Red Ships And Green Ships
There are a lot of dirty jokes Ray could make about being tied up and locked in a closet with a Mounty where a) it's hot and 2) it's dark and c) Fraser's hair is tickling his nose, but if Fraser doesn't stop squirming all Ray's going to be doing is coming in his jeans, which is not what buddies do when they're in they're in the closet with their partners. And that entire thought is a little too obvious, even for Ray. Okay, maybe not for Ray, but probably for Fraser. "Hey, quit it, Fraser, I'm not your Swiss Army knife!"
"My apologies, Ray, I was simply attempting to ascertain --"
The word 'ascertain' is Ray's signal to tune Fraser out because he's about to go all Encyclopedia Brain on him, and hey, if he wriggles this way and Fraser goes that wayŠ No. No, that's not what Ray was looking for at all. Actually, that's totally what Ray's looking for, just not right now.
There's nothing good about having Fraser all tied up if Ray's tied up too.
"Hey, gettin' kinda friendly there, Fraser." Ray's words don't seem to be following his actions as most people would pull away if someone else were to grab their ass, and yet, Ray's not really moving away. Not like he can see where to move, except for the wall and ow, but he knows that leaning into Fraser's hands is not in keeping with the tone of 'please remove your hands from my person before I kick you in the head.'
Not that Ray would ever say something like that to Fraser.
"Ah ha."
"Ah ha, like 'ah ha' I won the lottery or 'ah ha' like 'ah ha, we have three seconds before this building blows up'?"
"I'm sorry, Ray, I don't believe I followed your logic there; now if you could lean a little to the left, I believe I can --"
"Ah ha!"
"Yes, quite."
For two seconds Ray swears he smells something coming from Fraser that could almost be called sarcasm, but that could also be the overwhelming stench of mothballs. It's kinda close.
"That's what teamwork is all about," Ray says, slipping the newly cut ropes from his hands and trying to figure out which way is out or up or something that's not the floor, because the floor smells like cat pee and mothballs. "You cut and I get free."
"I'm glad I could be of service."
Yeah, that's definitely sarcasm coming from the Mounty.
"You're always of service," Ray says, trying to scrabble for the door in the dark. It's very hard to do with Fraser's body in the way. Of course Ray has found there are a lot of things that Fraser makes it hard to do, like not drooling in public or being arrested for Canadian-officer-solicitation.
"Ouch!"
"Pardon me, I -- Oh."
"Sorry, was that your hand?"
"Quite alright, Ray."
"Whatever you say, Fraser."
"Ray. Ray. Ray!"
"What?"
"That's not the doorknob."
"That's not the -- oh, sorry, Fraser."
Maybe when Ray's dead he'll look back on this and laugh, but right now he's not laughing at all. He can't even breathe because apparently he's been fiddling with Fraser's belt and not the doorknob.
"When did you stand up?" he asks. "I don't remember you standing up. You're supposed to tell me when you move around. Remember that. You're supposed to tell people when things are changing, it's a courtesy, like in chess when you move the pieces you say 'I'm moving the pieces' okay?"
"Okay."
"Okay."
"I'm opening the door now."
"Good, you do that."
In Ray's experience the best, most fucked-up situations tend to mix reality with the surreal, because you can't have the good without having the bad too; life doesn't work like that. Everything comes with a price, nothing comes for free, even those two-for-one-deals on beer aren't really that good because they only put the really bad beer on sale. Not that there's such a thing as bad beer, that's a whatchamacallit, oxymoron -- but the point is that there's no such thing as a free ride.
Everything costs.
Like when Ray was with Stella, he kind of always knew that it could end at any second, and that was kind of what made it so good and exciting: the knowledge that any second things could take a nasty turn for the worse. Or the better. Or the really fucking funny. All of which normally led to sex, which was never a bad thing -- but it was all part of their partnership. Of them being Ray-n-Stella or Stella-n-Ray.
For a really long time they were a duet, they did things together, and then Stella didn't want to do things with Ray anymore and that really hurt, because Ray's all about what he can do as a team.
Fraser is his own everything: doctor, hunter, gatherer, Superman, cop, hero, you name it and Benton Fraser could probably do it, but there are some things that even Super Mountie can't do on his own, and that's where Ray comes in.
Not that Ray minds this or anything, because who would mind having Fraser's boxer-clad ass in their face at two-sixteen in the morning?
"Bend over a little more," Ray says, squinting a little at the gash just above the waistband of Fraser's blue cotton boxers. The blue is a little surprising, because Ray always figured that Fraser wore, well, not-blue boxers; and Fraser really doesn't need to bend over anymore, he's already got his hands on the basin of the sink and his legs spread. Ray's just being self-serving now, but it's not as though he gets Fraser like this every day.
Although if he did the world might be a better place.
"Ray. Ray...Ray!"
"What? Yeah? Where's the fire?" Ray peeks around Fraser's side to catch Fraser eyeing him in the mirror. It's a nice reflection, too. It's got messy hair and a wet bottom lip, and is that Fraser's mouth twitching? Oh, right, Ray's supposed to be doing something.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but were you planning to put the salve on my cut some time this morning? I wouldn't rush you, but by the way you keep getting distracted I'm concerned that you may fall asleep and I'm not sure I'm in any condition to carry you to bed."
It kills him that Fraser's all apologetic when Ray's the one sleeping on the job. "Sorry, Frase, that's my fault. The doc did a pretty good job with the, uh stitches and all, are you sure you want me to put this stuff on before I put the patch on? It seems a little superfloozey."
Something a lot like confusion slips across Fraser's face, but he then he gives Ray Smile #6 -- the one that makes his eyes go all crinkly in the corners and he says, "Quite sure, Ray." And Ray cuts him off before he can launch into some speech about the healing qualities of whale blubber and caribou tail or something.
A quick flip of the tin lid and one gauze pad later, Ray's taping the pad down and all ready to send Fraser on his way. He tamps down really hard on an urge to kiss Fraser's injury the way his mom used to when he was small. After all, he's not small any more and neither is Fraser, and Ray would rather kiss a lot of other parts of Fraser besides one covered up by cotton gauze.
"So, it's all greatness," Ray says, slipping off the closed toilet and tossing the gauze wrapper in the trash. "You get the bed and I'll take the couch and everything will be catatonic."
"Copasetic," Fraser corrects as Ray slaps a pair of sweatpants into his hands.
"That's what I said."
"Of course it is, Ray, but I really don't see why we can't share the bed, surely it's large enough to fit us both comfortably? I can't in good faith --"
"The doc said you had to have some 'undisturbed rest' and that means not sleeping with somebody who hogs all the covers, namely me. Plus, nobody said nothing about faith, Fraser, so unless you want to go see God real early, like right now, you'll just go to sleep."
"I still --"
"Fraser."
"You'll wake me if the sofa is too uncomfortable or if Dief wants to go out?"
"Fat chance," slips out before Ray can stop himself, but when Fraser smiles and shakes his head, Ray grins.
Sometimes partners have to make sacrifices.
Most of life is about the things that people don't say, like Ray thought Stella was totally happy until the day he came home and found his clothes in shopping bags by the front door. And okay, maybe there were signs before that that things weren't all greatness, The Great Baby Debate might've been a really big clue, but still, Ray never thoughtŠ he never thought about them being over. And then they were over, and Ray's never been a big fan of alone time, but if Ray hadn't been on his own then he never would've met Fraser.
It's like Ray got an upgrade but didn't realize it at first, because Fraser's like nobody else, with his licking and sniffing and his wolf, and most people wouldn't get Fraser. Most people would think that they'd been gypped, but they would be wrong, because Ray gets Fraser in all his nutty Canadian-ness in ways that he never got The Stella.
All Ray's life he thought he could only have one partner, he thought Stella was it -- the perfect partner -- and then Fraser came along and Ray realized that Stella was actually only his warm-up.
Ray knows there aren't a lot of people in the world who have the capacity to care for someone the way he does. When he loves somebody, boy does he love them, but of course the invert -- invase -- the opposite is true, too. Namely that when Ray's feeling a little homicidal, well, there's really nothing little about it.
Which means that the squeaky abrasiveness of Fraser stirring his tea with that plastic spoon is going to be listed as his official Cause of Death.
It's not that Ray wants to kill Fraser, hell, Ray wants to do a lot of things to Fraser that have nothing to do with death, but the spoon and the Styrofoam do not go together, like two things that really don't go together, and the squeaky noise is playing target practice with Ray's nerves. When Ray has no nerves left it will be bye-bye tea and bye-bye Fraser, and no.
No, Dead Fraser is not buddies at all.
"Feel free to stop doin' that at any time, Fraser."
The slight lift of Fraser's eyebrow says it all. "Stop doing what, Ray?" he says, pausing in his stirring.
"That thing -- that thing with the cup and the stirring."
"Ray, I have to stir the water in order for the tea to equally distribute itself; you do the same thing with your coffee."
"Yeah, but I don't do it with the squeaking and the grating and that noise. That noise is killin' me."
"I'm sorry, Ray," Fraser says, removing the spoon and throwing it in the wastebasket next to Ray's desk. "I had no idea the noise was bothering you."
"Yeah, well, now you know so you've stopped and it's great. It's all greatness. It's so much greatness that I'm going to buy you your own mug so I don't have to hear it no more."
"Ray, you don't have to‹"
"Did I say now was the time to argue? No, I say now's the time to talk about the Martindale case."
"Ah yes, the one with the young lady with the pink hair and the nose ring."
"No, that's the Anderson case, the Martindale case is the one with the guy with the green hair and the lip piercing."
"No, Ray, I believe, if you look at your notes, you'll find that you have them reversed."
"No, I don't."
"I believe you do."
"Don't."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't."
"Ray." Ray hates Fraser's patient voice. The only thing he hates more that Fraser's patient voice is the 'poor Ray's lost his marbles' look.
"Do not," he says petulantly, and his chair makes a horrific squeaking sound when he pushes it back from the desk. Diefenbaker makes a pained noise, and Ray can't really blame him.
It takes him almost no time to locate the appropriate files as they're both somewhere in the middle of his stack, which is where he puts cases of middle importance. Triumphantly he slaps them both down on the desk and waves to Fraser to do the honors.
"C'mon smarty pants, if you're so sure --" Ray's voice dies down as Fraser flips open the cover of the Martindale case to show a mug shot of a young woman with pink hair and a nose ring.
"Not one word, Frase," Ray says looking from the picture to Fraser and then back at the file and then back at Fraser. Fraser's doing a very good job of not saying 'I told you so,' -- but Ray knows he wants to. He can smell victory on Fraser like Dief can smell a donut twenty blocks away.
"Understood."
"No, really, buddies don't rub it in."
"Of course, Ray."
There are lots of unwritten rules between partners as far as Ray can tell, like Rule #36: Ray will not look when Fraser licks anything that used to be alive, but isn't anymore. There's also Rule #15: Fraser will not smile, or smirk or do anything like laughing because Ray can't stand the sight of dead people; and Rule #68: Fraser will not say anything when Ray gets the snot knocked out of him in the boxing ring, unless said beating is being done by a malfeasant, and then he should step in and assist him.
But perhaps the one that causes him the most trouble is Rule #1: Do not talk about or do anything that might ruin the most important partnership you have in your life right now -- because it's not that Ray wants to mess things up, it's just that sometimes he wants a little more, like a partnership with benefits.
The naked kind.
Ray doesn't smoke much anymore; he's pretty much given it up except for when there's something on his mind and he needs something to do with his hands. It's not as though he's got the jitters or anything, he's just, well, his mom used to say he was 'excitable' and Stella said he had an 'attention-deficit,' but Ray just likes to do stuff. Any sort of stuff, even when he's trying to think, or when he's trying very hard not to think.
Like right now, in the middle of the night, it's much easier to slouch on the park bench and make smoke rings than it is to think about all the things that he wants to say to Fraser every time he sees him but just can't, or won't, because they're partners and partners don't do stuffŠ like creep up behind you and clear their throats real loudly.
Ray's on his feet with his gun out of his holster before anything else can compute, and he doesn't know whether to smack Fraser in the head with the butt of the gun or laugh himself stupid. He'll decide as soon as his heart jumps back in his chest.
"Jesus, Fraser! What're you tryin' to do? End up dead? Partners don't sneak up on each other at one in the morning; that's not buddies."
No, that's not buddies at all, and it would be so easy for Ray to be angry with Fraser, if he weren't looking all tired and sleep-deprived, and hey, messy hair. Ray likes the messy hair; he's not so big on holding a gun on Fraser though, he should probably put it away.
Shaking his head, Ray re-holsters his gun and drops back down on the park bench, gesturing for Fraser to sit down as well.
"I'm sorry, Ray, I didn't mean to startle you. It's just that I went by your apartment to discuss the Martindale case and when you weren't thereŠ"
No one does apologies like Fraser does with the wide eyes and the licking at his lower lip, and aren't partners supposed to play fair? "And you figured you'd come and scare the pants off me, that's real nice, Frase."
"No, not at all. I was just concerned --"
"Yeah, well, be concerned sittin' down cos looking up at you is making my neck go all stiff." As opposed to other things going stiff, but partners don't share that kind of information, and Ray's eyebrow reaches for his hairline when Fraser sits on the very edge of the bench, clearly defying all the laws of gravity by not falling off the end.
"You can sit on the bench too, you know, I won't bite unless you ask real nice," Ray says patting the space next to him.
"I don't want to inconvenience--"
"Fraser, sit."
A raised eyebrow is all Ray gets for his flirtation, but that's good enough for him since Fraser does eventually slide all the way onto the bench, but not too close, which is good because being around Fraser is an invitation to a molestation charge and that's not what partners do. Of course, partners shouldn't sneak up on their partners when they're hanging out in the park all on their lonesome either.
"So, you were thinkin' about the Martindale case? You figure out who done it then? Professor Plum in the conservatory with the candlestick?"
"Professor Plum? I'm sorry, Ray, I don't think -- was he a witness in the robbery? I don't recall his name from the file."
"Clue, it was this boardgame back in -- never mind. Where's the wolf?"
"Ah yes, well Diefenbaker felt that someone should stay behind and guard the Consulate."
"He wouldn't get up, huh?"
"No."
"Smart wolf."
"I think that's debatable on occasion."
"I bet you wouldn't say that if he were here."
"Yes, well."
"Exactly." Ray makes a noise of satisfaction and out the corner of his eye he can see Fraser smile. His discarded cigarette is still burning, and he shifts for a moment on the bench, debating whether or not to pick it up. God only knows what's on the ground with it, but it's not like cigarettes are so healthy anyway.
The decision is made for him when Fraser leans forward and crushes the cherry with his boot. "Ray, you really shouldn't smoke."
Ray's not pouting, but he didn't even realize how much he wanted that cigarette until he couldn't have it anymore. Now he has nothing to do with his hands and nothing to shut up his brain, and Fraser's just right there, hands tucked into the pockets of that leather jacket that he doesn't wear often enough. "Yeah, well, you really shouldn't run through the streets dressed up like Santa Claus, but do you see me giving you grief?" he says, turning fractionally on the bench.
Fraser turns slightly as well, his body mirroring Ray's. "That's a valid point, but I wish you wouldn't jeopardize your health in this manner."
"Right, because jumping off the roof of a building into Lake Michigan is so much better for me?"
"I just wouldn't want anything to happen to you," Fraser begins, "after all cigarettes are a leading cause of‹"
"You talk too much," Ray says, leaning over and covering Fraser's mouth with his hand.
Fraser's answer is muffled by Ray's hand, but Ray has no doubt that Fraser's disagreeing with his assessment. In fact, when Ray feels the wet brush of Fraser's tongue on his palm, he's pretty sure that's the Fraser equivalent of 'shut up.'
This, however, doesn't motivate Ray to remove his hand.
"You don't even know where my hand's been," he points out. "I coulda been digging in the trash or rolling in the dirt or jerk --" Fraser's eyes get way too big at that slip of the tongue, and Ray pulls his hand away immediately but is stopped by Fraser's hand on his wrist.
"The point is partners don't lick partners' hands," Ray wraps up somewhat what belatedly.
"So what do partners do then?" Fraser's voice is way too husky when he speaks, and Ray swallows a golf ball that wasn't in his throat ten minutes ago. Fraser certainly wasn't pulling Ray into his personal space ten minutes ago either.
"They, uh, they do partner things."
"Like what?"
On anybody else Ray would swear that the lip licking and the eyelash lowering is flirting, but with Fraser who knows. "Are you hittin' on me, Fraser?"
There's a terrifying moment when Fraser lets go of Ray's wrist and Ray's certain that Fraser's gonna knock him in the dirt and leave him high and dry and hard on his own, and then it'll be bye-bye partnership and hello solo-duty. Again. So Ray leans forward a bit and kisses Fraser, because if he's going down at least he'll go out in a blaze of glory.
Fraser's lips are drier than they look, but they part pretty quickly when Ray's tongue slips between them.
Fraser tastes like toothpaste and tea, and he makes this noise like maybe he's dying, but he's not pushing Ray away. In fact, it takes Ray a few seconds to register that Fraser's hands are trying to pull him closer, but there's only so much room on a park bench, so Ray just tilts his head to the side a bit and grabs a handful of Fraser's jacket to make sure things don't end too soon.
At some point Ray's entire life becomes about this kiss and the scrape of Fraser's stubble against his own, and if this is a send-off, it's a pretty fucking great one with teeth and tongues; and Ray knew Fraser had oral issues, he's spent a whole lot of nights thinking about them, but the dreams aren't even coming close.
When Ray pulls away because he's heard breathing is a good thing, Fraser looks just as stunned as he is.
"Ray."
"Yeah, uh, that's me."
"I, uh, that is..." "Can the speech, Fraser. I mean I dunno if you know this or not, but I uh, I like you. I mean I like you as a partner, but I like you in that other way too," Ray pants as his hands pat Fraser's chest and shoulders as though they have a life of their own.
Fraser's smile is a brilliant thing, and Ray's chest gets very tight when Fraser scoots close enough to climb in his lap. "I do -- I mean I didn't before, but I do now."
"Okay, just checking, cos I didn't want you not to know. I didn't want you to think this was some weird partner thing that nobody told you about. Unless, you did this with Vecchio -- you didn't, did you? Because you know what, if you did, don't tell me; I don't wanna know."
"Are you sure you don't want me to answer your question, Ray? Because as I understand it the most important part of partnership is full-disclosure, and I wouldn't want you to think I was, how did you put it, 'holding out on you'?"
"No, it's okay, you can hold out on me about this, really."
"Are you certain, because I could tell you. I wouldn't want you to think I was lacking as a partner."
"No, Fraser, my friend, you are not lacking. You are many things, but lacking is not one of them."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"I don't give'em that often, don't start getting picky."
"Of course, I was just checking."
"That's good, you should do that, that's what partners do."
"Do they do other stuff as well?"
"They, uh, they can -- just not on park benches."
"I'll keep that in mind... partner."