Geoffrey Tennant (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
visitation) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thelockbox2014-09-01 10:28 am
visitation) wrote in thelockbox2014-09-01 10:28 am
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 |
no subject
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.]
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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.
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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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?]
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[ 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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.]
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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.
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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.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
That's it.
Finally they were getting somewhere. Benton appeared to recognise the name enough to accept it, and that was the first step on the road to recovery. Ray has no clue where his partner would have got Geoffrey from, maybe an old Canadian friend or some such that he'd managed to dig from the recess of his mind and assume it's his own. It didn't matter. What did matter is that Fraser wasn't a lost cause, and that they'd manage, over time, to get him remembering what he needed to. He knows enough about memory loss to know it can take weeks, maybe even months, to fully recover, and that's if this isn't just alcohol induced (which he still doubted it was).
He shifts over enough to let his friend up, there's already enough space on the bed but it's the gesture of acceptance, as is twisting just enough to show he's interested in Fraser's musings. Talk of emotional breakdowns and this Geoffrey name and love. Ray's lost by that point. He's not exactly sure who Benton thinks he's talking about. Victoria, maybe? Or some mystery woman he loves. Or maybe this is just part of his weird made up world he's got for himself as this Geoffrey guy.
Whatever it is, Ray assumes it's better to let his friend stumble through these ideas and possible memories than interrupt him with corrections. Let him remember for himself rather than force it on him.
Maybe that was a poor choice though, because he almost doesn't question Fraser reaching for him, doesn't even move as that hand curls around his jaw, unsure whether it's confusion or curiosity that keeps him still.
He's not given any time to think anyway, Fraser moving far too quickly for his bemused mind to fully grasp what's going on until there's lips on his, soft and warm and-- what the fuck? Ray sits there for what feels like minutes but likely barely over a second or two, and then his mind kicks back into gear, pressing a hand flat against his partner's chest and shoving hard as he leans back, reeling, breaking the kiss as quickly as humanly possible.]
I don't know what you think you remember, Fraser, but that is not... that is not cool. That's not normal. That is... that is abnormal.
[He's not even pissed off, just perplexed as fuck as to what drove his friend to that conclusion. Not that it's the worst conclusion to come to-- wait, what?]
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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.]
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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?
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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.]
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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?
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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.
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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.
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[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...]
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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. ]
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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.
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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?
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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?
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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. ]
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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.]
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"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?
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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.
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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?