[Ray had been looking forward to a night off. A full night to himself away from work and away from people. Just him and his apartment and pizza and shitty movies and falling asleep on the couch and maybe even a full night of sleep to top it all off. By the time he'd dropped Fraser off, he'd managed to get home before five and tick off most on his list, including only catching half of some shitty sci-fi before falling asleep on the couch. It was about midnight when he woke only to tiredly drag himself off to bed for a deep slumber.
Or what should have been a deep sleep, except his phone went off at stupid o'clock in the morning, causing him to groggily jerk awake and fumble for it. He didn't even bother to look at the caller id but it could only be one of a few numbers, and that's confirmed when a familiar voice starts speaking. Matthews. He knows the guy from the late shifts. Drunk tank. Why the fuck would he need to call Ray at this hour?
Ray's only half listening when the voice starts, blearily staring over at the digital clock searing out the taunting digits of 02:47. But then Canada is mentioned. And if it's about Canada and it's about Ray, then it's probably about Fraser.
That asshole.
Naked? Shouting in the park? Swimming and feathers and blood and what the fuck? Ray leaves the fucking Mountie alone for one damn evening and this is what he gets.]
I'll be right over. [He mumbles, barely intelligible but hopefully Matthews would get the picture, because that's all Ray says before he slams the phone down and drags himself out of bed. Dressing himself is harder than it should be, as sleep drunk as he is, but by the time he's grabbed for his keys and headed out the door, the cool air has sorted him out. At least enough that he can actually drive his car.
The roads are quiet enough that he makes good time, parking up and dragging himself off towards the station with far too much reluctance and annoyance. He was tired, and tiredness was not great for his mood. He's pretty sure his annoyance is warranted though, especially considering how fucking embarrassing this was for everyone involved. Thankfully he was too tired to stew on such thoughts, even as they linger in the back of his mind. Just get in there, get Fraser and get out. No fuss. No one else needed to hear about this.
On his arrival he mutters his greetings to Matthews, along with plenty of gratitude. It doesn't sound like Fraser will be any state to thank him, after all, even if he is Canadian. And then he waits, leant against a grimy wall, hands in the pocket of his leather jacket and gaze locked onto the entrance way to the cells for--
Fraser. That... is not what he expected. Granted, he should have expected it from the explanation on the phone, but the man stood there in the grey robe and very little else, with the mess of hair and odd glint to his eyes wasn't Fraser. Or at least not the Fraser Ray was used to. This was like Fraser on crack. Or just a whole lot of alcohol. This was so far removed from the neat, polite, uniformed Canadian that Kowalski can barely believe it's the same guy.]
Fraser. What th-- [He pauses to look towards Matthews, realises he really doesn't want this conversation where anyone else can hear, and instead grits his teeth and jerks his head towards the exit. Benton should be proud with the amount of self-restraint shown here.] Just c'mon. Let's get you outta here before they call the nut house.
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Or what should have been a deep sleep, except his phone went off at stupid o'clock in the morning, causing him to groggily jerk awake and fumble for it. He didn't even bother to look at the caller id but it could only be one of a few numbers, and that's confirmed when a familiar voice starts speaking. Matthews. He knows the guy from the late shifts. Drunk tank. Why the fuck would he need to call Ray at this hour?
Ray's only half listening when the voice starts, blearily staring over at the digital clock searing out the taunting digits of 02:47. But then Canada is mentioned. And if it's about Canada and it's about Ray, then it's probably about Fraser.
That asshole.
Naked? Shouting in the park? Swimming and feathers and blood and what the fuck? Ray leaves the fucking Mountie alone for one damn evening and this is what he gets.]
I'll be right over. [He mumbles, barely intelligible but hopefully Matthews would get the picture, because that's all Ray says before he slams the phone down and drags himself out of bed. Dressing himself is harder than it should be, as sleep drunk as he is, but by the time he's grabbed for his keys and headed out the door, the cool air has sorted him out. At least enough that he can actually drive his car.
The roads are quiet enough that he makes good time, parking up and dragging himself off towards the station with far too much reluctance and annoyance. He was tired, and tiredness was not great for his mood. He's pretty sure his annoyance is warranted though, especially considering how fucking embarrassing this was for everyone involved. Thankfully he was too tired to stew on such thoughts, even as they linger in the back of his mind. Just get in there, get Fraser and get out. No fuss. No one else needed to hear about this.
On his arrival he mutters his greetings to Matthews, along with plenty of gratitude. It doesn't sound like Fraser will be any state to thank him, after all, even if he is Canadian. And then he waits, leant against a grimy wall, hands in the pocket of his leather jacket and gaze locked onto the entrance way to the cells for--
Fraser. That... is not what he expected. Granted, he should have expected it from the explanation on the phone, but the man stood there in the grey robe and very little else, with the mess of hair and odd glint to his eyes wasn't Fraser. Or at least not the Fraser Ray was used to. This was like Fraser on crack. Or just a whole lot of alcohol. This was so far removed from the neat, polite, uniformed Canadian that Kowalski can barely believe it's the same guy.]
Fraser. What th-- [He pauses to look towards Matthews, realises he really doesn't want this conversation where anyone else can hear, and instead grits his teeth and jerks his head towards the exit. Benton should be proud with the amount of self-restraint shown here.] Just c'mon. Let's get you outta here before they call the nut house.