thelockbox | Geoffrey Tennant

Geoffrey Tennant

GEOFFREY TENNANT。
"A theatre is an empty space and as per the four-hundred-year-old stage direction, we begin with a "tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning". It is a storm of color and sound-- A dense, unnatural storm. And we see it in glimpses, and flashes, as Miranda would have seen it. We see fragments of the horror, and our minds provide the details. The lights churn and swell like the sea--Ah nuts."	NEW READ JOURNAL CREDIT

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Detective Vecchio. This is Officer Matthews down at the 2-7.

[ Working the drunk tank was an unappreciated task; a responsibility that fell to a cop named Matthews who'd been doing the job for three years and desperately wanted to get out so that he had half a chance of earning his shield before he hit 35. There just wasn't any glory in it, just a whole lot of vomit, lots of shoe laces and belts, and the nightly trial of directing a paramedic unit through the building. Other cops brought in rowdy, slurring, singing idiots, deposited them on Matthews, who had to fingerprint and identify them, fight with them, put up with 'I'm not drunk officer, really', flirting and fictional names of varying obviousness - the usual nightly highlights - and then he'd stumble home to bed at 11am and sleep through to nighttime again.

Policework really wasn't as glamorous as he thought it would be. It was no fun. Nothing out of the ordinary happened any more. Except for tonight. Tonight stood out. He'd had the arresting officer tell him the story three times, simply because he didn't believe it, and varying other people who had the graveyard shift with him had clamored in to hear it. He'd retold it, then, at least a dozen more times, and frankly it still sounded crazy. He'd been hoping it wouldn't - really hoping - by the time he picked up the phone and dialed Ray Vecchio's home number. He'd be waking him up with this, after all. At a quarter to three in the morning. It'd be good if it sounded even vaguely real. ]

I'm sorry for disturbing you this late, it's just--well, he doesn't have any next of kin. His emergency number is Re. The Government of Canada, and well...it turns out Canada doesn't open again until 9am Monday morning. We feel given...well, given the particular circumstances...

God, Ray. If it were anyone else we'd have had to call the shrink, just in case. They found him naked in the park shouting at the moon. He looked like he'd been swimming. He had a mouthful of feathers, blood under his fingernails. He swears it's all his own. But there's also--look, noone else knows this, it's not in the write-up: he doesn't even know where he is. Doesn't recognize the station.

Just... Just get down here, okay? It'd be better for him if he's out before the day shift comes in.

[ Geoffrey sat crosslegged on the bunk, as far in the corner of the room as he could get. He stared quietly across the room, counting again, scowling at all the other people. Solitary - solitary confinement - what was so wrong with solitary confinement? He'd begged them to put him somewhere alone, but here he was. There were eleven of them, including himself: a homeless man raving to himself in a foreign language, two grizzly looking thugs who were chatting in the other corner under their breath, three green looking frat boys who were cowering nearer to the bars together, two bikers, a man in a suit fretting anxiously, a drag queen with her head in her hands, and--and Him, watching them all, smelling of lake and wet birds, his hair still stuck with feathers and mostly dry, redressed in drab grey flannel with a - now unnecessary - grubby towel slung across his shoulders.

God, he thought, despairingly, even in Chicago he was still the craziest one here.

They'd told him they were calling someone to come get him. Since Geoffrey had introduced himself as 'Hi, I'm Geoff, The Mad Hatter's Brother-in-Law, you may have heard of me', he had a powerful suspicion that 'Someone' was probably 'Some Men in White Coats', but since he honestly couldn't remember his own last name it was probably for the best. He just needed to sleep it off, couldn't they see that? Although how anyone could sleep in here he didn't know.

One of the policemen from earlier - Matthews, he thought his name was - came back in looking tired. He was a weird one, this one; slightly unhinged. Too many night shifts could do that to a person, he'd heard. ]

Fraser, you're up. [ Wait, was that him? Weird name. Like the river? Okay, well, why question it, right? But into which jaws of hell was he walking this time, exactly? He stood, dodging a frat boy as he tried to vomit on his bare feet, and made it to the bars unscathed, then padded out beyond them, following Matthews out of holding with absolutely no idea what was going to happen next, where he was going, or why. Geoffrey Fraser. He could work that.

Out into the waiting room now.

Okay, so if Geoffrey Fraser was who he was...who the hell was this guy? ]

[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.

[ Haha Stanley Kowalski this is your life.

Matthews just shrugs - that seems to be all he's capable of offering - and he gestures Geoffrey after him to sign himself out, which he does with the unquestionable rote of someone who knows procedure through and through. That's good. That's a good sign that Fraser hasn't totally lost his mind as well as forgotten his name, right?

And he's free. Free apart from the fact that he apparently has the company of this scraggy, tired looking blonde guy. There's dry gel flaking in his bed-mussed hair, and his eyes are a little wild - actually there's something dangerous in there - and when Geoffrey gets closer he can smell beer on his breath. Which is a laugh--he's one to talk, he'd lost track of the last two inches of his bottle of vodka somewhere near the duck pond.

But he's not bad looking, this blonde guy. Maybe he'll humor him for a while, see where this is going. God, shouldn't he know this man? Nothing - literally nothing - was coming to mind. Which was ridiculous because the guy obviously knew him. It was probably just the drink, right? It'd come back to him, he just had to give himself some time. Besides, the police officer had called him, and he probably wouldn't release anyone into a total stranger's custody by accident, right?

So he stops in front of Ray for just a moment, trying to get the measure of him, trying to recognise something in the other man's eyes--or be recognised. He saw frustration there (which was a good sign, because anyone who knew him ought to be frustrated with him most of the time), and maybe horror, restraint, a hint of something like caring. All unsurprising: he was here to pick up his friend from the police station at who-knew-when in the morning, that took a certain kind of love.

Whatever it was he saw in his savior, it was enough, because after a moment Geoffrey beamed and patted him on the cheek with one hand: ]

My knight in shining leather.

[ Whoosh, he's gone, swanning ahead of Ray out through the waiting room door and into the corridor beyond, and then heading down it the wrong way--the way he'd been brought in, i.e. past the front desk, rather than the opposite direction - the direction Benton Fraser would take - down the stairs and out into the courtyard car park behind the station where Ray usually parked.

But a terrible sense of direction was normal for the chronically inebriated, right? ]

[It's not the spark of crazy in Fraser's eyes that surprises Ray, he already had to put up with some level of madness on a day to day basis from his partner. It's not even really the feathers in the hair or the apparent loss of memory or the unusual expressions. It's the fact that Constable Benton Fraser would even get drunk in the first place. The amount of times he'd refused a beer or a shot of whiskey or a wine when Ray had gladly drank it down, refusing politely to even drink alongside his partner, and now this? Now he's drank alone and pushed himself too far. Ray's almost upset that his friend hadn't at least called him to warn him, although Ray supposes accidentally having a few too many to drink has happened to himself before.

Why this even happened might remain a mystery, but he doubts accidental is the reason. How does one 'accidentally' drink enough alcohol to get them forgetting their name? Unless... unless this was someone's idea of a practical joke and had somehow been slipping Fraser the drinks. Or maybe this was some weird Mountie experiment. Or-- whatever, it didn't matter right now.

Right now all that mattered was getting his partner out of this place and somewhere to sober up, which definitely couldn't be the Consulate so he supposes it'll be back at his place to babysit his drunk friend for the night.

He takes the pat on the cheek with little more than an eye roll, darting off after his friend to keep him in sight and waving an idle goodbye in Matthews direction. He can properly thank the guy later and maybe update him on the ridiculous morning they'll undoubtedly have.]

Fraser. Fraser. Fraser, car's this way.

[Hands still in his pockets as he tilts his head down the corridor, away from the front desk and off towards a set of stairs. He doesn't wait long to make sure the Mountie is following, instead leading the way, head lowered tiredly and hands briefly emerging to hitch up the collar of his jacket before scuttering away back into his pockets. He's exhausted, mentally now as well as physically. This is too much to worry about at this time of the morning.]

You've got some serious explaining to do, buddy.

[ Fraser. Fraser. Fraser--right, that's him.

He pivots smoothly on his heel and glides back in the other direction almost without breaking stride, wrapping his arms around himself as they head down the stairs. The closer they get to outside the colder it gets, and apparently the temperature is finally starting to bother him (it hadn't when he'd been swimming in the pond, or standing dripping in the moonlight afterwards.)

Ray leads the way, which is good because Geoff wouldn't have picked the right car out even if he'd tried. It was a black Pontiac, only slightly younger than he was, and it looked decidedly out of place beside all the smooth, dull modern cars in the lot beside it. It would have taken him forever: which wouldn't have been fun, because between the asphalt, the temperature (in the low seventies) and his bare feet, he was already having a bad enough time of it. The flannel dressing gown was no good either. It was still a little damp, and the chill got straight in.

But the car? Honestly he wasn't really that impressed, but then he still drove the same old rustbucket he'd been petering around town in a decade before. An interest in flash cars like this one was outside his paygrade. He pursued hobbies he could afford. Like sitting in the park and occasionally drinking a beer.

He ran his hand across the roof, puzzling over the top of it at Ray for a moment longer. Just who or what was this guy? Early midlife crisis, was that it? He didn't look like he'd hit forty. But the leather jacket, the Gran Tourismo antique car, the spiked up hair? He was overcompensating for something.

Whoever he was, he'd apparently decided that Geoffrey was in the doghouse, though. So he ducked his head obediently for the time being and put himself in the passenger seat of the car, relieved to get his feet up off the floor, even if the inside of Ray's car wasn't much better than the outside. He shivered despite himself, and then tried a little harder to pretend there was absolutely nothing wrong. Discomfort? What was discomfort? ]

The ducks deserved it. [ Is how his explanation began, spoken down at his knees like a sullen child explaining why his homework was ruined. ] And I do realize that springing me is a thankless task. It's late, you were likely already sleeping. So thank you. I really do appreciate it.

[ He squinted at the man sidewards in the darkness, from under his own mess of curly hair. Okay, so he might as well get this out of the way: ]

This is going to sound...crazy, so please bear with me, but... I've completely forgotten your name.

[They lead out in relative silence, Ray avoiding saying too much for fear of anyone overhearing. The gossip around the station spread far too quickly and it only took one officer to catch the wrong phrase before everything spiralled out of control. It'd happened before and it'd happen again. Best they get into his beloved car and away from prying ears before anything is even mentioned.

Once sat in the Pontiac he gets the engine ticking over and slams the heater on full, turning to eye up the partner beside him. Ray had spotted the shivering despite the cover up. How could he not? Even if he hadn't seen it, he was well aware of the temperature and, despite tales of Fraser running around naked and jumping in water, once the alcohol leaves the system the cold would come. He should have brought a spare set of clothing, but he had been too tired to even consider it when he'd left his apartment. No matter, he'd have something for Fraser once they got back.

It's hard to feel too angry when the guy opposite him looks cold, sullen and completely worn down. Or roughed up. Or crazy. Or whatever that mad hair, mad eye look is. It's especially hard to feel angry when there's actual gratitude for him getting out of his nice warm bed and dragging himself out here for the sake of a drunken Mountie. Maybe Fraser was sober enough for politeness after all.

Except... except he's not sober enough to remember names?]

Uh.

[His brows furrow heavily, unsure whether to be concerned or offended by the apparent lack of memory. God, he hopes it's the alcohol causing this and not something else.]

It's Ray. We work together. ... Did you uh, do you remember hittin' your head or anythin'?

[Carefully attentive, showing that level of empathy that he only ever reserves for Fraser. You can tell me, he's quietly suggesting through that understanding etched across his exhausted expression. Perhaps Fraser's just struggling with names right now. He must recognise Ray, right? After all their time together, there's no way he'd forget that.]

[ Geoffrey slowly uncurls as the heat generated begins to ebb back into the car. It helps that Ray just drove down here, the heat hadn't long vanished, and it returned steadily enough, though not fast enough to immediately quell his shaking. His arms unlinked from under his knees, though, and he sat the rest of the way up, reaching to pull the belt across his lap. No shoulder strap. Odd car.

If anything, though, he's warmed by how caring - how conscientious - Ray is being. Which is reasonable because apparently they're friends. He hasn't questioned him about the ducks or the moon or the park or the vodka, didn't embarrass him in front of the policeman, and turned up the heat inside the car without Geoffrey needing to say a word.

And now he's worried that he has amnesia, or a head injury. That's good friendly stuff.

To tell the truth it's more than anyone's cared about his wellbeing for a long time. Other than 'dear God if he's gone crazy again what will I do?' Amnesia is a refreshing change to barking mad, actually. It's far more genuine, more human and less prejudging than anything Geoffrey's used to (although to be fair he brings these things on himself).

He let himself show a little of his coldness then, bringing his hands up, the sleeves held tight in his hands, and reaching across to turn the slotted radiator into his chest. He licked his lips, ducked his face into the warmth. ]

Of course we work together. [ And that made sense too. This could be an actor's car. The guy was an American - even if there was something off about his accent - and he did have that look about him, like he could carry a line, put on a show. He had good teeth, too. Yes, Ray could be an actor. Probably his new lead, right? Why didn't he remember that? ]

I don't think I did. I'd-- [ He scratched the back of his neck, in the scruff of hair there. ] I'd remember something like that, wouldn't I? A blow to the head?

Then again I don't usually forget people's names. Or anything, really. [ He dropped his hands back into his lap, his shoulders hunched slightly forward. ] Can you drive me...uh. [ Home? The hotel? Did he really want to make it seem like he didn't know where he was staying on top of everything else? He was already humiliated. He waved his hand. ] You know.

[The heater in the car wasn't exactly any match for modern day cars, but it did the job well enough. It was a little too warm for Ray, if he was honest, but he wasn't the one in nothing but a robe. The things he puts up with for the sake of his friend. He deserves a medal or something for putting up with constant bullshit and having to deal with a Canadian in day to day life.

Ray's reassured that Fraser doesn't look totally insane, at the very least. He half expected his friend to be rambling mindlessly or shouting at the guards considering their tales of how they'd found him. At the moment Fraser just looked cold and maybe a little lost, and it makes Ray exceptionally glad that they called him before the shrink.]

Sure. Although uh. We'll go back to mine, yeah? No point going back to the Consulate at this hour, not if we don't want the Ice Queen hearin' about all this.

[This is the sort of thing Fraser could lose his job over, after all, even if Thatcher does seem to have a soft spot for the guy.

Either way, Ray doesn't wait to hear of an agreement or not, instead facing forward and reversing the car out before pulling away into the barely lit streets of Chicago. It's not a long drive, but Ray can't do it in silence, not when Fraser's hunched like that and somehow making Ray feel responsible. He should have been there for his friend, somehow, rather than drop him off at the Consulate alone. There was something wrong. There had to be for Fraser to get this drunk and go crazy in a park, and it's Ray's fault for not picking up on it. Some partner he was if he couldn't even tell when his friend was in need.]

Hey, it'll be alright. You probably just need a good nights sleep, that's all. I can call in for you in the mornin' if you need, tell them you'll be in late or uh, not at all. Heh. I've had nights where I can't even remember where I live. It's nothin' new.

Edited (i can't type. bye brain) 2014-09-04 05:42 (UTC)

[ Geoffrey snorted out loud at that. The Ice Queen, that was good. A very fitting title for Ellen, he thought. And no, they didn't want her to hear anything about this. Preferably never hearing about it--that sounded prudent. He'd never hear the end of it otherwise. Ray must know him very well--more than he felt like he knew him, at least. Why couldn't he remember anything about this man? He should at least be able to remember his acting, right? If it was terrible, or magnificent, that was the kind of thing that ought to stick with him.

The Consulate, though. He was really staying at the Consulate? Maybe they'd made it after all. Which was honestly a weird thought, and not at all appropriate to muse over when he couldn't even remember what he'd eaten in the last twelve hours. But still...the Canadian Consulate. No wonder he had to get out of there.

(Weird, though, he had distant memories of a shoddy hotel room near the train station. Flashes of a dispirited looking man behind the desk. Maybe he was just imagining it.)

The passing streets around him meant very little to Geoffrey. He didn't know enough about Chicago to even know which direction they were going, nevermind if he recognised any of it. But he looked out the window over the dashboard and watched the streets rolling past, the lights flashing white-gold reflections off the waxed black hood of the GTO. He sat up just a little further, finally comfortable, and offered a hopeful smile toward the man beside him. ]

You really would, wouldn't you? Call in for me? I think I'd appreciate that, Ray, thank you.

[ What a nice man. In fact he was being very nice, and there was that whole 'back to mine' thing. He must be from Chicago. But this driving back to his place thing--it wasn't weird for him, was it? Was it? Like they were pals, or maybe something else. Huh. Weird. It was hard to tell, though; Ray didn't give much away.

He sat back to think about it, finally leaning all the way into the seat behind him. They were very comfortable seats, he had to give them that. He watched Ray drive with unbroken attention, watching the light flash across his face - in and out of shadow - studying the lines of his features and the lonely grayness of his eyes in the dull light, his hard, strong hands with the old scars across his knuckles.

Sleep it off. Hah. He lowered his voice to something conspiratorial, even though they were completely alone. ]

What if I told you I don't think I can sleep? Would you sit up all night and keep me company?

[Ray spares only the occasional look back to his friend, more so to check he's not going to throw up on the interior of his car than anything else. And okay, maybe just the slightest concern for his well being, but the GTO's interior is really damn important too. He doesn't even want to think how much it would cost to get vomit cleaned off, and if that didn't work? Re-upholstery? His dad would kill him for that. They'd spent too long together getting it done right the first time around, what with genuine fabric from the right era and carefully trying to install it.

He does catch that smile though, and returns it with his own brief flash of one before darting his attention back to the road, merely nodding at the acceptance of him calling out. He's certain Fraser would do the same for him. And maybe that's it, maybe that's why Ray is being nice, because Fraser's an awful (or good, he supposes) influence when it comes to politeness and goodness and all of that shit. It wouldn't be too much of a bother though, not if he called in before the Ice Queen started work and spoke to Turnbull about it. Turnbull may be odd, but he was still a hell of a lot easier to communicate with than Thatcher was, especially if it involved her Golden Boy having time off.

They're not far off home by the time Fraser pipes up again, and if there is any conspiracy going on, Ray's certainly not privy to it.]

Doubt I'll be able to get back to sleep anyways.

[Which sounds like a yes. Welsh would likely let him come in on a later shift if he needed it, or take a sick day. Wasn't many cases on his plate, after all. Maybe that's why Fraser got drunk... boredom. Ray sure can't blame him for that one.

And here they are, home again, home again, jiggety jig, as the Pontiac is parked up and Ray slinks out into the night air, peering back at the passenger side. The apartment door is thankfully close, especially considering the lack of shoes or clothing Fraser seems to have, but if he can manage the walk through the hallways, he'll soon have some clothes provided.

When they do get to his door Ray fumbles with the lock tiredly for a second before stepping in, flicking the light on (several neon signs stuck about the apartment still burning bright) and holding the door open for the other. It's a typical bachelor pad, a retro theme running throughout and organised mess throughout, but Fraser already knew that, didn't he?]

I'll go grab you some stuff to wear. [And then calling back as he retreats.] You uh, y'want a coffee or anythin'?

[Fraser might be a size or two bigger, but Ray's sure he can dig up some work out gear or some such that'll have some give in it.]

[ What a lovely, evasive 'Yes'. Not that he entirely believed it. Ray looked like a man who was perpetually somewhere between coffee-jittering his way through the floor and passing out asleep on the nearest flat surface. Or maybe it was the fact that it was past three in the morning now, and Geoffrey had roused him from his slumber? He looked tired, but at the same time awake enough that he could be trusted to drive--which was fortunate, because Geoffrey felt like he'd be way past the legal limit for the next three weeks just on the fumes from tonight's spree. It really was fortunate that he wasn't a projectile vomit sort of drunk. Years of practice had helped him to hold his alcohol; afterparty after afterparty had drilled it into him. And sex--sex was a lot easier if you weren't fighting down the contents of your stomach throughout, too.

When they pulled up outside the apartment building, he almost resented having to get out of the car. The asphalt was cold against his toes, and the air was brisk after the toasty warmth of the GTO. It was like jumping into an ice cold shower, or under a waterfall, and he shivered and clung to his gown, scurrying to catch up with the other man. He crammed in behind Ray at his door, as though he could soak up his body heat by standing a half centimeter away from him while he hunted for his key, and he sprang into the room abruptly the moment it was possible for him to do so, going only two steps before falling still again.

Oh, interesting. This was...very interesting. The bike on the wall, the odd neon signs. Ray had big attractive windows, but they had blinds shuttered over them to keep the city out. The furniture was a jumble, a rolltop desk that looked too grown up and practical for an apartment that probably only served as a place to fuck and sleep. A utilitarian table that looked like it had been chosen for the fact that it was a table and little else; to serve a function. The neon lights were dreadful illumination, certainly not sufficient to work by, and in the middle of the night they gave the room a moody glow, more like a strip club than a home.

But that kitchen. The stereo, the mugs on the big hand-made shelving unit, the photoframes that were a reminder of some other life. It clashed with everything else. It had a homey warmth to it, a sort of feminine touch, and when he looked again there were odd out of place feminine touches around the entire room. A too-expensive rug, cushions, a throw on the couch; the kind of effects a bachelor would never pick up; fragments of a life shattered. Ray was a divorcee. ]

I suppose a beer would be out of the question?

[ The bathroom was the first door he found, and he'd stripped off the robe and half closed the door when he realised he probably ought to explain himself first. He ducked his torso back through, blinking after Ray where he'd disappeared into the bedroom. ]

I'm just going to wash the pond off. I'll be back out in a jif.

[ And then he vanished again, leaving the door to so that the bathroom didn't steam up too much. He was grateful for the hot water, the chance to at last scour off the smell of ducks and pondweed. It had the added effect of warming him through, getting the grubby Chicago street mud out from between his toes, and as it turned out Ray's shower lotion didn't smell half bad; it definitely did its part masking whatever silty city scents were left. He emerged from the bathroom feeling much better, a fresh towel around his hips, hair dripping, dabbing himself dry. ]

You said something about clothes?

[There was still something odd about Fraser. Off, as if the alcohol wasn't quite enough of an explanation as to why he'd been found charging around the park in nothing but his birthday suit. Or why he'd forgotten so much of all of this. Or why his hair seemed too wild, like it might be longer than normal rather than just out of place. Ray was no detective but-- oh wait, he was. That's exactly what he was, and if he can't eventually piece together some of this puzzle, he should probably be fired by his next shift. Sadly 'face twin who just happens to be in the exact same place as his other face twin' just doesn't seem like a feasible answer to all of this, and so Ray's instead left pondering what the hell could have happened to his friend between being dropped off before five last night and being arrested for drunk and disorderly.

A knock to the head still seems like the most likely explanation, even if Fraser can't remember it, but then again Fraser doesn't seem to remember quite a few important details so banging his head might be on that list. It'd happened before, after all. Stanley remembers reading about that one.]

Yes, a beer is out of the question.

[He replies with a verbal eye roll as he disappeared into his room, nodding to no one at the explanation for taking over his shower. At least Fraser seemed comfortable enough to make himself at home in the apartment. Maybe there was some familiarity after all, even if sober Fraser would never dream of such an invasion without a polite request beforehand.

Ray listens to the hiss of the shower as he searches through his drawers for clothing, distantly considering how odd it was to have someone else in his apartment. He couldn't remember the last time someone had used his shower and yet there was Fraser, very much naked and cleaning off whatever the hell he managed to get on himself.

By the time his friend emerges from the bathroom, Ray's back in the kitchen, pouring out two mugs of something as he tiredly glances up to the barely clad figure. He didn't seem too concerned with the dripping and didn't seem too concerned with averting his gaze either.]

Yeah, just over there. [A jerk of his head towards the arm of the couch where a (fairly) neatly piled stack sat. Nothing fancy, just some clean boxers, sweatpants and a t-shirt that's a few sizes too big for Ray, but it's better than a damp robe. The apartment should be warm enough for those to be sufficient for the moment.]

Hey, I found some chamomile tea at the back of the cupboard. Figured you'd want that more than coffee, huh?

[Although Ray's got a coffee for himself, thank you very much, which he brings, along with the chamomile, towards the couch, placing them both down on the coffee table and then sitting heavily back.]

[ Geoffrey was still torn over whether he liked this new friend or not, because really - a friend who would deprive a drunk man beer is no friend at all - but then maybe Ray really likes his upholstery. He can't really resent it too much, after all he may have lost his memory or his mind, and the addition of more alcohol to an already traumatized brain might simply be too much for it to handle.

So he doesn't sulk too much; maybe it's for the best. And the shower is very good.

He rubs his hair dry - it's messier than usual and the towel-rumpling doesn't help - then makes his way over to the couch to recover the assigned clothes. Good clothes. T-shirt, sweatpants, underwear. The shirt is even in his size, which only proves to deepen his suspicions about the nature of their relationship. But as he's yanking the boxers up (and having difficulty getting them over his hips as the towel slips to the floor because wow, surprise, they're a little tight across the middle and he never saw that coming) Ray says something about...

Chamomile tea? Jesus Christ. What's he trying to do, kill him? Chamomile tea? Where was his coffee? His nice, black coffee, bitter and unctuous and possibly bad for his continued mental health? The smell of coffee seemed to fill the entire apartment, but there'd be none of it for him. No coffee for Geoffrey. This was hell. He'd died and gone to hell.

He pulled up the sweatpants unhappily, then slumped down on the couch beside Ray just as the other man did the same. He sat forward where Ray sat back, his mussed hair still dripping water, his borrowed shirt clinging wet to the broad space between his shoulder blades. He smelled of Ray's shower lotion and nothing else--which was fortunate because ew ponds.

Geoffrey stared into the chamomile tea like a shark was going to jump out of it and attack him. This...this was not a drink. This was flower flavored water. It was medicine. Mouthwash. A disgusting potion invented by a hippy thousands of years before hippies were a thing. The very idea that in an era of coffee and beer such a drink might continue to exist was an affront to civilisation.

He leant down closer to the tea and sniffed it, hovering over the surface with his eyes crossed, then carefully he reached out and pushed it away, sitting back, looking at Ray grimly. He could try to look apologetic - he could - but he didn't. ]

Thank you but no thank you. I can't drink that. I wouldn't. Not even if you paid me. No indeed, especially not if you paid me.

[Alright, so Fraser's just going to change right there. Sure. Fine. It's not the first time they've changed in front of each other, he guesses, but Ray's keeping his gaze away anyway just for the sake of avoiding any mistaken views. Instead he looks to his coffee, reaching for it and staring deep within the mug like it'll somehow answer some of his questions about this whole weird affair, transfixed even as his friend slumps into the spot next to him.

It's the barely there drip of water against the floor that brings his attention back, throwing a look to the now dressed male beside him and taking a second to check the clothing at least vaguely fits. Seems so, even to the point that the t-shirt looks like the right size, even when pulled around slumped shoulders. ... Slump. Now that's something Fraser doesn't usually do. Ray wasn't even aware his muscles worked that way.

Not only that but Fraser's eyeing up the tea like it's poison before outright rejecting it.]

I thought you liked that stuff? Only reason I even own that crap is for you. I mean, I know it's no 'bark tea' but it's close as I can get from a seven eleven down the block.

[Ray looks back just as grimly, mug rested on a thigh as he narrows his eyes lightly against the unappreciative stare. Maybe he'd got it wrong with the tea thing. Maybe Fraser didn't like the stuff, even if Ray could swear he's seen the guy drink it on multiple occasions while politely avoiding coffee (or just as politely forcing it down). But that's just it; even if Fraser hated it, he'd still accept the offering out of gratitude. He'd still keep it close like it's some sort of precious gift even if he never drank from it, because that's what the idiot does.]

You sure you're alright, buddy?

[Please be alright. Ray doesn't think he can cope without Fraser around. What if Fraser really has gone mad? What if, for the sake of his health, Ray's forced to call the psych ward? Is that betraying his friend or helping him? Getting Benton locked up certainly didn't feel like helping him, but seeing him so drastically changed doesn't feel too helpful either.]

I mean uh. Whatever this is, this uh thing. Whatever it is, I can help. You know that, right? I wanna help, because that's what buddies do. And... and leaving someone alone at night to get drunk and chase ducks is not buddies. That's my bad. I shoulda known something was up but I missed it and that's on me, but I can make it up.

Edited 2014-09-08 05:55 (UTC)

[ He snorts out a laugh at the first bit because if chamomile tea is bad, bark tea sounds revolting. Look, he may be drunk but he really isn't that drunk that he'll believe anything Ray says. Maybe this is some kind of joke. He's brought him gross tea to see if he'll drink it as a laugh. Lost your memory, have you? Well we'll see about that!

To be fair he'd have probably have done the same thing to someone with amnesia: no, really, you love pickled herring. Actors really did have a dreadful sense of humor.

He bit down on his laugh at least, because Ray was looking at him like he was lying there in his deathbed, looking as grumpy as he did terrified. You sure you're alright, buddy? His laugh ebbed. He put the back of his own fist into his mouth and quickly looked away from that worried expression, feeling deeply guilty.

Ray kept speaking to his ear, and his guilt only deepened. Oh, they really did have a something, didn't they? Ray really cared a great deal about him to think that he could tell when there was something wrong with him, to be guilty that he'd missed it, but it was Geoffrey who was really crippled by that guilt. He wanted so badly to remember, because then he might be able to absolve Ray somewhat, or at least let him in. He wanted to remember because he wanted to remember someone loving him so much that they'd notice when he was losing his mind. God, to be loved by someone who wouldn't give him up as a lost cause on the actions of a single night.

But he didn't. He didn't remember. And it was like having a heart full of razor blades. What if he'd forgotten it forever? What if the alcohol burned the memory of being buddies with Ray out of his head permanently, or he really had taken a blow to his head? He'd never drink again.

Geoffrey turned back slowly, his eyes searching Ray's face. It was really the first time he'd been face to face with the man since he'd stepped out of the cell. The neon lights hung on the contours and lines, the sharp angle of Ray's jaw. It made his eyes look steelier than they were; somehow harder and...sadder. God, he looked lonely. What would happen to Ray if he lost his memory? Would he be able to live with it?

He reached out instinctively and cradled that bristled jaw, tilting his own head very slightly to the right. He spoke softly, with admiration, because he admired this man despite the fact that in certain respects he'd only just met him. The words were familiar - Hamlet - but he also liked them, often murmured them under his own breath: ]

"What a piece of work is a man. How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty. In form and moving how express and admirable. In action how like an angel. In apprehension how like a god." [ He exhaled slowly. ] I'm the one that went out chasing ducks in the middle of the night, Ray. Surely it is I who ought to be making it up to you? [ He brushed his thumb over Ray's bottom lip. ] I should have told you something was wrong. It can't have been important - I can't even remember what it was - but I should have told you.

[At first he's not sure Fraser's taking this seriously. The laughter and the turn away isn't exactly reassuring Ray that his friend is listening, but he carries on regardless. He wants Fraser to know that he's there for him. Needs him to know, because they've both been through far too much to just give up at the slightest sign of any weakness on either side. They'd already seen one another at some of their lowest points and if this was a low point for Fraser then that was something that can be dealt with and solved.

If it couldn't be solved, it could certainly be catered to. A little bit of memory loss of insanity is nothing between friends, especially not buddies. Perhaps it was merely the city getting to Fraser. He does return to parks for a vague reminder of the wild, so it could be that his 'episode' in the park that night had merely been some over-exaggerated return to the wild. It might be that he'd been in the city for too long and needed to go out North again. That could be arranged. That was no big deal, if only he'd ask for it.

Ray's not a psychic, after all.

If he were, he might have seen what was coming. As it is, having the other reach out for him isn't something he'd ever expected. The hand at his jaw feels too personal and he's not sure if it's the touch alone or the look he's getting; concerned? Guilty? Possibly even admiration? It's unusual, even for a pair that have little issue with personal space.

He doesn't move though, not while that hand remains, brows merely furrowing as he flickers his gaze down before locking it back with Fraser's and listening curiously to the words spoken. He's not sure of it's meaning but that's nothing new. It's the thumb that finally gets him shifting, head tilting back just slightly away from the hand to get the smallest bit of distance from it so long as it doesn't follow the movement.]

You uh. You don't gotta make anything up to me, Fraser. [Maybe if he just pretended that didn't happen. Just keep talking.] It's fine. It's cool. A-okay. If you don't remember what happened, then we don't worry about it. We just gotta get you rested and hope that brain of yours starts workin' properly again.

[ Geoffrey watched Ray freeze, looking down at his hand, but it was...well, it was all kinds of mixed signals. He couldn't work out for sure what Ray was thinking. First he held still and let himself be touched, and then he was drawing away, putting a little distance between them. Geoffrey let him go, his hand coming back to his own mouth to rub his palm briskly against it.

Still, the most that meant was that Ray didn't like the idea of getting touchy feely when he was more preoccupied with the state of his friend's mental health, right? That wasn't so unexpected or unreasonable of him. That Geoffrey felt just fine apart from the block on his memory probably wasn't such a good thing. His invulnerability and excess energy was likely a symptom rather than a remedy. ]

I'll take your word for it, Ray. [ His hand came back down, patting his knee firmly. ] In the meantime as flattered as I am that you're in such a hurry to get me into bed, I have to tell you that I'm still not remotely tired.

But that's okay. Let me just grab a cup of coffee and we'll get to know each other better.

[ He came up out of his seat, and just in case Ray thought the weird was already insurmountable, Geoffrey was about to prove otherwise. He circled the counter, fetching down a new cup and starting to make coffee as he spoke--

In Canada we have this game, and I realize it's quite unlikely that you have it over here, but well, we can't help our surfeit of civilization compared to your own. [ Drunk Fraser was bitchy, who knew? He turned, forgot what he was turning for and froze hands raised in the air to either side of his head, before spinning abruptly, nodding, digging through the drawers. ] Spoon, spoon, spoon--Smarties? Do you mind? [ He counted a half dozen of them into his coffee, and dropped the rest back into the drawer. ] So in any case, the game is called "At the very least I have never" and usually speaking it would be played with brandy - or tequila, depending on the standards of the company you were keeping at the time. Well, in fact, I haven't played it in years, but there's no time like the present.

So for instance [ He said, finally bearing coffee and heading back toward the couch. ] You'd say "At the very least I have never made out with any actors", and I, obviously, would drink. Let's see how much about myself I can remember. At the very least I have never slept with any American women.

[ He sat beside Ray, raising his coffee slightly. ]

[Coffee is the worst thing his currently wide awake friend could be having, especially if sleep is the best course of action to get him sobering up. But Ray did agree to staying awake with him and so he doesn't argue the point. If Fraser wants coffee then he must be desperate.

He sips at his own mug, twisting in his seat to watch the other head for the kitchen as though checking that this was all for real. He could help with directing him to mugs and coffee and the like, but it's just as entertaining to watch, even if Fraser is stealing some of the beloved smarties.]

So we're playin' a drinking game with coffee?

[Sounds like a pretty dumb idea to him and his tone suggests as much, but for the sake of keeping them both amused, he might as well try it. It won't be the first time they've played word games to occupy themselves, but this is the first time he's heard Fraser offer up a game like this. Sure, it's a truth game, but a) a drinking game and b) a game that encourages admitting making out and sleeping with people? Doesn't sounds like something a sober Fraser would be playing.

He faces forward again as his partner comes back to the couch, considering the rules with some careful thought. This all sounds easy enough except...]

Wait, you've slept with an actor? When? Or uh. Do you drink when you haven't done it?

[Is this going to reveal things about Fraser that was previously unknown?]

That's the idea, yes. The loser gets more sober. Well I mean--you're already much more sober than I am, which I suppose is some form of cheating, but since we're not playing toward the ultimate goal of being the first one to flop unconscious into a snowdrift I think we're probably fine.

[ He took a little sip of his too hot coffee and set it down on the table in front of him, licking the taste of it off his lips. Ray had been watching him again, amused with him, and he seemed to be warming up to the situation--which meant the idea of playing a game with him was having the desired effect. ]

It was...nine or ten years ago, I forget. And you're only supposed to drink if you have done it. The idea is to trick the other person into revealing things about themselves that they would never admit. You can take a hit yourself in order to trap your opponent into an admission, but it's generally frowned upon.

[ He pulled one knee up onto the couch under himself, sitting a little more comfortably with his hip against the arm, his legs angled toward Ray. ]

You have slept with an American woman, haven't you? So you'd drink for that. Unless you only date Canadians, in which case I stand corrected.

[ He laid his hand on Ray's knee again, and maybe he was a little closer to him than he'd been before, his body language a little more open, more friendly, but Ray had agreed to play this game with him which at least took the edge off the whole awkwardness of the situation. ]

Lay one on me.

[So Fraser's discussing sleeping with people. Okay. Sure. Ray can deal with that. It might be interesting to hear considering how little they've discussed of that topic in the past. The Mountie is usually so tight lipped about anything from first base upwards that even a hell of a lot of persuasion from Ray couldn't get him loosened. Maybe this was taking advantage, just a little, but Fraser was the one requesting it.

He nods his understanding, lifting his mug briefly before taking a swig of coffee for the American women. Of course he'd done that much. In fact they were all American if memory served correct.]

You know I've slept with an American woman, Fraser. [Duh, his tone suggests, and just in case Fraser's being a bigger idiot than he thought;] Stella?

[But whatever, that wasn't important. It's less of a question and more of a statement of fact, because it's his turn and he needed to think of something he had done that Fraser had and... that was actually really easy to do considering how much he knew about the Mountie.]

This kind of seems like a really easy game here, Fraser. But okay. Uh. At the very least I have never uh, owned a pet half wolf?

[Is this how they play? It really does seem too easy.]

[ Okay, so the ex-wife was called Stella, that made a lot of sense. Though it was still odd being called Fraser so adamantly. Didn't this guy call him by his first name at all? Was this some kind of weird...weird American thing? No. No other Americans he'd met had insisted on calling him...

Tennant? Where had Tennant come from? He really was crazy, wasn't he?

Shaking his head, he leaned slightly in toward Ray, listening to the question.

And then just staring.

And staring.

Frozen face, curled into a disbelieving smile, which widened suddenly, shockingly, all pinprick eyes and a shake of his ruffled hair. ]

Ha!

A pet half wolf, you really had me there. Really, Ray-- [ And his tone was admonishing. ] --It's really a very simple game, I don't see what you're finding so hard to understand about the rules. I'm supposed to be the one who's inebriated beyond all reason.

[ Reassuringly (probably the opposite, really, considering his sharp exclamation and the now a little bit crazy look in his eyes, and oh hey how about how this was totally weird) Fraser rubbed Ray's knee - or his thigh to be more exact - before drawing his hand back, clasping his hot cup of coffee with both. ]

Why don't you try that again, and this time please try and get me to drink, won't you? Half wolf indeed.

[This is where the memory loss becomes a worry. Fraser forgetting his own name might be believable enough, perhaps even forgetting his partner in crime, but forgetting his wolf soul mate? That hardly seemed feasible. Diefenbaker was as much a part of the Mountie as the uniform or the politeness or the licking things. Forgetting any of that just didn't seem right.

But then again the uniform had already been ditched.

As had the politeness.

Maybe ditching Dief had happened too.

Jesus, Ray really needed to keep Fraser away from alcohol from now on.]

Fraser!--

[That warning tone is as much directed towards the laughter as it is the rubbing. That hand on the knee could almost have been ignored for the entirety of this, but thigh touching was just a little too intimate. Ray would have slapped that hand away if it hadn't already moved, but he's trying to look unimpressed about it all nevertheless.]

Fraser, you have a wolf. You forgot about him too? What even is the point of this game if you can't remember any of what I'm gonna say?

[This memory loss hasn't even been a few small things. It's one distinct fact after another and it's more than something alcohol should be affecting. Ray's been drunk enough to forget his name and what the hell he's doing, but by that stage he's also practically incoherent and vomiting everywhere. This wasn't high levels of drunkenness, this was... something. He's just still not sure what, but then again, he's not a doctor.]

What about the uniform? The hat? The consulate? You dad? Log cabins and the Yukon Territories and and... and all of that? You gonna drink for any of those?

Edited 2014-09-12 05:02 (UTC)

[ Wolf, uniform, hat, the Yukon? What was this all about? It was crazy talk; and Geoffrey should know all about crazy talk. But he was beginning to doubt that this was Ray's way of messing with him, because the genuine concern came across so blatantly that Geoffrey immediately felt awful for not knowing anything about what he was talking about, let alone thinking he could possibly make it up to crank his chain.

He was worried about Geoff, and Geoffrey in turn was worried about himself.

He had very clear memories of his own life; of the Rose, and the Swan and the stage, of Ellen and Oliver and reams of Shakespeare knowledge, more than any reasonable human being could be expected to know. But what if all of that was him going crazy? What if he was having some sort of existential crisis, and he'd used the works of Shakespeare as a crutch to create some vast falsehood about his entire life? He was the drunk one, after all; Ray was sober, he knew Geoffrey, had come and picked him up from the drunk tank and taken him home, given him fresh clothes to put on, let him use his shower.

It wasn't like this was his first brush with insanity...unless it was. Could he have dreamed up everything he thought had happened to him in a night? Hamlet, Insanity, Destitution, Oliver and Hamlet again? Macbeth?

Had he imagined it all? And why couldn't he remember any of this life that Ray was talking about? The consulate? Log cabins? What was happening to him? ]

I--

[ He thrust his coffee on the table and stood up abruptly, needing to put space between himself and Ray. Quickly he crossed the room, bringing his hands to his head, making a whining noise like he could somehow drown out his thoughts, and as he reached the wall he span, and froze like a rabbit in headlights, staring back at the other man. ]

Ray, I--

[ God, he was terrified, more scared than he'd ever been, and all because of a stupid game and a simple question. It ought to have been easy, it should have helped him to remember who Ray was, and everything would be just fine after that, but now he was just more scared, inescapably frightened. He stared at Ray for a few more seconds, then jolted like he'd been electrocuted, went to the nearest door - the bedroom door - stepped through it and closed it behind him. Once safely on the other side he pressed up against it, holding it shut, and just tried to breathe.

And slowly he slid down, and sat on the floor with his back against the door, and wrapped his arms around his legs, tucking his chin in against his knees. He pressed the balls of his palms against his eyes. Though he was speaking to Ray, his voice hardly carried through the flimsy door. He sounded as though he were on the verge of tears, possibly more afraid than he'd ever been. God, he didn't want to go back to the asylum...assuming he'd ever actually been institutionalised in the first place. He was just getting his life back. If it was his life at all. Nothing was making any sense. ]

I don't know who I am.

[Well, that sure seemed crazy. Not that Ray had much experience with it beyond Fraser's usual bouts of weirdness, but the jumping up? The head holding and the whining and the look of sheer terror? That wasn't 'normal' by any standards Ray knew of. He stares back, browns furrowing heavily down to create a deep crease between them, still concerned, still confused. What the hell had happened over night to cause this?]

Fraser...

[But too late, before Ray even managed to put his mug the whole way down, his friend had bolted to the bedroom and shut himself inside. Ray pauses long enough to blink at the sudden emptiness of the room, and then he's pushing himself to his feet and carefully approaching the bedroom door. He doesn't try to get in there, not yet, instead exhaling heavily as he presses his forward to the door and listens. Listens to make sure he can't hear his partner smashing or thumping or putting himself at risk. He doesn't care about the bedroom, there's nothing important in there.

He speaks through the door, muffled slightly by the barrier.]

Hey. I'm sorry, alright? I didn't realise--

[He didn't realise Fraser had totally lost it. He'd assumed there was some of the old Fraser mind left in there that could at least recognise his love for the outdoors, or his wolf companion or his apparent obsession with the uniform. Maybe Ray had pushed too hard.

This must be what a breakdown was. He'd heard about them plenty of times before with cops losing it and acting irrationally. This must be it. Fraser was acting odd, he'd forgotten everyone in his life and apparently couldn't even recall anything about himself. It's a worrying thought, because Ray has absolutely no clue how to solve something like this and he really isn't sure if calling someone is going to result in them dragging Fraser off for 'tests'.]

Do you... do you remember anythin'? Anything at all.

[ Ray sounded frightened too, and Geoffrey remembered that look in his eyes, that sad loneliness that he'd noticed before, and felt pity for him all over again. If he'd really lost his mind, lost all his memories, it wouldn't be him that suffered the most; it'd be Ray. He knew what it was like, after all: to be left alone, unloved, uncared for. It was hard. The distance hurt, feeling detached from the rest of humanity, with no idea of how to begin to fix it. It wasn't fair - it certainly wasn't something he wanted to intentionally do to another human being - and he ought to be trying harder to remember.

But how could he try any harder than he already was? He wanted so much to remember it that he could almost convince himself that he pictured it, and yet most of the details were still too fuzzy. He couldn't picture the Yukon, for instance--he'd never been there. Weren't there walruses in the Yukon? He'd never even seen a walrus. So he tried, and the harder he tried, the more it seemed he came up short. All he could remember was the theatre, his ragged sofa in the Theatre Sans Argent, the asylum, and before that the theatre again. Ellen's house, Oliver's office, the park. What did the Yukon even look like? Open spaces, mountains - he'd at least seen mountains, he knew what those looked like - glaciers and lakes and trees?

He'd made Ray feel like it was his fault, and that wasn't fair either. Ray had been nothing but kind to him, had apologised again and again. It wasn't like he'd made Geoffrey go out and get utterly toasted, and he couldn't be expected to know how to deal with it when his best friend (and possible lover) spontaneously lost his memory out of nowhere. There wasn't a precedent for this, or a guidebook. Geoffrey didn't blame him, and Ray oughtn't to blame himself either.

Geoffrey didn't answer for a moment, and then with a huff of breath he pulled himself forward, scuttling across the floor to put his back against the bed instead. He couldn't have a conversation with a person through a closed door. He just couldn't. It was too crazy even for him. ]

I don't think I want to tell you what I remember. I can't be sure how much of it is real, and Ray I...I don't want to go back. I know it probably sounds crazy. Crazier. But please--I promise I'm not insane.

[ He stared up at the blank door, then called out again, his voice almost trembling. ]

You don't have to stand out there. You can come in. It's okay, I don't bite--at least, I don't think I do. Actually I might. [ He sighed, dropped his head against the bed behind him. ] Please. Anything to shut me up.

[He stands there at the other side of the door for what feels like far too long, allowing the divide between them to be physical as well as whatever this mental block was. Fraser didn't remember him, but Fraser didn't remember anything. He doesn't mind it, not so long as his friend still trusts him, because that was what their partnership had always been about; trust. Ray will never totally be out of Fraser's mind if there's some level of reliance there, and they'd re-established that quickly after he'd picked his friend up from the drunk tank. Maybe it's a little selfish of him, but he needs Fraser, memory or not, and right now, in return, Ray's the only person the Mountie's got.

He hears the shift against the door but stays where he is, waiting for some sort of confirmation. He doesn't want to invade. It's his own house, his own bedroom, but right now it's Fraser's space and Ray can respect that. Ray may not know much about mental breakdowns or insanity, but he knows a thing or two about anxiety, even depression, and he sure as hell knows about needing your own space during it.

But he gets the confirmation he needs, verbally from Fraser's own mouth. Even after that he's cautious about opening the door, quiet about pushing it open and stepping in line with the door frame and lurking there, hands finding the pockets of his jeans.]

I don't think you're crazy, Fraser. Unhinged, maybe, but not crazy.

[Which is an awkward attempt at humour because what the hell is he meant to say about his partner suddenly forgetting every second of their time together? Or virtually every other part of his life?]

So you uh, if you wanna talk about what you think you remember, I swear I won't laugh. Too much. Or we could go to the Consulate or somethin' see if that gets your brain meat sparkin'. Dief might help. I mean, there's always the bed if not, y'know, sleep it off.

[And that's really, really not meant to sound suggestive. He's just trying to be helpful and he still thinks sleep will help more than drinking coffee or crying in a corner will.]

[ Geoffrey looked back up at Ray as he edged into the doorway, still looking as uncertain as he had a moment before. It didn't make him feel much better, but at least while Ray was in sight, Geoff knew he wasn't about to run off and phone for the men in white coats.

His jaw twitched, and then he pressed most of his face back into his knees, his hands moving to the back of his own neck as he peered over the top. ]

I don't think I can face a wolf that I don't know. He might eat me--or I might hurt his feelings.

[ That was a serious concern, though. Getting eaten by strange wolves. ]

Close the door. [ He said it a little more firmly, uncoiling very slightly as though to physically open up before he opened up emotionally. ]

I don't remember being called Fraser. I don't remember you, or your beautiful car, or Dief, or--or the Yukon. I'm trying to. I really am trying, Ray. I know that if you say it's true then the memories must be in there somewhere but - hah - you know, I just can't seem to get them out of there.

[ He scrubbed at the sides of his head, then pulled himself up onto the edge of the bed, staring urgently at Ray as though he could convey how unnerved it made him feel to not have any of those memories. ]

I remember the theatre, Ray. Years of...theatre, and I remember being committed. I remember being committed for-- [ He wrung his hands together. ] For strangling swans in the park, and...

[ God, it sounded even more insane out loud. He took a deep breath, eyes closing, and then he exhaled slowly. When he'd finished his exhale, he opened his eyes, looking at Ray again desperately. ]

Why do I remember every word of Hamlet, and nothing at all about...half wolves and the Consulate? Why couldn't I remember your name, Ray, when I could still remember my own? Geoffrey Fraser. See--? It doesn't make any sense, and I know it's probably the alcohol talking but I've been drinking for years and nothing like this has ever happened before.

[ He bit the back of his hand, looking if anything more worried by the second. ]

I don't know what to do.

[Ray lingers at the door for as long as he can, uncertain of where he needs to be for his partner at this time. Too close and he may risk invasion or spooking, but too far and he might come off as afraid or uncaring. He was no good at this stuff. He'd been brought up with his dad always avoiding talk of 'feelings' and so Ray had felt painfully unskilled in that department. Insanity was a different sort of thing, granted, but Fraser's obvious distress and fear was difficult to process on any level that he was used to. God, Ray had barely ever seen such a flood of emotion, even in the times he'd delivered tragic news.

Perhaps losing yourself really was more distressing than losing a loved one.

He shuts the door as requested and moves a few steps further inside, lingering as he watches his friend, brows creased and heart knotting inside his chest out of sheer helplessness. What was he supposed to do? What could he do that would offer any sort of reassurance or solve the problem at hand? It doesn't make him feel any better when he hears mention of the theatre and Hamlet and... Geoffrey? None of that seems like the history Benton's discussed in the past.

Ray hesitates, lingering on his feet just a few seconds longer before he makes his move, stepping over towards the bed to perch on the edge beside his friend, reaching a hand down to rest at the shoulder below him.]

You're not uh--

Your name is Benton. Benton Fraser?

[Maybe he shouldn't be saying all this. Maybe he should leave Fraser to work it out himself. But he hates seeing his friend so clueless.]

I know you kinda dig the theatre well enough, dunno about years of it though. And uh, your time in the crazy bin was just undercover work. No swans.

[He squeezes just a little harder against the shoulder under his grip.]

It's fine, buddy. You'll be okay. We got this.

Benton?

[ No wonder he'd invented a new name. What kind of name was Benton? Geoffrey--now that was a name. And already he could see how this was all beginning to make sense, because apparently he was a cop, and wasn't it always police officers who you heard were going off the rails all the time? Police officers and people in the arts.

Oh, he could see how a bright, sharp mind like his own might be able to make that sort of connection, and bang, he'd suddenly be Geoffrey Tennant, a man who went mad on stage during a production of Hamlet and jumped into Ophelia's grave; who stole a car, and throttled swans in the park, and was taken to the funny farm still with feather down in his teeth and river mud under his fingernails.

He dug the theatre, and he'd been undercover in an asylum once, and his high stress job...at the consulate - the Canadian consulate in Chicago? - had finally made him crack. Desperate to make sense of his ridiculous life, he'd made up an entirely different ridiculous life, with a new name and a woman whom he loved but whom he hadn't even kissed in seven years, and a ghost--let's not forget the ghost. A ghost helping him put together productions of Hamlet and Macbeth, stories about crazy people and spirits. If that wasn't cracked up then nothing was. ]

Benton. [ He said again, and looked up at Ray above him; Ray who was squeezing his shoulder reassuringly and looking hopeful and terrified at the same time. ] Benton sounds right. Benton Fraser. It sounds alright, doesn't it?

[ He sat forward, then pulled himself up onto the bed beside Ray, licking his lips. ]

I don't know what's set all this off. I know if I could just remember, just piece together my evening, then maybe... I mean you can't just forget everything like that. I've heard about people having...emotional breakdowns when everything becomes too much... Maybe that's why I imagined that I - that Geoffrey - had one. It's difficult when you love someone and they don't, or can't, love you back. Sometimes you just have to do something to take back that control, no matter how insane. [ He was still wringing his hands together in his lap, overwhelmed with a kind of energy he couldn't really figure out how to direct.

Oh what the hell. Ray already thought he'd lost his mind. Maybe the sense touch would bring his memory back? Maybe he'd created this story of longing for Ellen for some other reason, and if he just kissed this guy like he clearly wanted to, then the memory block would lift and he'd be himself again.

Geoffrey unwound his hands and reached his right across Ray, moving his hand to his jaw, fingers against the side of his neck, and pulled himself across the space between them, closing a kiss on his mouth suddenly so as to not give himself - or the other man - any time to think about it. He could always take it back. ]

[There we go.

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?]

[ For all of a couple of seconds, it feels wonderful, and maybe he just likes kissing, but Ray's mouth is as soft and wonderful as he thought it might be - maybe a little edged in bristles, but he'd kissed more bristly women - and even though all he gets in response is that sort of paralyzed shock, it's nice--

For a second or two.

Then there's a meter between the two of them, and Ray's hand had shoved a bruise against his chest. And now here he is, still thinking about Ray's mouth, and oh, that has to be it, because here he is thinking about this guy's mouth and obviously Ray doesn't want to have anything to do with it. His memories of Ellen and Geoffrey tell the same kind of story: unrequited love.

This is definitely it, because there's no way Ray's interested. He's not angry, but that's somehow even worse, like Ray's just being logical about it. It's not cool. It's abnormal.

Geoffrey raised his hand to his mouth, pressing his palm to his lips and closing his eyes. If he just concentrated hard enough he could feel Ray's mouth against his own again. He needed to focus on the feeling, to form it into a shape and somehow keep it that way, because if it really was the answer to unlocking his memories then it had to feel real.

He squeezed his eyes shut until it hurt, focusing on the name, everything he'd been told, the feeling of desolating rejection that he knew so very well, loneliness...

Nothing.

He dropped his hand and hung his head backward, staring up at the blank ceiling helplessly. ]

You know, Ray, that's probably what it is. And it's not your fault. I clearly have a problem.

[ He sighed, at last, and rolled himself forward, pulling himself up off the bed. He didn't look back at Ray; his eyes were on the door. ]

I'm...I think I probably have feelings for you, and that perhaps to deal with those feelings I've very nearly, quite possibly lost my mind. I'm hoping that perhaps simply knowing will help me to get my memories back, but I'm not holding out a great deal of it.

[ He blinked back toward Ray, his expression sad. ]

Do you think that's possible? I mean...put aside your feelings for a moment. Do you think it's possible that I might...that I could love you?

Edited 2014-09-14 22:57 (UTC)

[While Fraser's holding that kiss to his lips like it's some sort of prize, Ray's hand shoots to his mouth for totally different reasons. It's the back of his hand that presses to his lips first, withdrawing seconds later to get glanced at like he's just been punched and is expecting to see blood. Satisfied he's not bleeding or diseased, he opts for scrubbing at his mouth with the meat of his palm like he's a kid in the playground afraid of cooties. Because he's mature. So fuck you.

It's not so much that he hates the idea of it, or even that he minds the possibility of Fraser cooties. It's just that something as intimate as a kiss must be break some kind of ancient friend code set out by the buddy Gods. It can't be accepted practice for two best friends to be kissing one another, especially not in a bedroom, and especially not when one of them isn't even in his right mind.

Ray supposes he should be flattered, but humouring his friend won't help his mental state any. Not... that he would humour him with something like kissing. Probably not. There really must be some code against it.]

You... think feelin's for me have made you lose it?

[As absurd as that sounds, it's the only lead they've got right now, and he's willing to play with the concept so long as Fraser didn't leave the room. The last thing Ray needed was running around Chicago trying to find his deluded partner.]

Listen, Fraser, I'm uh, I'm really not qualified to judge, okay? I mean. We're buddies. Good buddies. We do a lotta stuff together and spend a lotta time together. I like bein' around you, pal and I guess. I guess I love you- as a friend. [Come to think of it, Ray really doesn't think he'd be the same person without Benton around. Not any more. Losing Fraser would be like the ultimate break up, worse than his and Stella's. At least he only saw Stella after work, usually, but with the Mountie it was in and out of work and everything in between. Without Benton in his life he'd have virtually nothing left to occupy his time, and that was a depressing thought to linger on.]

Maybe you just uh. Maybe it works different in Canada or somethin', I dunno.

[ He hadn't meant to make it sound quite so accusatory as it had come out. It wasn't Ray's fault that he had a thing for him, right? And as he pointed out they were buddies, they spent a lot of time together, and Ray loved him only as a friend. That made sense, he thought.

Mostly. He still got weird best-friends-forever vibes from him, like there was more to it than just buddies: unsurprising, considering they were apparently partners. But the mouthrubbing and the thrust to his chest really were quite clear: there was nothing going on here. At least not from Ray's side. And if that were true then he hadn't done anything to make him feel like something was going on, had done nothing to trigger this whole memory loss thing inadvertently. It had to be something else.

Maybe getting drunk had set him off. He was a very unpleasant drunk--or was that just in his head? He got melancholy. He might have allowed those feelings to surface and envelope him, even if they were quite unreasonable (which they obviously were), and if he could remember who he was then he would probably be appalled with himself for bringing it up, for even trying it. Kissing his straight best friend. Oh yes, Geoffrey Tennant or Benton Fraser--he was a damned genius.

Geoffrey wrapped his arms around himself, wrapped them very high and hard around his biceps and squeezed. ]

Just...just forget I said anything. I wouldn't want anything to ruin our friendship.

[ And if he sounded a little resentful it wasn't his fault. He seemed indecisive about where he was going and what he was doing. He hovered back, looking between Ray and the door, and then it seemed he made his decision, and he was off across the room a moment later, moving purposefully.

But he froze in the doorway; froze and then span, and his left cheek and eye twitched. His arms had swung down and gripped the frame of the door, but now they came back up protectively. ]

I don't know how to fix this. I don't know what to say that won't make this--this whole thing--more awkward than it already is.

[ He needed to be stopped. He was going off the rails, and who could blame him? His entire life was a lie. He turned ninety degrees, facing the doorframe, and scowled at it. ]

Okay fine, I can't leave. I don't have any shoes.

[ And he dropped his head against the doorframe, and lay it there, and said: ] Ow.

[Fraser was naturally distressed. That was understandable. Forgetting everything about yourself and thinking you're someone else entirely must be a huge mind fuck, especially when neither of them could work out the how or why of it all. It's not even like Ray knows all this to be something from Fraser's past, but he supposes it could be. Maybe a long lost cousin or something by the name of Geoff that was in the theatre. Might be it.

Still doesn't really explain the kiss, but Ray's willing to chalk that into the 'drunk and crazy' category and leave it at that. It's not like it's the first time they've locked lips.]

Hey, forget about it. S'no problem. Nothing's changed, it's all good.

[Even if that is going to be the sort of thing he's going to lay in bed and think about at odd times of the night, because brains were annoying like that.

He watched Fraser move towards the door, is almost considering getting up to stop him, and then Benton stops himself. It really is better if he doesn't allow Fraser out on his own again, as he's pretty sure it would only end up in him having to go back to the drunk tank and pick him up again, and next time the early shift might already be in.]

How we go for a drive, huh? Get you out and see some sights. Like uh, like mental stimulation or something. I mean, that might work, right?

[Fraser was usually the one to come up with the ideas, Ray can't be expected to be the genius here.]

[ Okay, so this entire situation was one he'd gotten himself into. He'd gone and got drunk and lost his memory, probably in that order but possibly in the opposite order, you could never tell. Then he'd fallen in love with his partner, or been helpless to it bubbling to the surface despite the memory block and he'd gone ahead and kissed him.

It had been a good kiss, but also awful; emotionally compromising and far too short. If only Ray had kissed him back. Maybe it was a Romeo and Juliet thing--only true love's kiss could end his suffering. Ugh, but that was pathetic. Real life wasn't Romeo and Juliet.

Then again real life wasn't being found in the park with a mouthful of duck feathers, losing ones memory and thinking you were a washed up actor called Geoff either, so on balance...

He sighed, maybe a little too dramatically, then crept closer again, taking little shuffling steps. He sat back down beside Ray on the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, looking more than anything like he didn't want to let anyone into his bubble, though the opposite was still true. ]

It's still dark. [ He protested. And then: ] Maybe--maybe your first plan doesn't sound like such a dreadful idea after all. We could just lie here and wait for morning.

[ We, he said, as though he had no intention of lying down and giving it a shot unless Ray was here with him. It was Ray's bed, but more than that - not knowing who he really was - the idea of being alone was actually something rather frightening. He didn't want to go back to the clinic, which meant he depended on Ray entirely to ensure he didn't get found in the park chasing ducks again. If he was a good friend, as Geoffrey suspected he might be, he wouldn't allow that to happen, no matter what it cost. ]

Can we try it, at least?

[What if Ray really had been blind about all of this? What if Fraser had been attracted to him all along and he just hadn't noticed it? How could he notice it? It's not like one should suspect their friend of fancying them every time the shared a smile or saved one another's life. Being close to one another was normal, every day life, that's what having a partner was all about. Sure, they'd developed a deep bond, but nothing that had previously suggested making out to be on the cards. Then again, Fraser always was one to keep his cards close to his chest.

Maybe this amnesiac Fraser was just confusing their close friendship as something else entirely. It must be difficult to have such feelings for a really good buddy and not remember how or why. That must be it. Fraser's just confused. This kiss thing must just be all that confusion being manifested into one intense emotion of attraction.

Ray doesn't move as Fraser creeps in close again, making sure not to react as his friend sat beside him beyond sparing a glance. He can't react; shuffle away and it might make it look like he's trying to get away, shuffle closer and Fraser might get the wrong idea. God, this stuff is confusing and awkward.]

You just wanna lie here and wait? Uh. Okay. I mean if you wanna sleep, that's cool too. I can always call in for ya while you get some rest.

[But just to show some solidarity, Ray flops back onto the bed and tucks an arm behind his head, staring up at Fraser expectantly because hey, he's waiting for morning here.]

[ If Ray had shuffled closer, he'd definitely have had to reconsider things all over again. Mixed signals really was a thing. Him jumping away, at this point, would have been almost acceptable. But instead Ray patiently agreed to stay with him, and that was middle of the road.

It was middle of the road until he flopped back on the bed with an arm under his head and stared up at him. He shifted uncomfortably on the spot, just for a moment, and then he decided to follow, pulling himself up on his chest and wrapping his arms around the pillow on the other side of the bed, his head on top of it, propped up in such a way as he could look right back at Ray.

It was very close, sort of intimate. Probably a mistake. He licked his lips uncertainly. He always worked his mouth, it was like he simply couldn't help it, like his tongue had a mind of its own, which was why he liked to keep it occupied. Talking worked. Reciting lines. Sucking on pens and razorblades. Kissing. Don't think about kissing! ]

Could you...

[ He flattened his cheek into the pillow. ]

Could you tell me something about me? Like...I don't know. How we met? The kind of man I am? What I like to do when we're not working?

[ If he could just get Ray talking, it'd take some of the pressure off him, which considering he didn't know who he was, no matter what he said, it was only going to make him seem crazier. All of his stories were from a life he apparently hadn't lived. One he'd made up in his head. The more detail he went into with them, the more he'd creep Ray out.

At least this way, something might trigger his memory. ]

Who am I to you, Ray?

[If there was too much closeness or intimacy, Ray wasn't seeing it. But then again he seemed perfectly comfortable with personal space invasion when it came to his best buddy. Hugging, sharing a bed, arms around one another? All perfectly acceptable, so long as they avoid kissing on the lips again because that's maybe just a little too gay.

He huffed thoughtfully at the request, staring right back at Fraser throughout it all, while dropping a hand just enough to scratch through the stubble at the underside of his jaw.]

Wow, Fraser. I dunno. There's a lot to tell. Uh, like when we met? Heh. You were more confused than a cat with a box on it's head. I was standin' in for your old partner, so I gotta act like I know you, right? I guess I did know you enough from what I read and got told, so I had this idea of what to expect. So I gotta act like we're best buddies, and you got no clue what's goin' on, heh. Kinda like now, I guess. But we soon get over that. Like we get our own thing goin' on. You and me, proper partners, not just pretendin' to be. So we do a whole buncha stuff together, solve a whole buncha mysteries like we got the Mystery Machine van, 'cept we're lacking a Velma and Daphne, but who needs them, huh?

[Vague or not, Ray seems to enjoy the memories of it all, like it's not the first time he's thought about their first meet and time together. In fact, Fraser's pretty much all he thinks about, but that's not something he'll say out loud because it just sounds kind of creepy when he thinks it.]

We've had some fun, you and I. We done a lotta stuff, and I guess before I met you I never knew what it was like to have a proper partner. Like one you can really trust your life with. You're a freak, Fraser, but you're still my freak.

[ It's all very confusing. Standing in for his old partner? Acting like he knew him? It all sounded very strange, maybe a little ludicrous, but this from the man who couldn't remember a moment of his life, who'd put together an imaginary existence because he'd accidentally fallen in love with his partner: who needs Velma and Daphne indeed.

There's something odd about Ray, he thinks. Something bashful, something reserved. It's like he's maybe afraid of getting hurt, and Geoffrey can understand that. Maybe some part of Ray would find it acceptable to embrace that physicality, but he's very caught up in how he sees himself, and how other people see him. He's defined by those things and nothing else.

He's not the kind of man who could ever change. Learn - yes. Adapt - sure. But genuinely change who and what he thinks he is? Geoffrey wasn't so sure about that.

The sentimentality was definitely there, though; the love. it wasn't an illusion of something he'd made up, he felt it undeniably, like a pressure on his chest. This man cared immensely for him and he was a little bit afraid, frightened that he might lose the one man who was clearly his best fried in the world. Hell, maybe his only friend.

He stared at him in silence for a few moments longer, then rolled over onto his back, taking the pillow with him and hugging it against his chest. ]

I wish I could remember, Ray. For me, maybe, but mostly for you. I may not remember who I am, or who you are, but I know I don't want to be putting you through this.

Eh, forget about it. You'll remember soon enough. Just need some rest. Or maybe a knock on the head. Fall off a movin' vehicle or somethin'.

[He dismisses with an idle wave of his hand, keeping an eye on Fraser as though half expecting something odd to happen if he looks away. Either that or looking away might result in Fraser booking it out the nearest door or window to start this whole drunk tank scenario over again, which Ray could really do without right now. He's exhausted and yet wide awake, unable to gather the energy to move much further from the bed but with mind racing with a million thoughts a second.

This whole scenario was an odd one, one that Ray figures might have to result in him driving Fraser off to hospital tomorrow to at least check for any serious head injuries. He wouldn't book his friend into the crazy house, not ever, but he still had to make sure he wasn't going to drop down dead in the next few days. That would be unfortunate. Not to mention he'd probably get blamed for it. Bummer.]

Hey, I might as well call in for you now. I bet Turnbull will be awake, freak that he is. I bet he only sleeps like two hours a night or something, right?-- Not... that you'd remember who he is, I'm guessin'?

[But Turnbull would know who Fraser was and that's all that mattered.

It'd be a quick phone call, just to check Fraser out of duties and let those crazy Canadians know what was up. Better to get it over with now than end up too tired to move off the bed.

With a huff of effort Ray pushes himself upright once again, lazily reaching out for the bedside phone and grappling for a hold like he's lost control of his limbs. Maybe he did need sleep, but not now. Not until Fraser's sorted and not at risk of running off again. Not until he's phoned in and made sure the Ice Queen won't be screaming after Benton in the morning...]

[ Geoffrey shook his head, rolling over so that he was facing Ray. Turnbull? That was a ridiculous name. And what was he? A secretary or something? What was he doing up in the middle of the night? Okay freak, got it. It probably didn't matter though, did it? Maybe he'd remember with time. Maybe it could be okay.

He pulled a little closer, watching as Ray reached out for the phone and musing over his own position. Ray looked like he was buzzing, honestly. If not for how he'd been rebuffed, he might offer to cool him off, burn up some of that energy, but they'd already crossed that bridge. Maybe they could do play charades or something. Horizontal charades.

Something to take both their minds off their aborted mess of a night.

He licked his lips, wriggling up onto Ray's side of the bed and propping his elbow on Ray's pillow as he sat up, instead reclining where he could look the other man in the face as he called the Consulate. Weird. He seriously worked there? Did he live there too? Why didn't they cohabitate or something?

He could just about hear the phone ringing. And then what he thought might be a man's voice was answering. It was hard to hear.

Benton Fraser said: ]

You've reached the Canadian Consulate. You are speaking to Constable Benton Fraser. How can I help you this morning?

[ Because it was going to happen sooner or later, right?

Geoffrey was still blinking curiously up at Ray, trying to get a read on the other man's face. Partner--they were partners. He thought he probably liked that. It'd just take a little getting used to, that was all. ]

[Ringing was a great idea. He was a genius. It meant he could free them both up for the day and he didn't have to worry about setting an alarm to phone in, just in case they do eventually manage some sleep.

It also meant not having to speak to the Ice Queen in the morning on the off chance she was the one to answer, because as much as Ray was okay with that chick, he really didn't want to try explaining away why Fraser wasn't at the consulate and why he couldn't come in. His lying wasn't always great, he'll admit that, and with a discussion like that there's a chance they'll be found out and Fraser's career be in risk. After all, the Consulate can't have their Mounties losing it and running around naked attacking swans.

Ray keeps his eyes on Fraser while the phone rang, watching as his buddy squirms in closer but making no comment. It's only when he hears the the line clip in on the other end that he looks away, eyes lifting towards the ceiling as he braces himself for a ridiculous conversation with Turnbull.]

Yo, it's-- [A beat.] ... Fraser?

[His gaze immediately snaps back to the body beside him, half expecting to catch his lips moving or see him grinning in jest. That must have been him pretending to answer, right? Or... maybe it was Turnbull after all...]

Turnbull, quit screwin' around! I got a message to pass on to the Ice Queen.

[ Geoffrey tilted his head curiously. That was a weird look, what was that about? This Turnbull guy was supposed to be a total cray cray right? He got that. Secretaries had a weirdness to them, that was for sure. So maybe that's all it was. A weird guy made for a weird phone call.

He rolled slightly over, tilting his head a little more, squinting up at Ray. ]

Ray? It's past four in the morning. If you have a message to pass on to Inspector Thatcher, I can certainly take it, but...this is rather out of the ordinary. What could possibly require such expedience?

[ Fraser was confused. Well. That was one word for it. Ray calling up out of nowhere in the middle of the night? It didn't happen unless they had some kind of case, and even then it could usually wait till morning. Ray wasn't a 4am sort of person.

So this phonecall was already strange without Ray thinking he was Turnball. That was even stranger. Maybe he was drunk?

Have you been drinking? Or ah--partaking of other intoxicants?

[That... that sounded like Fraser. Identical to, in fact, even with the slight masking that a phone provides. Ray had spoken to Fraser over the phone enough times by now to know what he sounded like, and this didn't sound like just some poor impression of Turnbull's.

The Fraser laying next to him isn't even moving his lips, so it's not him. And it's probably not some weird ventriloquist act either. Maybe. Probably not.

But if it's not the Fraser beside him and not Turnbull then...]

Nah. I mean, like a beer or two... unless uh...

[Was he high? Did this happen when you got high? How the hell did he get high?

Or maybe one of these Fraser's wasn't actually Fraser, which sounded ridiculous but maybe a simple question would solve that theory.]

Hey, uh, you remember the uh, ship. With the uh sinkin' and the drownin'. What was that breathin' thing you did again?

[ This was all getting very out of hand, Geoffrey thought. Maybe he was just being really oversensitive, but it seemed to him that Ray was being super emotional about something, and it probably had to do with what the other person on the phone was saying. Turnbull, he'd said.

He pulled himself up to sit crossways with Ray, if only because this way he could better study the other man's face. ]

What is it? [ He asked, softly.

But quietly, hushed, in order not to disturb Ray's conversation.

Fraser was saying: ] Well that's easy, Ray, buddy breathing, but I don't see why you feel the need to share it with Inspector Thatcher--and certainly not at such an hour as this. Is that all you wanted?

[ Geoffrey wasn't sure, but he felt like maybe - just maybe - he ought to reach out and take the phone himself, explain it to Turnbull himself. He reached up to place his hand on the back of the phone, as though to ask for it--even if he wasn't sure he actually wanted it. ]

Yeah.

Uh, no. Wait. What? [Somewhere between the lack of sleep, conversing with this crazy Fraser on his bed for a few hours and now speaking to someone who's also apparently Fraser over the phone, Ray's really fucking confused. Exceptionally confused. If he had much of a mind it'd be blown by now.]

Fraser, somethin' funky is goin' on.

[Said to the Fraser on the phone, and yet just as likely directed to the one sitting in his eye line as he directs his attention on him.]

Look, I uh. I'm gonna go get my car keys. Maybe go drive off the docks or somethin'. Could you uh, talk it out for a sec, yeah?

[Still spoken to the both and Ray wordlessly thrusts the phone towards the Fraser in front of him and tries to slip free to find where ever he last left his keys.]

[ Hopefully Ray misplaced his keys since coming in, because Geoffrey accepts the phone, squinting up at Ray and brings it carefully to his ear.

"Ray?" says the stranger on the other end. "Ray? Ray." There's something familiar about the voice, but...he can't place it. So he says: ]

Hello?

[ And there's a pause on the other end, and Benton Fraser says "Good morning. Is Detective Vecchio still there?" ]

He's looking for his keys.

[ Another pause, and Benton say: "I really don't know what this is all about, but if you could perhaps prevent him from causing harm to himself, I would be most appreciative." ]

I think I can do that. Uh--but you know, I think he's losing it, between you and me. Stresses of the job.

[ "It's always been a possibility. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" ]

It's Fraser [ Geoffrey replied. ] Apparently. Listen, I've got to go, I'm pretty sure he just found them.

[ He put down the phone, and then rose to his feet and head out to find Ray, frowning at him with concern as he entered the other room. ]

Going somewhere? [ The phone started ringing. He ignored it. ] You're planning to leave me here, with no idea who I am, or where?

[Ray's only half listening to the one sided conversation as he shuffles out of the room and into the open plan of the apartment. There's only a few places his keys could be- who was he kidding? They could be anywhere- but he's got a general idea and starts the search.

Kitchen, lounge, coat pockets, they're all valid places to check, but he's barely even paying attention to the search as his mind drifts to other things.

Other things like the fact he's got a amnesiac guy in his apartment who looks just like Fraser but can't remember if he's even called that. And then there's the guy on the phone that he just spoke to who sounded exactly like Fraser, was at the consulate where he should be, and could easily answer Fraser-only questions without hesitation. It made little sense, and Ray's not sure he can wrap his head around it, but he needs to see for himself if this phone Fraser is some sort of imposter or...]

Uh. Not leave you, nah. I was uh. We need to go out. I know you dun wanna go out but we need to. I gotta go to the Canadian place and you should probably come with.

[He doesn't turn around at first, still fumbling through the papers and old take-out boxes on his coffee table until he locates his car keys sat under a week old newspaper. The phone is ignored, because it really can't be that important, not at this hour of the morning.]

It's uh. It'll be revealin', I swear.

[ Geoffrey doesn't know where Ray left his keys, despite being right there when he did it, but that's alright, his mind is elsewhere, thinking about the familiar voice on the phone as he heads into the other room to join him.

Ray isn't looking at him. Like. Determinedly not looking at him. It's weird, so Geoffrey fumbles up close behind him, looking over his shoulder as the phone keeps ringing. It's probably the guy on the phone ringing back. Not that him ringing back makes any sense if they're 'going to the Canadian place', right? Not much of this makes a lot of sense though, so it's probably best just to ride it out. Like a bad production. ]

I'm not sure I can handle revealing more than I already have--unless you'd like to take something off, in which case I can get behind that.

[ Stripping in the park, after all. They could go streaking again. There's still some moonlight left before the sun rises. ]

Or in front of it, actually. Whatever you like best.

[ He touches Ray's elbow. ]

Hey. Do I get to know what has you so shaken up? I think I have a right to know, don't you?

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Geoffrey Tennant

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