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Down the Hall
for Sisterofadream
Ray needed a pen.
He surveyed his battered pine desk and the sea of papers and books that formed an impenetrable barrier to any and all writing devices it might house, and sighed. He needed a pen, and the last time he'd asked Frannie, the department secretary, for one, she'd screeched at him about all the times before he'd asked and lost the pens she'd given him.
Ray just wasn't up for that kind of stress today, not when he had thirty pop quizzes to grade and needed a pen to do the marking with. It was his own damn fault he had the extra work anyhow--he'd walked in to a classroom of guilty-looking students who obviously hadn't done the reading he'd assigned, so he felt compelled to ingrain in them exactly what they should be expecting from him, and themselves, in this class. He'd given them Chuck Palahniuk to read, for chrissake! It's not like it was "Great Expectations."
The end result was still the same though--here he was, stuck at a quarter to five with a stack of pop quizzes and no pen. He huffed into his fist, then sprang from his seat to blow through his office door and out into the deserted hallway. Most of the staff and students were gone for the day, but he had a feeling that one person's light would be on. He headed to the end of the hall, where the History department was cloistered, and he was right: Ben Fraser was still around.
Ben was a new addition to the U of Chicago's faculty, a recent import from Canada and former RCMP Constable who specialized in North American history, particularly pre-colonial history. The department head had been talking for months about what a find he was, and how lucky they were to have him, but Ray had only seen him at the start-of-term faculty party, and then only briefly. He wanted to be a little more friendly, but the fall term was always a killer, and he just hadn't been able to make time. However, Ray had noticed that Ben was something of a night owl too, working in his office in the evening hours much like Ray himself. Now was as good a time as any to introduce himself.
He paused just outside the door to Fraser's office, briefly taking in the almost obsessive cleanliness and organization--so unlike his own office--and the large, furry lump of resting dog lying at Fraser's feet. Ray was just about to knock when the large, furry lump lifted its head to peer at him with clear blue eyes, and then stood, alerting Fraser to his presence. Ray waved weakly.
Fraser came around the desk to open the door and said, "Hello there."
Ray held out his hand and Fraser grasped it firmly. "Uh, hi. Sorry to bother you. I'm Ray Kowalski, from the English Department? My office is right down the hall," he said, tilting his head.
Fraser nodded his head. "Contemporary Fiction, if I recall correctly. Some of my students are very fond of your course."
Ray smiled slightly. He did kind of have a reputation for teaching the classes no one else could get away with, but he felt it was well-earned--he had an overrun on two of his classes for a reason. "And you're--"
"Oh, pardon me," Fraser said, letting go of his hand. "Benton Fraser, First Nations History. But call me Ben."
"Ben. Nice to meetcha, Ben," Ray said. "Who's the mutt?"
Said mutt snorted at that, coming up to rest against Ben's legs. "This is Diefenbaker, who is in fact not a mutt, but a half-wolf from the Territories."
Ray took a cautious step back. "Wolf, huh?"
"Oh, don't worry," Ben assured him. "He's perfectly friendly, unless you give him cause not to be."
Ray nodded, his gaze dropping between Ben and the wolf and back again. "Well, uh, nice to meetcha, Diefenbaker."
The wolf just dropped back into his sleeping position in response.
"So what can I do for you this evening, Ray?" Ben inquired.
"What? Oh, right. Uh, I was hoping I could borrow a pen. My desk seems to have eaten all of mine."
Ben smiled at that, turning back to his desk to grab a couple of neatly-placed red ink pens. He handed them to Ray, catching his gaze for a long moment, and Ray was suddenly struck by just how clear and lovely Ben's eyes were. It felt like their fingers, where they met on the pens, were crackling with electricity.
Whoa.
"Uh--thanks," Ray stammered out, finally breaking the connection between them. "I'll, uh, get 'em back to you."
"Don't worry about it, Ray," Ben said, and Ray could swear his heart skipped a damn beat when Ben said his name, "you can borrow my pens any time."
"Thanks," Ray repeated, and felt like an idiot. He stepped backwards out of Ben's office, Ben watching him as he went, and stumbled out into the hall. "Good luck with, uh, with your work."
"You too, Ray," Ben said, and Ray walked down the hall before he could make an even bigger fool out of himself.
If that was what the history department was like, he'd have to switch disciplines, he thought to himself. Then he looked at the pens clutched tightly in his hand and mentally groaned to himself. At this rate, he'd have to start teaching Austen instead of JT Leroy.
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