Cheating challenge, by Ignaz Wisdom
Title: Some Sort of Approximation of Home
Author: Ignaz Wisdom
Words: 3,150
Rating: PG
Notes: An F/K friendship story that's slashy if you squint -- but you don't need to squint too hard :) Tremendous thanks go to nos4a2no9, the_antichris, and malnpudl for their help as beta readers; all remaining mistakes are mine.
Some Sort of Approximation of Home
Ignaz Wisdom
August 2006
Fraser had been back in Canada for a day when he called home -- well, called Ray's home, anyway -- to check in.
"Hey, Frase," Ray said when he picked up the phone. "How's the frozen tundra?"
"Ottawa is fine, Ray," Fraser said dryly, making it perfectly clear that he knew that Ray knew that Ottawa was neither frozen nor tundra-like. "The conference is -- ah, very informative. I must thank Inspector Thatcher for the honor. I'm learning quite a bit about --"
"Boring as hell, huh?"
"Yes," Fraser replied with a reluctant sigh.
Ray barked a laugh and kicked his feet up onto his desk. "Color me surprised. What is it, uh, Mountie 101?"
"There does seem to be a somewhat ... introductory tone to the event," Fraser admitted.
"Great, just great," Ray said. "Send the crime-fightin' super Mountie all the way to the great white north to learn how to write parking tickets. What's with the Ice Queen -- she just want you out of the consulate or something?"
"It would be disrespectful to speak ill of the Inspector, Ray."
He rolled his eyes. "What, like she's hoverin' over my shoulder or something? Tell me she wasn't just trying to get rid of you for a few days."
There was silence on the other end of the line, and then: "She may have given the impression that she was ... well, somewhat eager to part with me, particularly after the incident with the ambassador from Luxembourg and the vat of Béchamel sauce." Fraser coughed. "In any event, it is quite pleasant to be back home. Or, at the very least, some sort of approximation of 'home'."
"Yeah, I know how it is, Fraser," Ray said, nodding to himself. "Sometimes you just gotta be where everybody knows your name. Or at least where everybody pays the pizza guy with the same goofy-looking money." At that moment, a hassled-looking Huey appeared in front of Ray's desk, staring hard at Ray and pointing towards the other end of the bullpen, where half a dozen people in spandex suits, capes, and handcuffs were bickering amongst themselves.
"Look, Frase, I gotta run," Ray said, pulling his feet off the desk and waving Huey away. "But I want to ask you some questions about the Blevins case later, so I'll give you a call, okay?"
"That would be most welcome, Ray."
"You got it, buddy," Ray replied, and hung up the phone.
That evening, Ray listened to the phone ringing for longer than usual before Fraser finally picked up. When he did, he sounded like he was in a much better mood.
"What's up with you?" Ray asked, setting his beer on the coffee table in front of him and grabbing the pile of case files sitting next to it.
Fraser's smile was practically visible through the phone line. "Thankfully," he said, "it appears that my time here in Ottawa will not be entirely unproductive. I've been asked by the RCMP to assist on a case here involving the illegal transport of the endangered wood bison, a species formerly prevalent in the Northwest Territories. They have need for a translator who is familiar with the Ojibway language, and although I must admit that my Ojibway is rather a bit rusty --"
"That's swell, Fraser," Ray said, picking at a loose thread on the bottom of his t-shirt and only half listening. "You jib and jab away at those bison all you want. I'm glad you're having a good time. Listen, the reason I called --"
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Ray," Fraser said, and jeez, did Fraser just interrupt him? Fraser never interrupted anyone. "If you'll wait just a moment, someone's knocking at my door."
"Sure," Ray muttered, realizing only after he'd said it that Fraser had already set the phone down and was gone. Something important, then. He pressed the receiver as close enough to his ear as he could get it, and held his breath to listen. Very quietly, he could hear Fraser greet someone and welcome the newcomer into his room. Fraser excused himself again, and a moment later, his voice was coming through the receiver clearly.
"Ray, I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I have to go," Fraser said, and even though he actually did sound pretty sorry about it, Ray still recognized the subtle tinge of excitement in his voice.
Ray smirked and set the pile of case files back on the coffee table. "Got a hot date?"
"Ray," Fraser said in his best scolding tone of voice. "No, my partner has just informed me that there has been a new development in the case that requires our urgent attention."
Ray's smirk vanished. He grabbed at his half-empty beer and took a long drink. "Your -- partner?"
"Yes, Constable Richard Bennett," Fraser answered, sounding distracted. "Of the RCMP here in Ottawa. He was the officer initially assigned to the wood bison case, and I have been asked to work with him during my stay in Canada."
Ray tried to digest this information. "You're working with a new partner?"
"Only for the duration of the investigation." Fraser paused. "I hope that we can resume our conversation tomorrow, Ray. Ray? Ray, are you there?"
Ray put the beer bottle back on the table and quickly shook his head. "Sure, no problem. Uh ... good luck with your bison. And, uh, your partner."
"Thank you, Ray. Goodnight," and then Fraser was hanging up, and there was nothing left to listen to but the dial tone.
Ray swallowed the rest of his beer and lay down on the couch. Fraser's partner. Huh. Well, he just hoped that this guy wasn't another clown like Turnbull, anyway. Fraser needed someone with wits, someone with skills, someone to watch his back so he didn't end up getting shot, or maybe trampled by bison. This Richard Bennett character had better be worth something.
Ray tried to picture him. Red suit -- yeah, he had to come with a red suit. Same funny-looking pants; same shiny, spotless boots. He and Fraser would probably look good together, matching from head to toe like that, like they were playing on the same team with the same uniform and the same big hat. Ray wondered what Bennett's face looked like under that hat. He hadn't known a lot of Mounties, but so far, all the ones he'd seen looked like they'd be right at home on the cover of some Canadian tourism brochure, all shining faces and strong, fast bodies. It was the snow, he thought. That stuff was hard -- hard to run in, hard to shovel away, just plain old hard to put up with. You had to have one hell of a good body to deal with that. Not to mention a mountain of patience. Fraser had the body, all right -- no question about that, not from anyone. Thatcher, too.
So yeah, he'd bet that Bennett was a good-looking guy. He had just better be as good a cop as a tourism brochure model, Ray thought, because that was his partner -- Fraser -- that he was up there herding bison with. And if Fraser came back with so much as a hoofprint on his red suit, this Bennett guy had better watch out.
Ray decided that it was time for another beer.
He was knee-deep in bank robbers dressed as dinosaurs when the phone at his desk rang the next morning.
"Hello," he muttered into the receiver, "you've reached the tenth circle of hell, twenty-seventh precinct. What can I do you for?"
"Ray, Dante's Divine Comedy discussed only nine circles of hell," Fraser corrected.
"Did Dante ever come to this police station?" he demanded.
"Almost certainly not."
"Well, then he wouldn't know, would he?"
"Ray, is something wrong?" Fraser's concern on the other end of the line was, for a moment, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
"Fraser," he said, burying his face in his free hand. "You gotta save me, buddy."
"Are you in danger, Ray?" Fraser urgently asked.
"Yes. I am in grave danger. I'm in danger of jumping Bogart all over this bullpen. I'm in danger of hanging myself if I have to see one more guy in a dinosaur suit today. Don't ask," he added, anticipating the inevitable. "But enough about me. How's life among the bison?"
"I'm not actually interacting with any of the wood bison concerned," Fraser answered, without a trace of humor to be found in his voice. "But the investigation seems to be progressing well." Ray heard a short sound that might have been quiet laughter on the other end of the line. "And I must say that it's very rewarding to work with Richard."
Very rewarding? Ray gaped for a moment before shaking it off. "That's nice," he said, hoping that his tone conveyed just now not nice he thought it was. "'Cause I'd hate to think that you weren't getting along with old Richard Bennett up there."
"Ray?"
"Yeah, I'm sure Dick Bennett is a real charmer," Ray went on, grabbing a pen from the mug on his desk and scribbling angry doodles on the back of a manila envelope. "A real funny guy. Name like that, you'd kind of have to be, right?"
"Ray --"
"Dick Bennett. Regular old Dudley Do-Right." He stabbed the desk's surface with his pen for emphasis.
"What --"
"Look, Fraser, can I call you back?" Ray sighed, rubbing at his left temple. "This is not a good time."
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"Very well," Fraser finally said. "I wish you luck with -- well. Goodbye, Ray. I hope that I'll hear from you soon."
"Yeah," Ray said, feeling his throat ache a little. "See ya."
He hung up the phone, tossed the pen back into the mug, and shoved the doodle-covered envelope into a drawer. Then he got up and paced.
What the heck did he have to be angry about? He ought to be happy for Fraser. Fraser was back at home, or at "some sort of approximation of 'home'," doing the kind of work he loved. He was obviously having a good time and enjoying himself. Fraser deserved to have a little fun every now and then. And if Dick freaking Bennett was partly responsible for Fraser's enjoying himself -- well, Fraser could use some friends. Some Canadian friends, some Canadian cop friends -- hell, Ray should be glad Fraser was making friends up there in the great white north, because it wasn't like Ray should be Fraser's only friend, because that just wasn't healthy. And besides, Ray had to have some time to spend with his other friends, because he couldn't just be there for Fraser a hundred percent of the time. The fact that Ray didn't exactly have other friends besides Fraser seemed unimportant.
And yet. What if Fraser liked working with Bennett better than he liked working with Ray? After all, Bennett was Canadian, just like Fraser -- a Queen-toasting, flag-saluting, snowdrift-swimming, all-Canadian guy. They probably had all sorts of stuff in common, like wrestling polar bears and wearing mukluks and watching curling and other godawful Canadian things. Had Fraser ever said that working with Ray was "rewarding"? Or did Fraser secretly think their partnership was a huge let-down, just one big disappointment on top of another?
He stopped pacing, sat down heavily in his chair, and wondered.
What if working with this other guy made Fraser start to think about finding a different partner?
When Fraser stopped by the station on Tuesday afternoon, a whole two days after their last phone conversation, Ray was so grateful to see the guy that he couldn't stop himself from walking right up to him and giving him a hug, just as he had done on the first day they met -- the last time Ray had rushed into Fraser's life in the place of a partner he loved, he thought miserably. And if he held on for just a little bit longer than he had to -- well, he hadn't seen the guy in a while, and Fraser was looking a little jet-lagged and uncomfortable, and Ray was all about making his good buddy Fraser feel right at home again.
To his relief, Fraser seemed a lot less surprised to be on the receiving end of a hug this time. Ray could feel the tension in Fraser's shoulders sort of melt away as Fraser's arms came up to embrace him.
When they parted, Fraser was slightly pink in the face, and his smile was warm, but a little wary. Ray gestured at the chair on the other side of his desk, and Fraser took it, murmuring his thanks.
"Boy, am I glad to see you," Ray said, perching on the edge of the desk, too jittery to sit down.
Fraser's smile was genuine. "I'm glad to see you, as well. It's good to be back," he said. Then he hesitated, looking thoughtful. "I had worried," he began, and then abruptly came to a stop.
"Yeah?"
"I had worried," Fraser tried again, "that you would be unhappy to see me. After our last conversation, that is."
Ray looked at him for a moment. Fraser's face was confused, disappointed -- he looked a little like a kicked puppy might look, if the kicked puppy were tall and Canadian and wore a red suit. Ray sighed and closed his eyes.
"No, Frase," he said. "I'm not ... unhappy to see you. It's just --" He scrunched up his eyes, trying to clear his head. "It's just that -- it's like -- you cheated, Fraser."
He couldn't meet Fraser's eyes, so he looked across the bullpen to where Welsh was shouting at Dewey, whose lower half appeared to be soaked in something that was probably mustard and whose top half was looking like it had seen better days, too. Even when Fraser spoke, Ray couldn't turn to look at him.
"I ... cheated?"
Ray's head dropped and he gazed forlornly at his sneakers.
"Yeah," he said. "Look, it's like -- I'm your partner, okay? I'm your partner," and here he turned to look at Fraser, who was staring at him like he was two ice cubes short of an igloo.
"Yes, Ray," Fraser said, somewhat inanely, "you are my partner."
Ray stared for a moment, pensively, and then shook his head. Fraser didn't get it.
"Fraser," he said, "you don't get it." He sighed again and looked around the bullpen. "Okay. It's like -- Stella. We're married right?" When Fraser shook his head and opened his mouth like he was going to offer a correction, Ray interrupted: "Used to be. We used to be married. Doesn't matter. The point is -- that's what we did together. Lived together, slept together, fought over china patterns together -- and that's a one-on-one thing, you know? Mano a mano -- or mano a womano, whatever -- that was the two of us. You just don't do those things with anyone else, you know? Because if you did ..." He waved his hand illustratively, willing Fraser to follow along.
"That would be cheating," Fraser concluded, slowly nodding his head like it was all starting to make sense.
"Exactly," Ray answered. "I'm not saying we couldn't hang out with other people -- you know, she could've gone to dinner with her girlfriends, and I could've got a drink after work with the guys, but -- there are some things that are just between a husband and his wife, you know?"
"Yes," Fraser said. He nodded, and then suddenly stopped. "No. Actually, I have no idea what you're saying."
Ray threw his hands in the air. "Sex, Fraser. Stuff that is just between two people as a couple. Sharing a bed. Kissing -- whatever. Those are things that you're not supposed to do with someone else when you're married. That's what it means to be a part of a marriage," he said, and looked pointedly at Fraser, who was studying him very carefully.
"And you're saying," Fraser began, feeling his way along, "that partnership -- our partnership -- is like a marriage?"
"Yes! That's it! Partnership is like a marriage, and there are things that you and me do that are just supposed to be between us. 'Cause we're partners. And when you go running off to Canada and start doing those partner things, those marriage things, with someone else ..." Again, he waved his hand, certain that Fraser would fill in the blanks.
Fraser frowned down at his boots and then looked askance at Ray. "I assure you," he said, "that at no point during my trip to Canada did I share a bed or any discussions of china patterns with another person."
Ray dropped his head into his hands and knocked himself in the temples repeatedly.
"No, Fraser. Not that stuff. Partner stuff. Cop stuff."
Fraser considered for a moment. "You're referring to my work in Ottawa this weekend with Constable Bennett," he finally said.
Ray nodded. Fraser rubbed his eyebrow.
"Ray," he said, "my ... liaison with Constable Bennett was merely a temporary arrangement. I was in Ottawa, and they had need for my services. I was grateful to have an opportunity to assist in the capture of a criminal, especially during what would have been a really quite dull and uneventful visit. And while I did enjoy Constable Bennett's company, and I appreciated his abilities as an officer of the RCMP ..." Fraser leaned forward in his chair, reached out, and put a hand on Ray's knee. "Ray, you are my partner."
Ray looked down at Fraser's hand and a side of his mouth quirked up. "Yeah?"
"Yes," Fraser said, smiling. "Our partnership is very valuable to me, as is our friendship."
Ray scratched the back of his neck. "You never -- uh, wish you were working with someone a little more ... Canadian?"
Fraser withdrew his hand, but he was chuckling, so Ray figured they were all right. "Quite the contrary. I think that your background as an American brings a certain -- ah -- je ne sais quoi to our working relationship."
"Yeah," Ray agreed, "I do bring a lot of that stuff to the table."
"Oh, and Ray?" If he didn't know better, he'd swear that Fraser's eyes just twinkled. "He meant nothing to me."
Ray grabbed the nearest folder from his desk and smacked Fraser with it. "You suck," he said. "I got serious angst here, and you're making fun of me."
"I meant it with only the greatest respect."
"'Respect', he says," Ray muttered. "I can't believe I gotta work with this guy. All right, Mr. Respect -- you want to get lunch with me, or you gotta run off with some other partner and solve cases together behind my back?"
Fraser stood and smiled. "I only have eyes for you, Ray."
Ray punched him in the arm repeatedly as they left the station.
Thanks for reading. Feedback, including constructive criticism, is more than welcome.
Author: Ignaz Wisdom
Words: 3,150
Rating: PG
Notes: An F/K friendship story that's slashy if you squint -- but you don't need to squint too hard :) Tremendous thanks go to nos4a2no9, the_antichris, and malnpudl for their help as beta readers; all remaining mistakes are mine.
Some Sort of Approximation of Home
Ignaz Wisdom
August 2006
Fraser had been back in Canada for a day when he called home -- well, called Ray's home, anyway -- to check in.
"Hey, Frase," Ray said when he picked up the phone. "How's the frozen tundra?"
"Ottawa is fine, Ray," Fraser said dryly, making it perfectly clear that he knew that Ray knew that Ottawa was neither frozen nor tundra-like. "The conference is -- ah, very informative. I must thank Inspector Thatcher for the honor. I'm learning quite a bit about --"
"Boring as hell, huh?"
"Yes," Fraser replied with a reluctant sigh.
Ray barked a laugh and kicked his feet up onto his desk. "Color me surprised. What is it, uh, Mountie 101?"
"There does seem to be a somewhat ... introductory tone to the event," Fraser admitted.
"Great, just great," Ray said. "Send the crime-fightin' super Mountie all the way to the great white north to learn how to write parking tickets. What's with the Ice Queen -- she just want you out of the consulate or something?"
"It would be disrespectful to speak ill of the Inspector, Ray."
He rolled his eyes. "What, like she's hoverin' over my shoulder or something? Tell me she wasn't just trying to get rid of you for a few days."
There was silence on the other end of the line, and then: "She may have given the impression that she was ... well, somewhat eager to part with me, particularly after the incident with the ambassador from Luxembourg and the vat of Béchamel sauce." Fraser coughed. "In any event, it is quite pleasant to be back home. Or, at the very least, some sort of approximation of 'home'."
"Yeah, I know how it is, Fraser," Ray said, nodding to himself. "Sometimes you just gotta be where everybody knows your name. Or at least where everybody pays the pizza guy with the same goofy-looking money." At that moment, a hassled-looking Huey appeared in front of Ray's desk, staring hard at Ray and pointing towards the other end of the bullpen, where half a dozen people in spandex suits, capes, and handcuffs were bickering amongst themselves.
"Look, Frase, I gotta run," Ray said, pulling his feet off the desk and waving Huey away. "But I want to ask you some questions about the Blevins case later, so I'll give you a call, okay?"
"That would be most welcome, Ray."
"You got it, buddy," Ray replied, and hung up the phone.
That evening, Ray listened to the phone ringing for longer than usual before Fraser finally picked up. When he did, he sounded like he was in a much better mood.
"What's up with you?" Ray asked, setting his beer on the coffee table in front of him and grabbing the pile of case files sitting next to it.
Fraser's smile was practically visible through the phone line. "Thankfully," he said, "it appears that my time here in Ottawa will not be entirely unproductive. I've been asked by the RCMP to assist on a case here involving the illegal transport of the endangered wood bison, a species formerly prevalent in the Northwest Territories. They have need for a translator who is familiar with the Ojibway language, and although I must admit that my Ojibway is rather a bit rusty --"
"That's swell, Fraser," Ray said, picking at a loose thread on the bottom of his t-shirt and only half listening. "You jib and jab away at those bison all you want. I'm glad you're having a good time. Listen, the reason I called --"
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Ray," Fraser said, and jeez, did Fraser just interrupt him? Fraser never interrupted anyone. "If you'll wait just a moment, someone's knocking at my door."
"Sure," Ray muttered, realizing only after he'd said it that Fraser had already set the phone down and was gone. Something important, then. He pressed the receiver as close enough to his ear as he could get it, and held his breath to listen. Very quietly, he could hear Fraser greet someone and welcome the newcomer into his room. Fraser excused himself again, and a moment later, his voice was coming through the receiver clearly.
"Ray, I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I have to go," Fraser said, and even though he actually did sound pretty sorry about it, Ray still recognized the subtle tinge of excitement in his voice.
Ray smirked and set the pile of case files back on the coffee table. "Got a hot date?"
"Ray," Fraser said in his best scolding tone of voice. "No, my partner has just informed me that there has been a new development in the case that requires our urgent attention."
Ray's smirk vanished. He grabbed at his half-empty beer and took a long drink. "Your -- partner?"
"Yes, Constable Richard Bennett," Fraser answered, sounding distracted. "Of the RCMP here in Ottawa. He was the officer initially assigned to the wood bison case, and I have been asked to work with him during my stay in Canada."
Ray tried to digest this information. "You're working with a new partner?"
"Only for the duration of the investigation." Fraser paused. "I hope that we can resume our conversation tomorrow, Ray. Ray? Ray, are you there?"
Ray put the beer bottle back on the table and quickly shook his head. "Sure, no problem. Uh ... good luck with your bison. And, uh, your partner."
"Thank you, Ray. Goodnight," and then Fraser was hanging up, and there was nothing left to listen to but the dial tone.
Ray swallowed the rest of his beer and lay down on the couch. Fraser's partner. Huh. Well, he just hoped that this guy wasn't another clown like Turnbull, anyway. Fraser needed someone with wits, someone with skills, someone to watch his back so he didn't end up getting shot, or maybe trampled by bison. This Richard Bennett character had better be worth something.
Ray tried to picture him. Red suit -- yeah, he had to come with a red suit. Same funny-looking pants; same shiny, spotless boots. He and Fraser would probably look good together, matching from head to toe like that, like they were playing on the same team with the same uniform and the same big hat. Ray wondered what Bennett's face looked like under that hat. He hadn't known a lot of Mounties, but so far, all the ones he'd seen looked like they'd be right at home on the cover of some Canadian tourism brochure, all shining faces and strong, fast bodies. It was the snow, he thought. That stuff was hard -- hard to run in, hard to shovel away, just plain old hard to put up with. You had to have one hell of a good body to deal with that. Not to mention a mountain of patience. Fraser had the body, all right -- no question about that, not from anyone. Thatcher, too.
So yeah, he'd bet that Bennett was a good-looking guy. He had just better be as good a cop as a tourism brochure model, Ray thought, because that was his partner -- Fraser -- that he was up there herding bison with. And if Fraser came back with so much as a hoofprint on his red suit, this Bennett guy had better watch out.
Ray decided that it was time for another beer.
He was knee-deep in bank robbers dressed as dinosaurs when the phone at his desk rang the next morning.
"Hello," he muttered into the receiver, "you've reached the tenth circle of hell, twenty-seventh precinct. What can I do you for?"
"Ray, Dante's Divine Comedy discussed only nine circles of hell," Fraser corrected.
"Did Dante ever come to this police station?" he demanded.
"Almost certainly not."
"Well, then he wouldn't know, would he?"
"Ray, is something wrong?" Fraser's concern on the other end of the line was, for a moment, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
"Fraser," he said, burying his face in his free hand. "You gotta save me, buddy."
"Are you in danger, Ray?" Fraser urgently asked.
"Yes. I am in grave danger. I'm in danger of jumping Bogart all over this bullpen. I'm in danger of hanging myself if I have to see one more guy in a dinosaur suit today. Don't ask," he added, anticipating the inevitable. "But enough about me. How's life among the bison?"
"I'm not actually interacting with any of the wood bison concerned," Fraser answered, without a trace of humor to be found in his voice. "But the investigation seems to be progressing well." Ray heard a short sound that might have been quiet laughter on the other end of the line. "And I must say that it's very rewarding to work with Richard."
Very rewarding? Ray gaped for a moment before shaking it off. "That's nice," he said, hoping that his tone conveyed just now not nice he thought it was. "'Cause I'd hate to think that you weren't getting along with old Richard Bennett up there."
"Ray?"
"Yeah, I'm sure Dick Bennett is a real charmer," Ray went on, grabbing a pen from the mug on his desk and scribbling angry doodles on the back of a manila envelope. "A real funny guy. Name like that, you'd kind of have to be, right?"
"Ray --"
"Dick Bennett. Regular old Dudley Do-Right." He stabbed the desk's surface with his pen for emphasis.
"What --"
"Look, Fraser, can I call you back?" Ray sighed, rubbing at his left temple. "This is not a good time."
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"Very well," Fraser finally said. "I wish you luck with -- well. Goodbye, Ray. I hope that I'll hear from you soon."
"Yeah," Ray said, feeling his throat ache a little. "See ya."
He hung up the phone, tossed the pen back into the mug, and shoved the doodle-covered envelope into a drawer. Then he got up and paced.
What the heck did he have to be angry about? He ought to be happy for Fraser. Fraser was back at home, or at "some sort of approximation of 'home'," doing the kind of work he loved. He was obviously having a good time and enjoying himself. Fraser deserved to have a little fun every now and then. And if Dick freaking Bennett was partly responsible for Fraser's enjoying himself -- well, Fraser could use some friends. Some Canadian friends, some Canadian cop friends -- hell, Ray should be glad Fraser was making friends up there in the great white north, because it wasn't like Ray should be Fraser's only friend, because that just wasn't healthy. And besides, Ray had to have some time to spend with his other friends, because he couldn't just be there for Fraser a hundred percent of the time. The fact that Ray didn't exactly have other friends besides Fraser seemed unimportant.
And yet. What if Fraser liked working with Bennett better than he liked working with Ray? After all, Bennett was Canadian, just like Fraser -- a Queen-toasting, flag-saluting, snowdrift-swimming, all-Canadian guy. They probably had all sorts of stuff in common, like wrestling polar bears and wearing mukluks and watching curling and other godawful Canadian things. Had Fraser ever said that working with Ray was "rewarding"? Or did Fraser secretly think their partnership was a huge let-down, just one big disappointment on top of another?
He stopped pacing, sat down heavily in his chair, and wondered.
What if working with this other guy made Fraser start to think about finding a different partner?
When Fraser stopped by the station on Tuesday afternoon, a whole two days after their last phone conversation, Ray was so grateful to see the guy that he couldn't stop himself from walking right up to him and giving him a hug, just as he had done on the first day they met -- the last time Ray had rushed into Fraser's life in the place of a partner he loved, he thought miserably. And if he held on for just a little bit longer than he had to -- well, he hadn't seen the guy in a while, and Fraser was looking a little jet-lagged and uncomfortable, and Ray was all about making his good buddy Fraser feel right at home again.
To his relief, Fraser seemed a lot less surprised to be on the receiving end of a hug this time. Ray could feel the tension in Fraser's shoulders sort of melt away as Fraser's arms came up to embrace him.
When they parted, Fraser was slightly pink in the face, and his smile was warm, but a little wary. Ray gestured at the chair on the other side of his desk, and Fraser took it, murmuring his thanks.
"Boy, am I glad to see you," Ray said, perching on the edge of the desk, too jittery to sit down.
Fraser's smile was genuine. "I'm glad to see you, as well. It's good to be back," he said. Then he hesitated, looking thoughtful. "I had worried," he began, and then abruptly came to a stop.
"Yeah?"
"I had worried," Fraser tried again, "that you would be unhappy to see me. After our last conversation, that is."
Ray looked at him for a moment. Fraser's face was confused, disappointed -- he looked a little like a kicked puppy might look, if the kicked puppy were tall and Canadian and wore a red suit. Ray sighed and closed his eyes.
"No, Frase," he said. "I'm not ... unhappy to see you. It's just --" He scrunched up his eyes, trying to clear his head. "It's just that -- it's like -- you cheated, Fraser."
He couldn't meet Fraser's eyes, so he looked across the bullpen to where Welsh was shouting at Dewey, whose lower half appeared to be soaked in something that was probably mustard and whose top half was looking like it had seen better days, too. Even when Fraser spoke, Ray couldn't turn to look at him.
"I ... cheated?"
Ray's head dropped and he gazed forlornly at his sneakers.
"Yeah," he said. "Look, it's like -- I'm your partner, okay? I'm your partner," and here he turned to look at Fraser, who was staring at him like he was two ice cubes short of an igloo.
"Yes, Ray," Fraser said, somewhat inanely, "you are my partner."
Ray stared for a moment, pensively, and then shook his head. Fraser didn't get it.
"Fraser," he said, "you don't get it." He sighed again and looked around the bullpen. "Okay. It's like -- Stella. We're married right?" When Fraser shook his head and opened his mouth like he was going to offer a correction, Ray interrupted: "Used to be. We used to be married. Doesn't matter. The point is -- that's what we did together. Lived together, slept together, fought over china patterns together -- and that's a one-on-one thing, you know? Mano a mano -- or mano a womano, whatever -- that was the two of us. You just don't do those things with anyone else, you know? Because if you did ..." He waved his hand illustratively, willing Fraser to follow along.
"That would be cheating," Fraser concluded, slowly nodding his head like it was all starting to make sense.
"Exactly," Ray answered. "I'm not saying we couldn't hang out with other people -- you know, she could've gone to dinner with her girlfriends, and I could've got a drink after work with the guys, but -- there are some things that are just between a husband and his wife, you know?"
"Yes," Fraser said. He nodded, and then suddenly stopped. "No. Actually, I have no idea what you're saying."
Ray threw his hands in the air. "Sex, Fraser. Stuff that is just between two people as a couple. Sharing a bed. Kissing -- whatever. Those are things that you're not supposed to do with someone else when you're married. That's what it means to be a part of a marriage," he said, and looked pointedly at Fraser, who was studying him very carefully.
"And you're saying," Fraser began, feeling his way along, "that partnership -- our partnership -- is like a marriage?"
"Yes! That's it! Partnership is like a marriage, and there are things that you and me do that are just supposed to be between us. 'Cause we're partners. And when you go running off to Canada and start doing those partner things, those marriage things, with someone else ..." Again, he waved his hand, certain that Fraser would fill in the blanks.
Fraser frowned down at his boots and then looked askance at Ray. "I assure you," he said, "that at no point during my trip to Canada did I share a bed or any discussions of china patterns with another person."
Ray dropped his head into his hands and knocked himself in the temples repeatedly.
"No, Fraser. Not that stuff. Partner stuff. Cop stuff."
Fraser considered for a moment. "You're referring to my work in Ottawa this weekend with Constable Bennett," he finally said.
Ray nodded. Fraser rubbed his eyebrow.
"Ray," he said, "my ... liaison with Constable Bennett was merely a temporary arrangement. I was in Ottawa, and they had need for my services. I was grateful to have an opportunity to assist in the capture of a criminal, especially during what would have been a really quite dull and uneventful visit. And while I did enjoy Constable Bennett's company, and I appreciated his abilities as an officer of the RCMP ..." Fraser leaned forward in his chair, reached out, and put a hand on Ray's knee. "Ray, you are my partner."
Ray looked down at Fraser's hand and a side of his mouth quirked up. "Yeah?"
"Yes," Fraser said, smiling. "Our partnership is very valuable to me, as is our friendship."
Ray scratched the back of his neck. "You never -- uh, wish you were working with someone a little more ... Canadian?"
Fraser withdrew his hand, but he was chuckling, so Ray figured they were all right. "Quite the contrary. I think that your background as an American brings a certain -- ah -- je ne sais quoi to our working relationship."
"Yeah," Ray agreed, "I do bring a lot of that stuff to the table."
"Oh, and Ray?" If he didn't know better, he'd swear that Fraser's eyes just twinkled. "He meant nothing to me."
Ray grabbed the nearest folder from his desk and smacked Fraser with it. "You suck," he said. "I got serious angst here, and you're making fun of me."
"I meant it with only the greatest respect."
"'Respect', he says," Ray muttered. "I can't believe I gotta work with this guy. All right, Mr. Respect -- you want to get lunch with me, or you gotta run off with some other partner and solve cases together behind my back?"
Fraser stood and smiled. "I only have eyes for you, Ray."
Ray punched him in the arm repeatedly as they left the station.
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