Benton Fraser (
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thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
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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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He looks better too. Sort of. Clean, at least, his hair flat for now thanks to a lack of any sort of product to use on it. But he's worn it flat plenty of times before, that won't cause suspicion. His clothes, however, are still barely passing the presentable mark, although it's really only the stretched and creased t-shirt that's causing issue, he might just get away with the rest of his gear.
His spirits are almost raising until Fraser informs him of their time constraint the second he's back through the mangled door. Ray had heard Fraser muttering on the phone, sure, but he hadn't thought the Mountie would be stupid enough to wind up Welsh on the phone.]
Fraser! You-- [Actually. No. It's no use even bothering trying to reason with or lecture a Canadian, especially not ones named Benton Fraser.
They'd show up when they showed up. Ray wasn't going to rush any more than they already were just for the sake of Welsh- who was undoubtedly pissed off with their lateness already. So long as they pulled off this case in the next few nights, they should get away with most antics. And after last night, Ray's certain their cover would be convincing enough.]
I uh, found this. Here.
[All Mountie stupidness is forgiven for now as Ray steps in closer to the desk, not bothering with personal space as he squeezes a small amount of foundation onto his fingers. It would appear he knows just how to cover up marks and bruises, and Fraser's got a pretty impressive one on his neck.]
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He licked his lips, glancing down at Ray's hand, then back up at him. ]
I'd suggest using mine, but I'm afraid I left them at home. Inspector Thatcher's skin color is several shades darker than mine--that is... [Pause. ] Never mind.
[ This was a bad idea. Fraser knew it, Ray knew it, the whole world would know it. Out in the open, Fraser could claim that a bruise like that had been inflicted in some wacky and...no, he could claim he'd been bitten, but remain foggy on what, or at least who. What he wouldn't be able to explain is why he tried to cover up said bruise with make up unless he was somehow ashamed by it, something that would be difficult to believe considering the various wounds he'd had inflicted upon him without thinking twice in the past.
In effect, by trying not to draw attention to it, attention would be drawn, questions would be asked, and everyone in the station would know that Fraser was sporting a love bite by...well, by about ten minutes after they got there. The rest of the day would be relentless questions where Fraser had to use the 'Not betraying their honor' card, while Ray tried not to snap at everyone when they asked for Fraser's opinion on ceiling fans and lightbulbs.
But he was going to keep quiet about it. There was no need to ruin Ray's day before they even got in the car. ]
I don't suppose you remember where you left your keys?
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Thankfully though he's barely touched his fingers to Fraser's neck before he's stopping dead, frozen in thought as the question is raised.
It's a very good point.
One that Ray can't immediately answer.]
Uh.
[He's quick to withdraw, hands dropping instinctively to check in the pockets of his jeans. With no luck there he moves towards the holster still sitting on the floor which... no, no that wouldn't have them. They're more likely to be in one of the pockets of his jacket, although as he grabs for his discard hoodie on the floor and gives it a shake, it sounds distinctively empty too. The keys that he fishes out of his leather jacket (discarded on the back of the chair) are very definitely little more than car keys, house keys and similar, and after that he's starting to run out of ideas.]
... Maybe in my car...?
[He doesn't sound very convinced by that idea.]
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Oh dear.
[ And then he has to reassure himself, despite Ray's distinct inability to sound positive, that the keys really are in the car, because at this point...at this point if they don't get moving, serious trouble will occur. They can't be here when Thatcher comes in, and they can't be walking out with Fraser half naked and in handcuffs. They need to be at least six blocks away, in fact, to avoid being close enough to hear Thatcher scream.
So Fraser jumps off the desk, ducks expertly to grab his own holster from the floor, and makes a beeline for the closet to fetch out the brown serge, all wrapped in nice clean plastic from the dry-cleaner. ]
We have to go.
[ Sudden frantic haste was a new look on him, but given the options: option 1, stay put and get reamed, option 2, be too slow and get reamed, and option 3, get humiliated by americans, he'd pick three every time. ]
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The sudden shifting up of a gear leaves Ray side-eyeing Fraser curiously as the Mountie rushes to grab up the top half of his uniform, but the urgency he's displaying is enough to persuade Ray that arguing can be done later. Or at least on the way.
While Fraser's got his hands full with dry-cleaning, Ray has the decency to grab the hat from the back of the door after gathering up the rest of his clothing. Trying to balance two jackets, a holster, a gun and a hat while trying to re-locate his car keys isn't easy but he manages on their rush down the hall.
Maybe it's the result of sleeping in a Canadian consulate but Ray even manages to jam to door open with a foot for Fraser to go first.]
Fraser. Your back...
[This rushing better be worth it, because Ray's not sure if anything can be worse than having a topless, handcuffed, whipped up Mountie getting in his car in broad daylight. Publicly. God, he can only hope any witnesses think he's arresting Fraser for something and not... any of the other options.]
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They work in concert, synchronized in escape, and as they get to the bottom of the stairs Fraser rushes past the door of Turnbull's office, then stops, leaning his shoulders back to peer in. On the whiteboard behind the now sleeping Mountie was an enormous table Turnbull had used to keep score: his assessment 'Fraser; 4, American 1' was not entirely inaccurate. Diefenbaker raised his head off the floor under his feet, then dropped his nose to the floor again, covering his eyes with his paws. Fraser kept is voice low in admonishment. ]
You're embarrassed to be seen in public with me? I suppose I'm not talking to the same wolf who just last week I found laid flat underneath Ray's desk with an entire box of jelly filled doughnuts?
I don't have time to argue. We're getting in the car.
[ Resistant as he was, Diefenbaker came along, pushing past their feet on his rush to get out to the car without them. Which meant that Ray's words - and the shock of cold Chicago morning air on burning skin - had a moment to reach him, so that he froze in the doorway, coming to a dead stop. Right, he'd forgotten about his back. Not forgotten forgotten, he still remembered the whole thing in intricate multifaceted detail, but the sting and thrum of pain was always something he simply dealt with. He'd taken his mind off it, as he had all the other bumps and bruises he'd built up over the last two weeks.
Now, frozen on the spot, he worked his mind to a truly desperate solution. ]
Hang your coat across my shoulders.
[ It was the only thing that came to mind, short of unpacking his neat, clean clothes right there in the consulate foyer, and as that would be too risky and take far too long, this was their only option. Of course, anything would have people asking questions, but with the way things were going, Ray's handcuffs, the excuse he'd called in to Welsh, his present state included, were the makings of a truly fantastic fabrication surely occurring to Ray right now, right?
Yes? ]
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My jelly doughnuts. [He says, mostly to himself. Mystery finally solve on what happened to them. He'd actually assumed Huey and Dewey were the prime suspects.
But there's more pressing matters at hand right now, like the half naked Mountie standing in the open doorway of the consulate. When prompted Ray's quick to rearrange the pile of clothing in his arms and withdraw his sheepskin lined leather jacket, haphazardly tossing it over Fraser's back and then trying to arrange it on his shoulders. It's narrower than Fraser could easily fit into but it does it's job. Jacket sorted, Ray charges down the steps and off towards his car, unlocking it, tossing his armful into it and giving Dief access to the back seat.
Once he's sat in himself, he's reaching over to swing the passenger side open for Fraser, waiting until he's in before he goes over his totally perfect plan.]
Okay. If we drive hard and fast enough, we should make the Mexican border in uh, twenty hours?
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His back ached from the pressure of sitting on it, but Fraser pulled across his seatbelt wordlessly, before craning forward to peer into the side mirrors, glancing back over his shoulder, a frown creasing his brow. ]
Do you think Mexico would be far enough?
[ Hey, it's a fair question. Fraser looks away from the mirrors to check the glove box, the console, the footrest, finding no sign of Ray's handcuff keys, and when he straightens up there's a car pulling into the rearview.
A woman getting out, scowling at the GTO, meeting Fraser's eyes in the reflection. ]
Oh boy. Ray--Ray, start the car. Ray start the car.
[ Mexico sounded really good. ]
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Ray glances over his shoulder at whatever Fraser's spotted, catches sight of one pissed off looking Ice Queen, and then immediately understands the urgency of the whole situation.]
We're gone.
[Assuring as he kicks the GTO into gear and slams on the accelerator, wheel spinning his way out of the parking spot and off down the street to a blare of car horns as he manages to piss off several motorists in the process.]
Maybe not far enough. I figure we reach the border then just keep goin' south.
[Ray's fine with the sun. he might even learn a bit of Spanish. They can start a new life, it'll be fine.]
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He turned his head very slightly toward the man beside him. ]
You're a good friend.
[ Mexico actually sounds like a workable idea, actually. He almost feels bad for not rescuing Turnbull too, considering the fact that he'd been the one to take down the door with an axe. On the other hand his dressing down wouldn't make any impact, while Fraser is... Well, any more dressing down and he'd have to start peeling off layers of skin. And Thatcher would probably hand him the knife.
Flicking his eyes up toward Ray at last, the gentle hum of moving traffic and blaring car horns reassuring, Fraser let himself linger at last on what neither of them had had time to think about since rolling off the couch. He thought for several moments how to approach the subject, whether he even wanted to, then spoke very softly: ]
Even if it means we end up in Cape Horn, I had a wonderful time last night, Ray.
[ Nobody could say he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. ]
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Once Fraser starts speaking, Ray provides the occasional glance sideways towards his partner to show he's listening, smiling lightly, more so to himself, when the word 'friend' pops up. It's not a word Ray had ever been too familiar with until he'd met Fraser and then, within days of them meeting, the damned Mountie was using it like they'd known each other for years. It was a nice. A good feeling. Like someone actually cared about him, and Ray's not really sure how to return it beyond nodding a light agreement. Words are hard.
And yet then, to top it all off, Fraser was bringing up last night and Ray supposes he really should find some sort of reply beyond more nodding.]
Yeah? [He sounds glad, relieved.]
So uh. We good? We still solid?
[He can't even ask if nothing has changed between them, because after last night, something clearly has changed.]
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He waited until he knew Ray wouldn't veer into traffic, then leaned across the space between them, brushing a kiss low on Ray's jaw, exhaling against his skin, then ducking back into his own seat. His eyes flicked back up toward the road, and Fraser settled in to behave himself in the passenger seat. ]
Better than.
[ It wouldn't be long now. Back at the station there would be enough handcuff keys - police issue, like Ray's - to get him out of his quandary. He could always just send Ray into the station to fetch a set, but how long would that take?
There was another option. An option that would mean being at least another half hour late. But maybe it would play into their hands, too. Of course instead of telling Ray the plan, Fraser simply changed it as they went along. ]
Right here.
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By the time those lips are brushing against his jaw he's a bundle of anticipation, limbs jerking away from Fraser briefly and taking the car along with him. It's only a brief moment of veering onto the other side of the road, then Ray's quickly correcting the movement to jerk them back onto the right side.]
Fraser!
[He's barely even registering the direction change until the last minute, no time to question it as he sharply skids the car into the bend, straightening her up on the straight with a slight wiggle from the back tyres. Poor Dief will just have to deal with sliding around in the back. He's probably used to it by now.]
I'm not driving us to the Canadian border.
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Fraser sat into the steep turn, and as they set off down the next street, he looked ahead, making each of the turns in his head. In the back seat - as though guessing where they were heading - Diefenbaker turned around a hundred and eighty degrees, ready for the next turn. ]
Left here. [ Pause. ] The Canadian border? We're heading south-east, Ray.
[ And south, once they'd turned, heading almost directly away from the police station. Fraser tilted his head over to the right, as though he could somehow see better that way. ]
Next exit right.
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Okay, so we are going to Mexico?
[Because that's the only thing in the world that's south, right?
Whatever, he does as he's told, veering left sharply and then managing to take the right exit like a mostly normal driver would, all while sparing constant glances in Fraser's direction.]
Sure as hell ain't the way to the precinct. [So observant.]
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[ They could call it Mexico. It was also the only place in the city that was likely to be able to get him out of the handcuffs without using bolt cutters or a firearm. And without passing judgement. ]
Slow down, Ray. We're here. Pull into the alleyway behind that delivery truck.
[ An alleyway like any other alleyway in the city. As the car came to a stop, Fraser gathered himself, sparing a glance into the backseat to look at Diefenbaker. ]
Stay here. No, absolutely not. Yes, it was years ago. They may not remember me, but they would most certainly recognize you. [ Dief whined. ] Well, yes, fine. A reprieve from your diet. But don't think you can use this as ammunition to blackmail me at any opportunity.
[ And then Fraser is looking straight at Ray. This was it. Game on. And okay, he was still in yellow striped breeches and Mountie boots, but... Well, they'd make it work. ]
Mexico. [ Said quite firmly. ] Our safe word.
[ Because where else would they be but outside the club? Even at ten in the morning, Fraser knew that there was a strong possibility that they'd have what they needed, and it'd be an excellent set up for returning in the evening, adding legitimacy to their relationship. He just couldn't have told Ray about it six blocks earlier--it was against his principle of making life difficult. ]
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And Ray does realise where they are, rather quickly actually, he just wasn't used to being around this area town during the day.]
C'mon Fraser, this is... [Actually not a bad idea, considering their other options. Gives Ray a chance to scope out the place too.]
Alright, fine. We do this we gotta set some ground rules: No lickin' stuff.
[That's it. That's the ground rules.]
Okay, let's go.
[He's quick to wrestle into his holster, making sure the slide his badge under the arm to keep it out of sight, and there's even a very swift check of his gun before he's climbing out the car. He puts his hoody on to cover the holster and then, before straightening up, quickly reaches through the car to the glove box, withdrawing with a pair of shades.
With the car door slammed shut, he slips on his shades, offering himself a glance in reflective car window and nodding appreciatively. Yeah. He's bad ass. He can do this.]
This better work.
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I can't promise that, Ray.
[ He murmurs it on his way out of the car, taking out his hat and slipping it on his head. He takes the jacket out too, since it's fallen off his shoulders, and folds it over his arms, leaning just his hip against the door while he watches Ray get ready. It's almost ritualistic, he thinks, but no more than it would be if he were getting into his own uniform. Even if what Ray's climbing into is by no means a uniform. Maybe the complete opposite.
Fraser leant across the roof of the car. ]
You look - ah - edible. I could eat you.
[ Eat you up, Fraser.
In any case, it's borderline inappropriate, and he coughs to excuse himself then turns away. ]
Ah. This way.
[ At the back door, he waited for Ray to catch up with him, lifting his arms and the jacket toward him. ]
If you would?
[ The moment they went through the door, their undercover work became dead serious. No more were they playing a game in an office in the back of the Canadian Consulate. They had a job to do, and there would be risks involved. One person had already died. ]
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At least Ray already knows a thing or two about carrying himself in a crowd, that little swagger and set back shoulders trying to portray some serious alpha male signs.
He stays just behind Fraser's right shoulder, lifting a hand to rest there, supportive and guiding and sending a clear message to anyone near that he's already taken. Doesn't stop a few wandering eyes, but Ray can hardly blame them.]
So we're just gettin' some keys and gettin' out, right? [He questions, close against Fraser's ear.]
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It only means he has to play his part for a bigger audience. He tips his head over toward Ray somewhat. ]
More or less. Someone may talk--we should remain open to the possibility that lingering may yield results.
[ It's...distracting. Being looked at the way that people were looking at him made Fraser unusually uncomfortable. It wasn't like he hadn't been stripped down in front of other people before, but even in his long johns he tried to avoid exposing himself. He was exposed now, and helpless to change matters. At least with his hat on he felt somewhat safer. He could be invulnerable to everything but embarrassment.
Fraser licked his lips, halting midstep as he noticed the young couple by the bar. They weren't engaging with the crowd the same way as everyone else, ergo they worked here. ]
You see them? [ A slow breath, and then spoken lower. ] Step up, Ray.
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As they pick through the crowds he keeps alert, sending a few warning glances to any that get to close, his message clear enough even with the sunglasses on. When one latex clad male does try and approach from the side, his gaze apparently far too focused on Fraser for Ray's liking, Kowalski makes a grab for him, shoving heavily as he snarls out a warning;] Back off!
[But he's spotted the couple that Fraser's referring to, the ones that don't appear to be partying quite as hard as the rest, and he nods slowly, steering himself and Fraser towards them.] I got this.
[He stops close by, catching their attention with a nod as he reaches to slide his sunglasses off and loop them into the collar of his creased t-shirt. His hand has yet to leave it's position at Fraser's shoulder and he keeps it that way, even as he walks around the Mountie to get in front. His arm acting as a leash, as if he's afraid letting go will somehow lose what he's attached to.]
Hey, who's a guy gotta speak to if he needs keys? [Smooth, Kowalski. Totally smooth. But he's stepping aside enough to jerk his head towards Fraser's cuffed hands, making his intentions obvious enough.] Police issue.
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And Fraser feels a new appreciation for his situation, for the safety he'd laid in his partner's hands, and for the possessiveness of the man to whom he'd placed that trust. It's easier to slip into his role after that, to let his eyes switch over to Ray and stay there, a low, slow burning hunger in them. He stops moving only when Ray circles him, hand still clamped across his shoulder, and - lips deliberately parted - he tilted his head far enough to actually look at the patrons around them at the bar, before switching to subdued submission again, disappearing beneath the rim of his hat.
The swirling conversation broke, then resumed, and of the two that Fraser had pointed out, it was the dark haired woman dressed head to toe in black gothic lace over scarlet who chose to take up the question. She hung across the bar, never taking her eyes from Fraser. ]
Let's see.
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He can feel Fraser's eyes on him, but doesn't look back. Barely even acknowledges him beyond the constant contact. Doesn't even dare to glance because he's not sure he can handle that look without wanting to immediately pounce on the Mountie right in the middle of the club. Self-discipline has never really been his thing, especially not after a night like the two of them shared.]
Yeah. Yeah, look but don't touch.
[He directs Fraser closer towards the bar to give them a better look, still staying far too close to his side and watching the woman like a hawk. Fraser gets a nudge with his elbow to signal Ray's talking to him.] Hands up, let her see.
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She leans toward him, examining the cuffs, then cocks her head toward Ray. ]
Nice. Police issue, you don't see a lot of those. Not a cop, are you?
[ But apparently the thought of Ray being a cop was funny to her, because, laughing, she said: ]
I'm just yanking your chain. Sure, I might got a key works for these. But what's the rush? Nice guy like that? Be afraid to let him out of my sight.
[ She looked right up into Fraser's eyes, just for a second, then dropped backwards from her perch. ]
Key's sixty bucks. Or--
[ She glanced toward the other patrons. ]
Well, we have an entertainment clause here. These guys will pony up the fee themselves for a show.
[ Fraser didn't drop his arms. Or move, for that matter. But he took in a sharp breath, counted to three and exhaled it, making sure that Ray could feel him breathe against his flank, and hoping it conveyed his point. They weren't here to pay their money and run. This was about bonding with their targets, laying the foundation for trust. No matter how apprehensive the plan made him. ]
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The mention of being a cop has him tensing up against Fraser, thankfully not visible, but the word has him on edge. Even as she laughs, he pauses for a moment, considering, before joining in with his own awkward chuckle.
Although he's not laughing for long.]
Sixty bucks?!
[At that price, Ray's tempted to just risk their chances at the station. He can buy the handcuffs themselves for cheaper than that. But there's an 'or' and he does listen for their other option, sparing a glance around the club before flicking towards Fraser and then back to the staff. He feels Fraser breathe against him, and if nothing else it provides Ray with a reminder to lower Fraser's hands with his own. He's not sure what to read from it, but it's probably the opposite from Ray's immediate 'no' that springs to his mind.
A show? Really? His lifted eyebrows are enough to show his thoughts on how generally unfavoured that suggestion is, but he moves to explain himself, leaning in closer towards the lacy female.]
Look uh, we've had a long night with plenty of private show already, y'know what I'm sayin'? But you got a business to run. I get that. I'm all over that. Maybe I buy a drink or two to help you out and you help us out with a key. [And then a throat clear as he carefully adds;] I uh. I don't like to share.
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