Benton Fraser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dogsled) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
dogsled) wrote in thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
Benton Fraser | Due South
 BENTON FRASER。 | |
"You know, Fraser, when they offered me this assignment, they made it sound kind of normal. They say, 'Hey, Ray, here's a chance to start over, ditch the past.' 'What's the catch?' I say. 'Oh, your partner's Canadian.' Canadian? I got nothing against Canadians, except for the time when they won the World Series, which I'm willing to overlook. But at no time did they say, 'you'll be working with a Mountie who's got a wolf that's a florist'" |
NEW READ JOURNAL CREDIT |
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[ But his neck has turned pink up to his chin, and there's patches of color under his eyes and his ears are all but glowing. Maybe he doesn't know what the term means. Now that it's down, the rum feels warm and pleasant - Fraser feels warm and pleasant - and as expected all thoughts of being alone are well and truly parted--but that's more down to the distraction than taking a magic pill.
Licking the taste of it from his own lips, he returns the favor, watching Ray drink the vodka fluidly, and he shifts very slightly on the bed. There's...something. There's something about the way that little bottle is held up, Ray's mouth curling around the thread of the rim, his long throat exposed and rolling as he swallows, that is...
No. ]
How do you do that?
[ It might have been a request, or a rhetorical question. In either case Fraser rifled through the bottles until he found another bottle of vodka, which he supposed because Ray had drunk it so easily might be somehow easier to inhale. His curious gaze stayed on Ray though, and there was a youthful quality to his questioning gaze. Something innocent and unworldly. It flicked briefly away as he began to speak, then drifted back. ]
My parents only kept one bottle of alcohol in the house at any one time, and it was for the use of guests. Brandy--practicality always first, of course, for first aid and warmth. Two days after my mother died, Buck Frobisher took the bottle off the shelf and emptied it into the snow.
When I was thirteen - and it must be noted that I was a rather contrary thirteen year old--practically a ruffian - I picked the lock on my grandfather's liquor cabinet. I had to practice the skill somewhere, and there was hardly a surfeit of locks to work with. In any event, when I had broken in I considered the bottles inside as an exciting new challenge. So as not to disturb the levels I took only the smallest sip of each before replacing them.
My grandfather, however, was not to be fooled. Perhaps my clumsy use of the picklock was what gave me away, in any event he marched me to the liquor cabinet and sat me down in front of it--and the next thing I remember, other than how angry he was, was being violently ill. I spent the next two days asleep, and the next month apologizing.
[ In short he was traumatized, and the result - t-total Fraser - was the man that sat before him today. ] I was drunk only one time following that, but not on hard liquor. [ But that was another story, and much less distant in its personal elements as a tale of childish folly, and Fraser was eying the second bottle, bringing it up to his lips. ]
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The question, rhetorical or not, still gets a shrug, modest as if it's something he's proud of. This is one of the very few things he can do better than Fraser, so he figures he's allowed to have some pride in himself for it, and Fraser doesn't seem to be judging. In fact, he's got that look. The innocent Canadian look he's so damn good at adopting, all naivety and confusion like he's still learning about the world beyond the tundra, even now. It's cute. Good. Makes Ray feel like he's of some use, even if it is only when it comes to alcohol.
The story keeps Ray quiet, listening with his head tilted as he idly deposits the empty bottle aside. There's something melancholy about listening to Fraser speak of his family, especially his mother, and Ray doesn't interrupt. Only speaking at the very end to voice his opinion.]
No wonder you don't drink. Hey-- [Sharply, as though trying to grab Fraser's attention just before the drink is taken.]
Toss it to the back of yer throat and swallow it straight down. That's what me and my buddies used to do. Used to sit in the park after school and drink 'til sunset. Sometimes one of us would steal from our dad's stash. Other times we'd get Cliff- this hulk of a kid, never got IDed- to get us our stuff. Just the cheap shit, y'know? Like beer, hard cider or the type of spirits that tasted like paint stripper. Those were the sort y'didn't want lingerin' in your mouth any longer than they had to, heh.
I remember one time I got home late and, I dunno, I musta stank of the stuff, cause wow, my dad just started layin' into me. Shoutin' about how dumb I was and whatta waste and and and y'know he coulda shouted at me all night and I wouldn't have cared, but then he said what a disappointment I was and... and I guess that hit harder than any fist ever could. And he was right. I knew it right then that I'd done shit with my life while I'd been sittin' around drinkin'. What sorta son does that?
[And in short, Ray was also traumatised. Mostly by much of his and his father's arguments, but also alcohol. He still drank the stuff though, even if it wasn't usually to excess.]
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But then before he could drink it, Ray was returning the storytime favor, and Fraser was far too invested in hearing anything sentimental from his partner to break it up with a fit of coughing. Ray rarely spoke about his past. Fraser knew that most of that was because 'his past' meant 'Stella'. His posture shifted toward Ray on the bed, an open, conversational gesture. Welcoming. He was listening.
As Ray finished speaking, the tip of Fraser's tongue ran a circle under his top teeth, and he reached forward, placing his hand on Ray's knee, meaning it to be a comforting gesture rather than an overfamiliar one. ]
A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery--James Joyce.
If I learned anything from my own childhood experiences it's that no matter how indulgent our parents are with guidance, our mistakes are invariably our own to make. You learned from his disappointment, Ray, but you might just as easily have ignored the sentiment, chosen not to care. You didn't. You absorbed his wisdom, even if at the time he may have been too blind or stubborn to acknowledge it.
[ His gaze softened, and Fraser settled back, removing his hand and instead bringing the bottle to his lips. He took a moment to establish his own calm center, and then he took the shot of alcohol as indicated, knocking it neatly against the back of his throat and swallowing. Fraser grimaced again - a fierce grimace, eyes watering - but at least this time he didn't cough and choke his way through it. He couldn't imagine ever getting used to it, making a habit of it. He couldn't. But today was a special occasion. The burn in his throat from the vodka, the sweetly aromatic taste of the rum on his tongue--if he was toasting the oncoming absence of his best friend, he might as well do it the traditional way.
Besides, the alternative was that Ray drank alone, and that was clearly the worst of many terrible ideas. ]
You're a good person, Ray. A good detective. You hardly give yourself enough credit, and I know that though it may be as difficult for you to believe it as it is for him to admit it, your father is eminently proud of the man you've become.
It took me until after my father's death to reconcile our differences and forgive him for his mistakes; in the end, I was forced to acknowledge what few comprehend until it is already too late: that as much as he was my only father and I resented him for it, I was also his only son, and therefore in parenthood was I the model for his mistakes--his relationship with me the price I paid for his insight.
I regretted not telling him while he was alive that I forgave him his faults--all of them. But not all such things can be forgiven. Ray...[ He thought of a story Vecchio had told him once about his father. ] Ray would tell you that there's such a thing as crossing a line, and love doesn't excuse everything. That it can't. [ Wryly: ] He'd call my optimism 'typical.'
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And not only does Fraser listen to Ray's rambling, he also listens to his advice, knocking that drink back with more precision and suffering just a little less for it. Ray prefers to let the alcohol linger if it's good quality stuff, let it settle against his tongue, wash up against the roof of his mouth and slip easily down his throat, but he was used to the burn and he'd rather not let his friend have to suffer through more choking fits. Especially not when he's going to carefully compliment Ray on top of it all.
This is why Fraser's always been worth keeping around despite his tendency to be really damn annoying. He's still one of the most supportive and understanding people Ray's ever encountered, and it doesn't seem to be a Canadian thing so much as a Fraser thing. He wishes he could return the favour somehow, but him trying to voice his support of his friend usually ends in awkward mumbles or poorly worded sentences that come out more offensive than appreciative, so instead he shrugs, head lowering slightly but a smile curling just barely at the corner of his lips.]
Startin' to ramble, Fraser. Sounds like we need to cut you off those bottles or you'll start spoutin' Inuit stories before the speech tonight. Pretty sure Vecchio would prefer you standin' at the aisle rather than propped up, huh?
[Although Ray's picking up what appears to be a brandy and swilling it down easily. One more for the road. Or wedding. Or whatever.]
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In general, though, he simply didn't hold still long enough to have them--or have people have them about him. Fraser moved. He kept up his pursuits, he chased his men, he walked until he could let exhaustion in and slept the sleep of the dead and then walked some more. In fact, he'd never felt like he'd sat still or stopped his mind for thirty-four years.
And then he'd come to Chicago, and all that had changed. His work had begun to mean something, but he'd also had paperwork and office chores and actual standing still, and it was mindnumbing and depreciating in a way he found he couldn't bear. Why then, did he stay? Why not take the transfer back? Why subject himself to such humiliation and waste in the prime years of his life?
Why? Because for the first time in life he'd had a partner - a real partner - a person on whom he could depend, and they were doing good - real good - sometimes to hundreds or thousands of lives at a time. And even with the chores and the humiliation that feeling of self-worth had blossomed, and it was all because of Ray. The first Ray. Canada had become a holiday, a place to go for fresh air, and Ray had been his partner, and of course Fraser was distraught when he'd lost him out of the blue because Ray had been the first person he'd clicked with. His first partner.
It said something that in all the time he'd been a Mountie, there had been no man or woman whom he'd have considered a trusted friend and equal, someone he could rely on to find him in a blizzard or rescue him from drifting to sea on an ice flow. Well...there was Diefenbaker, but he'd been a pup for most of that time; he'd spent more of his life in America now than he had in the Territories. Ray had been that man, true, but he hadn't known what partnership was until he'd met Ray Kowalski. They fought like a married couple, but they were partners--tied to each other at the waist, my fate is your fate, partners.
Fraser smiled that secret smile back and cracked open one of the cans of coke, nodding it toward Ray. See? he gestured. I'll try and be sober. ]
I'll be fine. Fairly recently I discovered that I'm actually remarkably adept at standing upright.
[ Canadian humor. ]
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It was a nice word to dwell on.
Ray had been through a few in his time with the department but they'd come and gone and while he still kept in touch with most, he'd never been too concerned with the lack of connection. Partners come and go, that's just how it is, but Fraser... Fraser was more than that. Fraser stayed when he didn't have to, in and out of work. The two of them would follow one another wherever life took them, even if it meant Ray hauling ass to Canada and winding up staying there for months on end just to go on a very unofficial adventure. An adventure that drew them even closer thanks to daily perils and far too many close calls.
Perhaps that's why he'd even followed Fraser all the way to his ex-wife's wedding. Preferring to see his childhood lover marrying another man than risk spending a few days alone and self-pitying. For the moment it didn't seem like a poor choice, but he might change his mind once the ceremony started. Or, even worse, when the first dance began. Stella dancing with another man was far, far worse than her kissing another man. Kissing was just lips against lips, anyone could do it. But dancing about rhythm and closeness and really feeling out your partner. He and Stella danced well together. Vecchio shouldn't be allowed to interfere with that.
And there he goes again with all that depressing Stella nostalgia. The sooner he realised it was over the better.]
Hardeharhar.
[He doesn't get it, but he's pretty sure it's a Canadian joke. Canadian jokes are the worst.]
How long we got? I'm tempted to go drown myself in the bath. Only need an inch to drown, right?
[Even if he doesn't drown himself, he's very tempted to sit the ceremony out and sulk alone in his room. Maybe cry for several hours. Crying sounded pretty good. If he drank enough alcohol he might even weep out whiskey and be able to drink his own tears.]
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[ He opened his mouth, had gotten as far as 'actually' before he realised he was going to stop, and managed to bite down on saying anything else.
Actually, he was going to say, Even if you did managed to get into the bath ass up it'd be difficult to actually force yourself to drown in an inch of water. And then he'd talk about the human instinct to live and...he'd be rambling again in no time at all. So he swallowed all of the titchy tiny can of coke dutifully, set the empty can aside, and started again. ]
I can see the headlines now. Detective found drowned at ex-wife's wedding to former cop. [ And despite being more grim, it was actually a very lighthearted comment for Fraser. ] Of course they'd have to leave out the fact that you had once been undercover as Ray Vecchio, if only for the sake of clarity.
[ Ray was flagging on the alcohol front, he noticed, nowhere near the challenge Fraser had set, but then he hadn't counted on their talking for most of it. They'd have to get up and change soon. In fact--he checked his watch. ] Fifteen minutes.
And really-- [ Fraser added, shifting his weight off the end of the bed. ] --I should have thought you'd had enough of almost drowning, Ray.
[ Maybe what he needed to do was start getting changed now before the time got away from him. He wasn't like Ray. For one thing, special occasions like this called for him to be in his full dress uniform, and even at best speed it would take him most of ten minutes to get changed into it. He climbed off the bed, showing his back to Ray while he began to strip, and truly--there were just some things you could do when another man had seen you rolling naked in the snow to get clean, and even after months 'apart' this ought to be one of them. What was he going to do? Ask the man who had shared a six by twelve tent with him for three months to hide in the bathroom?
Still, this was no strip show. Fraser was business-like, efficient. Off came the leather jacket and the longsleeved shirt underneath it. The jeans were trickier; he wore them far too tight, and a minimal amount of squirming was required to get loose. And then in just his underwear, he was digging into the protective plastic sleeve that preserved his best uniform, each button gleaming, the leatherwork buffed and oiled and polished until it shone. ]
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Yeah. I'm totally done with drownin'. That is not somethin' that ever needs to be a thing. Water and me are not buddies.
[The whole drowning thing isn't something he tends to think on too often, shoved away at the back of his mind long ago as yet another dumb thing where he followed Fraser into danger with very little argument. But he'd never forget that feeling of running out of air, of his body all but shutting down, of the revitalising burst of breath from Fraser... Buddy breathing. Well, Fraser sure was a buddy.
Buddy enough to be casually stripping down in front of him, but Ray doesn't even bat an eyelid. They've shared too much time together rolling in snow, changing, sleeping and bathing to ever have Ray feel awkward about Fraser undressing. In fact, Ray watches, staring at those perfectly white boxers and shaking his head slowly before finally kicking his own ass into gear.]
Y'know I had to buy a new suit for this, right? I spent actual money to get it and everythin'. I mean I figure I needed a new suit anyways but I dunno... Maybe I won't wear it again.
[He's off the bed and reaching for his own carefully hung and protected suit, unzipping the case to stare at the deep black fabric within.
It was just as much a mourning suit as a wedding suit and would suit either occasion perfectly. Every time he wore it he was going to be reminded of this day. The day Stella married another and became a Vecchio rather than a Kowalski. Not exactly the sort of memory that would install the usual confidence that suits were meant to give.]
Whatever. Not like I ever wear 'em anyway.
[Suits are an occasional thing for him, not an every day item, unlike the casual wear he's currently starting to strip out of after tossing the suit carelessly aside onto the bed, narrowly avoiding a pizza box.]
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But he had an idea, and he glanced back across at Ray as he unpacked his breeches, sliding them on over his legs one at a time. His eyes raked appreciatively down his friend's body while he wasn't looking, but Fraser didn't look away when Ray's attention came back to him either, just steadied his gaze and smiled. ]
After the reception starts, we should go. Not too far, but we should go. Do something spontaneous, or dangerous; something we've never done before.
[ He was hoping something would occur to him when the time came, but whatever it was it had to be outrageous. If they did something mad enough, then it would be the incident they remembered more clearly than the rest of the wedding; for example, when they'd been pursuing three men from the FBI's ten most wanted list, it hadn't been the pursuit he remembered, or the moment when the criminals outfoxed them both and started firing--it had been the moment when he and Ray had both scarpered for the edge of the roof, bullets ricocheting around them, and leapt almost seventy feet into the water below. That was the part he remembered.
Well, that and Ray socking him in the jaw.
Fraser pulled on the white undershirt and tucked it in, then attached the straps that crossed his shoulders. The boots came next, because the starched collar of the tunic would be excruciating if he spent the next ten minutes leaning forward to lace them up. For this, he cleared the bed somewhat, sitting carefully beside Ray's suit. He shucked on first one boot, then the other and began the tedious process of lacing them tightly closed. ]
What do you think?
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[It's hard to do two things at once when you're name is Stanley Kowalski. It's especially hard to get redressed and talk when your mind is still racing with thoughts of a failed marriage and what he could have done to make it better.
Maybe if he'd just relented on the kids. Maybe... Maybe if he'd been more willing to wait it out and let Stella keep going with her career for as long as she needed... Maybe...]
Uh.
[Finally down to his underwear, he reaches for the suit beside Fraser, withdrawing the well pressed black trousers and tugging them on without much grace. By the time he's moving to button up his white shirt (unusually crisp and fresh for him) he's actually taking a moment to mull over Fraser's suggestion, the words sinking in slowly as he considers the offer.
We should go.
Go. That sounded like a good idea. Even if only for a little a while. He realised this wasn't an offer to leave for good, but Fraser was willing to abandon the reception of his best friend just to keep Kowalski entertained? Ray sure was smiling more than he ever thought he would at his ex-wife's wedding...]
Yeah. Yeah, we should. Like an adventure?
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Like an adventure?
His thoughts managed to wheelspin, expression briefly frozen as several things occurred to him at once:
Ray still wanted to go on adventures with him. Fraser hadn't known; he'd known of course that Ray had enjoyed the rhythm of their trip due north, once they were established in it, but he'd also seen how the man had suffered during the worst of it. Frostbite, misery, getting chased by a polarbear, the bruise he'd gotten on his ass when an enormous bull orca had surfaced in the seal hole he'd been looking into. After two months of sunlight but no warmth, the bitter arctic chill - he thought - had surely taken its toll. Ray would be grateful to put thirty degrees of latitude between himself and the hand of Franklin, should they ever find it.
But they had found it; they'd found it, and they'd come back to Chicago, and Fraser thought that must be the end of adventures, because surely after all that suffering, Ray wouldn't let Fraser talk him into any more. It would be all 'No, thank you, Fraser, I have almost died on vacation too many times already, but nice try. Maybe next time sing me a song first, that tends to do the trick.'
What he found instead was willingness, even eagerness, and that dazzling smile, the one that implied that the rest of the time Fraser was just too damn Canadian to understand what Ray was thinking. Ray missed it. He missed it almost as much as Fraser missed it, missed the adventure with him as much as he missed the adventure itself, and the warmth he felt wasn't just alcohol but the hum of excitement too. Maybe he could get that feeling back; the feeling they'd lost, the emptiness of sleeping in too large a room alone. And who said that the adventure ever had to end? They could go on their adventure and just not come back.
At last his mind caught up, and he smiled back up at Ray too, not holding anything back. ]
Exactly. Exactly like an adventure.
[ There was a bow tie on the bed, black like the suit, and Fraser picked it up and shook it loose as he stood up, coming to stand face to face with Ray. ]
May I?
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But then Fraser's smiling right back and agreeing to the whole thing. God, he loved that smile and everything that came with it.
An adventure. Granted it wouldn't be quite up to the epic proportions of finding some legendary hand, but a little trip away from the reception would still be something for the two of them to enjoy together, even if it was only to stumble around outside like drunken college kids. The point is, Fraser was up for it, willing to spend time with him somewhere other than the work environment. Just like old times, when they'd spend weeks on end not seeing another soul, reliant on one another (and the dogs) for survival. Ray doesn't miss the cold or the pain associated with it, but he does miss the exploration, the learning curve and the long nights spent with his friend, sometimes talking about complete and utter shit, while other nights not even bothering with words.]
Go for it.
[The bow tie, he means. But also the adventure.
He tilts his chin upwards to give easier access to the white collar, standing up straight for Fraser's sake while squinting thoughtfully about what they could do. It was a good plan of Benton's, giving Ray something to look forward to after the ceremony rather than dreading every second of the day.]
I got a few ideas. Nothin' that'd take you away for too long. Don't want you upsettin' the bride and groom too much on their weddin' day.
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[ His eyes flicked back up briefly, finding the other man's as he said it and coming up to stand in front of him. Anything Ray liked; naked swimming in the hotel pool at midnight, joyriding Vecchio's brand new 72' Riviera with the wedding cans rattling behind them--who knew what Kowalski's agile mind would come up with.
But for now, Ray's good naturedness was catching. He was looking forward to it--him and Fraser both. Which meant that today wasn't going to be all misery and lost opportunities.
Fraser's hands were firm but soft. He pulled up Ray's collar, slid the bow tie underneath it and tied the bow neatly, brushing it into shape with his thumbs. Satisfied it would hold, he patted Ray on the shoulders with both hands. ]
One more for the road, perhaps, then we really should be going.
[ He stepped away, businesslike and abrupt, shaking his tunic out of the plastic and pulling it across his shoulders. The yellow and black belt that distinguished between his dress uniform and his work uniform came next; a man who didn't need to be armed didn't need a utility belt, nor a tuning fork, pistol or handcuffs. And then there was the hat, a duplicate rather than the one he'd worn to the hotel, spotlessly secured in its box.
Fraser smiled, then fetched the second of the two coke cans from the bed, breaking the cap open with one hand, hoping to catch his partner with the next bottle before he drank it. ]
A toast, Ray. To partnership, and to our next adventure together; may it not be the last. And to Inuit stories--which hopefully I'll have remembered in full by the time I give my speech. [ Oh, this was going to be good. ]
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He holds still for Fraser's tying, glad for the offer considering he was just about to ask anyway. His own bow tie knowledge is extremely limited and it would have probably come out looking like shit. Fraser's the one who ties knots around here.]
One for the road.
[He agrees, grabbing at the shrinking pile of bottles and unscrewing the cap, although holding for Fraser. He knows a toast when he sees one. While he waits, he scoops up his own black jacket, hooking it loosely under an arm and watching Fraser suit, hat and buckle up. By the time the Mountie is reaching for another coke, Ray's raising his little bottle of spirit- rum this time- and tipping it towards Fraser in a typical toasting gesture.]
Cheers to all of that, buddy. Adventures and Inuit stories, oh my.
[And down goes another drink, knocked back quickly and ended with a satisfied smack of his lips.]
Okay, let's get this done before I change my mind and find a bridge to jump off.
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And it was going to break Ray Kowalski's heart.
Fraser paused on the way out the door, stopping and just squeezing Ray's shoulder, and he said: ] No matter what happens I want you to remember you're my partner. We have an unbreakable bond, you and I, stronger than friendship or marriage, and-- [ But that was all he managed to say, they were standing in the hallway and a frantic Ray Vecchio was looking for him, scuttling down the hall in his tuxedo and glancing awkwardly at Kowalski before deciding to pretend he wasn't there at all.
We need to move, Ray said. They've been circling the block for five minutes. You ready? Good, come on. Diefenbaker ran down the hall with Ray, and Fraser smiled apologetically, tugged on Kowalski's arm and followed.
The church was as beautiful as he expected it to be, decked out in lilies because they were Stella's favorite, and delicate white peonies buried in oceans of purple-pink hydrangeas stood in the vases that adorned the aisle. Fraser stood with Ray, a blaze of red at the front of the church, and there was a collective breath when Stella walked in, all in white. He wondered whether Ray remembered her like this himself. He'd never asked--had they had a church wedding, or married on the fly? Stella's parents had, he suspected, not approved of her marrying the son of two polish immigrants, but where had that led them? He tried to find Ray's face as Stella walked down the aisle, but was forced to turn away and do his duty at last, taking a seat in the front of the church with bride and groom while the man presiding over the ceremony talked about eternal love and the responsibilities of matrimony, what it meant to create a loving home and children, if they had them. They sang, they sat, there was more talking. More singing. Then the vows, and Diefenbaker came up the aisle with the rings, and Fraser at last looked for his friend - Speak now or forever hold your peace - but Ray was gone.
The wedding bells were ringing, the march was playing, and Ray Vecchio was jubilant beside him, but no longer did he spare even the slightest glance in Fraser's direction. His eyes were on Stella and Stella alone, and as Fraser followed behind them he felt the chasm open up wider. That last moment in the hotel, chasing down the stairs after Ray and running across the half mile to the church--that had been their last footchase. The last time they'd been partners before Stella became Ray Vecchio's partner instead. His time as Best Man was over, and suddenly...
And suddenly he was down the steps, bounded over the wall and around the side of the church throwing up in the bushes, and it probably wasn't wholly the fault of the alcohol he'd drunk. ]
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It's the usual wedding rush to get to the church on time and have everyone settled. Ray parts ways as soon as he's able to, leaving Fraser to have that last moment with his old partner and give Kowalski enough chance to find the most unobtrusive seat he can find with easy access to the exit. The second he'd seen the church, he knew him being there had been a dumb idea. Why the hell did he ever think showing up to his ex-wife's wedding would be at all appropriate? He supposes part of him wanted to see whether it was real, whether she really was going to marry the very man he'd been covering for for far too long, but the idea of her not doing so was pure wishful thinking on his behalf. And now he sat in a beautiful church with decoration that far outshone anything he'd seen before, and all he wanted to do was smash his fist straight through the pew in front of him.
His and Stella's wedding hadn't been anything near as fancy as this, both of them financially unstable at the time and both with family issues running across the board. They'd opted for a small church ceremony more out of tradition than anything to do with faith, because Stella had wanted that white wedding that so many kids dreamt of. If she hadn't been satisfied with theirs, she was certainly getting what she wanted this time around with an obvious monetary support from both the families.
He couldn't even look at her when she came down the aisle, the brief glance he spared making him jam his jaw shut and quickly drop his gaze to the ground. She was beautiful. Just like the day they married, that blonde hair, pale skin and white dress giving her something of an ethereal feel that matched the dream like state his mind was drifting in and out of. This wasn't for him. This was for some other asshole standing up front looking smug as anything as he takes Kowalski's woman away from him. Soon she wouldn't even have the name Kowalski and it'd be like that last little bit of him finally erased from her life forever.
Although barely even listening and certainly not partaking in the hymns, Ray still has his breaking point. He doesn't even make it anywhere close to the vows, the mention of this happily ever after with children enough to have him stalking silently out, wholly ashamed of himself as he does so. He didn't belong here. He shouldn't be there. Thank fuck that only one bored looking distant aunt of Stella's noticed him up and leave, because the last thing he wanted to do was cause a scene and highlight just how much of a fucking loser he was. Don't mind him. He's just the stupid ex losing his wife to some smug Italian.
The moment he's outside his fist is finding solace against the solid wall of the church, slamming so hard against it that it's a miracle he didn't break anything on impact. It hurts though. It hurts a lot. But it doesn't do the job of covering the wrenching heartache he's feeling. He's not even sure when the tears started, but they're there, messily tumbling down his cheeks as he nurses his hand and swears repeatedly to himself as if it'll somehow help. It doesn't. The walk and the cigarettes (ten of them), however, do help. Enough to get him breathing deeply with each lungful of smoke and keeping his distance enough to avoid hearing every single fucking hymn and mumbled speech. He walks the gardens because they're nice, but he takes in absolutely none of his surroundings, only noticing an end to the ceremony thanks to a sudden cacophony of excited chatter as two families spill out into the open.
Still he keeps his distance, avoiding the families and friends and work colleagues, too many familiar faces all with a knowledge of his failures with the bride. He's thankful his mother couldn't attend.]
Pretty sure that's my job.
[He sees the whole thing from his little hiding spot down the side of the church, the sole witness to the bright red Mountie vaulting for it and gracefully chucking in neatly trimmed bushes. He'd be lying if he didn't admit he was just a tiny bit glad to see he wasn't the only one suffering, even if he had no wish to see his partner not enjoying himself.
While he does approach, he doesn't move to help, leaving Fraser to sort himself out without making a fuss of the situation. The Mountie can take care of himself, and Ray's too busy finishing off his current smoke that's nearing the end of it's life.]
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And yet nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. God, he was a monster.
He kept his hands flat against the cool stone wall, then after he'd finished lay his head flat against it too, just trying to recover some sense of normality. Capillaries under his eyes had burst in red pinpricks, making his cheeks burn; it was one of the perils of being far too pale. He felt terrible, couldn't smell or taste anything but vomit, but he slowly straightened up anyway at the sound of Ray's voice, raising his head to look over toward him.
Then changing his mind and spitting up a last mouthful of bile.
Okay. Okay, Ray. Ray who was...who at last didn't seem to be about to come off the tracks with shaking, and that was surely because of the nicotine, because he was busy smoking another one even now. Fraser watched, moving away from the mess and the wall and taking out his hankerchief to dab at his forehead, then his nose and mouth. He wanted to ask when Ray had left, where he'd been, but it didn't seem to matter any more. He'd needed to leave - Fraser could understand that- needed to get out before he did something he'd regretted.
There were the stains of tears in his partner's eyes, bloodshot as they were, his cheeks a mess, his hair worse. He looked worse than Fraser could have guessed, and he regretted goading him into bringing him here. What kind of sadistic fool was he to bring this kind of suffering on a man he loved? But there it was--Ray was suffering, and Fraser felt like it was wholly his fault. Maybe... ]
Maybe if I hadn't come in, that night. I could have apprehended him in the hallway, caught him by surprise, and you...
[ Back up a second: loved? He loved Ray? Well of course he loved Ray, but loved loved? Maybe it had been all that talk of what it meant to belong to another person taking its own toll on him. And yes, he knew that he'd had sexual feelings for him, but the two of those things combined into something very different. That was what this feeling was. And damn, he was slow, because this was why he got as much of a selfish thrill of pleasure out of knowing Stella was out of the picture as he was agonized over the loss of his friend.
God, he actually was a monster. Looking back into Ray's tearstricken face, at his agony, and wanting him, full in the knowledge that that wasn't ever something that could happen. Ray had been married - to a woman, and had pursued half a dozen more since - and he wasn't interested in that. Wholesome manly adventures into the wilderness, yes, with all necessary cuddling, but heterosexual strictly hands off adventures none the less, and Fraser...Fraser was selfish enough, repressed enough, to suck the situation stone dry of familiar contact without ever crossing a line and be satisfied with that. Hell, when he closed his eyes he could still feel Ray's mouth on his own underwater, the feel of his body reinvigorating with life giving oxygen, Fraser's arms wrapping around his pale slim body as he pulled him up to the surface. If he squinted hard enough then despite the freezing cold water it had almost been sexual. And suddenly those purely sexual thoughts made him feel filthy, like he'd wronged Ray by having them.
He dropped his eyes away, humiliated by his own thoughts, and saw instead the damage Ray had done to his hand. Quietly he edged closer. His fingers slid for the other man's wrist, though this time when he touched him he felt like he'd been electrified by his own shame. Could it be possible he'd deliberately thrown Stella under a bus? He hadn't been a good friend. He could have tried harder to help Ray win her back.
Well no more. What kind of partner was he to put himself before Ray--it should be Ray first, always Ray first, and he was never going to lose sight of that again.
He tried again to take Ray's hand, bringing it up for inspection with a shudder. He'd split the knuckles; they were raw and red, bleeding and already swollen. ]
We should get you back to the hotel, find some ice and a first aid kit. [ Fraser was supposed to be standing for photographs now. He'd be missed, he knew, but he couldn't bear to leave when Ray needed him, not when he'd already failed him so dreadfully. He kept hold of his hand, gently tugging like a child asking its mother to follow, the innocent curl of fingers around fingers. He felt hollowed out like a canoe, drained of all emotion. There was nothing there. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Monster, monster, monster. But he could do this one thing. He could make it up to him, one gesture at a time. ] Come on.
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By the time Fraser finally heads over, Ray's flicking his current cigarette to the ground, crushing it neatly beneath a polished leather shoe and shaking his head slowly. Fraser's started talking of 'what ifs' and even Kowalski knows that it's stupid to even try to think that way. Even if Fraser hadn't interrupted them that night, it'd be the same as every other time Ray and Stella had fucked since their break up; a brief reminder of why the two of them worked so well together, and then a morning full of regret, bad feelings and arguments, all blending into the reminder of why they'd parted ways. Stella had said herself that she still loved Ray, but the two of them seemed incapable of being near each other without eventually arguing. They were both firecrackers, and when left too long together, they'd end up exploding into anger, only fuelled by their own stubbornness. Maybe Vecchio would be better at handling it, maybe he'd cater to her inflexibility better than just raising his voice to it. Maybe Vecchio would be a better husband. Kowalski just didn't want to know the outcome of it all.
Stella was gone. That had been signed away on a piece of paper just minutes ago. But Fraser was still there for him, even if he was throwing up in bushes and looking just a little lost by everything. Ray couldn't read minds, but he could certainly see some level of uncertainty in Mounties actions. Probably still reeling from the idea of losing his 'best friend'.]
It's fine, Fraser.
[He glances down at his hand and Benton's second attempt of grabbing for it, shrugging the concern off tiredly, and it's that tiredness that has him not even even fighting against the directional tug even as he gives the weakest of verbal protests.]
S'only a few scratches. You should be over there for the photos, I can go sort myself out and catch up later, yeah? Promise I won't jump off any bridges or drown myself.
[Jealousy or not, he supposes he shouldn't have his friend missing an important moment in Vecchio's life, even if he himself had absolutely no intention of going over there again and seeing Stella glowing with happiness about not being with him. Bitch.]
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[ He said it so quickly and sharply that he was immediately aware that there was more to this than just making his partner happy, though if that had been all it was then Vecchio would at least understand. They'd been partners themselves for two years, and Ray would know where his loyalties lay, and how strongly they lay there: if Kowalski needed him, then Fraser had to go to him.
Fraser had to go to him, had to make him happy, had to heal the wounds he'd inflicted on him and take his mind off Stella in her white dress, and those were all legitimate, reasonable excuses for bailing on the photographs. He quickly amended his statement, knowing that even in this state Ray would see right through him. ]
Don't argue with me about this, Ray. I've made my decision.
[ But they weren't the only reasons. The fact that he was a terrible person, and owed Ray this - those were reasons too - and the fact that he loved this man--god, top of the list. All of them vying for position.
What reason didn't touch on at all was Fraser's sudden fear of being in those photographs, his frozen, paralyzed, heartsick face forever framed and put away on Ray Vecchio's mantlepiece in Florida. His best man, his oldest friend, a flash of unmistakeable red in every photograph. For Ray he'd be frozen that way forever, a toy soldier in red, never aging, never changing, always and forever Benny the Mountie, my former partner, "We had some good times, didn't we?" and Fraser didn't want it. He didn't want it, and maybe he was being selfish again but he didn't think Ray would want it either. He'd be in those photographs, a flash of vibrant red distracting from his beautiful wife, and somehow allegorically distracting him from the new and happy wedded life he was supposed to be leading away from memories of Chicago.
Fraser didn't want to be remembered that way. He couldn't spare the fraction of the soul it would chip away from him to be captured in those photographs. And suddenly more than anything he wanted to get out of his suit. He could only do that by stopping off at the hotel with Ray on the way to the reception.
His sharp ears could hear them looking for him now, and he took Ray's hand more tightly in his own. He's probably with Kowalski. Anyone seen Kowalski? And they were off - faster now - using a mausoleum to block the view of them in case anyone decided to look along the edge of the church. When they had the full building between them and the wedding party, Fraser stopped, stripped off his belt and his tunic and turned the latter inside out briskly. He folded it over his arm, tucked his hat against his chest, and shot a look at Ray as though daring him to question him. ]
Let's-- [ And now at last a shattered, emotional exhale, and Fraser stopped dead, eye to eye with Ray, feeling the sudden rush like a great spring had suddenly erupted inside of him, floodgates whipped open by building pressure. There was no fighting it; he burst - literally exploded - into tears before he was even really aware that he was doing it, putting his free arm across the bridge of his nose a half second later. It was humiliating, horrifying, and yet he was frozen on the spot, his face a river, and he hiccuped a single expletive--just one, but it would have been more than enough to betray his emotional state if suddenly becoming a human waterfall hadn't done the trick already: ] Damn.
[ God, look at the two of them. What a bloody mess. ]
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Fraser loses his partner to Kowalski's wife. There must be some sort of irony in that, somewhere.
With such finality to the Mounties' voice, Ray doesn't argue, speeding up as Fraser does to quickly put ground between them and the happy wedding guests. While Ray didn't quite understand the urgency to get away, he didn't question it, being just as eager to run from all this as Benton seemed to be. The removal of clothing was yet another nail in the already unusual coffin, met with the slightest eyebrow arches from him as he watches, his conclusion settling on the Mountie red being a little too easy to spot, even if two figures- one blonde, one brown haired- running away from the scene would be just as recognisable with or without the serge.
None of that bothers him though. He's used to Fraser's eccentricities by now.
What does surprise him is the sudden outburst of sobs, erupting almost out of no where as Benton breaks down right on the spot. Ray's not expecting it. He'd never expect it from Fraser, the patient and restrained partner who barely batted an eyelid under most situations. Kowalski is the one who usually shows it, emotions bursting out like fireworks when he does let them release, but Fraser? Fraser just shouldn't be crying. It was surreal and made Ray feel just as dejected as losing Stella did. He doesn't want his partner to be sad, it makes him sad, and he's not sure how he can solve this problem with any level of helpfulness.
When he does reach out a hand to offer a supportive grip at Fraser's shoulder, he suddenly realises his own cheeks are wet again and he's huffing out a stuttered exhale that sounds remarkably like a sob.
And there they are, two grown men hiding behind a church, sobbing their eyes out and totally embarrassing themselves in front of one another.
It's that thought alone that gets Ray smiling just slightly against the tears, one particular breath coming out as a mix of a laugh and a cry. This was ridiculous. They were ridiculous.]
We suck. [Snivelled pathetically as he uses his other arm to lift and wipe at his nose with an expensive sleeve like an overgrown boy. But he's still smiling, just barely, as he tries to catch Fraser's eyes in his.] This is so dumb. Who needs 'em, huh? Let's blow this joint.
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Because wasn't that what partners were for?
Maybe it wouldn't be the same if Vecchio hadn't been his former partner and Stella hadn't been Ray's former wife. If one of them had been a stranger, then it wouldn't mean so much as it did; but in many ways their marrying was an underlining under everything that had come before. There was no risk of Vecchio wanting to be Fraser's partner again, jeopardizing his relationship with Ray; nor was there any risk of Stella remarrying her former husband. It was over, done, bada bing, bada boom.
It was dumb, and Fraser was smiling back at Ray through still enormous tears, suddenly almost ridiculously cheerfully, because Ray was talking his language. Out, away, gone. And he closed the distance and wrapped his arms around him and hugged him just as hard as he could, thumping Ray so hard between the shoulders he felt his ribcage echo against his own. But that was good; that was the way Ray had hugged him that first time they'd ever met--albeit without Fraser digging his wet chin into Ray's neck.
All his stupid, self obsessed, melancholy thoughts had evaporated. Ray was back to being his partner, and of course he loved him, but he always had, and it didn't change much of anything--didn't change anything, and this was the way back to the hotel, wasn't it? Alright then.
With his arm still slung across the other man's shoulder, practically guiding him the way that Ray had walked him back through the police station that first day, he spoke in a moody voice stained with tears, trying to get his bearings back, but most importantly, to remind Ray of exactly where he was coming from.
And he was smiling. He never stopped smiling. ]
Take a look back through history, Ray, and what do you see? Duets. Partners. Lennon and McCartner, Leopold and Loeb-- [ He kept his eyes tracked on Ray's neck as he frogmarched him back toward the hotel, and waited for him to finish the lineup. ]
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It's not until Fraser's beaming at him, even through tears, that Ray finally lets his smile grow into a grin, chuckling out a few exhales as his tears finally slow, only leaving angry streaks against his cheeks and the tell-tale sign of red, puffy eyes behind. The hug stops the sobs, the solid pat between his shoulder blades reminding him that his friend definitely had his back no matter what, even if his ex-wife was happy to ditch him. And all at once he's reminded of their first meeting, of his own hug to Fraser, back when they were complete strangers and Ray had to act some form of familiarity towards the Mountie. It's a good hug, firm and supportive and, although somewhat similar, having a totally different meaning to it now that they had plenty of history behind them.
As Fraser's leading him away, an arm around his shoulder, Ray thinks that he'd be perfectly happy if this were the only person he'd spend the rest of his life with. Wives come and go, but partners were forever, and the two of them had been through far too much for Ray to ever want them to drift apart. He doesn't even think he could drift away from Fraser. It was a strange feeling, that longing he got when away from the other, like an emptiness that he couldn't quite fill, so much like that feeling of being in love but... ... not. Because they were partners. Not in love. Not in that way.]
And the three stooges?
[It was like a whole other era. A speech given before they even knew one another, before they'd lived through life threatening scenarios, solved cases together and even lived in the wilderness for months together. Now they were better than any of those duets. They were the best duet around and no one could take that from them.]
They got nothin' on us. We already ditched our Larry.
[And Ray can't stop smiling either, because ex-wife or not, Fraser was here and they were both alive and had years of life left in them for stupid adventures, ridiculous cases, late night stake outs, bad take out and meals after work.
Screw Stella.
She hadn't been there for him in years. Benton had.]
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At 39, it was occurring to him at last that the wilderness was no place to be alone. The Inuit knew it; they lived in groups to keep safe, and a man alone was as good as dead. Fraser had seen it happen time and again, dead men frozen alone in the middle of nowhere--and where were their partners? Their wives? He couldn't go back to the Arctic without one or the other.
But two together. Two together was something. Two together could survive in the wilderness or the city, and Fraser found himself thinking that if that was what Ray wanted, as a city boy through and through, he'd endeavor to remain in Chicago, or anywhere else Ray chose to go, if it meant staying by his side. That was what partners did.
It wasn't as if he'd ever needed a badge to feel useful--to do good things. And yes, being away from his home would probably kill him eventually, but for Ray he would do it; because who would make that sacrifice if not him?
The thoughts didn't dampen his mood; instead they were back in the hotel minutes later, and Benton was letting them both back into their hotel room, dragging his Henley over his head before the door had even shut. The only change of clothes he had was the outfit he'd worn down in the car, but anything that wasn't starched red serge would be an improvement. He wanted to feel like himself, like he was free to do stupid things, and his uniform precluded foolish, childish shenanigans. At least most of the time.
He felt buoyant, dragging back on his t-shirt and looking back over toward Ray as he unbuttoned and unhooked the intricate clasps of his fly and slipped out of the yellow-striped pumpkin pants. ]
Three quarters of an hour. It's going to take them that long at least to take all the photos and get everyone into the hall, longer still to settle everyone down with a drink and stop Maria Vecchio from crying.
[ Fraser was uniquely animated, his hair mussed by the quick change, something wilder and glossy in his eyes now that he was on the other side of tears. He had no idea what he was feeling, but it was exhilarating, and he'd learned that feelings like this were usually one time only things, sensations that you had to grab at lest they slip through your fingers, like running after Victoria as she sped away to a new life without him. Run they said. Grab hold. Don't let go. Come with me. ]
What can we do with half an hour, Ray?
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Fraser had been that person in his life for long enough now that Ray had become just as dependant on him. He had shown up at an important time of Ray's life, when he'd had nothing left but a turtle, an apartment full of junk and memories, and a job that his father hated. Fraser was, in fact, the best thing to happen in Ray's life in far too long.
By the time they're back at their room, Ray's eager to grab for another bottle of alcohol and less concerned about changing. The bow tie is already undone and hanging loosely around his neck anyway, and he figures he really needs to get some wear out of a suit that he's spent far too much on.
He watches as Fraser undresses, perching himself on the edge of the bed as he knocks back another whiskey to sooth his nerves. There was something about Benton being out of uniform that just seemed so out of character, like he wasn't quite the same without that ridiculous red serge. The same guy, yes, but just slightly more wild, like he was ready to go trekking through forests and mountains at a moments notice, rather than stand stiffly outside consulates for hours on end. He liked that side of Fraser. It was more human and more easy to relate to. The very slight ruffle to his hair helped.]
Half an hour, huh? Well, y'know it's tradition to leave the bride and groom a little somethin' in their room, right? I figure we break into the bridal suite and uh. Leave 'em a gift. Like a uh. I dunno. Somethin'.
[Pee on their bed!
Or not. But it's exceptionally tempting to break in just to trash the place, even if Ray could never actually bring himself to ruin such a day.]
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Ray.
[ His tone was admonishing. Like 'Break into the bridal suite, that would be against the law'. Except that Fraser was just winding him up. Ray, he said, like 'You're a terrible person how could you', when he was really setting himself up to say: It is a terrible idea, but you only live once, let's go do it.
So he said: Ray, and then he said: ]
Why didn't you mention it before? We certainly can't break with tradition now, can we? What sort of friends would we be? What sort of best man would I be?
[ Although he was already badly scored in that department, since Huey and Dewey had had to book the strippers for Ray's bachelor party; "What kind of best man forgets strippers!?" and "Guys in Canada don't get a lot of tail, do they?" which of course Fraser had needed to debate at length because of a misunderstanding about the meaning of the word tail (Welsh had cleared it up for him). In fact most of the bachelor party had passed like that, and Fraser had spent the rest of it intervening in Ray Vecchio's escapades. At one point this included keeping him from crashing Frank Zucko's place and introducing himself as Armando Langoustini. This apparently involved telling him to 'Get the fuck outta my town' followed by a string of blurred Italian insults which Fraser had only caught half of, but which, he thought, detailed his lineage (goats), and his choice of sexual partner (seabound mammals), his choice in underwear (used granny panties) and the things he liked to put in his mouth (dirtier than what Benny does).
All in all he thought that the best kind of best man was the one that saved a guy from getting shot in the face, so Huey and Dewey could go to hell. (And maybe that was particularly vicious of him, but they'd set one of the strippers on him for a laugh, and Fraser had been so humiliated he'd needed to step out for a half hour to cool off.)
He strode across the room, kneeling beside Ray pointedly and, just as it seemed that perhaps he was about to propose or something similarly inappropriate, eyes upturned, he tugged his pack out from where he'd stowed it under the bed, and expertly removed his pocket knife, a roll of whittling tools and a large reddish chunk of wood, the latter of which he handed to Ray.
And then Fraser patted his knee amicably. ]
Lead the way.
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