FICLET: Observatory [due South, Fraser, PG]
Title: Observatory
Fandom: due South
Pairing/Characters: Fraser, really, but the F/K's there if you're looking for it.
Rating: PG
Length: ~400 words
Summary: For 400 words? Um. Fraser hangs out in the Hancock and looks at stuff. So does Ray.
Disclaimer/Spoilers: These characters are not mine. This story doesn't spoil anything, except there are some guys in Chicago.
A/N: I have been resisting due South for years. I finally caved. I pretty much blame Paul Gross. I thought about turning this into something longer, and I still might, but who knows.
*
Benton stands in front of the eastern windows, stares out at the dark expanse of the lake and tries to ignore the glare of the city, tries to see all the way across to Michigan. It's absurd -- the lake is 75 km wide at this latitude -- but this is what passes for a clear night in Chicago, and he can turn his head to the south and see Indiana clearly enough, so Michigan ought to be just there.
It's not. Benton moves to the southern wall of windows.
The view looks the same as the view to the west, to the north. He's on his third circuit of the observatory, and of course there are differences, skyscrapers to the south and a glowing coastline to the north, but he finds the overall uniformity surprising and discomfiting. It's just a grid, eight streets to a mile, unnatural order burned onto land that used to be a swamp, that still is when it rains too much.
He'd rescued a hunter once, an American from Oklahoma who had never been north of Iowa and who'd disappeared near the Aklavik Channel. Benton had found him two weeks later, shelter built and stove in working order, but he'd lost one of his stuffsacks, the one with his compass and other navigational equipment, and once he realized it was gone, he'd stopped moving and waited for someone to come for him. He'd squinted at the horizon and shrugged and said, "All looks the same to me," and Benton hadn't understood.
But from up here, from the 94th floor of the Hancock building, Chicago looks the same to him, that relentless grid, stretching out as far as he can see, broken only by a few obliques and by highways rising like the knotted veins on the back of his hand.
He moves to the western side, where Ray's had his forehead pressed against the cool glass for the last ten minutes. Neither of them has gone out on the skydeck. Benton doesn't know why they're there.
He watches Ray out of the corner of his eye and considers asking: Why are we here? What do you see? He thinks Ray might be able to show him how to see something other than those straight bright lines, but Ray's looking at Chicago the way Benton looks at the Mackenzie Delta, and Benton moves to the northern windows and tries to see Wisconsin. He thinks he can.
Two circuits later and Ray still hasn't moved, and Benton stands next to him for several long minutes before he realizes Ray isn't looking at Chicago at all. He's watching Benton's reflection in the glass.
FIN
Fandom: due South
Pairing/Characters: Fraser, really, but the F/K's there if you're looking for it.
Rating: PG
Length: ~400 words
Summary: For 400 words? Um. Fraser hangs out in the Hancock and looks at stuff. So does Ray.
Disclaimer/Spoilers: These characters are not mine. This story doesn't spoil anything, except there are some guys in Chicago.
A/N: I have been resisting due South for years. I finally caved. I pretty much blame Paul Gross. I thought about turning this into something longer, and I still might, but who knows.
*
Benton stands in front of the eastern windows, stares out at the dark expanse of the lake and tries to ignore the glare of the city, tries to see all the way across to Michigan. It's absurd -- the lake is 75 km wide at this latitude -- but this is what passes for a clear night in Chicago, and he can turn his head to the south and see Indiana clearly enough, so Michigan ought to be just there.
It's not. Benton moves to the southern wall of windows.
The view looks the same as the view to the west, to the north. He's on his third circuit of the observatory, and of course there are differences, skyscrapers to the south and a glowing coastline to the north, but he finds the overall uniformity surprising and discomfiting. It's just a grid, eight streets to a mile, unnatural order burned onto land that used to be a swamp, that still is when it rains too much.
He'd rescued a hunter once, an American from Oklahoma who had never been north of Iowa and who'd disappeared near the Aklavik Channel. Benton had found him two weeks later, shelter built and stove in working order, but he'd lost one of his stuffsacks, the one with his compass and other navigational equipment, and once he realized it was gone, he'd stopped moving and waited for someone to come for him. He'd squinted at the horizon and shrugged and said, "All looks the same to me," and Benton hadn't understood.
But from up here, from the 94th floor of the Hancock building, Chicago looks the same to him, that relentless grid, stretching out as far as he can see, broken only by a few obliques and by highways rising like the knotted veins on the back of his hand.
He moves to the western side, where Ray's had his forehead pressed against the cool glass for the last ten minutes. Neither of them has gone out on the skydeck. Benton doesn't know why they're there.
He watches Ray out of the corner of his eye and considers asking: Why are we here? What do you see? He thinks Ray might be able to show him how to see something other than those straight bright lines, but Ray's looking at Chicago the way Benton looks at the Mackenzie Delta, and Benton moves to the northern windows and tries to see Wisconsin. He thinks he can.
Two circuits later and Ray still hasn't moved, and Benton stands next to him for several long minutes before he realizes Ray isn't looking at Chicago at all. He's watching Benton's reflection in the glass.
FIN