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Benton Fraser was, without a single doubt, the weirdest guy that Ray had ever had the pleasure of meeting. And that was the oddest part -- meeting him, getting some pretty fucking weird greeting rituals, stepping in front of a bullet, saying yes to dinner -- everything that he did with Fraser felt natural, like it was something that he'd done a million times. Like he really was Vecchio and Fraser really was his best friend. And here he was, sitting across a table from the guy, in one of the nicer diners in the area. Ray shifted on the hard plastic bench, snapping the menu up to shield him from Fraser's eyes for just a few seconds. He scanned the list absently, only part of him trying to figure out what would be edible. Diner-food was always chancy. It felt a little like a date, which was just queer, because even if Ray's gate had swung in that direction, he hadn't been able to get a date since Stella had told him that she was tired of dancing, tired of sex, and mostly just tired of him. But this Fraser was asking him questions, which he mostly deflected at this point, and, yes, still giving him that intense look, which was making Ray worry that he could.... fuck, see into Ray's soul and just sense that this was all there was -- Con-Job Ray, pulling the wool over another pair of pretty blue eyes. And there was definitely something about Fraser that reminded him of Stella. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was there. Like, the Stella was a clear departure from and improvement to all other members of womankind, and Fraser seemed to be that way, too, but with... well, mankind. Like no matter how dirty his hands were, they'd still be cleaner than Ray's were on his best day. So, the waitress hauls her ass back to their table in record time, and she doesn't even bother looking at Ray before asking Fraser if there's anything at all that she could help him with. Fucking sixteen or seventeen-year old kid, trying to pick up someone practically old enough to be her father. It was pathetic -- obviously, she was suffering from a rex thing. No, wait, with chicks it was an electric thing. Of course, Fraser was too great a guy to ever even encourage a kid like that, which was good. Nothing sucked worse than a cop who fucked around with the rules. Finally, after Fraser ordered, assured her several times that he didn't need anything else, and had mentioned Ray at least five times, she turned to Ray to ask him what he wanted. Even then, her eyes kept darting back to look at Fraser. He'd never met anyone who had that kind of effect on women. Hell, he'd never even met a woman who had that kind of effect on men, Stella included. It was like there was something in Fraser that sent out a signal to anything with tits, reorienting them to him. He was like chocolate, something that almost every woman wanted in her mouth. He ordered something. He wasn't really paying attention and he would bet a month's pay that she wasn't either, what with the way she kept tilting her body back towards Fraser. He glanced between the two, holding back a snort of disgust. Sheesh, she couldn't keep her eyes off Fraser for more than a few seconds. When they'd finally finished ordering, she almost stumbled as she backed away, obviously trying to get in all the staring time that she could. Fraser was about as red as a guy could get and he was tugging at his ear, something that was already hitting Ray as a tell that Fraser was uncomfortable as all hell. Well, he should be used to that kind of attention by now -- it was obviously nothing new. And what kind of guy didn't want hot chicks all over him? Huh. What kind of guy didn't want hot chicks all over him? Ray sucked his lower lip in between his teeth and took another glance at Fraser. Could be, could be. Might explain the 'date' feeling. Had Fraser and Vecchio…? Nah, he'd seen abandoned lovers, and that was not what Fraser had been. Still, this was something new to think about. And Ray might be a con-job in real life, but detecting… well, that was what he did.
Ray tossed the dreamcatcher on top of the tv, then stretched, working out the kinks from a day of grave-watching and a night of party-watching. Both of which had been a lot easier with Fraser's company. God, that man was a freak -- dedicated and brave, sure, but completely nuts. What kind of man smiles in the face of a gun? Benton Fraser, apparently. Same law-abiding man who'd coaxed his way into this very apartment and who looked at Ray's files without permission or authorization. Benton Fraser was a puzzle. Right now, there were too many pieces missing to really see what the picture was, though. Ray absentmindedly fed Steve, unable to stop thinking about the total freakishnes of this Canadian that was suddenly in his life. Because, really, what kind of man gives a present to someone he doesn't know? Sure, someone might have noticed if Vecchio hadn't a party, but nobody but nobody would have known if Ray Kowalski hadn't gotten a present from the Mountie. Vecchio's present, even, since he'd ordered that eagle feather a hell of a lot more than a week ago. Ray reached out and traced a finger along the side of the dreamcatcher, really letting himself look at it. It was real quality work, with a lot of time and affection wrapped up in it. It might have been made for Vecchio, but Fraser had given it to him, and it had already caught his worst nightmare. Maybe getting the real deal eagle feathers had made the difference. Maybe it was the partner. Yeah, he and Fraser weren't really, not yet, but they could get there. He felt a spark and crackle with Fraser that he'd never had with a partner... well, not a police partner, that was for damn sure. Friends and partners. It sounded like a nice idea. He had never really had that -- friends were the people he didn't have to trust his life with and partners were the guys that he didn't spend off-time with. And Fraser knew, knew about Ray's lowest moment, and he'd still said those things. And maybe... Ray picked the dreamcatcher back up and took it with him into his bedroom. He tossed it onto the bed and then pulled off his holster, putting it away carefully. Then he went to his bedside table and opened it, looking for... yeah, there it was, a random piece of string that had been in the drawer since before he'd moved it from his old place. It was dirty and starting to fray at one end, so he pulled out a lighter from the drawer and melted the end. He could wash the string before using it, but that was way too Fraser. Or Stella, his stupid heart reminded him. Yeah, they had the neat-freak thing in common, too. Well, Ray Kowalski was not going to bow down before the forces of order. He was a fucking rebel. Okay, right, a rebel who was a cop, but as any of his high school teachers would say, he'd never been too big on logic. Serve and protect, that's what it was about. That's what he knew how to do. And Fraser got that, Fraser lived that in a way that was... intimidating. Fraser looked like he lived the law, but that didn't feel right. Didn't scan with the B&E work. Not law, then, but... justice? Yeah, that sounded right. Laws were just words, justice was gut and head and truth. Ray slipped the string through the dreamcatcher and tied the whole thing to hang off of the nail the mini-Harley was using. And now it was roughly over the head of his bed, which was how these things worked. Maybe it'd catch some more bad dreams. Maybe when he woke up tomorrow, he wouldn't reach out for the one person that he'd never sleep next to again. Ray snorted. There wasn't a charm in the world that could make his bed less empty in the mornings. Wishing for something he couldn't get… he'd tried that before and it never worked. Stella's eyes weren't ever going to stop being the prettiest blue he'd ever seen. Ray shut his eyes, that vivid color instantly springing to life behind his eyelids. Only, wait, fuck, that wasn't the right color. Ray opened his eyes and stretched out his hand to brush the dreamcatcher. Those hadn't been Stella's eyes, but he'd definitely known them. He'd spent a lot of today looking into them. So, the question was, why hadn't he realized earlier how nice he thought Fraser's eyes were? Fuck. He really didn't need this.
"I don't think I've ever been this wet in my life," I complained to Fraser, who was twisted around to watch the clouds. Probably cataloguing what kinds they were. Like it even mattered. "I really do doubt that, Ray, considering that you've lived your entire life here in Chicago. Surely you must-" "Nope. Never had to be outside during the pouring rain before." "Ah." "You think that you'd be miserable, considering how thrashed your stuff is." "Well, Ray, we must accept the consequences of doing our duty-" Except that Fraser was halfway to smiling and he was only absently brushing at his coat, like it wasn't too big a deal. It was like lightning hitting my brain. "You liked that. You don't care about screwing up the uniform because you got to roll around in the mud." "I don't know if I would put it quite that way." "But?" "Well, I do admit to having a certain visceral thrill at being able to see clear evidence of a case well-solved." Fraser looked over at me, and he was really smiling now, which was a good look on him. "I can't believe this. You like rolling around in the mud. It's not that you aren't willing to get dirty, you just usually don't. This changes my entire view of you." "Does it?" "Mmhmm. You're an unhinged freak, but you're not prissy. That's... that's good." Stella had been prissy. I finally finally found something that they didn't have in common. Fraser was not just Stella if she'd been a guy. Yeah, they were still too fucking alike for comfort, but at least Fraser was capable of not freaking out over a little mud. A lot mud. Fraser stayed silent, his tongue creeping out to touch his lower lip. Another nervous habit. For a guy who seemed so in control, he had a lot of little ticks that gave away how out-of-control the guy inside the uniform felt. And they all meant something slightly different, only I hadn't figured them out yet. I would, but I still needed to watch him more. So, I ask him to come eat with me this time. Just so that I can keep figuring him out.
It's supposed to get better. That is what everyone says, that is what everyone knows. After a while, he'll just... get over it. He'll stop waking up in the middle of the night wondering why Stella isn't tucked up next to him. He won't pull out two mugs for coffee in the morning. He won't put skim milk into the cart when he goes to the store. He'll adjust and his body'll get used to being cold. Yeah, right. Just because people say something don't mean they mean it. He'd been two decisions away from spending last night with Stella. With a vulnerable, needy Stella. And it would've been wrong, because she'd have been fucking him to keep her failure away. At the end, when it got really bad, he'd always been able to tell when Stella was having sex with him and when she was using him to work out... fear and anger and need. It hadn't felt like sleeping with his wife -- he'd felt like he was a mail clerk or something, someone that the hot attorney fucked for fun and laughs and no commitment. Cheap and easy, that was Ray Kowalski. But he hadn't been, and here he was, awake and alone and cold. It sucked. Maybe if they hadn't danced, hadn't kissed, hadn't been so close to falling right back to where they'd been two years ago... Two years ago, yeah -- when it hadn't been about love, hadn't been about forever, it'd just been about Stella wanting someone safe to get off with. Because she knew, she knew that no matter how tough and dangerous a rebel Ray played, he'd cut out his own heart before he'd hurt her. When he thought about it, two years ago had sucked, too. Had to go further back, further than he'd realized. Maybe four years ago, when they'd actually tried couples therapy, which had lasted all of two months before Stella... before they'd realized that it was just stupid. Okay, go back seven years, when Stella still thought it was hot to be married to a cop. Fuck, had it really been seven years since she'd said that? He could still remember it like yesterday -- her licking his thumb and telling him that she swore she could taste gunpowder. She'd been bullshitting him, he knew that. For one thing, she'd tried that on days when he'd ridden desk. For another, no way in hell could Stella taste that -- she couldn't even tell quality chocolate from Hershey's. Refined palate, his ass. Fraser, though... Ray was willing to bet that Fraser could tell. Fraser could probably lick Ray's palm and figure when the gun had been fired, plus remind him what he'd had for lunch. Of course, from how things had been so far, that would probably partly be because Fraser would have been at lunch with him. When had he ever made a friend so fast? And it wasn't like Fraser was the friendliest guy -- oh, he was polite, but that ain't the same thing. Not by a long shot. Maybe he should've let Fraser do the friends-thing last night. At then, he'd have woken up with good memories. He'd just have to say yes next time. Still, not like there was a rush. Not like Fraser was going anywhere.
He and Fraser were tight. Best buds, close enough that Fraser was willing to hypnotize his boss in order to have a few more minutes together. Plus, he was the one that Fraser went out of his way to prove right. So, he and Fraser were greatness. Only Fraser was somehow a psychic or something, because he'd known that Ray loved him symbolically. Which was a neat trick, because Ray didn't even understand how anyone could love anyone symbolically. It didn't make any sense, it wasn't supposed to make any, it'd just been a take-back. Because guys didn't say things like that to each other. Only, Fraser did. Well, and he did. But that'd been different -- heat of the moment crap. He'd been hyped over Fraser proving him right, so out came that 'I love you', like it did every time that Stella had stood up for him. Instinct, that was all. It didn't mean anything. But to Fraser it did. Because that's what symbols were -- things that meant something. So what the hell did loving someone symbolically mean to Fraser? Because symbolic love, as far as Ray could see, had to mean love that meant something else. Like, when he'd said it, he was really saying, "Thanks, Frase. You made the Ice Queen look stupid in order to make me look better. That's buddies." But Fraser was the one who'd done it, so maybe to him it was more like, "I would much rather you be right than my bitch of a superior officer who is constantly jerking me around with her hot-cold act." Because yeah, there was a word for what she did: Sexual harassment. Which, right, Ray was willing to admit was actually a phrase. Funny, Stella would've loved him correcting himself for her. Probably why he usually didn't do it, why he went on being annoying and missing the word and missing the point. Because after all that time, he could push Stella's buttons faster than anyone on the planet -- including her mom, who she'd always hated like he'd never seen a girl hate a mom. Stella's hate had distance and drive and ambition. She'd actually had a list of things that pissed her mom off most. One of them had been dating Ray, which had evolved to fucking him, then finally to marrying him. Plus, he'd seen Stell's mom go on about grandkids, so he was willing to bet that 'never have kids' had appeared on the list after she'd stopped letting him look at it. Especially since she'd stopped even talking about it after he'd told Stella that he agreed with Christine about the kids thing. Looking back, that was probably the single stupidest thing that he'd ever done in their marriage. Agreeing with Stella's mom in any way, shape, or form was the quickest way to Stella's shit list. Like he'd said, her hate had distance. She'd been hating her mom since before he'd met her and he'd bet she was hating her mom this very day. But she'd always loved her dad, and both her parents loved her, so they'd both ended up spending a lot of time with the Haines back in the day, especially when they'd been poor and her parents had wanted to take them out to eat, so what the hell, why not? Only, Stella would spend the night talking to her dad and arguing with her mom and trying to get Ray to do the same. Which had been weird, because he'd always liked Stella's mom. Christine had class, sure, and she'd hated his guts when she'd first met him, but she'd actually warmed up to him pretty quick by upper-class snob standards. When things had started to fall apart in the marriage, she'd taken to calling their place and talking to him for hours while Stell was still at work. They actually had a lot in common -- there was the kids thing, but there was also the workaholic lawyer spouse thing, and definitely the chocolate thing. Christine had been the person who'd hooked him on Smarties. "Like M&M's but Canadian, which means that it's better," she'd said. Which was pretty fucking funny, considering who he'd ended up working with. All the good qualities of the American product, but better -- that was Fraser, all right. Christine would have adored Fraser. Actually, she'd be pretty amused by the Italian thing, too. Fuck, he'd hadn't even talked to her since he'd found out about the Vecchio job. Too bad he couldn't tell her all about it any time soon, but there was no way to work his ex-wife's mom into a 'need to know' list. Maybe after Vecchio was back. She'd be glad to hear from him -- she'd always worried about his safety, at least after she'd gotten over being grossed out by her little girl marrying a cop from the meatpacking district. And she really would love Fraser.
People never would ask me how I met Stella. I mean, there we were, meatpacker's son and Gold Coast girl, seriously dating, and no one ever dared to ask. We didn't meet in school -- Stella Haines wouldn't have been caught dead in a public high school. She went to Latin from kindergarden to senior year. If I'd ever showed up in Latin, someone probably would've asked me to leave before I contaminated the good kids. But it almost felt like I went there, 'cause Stella would tell me all about her classes. She'd talk over my head and laugh when I got confused -- not in a mean way, not really. She had a nice laugh, light and sweet, so I didn't ever mind hearing it. So we didn't meet in school and we didn't go to any of the same places. We shouldn't have met. It was a total freak accident. See, Stella, Gold Coast girl and one true love of my heart, has never had a lick of survival instincts. She got lost on a school field trip to Science and Industry. I happened to be cutting school that very same day, just hanging out... near the coal-shaft elevator, I think, which was always very cool... and bam! I see the Stella. It was a revelation. I can still remember what she said to me, "Hey you, kid, have you seen Mr. Parker?" Just assuming that I would know who she was talking about. Thirteen year old kid who figured that the world revolved around her, trying to boss around the twelve-year old. Fuck if I can remember what I said back, but whatever it was, she stuck with me a good three hours while we pretended to look for her Mr. Parker and mostly just messed around being kids. Never actually found him -- instead, we got found by a security guard who had Stella's description. Her parents had panicked when her teacher hadn't been able to find her, and we hadn't heard any of the announcements for her to go up to the lobby. Well, we hadn't paid attention to any of them. We'd been busy. By the time we got found, I had Stella's number and address, and I'd promised to come visit her after school the next day. If we'd ever had kids, that would have been a nice story to tell them. We met by random chance and just knew that we were meant to be. It's a nice story. It's even a true story. Wonder how Ms. Bounty Hunter met Mr. Gold-Hearted Crook? Was it a sweet story to tell the kids? Not that those kids really deserved much of a story. If Stella and I had had kids, they would not have been like that. Because I would have shot myself. It would have been a mercy killing. So, maybe Stella was right. Because she wouldn't've handled those brats any better than me. And kids can be brats, which is something I can never remember until I'm around them. I was a bratty kid, definitely. Stella, though... she was always a good student and a responsible daughter. Hell, she made me more responsible by association, even if she couldn't make me any smarter. She'd correct me whenever I messed up, kinda like Fraser does, only... Stella got tired of it, after a while, and I got tired of hearing it. It'll probably be the same with Fraser, eventually. He'll get tired of me fucking it up all the time. He's like Stella, always knows the right word. And it's gotta be hell being around people who look at him like he's a freak. Which they do. Even I do, sometimes, even though I know better now. He needs to hang around someone who can keep up with his brain. He'll figure that out, just like Stella did. But he and the bounty hunter chick would not have been good together, even if they seemed to match way more than Stell and me. The kids, the lying, the way she totally played him, it all adds up to her walking all over him. She was a complete shark and he fell for it. I mean, I took him out to eat after, thinking that I could help, but he was moody the entire time. Moody like me over Stella, but with less reason -- he barely even knew her, plus she was no good for him. He's better off now that she's with her kids in Wyoming or... wherever it was she came from. I think it was Wyoming. Some place with lots of space. Wyoming... North Dakota... fuck, she could be from Switzerland for all I care, as long as she stays there and away from vulnerable Mounties. Can't trust a con-job. He didn't figure it out with her, but eventually, he'll catch on. Sucks for me, but he deserves someone who's like him. If there are any other people like him, which I'm doubting. Everyone else keeps their cards down, but Fraser plays face-up, like he don't know the rules of the game. Fuck, I don't even know if I want him to learn.
I can't believe that Fraser did that. That he just let a guy beat the shit out of me because he thought I needed... closure or something like that. No, wait, I can, because that's who Fraser is -- if the Marcus of Queensbury rules didn't already exist, Fraser would have invented them. Honor, dignity, justice. Not kicking guys in the head or balls. Still, I think that I've talked sense into him -- he might want to do the one on one thing sometimes, which is something I'll try to remember, but now he gets that I don't need that. I've never seen the point in fighting alone. I became part of a two when I was twelve and I still haven't adjusted to being a one again. I don't really want to. I miss the instant communication that Stell and I had when we started. We could just look at each other and know. One-two punch, each of us just half of a single person. But Stella's her own person now. Maybe she always was, and it was just me who was a half. Fuck, this is why I should avoid drinking after getting beat up. I get maudlin. I hate being maudlin. First off, because it's a Stella word, it's a total Stella word. I mean, for all I know, it could be a completely fake word because I have never heard anyone else use it. But whenever I had a rough day and had a few beers to unwind, wanted to dance or just tell her how much I loved her, she'd tell me that I was getting maudlin on her. "Oh, Ray, stop being silly. You're just being maudlin. Maybe you should just cut back on the beer." I never had a problem with it though, not even after she left. I drank to relax, I occasionally got maudlin when I drank, but I never tried to forget with booze. But Stella was a worrier. She knew things, statistics about cops and their shitty morale, so she worried. Maybe it was the smart thing to do. Until I met Fraser, I'd thought that Stella had to be the smartest person that I'd ever met. Hell, she always knew what word I wanted to use and she always used to correct my grammar and shit. I guess that I knew it was over when she stopped bothering. Before, it'd always annoyed the hell out of me when she did it, like she was trying to point out to the world that she'd married someone who couldn't rate with her big brain. But after, fuck, it was only after that I realized that it meant she cared. That she understood, because she always knew what I wanted to say. She got me without the words. Then, she stopped trying. That was... fuck, probably around five years ago. Five years when I couldn't understand why we kept drifting apart. When I kept trying to reconnect -- with dancing, with fucking, with candles and starlight and romance that always ended when the sun came up. I'd try to talk to her, trip up over my words, and she wouldn't help me keep them straight. Didn't want to, because I'd never tried hard enough to get them straight. It's funny how much Stella and Fraser have in common on the surface. But Stella would find the word because she knew me, and Fraser... Fraser knows words. He cares about the way things fit together. I can't let myself believe that it's more than that. Nice as it would be to have a real partner, I know that it's as unlikely as hell. I mean, Stella and me had the physical side going and we still couldn't make it last. This Fraser thing's only a temp job, anyhow. Hopefully, Vecchio'll get back before Fraser figures out that I'm not worth the trouble. It'd be nice to leave with only good memories, while he still thinks that I'm a good guy, that he'd be honored to think of me as a friend and a partner. It's funny, because most of the world, I could just give a fuck what they think. It's just people, certain people. My parents, yeah. Stella -- her parents, too, eventually. Fraser and the Lieu and Huey's a good guy. I mean, I have an image, a persona, but that's to get what I need. People think I'm bad-ass, it works for the rep, works for the job. And tough is easy. I've played that even before I met the girl who made me want to impress her. I guess, at some point, tough stopped being her thing. Now, she wants respectable. I would've tried to be that guy for her, too, but she never wanted me to. I can remember her telling me that she didn't ever want me to change for her -- I never did tell her that that was just stupid, because changing for her was what I did, because it seemed so important to her. I had to be Ray, version Steve McQueen. Stella'd never met Stanley, after all. I started calling myself 'Ray' when I turned ten and started cutting class. I was smoking at thirteen, which is something I'm regretting now that I'm in my thirties and I get winded a hell of a lot faster than I used to. Plus, they do not lie about that addiction thing. Fuck, I quit the day before I married Stella and I still get cravings. Glad that I quit, though. I get the feeling that Fraser would not approve of smoking. Probably has a long list of reasons that would be a hell of a lot like Stella's list of reasons. God, Stella's lists had annoyed the hell out of me when we'd been together. That's something else that I never got around to telling her. Guess that it's too late now.
"Partners is sharing, Ray?" Fraser asked, and when Ray glanced over to look at him, Fraser looked way too serious and was completely ignoring his food. Ray took a fortifying gulp of beer -- and Fraser had fucking great taste in beer, which was amazing since he didn't drink it -- and repressed a sigh. "That's what the man said," Ray answered, putting down his chopsticks and giving Fraser his full attention. This sounded like the start of a Conversation -- that was one benefit to having been married, you could always tell a conversation from a Conversation. At least they were in Ray's own apartment, which was thankfully old people-free now, and not In Public. Stella had had a distressing habit of starting Conversations In Public, when he couldn't talk back as loudly. "It's what you..." Then Fraser sighed and looked away from Ray, his fingers smoothing over his eyebrow. Not a good sign, Fraser being nervous like this. In fact, Fraser looked all around uncomfortable, like he did when he was about to say something that he knew would not be taken well. "Well, I don't suppose that it's important. What is important is..." And Fraser paused again, his tongue darting out to wet his lip as Ray watched in what he was willing to admit was complete fascination. Because, hell, he'd never known Fraser for this kind of hesitation. Ray waved a hand at Fraser, encouraging him to go on. "I've decided to stop looking for an apartment. The Consulate is sufficient." Then Fraser got an irritated look on his face, like Ray was arguing with him, which, Ray would have pointed out, he was not. Okay, because he was too busy being in shock, but still. "Sufficient is all that I need, thank you." And that was all sarcastic and annoyed. And Ray hadn't even said anything yet! "Is it a kinky sex thing with the Ice Queen?" Ray blurted out, because if Fraser was going to be mad at him, it should be for an actual reason. Fraser turned six types of pink, opened his mouth, and then closed it. "Ah-ha, it is!" "Ray! Don't be ridiculous. Inspector Thatcher and I have a purely professional relationship." Fraser said, that hand up at his face again. Ray snorted. Ray didn't say, 'Yeah, buddy. Tell it to somebody who didn't see the chick drooling over a mental image of your ass in motion just a few weeks ago. The 'Inspector' has been made. She wants that ass, baby.' "She wants you," Ray said instead, taking another pull on his beer and wishing that there was a way that Fraser could admire his restraint here. "You know that she wants you. Frannie knows she wants you. Blind monks in Tibet know she wants you." Fraser sighed, maybe because Ray was annoying him, hopefully because he was going to admit that the Ice Queen's fixation could be spotted from the Arctic Square. "So, why the change of mind, anyway? You seemed to be into it earlier. The apartment search." Fuck, his mouth was getting away with him. Next, he'd be asking if it was his fault. Stupid married-guy habits popped up at the most annoying and inappropriate times. "It just isn't economical or logical to rent an apartment when Inspector Thatcher is willing to let me stay at the Consulate." And Fraser was giving him the full-on innocent look, which always meant that whatever he was saying wasn't the real reason. It was a true reason, but not the honest reason. "Partners. Sharing. Spill." Ray leaned back against the back of the couch, giving Fraser his best Chicago cop death stare. Fraser rolled his eyes, looking more irritated by the second. Wasn't looking at Ray, though, because he kept glancing at the corner. The corner that had absolutely nothing interesting in it. And Ray knew this because every time that Fraser looked over there, he found himself looking there. "It would be a waste of money," Fraser said, but his voice had all kinds of emotional-type things in it that Fraser wouldn't've admitted to. "It would be one thing if I were planning on staying..." Then Fraser did look back at Ray, and he paled, eyes wide and dark, like he was shocked that he was talking. Then he took a deep, shuddery breath and picked up his chopsticks, deftly picking up a chunk of beef. "Fine. Fraser, I'm not forcing anything here." Ray grabbed his own chopsticks, because neither of them were chicks and Ray was not going to do this again. He was not. "You talk when you're ready to talk." It only took him four tries to pick up a piece of chicken. Considering how his hand was shaking, Ray counted it as a success.
First things first -- he had to take a shower. He'd been feeling oddly Canadian all day. Sure, it could maybe make sense, since he'd been living on 'Canadian' soil and wearing Canadian clothes and living with Canadians for the last day and night but... Feeling Canadian was disturbing because it wasn't really disturbing. Which was creepy. Fuck. Weird. Yeah, it'd made sense to wear Fraser's clothes, considering that Fraser wouldn't even let him leave to get a change. He got that. It just didn't make the actual experience of wearing Benton Fraser's shirt any less fucking bizarre. Because... it'd felt as natural as wearing one of his own shirts. Or, fuck it, like when Stella'd worn one of his. In the beginning, after they'd had sex, she would slip on whatever shirt he'd worn that day. She'd looked so fucking sexy that way, rumpled shirt and rumpled hair and satisfied smile. She told him once that it made her feel safe and warm and loved. But all that safety and warmth and love apparently turned into overprotected, unneeded clinginess when she stopped wanting it. Looking back, maybe it should have been a sign when she'd stopped wearing his clothes. When she'd started buying nightgowns, of all the crazy things. He'd already been feeling like he wasn't supposed to touch Daytime Stella, but he hadn't let it get to him. He'd just mess up her make-up and her hair anyway, kissing her into a morning quickie. But then she'd started getting up earlier, avoiding him in the mornings, and then buying actual nighttime clothes of her own. Looking back, he'd been really stupid for not seeing that they weren't making it. For not seeing that he'd been pushing a hell of a lot harder than she was willing to bend. He'd been the bad guy in their marriage, he could admit it. The needy one, the one who'd... fuck, kept tabs on her, bugged her about her co-workers, and generally been hell to live with once she'd started to outgrow him. He'd felt it, that he wasn't doing it for her any more. The sex was still great, the sex was always great, but everything else was off-key. So he'd gotten jealous and stupid and pushy. Funny, how that time and perspective thing really did seem to work sometimes. Fraser'd be happy to hear about that. But Fraser didn't really like Stella much. Not that he'd seen her at her best. Of course, Fraser generally looked for the best even when it wasn't there, so it was queer that he didn't for her. Not that it mattered that Fraser didn't like his ex-wife. It didn't. It was queer, though. But Ray might not have a chance to look into it, since Fraser apparently wasn't planning on staying. Fuck, they'd have to talk about that sometime. Just... not anytime that they were sober, which meant that he'd have to find a way to get Fraser drunk first. Because it didn't make sense that Fraser could not want to stay and still be saying that shit about being partners and friends like it meant something. Or maybe it did, maybe it made Canadian sense, like curling and french and Fraser. Maybe if he'd stayed in the Consulate for another day or two, he'd had gotten it, because everything Canadian had made more sense there, like trying on a new pair of glasses, the world clicking into a new level of clear. Almost left him with the urge to go back, see if another night would bring him closer to understanding Fraser. Understanding Fraser, though, was probably more like a life-goal than a spare-time thing. Still, it'd be a nice hobby to pick up. Just while Vecchio was under. While he still had a Fraser to study.
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