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Carry That Weight
for Elizabeth
Author's Notes: For Elizabeth, who asked for "Fraser looks for Ray, and brings him home," or vice versa.
I wanted this to be porny, but Ray and Fraser insisted it was meant to be tender, instead.
It had been the worst sort of case, the kind that made Fraser long for the days when his main work consisted of standing ramrod stiff outside the Consulate like Chicago's advertisement for Canada, and every once in a while running pointless errands, or solving matters of etiquette.
But then two young men might be dead, instead of one. Fraser looked down at the barely-there scrape where the errant bullet had grazed him. It stung, but he was grateful the boy's gun had missed it's youthful target. He was equally glad to have escaped a worse fate himself.
The shooter had been the image of a teenage Ray, if Ray had not had the fortitude to deal with the stress of his early life. All wiry strength and barely captured energy and anger. His intended victim, if having a history of drug dealing and violence could be said to be just a victim, was only a few years older.
But the boy had not been as lucky as Ray. And in a bout of fear and panic, he had shot the dealer, then taken aim at the two people who were trying to defuse the tense situation. Fraser didn't think he knew what he was doing. Certainly he couldn't have known that Ray saw himself in the boy, and that they both would have done everything they could to get him help.
"You're okay, aren't you?" Ray asked, but he didn't stop to hear an answer. He just dropped his gun and badge on Lt. Welsh's desk., ignoring his protests as well. Fraser understood the need to escape.
"I'm fi--" The door shut behind Ray before Fraser could assure him that yes, he really was all right.
"Well, Ray's sorry ass is going to be grass if he doesn't get back here," Welsh replied.
"It was bad, Sir. Ray just needs to cool off." Fraser filled him in, then set to work to take care of the necessary tasks, knowing Ray would want to get it out of his system alone.
He left the precinct as quickly as he could after the suspect was booked, and the resultant paperwork completed.
But as he anticipated, Ray was long gone. Fraser knew why, even if he didn't yet know where he would find him.
The car was still outside when Fraser left, which narrowed down the places Ray might have gone to just a few. He had a good idea which one might have called to him now.
The new youth center was about to close when Fraser pulled up to it. He could see Ray inside, a blurry blond tornado, through the pebbled windows of the gym. He didn't look up when Fraser walked in, just continued working with the boxing equipment.
There were no kids there, none of the angry young men, and troubled young women that looked to Ray for help. He was such a good mentor to those children, and it hurt Ray terribly when he couldn't save one. Devin Gabriella had been such a youth, one of Ray's successes, or so he had thought. The day's events had started when the Rec center's owner had caught him with a bag full of stolen pills, and forced him to leave.
"I thought I might find you here. Are you well, Ray?" He looked amazing, and strong, t-shirt damp with sweat, and intent on punching out his demons.
Ray didn't answer that question. "It bothers me, you know, Fraser?" He didn't wait for a reply, taking it as read that Fraser would always understand him. That was entirely too gratifying, and Fraser took a silent moment himself to be thankful for Ray's trust in him.
"Chicago didn't used to be like this." Ray went on. "Used to be a kid like that would have someone looking out for him. Someone who'd care enough to see that he didn't get into real trouble, the kind you can't get out of. He wouldn't have ended up dead at fourteen."
"It wasn't your fault, Ray."
"It shouldn't have happened." Ray hit the bag faster, and Fraser had to stop himself from seizing Ray's hands to stop him from doing himself harm. Ray knew his limits, and if he needed to do this to relieve himself of the burden he carried, then Fraser would let him.
"None of this should have happened. By all rights that boy should have the opportunity to grow safely into adulthood. But there was nothing you could have done but what you did do."
"That just makes it worse. Because, Frase, when I thought he'd --that you'd -- all I could think was, I couldn't protect you. And I wanted to kill him. I didn't care that he was a stupid, scared kid that only a few hours ago I was proud to call a friend. I'm supposed to care."
"You do care, Ray. If you didn't care, you wouldn't be here, now, doing grievous harm to that weighty bag. And I'm fine, because of you. It's terrible that it had to end up that way. Terrible for Devin, and for you. But I can't say I'm sorry to still be around to try and help you.
"Heavy Bag. It's called a heavy bag."
"'Heavy bag', then. Just like the weight you're carrying inside you, Ray. But you need to let it go."
"That's what I've been trying to do." Ray held out his hands, un-gloved and knuckles bloody.
Fraser picked one up and pressed it to his lips. "We'll deal with it. Whatever you need. But please stop hurting yourself. You're precious to me, and I don't like seeing you in pain."
"Feeling's mutual, buddy."
"I know. So why don't we go home now? We can make sure we're both on the mend." They were going to have to talk about it, he knew. Certainly Lt. Welsh would need a full report, and there would probably be Internal Affairs to deal with, as well.
But right now, all Fraser wanted was to get Ray home where he belonged. Dieffenbaker would be wondering what had taken so long, and Fraser feared for the status of the baked goods he'd hidden on top of the refrigerator.
"Yeah, okay." Ray acquiesced, taking Fraser's uninjured arm as they walked to the car. He didn't even protest when Fraser insisted on following the speed limit all the way home.
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