thelockbox | Benton Fraser

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'"

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[ Close was good. Fraser liked close; it was safe. It was Ray's shoulder close against his own, Ray's side against his own flank. He lowered his head, waiting as Ray orders the drinks and starts sifting through keys, clearly only really able to focus on one task at a time (like that was a surprise). Fraser waits with the patience of a saint for the telltale click of the lock, and as the mechanism finished working, he took an overindulgent moment to rub his thumbs into the places where the metal had rubbed his wrists raw during the night.

It was true that he looked the part, he thought. Between his cut and well kissed lips, ravaged wrists and back, and the bruise on his neck, very little was left to the imagination; and what had been was a matter of record now, after the possessive, overwhelming kiss that he'd been subjected to just moments before.

Fraser accepted the water with his usual grace. ] Thank you kindly. [ And sipped it gratefully. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything since their pizza the night before, and the water was cool and soothing, taking his mind - somewhat - off the buzzing need that had insinuated itself just under his skin. He set the glass back down, then, sliding Ray's coat from his shoulders and laying it across the other man's lap, he draped himself across his partner's shoulders, pressing his nose in against his neck.

Fraser didn't linger long, just enough that the warmth of Ray's body made it through his hoodie to Fraser's bare skin, and then he retreated, removing his hat and leaving it on Ray's head like insurance as he put a little space between them at last.

Generally speaking, Fraser was a look but don't touch person. Touching came after looking. This time, he meandered, following the length of the bar, dragging his fingers along the surface. His path, inevitably, led him past the motorcyclist with his head down, which let Fraser get a better look at the bruise on the back of his neck.

His hand came off the bar only far enough to trail across the stranger's shoulders as he passed him, as though not thinking twice about it. In fact it was quite deliberate. The man swung round like an alligator, caught Fraser's wrist in his hand, brought his elbow up into his throat and slammed him backward down against the bar. It would have been enough to knock the wind out of him if Fraser hadn't been ready for it, but as it was it was intended to surprise him, not hurt him, and his head didn't even collide with wood during the assault.

The man appeared angry, but it was a controlled rage, directed, and Fraser knew that he'd been right when he'd looked over moments before; this man was what Ray was only pretending to be, and he'd done it for so long that it came as second nature to him. It wasn't vicious, it was markedly controlled, like a rifle in the hands of a skilled marksman. ]

You think you can just touch me? It don't work that way, cazzone. Stay back! [ Snapped toward Ray and only Ray. From the moment Fraser had woken the dragon, not a single person in the club had moved. ] You don't take this one out in public much, huh? I can tell. Sap as they come but not one iota of common sense. You know who I am, sappenzo? Ey?

[ Eyes and hair as black as stone; Italian descent, the scent of camphor wood and cigars and motorcycle oil. Apart from his expensive boots, this man wore very little leather, only leather stud cufflinks in the button holes of his expensive Armani suit. Underneath the fabric he was built out of pure iron. Even so, Fraser could have resisted if he wanted to, but he stayed where he was put; it suited his cold read. ]

Course you don't. Quiet, that's good. You. [ He looked sharply at Ray. ] Come over here. Come on. You born in Chicago?

[Ray was just as grateful for the beer when it came, dragging it towards him with a trail of foamy head spilling out over the wooden surface. Some breakfast this was, he thought, but he'd consider it a treat for all that they'd achieved so far. Because they had achieved something, he could sense that much. Already they were more accepted, considered legitimate by almost all standards, and for a place like this, attitude and appearance meant everything.

He manages half of the glass in one go, thirstier than he'd originally thought for after a night of moans and panting and his mouth on everything. There's even a satisfied smack of his lips as Fraser moves to drape himself over Ray, accepted but barely reciprocated beyond a hummed exhale against Fraser's neck.

As Fraser withdrew, Ray let him, apparently unconcerned with the wandering that was to take place, merely smirking at the hat placement. He watched Fraser, of course, sipping at his beer, half perched on a bar stool as his eyes followed the path alongside the bar and towards the male just ahead. Something triggers in Ray's mind almost in time with the sudden movement of the two, and he's on his feet in a split second, jacket falling to the floor and hat tossed onto the bar side.]

Hey! Hey! [But he doesn't move forward, that 'stay back' enough to warrant listening to, along with the crowds sudden stillness. It takes every single ounce of self-discipline in him (which is very little) not to reach for his gun the second the action kicked in, his hands balling into fists beside him instead, shoulders hunching and neck dipping slightly as if he's ready to fight at any moment.

But Fraser doesn't fight back, doesn't even move, something he could have done as retaliation long ago, especially without the threat of weapons. There's a reason behind his submissiveness, and a reason for him casually picking out this man, and Ray plays along with it enough to do nothing for now beyond displaying a bristling aggressiveness, only subdued thanks to the elbow at his partners throat.

When he's addressed he reluctantly obeys, moving forward slowly with a snarling sort of resistance.]

Yeah. Yeah, I am. What of it?

[ Fraser is on top of the situation, but that doesn't mean Ray is likely to be. There's no way to know if Ray will have the presence of mind not to go for his gun, or the strength to play along when it looks so much like Fraser is in real physical danger. Knowing that he can handle himself in a fight is different to holding back when Fraser doesn't fight back himself. ]

Well you oughta know better is what. You gotta keep your Canadians under control, otherwise they're gonna go round causing trouble, and we can't have any of that. Nice town like Chicago, it'd be a real shame.

[ Fraser didn't so much as twitch. Submission was what he was being asked for, and it was what he gave. Resisting might mean losing whatever this was, and Fraser hoped - really hoped - that he'd pegged the situation right; that the Italian suspect was in fact on the verge of proposing some sort of mentorship to Ray.

He had strong reason to think it might be the case. The stranger had glanced their way only twice during the previous engagement, but his eyes had never been on Fraser, and the smile that had edged into his expression after quickly glancing over Ray wasn't lusty. There was no interest in either of them physically. Fraser had had to go with his instinct, of course, using the keen authority in the stranger's choice of outfit and complete lack of interest in exposing himself in trappings of leather and lace as evidence toward a possible in-route.

And now all they had to do was keep it together long enough for Ray to catch on to the opening. He had to trust Fraser's judgement. ]

Now then, kid. You gotta be firm, even when they're as well trained as this. Not all the rules are gonna be orders, you'd be wasting your breath. Do this, don't do this. You gotta get them anticipating what you want, learning how to please you all the time, not just when you ask for it. He's here for you, no-one else, so he should heel, not go wandering off checking out strangers, capice?

[ He wasn't talking to Fraser. Ray was the beneficiary of the advice, and as the suspect released Fraser's throat and wrist, letting him go almost in slow motion, he kept his eyes on the Mountie, keeping him pinned in place. In fact, the stranger took a whole step back, and Fraser kept his back on the countertop, eyes on the ceiling. He knew what was coming. ]

Heel.

[ Fraser heeled. He pushed off the bar with one foot, swung to the right, and span to the ground behind Ray, dropped down to one knee with his head bumping against his partner's hip, but most of his body protected by Ray's legs. ]

Better, right? Hey, get my friend another drink. C'mon, sit down, sit down. What's your name?

[The threat had passed for now, he was sure of that. The moment the advice starts flowing it becomes clear that this guy won't be causing serious harm to Fraser. Ray stays tense nevertheless and waits for the possibility of attack, hackles still raised at the sight of his partner being man handled. That's his Mountie to manhandle, no one else's.

He gets the rules of this game though, and thinks he understands why Fraser has become so subdued under the hands of another.

This is their guy, he's sure of it now, and Fraser's managed to get the Italian playing right into their game. Not bad. All Ray had to do was attempt to act interested enough that conversation could continue. Easier said than done when it came to Ray considering his talent for pissing off pretty much everyone. Thankfully his bristling arrogance should play right into his part this time, a saving grace for the both of them.

And so he listens like he's supposed to, brows furrowing heavily as he makes an act of interest. Fraser does brilliantly in his submissiveness, silent and unmoving without any of his usual contrariness. When he moves to heel, Ray doesn't take his eyes off him, mildly fascinated by the obedience displayed. His hand reaches instinctively down to Fraser, ruffling through his hair as he leans in close, but Ray's attention soon snaps back up to the Italian.]

I like that. The thing he did. That's a good trick.

[When asked he moves, flicking his hand for Fraser to follow as he heads towards the other male, scrambling for a perch at the bar as he reaches for his newly provided beer with a mumbled thanks.]

Uh, Ray. You look like you know what you're doin' with all this.

[ Every part of the act Fraser complies with. Everyone in the club was watching, nevermind their efforts to pretend otherwise, and he couldn't afford to make a mistake. At the touch to his hair he looked up as though for reassurance, and finding it returned his attention to their suspect once again, obedient but reasonably wary for a man who'd just been pinned down by the throat. It doesn't remotely bother him, of course, but the act depended on reasonable timidity, a trait that Fraser had to fabricate wholesale.

At the gesture, and relieved to see that things were proceeding the way he'd hoped, he followed Ray over to the bar, using his hands for balance and staying down, staying low behind him. As Ray sat up at the bar, Fraser inched between him and the counter, pressed up against his leg with his chin hooked high on Ray's hip, as close as he could get without actually climbing into his lap. It was simple animal pattern behavior; submissive, he relied on the protection of his alpha, and the closer he could get to him the safer he would be.

The Italian hummed. ]

He'll think twice before getting too far outta your sight now.

[ Fishing in his jacket, he drew out a silver box full of dark brown cigar wrapped cigarettes, offering the open box toward Ray. ]

Ray just Ray. No last name, huh? Last name's got prestige. See, me? I wouldn't go anywhere without it. Lucca Belucci.

[ Who only owned half the betting shops on the East side. Fraser recognized the name, but only in relation to his father's arrest. At the age of 78, it had memorably made the papers. It was impossible to know whether or not a man like Belucci ought to know Ray Vecchio by name or sight, but judging by the fact that he had only recently taken over his father's empire, it was quite possible he didn't. It was probably okay, but not without risk. He tipped his head slightly, laying his cheek flat against Ray's thigh, and let his eyes switch from Ray back to Lucca. He listened with his eyes.

Lucca sipped his tonic water. There was no gin in it--at least not that Fraser could smell, but without getting closer to the glass he couldn't be entirely sure. Nor was it important. ]

I enjoy the process, then I get bored. But you like it, I see the way you look at him. It's like you're miffed he's listening to you at all, but as long as he looks up at you with those big eyes you could care less. Get over it. You think the alpha wolf gets all misty eyed when the other wolves roll over for him? No way. Cause he knows he's only getting what's due. You need to show him how much he's willing to give, not ask for it. Minute you ask, you're not respecting yourself, so why should he?

[Fraser's positioning is almost enough to feel awkward to Ray, entirely unused to having anyone trailing after him and sitting at his feet like a forlorn puppy. Not even Dief. It feels alien, inhuman to see someone considering Ray to be anything other than... Ray. He just doesn't have the ego for it. But now he had to. This new Ray had to get used to it and expect it, even if he could allow himself some apprehension to it. No harm in playing the role of a newbie considering his actual lack of experience in it all. It'll excuse him having his hand back in Fraser's hair, at least, glad for the attention as much as his partner is.]

Brando. [He chips in quickly with a fake when he hears that name. He's heard of Belucci. Any flatfoot worth their salt has, and Ray's perfectly aware of his predecessors past. This must be the guy. Fraser's slight shift against him may signal his knowledge too, and Ray's running a thumb against his ear in silent knowing.]

Huh. Alpha wolf. Yeah. I gotta take control. This I get, this I can go with. I mean this one still needs some teachin', but I uh, I guess I gotta learn too.

[He jerks his chin down towards Fraser but doesn't look at him, admitting carefully as he does so;] First one. I guess I'm just not bored of him yet. Still ironin' out the kinks and finding out the sweet spots. Honeymoon period, amiright?

Maybe in a few months I'll uh...

[A dismissive shrug, his hand leaving Fraser and resting on the bar like he's already forgotten about him.]

What do you do with yours when you got bored?

[ It's interesting; not the conversation happening above him, that gets listened to but not really lingered on, though Fraser commits all of it - relevant and irrelevant - to memory. No, what's interesting is the fact that as soon as Ray deliberately doesn't look him in the eye when he glances down, then raises his hand up to the bar--it gets to him.

It shouldn't. It's just a role. But it gets to him, and Fraser tips his head back upright, peering up at the two men above him. He tamps down his own feelings as best he can: Ray is doing well, he's moving along the conversation in such a way as to ask relevant investigative questions, and Fraser should be grateful, engaged to the mission, but all he wants to do is reach up, take Ray's hands and demand that he look at him.

Maybe that would be natural. Maybe he should demand attention--that would suit the situation, wouldn't it?

Not before Lucca answers the question. ]

I move on. Always something new to break; something with spirit. Can get sticky, though. Some of these bits get so deep, you know, weaning them off can be tough. Had my share of clingy bottoms. This one-- [ He still didn't look at Fraser as he spoke about him. ] This one'll track you to the ends of the Earth. He's got that look in his eye. That mad look.

Now you. I could do something with you, but I'm gonna guess you don't play switch. Is too bad. Real disappointing.

[ Frustration didn't mean anything, but Fraser was beginning to dislike this man for purely selfish reasons, letting it color his perceptions against his best judgement. He would have the strength, determination, opportunity and motive to kill their victim. Now they just had to prove he'd done it.

But Fraser was running his hand up the inside of Ray's ankle, his other hand on the outside of the same leg, stroking across Ray's calf, demanding attention just as anyone in his position would. He wouldn't be playing his role properly if he didn't at least try--or at least, that was how he reassured himself that it was the correct course of action to take. ]

Yeah, switchin' up, I don't do. Heh.

[The mere suggestion of it has Ray reaching for his beer and downing several large gulps of it. The idea of this guy doing anything with him is bad enough, but trying to get Ray under heel is a whole level of nope. But he tries not to show his displeasure. Tries to shrug it off and hide his brief contempt around his beer as nothing more than the awkward newbie act. He'll swallow his pride for the sake of conversation.]

So how do I get rid of a clinger? Once I'm done, I'm done, I don't need a stalker after my affections, especially not from ones like this.

[He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice as he vaguely points towards his head.] I mean this one's cute but he's kinda crazy. Doesn't always play right.

[And there's that touch, getting Ray's leg twitching under the fingers at his calf in an obvious bid for attention. Ray reaches down, tilting Fraser's chin up with a hand and swiping a thumb over his bitten bottom lip, then turns his attention back to Lucca. He doesn't want to look at Lucca. He'd much rather stare down at Fraser for the rest of the day, cradling him close, and yet instead he's forced to talk shit to some freakshow mobster.]

See what I mean?

[ Job sucks, doesn't it, Ray? Lucca smirks at his discomfort over the switch comment, settling his arm against the bar and just turning his tonic round and round. It's obvious he's a pro at nursing his drinks for as long as possible.

At Ray's feet, Fraser settles, getting some semblance of control back over his jealousy. There was no potential for abandonment here. Ray was his partner, and back where Fraser came from that meant something. It meant seeking each other out over flowing ice and against battering snowstorms if there was even the chance of their being in trouble. Ray has done as much for him. Maybe without the snowstorms, but as close as.

He inclined his head slightly, and let his hands come up, folding instead across the top of Ray's knee. Underneath the palm of his other hand, out of sight, he circled his own thumb, offering Ray the same reassurance. He knew this was difficult, but he was doing well. Very smooth. ]

Half your problem's how much you let him get away with. You put down iron clad rules that what you say goes, and--well. Self preservation don't come into it any more, you know what I mean?

[ The hairs on the back of Fraser's neck prickled. A new line of inquiry came to mind, and a particularly grim one at that. He swallowed carefully, then deliberately closed his eyes and pretended that he wasn't listening. ]

And if all else fails I guess you could pop 'em. Seem a fine waste, though. You know, you ever get tired of this one, I know a guy knows a guy can make you a good sideline for a couple jobs a night. Desirable merchandise. Strictly cash in hand stuff.

[ Maybe it was the fact that Ray and Fraser had forged such a convincing disguise that did it, but the Italian didn't seem to think for a second that discussing the illegal and immoral would be a problem. He'd lowered his voice down below conversational at this point, cradled in toward Ray as though imparting deep, valuable insight. But even so, in the case of the cash in hand comment, Fraser had literally no idea what he was talking about. He'd have to remember to ask Ray once they were out. ]

[He spots the shift in Fraser, feels him relax back into position after a brief moment of fidgeting for, what Ray assumes was, attention. There's reassurance there that Ray's doing alright, and he's glad for it because sometimes it's hard to tell how well he's doing when his mind is going at a hundred miles an hour, tossing so much information, laws, questions and memories that he's not able to absorb it all. Fraser will be useful in recalling what's said, at least, but Ray knows they should have a wire or something, some shred of evidence beyond their word that it happened. A good lawyer will get around this without a hitch. If Ray keeps this personable enough, he can at least come back to the guy.

This time Ray kept a hand down by Fraser, assured that his act of indifference was somewhat believable enough if talk of getting rid of him was anything to go by.

As Lucca gradually leans in, Ray meets him in the middle, showing interest in every single word offered to him and appearing to have absolutely no issues with the less than legal side of it. Perhaps it's something about Ray's face, the act of low intelligence or his general demeanour as a guy of the streets, but the amount of times he's gotten the less law abiding to open up to him must be some sort of record. At least he knows the lingo enough to nod along, but knowing friends of friends isn't enough to sink anyone.]

Desirable merch. That uh, that is somethin' to think on. Never wanted to waste all this hard work.

[Fraser gets a visible hair ruffle as Ray talks about him, just to show how little he wants to waste.]

I just hand him over or what? I'm a busy guy. Can't get too involved in it, y'know? Clean hands. Gotta get him up to standard first anyway, sort out that self-preservation. It's tough when they like their punishment.

[ They need to come back, that's the thing. But if Fraser is right on his hunch they might at least come back with better leads. If they can link Lucca to any of the city's suicides, unusual or otherwise, it's at least one more thing they can use in their case. ]

Well, my experience is you gotta reciprocate a little to keep them thinking there's something in it for them, right? End of the day they're still people, even if they're not people like you and me, ey mio vecchio amigo?

[ Fraser felt himself tense. Even if he knew the words were Italian, my old friend, hearing 'Vecchio' out loud in conversation wasn't something he expected. He exhaled the tension deliberately, keeping quiet. ]

Now I know they do that whole selling to the highest bidder thing some places, but I'm not involved in that, you know? When you wear boots this expensive you tend to keep them clean, you know what I mean? If your boots are clean, your nose is clean. And you, my friend, have very dirty boots.

Maybe I ask around see what I can find out. Ey--haha. [ The Italian laughed to himself, clapping Ray on the shoulder, and downed the rest of his tonic. ] I got business to attend to. You come back here tonight, have a good time on me, a'ight?

[ He was excusing himself, and while Fraser thought they could probably get more out of him, they'd have another opportunity later that night. ]

Get here well before ten, loosen him up on my tab, and I'll help you out. Jeanine's got a back room, exclusive customers only--you'll fit right in. But loose. Maybe he don't remember a thing in the morning, you get me?

Okay, reciprocate. Yeah.

[Nod nod nod, a constant attentiveness as he occasionally repeats words back to concrete the idea that he's listening. And he was listening, every single word being absorbed and processed as he tried to pick and choose what information he considered most important for the moment. They were doing well enough, but getting too comfortable could result in a screw up.

The word vecchio had much the same reaction from Ray, his brows furrowing for just long enough to be noticed, although he covers for it with confusion, all opened mouth and questioning crease to his brow, the face of a man who's not quite grasped anything resembling another language. Ray's very, very good at playing dumb. It's almost as if it comes naturally…

He even keeps up the dumb act long enough to glance down towards his boot at the suggestion of them being dirty, but then he 'catches on', gaze snapping back to Lucca with a knowing little curl of his lips. He's happy to be assumed as dirty. Dirty is good. He can be a scumbag, so long as he makes sure to be a trustworthy one. It doesn't do to be seen a criminal but have no one trust you enough to share their secrets.]

Hey, yeah, thanks. We'll be here. [He takes the slap on the back with a low chuckle in reply. Doesn't even attempt to hold the guy for longer or beg for more information. It wouldn't do to piss the guy off after the headway they'd just made.]

Nice and loose, no sweat, I done that before. I'll seeya later, pal.

[A vague wave of gratitude until Lucca turns away, Ray twisting back to his beer and finishing it in silence until he's certain he's out of the club. Fraser gets a tap on the shoulder, waved upwards to signal he's allowed up, not quite dropping the act while they remain surrounded by so many witnesses.]

C'mon, let's go. I got stuff to finish off.

[ Fraser is all quiet contemplation the moment the conversation is over. He doesn't even listen to the retreat of Lucca's footsteps, instead already ordering the next layers of the plan up in his mind. Some of it was going to be more difficult to pull off than just this conversation, and a back room--a back room could be dangerous, nevermind that it was exactly where they needed to go.

Of course the ideal situation would have them following this through without needing to put them both at risk again, but that wasn't exactly how any of this worked. It wasn't how being a cop worked. Their lives were in danger every day, some kinds of danger more exotic than others; life went on, and nobody ever seemed to pay much attention.

At the tap to his shoulder, Fraser pulls himself up onto the stool next to Ray, his head tilted slightly to one side, his eyes on his companion. He rose after him, fetching the coat and hat from where one of the other patrons had folded them out the way on the bar. A quick 'Thank you' and absolutely no eye contact, and he was back at Ray's heel again, staying close beside him as though spooked by the idea of being too far away at any one moment. The hat went back on his head as they stepped out of the door.

He didn't drop the act when he sat down in the passenger seat of the Pontiac, Diefenbaker jumping back into the backseat out of his way. ]

Drive two blocks along the lakefront, then double back for the station. If anyone's following us, we'll be able to see them.

Ah--actually, do you think you're safe to drive, Ray?

[The whole situation doesn't sit quite right with Ray. Their cover is good enough, and the information they'd gained was fairly solid, but there wasn't any way to know quite what would happen in that back room. The warning of being 'loose' hadn't exactly been reassuring. He needs Fraser lucid, but acting might not be convincing enough. They had time to plan, at least.

He pauses for Fraser to gather up their few belongings and lifts a hand in a vague farewell to the woman at the bar, then moves off through the bar in silence. He remains wary of those around himself and Fraser, but there seems to be a whole lot less threat of unwanted touches now.

When he does get into the car, he sits heavily, shoulders slumping as he lets out a slow breath, watching Fraser out of the corner of his eyes.]

Yes, Fraser. I'm safe to drive. I'm under .08, I already checked.

[No he didn't. Obviously. But he's starting the car anyway and opting to reverse out of the alley.]

[ Fraser wasn't sure when Ray could have stopped to check, but he wasn't in any real position to question him, instead just getting himself involved in pulling on his shirt and tunic. He redresses quickly, reaching across for his seatbelt the moment his holster and belt are secured. Just in case.

Although the idea of Ray crashing his beloved GTO is ludicrous.

As soon as they're half a block down the lakeside road, Fraser lets the last of the act go, and he seems to at last resume his usual posture, breathing more easily.

And since he's back to himself, he's not about to make life for Ray any easier. He certainly hasn't forgotten a single word of the conversation that he'd been having with Lucca. ]

Desirable merchandise? I understood most of what you were discussing, but I'm afraid that part went somewhat over my head.

[ Difficult questions straight out of the gate. Typical Fraser. He finishes buttoning his tunic, ducks his head forward and slips his lanyard over his head, straightens his cuffs, then spares a quick glance for Ray at the wheel. ]

Well?

[Ray wouldn't risk crashing his Pontiac, Fraser's right about that. Even with the lack of breakfast and the tiredness tugging at him, the alcohol wasn't enough to dull his senses.

While Fraser finally gets dressed, Ray keeps lookout for any tails, purposefully keeping his attention flicking between the road and his mirrors as he tries to pick up any familiars signs of being followed.

When Fraser asks a typically awkward question, it remains unanswered for as long as Ray can manage, pretending he hadn't heard until finally prompted with a 'well?'.

He sniffs in indifference, shrugging his shoulders as he keeps his eyes on the road.]

Yeah, like desirable as in sought after and merchandise as in wares. C'mon Fraser, you're the Canadian here, you should know proper English.

[ Okay. That's a warning sign right there. Fraser knows them when they come up, and he shifts directly in his seat to look Ray square on. This is going to be an argument, he can tell, or perhaps as close to one as they ever come.

Even if he knows the route of the problem is that Ray is trying to protect him from something, he's not about to give it up so easily, mostly because in the grand sceme of things he really dislikes not knowing. Not knowing is one of those few things that sets his teeth on edge, actually, like an unsolved case.

Although come to think of it what unsolved cases? Mountie thing. ]

He was speaking about me, Ray, and the last time I looked, I wasn't anyone's merchandise. Perhaps Disney's, but that's another matter entirely.

[ His face twisted into a rare almost frown - that was: his expression barely changed at all - and then he looked back toward the road as they turned away from the piers toward downtown once again. ]

I feel I have a right to an explanation, Ray.

[It's rare Fraser ever actually requires an explanation. He's the man with all the answers and all the knowledge who learns quickly. When he does need to know something, it tends to be for things he really should never find out about for the sake of his innocent, Canadian mind.

But Ray knows that tone, all too well, one that generally suggests there's plenty of bitchiness coming if Fraser doesn't get what he wants. Perhaps even sulking. And a bitchy, sulking Fraser is impossible to be around without wanting to punch something.]

Yeah, probably.

[He agrees distantly, taking his eyes off the rear-view when he's finally satisfied that they're not being followed. But his follow up isn't so helpful.]

But wow, how 'bout that seventy bucks, huh? We're in the wrong business.

[ The things he's seen, the bitter struggle for life he's witnessed, Inuit women burying dead infants in rock hard tundra ground and lame caribou dying alone on the ice sheets, and it's the urban environment that really tears him up. Fraser expects the wilderness to be a cold and unforgiving place, but not the human heart, and it's always dispiriting for him to find out that the world isn't a good place just because he wants it to be.

Fraser keeps his eyes on the road ahead, and he's quiet for almost a full minute, even after Ray asks about the seventy bucks. If his friend - his lover, he supposed, now - didn't already know that he had a problem with being kept out of the loop, he would given enough time.

But Fraser was going to wager on him already knowing. ]

Yes, probably.

[ No inflection whatsoever. How does it feel to be in the doghouse? ]

[And that's exactly the trouble with Fraser growing up with mother nature being the cruellest thing to contend with. Ray's grown up with some of the worst of society, he's seen men kill for the sake of a dollar, abused kids, humans treating humans so horrifically that sleepless nights are routine in his line of business. It's hard to have faith in people when you rarely see it's goodness. But Fraser is goodness. He's like a burst of light in a pit of darkness, and it might just be why so many cling and flutter to him, hopeful. It might just be why Ray clings to him.

But there's really nothing quite so light about his sulking, which is obvious the moment it arrives. Ray knows he's in the doghouse, but that might be a better option than talking about the discussion.]

C'mon Fraser, don't do this. What does it matter? This guy is bad news, that's all we gotta know.

It matters to me, Ray.

[ The alternative is that he guesses, and considering the many options he might come up with, it's probably not completely wise.

He puts himself to task, though, turning to watch out the window as he reflects on the conversation. Fraser was the valuable merchandise, which meant that when Ray was tired of him, Lucca had been offering to put him in contact with someone who could act as a proxy, finding clients who would...pay for his company.

And then they'd discussed human trafficking.

Somehow they'd blundered onto more than just a murder. This was bigger than that, much bigger. They were probably way out of their depth, not that that had stopped them from facing down terrorists and mob bosses before. But it was true; each time they'd come too close to that darkness, his own brightness had dimmed because of it. What might this cost him?

He only broke his silence as they pulled into a space in front of the station. ]

Oh look, we're here. [ He didn't move to get out. ]

[The silence is worse than the disappointed frown, but Ray distracts himself with driving, noticing even Dief is avoiding looking as he glances in the rear view. Perhaps he's just wisely avoiding getting involved in what appears to be a confrontation.

Ray's glad as they arrive at the station, opening the door while the car was practically still moving. He's out of the car in seconds but halts immediately, leaning over the roof and leaning into the open door as he stares at the unmoving Mountie.]

Fraser...

[A sigh, slumping back into the drivers seat and twisting slightly towards Benton.]

Yes, he was speaking about you, Fraser.

[ As Ray drops down into the seat beside him - after bailing out at his fastest yet, mind you - Fraser does him the favor of not looking directly at him. His eyes stay front, and after a moment he even trusts himself to speak. ]

I know, Ray. I understand. He was suggesting that you sell me for sex.

[ Like using gloved fingers to turn a key, Fraser lacks any subtlety whatsoever. He's blunt, direct, and sad: ]

As long as we can't prove money is changing hands, and as long as his victims claim to be consenting adults, we won't be able to stop them.

[ He looked across. Big, miserable Mountie eyes. ]

We have to stop him, Ray.

[Oh, thank God.

He doesn't have to spell it out to Fraser. There's no need for awkward talks about sex and trafficking and prostitution.

There's some level of relief, his shoulders dropping slightly. He'd be glad were it not for the big, miserable Mountie eyes now being directed at him.]

I know, Fraser. I know. We gotta be careful about what we say in the station though, yeah? We start mentionin' trafficking or or or whatever else he was talkin' about, then the Feds are gonna swoop in and take this.

[ It was their jurisdiction, Fraser knew. Once upon a time he would have urged their intervention, believing it to be necessary. But experience had taught him otherwise. The FBI had almost destroyed their cases in the past, so much so that he would never willingly bring them in on something like this--especially not something he felt so personally about.

He wanted to stop Lucca, and he was willing to do it Ray's way, with subterfuge, in order to make it happen. It was the only way. ]

I want to run his known associates against the record of suicides. We can also at least track down his vehicle registration, then maybe we can prove he was in the area at the time of the murder.

And... And Ray. [ His eyes hadn't dropped away, but now Fraser reached across, setting his hand on Ray's knee. ] Nobody else could have done what you did in there. You showed remarkable restraint.

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