Finally they were getting somewhere. Benton appeared to recognise the name enough to accept it, and that was the first step on the road to recovery. Ray has no clue where his partner would have got Geoffrey from, maybe an old Canadian friend or some such that he'd managed to dig from the recess of his mind and assume it's his own. It didn't matter. What did matter is that Fraser wasn't a lost cause, and that they'd manage, over time, to get him remembering what he needed to. He knows enough about memory loss to know it can take weeks, maybe even months, to fully recover, and that's if this isn't just alcohol induced (which he still doubted it was).
He shifts over enough to let his friend up, there's already enough space on the bed but it's the gesture of acceptance, as is twisting just enough to show he's interested in Fraser's musings. Talk of emotional breakdowns and this Geoffrey name and love. Ray's lost by that point. He's not exactly sure who Benton thinks he's talking about. Victoria, maybe? Or some mystery woman he loves. Or maybe this is just part of his weird made up world he's got for himself as this Geoffrey guy.
Whatever it is, Ray assumes it's better to let his friend stumble through these ideas and possible memories than interrupt him with corrections. Let him remember for himself rather than force it on him.
Maybe that was a poor choice though, because he almost doesn't question Fraser reaching for him, doesn't even move as that hand curls around his jaw, unsure whether it's confusion or curiosity that keeps him still.
He's not given any time to think anyway, Fraser moving far too quickly for his bemused mind to fully grasp what's going on until there's lips on his, soft and warm and-- what the fuck? Ray sits there for what feels like minutes but likely barely over a second or two, and then his mind kicks back into gear, pressing a hand flat against his partner's chest and shoving hard as he leans back, reeling, breaking the kiss as quickly as humanly possible.]
I don't know what you think you remember, Fraser, but that is not... that is not cool. That's not normal. That is... that is abnormal.
[He's not even pissed off, just perplexed as fuck as to what drove his friend to that conclusion. Not that it's the worst conclusion to come to-- wait, what?]
no subject
That's it.
Finally they were getting somewhere. Benton appeared to recognise the name enough to accept it, and that was the first step on the road to recovery. Ray has no clue where his partner would have got Geoffrey from, maybe an old Canadian friend or some such that he'd managed to dig from the recess of his mind and assume it's his own. It didn't matter. What did matter is that Fraser wasn't a lost cause, and that they'd manage, over time, to get him remembering what he needed to. He knows enough about memory loss to know it can take weeks, maybe even months, to fully recover, and that's if this isn't just alcohol induced (which he still doubted it was).
He shifts over enough to let his friend up, there's already enough space on the bed but it's the gesture of acceptance, as is twisting just enough to show he's interested in Fraser's musings. Talk of emotional breakdowns and this Geoffrey name and love. Ray's lost by that point. He's not exactly sure who Benton thinks he's talking about. Victoria, maybe? Or some mystery woman he loves. Or maybe this is just part of his weird made up world he's got for himself as this Geoffrey guy.
Whatever it is, Ray assumes it's better to let his friend stumble through these ideas and possible memories than interrupt him with corrections. Let him remember for himself rather than force it on him.
Maybe that was a poor choice though, because he almost doesn't question Fraser reaching for him, doesn't even move as that hand curls around his jaw, unsure whether it's confusion or curiosity that keeps him still.
He's not given any time to think anyway, Fraser moving far too quickly for his bemused mind to fully grasp what's going on until there's lips on his, soft and warm and-- what the fuck? Ray sits there for what feels like minutes but likely barely over a second or two, and then his mind kicks back into gear, pressing a hand flat against his partner's chest and shoving hard as he leans back, reeling, breaking the kiss as quickly as humanly possible.]
I don't know what you think you remember, Fraser, but that is not... that is not cool. That's not normal. That is... that is abnormal.
[He's not even pissed off, just perplexed as fuck as to what drove his friend to that conclusion. Not that it's the worst conclusion to come to-- wait, what?]