breath coming out as a mix of a laugh and a cry. This was ridiculous. They were ridiculous.]
We suck. [Snivelled pathetically as he uses his other arm to lift and wipe at his nose with an expensive sleeve like an overgrown boy. But he's still smiling, just barely, as he tries to catch Fraser's eyes in his.] This is so dumb. Who needs 'em, huh? Let's blow this joint.
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Because wasn't that what partners were for?
Maybe it wouldn't be the same if Vecchio hadn't been his former partner and Stella hadn't been Ray's former wife. If one of them had been a stranger, then it wouldn't mean so much as it did; but in many ways their marrying was an underlining under everything that had come before. There was no risk of Vecchio wanting to be Fraser's partner again, jeopardizing his relationship with Ray; nor was there any risk of Stella remarrying her former husband. It was over, done, bada bing, bada boom.
It was dumb, and Fraser was smiling back at Ray through still enormous tears, suddenly almost ridiculously cheerfully, because Ray was talking his language. Out, away, gone. And he closed the distance and wrapped his arms around him and hugged him just as hard as he could, thumping Ray so hard between the shoulders he felt his ribcage echo against his own. But that was good; that was the way Ray had hugged him that first time they'd ever met--albeit without Fraser digging his wet chin into Ray's neck.
All his stupid, self obsessed, melancholy thoughts had evaporated. Ray was back to being his partner, and of course he loved him, but he always had, and it didn't change much of anything--didn't change anything, and this was the way back to the hotel, wasn't it? Alright then.
With his arm still slung across the other man's shoulder, practically guiding him the way that Ray had walked him back through the police station that first day, he spoke in a moody voice stained with tears, trying to get his bearings back, but most importantly, to remind Ray of exactly where he was coming from.
And he was smiling. He never stopped smiling. ]
Take a look back through history, Ray, and what do you see? Duets. Partners. Lennon and McCartner, Leopold and Loeb-- [ He kept his eyes tracked on Ray's neck as he frogmarched him back toward the hotel, and waited for him to finish the lineup. ]
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It's not until Fraser's beaming at him, even through tears, that Ray finally lets his smile grow into a grin, chuckling out a few exhales as his tears finally slow, only leaving angry streaks against his cheeks and the tell-tale sign of red, puffy eyes behind. The hug stops the sobs, the solid pat between his shoulder blades reminding him that his friend definitely had his back no matter what, even if his ex-wife was happy to ditch him. And all at once he's reminded of their first meeting, of his own hug to Fraser, back when they were complete strangers and Ray had to act some form of familiarity towards the Mountie. It's a good hug, firm and supportive and, although somewhat similar, having a totally different meaning to it now that they had plenty of history behind them.
As Fraser's leading him away, an arm around his shoulder, Ray thinks that he'd be perfectly happy if this were the only person he'd spend the rest of his life with. Wives come and go, but partners were forever, and the two of them had been through far too much for Ray to ever want them to drift apart. He doesn't even think he could drift away from Fraser. It was a strange feeling, that longing he got when away from the other, like an emptiness that he couldn't quite fill, so much like that feeling of being in love but... ... not. Because they were partners. Not in love. Not in that way.]
And the three stooges?
[It was like a whole other era. A speech given before they even knew one another, before they'd lived through life threatening scenarios, solved cases together and even lived in the wilderness for months together. Now they were better than any of those duets. They were the best duet around and no one could take that from them.]
They got nothin' on us. We already ditched our Larry.
[And Ray can't stop smiling either, because ex-wife or not, Fraser was here and they were both alive and had years of life left in them for stupid adventures, ridiculous cases, late night stake outs, bad take out and meals after work.
Screw Stella.
She hadn't been there for him in years. Benton had.]
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At 39, it was occurring to him at last that the wilderness was no place to be alone. The Inuit knew it; they lived in groups to keep safe, and a man alone was as good as dead. Fraser had seen it happen time and again, dead men frozen alone in the middle of nowhere--and where were their partners? Their wives? He couldn't go back to the Arctic without one or the other.
But two together. Two together was something. Two together could survive in the wilderness or the city, and Fraser found himself thinking that if that was what Ray wanted, as a city boy through and through, he'd endeavor to remain in Chicago, or anywhere else Ray chose to go, if it meant staying by his side. That was what partners did.
It wasn't as if he'd ever needed a badge to feel useful--to do good things. And yes, being away from his home would probably kill him eventually, but for Ray he would do it; because who would make that sacrifice if not him?
The thoughts didn't dampen his mood; instead they were back in the hotel minutes later, and Benton was letting them both back into their hotel room, dragging his Henley over his head before the door had even shut. The only change of clothes he had was the outfit he'd worn down in the car, but anything that wasn't starched red serge would be an improvement. He wanted to feel like himself, like he was free to do stupid things, and his uniform precluded foolish, childish shenanigans. At least most of the time.
He felt buoyant, dragging back on his t-shirt and looking back over toward Ray as he unbuttoned and unhooked the intricate clasps of his fly and slipped out of the yellow-striped pumpkin pants. ]
Three quarters of an hour. It's going to take them that long at least to take all the photos and get everyone into the hall, longer still to settle everyone down with a drink and stop Maria Vecchio from crying.
[ Fraser was uniquely animated, his hair mussed by the quick change, something wilder and glossy in his eyes now that he was on the other side of tears. He had no idea what he was feeling, but it was exhilarating, and he'd learned that feelings like this were usually one time only things, sensations that you had to grab at lest they slip through your fingers, like running after Victoria as she sped away to a new life without him. Run they said. Grab hold. Don't let go. Come with me. ]
What can we do with half an hour, Ray?
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Fraser had been that person in his life for long enough now that Ray had become just as dependant on him. He had shown up at an important time of Ray's life, when he'd had nothing left but a turtle, an apartment full of junk and memories, and a job that his father hated. Fraser was, in fact, the best thing to happen in Ray's life in far too long.
By the time they're back at their room, Ray's eager to grab for another bottle of alcohol and less concerned about changing. The bow tie is already undone and hanging loosely around his neck anyway, and he figures he really needs to get some wear out of a suit that he's spent far too much on.
He watches as Fraser undresses, perching himself on the edge of the bed as he knocks back another whiskey to sooth his nerves. There was something about Benton being out of uniform that just seemed so out of character, like he wasn't quite the same without that ridiculous red serge. The same guy, yes, but just slightly more wild, like he was ready to go trekking through forests and mountains at a moments notice, rather than stand stiffly outside consulates for hours on end. He liked that side of Fraser. It was more human and more easy to relate to. The very slight ruffle to his hair helped.]
Half an hour, huh? Well, y'know it's tradition to leave the bride and groom a little somethin' in their room, right? I figure we break into the bridal suite and uh. Leave 'em a gift. Like a uh. I dunno. Somethin'.
[Pee on their bed!
Or not. But it's exceptionally tempting to break in just to trash the place, even if Ray could never actually bring himself to ruin such a day.]
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Ray.
[ His tone was admonishing. Like 'Break into the bridal suite, that would be against the law'. Except that Fraser was just winding him up. Ray, he said, like 'You're a terrible person how could you', when he was really setting himself up to say: It is a terrible idea, but you only live once, let's go do it.
So he said: Ray, and then he said: ]
Why didn't you mention it before? We certainly can't break with tradition now, can we? What sort of friends would we be? What sort of best man would I be?
[ Although he was already badly scored in that department, since Huey and Dewey had had to book the strippers for Ray's bachelor party; "What kind of best man forgets strippers!?" and "Guys in Canada don't get a lot of tail, do they?" which of course Fraser had needed to debate at length because of a misunderstanding about the meaning of the word tail (Welsh had cleared it up for him). In fact most of the bachelor party had passed like that, and Fraser had spent the rest of it intervening in Ray Vecchio's escapades. At one point this included keeping him from crashing Frank Zucko's place and introducing himself as Armando Langoustini. This apparently involved telling him to 'Get the fuck outta my town' followed by a string of blurred Italian insults which Fraser had only caught half of, but which, he thought, detailed his lineage (goats), and his choice of sexual partner (seabound mammals), his choice in underwear (used granny panties) and the things he liked to put in his mouth (dirtier than what Benny does).
All in all he thought that the best kind of best man was the one that saved a guy from getting shot in the face, so Huey and Dewey could go to hell. (And maybe that was particularly vicious of him, but they'd set one of the strippers on him for a laugh, and Fraser had been so humiliated he'd needed to step out for a half hour to cool off.)
He strode across the room, kneeling beside Ray pointedly and, just as it seemed that perhaps he was about to propose or something similarly inappropriate, eyes upturned, he tugged his pack out from where he'd stowed it under the bed, and expertly removed his pocket knife, a roll of whittling tools and a large reddish chunk of wood, the latter of which he handed to Ray.
And then Fraser patted his knee amicably. ]
Lead the way.
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Fraser's doing his usual telling off, all furrowed brows and reprimanding tone, but rather than disapprove of Ray's somewhat illegal suggestion, he appears to be playing the naive Canadian card instead. And Ray appreciates every bit of it. Every duet has to make sacrifices for one another and right now Benton seems perfectly willing to break into a hotel suite if it means keeping Ray happy while they're at it. Such a bro.]
Sorry, buddy. I thought you knew.
[The kneeling thing is a little odd and yet vaguely appropriate for a wedding, but then Fraser's reaching underneath and Ray suddenly realises the kneel was for item retrieving and not for any form of proposal. Which. You know. Is normal. Because Ray wasn't expecting a proposal or anything from his working partner. He doesn't expect his partner to give him wood either, the lame kind of wood too, but Ray holds it as indicated.]
Pitter patter, lets get at'er. We gotta be quick.
[He raises to his feet quickly reaching for his own luggage to pull out his beloved lockpick and a credit card. Things he'd never leave home without, because sometimes kicking a door in just won't do. And so there he stands, a block of wood in one hand and lockpick in the other, nodding towards the door.]
So uh. The wood. Is that uh. You gonna carve them somethin'? Cause I vote it bein' a giant dong.
[Once they're out into the hall way he's tucking the wood under an arm and slipping the rest away in his pocket to his hands free, leading off and upwards towards the bridal suite. How does he know where it is? He's a stalker, that's how. It's not like he was going to show up to the wedding of his ex wife and not know where she was going to possibly be fucking this new man of hers.
The room is away from most the others. More private and exclusive feeling with the plush carpets and newly painted hallway leading up to it, making it obvious that plenty of money when into this place. This wasn't a cheap wedding, Ray realises, but Vecchio had a lot of family to help him out.
He's the one that kneels this time, down on one knee in front of the door, placing the wood onto the carpet beside him so he can focus on pulling out his own tools and setting to work on the lock with the precision and skill that plenty of Chicago cops have come to learn.]
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I'm not sure what use a wooden dong would be, Ray. Even if they were considering a honeymoon in Vietnam, I don't believe that carved funds are considered legal tender any more.
[ So it's going to be like that.
Still, up the stairs they go, Fraser looking laid back and remarkably buoyant considering they were breaking and entering, and he hovered back out the way to give Ray all the light he needed while he worked on the lock. Breaking into properties was a skill he'd seen both Rays perform, and both were uncommonly good at it. It had to be said, therefore, that even if he wasn't the kind of man to leave his door unlocked, between the door kicking and lock picking that criminals and cops alike were practiced in performing, there wouldn't be much hope at all of maintaining the sanctity of his home. And besides, he was guilty of the same on occasion.
As they stepped inside, Fraser hovered back for a moment, taking the place in. It looked like it had never been so much as breathed on, let alone used or lived in. The room was extravagant, laid out in lavender and white, with a satin bedspread and one of those plush velveteen headrests stacked up high with featherdown cushions. There was a box of chocolates and a bucket of ice beside the bed, the latter already containing a bottle of chilled champagne.
Rugs deep enough to lose your toes in were laid out on either side of the bed, and the big French doors to the extensive marble bathroom suite had been left open, hooked in place, to make the bedroom seem even bigger than it was. There were more doors to the patio outside, two large windows, but all the shutters had been drawn closed, casting the room in the warm glow from lights that had been left on in welcome. In an alcove to the left there was a loveseat draped in white furs, and a selection of complimentary liquors, and - standing out from everything else - a brown paper bag that had been taped shut, and scrawled on in Huey's handwriting in black spidery letters: Cause Fraser don't know anything about this stuff :D.
If the bedroom was luxurious, the bathroom was even more so. The bathtub was sunken into the floor, and big enough to fit an entire Tsimshian family. A bucket of rose petals had been left beside it, a basket of froofy looking toiletries, as well as a stack of fluffy lavender towels and a pair of deep purple his and hers dressing gowns, all edged and embroidered with silver.
This was a wedding suite on a scale Fraser had never seen before, and the luxury of it blew him away. ]
Well. [ He said, and tried to think of other words. ] Ah. Shall we?
[ He raised his open hand toward Ray, waiting for him to hand over his block of wood. ]
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What he sees causes him to stop dead in his tracks, managing to step aside enough to let Fraser in and then proceeding to gawk at everything. He can't even process it all, like there's just too much for him to even comprehend. He's never seen a room like it. Never even earned enough to even vaguely afford a place like this for the night. It's got everything one could dream of for a hotel room, and all presented with such extravagance that Ray feels strangely uncomfortable even standing there. Kowalski's used to rough neighbourhoods, greasy car engines and old RVs. This? This is everything he's not and all at once he realises that if this is what Stella wants, then he could never give her it in a million years.
Everywhere he looks feels like another spot for the happy couple to fuck on. The bed. The love seat. The bath tub. The luxurious carpet that was probably more comfortable than his bed at home. And he realises he doesn't care. They can fuck where they want. This place is out of his league and he feels nauseous just looking at it all. Give him his grubby apartment over this any day. This is a place for an Armani wearing Italian, not some scruffy Polack.]
This place gives me the creeps.
[He decides out loud, holding the chunk of wood out towards Fraser when prompted, and then shifting over to the chocolate box and helping himself to one. Or two. Or several. Turning back towards the Mountie with a mouthful of candy and speaking with his mouthful like a true gent.]
Y'want any champagne?
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Ray was built for fixing engines and oiling leather and racing snowmobiles across sea ice; for shooting bad guys and performing handbreak turns and knocking people out with a jerk of his head; but he also danced, and appreciated fine film, and had a good heart, proving that sophistication didn't have to be silk and chiffon and featherdown pillows. Fraser appreciated those qualities more than he would ever appreciate a fine suit, or a good taste in wine.
But this--this place was what Stella wanted, like she'd wanted Ray once. She'd run from the extravagance and safety of her childhood to the wild adventure that was Ray, lived a hard but rewarding life with him, won back her old way of life through hard work, proving to herself that she could do it and then what? Ray hadn't changed. He'd never needed to, never wanted to, had he? He was still Stanley Ray Kowalski, a working man, a public serviceman, a damn fine cop who didn't want or need to be anything more than that because what he had he'd earned; fought for; shed blood for.
Earnest, beautiful, wonderful Ray, who it was impossible not to love once you saw beneath the thorny exterior to the heart of the man beneath--and she did still love him, want him, but she wanted this - all of this - that much more.
That was what the room said. It was one last 'See, you can't give me any of this, you never could', and Fraser had to be sympathetic, had to be a good friend, and help Ray be okay with that.
So he stepped into the room as Ray did, taking the piece of wood and following him toward the bed. No matter his own feelings about intruding, this was being done for Ray's sake, not his own - not for the new Vecchios - and he intended to do whatever it took to square this.
Even if it including drinking the champagne. ]
Please. I've never had any, is it any good?
[ Fraser dropped his things onto the coverlet, then stripped off his jacket, climbing up onto the bridal bed and sitting cross legged on top of it. He unrolled his knives and began to scrape at the wood, carelessly leaving little ringlets of wood shavings in his lap. ]
Just bring the bottle. [ He patted the bed beside him. ] Come on, Ray, sit down. This is going to take me a while. And bring some of those chocolates while you're at it--are there any hazelnuts?
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He feels like he should be angry or upset or feel something beyond gradual realisation, but he's just standing there with a face full of chocolates, staring at the plush room like he's had some sort of epiphany about his whole damn life; Kowalski and Stella were never going to be happy together, not if this was the life she'd always wanted. They were two kids from two different backgrounds and maybe love really can't conquer all, because it sure as hell didn't conquer class differences and money issues.
But Fraser didn't care about class. He didn't care about money. He didn't even care if Ray put smarties in his coffee or covered an entire meal in ketchup or preferred cheap pizza from fine dining. Maybe Ray should start trying to find himself a Fraser with tits, rather than constantly aiming for women who wanted what he couldn't give them.]
Nah, it's kinda hokey. They just charge the big bucks for somethin' that tastes like watered down, cheap wine with a bit o'fizz.
[Stella would probably hate him for that opinion too, but hell, he's more of a beer and whiskey kind of guy. Champagne was beyond his level of reasoning, even if he was all for drinking it on special occasions.
While Fraser settles himself onto the bed- vaguely surprising Ray in the process because of their invasion into the room... maybe it's an Inuit thing, like the 'what's mine is yours' sharing amongst tribes- Ray grabs for the champagne bottle, the two flutes, and the chocolate box, dripping water behind him as he shifts over to the bed and drops onto the edge heavily.]
So, what you gonna carve?
[The box is opened and shoved towards Fraser, a finger briefly jabbing towards the nut based chocolates before he turns his attention to the champagne. The flutes are set aside on the covers, the glass clinking as they roll together, giving Kowalski both hands free to twist off the foil covering, the wire bracket, and then carefully ease off the cork, clutching it in the palm of his hand to avoid it flying.
It opens with a satisfying pop and thankful lack of bubbles spilling forth, instead merely offering that brief show of 'smoke' that curls from the bottle. He pauses long enough to sniff at it and then, apparently satisfied (although totally clueless), he settles the flutes between his legs for balance and pours them a glass each, offering one out to Fraser.]
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By the time he'd finished, Ray was ready with the flute of champagne, which he accepted, bringing it to his lips only briefly and getting bubbles up his nose for his effort. They made his eyes water. ]
Well as you know, Ray, a master carver must allow the wood to speak to him. Each piece of lumber has its own story to tell, and the shape that emerges from it is unique to that spirit alone. [ He ran the thumb of his other hand down the smooth arch that he'd already carved into this piece, and lowered his voice just a little as though keeping a secret. ] Well you can imagine my great surprise, Ray, when I found out what this piece of wood wanted to be, but then I suppose a wooden phallus is wholly appropriate given that this is a wedding.
[ Benton Fraser was carving the Vecchios a wooden dick. Although it had to be said that it was doubtful he'd planned to do that all along. The rum and vodka he'd drunk earlier probably had their part to play, after all. He took a firm sip of his champagne, which was - just as Ray had told him it was - just fancy wine with bubbles in, and then carefully tucked the glass into the crook of his knee while he went back to work, carving in excruciating detail.
And there was nothing even remotely renaissance Italian about his design. This was no minute, rumpled scrotum a la David. It was the full length of the piece of wood, arched ever so slightly to the left with the grain, and Fraser even made the effort to work in the veinwork, like the attention to detail was a matter of personal pride. He stopped halfway through to take another mouthful of champagne, only to realize a second mouthful left the glass empty, and he gestured it up toward Ray. ]
Another glass, if you would. [ A thoughtful hesitation. ] Do you think they'll be able to tell what it is?
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You are carvin' a giant dong. Haha. See that's what I'm talkin' about. These weddin' gifts, they're always like uh, toasters and plates and y'know, borin' stuff. It's all the same. But a huge wooden dick? That's somethin' they'll remember. I mean they'll look back on their weddin' day like 'Hey, that toaster sure was a piece of crap, but wow, that giant dong is still standin' tall right there in the centre of a ridiculously ornate mantle piece.' I mean that's somethin' they'll really appreciate, Fraser.
[And the true beauty of it is that Fraser will get away with it. He's the only guy Ray knows who can innocently hand over a massive, intricately carved cock and make it sound like it's the most thoughtful, considerate and well made gift. If he spins some tale of Inuits into it, he won't even be questioned on it. Ray's got to hand it to the Mountie, he's a genius.
Still amused, he watches the work being done, distantly reminded of those nights long ago when the two of them were sat up by a fire or curled up in a tent and Fraser would set about with his tools. It felt like a world away, but right now, with the two of them side by side, Ray could almost feel the familiarity creeping back. this is what he missed. Just him and his partner and plenty of time to themselves to do as they wished.
He finished off his champagne with a smile, nodding as Fraser prompts him for a refill and obliging as he reaches out with the bottle.]
Pretty sure they'll know, buddy. Last glass for you, yeah? You still got a speech to do before the night is through.
[Even Ray was starting to feel the warming thrum of alcohol in his system, which is what he's going to blame for suddenly blurting out as an after thought:]
I miss this.
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Ray would get a kick out of it, but it was for the Ray beside him - grinning with delight once he realised what Fraser was working on - that he really did it. He knew Ray Kowalski appreciated it when he was cheeky or a little bit unkind, knew his friend caught on to his smug Canadian humor that let people in on their failings without giving away his own feelings of superiority. Ray saw through him, even played dumb sometimes to set Fraser up for the joke, and that repartee was one of the things he treasured most about his relationship with the man.
Few people, even in Canada, in the life before he really came alive, had ever really understood him. He was the oddball, the outcast. Unsurprisingly, really. His colleagues in Canada had always seen him outmaneuvering them in the field, and considered him an overachiever and a threat. His bosses had considered him to be an expensive pain in the ass, but they'd still known the language well enough to know when Fraser was rubbing their noses in their own ignorance. The thing about Welsh was he didn't care that Fraser was smarter than he was; nor was Fraser his responsibility, per se. And besides which Fraser had very quickly come to respect him--maybe because Welsh's motives weren't in regard to how to get rid of him again as soon as possible. Welsh was a shrewd, intelligent and worldly man; perhaps not the kind of bookish intelligence that people respected, but smart, and Fraser appreciated the way that he played it as though he were anything but: make the enemy underestimate you.
Ray was the same. Cleverer than he admitted; sharp and shrewd and streetsmart. Fraser felt a warm rise of that same love from before swelling inside of him - or maybe it was the booze - but this wedding situation just seemed to be underlining that over and over again: his partner was a fantastic man and he loved him.
Fraser glanced back up at the words, saw them for what they were, and then quickly turned his attention back to the wood, pretending he hadn't looked long enough to really see. His voice took on an absent note, an 'I'm so busy carving wood I'm not really paying attention' note, and he said: ]
Drinking champagne?
[ He knew it was an accident, that it had come out without Ray thinking about it, but it warmed him through. Ray missed this. Missed the long nights by the campfire watching Fraser work, missed them telling stories and just talking and sometimes not talking, and the cold nights cuddled up in the dark to keep the chill out. Missed the misery and the frostbite and the days where the snowdrift was so thick and soft that it took them a whole day just to walk a half mile. Ray missed it too, and Fraser coveted that information while at the same time giving Ray an out if the conversation was too serious a topic to take on right now.
He finished work on the base, carving BF into the corner, and then leaned forward to put it on the countertop beside the ice bucket. Then he picked up his glass of champagne and took little sips, humming thoughtfully. Not bad. ]
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Fraser was misbehaving- that's what all this breaking into suites and carving wooden dicks was about- and Ray couldn't help but feel a deep appreciation for it. It's not exactly a rarity, not since Kowalski's been around anyway, but he feels like he's one of the only ones who ever actually understands what he's seeing. Ray was that guy, that guy who stood in a room full of people and was the only one laughing to himself as Fraser says something so ridiculously smug and yet so overly polite that no one else knows what's going on. Ray's that one in a thousand that hears Fraser talk about wolf packs or caribou herds or Inuit tales or weird ass Canadian laws to his superior and hears 'dear sir, you're a fucking moron' underneath all the civility and faux-respect. He gets Fraser. He likes to think he gets Fraser more than anyone else out there. And he's pretty certain Fraser gets him too, that the Canadian understands the random rants and the bursts of anger and all the times he's played it dumb for the sake of luring people into a false sense of security. While Fraser always played it straight and smart, Kowalski played it loose and dumb. If that didn't confuse crooks, then nothing would.]
Yeah. [He eventually agrees, half-hearted and just starting to let that amusement fade as he stares thoughtfully at that wooden carving. What a thing to stare at, but it's oddly calming to watch while his mind drifts like snow from one memory to the next. They were memories he'd never forget. Even the ones of pain, annoyance and negativity still settling warmly into the recesses of his thoughts because of Fraser. Fraser was there even at the hardest times, dealing with Ray's outbursts and sulking and everything in between, and that's more than can be said for everyone else in Ray's life. Even Stella cleared out the second his temper flared.]
Nah. Not champagne.
[What were feels? They're so hard to understand or express.]
I mean this. You and me and uh- [Wooden dicks? No. That's not right. Although it does keep springing to mind the second he looks back at it.] -the uh. The adventures. And not adventures. I mean just us against the world, y'know? I guess I uh. Heh.
[One day he might learn to speak English. One day. Deep breath.]
I just. You didn't have to do this today, Fraser. You coulda spent that time with Vecchio, done all the photos and gone on to the reception and do your dumb speech without ever looking back my way. But you didn't. You come up here and carve huge dicks and drink champagne that ain't even yours. I appreciate it. Like. Really. I do. You're the only guy that's been there for me through it all, through thick and thin. And yeah we have our fallin' outs and sure I mighta wanted to sock you more times than I ever got to, but you still stick around. I guess I look around here and all I see is a life I never wanted, and I guess maybe it's a good thing that me and Stella didn't stick it out, because then I think of Franklin and Canada and I think 'hey, that life wasn't so bad. Maybe you had somethin' there, Kowalski.'
[He's not even sure what point he's trying to make, like his mouth is running faster than his thoughts are, but he kind of likes where it's going.]
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So Fraser bore it out, and maybe Ray could have been more eloquent, but then he would have been less honest. It poured out of him like treacle, an unstoppable force; once it started only an abrupt halt would stop it from oozing, and Fraser wasn't ready with anything like that. Slap him or kiss him, those were basically his only options if he wanted to stop Ray now.
Which he absolutely didn't. Ray didn't do feelings well. It took a lot for him to pour out anything (and he occasionally did it to strangers, convicts and people he'd known for only a week, but to be fair that had been building up in him for almost three decades, so it ought to be excused) remotely resembling genuine emotions, let alone give way to them like this. He concealed like a pro, hid misery behind the brightest of smiles, fear behind anger, and anger behind fear. Besides which he was talking about his feelings for Fraser, how much he appreciated him, things that Fraser could only guess at from the tiny smiles and glances his way and warm hugs that he'd earned over the years. It helped that Ray Kowalski was a touchy person--Fraser liked to be touched.
He liked to touch back. He touched back now, finished folding his tools and laid his hand on Ray's knee, and suddenly he was staring at him, caught on the summit of the moment as Ray's wandering thoughts wandered him over the edge - that edge - and Fraser came after him too quick and tumbled down the mountainside to his death.
To his death. Because Ray was saying what he'd been thinking since their talk about going on an adventure again outside. He hadn't meant 'get lost in Canada and never come back', and yet--could he dare to think that maybe Ray had already agreed to doing just that?
He squeezed briefly, and that was his trigger to start breathing again, because he needed to breathe in order to be able to talk. ]
That's what partners are for. [ He said. And really he meant to only say that, but the booze was working against him now, just as it was for Ray, and he had options. He could ask, because Ray had left it open for him to ask, and he shifted on the bed slightly, shifted until his knee bumped Ray's thigh and he was looking up at him a little more squarely. ]
Is that what you want, Ray? To... [ He licked his lips again, anxious, but he couldn't make himself look away. ] --To come back... Would you like to come back to Canada with me?
[ Oh he was rolling down that cliff face alright, and it was Ray who would decide whether what his bruised body found at the bottom were jagged rocks or a cushion of bottomless snow. Snow snow snow let it be snow. Ray didn't have to love him, Fraser had never needed that, but if he would only come...they could leave this city and its death and its memories of Stella far behind. It could be like life was a perpetual adventure. And he'd be home. Home not Canada, but home with the person who made it home. That was all he'd ever wanted. ]
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Maybe he said good stuff though. He thinks he said good stuff because Fraser is right there with him, looking on in anticipation and Ray suddenly notices the hand on his knee and he can't help but feel just slightly encouraged by it all. Benton's still there. He's always there, and Ray thinks even if he'd just said the dumbest shit ever, the Mountie would still be sitting beside him, because that's what partners are for.
And he agrees, nodding vaguely about it all even as Fraser continues. And then there's mentions of coming back and Canada and he suddenly realises that maybe that's pretty much what he was suggesting after all but... but that's a big commitment. A big commitment that sounds pretty damn appealing but it could be the alcohol talking, or it could be the wedding talking. Weddings do crazy things to the mind. There's a reason why they say picking chicks up at weddings is so damn easy. People get lonely and broody and desperate for some sort of partner of their own.
Ray already had a partner. Fraser was a damn good partner. He wasn't that sort of partner, sure, but he was beside Ray every step of the way and Kowalski would happily spend the rest of his life with one of the most infuriating guys he'd ever met.
He does hesitate again, but it's only brief, a quick drop of his gaze as he actually thinks for a second.]
I'd go back. Sure. I mean... it's no Chicago, but, but it's home for you, yeah? You and me could totally make it work. We can make anything work. I just. That's your thing. You don't need some city boy following you around all the time. I get that. I understand if that's how it goes.
[Because surely Fraser doesn't want a whiny American trailing after him again, making everything more difficult, putting his life in danger because of inexperience. And in his own little way Ray's just trying to say he'd hate to impose, which is pretty damn Canadian of him. He wants Fraser to be happy, and if that means letting the Canadian loose in the wild, then maybe that's the way it has to be.]
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He licked his lips again, then ducked his head forward, finding Ray's gaze, because his partner was no longer looking at him any more. Maybe he was afraid, or ashamed, Fraser didn't know, but it seemed to him that Ray was like the child who wanted to go to Disneyworld who'd said their piece and was now pretending that it was less of a big deal than he was making out for it to be.
But it was a big deal. It was everything Fraser had wanted since they'd slept on that cliffside together. Which was insane, because Ray had almost died, but...but it had somehow felt right. Survival and fear and them against the world. That was what he wanted. It was the only way to live. And yes, it was possible to have that in Chicago, but...but Ray loved it too. Ray loved climbing mountains, and Ray loved coming back down them again. He loved the dogsled, which was like driving a car with thirty two wheels, and he loved the snowmobile, which was like a motorbike that occasionally went sidewards.
Ray loved the north, with all its lifethreatening horrors. He loved it because of them, or despite them, Fraser didn't know, and maybe that was what drew Fraser to Ray himself--love me, love my wilderness.
He raised his hand from Ray's knee, but only to pat it once, holding it down again. ]
If Chicago can make a city boy out of me, Ray, I think we can make a survivor out of you. Besides, I personally think you've already shown a great deal of promise. For one thing you don't need my help to get in and out of your snowsuit, and you can drive the dogsled entirely on your own.
[ He ducked back slowly, shot down the rest of his champagne and climbed up off the bed, reaching out for Ray's hand. He was feeling warm all the way through. Warm and happy, on top of the world in fact. This was what he wanted. Ray was going to come back to Canada with him, and all he'd wanted was Fraser's confirmation that it really was okay. It was. It so was.
Ray was coming back with him. He couldn't look happier if two meters of snow shut down central Chicago. ]
Come on, let's get down to the party. I feel like celebrating. Maybe even dancing.
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And here Fraser was, willing to let Ray back into that private little world where the two of them existed together. Just them and the dogs and a whole lot of wilderness.
Dancin'? I'm gettin' the first dance, buddy. See what rhythm you really got.
[The sheer mention of dancing has him taking that offered hand and pulling himself to his feet with Fraser's aid, pausing long enough to spare a glance back at that wooden carving, the half eaten box of chocolates, discarded flutes and half used champagne. The two of them made their mark on the place without Ray ever having to pee on the bed, and he supposes that's quite the achievement. The Vecchio's could always order more chocolates and more champagne if they needed it, and still got away with their sheets in good shape other than ruffled thanks to a certain Mountie and cop sat on the bed.]
Guess it's the end of an era.
[No more Ray Vecchio. No more Stella. After tonight he doubt it'd be long before they start making their plans to move. They had no reason to stick around, just like Ray and Fraser had no reason to. Let that happy couple have Florida, Kowalski was going to get trees and mountains and caribou and whatever else the North had to offer.]
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Yes, it was the end of an era, he agreed, but it was the start of a new one. He was a little too drunk to be able to pin down any details, but the excitement was buzzing in him already. No more Chicago. He'd go back, and he'd take the only thing about Chicago that really mattered with him. The only thing in his life that really mattered any more. Ray--Ray, Ray, Ray. His Ray. Not Stella's; no longer Stella's, who had another Ray for her own.
God, it sounded pathetic, but he'd follow this man around like a lost puppy. North, East, West or South, he'd go where Ray went.
His hand was warm in Ray's, and at last he realised he was still holding it - for the second time that day - and he squeezed his partner's fingers briefly. It was a solid anchor even if it felt like bizarre unreality. Standing in this hotel room holding Ray's hand and dreaming of Canada.
Wait, though. See what rhythm he's got? ]
Oh Ray--oh, I don't know. [ He pulled his hand away reticently. ] I can dance but I'm not--I mean, you and Stella. You dance beautifully, Ray. I can't possibly compete with that.
[ He bit his lip, then reached for Ray's elbow. ]
But maybe you could teach me. It isn't as though you'll have a great choice of dance partners in the Territories, and a man has needs.
[ Oh. That wasn't what he'd meant to say. He ducked his chin again quickly. Cut and run, get down where there were people and he couldn't embarrass himself any more--that sounded like a plan. ] Shall we? [ It was already a riot of noise downstairs. The sound of music had begun to drift up through the garden, and there was a sudden burst of a wedding song chorus in Italian that Fraser didn't recognise. People were settling in, and the chink of glasses rang underneath everything else. He set off for the door. ]
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That grip does loosen though, Fraser pulling back at the mention of the two of them dancing, and Kowalski gets that it's not a rejection, especially not when the request for lessons comes in. And... A man has needs. Heh. No kidding. Ray knew all about those needs when he was shivering away in the middle of no where, but Benton didn't mean those kind of needs, especially not judging by his fairly swift exit.
Of course Ray followed closely, walking alongside and still two steps behind in the conversation because dancing.]
Not sure if you noticed, Frase, but Stella's gonna be dancin' with someone else tonight. You got no one you need to compete with. Clean slate. I'm all outta dance partners and there's no way you're gonna try sneakin' off with someone else to get a dance in and leave me sittin' like a chump by myself.
[The chorus drifting through the air doesn't spook Stanley any more, doesn't have him thinking of how much he wants to punch Vecchio. Maybe it's the alcohol finally sinking in, but he's finally okay with seeing the festivities, of awkwardly acknowledging Stella's family, of random arguments with Fran and pinched cheeks from Mrs. Vecchio. He knows both families and knows just how to deal with them. If he just kept his head down, avoided Stella and spent the rest of the day considering this a simple reunion, then he might just survive when Fraser's not by his side.]
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He stopped Ray behind the door to the ballroom, stopped him with his hand against his chest and stared at him quietly, trying to get the measure of him. This wasn't like Ray at all.
Although Fraser, of course, had no problems with dancing with a man at the wedding, he could never have imagined that Ray would consider it. He was an American. He was a man. He was straight. He was a cop. Fraser expected he'd be afraid of how people might perceive him, or that he would be overwhelmed with the far more pressing need to dance with all the pretty young unattached women at the event.
He wasn't unhappy that Ray wanted to do it, not at all. In fact it was enough to fill him with joy, the idea of dancing with Ray for the rest of the day, perhaps being his dance partner for the rest of forever, snubbing all those pretty girls and keeping the most handsome man on the dancefloor to himself--it was satisfying in a way he couldn't reconcile.
Fraser looked at Ray and tried to work out whether it was really what he wanted, but he was coming to Canada with him, wasn't he? If he wasn't comfortable dancing with Fraser...
He exhaled slowly, then dropped his hand from Ray's chest down to his hip, moved the other up to his shoulder, shifted his waist in until they were almost hip to hip. He was three inches shorter than Ray, and it was noticeable like this, tucked in against his chest, his chin near Ray's left shoulder as he tilted his face up to continue staring at him.
Because maybe he needed to know for sure that Ray wanted it. He needed to know before they stepped onto the dancefloor together and didn't know how to do it. He needed...he needed to know that Ray meant it. He bit his own bottom lip, trying to force his shoulders to relax. Ray would have to lead--Fraser wanted him to lead. So he, in turn, would have to learn to relax and give up his control, something that wouldn't be easy for him to do. ]
You and me, Ray. Partners, in front of all those people. Dance partners. [ Did he mean 'dance'? ] It's--it's okay with me, Ray. If...if it's okay with you. Just dancing with me. Only me. Because Ray, we're going to be dancing with each other for a very long time.
[ This felt right. It felt more than right. Except for the fact that up close like this he found he wanted more than ever to lean into Ray and kiss him. Not a good sign. Not if they were going to be doing a lot of dancing from now on. Maybe...maybe the instinct would be less strong if he was sober. He just had to sober himself up, and stay that way forever. And ever. ]
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Ray's gaze flickers from the hand at his chest back to Fraser, curious but waiting, knowing there'll be something done or said to follow because he knows that look, even if he doesn't always see it.
As Fraser eases himself closer, Ray doesn't move, still watching his friend silently as he slots into position against him, and suddenly this feels like a whole lot more than just dancing. Maybe Benton's just drunk. It's not unlike the Mountie to forget about personal space, after all. Maybe Ray's just drunk too, but he still feels far too lucid for that, even as he lets muscle memory take over and starts carefully rearranging himself and Fraser. His own hands shift with ease, coiling an arm around the upper part of Benton's waist while the other shifts downwards just long enough to scoop up and hold his partner's hand that had settled at his hip. He was going to lead, Fraser would just have to take up the woman's part without complaint.
And then he stood there, set into the typical ballroom stance as he stared straight back at the Mountie and slowly let the words absorb into him. Partners. Dance partners. Just dancing with me. Only me.]
You sure this is just about dancin', Fraser?
[Because distantly he's starting to wonder whether either of them are talking about dancing any more, even as he follows up his words with a lazy hum in the tune of a waltz, easing into a simple box step.]
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