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History
for etben
The shower was a good place to think about Fraser. It was a good place to be naked and thinking about Fraser - better than, like, the car, or the station, where he was wearing clothes and thinking about Fraser naked. That was fun too, but more complicated. Here it was just like - picture Fraser, whoa, yeah, bam. Wash up.
Ray sighed and rubbed the water off his face, where he'd ducked his head under the spray without meaning to. He could handle this. It wasn't getting... it was going to wear off. This stuff always did. Just, usually, it happened a lot faster.
He let the water run longer than he wanted to, breathing steam, even though he was done, scrubbed and shampooed. Fraser was out there right now, waiting in his living room. Checking out the music, or - no. It was hard to picture Fraser doing anything normal like that. Maybe he was holding perfectly still, arms behind his back, or standing on one leg like a stork.
The shower was loud in his ears, loud and stupid. He looked down, sucking in his gut. Not bad. He kept fit. He looked pretty good, right? Guys gave him the eye. Girls did too, sometimes, until he started talking. Fraser had eyes, but he wasn't giving anything. Not since that once.
The water shut off with a bang and Ray pushed the shower door open, the glass rattling in the chintzy frame. Maybe he was too American for Fraser. Too rude, talking too fast. Funny though, Fraser never seemed to mind, just filled in the soft soap when he thought it was called for. They were a good team that way.
And now he was smiling, as he reached for the towel, not much, but he couldn't help it. Fraser made his face melt. He made his guts melt. One Chicago hard guy - down for the count. Shaking his head, he started to towel off, faster than usual because he was cold, thinking he'd have to wipe the goofy look off his face before he went out in the living room. Then he turned to get more room to dry his arms and realized it was too late.
The door was open about a foot wide.
The lights were off in the hall, but enough was coming in from the living room that he could see the shape of Fraser standing beyond the doorway, stock still, shoulders hunched, his hand up on the edge of the frame. He didn't look like he'd moved for a while. That's why it was cold in here, the steam had gone out the door.
"Uh." Ray wasn't sure where to look. "Yeah?" He lowered his arms, then remembered and snapped the towel down to someplace more useful.
Fraser went as straight as if he'd been wearing the uniform and said, "I - I beg your pardon. I came to see if - the phone rang."
Then he bolted so fast you could almost see the cloud of cartoon dust behind him.
Ray stared at the empty hallway for a second, then ran after him, shoving his way out the door shoulder-first, wrapping the towel around his waist as he went. "Fraser! What the..." He passed where the phone was lying off the hook on the counter, grabbed his keys and kept going, out the front door as it started to close.
"Get back here!" Fraser's back wasn't listening to him. Ray chased him down the hall, barefoot, not bothering to shout, hopping to get around the bottlecaps on the stairs. He wasn't fast enough. Fraser had left the building.
Damp and kind of freaked, Ray trudged back up to his own place again, passing Mrs. Padek in the hall. She gave him the fish-eye. He could feel her staring, all the way to his door. Which he shut behind him hard, then headed back to the bathroom, absently hanging up the squawking receiver on the way. So Fraser came to tell him somebody called, and he opened the door and... got distracted.
Jesus H. Christ. He ripped the towel off, grabbed some clothes and was out the door again without turning the lights off. He could catch up, as long as Fraser wasn't doing anything tricky. It was a long walk to the Consulate, and even Fraser couldn't outrun a car.
Once, way back in olden times - like, months ago - this other thing had happened. Yeah. That kind of thing. It was really early on, not long after they shut down Orsini and that Weston geek. He was all stirred up from trying not to think about Stella, how she'd let him in again, but knowing it was over, too. That was a good week, though, everybody patting him on the back, telling him way to go, finding out the bust was going to stick. He was high on success and, also, on Fraser. Who was just cool.
Not cool in a cool way - because he was a colossal geek, even if he didn't wear glasses or a pocket protector - but cool in a... good partner way. Not as uptight as he looked, even though he swore the thing with the car door was an accident. And he'd do anything to get a case cracked. Roll in broken glass, eat bugs, you name it. Any hour of the day or night, he was on the job. The guy was a bulldog for law and order, and it wasn't even his law. Ray dug that.
And, yeah, goodlooking, nice build, chiseled where it counts, soft where it doesn't, yadda, yadda, yadda. Okay, ridiculously goodlooking. Like, movie star.
No surprise: Ray dug that too.
So there they were, trying to get the sticky upper cupboard open in the kitchen, Ray threatening to break out the screw driver and Fraser insisting he could get it open through applied pressure, or something, and they had their arms up pushing and they got too close and the air was getting thick and then well, he just kind of turned and bumped into Fraser's face. When people say that, it's supposed to be a joke, but that's how it happened.
One minute - not kissing Fraser. Next minute - kissing him. Mouth on mouth. No joke.
Ray never planned on that, but he didn't think twice about it. Nobody could think with that kind of hot mouth action going on. He was thinking about as far as how to get Fraser's shirt up, out of his pants, so he could get his hands up on the skin, and he was also thinking a little about how Fraser seemed to be trying to grab him right through his shirt, burn holes through it with his hands, because they weren't moving but the fingers were getting tighter and tighter. Yeah, he'd have bruises. Hot. He slammed his mouth onto Fraser's again, tried another angle, did the first one again. There was just no bad here.
They were skidding off the edge of the counter, bumping into it hard. "Hey. Hey," he said, talking over Fraser's noises that he was making. Which were also hot. He pushed against Fraser's chest and pulled his head away far enough that his lips didn't just go locking with Fraser's again, which took a couple tries, and got it out. "There's a bed in the other room."
Fraser pulled back. His eyes were kind of - yeah, and his mouth was all open, saying nibble on me, eat me up. He pulled further back. He put his hand on Ray's chest like a mirror image and pushed back, so he was out of grabbing range.
Ray wondered if he was drooling. "You don't like beds? That's fine! I can work with that. No bed. Counter, table, floor, sofa, I'm easy. I mean, I'm flexible." He thought about it and gave a smile that should have melted Fraser's garters and said, "I'm easy and flexible."
"I'm sorry, Ray, this was a terrible mistake," Fraser said, and then he straightened up and zipped up and was out the door, Ray yelling after him.
That time, Ray didn't chase him.
The next day Ray was edgy, sparky, feeling like he'd been licking electrical sockets. Fraser was supposed to come by and meet him after lunch. Was he going to show? Probably. They were going to interview some witnesses together. Fraser wouldn't flake on a case just because of a little spontaneous frenching the night before.
Ray checked his hair in the men's room mirror. Was Fraser mad at him about something? Maybe he'd apologize and explain about how he had this terrible phobia where he was afraid of beds. Maybe it was just, he'd had his heart broken once and wasn't ready again, something like that.
No, no way. Ray had these instincts, see, and they grabbed him and lifted him as he walked down the hall, they whispered good stuff in his ear. Fraser was ready. That's what his mouth and his groping hands were saying, Benton Fraser was ready, all right. And they had a two-way thing. Hot to trot. There was just some kind of holdup. Ray checked his hair in the reflection from Welsh's office window.
"Need some work to do, Vecchio, or just a cream rinse?"
Ray beat it to his desk and practiced sitting casually.
By the time Fraser walked in, red uniform bleeding out against the walls like a drop of ink in a bucket, Ray was almost sliding off the edge of his chair, one leg thrown over the desk, his baseball cap pulled low and sideways. Fraser was walking toward him, but Ray couldn't see his face from here without his glasses. He swung his legs down and sat up. He leaned back again and scratched his arm. He pushed his foot back and put his elbow on the desk. There they were, standing next to the wastebasket: black legs with a yellow stripe. Showtime. "Hey, uh, hi, Fraser." Casual, right. He looked up, ready for that butterflies in the stomach feeling, that special look in Fraser's eye.
But Fraser looked at him and just... nothing. No connection, not even nervous, just watching him like he was one more moving creature, like you might look at an animal in the zoo.
When he was just getting in the swing of this new job, new place, having a partner, changing his luck? Coming right after the thing with Stella like that? It kind of broke him.
Seriously. He felt snapped, like a pixie stick with the sugar running out. He dragged Fraser around for a couple hours, but it was too hard to deal with. First he started grouching at Fraser and banging the car door, then he just didn't look at him, then he made an excuse and dropped him off and went back to the 2-7 to feel like nobody.
At least Fraser wasn't pissed at him. He'd even kind of smiled, when he got out of the car, just a polite smile, not a flirting thing, more just like... like... Ray was thinking zoos again. Did people smile at animals in zoos? He couldn't remember.
Just to be sure, because he was feeling masochistic like that, he checked with Frannie. "Do people smile at zoo animals?"
She gave him the loud voice, the world's meanest violin. "I don't know, Ray. Better ask one of your dates."
"Funny."
"If you can find one."
After slumping at his desk for a while longer, opening and shutting the drawer, he thought maybe she was right.
When's the last time he had a date? Not just lined up, not just working it for practice, but really gone through with it, the whole nine yards, a woman, a girl, someone he could brag about, on the other side of the tablecloth. Yeah. That's what he needed - a big Friday night.
He pulled the drawer open all the way and dug around until he found it, a crumpled cocktail napkin from the bar they hit after work sometimes. Oh yeah, that's right, Kristin. Wait. She'd written her name really small, and loopy. He turned it and looked it over from another angle. Maybe it was Deena? Diana? No, Esther. Wait, would he ask out a girl named Esther? Sounded like someone's gramma. He got his face in really far and checked it out, tipping the paper around.
"Oh, for god's sake, Ray, stop making those faces. Just count to three and look at a bright light, or something."
"Huh?" He was too slow to stop Frannie as she whisked away the napkin with the tips of her manicure and smacked a big box of kleenex into his hands instead.
"There," she said, dropping Kris-Deena's phone number in the trash with her lip curled so far it nearly went inside-out. "Now quit messing around and just go ahead and blow."
Ray groaned and did a faceplant on the top of the box.
Blow his brains out, maybe.
And that's how it went. No explanation. Fraser was chill as a penguin slide. He got friendlier again as the days went on, made eye contact, stood close, patted him places, even, but no sign that there'd been anything. No kind of incident where they got up close and personal. Maybe, in Fraser's head, there was no incident. That's when Ray realized what he was dealing with. A closet case.
Not just a guy like Ray, keeping his business to himself for professional reasons, and to keep things smooth at the gym. No, Fraser was a guy in the closet to himself, a guy who could not deal with who he was. Maybe they didn't believe in gay Mounties in Canada. Maybe Fraser was still hiding from that dead dad of his. Maybe he was such a big innocent dork that he didn't even know he liked it, thought he'd only kissed Ray back to be polite. Didn't matter. The big thing was, Fraser didn't want it to happen.
Which, you know, worked out pretty good once Ray got the idea. He liked Fraser - really liked him. Closet and all. He was smart and good to work with, and either he had a weird sense of humor or he was just weird, but either way. Probably screwing around would have messed all that up. And Ray didn't just like it, he started to need it. Like the sun and coffee, Fraser got the day going. He was still hot - yeah - but not so hot Ray couldn't ignore it. Ray'd been ignoring hot guys all his life. He could ignore Fraser too, he could ignore Fraser with one hand tied behind his back. No problem.
Things got rocky sometimes, but they were clicking still, and then there was this guy, Dex Washburn. Just another guy in the neighborhood, but a little more Ray's type than most (he wasn't sure what his type was any more. Fraser kind of threw that off, bending everything like a magnet.) Ray was getting antsy, getting itchy, really wanting to get laid. There was eye contact at the laundromat. There was running into each other at the pretzel stand. Three weekends in a row. There was definitely flirting, and then one day there was Ray getting a business card in his pocket with the private phone number written on the back.
Maybe the big-ass grin on his face as he walked back to the car with the pretzels didn't help, but when he said Dex was a snitch, Fraser didn't believe him.
Not that he said so. No, he just started making remarks. He seemed to know by use of his psychic powers what days Ray was going to meet Dex somewhere, and he'd ask if Ray wanted to get lunch or dinner, just to be difficult. When Ray said he was too busy, he had work to do, Fraser would say, "Of course. Contacting your sources." He made it sound really dirty, too. To the point where Ray started to get embarrassed saying those same words in front of Welsh.
One time Ray said, "Sure, dinner sounds good," just to see the look on Fraser's face. Which was surprised, and kind of chipper, then suspicious, all in a row. Ray broke his date from a pay phone.
He did eventually manage to get laid, very, very laid, which was most of the point of the whole thing. Fraser knew about that, too. "You look - tired," he said, the next day, blocking Ray's access to the file cabinet until the third try. Turned out he just happened to have been walking his dog near Ray's apartment, really late, because Dief wanted to go howl at the moon or something, and he saw the lights on, and maybe recognized the car.
"Yeah, it was Dex, so," Ray began, tempted just to get it out in the open. Fraser was getting on his nerves with this, it was funny for a while, but now, jeez.
"Oh, I see. Well, I'm sure he gives excellent information, very detailed."
"Look, you're so interested, I'll level with you," Ray said, this close to losing his temper. He pulled his arm back out of the file drawer. Just because Fraser couldn't handle being gay or whatever he was didn't mean Ray had to slink around feeling bad about it too. He kept it quiet, lied about it when he had to, self-defense, but he wasn't ashamed.
"Vecchio, Fraser. My office, now. And leave the wolf."
A pair of middle-aged identical twins were waiting in Welsh's office, sour as old milk, dressed to the nines with furs and hats and each holding one of those miniature dachshunds. Great, this was going to be fun.
It sort of was, in the end, even with all the poisoned oysters, but he was still mad, still worked up at Fraser, for giving him grief about seeing a guy, just because he didn't have the guts to do it himself. We got words for that, he practiced saying to the mirror that night. Chicken. Dog in the manger. Chicken in the manger? Huh. He shook his head, and tried the mirror again. This is me and you're just going to have to deal, he told it, watching it cower. Who was he kidding. The phone rang.
"Ray, I..."
"No, Fraser, I..."
They were good. Forget it. He hated fighting with Fraser. Everything was better when they were just arguing, like normal. "We're on for tomorrow at the car wash, right?" Ray got ready to hang up.
"Leveling."
"Huh?"
"I believe you wanted to level with me about something."
"Oh, right. No, no, I didn't. That was crazy, I don't know what I was thinking."
"That common honesty is a courtesy owed to all human beings, let alone one's friend and partner?"
Ray winced. "No, I think it was more like how about I tell you anything you want whether it's your business or not because I'm your little whipping boy."
In the silence that followed, Ray knew he had won. Fraser was right, so he hadn't expected a counterattack. More proof that the guy hadn't spent enough time around women.
But this did have to get finished. Ray was about to say he couldn't do it over the phone, but then he realized the other option was doing it face-to-face and chickened out swiftly and efficiently. "Look, you're right, it was, Dex isn't a snitch, it was a date. We're dating."
"I see."
Ray let the line sit and buzz for a minute before saying, "Problem?"
"No, I wish you the best."
"Uh, thanks." They hung up. So, yeah.
Fraser was cooler after that, going out of his way to be polite, and very definitely not asking. His hi-this-is-me-not-asking face was kind of funny at first, then after Dex said to get lost, it wasn't so funny, for a couple days, and then he forgot about it. And after a while Fraser stopped not-asking and went back to normal. Or as normal as a weirdo in a big hat could get.
And then one night Ray got splashed with mud when they were walking home from the Blockbuster - Fraser didn't catch any, even though he was standing right next to him when the truck went by - and decided to take a shower.
Ray spotted the hat up ahead, turning red in the glow from the streetlight. He accelerated up to the curb and stretched across the car to roll down the window. Fraser jaywalked.
Gritting his teeth, Ray waited until the light changed, because after all, there was no need to compound a tragedy, and then he chased Fraser down again and curb-crawled him.
"Fraser. Come on. Get in."
"No, thank you."
"Get in, I'll give you a ride."
"I'd prefer to walk."
"It's zero degrees out here."
"You know that's an exaggeration, given the lack of wind chill," Fraser said, making the mistake of getting drawn in, then he caught himself and looked away again.
"Just get in the car. I'm not trying to talk to you, all right? Just want to give you a ride. I don't want Dief all pissed at me because you got home late."
"Oh, for pity's sake." Fraser argued with himself another minute and then folded. "You're holding up traffic."
"No one else here."
"Potentially there could be." Fraser buckled in and shut the door.
"Fine." Ray peeled away from the curb and got going at a normal speed. Or maybe slower than normal, but his head was racing. He didn't know where to take this. Maybe the best thing was drop it, after all.
The tense silence filled the car for two more blocks and then Fraser put his fists on his knees and said, "I have to apologize."
"So you saw me naked. So what, so's every guy at the gym."
"No, Ray, hear me out. I must apologize for the way I've been acting - not just tonight, but in general. I should have more self-control. Although you are a very attractive man, with a certain rough-hewn charm, and we are thrown together on a day-to-day basis, and I am only human and I think anyone might, might slip from time to time - but I value our partnership very much, and incidents like this one could compromise that."
Ray was drifting over into the next lane, but he pulled it back with a jerk.
"I'm more concerned with my behavior in the matters of Luanne Russell and Dex Washburn. You have every right to a private life, and I reacted with antagonism rather than support. Given that nothing of that nature can happen between us, acting like a dog in the manger is unfair and rather ludicrous." He paused, then fired a look at Ray, all soulful and direct. "I'm sorry."
Ray finished translating that and hit the brakes. "Say what?" Luckily, no one was behind them. "What do you mean, given that nothing can happen?"
Fraser frowned and faced forward again. "I take it you're no longer involved with Mr. Washburn."
"Dex? Oh. No, didn't last long. Coupla dates, he dumped me. Said he thought I was seeing someone else." And he had been, in his head. Seeing Fraser everywhere he looked.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Well, no. I've never pretended not to find you attractive-"
This was so blatantly untrue that Ray could only sputter.
"But, obviously, it's out of the question. I assumed you felt the same."
"I don't think you really get about what I feel," Ray said, being really reasonable. Really really reasonable. He got the car going again, in more of a hurry this time. "If you like me, uh, think I'm cute - do you think I'm cute?"
"Oh, certainly. Especially your - yes."
"Especially my what? Okay, we'll get back to that. So, and I think you're-" the noise that was going to come out was an embarrassing kind of humina-humina-haaaaaah, so he clamped down on it, and stuck to "cute, too. And I, I like you, you're a... good guy." It almost hurt how wrong that was, how not enough to explain the way Fraser had crept in to take over and be part of everything, the back of his mind, the way he looked at the world, like the dashboard of his life.
But Fraser sounded really touched. "Thank you, Ray."
Huh? Oh, being the good guy. Pushed Fraser's buttons. Ray flashed on this weird image of them twenty years from now, tired after dinner, him rubbing Fraser's shoulders to try and get him in the mood, going 'You sure helped that old lady across the street today, big boy.' He shook his head rapidly to clear it.
"So how come we can't get involved?"
Fraser sounded surprised. "We work together."
"That's it? That's the reason?"
Fraser nodded, like he held these truths to be self-evident.
"People hook up who work together all the time. Look at Finch and that chick in Evidence. The desk sergeant and Greenblatt. Huey and Dewey."
"Oh, my, I..."
"Just kiddin.' You get my point though. It's everywhere."
"That doesn't make it right. Or wise." When Ray didn't say anything, Fraser took his hat off and held it to his chest, talking earnestly. "It's too distracting. As officers of the law, our primary concern has to be bringing criminals to justice and protecting the innocent. Anything that detracts from our cooperation to that end is not only inadvisable, but wrong, and quite probably dangerous."
"I'm just gonna pretend that made sense to me for a minute. But listen. You tell me this."
"Ray, the road?"
Ray did a screeching left-handed turn around the lamppost, his other hand still pointing under Fraser's nose.
"You tell me how it's any more distracting than what we got now. You think I don't think about you all the time? You think I'm not scared you'll get shot when you pull one of those crazy-ass stunts like you do? 'I'm walking right towards you unarmed going la-dee-da-dee-da, why don't you just give me the gun.'" He dropped his fake-o Canadian accent, since it wasn't coming out funny, he sounded way too upset, and he kind of was.
"I'm scared every minute we're out there, Fraser. I was scared before I met you, but now?" His voice skipped, and he would have hated it, but this was the time to lay things out. "I'm terrified." He ran a hand through his hair and got a grip on the wheel again. "But the thing is, see, that's okay."
The dark sidewalks went by in the yellow fishbowl of the headlights, puddles and squashed cans, no people.
"It's true that our working partnership has been... effective," Fraser said.
That would have been nothing from someone else, but from him it was a major deal, an admission, like he was listening to what Ray had to say.
Fraser was listening. Ray thought the GTO had gone over a bump for a second, but then his heart did a funny skip and he realized it wasn't the road. Same approach, though. Just keep cool and ride it back down.
"Well, think it over," he said, weakly. He should be pushing his advantage here, duck through the gap in Fraser's guard, but something about this was too big to mess with. If Fraser wanted to give him a chance, he would. If he didn't, well, hell, what was the point.
The lights were on at the Consulate. Instead of just pulling up to curb, Ray went around to where the diplomats parked, easing in diagonal across two spaces. Fraser started to say something and then just got out of the car. He leaned back down and stuck his head in. "Would you like to..."
"Oh, hell, yeah, I ain't dropping this yet."
Ray slammed out of the car like a kid at recess, remembering to lock it. He had his second wind now. He was focused. Big things were happening tonight, it was in the air, and with any luck him and Fraser would be one of them. He chased Fraser to the front door and nearly collided with him trying to let each other in. Fraser won that one, but it didn't matter, because then they were both inside, in the carpeted lobby.
So were Thatcher and that Turnbull character, both wearing bright red leis and struggling with a tape measure.
"Ah! Fraser, you're just in time. Just hold the other end of this, will you, and stand against that wall."
"Good evening, sir. Detective Vecchio," Turnbull said in his friendly little voice. Dief got up from where he was lying by a big pile of more red flowers on a string and came trotting over, sniffing them for signs of snack food.
Fraser stood against the wall and held the tape measure up by his shoulder, while Turnbull flapped it from up on the stairs. Ray scowled at Fraser to let him know that this was not how the evening was going to end, Fraser doing chores for the Ice Queen until Ray got bored and went home, and Fraser caught his eye and nodded.
"Detective Vecchio. You look... different, this evening."
Thatcher was writing on a clipboard. Her hand slowed down and she looked up again, in a way that from anybody else he'd have said it was friendly. On her it was more sort of prowling. "Your hair. You've done something with it."
"Uh," Ray said, pushing a hand over the top of his head, which was still flat and wet from the shower. Not that Thatcher wasn't hot, in that ballbusting kind of way, but she'd always acted like he was some kind of worm before. What was up with tonight? Was he taking irresistible pills? "I washed it."
"...Oh," she said, face going back to fly-in-my-soup normal. "Well. Good luck with that." She turned back to the other two Mounties. "No, Turnbull, not through the chandelier! Around! Around!"
"Sir, if I may-"
"Yes, Fraser, if you have any suggestions for the layout, please, speak up."
"Ooh! Sir!" Turnbull called down from the landing. "I think the layout would be better if the stairs were on the other side, sir."
Thatcher smacked the clipboard down on a table. "We're decorating, Turnbull, not remodeling!"
"What exactly are we doing, sir?" Fraser asked, in his low, reasonable voice.
"Oh, it's-" She stomped over and stuck a pin in the wall by where he held the tape measure, nearly standing on his toes to do it. Ray watched her low-cut blouse come dangerously close to the front of Fraser's flannel and tried not to grind his teeth. Thatcher's chest - great; Fraser's chest - groovy; Thatcher's chest touching Fraser's chest - very bad news. "Hold still, Fraser. Holiday decorations. The Consulate this year has decided to go nondenominational for the winter season. To be inclusive. No Christmas tree, no Hanukkah... things... just festive decorations. So instead of tinsel-" She flourished the end of one of the plastic leis and tucked it into his hand. "Flowers."
"I see. It's not very seasonal, though, is it, sir?" He snapped his hand back into position against the wall at her poison glare. "They're lovely."
Ray moved around behind her and got Fraser's attention. He pointed towards the hall to Fraser's office, pointed harder. No dice.
"Now just hold that end steady while I calculate how much length we need to cross the room three times and wrap it. Turnbull? Are these figures in metric or Imperial?"
"Both, of course, sir!"
Digging around in his pockets, Ray pulled out something old but useful: Dex's business card. He held it up to make sure Fraser got a good look - Fraser's eyes were like 80/20, he'd recognize it - then started ripping it into pieces.
Fraser didn't react until Thatcher went to hassle Turnbull. Then he whispered, "Dief. Hold this." He lowered the end of the lei to his side and Diefenbaker snapped his teeth on the end and stood there holding it in place. That's right, the dog liked flowers. Then Fraser was sneaking for the back and they were falling in step together, tiptoeing down the hall like kids sneaking a look at the tree on Christmas eve.
They reached the door to Fraser's office and stood, just stood there. Ray wondered what to say and then went with tradition, his voice gentle. "Hey. You gonna invite me in?"
Fraser raised his head and said, "I'd like to, but..."
"I'm not Canadian enough? Okay. Lemme try that again. 'Fraser, are you going to invite me in. Voulez-vous couchez avec moi.'"
And when Fraser just stared at him, he said, "Hey, don't pretend you don't know what that means, because it's the only French I know."
"No, it's just, your accent is appalling."
"Fraser!" Ray jerked his head at the door. "Yes? No?"
"Oh, excellent suggestion, Diefenbaker. Now, just take this end of the flowers over there, and - good boy! Good boy! Take it over - no, not up the stairs! Diefenbaker!" Feet pounded up to the second floor.
"Turnbull, can't you control that animal- make him bring those back! They're attached at the ends! Turnbull!" More feet.
Fraser opened the door and walked in first, then whipped around and put a hand on Ray's chest, like he was trying to keep him from stepping over a cliff.
"Ray, I want you to try to imagine two magnets, or particles, that are drawn together, naturally attracted, and in most circumstances they just slide off each other, but if they should get in the right alignment and touch, something catastrophic could occur."
"Like matter and antimatter."
"For example."
"Okay, I'm imagining it." Ray squeezed his eyes shut for a second to show he was giving it a shot. "Now you try imagining two guys who really want to get it on, but one of them's a giant chicken."
Fraser looked bushwhacked.
"Yeah, sorry. I'm not so good with the metaphors."
"And I'm not good with relationships," Fraser said, some of the starch relaxing out of him. He still looked worked up and sad, urgent. "It's a matter of balance. I have none." He was waving his hands, trying to argue Ray into not wanting him. "I've done unforgivable things."
"You're an axe murderer, that's what I thought."
"You don't understand. There was a woman. She needed me, I lost all judgement. I would have left everything, everyone, to follow her."
"Sure, why not?" Ray said, offhand. "That's what I would have done." Fraser gaped at him. "Look. Love is crazy. If you don't go crazy you're not doing it right. That's just how it works."
"What did you say?"
Fraser was looking at him like - puzzled, almost angry, and deep, deep - dark waters. Ray heard his own voice catching up to him slowly, like light from another galaxy. Yeah, he'd said it.
"Oh. Oh... that's great, that's, that's - I - foot in mouth, Ray, nice one. 'Scuse me." Ray heeled and broke for the door.
Fraser caught him with both hands, holding him from behind. His grip was gentle, but Ray stopped, melting again. It was like he lost control of his muscles, with Fraser holding his arms like that. Everything was lighting up from his feet to his head, and when Fraser stepped up close so that they were touching, he couldn't help making a noise.
Fraser turned him around and kissed him, taking charge, big and slow, like a movie kiss in black and white. Then he pulled back to arm's length and said, "Ray."
"Yeah."
"There's a bed. In this room."
"Uh, no, I hate to break it to you, Fraser, but that is a plank."
"Fine. Desk, floor, wall, whatever you prefer. I'm open to suggestions. And determined." He stepped up close again and put his mouth right by Ray's ear. "I'm open and determined."
It wasn't easy to talk after that, but Ray was going to keep it together if it killed him. He pulled back, his hands on Fraser's hips. "How, how about the closet?" he said, as a joke, mostly.
Fraser coughed. "I'd really rather not."
Cool. Ray looked over Fraser's shoulder and let himself breathe as hard as he wanted. "You know what? The bed's just fine."
Fraser pulled him there faster than Ray could push him, and, keeping as quiet as they could, with footsteps running overhead, they tried out the cot, which had one thing over a real bed, it didn't creak.
It broke, actually, but that's another story.
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