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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Ray doesn't even pay attention to the crowd, not even as they stop on cue from the sharp ding of the tuning fork. Instead he keeps his eyes on Fraser, glass in hand and waiting for the inevitable speech, slinking back just slightly to keep out of the spotlight that is Benton's rambling. He smiles and nods as Fraser looks back, a quiet approval. You got this, buddy. I'll be right here.
It starts off well. Hardly surprising considering Fraser's ability for public speaking. Ray doesn't even mind the reference back to himself, inclining his head and raising his glass just slightly as he's referred to as 'some bizarre and unhinged friend'. Stella would like that, no doubt, as would plenty of her family, and Ray isn't going to take offence to such a truth. The attention quickly drifts way from him again anyway once Fraser continues, rambling about the expected best friend speeches, work antics, possible Inuit stories and even about the bride's beauty and well wishes.
But there's one phrase in all that which suddenly sets Ray on edge; But she's also as blind as a bat.
His wine glass slowly lowers to his side, features flickering to something of very mild suspicion because oh God he hopes that doesn't mean what he thinks it means. And yet Fraser continues. He continues and totally ignores the eyes narrowed in warning that are glaring at the back of his head from Ray.
By the time the threat comes, Ray's glare has shifted to a look of distant horror, thankfully hidden behind his hand that's now covering his face, but still peeking out between his fingers like he can't quite look away. This is a train wreck. A beautiful but hideous train wreck that should have been stopped but no one is quite sure how or why. Not even Kowalski steps in to interrupt his friend even as Benton talks of dances and sleeping bags and-- oh God. No, no, no, no. Who thought letting the Mountie of truth speak at a wedding was a good idea? It was an awful idea. No one should tell the truth at weddings.
There's still a sense of lingering confusion from the crowd even as everyone raises their glasses (except Stanley, he's too busy facepalming still), and as Fraser turns back around, that hand of Ray's is dragging slowly, painfully down his face until it drops uselessly to his side, head shaking minutely.]
That uh. Wow. That uh, sure was somethin', Fraser. My guess is the happy couple won't forget that one in a hurry.
[Eyebrows lifted even as he turns away, his head gesture suggesting Fraser should do the same so he can try to lead them somewhere where Fraser won't be pounced on by family or friends or people trying to get his attention. Ray can't help but add, in a mumbled whisper;]
What was that, Fraser?
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Ray looks unhappy. He looks like he's in pain, even, and Fraser works his mouth uncertainly, following the head gesture with his usual clipped obedience, his expression falling. That's Ray's 'come on to the men's room with me we have to discuss something' headjerk, he'd know it anywhere. He drops his chin toward his chest, already clearly chastised.
They wind their way back through the room. There's a relatively empty corner behind the wedding cake, which won't be cut for at least an hour yet; it's a simple affair, white and more white, tiered and frosted with a little Armani-clad bridegroom and bride on top (the bridegroom had a hat on, presumably to hide his balding head.) The music resumed as they slid away, picking up into something way too fast and cheerful, as though it could dispel the disquiet that Fraser had left in the wake of his speech, or the gloom that was slowly spreading through his chest.
He put his hands into his jacket pockets, looking more like a sulking child than a grown man for his efforts. It wasn't flattering. ]
I forgot the second half of my speech. [ It seemed to take a lot for him to admit it, and he slumped slightly more, looking sullenly at the cake rather than at Ray. ] I remember it now, of course, but I had to...to drive by the seat of my pants. [ Fly, Fraser. ] I thought it sounded okay.
[ But then, he thought, maybe Ray took exception to Fraser threatening his ex-wife. He'd always been very protective of Stella, after all, and maybe she warranted protecting from Fraser, too. He scuffed his heel anxiously, kept looking anywhere but at Ray. Oh look, flowers, people, cars parked beyond the windows, a lake.
I'm sorry if I embarrassed you; those were the words he was supposed to say. What he said instead was: ]
I realise you still love her, Ray. I know you always will. I still love Victoria. I suppose it was...petty of me. [ He sighed, and looked down at the patterned linoleum tiles like they were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen in his life. I'm terrified that what they have with their gold rings and vows is more important to you than what we can have, his drunken mind provided. And his drunken mouth said: ] I--I'm jealous. Not of her and Ray, although perhaps that too, but of what the two of you had. I'm jealous and I'm angry, because how could anyone love you and not want to spend their life with you? And she could have given you that--the life you wanted, a family, children, a ring... And I--I can't.
[ Well, he got there eventually. ]
I want this so much, Ray. I want you. I know I could be happy, even, for the most part. But there would always be that something missing, for you, and... And it's wrong. I'm sorry. But that's why I said the things I did. I thought maybe I could... [ He shook his head abruptly, looked despairingly up at his partner. Lay down a claim on you. God, he was a cur. ] I'm sorry, Ray. I'm so sorry.
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He does a fairly good job of at least attempting to explain it though, even if Ray can't help but chip in with a barely there mutter of;]
Fly.
[Because Fraser corrects him all the time so of course he jumps in with corrections when he actually gets the chance. But that moment is soon forgotten as there's mention of love and feelings and God, Ray realises he sucks so poorly at this sort of discussion. So did Stella. They could never make anything work when neither of them wanted to discuss how they felt, and here's Fraser making assumptions about it all. About what they had and what could have been and marriage and kids and white picket fences.
Ray would almost be tempted to punch him were it not for why Fraser had said all of this.
Fraser wanted him. And maybe it was just the alcohol talking but the Mountie sure did seem ready to ramble about the future when the two of them had barely even begun. But maybe they had begun long ago. After all, they'd both been together (in some sense of the word) for some years. They'd shared their lives together closer than most couples ever do. And while they might have only shared a kiss together minutes before, they'd been partners for so much longer.]
Fraser...
[Ray didn't even know where to start or what to say. His friend looked far too apologetic and far too distressed for Stanley to even attempt anger, and while talking about his feelings wasn't something Ray was entirely equipped to do, he could definitely talk about Stella.]
Look, I dunno if you do things a little differently in Canada, but normally? This love and marriage and babies in the carriage talk doesn't happen on a first date. It's uh. It's just...
[He rolls his shoulders, shrugs them, gestures with his hands, shoves them back in his pockets and then pulls them back out again, shuffles his feet, cracks his neck, scratches idly at the underside of his jaw, but it's his gaze on Fraser that's the one constant in all of this.]
Me and Stella were together for over twenty years, on and off, and we still couldn't make it work. I love her, sure, but then I uh, sometimes I wonder if it's just the memory of her that I love. Y'know. Of when we were growin' up together. That Stella at the table over there isn't the same girl I knew in the seventies, and that's cool. People change. I mean, this isn't me. This-- [Distant gestures towards the entirety of the ballroom.] -- This is Stella. And maybe it's Vecchio, with all that armarni and badda bing crap, but it sure as hell ain't me. Stella wants this and Stella doesn't uh, well she doesn't do compromise too good.
Me? I do compromise. I can compromise all over this. You want Canada? I can do Canada. I can do snow and dogs and trees and sleepin' bags with the zipper down the middle. I don't need family, kids and a ring to keep me happy. I don't. And I swear I'll beat that into you if you won't believe it.
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They got right into it. Ray might not be good at talking about feelings, but he was better at getting to the point than Fraser was; he managed it with rhyme - love and marriage and babies in the carriage - rolling off his tongue like the whole phrase had emerged there fully formed. He fell into gesturing a moment later, but Fraser didn't miss the most important words among all of them.
But it wasn't a first date, was it? It wasn't even the second. They'd been at this for longer than either of them had even known each other. Fraser had been put into this relationship when he'd come back from the Territories two years ago, practically as though the two of them were already married. Ray had embraced him like an old, beloved friend, smiled into his neck - jumped in front of a bullet for him - and perhaps that night could be called their first formal date, when Fraser had proposed to take him to dinner--something that he'd always waited for Vecchio to ask him rather than the other way around.
They'd been dating ever since, it was just that neither of them had ever known it, and here he was--Ray's date to his ex-wife's wedding, or maybe Ray was his. And wasn't it always important to take only people you really cared about to weddings? Something about being seen perpetually in photographs with Ellen from Accounting, or that wino who only came for the free bar?
He'd brought Ray, and Ray had come for him. They were each other's emotional support during this impossibly difficult time, just like they'd been there for each other from the Fraser river heading west, as the wilderness grew ever more challenging, ever more lonely. They'd been there for each other for years, but to Fraser it was as though he'd known this man far longer than that. His number one in a pool of two million potentials. They clicked.
He mused while Ray gestured, and he smiled very slightly, hopefully, to show that he was getting it, that he was listening. His brow crinkled in the middle with gentle urging: You can do it.
And Ray did. Every word. And Fraser softened, the blind misery and panic beginning to ebb away as Ray told him that he was all for it, all for taking the hard with the easy, and maybe they could make it work. When had they ever backed down from a challenge because the odds were too high?
He took a bracing breath and let the silence settle--or, well, it wasn't silence because the music was still playing jauntily, at odds with the mire like mood that had settled in this particular corner. The air was pregnant with the unsaid, with swirling torrents of emotion that barely broke the surface despite their churning.
His question could almost be considered neutral, after everything that had been said. ]
Is that what this is, Ray? A first date?
[ He raised his hand to pronounce that the question wasn't done yet, trying to hold Ray back from answering. Every word was careful, weighted as though he were accounting each syllable more consideration than the last, ensuring that what he said was what he meant to say, and that what he meant to say was heard. ]
And if I may caution you to be careful with your answer? You see, in Canada it's not traditional to bed your partner on a first date--or even the second. And I--I am rather a stickler for adhering to traditions, as we've already established.
But you see, Ray, by my count, we're already running far behind our contemporaries. And frankly comments about the infrequency of rain in Death Valley would be appropriate, in regards to both my...uh--recent transgressions and your own. And if I kiss you again, right now - kiss you the way I want to - I can't promise to adhere to the established tradition. In fact, I'm rather confident I couldn't, given immediate evidence.
[ He really could be terrible sometimes. And how about this emotional rollercoaster, huh? ]
So we really should decide. In advance of our - or one of us, at least - doing anything that might be deemed-- [ He narrowed his eyes slightly. ] --otherwise inappropriate.
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Despite their fall out and arguments and Ray's apprehension about hand holding and talk of kids and whatever else, Fraser was still willing to accept him for what he was without question and without even asking him to be someone else. It's not that Stella had ever tried to change Ray, not really, but there had been times where she'd tried to 'adjust' parts of him, to try and prevent him from doing some of the activities he loved, or try and get him doing more of the things she loved. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes Ray would avoid spending hours covered in grease and oil for the sake of her, and sometimes he would pick up activities she'd wanted; that's how they first started dancing, in fact. That was Ray's willingness to compromise. But Ray couldn't change who he was. He was a constant that couldn't be shaped even after years of marriage and a long standing relationship. Ray was Ray and it took a slightly unhinged Mountie to finally be the person to understand and accept that.
Maybe that's why they worked so well. Fraser accepted who and what Ray was and Ray accepted every bit of his friend in return. He dealt with the long stories, the constant corrections, the smugness and the politeness and the stubbornness and the perfection and the-- God, Fraser really was annoying, come to think of it, but Ray loved that about him. He loved that Benton got everyone else rolling their eyes while Ray could just sit through it all with a sort of ignorance like he'd managed to build up some defence against it all, not even allowing the ridiculousness offend him. Yeah, he could safely say he liked every bit of Fraser, even when the Mountie was pissing him off.
When the question of first dates arrives, Ray's mouth opens as he goes to answer, then snaps shut again as he sees the lifted hand. Probably for the best. He hadn't even considered the answer and had no idea what he would have said.
And okay, so maybe they had been on a few dates. A lot of dates. Maybe all those times they'd sat and scoffed pizza late at night, or the times they'd gone out to diners, or enjoyed one another's company on late night stakeouts... maybe they were all dates. They certainly would have been considered so by most if Ray had been doing so with a female. You go out to dinner with a female frequently for years and people assume you're dating. Do it with a partner, especially a Mountie, and they think you're just 'good friends'. So maybe they were more than good friends. Maybe.
But first dates did had traditions and conditions and Ray really should know Fraser's going to stick to never putting on on first dates. Of course he would. And-- wait, is he insinuating he wants to put out? That they both... That's more than the mere suggestion of a kiss. And yet isn't that a natural progression?]
So maybe this is more like a hundredth date or somethin'. I mean, we already done the wining and dining enough, right? We're all good in tradition's eyes, I reckon. We can kiss whatever way we want.
[Ray can play along with the suggestive game just fine, thank you.]
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He wasn't safe when he was like this. He wasn't predictable. He was a man who broke into hotel rooms and carved wooden phalluses and drank stolen champagne. He was a man who could leap onto moving trains and destroy his friend's reputation, his life, without so much as looking over his shoulder. Fraser was the ultimate fool for love, and what he needed - more than anything - was someone in his life who would protect him from himself.
There were advantages to dating Ray, and that was just one of them. Their established relationship played its part too. They already had their rhythm, they'd established it when they weren't so close, rather than jumping straight under the bedsheets at the first opportunity. What they had were solid foundations--they were sturdy.
Wasn't that one of the last things his father had said to him? A good relationship stood on strong foundations. Well whose foundations were stronger than Ray's and his own? They'd loved, they'd lost, they'd faced each other's darkest days and overcome them, they'd fought, they'd almost drowned. They'd almost walked away, permanently. And here they were, stronger than ever. Stronger than ever and finally realising what it really meant; what it could come to mean.
Maybe even sober - maybe even without the rush of overwhelming romantic happiness that swelled in him when Ray understood what he wasn't saying and used 'kiss' and meant 'way more than kiss'--and knew Fraser would understand - maybe even then he'd have still seen it as an invitation.
He stepped forward, stepped closer to Ray and reached his hand up and touched it to his cheek, and then he was leaning in to kiss him, softly, sweetly, ignorant of the room around him almost as though they weren't standing in a suite full of people, many of them strangers but some of them colleagues, friends, former in-laws.
Fraser was past caring. All that mattered was the long minutes it had been since he'd kissed Ray the first time; that long kiss that seemed to vary in a million ways and go on forever, that kiss where he had tried everything in case it was his only opportunity to do so. Even with his lips still swollen from that earlier kiss, the moment it had ended it had been difficult to remember that it was real, hard to imagine that he didn't just dream it.
So he had to do it, and while it wasn't as intimate as the kiss before - Fraser kept a clear foot and a half between Ray's chest and his own, and he didn't exactly lavish on the attention of his tongue - it still felt flagrant for the company they were keeping.
And Fraser knew - worried really - that Ray would be mad at him for making that decision for him, nevermind that it was the second time so far he'd done it in the last ten minutes. He rolled back on his heels, beginning to drop his hand. ]
I'm sorry. [ He actually apologised this time, there was something to be said for that. ] I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. I love you, Ray. I have for a very long time. This is all so surreal.
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Perhaps that's one of the few saving graces that has Ray not moving away when he sees that kiss coming (or punching Fraser square in the jaw), staying almost comically still as his partner leans in to close that gap and only reacting when he feels lips on his. His eyes slip shut for the duration of it, head tilted just enough to show some participation, but it's limited beyond that. He doesn't know how to react and that's painfully obvious by the sheer lack of it.
There's people watching. There must be in a room so full, especially after the speech that came before, and as Fraser does pull away, Ray's darting his gaze about the room before quickly dropping it to the floor. He's not ashamed. At least he doesn't think he is. It's just... this is new to him, much too new, and the last thing he wants Fraser to think is that he doesn't want this.]
Surreal is the right word there, Fraser. That uh, that pretty much covers it. [Mumbled, although his eyes do drag back up to meet Benton's, voice still low like he doesn't want to let others in on their secret.]
Just. Just let me get some food in me and then we can cut a rug on the dance floor.
[Which he distantly realises sounds like a subject change, or perhaps evasive because yes, Ray can occasionally be perceptive, thank you very much. And that's why he's leaning in just a little closer.]
You just gotta bear with me here, Fraser. I dunno what I'm doin'. This is. This isn't a few new steps. This a whole different dance I gotta tango to. I just uh. Well. It's kinda weird having an audience when you're practisin'.
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I understand, Ray. And maybe...well I realise I asked you to stay with me, but perhaps a little breathing room wouldn't be an entirely bad idea, given the circumstances. I'm afraid I've not got much of an appetite, but--I'll join you in a moment.
[ He wasn't disappointed or upset. He'd pressed Ray somewhat further than he meant to, and his partner hadn't punched him in the jaw for it, that was a victory all of its own merit. Of course, he'd only gotten away with it because he was Benton Fraser, and he lived a charmed life. Anyone else and Ray would have hit them.
So he smiled, and gave him the room he needed--and really he ought to go and apologise to Ray and Stella, because his speech hadn't been ideal. He didn't want those to be the last words he ever said to his best friend. And okay, there'd be plenty of time to chat to Ray, it wasn't like he didn't know how to use a telephone, or was leaving for Canada tomorrow. It wasn't that bad. But it was a convenient moment none the less.
Because really it was that or give up on food and dancing right now, and Fraser was running low on the self control scale already. It'd be best if he could show off that he still had at least a little, right? Maybe give Ray the time he needed to acclimatize to the idea. That was all he needed.
He had to learn the steps, and at the end of the day so did Fraser.
So for now he just reached out and took Ray's hand, and squeezed it firmly between his own fingers before letting him go again. ]
Thank you, Ray. For practicing. Don't go anywhere without me.
[ He didn't linger any more, but stepped away, carefully avoiding Francesca who was glowering at him, and heading around the other side of the tables. Welsh was lingering there, and he gave Fraser a hard pat on the shoulder as he stood up and went over toward the buffet table for a refill. ]
I owe you an apology-- [ Began his conversation with Ray.
And over at the buffet table: About damn time Welsh was growling at Stanley, before demanding that he move over to let him get to the canolis.Damn mafia weddings, he growled. What I wouldn't do for a cheese puff. ]
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It's really quite the miracle that Ray hadn't already exploded or vibrated himself through the earth's core or snapped and kicked every single person in the room. Maybe he really was learning something about patience after all.]
Yeah. We can practice all over that dance floor. After food.
[It feels like a lifetime ago that they were sitting on that bed scoffing down pizza and Ray's stomach is acting like that estimation isn't far off. Perhaps all that crying and happiness and pure emotional fuckery really is a drain on energy, because at this moment he's barely got the energy to stand, let alone dance. Food first, then dancing for as long as they need. And maybe he'll let Fraser dance with others, but that's up for debate right now.
For now Fraser goes to make his apologies and Ray goes to fill his face, lurking near the buffet and piling up his plate with all manner of foods, although backing down the moment he sees Welsh shoulder in. Welsh is, after all, alpha male. He's the boss whether they're both clocked in or not and if he's moving in for food, Ray quite willingly steps aside for it. He even ducks his head, but that might be just as much for the sake of awkwardness and fully attempting to pretend that speech never happened.]
It's not a mafia weddin', sir. Just Italian.
[And, he thinks, if Mama Vecchio cooked even half of this stuff, he knew it was going to be good. He was hungry enough to be picking at his food where he stands, not dismissing himself from Welsh's presence out of habit. It's rude to just walk out on superiors.]
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[ But when he looked back over his shoulder to gesture at Ray Vecchio, he wasn't there, and in fact he appeared over Welsh's shoulder a moment later, a big, wide, almost malevolent grin painted on his face as he clapped Welsh on the shoulder. He responded as though he'd only heard the previous exchange, and not the more recent one, though his eyes were on Kowalski as he spoke. ]
That's right, sir, just Italian, and I'll put three bullets in the head of anyone who says otherwise, just you point them out to me.
[ How he'd slipped away from Fraser so quickly was anyone's guess, but the Mountie now seemed to be sitting beside the bride talking to her, with half a dozen women clamored in around him looking smitten. All at once they turned to look across the room at the two Rays, or maybe just at Stanley, and several of them swooned, and Fraser blushed, and then they went back to their conversation.
Ray patted Welsh on the shoulder again, and his former boss finished loading his plate with Italian pastries and ducked away. Apparently even if Stanley couldn't organize getting to the buffet through him, Ray could, though now he'd cleared the space he stood back to let Stanley have the room. It helped that going to Vegas had given him a few good lessons on what it took to be really imposing and just a little scary, and it was nice to know it worked as much on the people he'd used to work with. ]
Starting rumors like that on a guy's wedding day.
[ He snatched a Parmesan stick from the table and snapped it in half. He chewed it in earnest, since it was obvious he was trying to keep his mouth busy so that he didn't have to actually say what he'd come over to say. ]
So uh--[ He said at last. ] You alright? Cause, I don't mean to be funny but Stella and I, we thought like you looked like maybe you needed a Mountie intervention.
Just to show you there's no hard feelings, or anything. Stella's got cousins, I've got cousins, nieces, distant relatives. Between us I reckon we could sick enough of them on him that you might be able to get out of here unmolested, and maybe when he's sobered up a bit...seriously, Stanley, how did you not hit him?
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But maybe, just maybe, he might be able to get over it now that Stella's married. And the fact that he made out with Benton in the hallway. And agreed to go run off with him to Canada. Again.
While Welsh retreats, Ray picks idly at some finger food, watching Vecchio like he's half expecting hostility. Fraser's speech wasn't exactly the greatest best man speech, after all, and it might be that Kowalski gets some of the blame for it. And yet there they stand in silence for several drawn out seconds while they both chew food and stare idly until Vecchio is the one who opts to speak up.
It's almost cute that he thinks Stanley needs saving from the Mountie, and he can't help but grin just slightly at the idea of it. There's still something exceptionally tempting about allowing Fraser to get swamped by mass female family members from both sides, but no, he said he'd dance with his friend and he will.
Shoving the rest of a breadstick into his mouth, he moves that hand to scratch at the underside of his chin, offering up a shrug as he does so. No hard feelings. Sure.]
I'm fine. It's probably my fault for givin' him alcohol in the first place. [He supposes he should take some responsibility for that.]
Is uh, is Stella alright? I mean, I guess being threatened by Mounties isn't exactly what she needs on her weddin' day.
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It had nearly driven Vecchio crazy in the end. He'd been torn with the Vegas job - on the one hand, it scared the shit out of him, but on the other it was the opportunity to finally get out from under Fraser's shadow and prove he was a good cop; that he could do the job. In the end Fraser had shown up and ruined a year of work, and surprise surprise taken all the glory while Ray lay in hospital with a bullet in his chest. That was just the way his life worked out.
In some ways, Stella was the consolation prize. Though never would he ever really mean that She was no consolation; she was everything he wanted--everything he'd ever wanted. Beautiful, hard, funny, clever, well dressed, successful. She scared him a little, but he liked that. She wasn't Fraser, but god only knew Ray didn't want her to be. He had hardly been able to stand being around Fraser as his partner, he'd be insufferable to have to take home with him as well. No. He loved Fraser, but god only knew that was where it stayed.
And if Kowalski wanted that then he was crazier than Vecchio had thought. He shook his head slowly at the lack of commitment to any kind of anti-Mountie guerrilla warfare, at Stanley's almost ridiculous grin like he thought Ray was like one of those adorable kids who came up and asked why mommy was eating daddy's face. Ask a stupid question. But then the conversation was changing, and Ray was smiling back toward Stella wistfully. He only had eyes for her. ]
She figures what's a wedding without a Mountie threatening to hunt her to the grave. Besides, she owes Fraser one for today, so he gets a pass.
[ Which was what he really wanted to talk about. He raised his hand and rubbed the knuckles of his fist into his own eyebrow. ]
You know, she's real happy you came. She thought you wouldn't want to, but... I know she still loves you, I don't think she'll ever stop. She told me so this morning.
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Except... Except there's Vecchio standing there and saying she still loves Stanley and he's not sure whether to laugh or punch the guy in the face. Or maybe find a corner to cry in for the next few hours.
Stella still loved him. God, he'd waited to hear that for years and yet now it was a virtually useless piece of information. Knowing it changed nothing. He loved her and she loved him but they both knew that it'd never worked. They'd try to make it work for twenty-odd years and if they couldn't do it then, then what difference would a few more years do? Today had already made him realise that he could never give her what she wanted, that his life of dirty streets, greasy engines and love for kicking things was never going to meet her Gold Coast Girl standards. He's spent his whole childhood lying to impress her and he just couldn't keep that charade up forever. Vecchio, though? Vecchio was classy, he liked expensive things and knew how to treat a women right, and as much as Stanley might hate to admit it, Vecchio was a good guy. Maybe, just maybe, he was the better choice after all.]
Don't.
[A single word, sharp to his ears as he finally dares to look towards Stella, lingering there for only a second before his attention switches to Fraser. Benton Fraser, the one person who'd stood by him through thick and thin. The one person who could deal with every bit of him. The one person he didn't have to lie to to impress, where he could be himself no matter. Maybe he wasn't such a bad choice after all, handsome as he was in that casual get up, blushing as he's surrounded by swooning women (nice try, ladies, but you've got no chance), and looking far too humbled by everything around him.
It's that sight of Fraser, not Stella, that finally gets Ray smiling again as he looks back to Vecchio, shrugging a single shoulder lop-sidedly.]
Guess I only came out of curiosity. And maybe to keep a certain Mountie in line- although I sure as hell failed at that. But uh. He's right, y'know. What he said. Maybe not about huntin' Stella to her grave, but about me and him going off back to Canada. And uh. Maybe some of the other stuff.
He's gonna miss you. More than you think.
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Wow.
He blinked a little harder, then again, caught staring at Stanley as he got out that last bit about Fraser missing him, and honestly for a second it was Ray himself who considered punching the other guy in the face on his wedding day because Christ, what a thing to say.
It was revenge, he realised. Revenge for taking Stella away, revenge for letting Stanley know that she still cared for him. He was taking Fraser away, and now Stanley was going to tell him just how much that was going to hurt.
It was going to hurt. More than it was already sort of hurting. He hadn't been Fraser's partner for almost two years now, but he still missed it, and he'd miss it more when he couldn't even drop in at the Consulate and see the guy. They'd be thousands of miles away from each other, lucky to ever see each other again - maybe for the rest of their lives. Yes, damn it, he was going to miss Fraser. More than Stella was going to miss Ray, that was for sure. He felt a little bit sick.
Nice move, Kowalski. Real slick. ]
I know. [ He said at last. He sounded as sad as he felt. ] I'm gonna miss him too. [ His finger and thumb pressed into the bridge of his nose. He wasn't going to cry. That was idiotic. ] You uh... Maybe you ought to save him, huh? That girl hovering behind Stella is my second cousin Elouise. She's a maneater. I mean--she gets her hands on him and it's all over.
[ Whether or not that was true really didn't matter. He just didn't want Stanley to see him so upset. ]
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The tone is obvious enough, sad, maybe slightly regretful, and Stanley's oddly glad to hear it because it means Vecchio still has a fucking heart in there somewhere. It's tempting to push it further, to step away from Stella and her love and instead speak of the Mountie's ridiculous infatuations, but this is Ray's wedding day and even Stanley can't quite bring himself to be that much of a dick.
And so he takes he cue given, gaze still over at Benton as he hears the tale spun about this man eating cousin and nods dutifully along to it.]
I guess I should rescue him before she gets her hands on him, then.
[Because he didn't want to see Ray cry any more than Ray wanted to cry in front of him. It's just not what guys like them did. The plate in his hand gets placed aside and he realises he's barely had a chance to eat, but he's not so sure he's got any appetite left anyway. Vecchio did a damn good job of getting rid of that, and between him and the urge to run off with Fraser, Stanley's got his mind on other things now. Food could come later when he's not being watched by hundreds of eyes and having to tread carefully at his ex's wedding.]
Maybe we'll see you later, yeah?
[We. Plural. Fraser was part of that now and he sure as hell wants to be sure Fraser gets to say his proper goodbyes, even if the Mountie might try and avoid it. And so with that he's twisting away towards the lengthy table, off towards Benton and Stella and a handful of giggling women. Off to rescue his Mountie friend from the evil clutches of made up maneaters and his ex wife.]
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Sure enough, Stella had started pointing out all the other eligible young women around the room, much to Francesca's annoyance, beckoning the occasional one over. Soon enough he'd drawn a crowd, and Fraser had found himself squirming in the seat, eager to flee.
One of Stella's cousins had seemed appalled - and obviously she hadn't been paying any attention during the speech or the subsequent snogging - to discover that there was purportedly no-one special in Fraser's life already. To which he'd decided to take a stand and pointed out that in fact there was, and that he and Ray were in fact very serious about each other thank you very much. He'd made it sound like more than it was: "He loves me, and I him," in an effort to permanently dissuade them, but found himself blushing at the lie as he looked up, finding both Rays looking over toward him at the same time. Oh, he hoped Stanley would forgive him.
He just wished he could hear what they were talking about, but with the women clamoring and swooning at him it was almost impossible to hear. He made out the word Stella, though; Ray's mouth shaped the name a certain way.
Still, it seemed even blatant declarations of love didn't cut it with this crowd. Maybe it was a Vecchio family thing, but one of his cousins had managed to wind an arm around his and was trying to urge him to come and dance with her. This, Fraser knew, was the beginning of a slippery slope, and he had no desire to be thrown around like some Amazonian sacrifice. Surprisingly it wasn't Stanley who saved him but Francesca, who snapped out of her bad mood at the last second and smacked Elouise's hand off him. ]
Get it through your head, genius. He's gay. If he's going to dance with anyone it's going to be Mr. Kowalski.
[ She said it overloud, and Fraser grimaced, and Stella suddenly burst out laughing and had to grab hold of a bridesmaid to keep herself upright in her chair--how was this her wedding? And Fraser, spotting his escape, excused himself quickly, attaching himself to Mr. Kowalski's arm. ]
I'm sorry, Ray, [ He said, quickly. ] I appear to have done irreparable damage to our reputation. Well--to your reputation, mostly.
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It never stopped being funny, seeing his friend blushing at the hands of over eager women, and he can't even feel jealous about it when he's fairly certain he'll still get Benton at the end of it all. Which was actually an exceptionally weird thought to cross his mind, he realises, because only a few hours ago he would have been encouraging Fraser to try and dance with a few of those girls and, perhaps a little jealously, encourage him to take one of them to bed, just this once, for the sake of the wedding. Not that he's sure Fraser would have done, but he'd have tried anyway, and undoubtedly try to bag one for himself in the vague hope of a night of attachment free sex for the first time in many, many months.
There'd have been no point in him trying to find a potential girlfriend here, no in a wedding where everyone knows either Stella or Ray. There'd be too much connection if the relationship started going south, too many questions and too many complications. No, all he'd had sought in this wedding was a one night stand that he could slip away from the next day.
He doesn't catch everything Frannie says, what with the music and being distracted by his own thoughts, but he's pretty sure he drifts back into the conversation in time to hear something that might be gay and was that his name at the end of it all? He really hopes there's not going to be too much discussion about all this.
At least Fraser knows when to escape. He's quite the pro at running from forward women, and Ray's there ready to defend his buddy if need be. Or... just take his arm. He guesses he can manage that, even if he is briefly flicking his gaze down to the grip.]
Doubt you can kick it much lower than it already is, Fraser. You're not spreadin' rumour about me, are ya?
[And that might be a joke, considering Fraser's recent speech about the two of them to the whole fucking room.]
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Not at all. At least not intentionally. I don't know.
[ It wasn't really like Fraser to not be able to construct his thoughts without contradicting himself so blatantly, and yet he was still clearly recovering from being flustered. It tended to wear off a lot faster recently than it once had, but today was different for a variety of reasons: it was a wedding, he was still ruffled from kissing Ray, and Francesca - Francesca had called him gay. Why did that embarrass him? It wasn't like it was even true. He'd even offered to take her for coffee once, to make a genuine effort, and there was Victoria, and...and there had been other women.
Ray really was the exception. Which meant that by law of mean he was definitely heterosexual...
Why was he trying to escape it? For Ray's sake, maybe? He didn't want them to be pinned down like that, labeled, judged. No--he didn't want Ray to be any of those things, as though it might scare him off to have people talking about him behind his back. Fraser could care less what other people thought of him, and while Ray had said much the same thing not half an hour ago, this was real life, not just a reassurance promised in regard to Canadian flights of fancy.
He was afraid that it might hurt him, that the blow to his reputation really had stung, and so the joke had fallen flat, knocking him off his own footing.
With a very visible full body twitch he came out of his thoughtful melancholy, the burn of blush taking a little longer to subside, and he raised his eyes to Ray's. There was some desperation showing there, a hint of the continued embarrassment he was trying to smother. ]
Are you done eating?
[ As if the answer wasn't obvious. The real question was whether or not Fraser wanted to skip the dancing and get out of there before he accidentally made the situation any worse than it already was. There were still some people in that room who hadn't witnessed the bride's ex-husband getting publicly intimate with a drunk Mountie.
Or maybe it was too late. ]
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Perhaps it's his own fault somehow. Perhaps Fraser was having second thoughts- although that doesn't coincide with the clinging against Ray currently going on. No, he's pretty sure they're still okay for this. Maybe. he hopes so after the public declaration, because he's going to feel really fucking stupid in the morning if this was just some drunken fancy. At least they could both blame it on the alcohol and never speak of it again.]
Mm-hmm, all done.
[Which was somewhat of a lie, granted. He'd never really started eating in the first place, but he was done for now. Probably only to order yet more pizza at a ridiculous time of the night. Dief would be happy with that, at least, and Fraser could do with eating some more after all that alcohol.]
Hey, uh, you okay, buddy? You look a little... [Something. He's not sure. Flustered, maybe. A quick, sweeping glance of his partner, using the opportunity to wriggle his arm free and slap it across Fraser's back again in a much more familiar position.
He didn't lead them away, didn't even lead them anywhere private. He was quite happy to stay in the crowds of wedding attendees with his good friend and partner. Actual partner, maybe, not even just his working partner. And isn't that a weird thought? Unless Fraser wasn't okay with it, in which case Ray could deal with that. He's used to rejection, after all. Used to hearing one thing and then having them do another, just like Stella had done. She'd loved him and left him, actions contradicting words. Ray was too simple to understand that, but he could accept it.]
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They'd find food, and Fraser would even eat it. He'd matched up his diet with Ray Vecchio's years ago and it had stuck. Even Kowalski's weird insistence that he cover it with citrus fruit didn't so much as register as a blip. If anything, the idea of eating pizza that wasn't sugary sweet felt unusual to him now--that was just how much they'd both had to adapt to each other.
He was afraid Ray would change his mind. He was afraid he might want to and not say for fear of upsetting the apple cart that they'd so carefully propped up between them. Fraser was terrified that one of them would see sense and call the whole thing off, and as the moments stretched out he became even more certain it might be him; that he might take it all back so that Ray didn't inevitably have to, laugh it off awkwardly.
But Ray wasn't leading him out of the room, wasn't trying to escape being seen with him, even though Fraser had humiliated him several times over. Ray was dropping an arm across his shoulder and hovering in the crowd with him, and when he looked back up and saw just a hint of worry in his eyes - as game as Ray was trying to be - he found himself smiling. That was a feeling he recognized. Ray was giving him all he could, even though he found it all a little strange. It was like back on the ship, surrounded by sailors with no idea how he was supposed to behave, pressed in by their suspicion. Ray had been game then too; there had been something hard and steely concealing his concern, but also hope, and a certain kind of...sadness. Sad hope. Like he'd get over it if it all went wrong; if in the end they both took their transfers and left, he'd endure it somehow. God, he'd worn that look most of the way through that case.
And just like that his smile broke into a laugh, then a shake of his head - and oh look, a sailing ship covered in Mounties - how ridiculous was their life? ]
I'm fine, Ray. Really, really. [ Apart from the spontaneous chortling. He raised his hand to his face, rubbing across it, then shook it off abruptly, his eyes suddenly dancing bright. ] It's just I finally realised how ironic it was after all this time that I was the one running on instinct and you--you were being impossibly logical. Between the two of us we ought to be able to come to a compromise after all this time.
[ He turned under Ray's arm, but reached up and grabbed him by the elbow and the hand, leading him back. ]
We could dance, but it'd be too much like practicing in public. But you know what--I think I left the door open to the Vecchio suite. We really should...check on that. Don't you think? It's only polite.
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Fraser knew how to break the ice this time, that laugh of his enough to get Ray grinning back. It's all the proof he needs to know that Fraser's okay. That they're okay. And maybe it won't be easy, in fact it probably won't be easy if it's anything like their usual day to day life, but they're both willing to try and make this work, which is a hell of a lot more than can be said for Ray's last relationship. And probably Fraser's last one too.]
Heh, logical. [Even the idea of him following logic is enough to amuse, but he supposes there's truth to that. That when it came to love and attraction, Fraser was the one throwing himself head first into it without a second thought, and Ray was the one holding back, thinking and overthinking and desperately trying to make sure it'll work before he allows himself to feel. He can't have another Stella, he just can't. He's just not sure he's got it in him to work away for years at another relationship only to find it was a failure almost from the start. Love is draining, and Ray needs to be certain in his mind before he pushes forward with a relationship with his best friend.
He's smiling when Fraser moves beneath his arm, smiles when he's lead and he doesn't think he'll stop smiling for quite some time.]
Polite. Sure, sure. Better check, we wouldn't want anyone breakin' in. Dance floor's too crowded anyways.
[He and Fraser are just as deserving of that suite as the married couple. No harm in sharing, he figures, and so he willingly follows on, quite content to leave the crowds for a more quiet area. Somewhere where it could just be them and the music and not a hundred other people and screaming kids and old relatives shouting over one another.
Fraser always did have the best ideas.]
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But not all the things. And not everything had to be planned and thought about either, and he'd show Ray that it was okay, that he really could dance and kiss and make love without worrying excessively about what it meant the whole time. (And okay, Fraser had brought it up, but if they'd been working by Fraser's schedule in the reception room then they'd have probably have been ass naked in what was left of the wedding cake by now.)
There was so much brightness returning to his eyes now that he'd let hope back in. The fear was subsiding, because now that Ray had agreed to his suggestion of going somewhere more private, what was there left to be afraid of, except for the whole actually getting to do half the things he was thinking about doing? But he was high on emotion, on happiness, on partnership, and he was smiling more than he'd ever let himself smile for more than five seconds at a time, and the full power of it was turned straight on Ray as he led him backward again, navigating the crowd and reaching up to curl his other hand into the hair at the back of Ray's neck just as his back hit the swing doors.
He pulled Ray into a kiss as he took the next step, and by the next the doors were closing behind them and his other hand had released Ray's hand, making the process of walking a little more awkward as he pulled the other man against him, and somewhere behind him was the elevator. He'd known how many steps it took to reach it before, but now it seemed to take twice as many.
That was fine. The longer it took to reach the elevator, the more time he had to dig into the kiss.
As before, Fraser went for his safe middle ground, for a kiss that was as passionate as it was urgent, rather than leaning too far one way or the other. He didn't know exactly how long he'd need to draw it out, and besides this time it was complicated by movement, which bumped their chests and knees and hips together awkwardly and made him step on Ray's foot once before he managed to let go his grip on Ray's elbow and punch the call button. This was dancing. Awful bad wonderful dancing.
This time, there was no holding back, no waiting for an answer or expecting Ray to push him away - although the possibility was obviously on the cards - and Fraser justified himself that really it wasn't his fault. He'd followed Ray's rules of logic long enough; he'd only brushed a kiss against his mouth woodenly in front of Vecchio's wedding guests, and he hadn't declared he loved him in so many words - unless declarations of joint sleeping bag purchasing was the equivalent of Romeo and Juliet now - and now it was Ray's turn to submit to the alternative view, to passion and follow through and no real direction so long as they were moving, which it turned out Fraser could do that just as well as Ray could, only this time with his tongue, and teeth, and somehow perfectly balanced so as not to bump heads with him and knock them both for six.
The doors dinged open behind him. ]
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At first he considers whether they should at least offer up one dance for the crowd, but then he realises that neither of them have anything to prove. If people want to gawk at two guys enjoying each others company then they can fuck off, Fraser is his and he should be allowed to steal him away two dance in private. He's not trying to hide anything except hide Fraser from prying eyes.
By the time they're at the doors Fraser is pulling him in for a kiss, and this time Ray's ready to respond, head tilting and pushing forward as he keeps right along with that middle ground as they stumble through the hallway. His feet suffer for their awkward placement, but he'll blame Fraser's leading for that considering the few toes that are trod on during their scramble to the elevator.
He considers their current kiss nothing but a warm up, even as Fraser turns it up a notch. The ding of the elevator is his starter pistol, catching sight of the doors opening over Fraser's shoulder and using that moment to push his weight into his partner, shoving him straight for the rear wall of the elevator. His hand only briefly reaches out to fumble for the buttons, feeling out for roughly the right floor and mashing several others in the process. He doesn't care, they're in no hurry, not when he's got Benton like this.
Seconds later his arms are around his partner and he's pushing forward with his tongue, urgent and eager, trying to use his weight to keep Fraser pinned while he desperately tries to reciprocate just some of the wildness his partner had shown him in that corridor.
He could be wild too, wild like the back streets of Chicago, where there were no rules and only the strongest survived. His wild was a dog eat dog kind of nature, just like Canada's wilderness, and while trees and rivers were replaced with apartment blocks and alleyways, the urgency for survival was still there, just as strong as ever. Ray had that urgency, that spark for life and love and passion, and he was willing to share every bit of it with his friend, just like all those times he'd shown him through the dive bars and shady back alley dealers. He could teach Fraser the Chicago way and he was more than willing to learn all about the Canadian way.]
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And it's unexpected. Ray's eager response to the kiss had been wonderful, as though they were unlocking some secret next level to kissing as it was, and then bang he was struck by force and energy, like a fist to the face, or an out of nowhere hug, and Ray was suddenly pressed against him, slamming him against the back wall of the elevator so sharply that it knocked all the air out of him. That took some real doing, Fraser had a surfeit of air. It was wild urgency, fury and fight and strength, and it was Ray - the other side of Ray, flashing eyes and flashing fists - it was Ray all the way through.
God, he loved this man. All the ragged edges of him, the windbeaten roughness, the hard bristles of beard that ground into his naked jaw, the hard hands that locked him in place against the back wall of the elevator the way he'd pushed Ray against the wall before. All that energy and fire and passion that he knew existed in himself - that he knew inherently existed in Ray from his years working with him - poured out into the kiss, bled into its roughness, through teeth and lips and tongue, and Fraser was bowled over by it.
Oh, he could probably have given Ray a good fight, and sometimes fighting was necessary in their relationship, sometimes he had to make a resistance against those hands, just to show that he was capable of it. But not yet. Not now. He wanted Ray to know he could submit too, push and pull, meeting in the middle.
He moaned softly into his partner's mouth, his hands wandering - as they were free to do - pushing again under the shirt that Ray had only fixed half an hour ago, sliding his hands up his sides, his back, feeling Ray's inhales and the tension of his shoulders as he put everything he had into holding Fraser against the wall. It ached. There was a ledge running around the elevator under the mirror, and it was jammed against the center of his back, bruisingly hard, but really--this was Fraser who jumped from moving vehicles and fell down cliffsides and leapt into raging rapids. He could take a little bruising, a little push and strain, a little reminder of the thrust for survival with which they were both so familiar.
And as for the bruising, he even liked it, and something told him that this was going to be a new extreme sport, that he might get as many bruises doing this as he took during a general day's work.
He let his nails rake against Ray's bare skin, scraping down his back, overwhelmed by the full beautiful existence of Ray, by his honor and his genuine sweetness and his loyalty, by the fire and the passion and the stray dog ferocity. He was so much more than that; and it was true what he'd said before, what he'd said to Stella. She hadn't truly appreciated what she had. She couldn't know what it was like to place her life in this man's hands on a day to day basis, to love him as Fraser loved him, to be willing to do anything, go anywhere, live at arm's length forever if it meant just being near him.
Ray had shown him his world in a way that Ray Vecchio never had, had led him through it, and made Fraser a part of it; now that he'd opened the door to this - this physicality - it seemed like they had more to share with each other. He'd never been kissed like this in his life, never been helpless to making soft noises of pleasure into his partner's mouth, never been thrust about and manhandled like this unless he was in the process of being beaten in the head for one reason or another. It was powerfully thrilling in a way he simply couldn't describe, because Ray could be as strong as him, as passionate, as indomitable. They were equals, and the meaning of that was only just now beginning to open up.
The elevator moved, and his stomach flipped, and he whimpered into Ray's mouth, tongue sparring back, pouring everything he had back into that wonderful, glorious kiss.
God, he was really kissing Ray. Actually kissing him. ]
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And Ray really was kissing Fraser.
A fact he might almost have forgotten were it not for the moan from his partner that sounded just a little too masculine to be mistaken for anything else, and those creeping hands that are far too large and worn to be anything but Fraser's. Sure, without those factors, Ray could have almost fooled himself into thinking this was just some good looking bridesmaid he'd managed to drag away from the festivities. But there was just no mistaking this. This was so much more than a kiss and a fumble in an elevator. This was him and his best friend, his partner, taking that final step to something that some may have seen coming a mile away.
Ray had known from day one that he'd get on with the Mountie. Even with their differences and the oddness and Fraser's general habit of being difficult, Ray could tell Benton was a good guy, dedicated to his job, good set of morals and a damn fine partner to have a around. Had to be to be climbing over moving cars and dragging his sorry ass out of Lake Michigan.
So maybe Ray had never quite envisioned this when he'd accepted Benton as being his new and undoubtedly best partner, but over the course of their time together he'd certainly realised he never wanted to lose the guy. The idea of Fraser running back to Vecchio when he'd returned had been heartbreaking, and even though he didn't, there was still that deep seated paranoia that maybe he would, one day. Maybe not so much now, not when Stanley's got his partner pinned against the elevator and Vecchio's retiring to run away with his new wife. This whole wedding wasn't such a bad deal after all.
Ray keeps up the kiss while he can, rough and needy, moaning right back into Fraser's mouth as those hands touch against bare skin and scrape a path down his back. So Benton had a little fight in him too. He already knew that, and he was pretty certain he was going to love it soon enough. This wasn't about being careful and delicate, this was about two men who'd risked their lives for one another time and time again, venting out just a little bit of that excess energy.
When the elevator does slow to a stop and ding out the appropriate number (it's a miracle he got the right floor on the first try, but it wasn't like there were masses to choose from), Ray reluctantly draws back, sucking on Fraser's tongue as he does so before breaking away wetly and releasing his weight from the other. He turns just in time to see an elderly couple (both of who Ray recognises) enter hesitantly, and Ray can't help but chuckle at them, full of mischief and amusement as he grabs for Fraser's hand and tugs him out right behind him. That's probably the most action that couple has seen in a decade, it'd explain why the lady is left staring as the doors slowly close again.]
Hah. There goes the ex-grandparent-in-laws. C'mon.
[The bridal suite is sounding far too appealing right now, even if just a place to dance and rest and enjoy without having a crowd of ex-relatives and fake-relatives around.]
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