thelockbox | Benton Fraser

[ 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.

[If there's one thing Ray knows Fraser will very politely try to avoid is Fed involvement. They screwed up too often and endangered too many lives to ever be worth supporting. Ray, of course, just hated them on principle.

He nods along to Fraser's ideas and considers everything they need to do once they get into the station. Of course, Welsh would want to speak to Ray the second he stepped inside, but at least now they had a fairly solid reason for their lateness. They were in, that must be worth something, although Welsh likely won't approve of the lack of communication.

Ray's line of thought is diverted as he feels the hand placed on his knee, eyes flicking down at him and then up into Fraser's eyes.]

It was nothin'. You got the tough part, buddy. Tonight is gonna be worse. Maybe we can get in and out quick, avoid any of that uh, whatever they do in a back room.

[ Fraser was very self conscious of where they were for once. He didn't lean across even though he very much wanted to, to press his mouth against Ray's, and instead after a moment he withdrew, lifting his hand away from his partner's leg and climbing out of the car, taking his hat from its place on the dash.

As he straightened up, correcting his sash which he'd only managed to twist around as it went over his shoulders, and putting his hat on his head, Dief jumped out onto the sidewalk beside him and trotted off into the station ahead of them. He put his hands on the roof and looked across the top of the car at Ray. ]

It won't be that simple. Ray, I--I haven't been inebriated in my life. Drugged, yes; I once ate psychadelic mushrooms because I misidentified the species, and there was that one time I slept in a medical tent after someone spilled a flask of ether--but I was ten and eleven years old respectively.

I can't...that is, I wouldn't be able to...

[ Act. Lie. Fake it. Fraser didn't like to admit his weaknesses, but the pressure that this one would put on Ray made their involvement in this all the more unsafe. It had to be done; one of them had to wear a wire, and they had to stick it out until they had their evidence. But if Fraser couldn't act drunk then he'd have to actually be drunk. There wasn't another option. ]

[They're current location is the only thing holiday Ray back from reciprocating with his own sign of appreciation. His would undoubtedly be a lot less subtle than a hand on a knee.

When Fraser finally moves, so does Ray, slipping from the car again grabbing for his jacket and then slamming the door. He mimics Benton, using the roof as a resting spot, although he leans on his forearms as he stares across the top of the car towards the Mountie.]

And this is what I'm talkin' about, Fraser. This is an issue. A problem. I need you in this. We get you off your face and I'm on my own. And what if alcohol just makes you more Canadian, huh? You go in there tellin' stories about polar bears and igloos and tales of bein' a constable and they're gonna ask questions.

Or they may simply suspect me of being very dedicated to my role.

[ But it was an issue. Maybe one to which he had a solution. A ridiculous, possibly dangerous, very Mountie solution. He perked up visibly, as he did when he had bright, sensible, completely off the wall ideas, raising one hand very slightly, pointing his finger toward the invisible lightbulb hanging in the sky over his head. ]

I have it, Ray. You see--

[ And he was leading away off into the station, because - being halfway into a conversation - nobody would be paying attention to what they were saying anyway, and if they did look twice their questions would be 'What happened to your face?' and 'Did something happen last night we should know about?' They were always on the move anyway; the only difference was that now, leading from one corner to another, it was only Ray who would stand a chance of following what Fraser was talking about. ]

The inuit have a practice which, though it would bare explaining under normal circumstances would in this case be strictly unnecessary. Besides which I know how you abhor inuit stories. However the inuit have this practice wherein-- [ If he'd just started with the story he'd be done by now. They stepped through the front doors together. ] --wherein as they wait beside their holes on the ice for a fish - understanding that by fish I mean the Atlantic Chard - to twitch the bait on their line, they must induce in themselves a state of eternal ever-readiness. Through a combination of the sheer emptiness of the frozen ocean, the ache in their limbs from crouching on the ice holding up the line, and of course the gentle lapping - chlock-chlock - of the rolling waves beneath them forcing air back through the hole--well, it can all be rather hypnotizing.

[ Past the desk, up the stairs, into the busy corridor. ]

[Oh, another story. He should have guessed the moment he saw that tell-tale expression of revelation on Fraser's features. But Ray still listens, head tilted towards the other in a display of interest. They walk together, in unison alongside one another, easily brushing past any others they meet without ever actually getting in the way. It's a practice they repeat daily, even synchronising the opening of doors as they pick their way through the station.

Ray's interest for the story soon runs thin though and he doesn't make any effort in hiding his disinterest, shoulders and head dropping briefly as though he's falling asleep, perking 'awake' seconds later as Fraser finishes.]

Well that's great! If we ever fish for cod, I'm sure I'll remember that.

[Typically dismissive. But their approach to detectives room is suddenly caught short as Ray halts, reaching to grab for a handful of Mountie uniform, swinging a door open with the other, and tugging them both into an all too familiar little closet, closing them in. If they are interrupted, they'll hear the warning click of the door, and no doubt just get stared at oddly before being left to their conversation again.]

What does that even have to do with anythin', Fraser? You gonna fish yourself into readiness? That's not how alcohol works. If you get drunk they're gonna try and take advantage and I can only hold off so many. [Not to mention Ray may be given more than a few drinks himself if he's not careful.]

[ If Fraser expected to be tugged sidewards into the closet he didn't show it, having been midstep at the time, but here they were, standing in the dark inches away from each other. His partner was typically dismissive, but he knew that unless the plan involved one of them getting shot or the potential to be blown up, destruction of a beloved vehicle, or rooting around in garbage, Ray would generally prefer to hear at least most of the plan. ]

Well, you see, Ray, the inuit fisherman has a trick, one that he has developed with practice--after all, all told he's spent whole years of his life in one place, perched over a hole in the ice. He teaches himself that no matter the distraction or the state of sleep he's induced in himself, one single trigger must snap him back to absolute readiness-- [ The door swung open, and an unsuspecting intern blinked at them twice before Fraser pulled the door shut again, grimacing apologetically. He resumed his explanation. ] That trigger being the twitch of the fish on the line.

[ None of which is an actual plan. ] None of which is an actual plan. However, it is a fact that alcohol only dulls the logic centers of the brain--actual brain damage takes somewhat longer. In effect I believe we can trigger ourselves into doing our duty irregardless of how dulled our other senses may be--a simple post-hypnotic suggestion would be all that was necessary.

[ His explanation of how he intends to hypnotize himself - possibly both of them - into against all odds and possibly against medical science overcoming skyrocketing blood alcohol levels, at last comes to a halt, though not really because he's done explaining. It's more as though he's suddenly become very much more aware of where they are, their closeness in the darkness, Ray's breath. The fact that they're alone for the first time since stepping into the club. Fraser licked his lips, shifting his weight on his feet very slightly. There was a different, plaintive note to his voice when he spoke again. ]

Ray?

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