Guest rec: Rarepairs revisited II
Things I have learned this week: many of the bookmarks from back when I first wandered into due South fandom are now dead. Thanks, Geocities! Also, I've learned that my reading tastes have changed somewhat, but I'm going to go ahead and rec at least one that younger-me liked more than current-me does -- and yes, that's partly because most of the other (not completely crack) fics I remember for that pairing appear to have vanished off the web. /o\
Anyway, on to the crazy workplace romances!
Elaine Besbriss/Fraser/Vecchio The First Nine Lives of a Houseplant by china_shop Scenes along the timeline of the relationship from before it had quite begun, all the way through the happily domestic ending.
"Excellent work, Elaine," Fraser said, leaning forward from the backseat to thank her. "If you hadn't noticed his cufflinks, we might never have apprehended him."
Diefenbaker woofed.
"What's he saying?" Ray asked, casually running a stop sign.
Elaine saw Fraser and Ray exchange glances in the rearview mirror. "He's agreeing with me," said Fraser, after a pause. "Although naturally he's frustrated we were unable to make better use of the wedding cake."
"It was laced with cyanide," Ray pointed out. "Has he lost all of his survival instincts from living here in the lap of urban civilization?" He pulled into Elaine's street and swerved to avoid a pothole.
"It's a worrying thought," Fraser agreed. "I suspect it's more a natural aversion to wasted food. Cake is extremely rare in the Arctic, as I'm sure you can appreciate."
"Maybe he's just hungry," said Elaine. "Do you guys want to come up for coffee?" She smiled at Dief. "I don't have any cake, but there's cookie-dough ice cream."
And I would be remiss not to mention the Dief POV Besbriss/Fraser/Vecchio story, An Observation of Human Mating Behavior, written by aingeal8 for me in the seekrit santa exchange.
Dewey/Turnbull The Man Who Wasn't There by shayheyred Two sidelined characters find solace in each other.
There was loud crash that drew a momentary silence and then a smattering of applause. Detective Dewey had knocked the remnants of the fruitcake onto the floor, and was busy shoving it around the desks with a hockey stick, yelling "Score!" Dewey seemed to find this hilarious, though his partner, Detective Huey, was glaring daggers at him and calling him a jerk.
Detective Dewey was always being called a jerk, or an idiot, or a moron by someone in the squad room. He didn't seem to mind. Detective Dewey, with his perpetual aura of fish and bacon bits, was always telling terrible jokes, making politically incorrect comments and staring lasciviously at women's breasts. Every time Turnbull came to the police station, he found Detective Dewey in the middle of an argument or a shouting match or a fistfight, usually with Detective Vecchio.
Turnbull momentarily wondered if it mightn't be better to be disliked than ignored.
Fraser/Huey Red Like Bleeding by j_s_cavalcante Built around the events of 'Juliet is Bleeding,' this is not a happy story... though I feel it's ultimately a satisfying one.
Jack has to apologize for his own behavior.
If he can find a way to get the words out.
Turns out he doesn’t need to, because Fraser comes and sits next to him on the couch and puts his hand on top of Jack’s.
Just puts his hand on him, like cops don’t do to cops in Chicago if they’re smart, and why hasn’t Vecchio clued Fraser in about that? Jack knows Vecchio doesn’t go for that kind of stuff, no matter how touchy-feely-Italian he is. Jack’s about to say something about that when Fraser reaches for his other hand and pulls him right into his arms, hugging him.
Jack loses it. He cries all over Fraser’s pretty sweater till it’s damp under his face, and Fraser just holds him tight, practically pulling him into his damn lap to hold him, and lets him cry.
Fraser/Thatcher The Dress Looks Nice On You by icepixie. Ok, this one's actually a vid, so there's no excerpt. You'll just have to trust me when I say it's adorable and worth checking out.
Gardino/Kowalski Decompression Syndrome by mergatrude Obviously, this pairing can break your heart on several levels -- which this fic illustrates beautifully.
Ray sat there, as the streetlights came and went, lighting up the backs of his eyelids, telling Louis about the job, about how stupid his cover was a five-year old wouldn't have bought it. How Kovac had almost skewered him with a huge fucking hunting knife, all of it just rolling off his tongue, but he could only hear Stella's voice.
I can't talk to you about this, Ray, you know that. I'm on the prosecuting team, for God's sake. It's my first big case after years stuck with misdemeanors - you know how hard I've been trying to get ahead in this old boys club. Can't you see the PD psychologist?
In the end he'd hung up the phone and thrown his coffee cup at the kitchen wall. She was right, of course; they'd been treating her like a paralegal and she was better than any of them. It didn't make him feel any better though. He stood there for a while, watching the trails of coffee and sugar slide down, then he turned and slammed out of the apartment and hailed a taxi to a place where he could drink with no one bothering him.
On the other hand, Gardino and Kowalski can also be a lot of fun, as demonstrated in Less Than You Think by brooklinegirl. Just don't think about how it's all going to end.
They worked in different precincts, but he'd known Gardino for a couple of years now, and sure, he was a goof, but he was a good cop. He jogged over to Ray after the last panel after a long-ass day of "sensitivity" training - when Ray considers himself to be pretty damn fucking sensitive already, though mostly it's sensitivity about his time being wasted with training like this - and suggested they grab a beer, grinning at Ray like he was one hundred percent sure Ray wouldn’t say no.
Ray hesitated. "I should get home…"
"C'mon." Gardino bumped him with his shoulder, turned to start walking slowly backwards in front of him. "One beer. Your treat." He spread his hands and grinned, his paisley purple tie flipping back over his shoulder in the wind, leaving the short end dangling absurdly in front of his plaid shirt.
Ray shook his head, but followed in the direction Gardino led. "One beer, Gardino, and I'm not buying your nasty-ass Pabst Blue Ribbon. You must have a buck you can spare."
"Aw, Kowalski, you just don't have a taste for the good stuff."
Kowalski/Turnbull, Fraser/Kowalski/Turnbull in later chapters. Three Lone, Lorn Creatures by Matthew Haldeman-Time. A long angst fest, in which Turnbull turns out to have 1) several cats, 2) a massive library and 3) issues stacked on issues. After the first chapter, it's revealed that some of those issues stem from sexual abuse by previous 'lovers,' and once raised, those issues will be addressed primarily through the application lots of sex, so caveat lector.
Ray returned the following evening. He told Renfield what he thought of Steinbeck so far; he'd read much farther than Renfield had expected. Ray seemed pleased again with Renfield's cooking, which made Renfield blush and stammer. They discussed Ray's cases and Inspector Thatcher and whether Diefenbaker could actually be considered a "pet." Then they cleaned up the kitchen. Renfield eyed Ray's CD player warily while Ray visited the bathroom. Then Ray informed Renfield that they were going to dance whether the Mountie liked it or not. At Ray's insistence they both went barefoot, and Ray shed layers down to the single T-shirt again, this time blue. Ray put on a CD of dance music and grabbed Renfield's hand. They started where they'd ended their last dancing session, facing each other, Ray gripping Renfield's hands.
When the CD ended an hour later, Ray gave Renfield a quick hard squeeze, shimmied over to the kitchen for a glass of water, and tossed his T-shirt onto the floor. "Damn, I'm hot," he panted.
Renfield was inclined to agree, but swallowed the urge.
Anyway, on to the crazy workplace romances!
Elaine Besbriss/Fraser/Vecchio The First Nine Lives of a Houseplant by china_shop Scenes along the timeline of the relationship from before it had quite begun, all the way through the happily domestic ending.
"Excellent work, Elaine," Fraser said, leaning forward from the backseat to thank her. "If you hadn't noticed his cufflinks, we might never have apprehended him."
Diefenbaker woofed.
"What's he saying?" Ray asked, casually running a stop sign.
Elaine saw Fraser and Ray exchange glances in the rearview mirror. "He's agreeing with me," said Fraser, after a pause. "Although naturally he's frustrated we were unable to make better use of the wedding cake."
"It was laced with cyanide," Ray pointed out. "Has he lost all of his survival instincts from living here in the lap of urban civilization?" He pulled into Elaine's street and swerved to avoid a pothole.
"It's a worrying thought," Fraser agreed. "I suspect it's more a natural aversion to wasted food. Cake is extremely rare in the Arctic, as I'm sure you can appreciate."
"Maybe he's just hungry," said Elaine. "Do you guys want to come up for coffee?" She smiled at Dief. "I don't have any cake, but there's cookie-dough ice cream."
And I would be remiss not to mention the Dief POV Besbriss/Fraser/Vecchio story, An Observation of Human Mating Behavior, written by aingeal8 for me in the seekrit santa exchange.
Dewey/Turnbull The Man Who Wasn't There by shayheyred Two sidelined characters find solace in each other.
There was loud crash that drew a momentary silence and then a smattering of applause. Detective Dewey had knocked the remnants of the fruitcake onto the floor, and was busy shoving it around the desks with a hockey stick, yelling "Score!" Dewey seemed to find this hilarious, though his partner, Detective Huey, was glaring daggers at him and calling him a jerk.
Detective Dewey was always being called a jerk, or an idiot, or a moron by someone in the squad room. He didn't seem to mind. Detective Dewey, with his perpetual aura of fish and bacon bits, was always telling terrible jokes, making politically incorrect comments and staring lasciviously at women's breasts. Every time Turnbull came to the police station, he found Detective Dewey in the middle of an argument or a shouting match or a fistfight, usually with Detective Vecchio.
Turnbull momentarily wondered if it mightn't be better to be disliked than ignored.
Fraser/Huey Red Like Bleeding by j_s_cavalcante Built around the events of 'Juliet is Bleeding,' this is not a happy story... though I feel it's ultimately a satisfying one.
Jack has to apologize for his own behavior.
If he can find a way to get the words out.
Turns out he doesn’t need to, because Fraser comes and sits next to him on the couch and puts his hand on top of Jack’s.
Just puts his hand on him, like cops don’t do to cops in Chicago if they’re smart, and why hasn’t Vecchio clued Fraser in about that? Jack knows Vecchio doesn’t go for that kind of stuff, no matter how touchy-feely-Italian he is. Jack’s about to say something about that when Fraser reaches for his other hand and pulls him right into his arms, hugging him.
Jack loses it. He cries all over Fraser’s pretty sweater till it’s damp under his face, and Fraser just holds him tight, practically pulling him into his damn lap to hold him, and lets him cry.
Fraser/Thatcher The Dress Looks Nice On You by icepixie. Ok, this one's actually a vid, so there's no excerpt. You'll just have to trust me when I say it's adorable and worth checking out.
Gardino/Kowalski Decompression Syndrome by mergatrude Obviously, this pairing can break your heart on several levels -- which this fic illustrates beautifully.
Ray sat there, as the streetlights came and went, lighting up the backs of his eyelids, telling Louis about the job, about how stupid his cover was a five-year old wouldn't have bought it. How Kovac had almost skewered him with a huge fucking hunting knife, all of it just rolling off his tongue, but he could only hear Stella's voice.
I can't talk to you about this, Ray, you know that. I'm on the prosecuting team, for God's sake. It's my first big case after years stuck with misdemeanors - you know how hard I've been trying to get ahead in this old boys club. Can't you see the PD psychologist?
In the end he'd hung up the phone and thrown his coffee cup at the kitchen wall. She was right, of course; they'd been treating her like a paralegal and she was better than any of them. It didn't make him feel any better though. He stood there for a while, watching the trails of coffee and sugar slide down, then he turned and slammed out of the apartment and hailed a taxi to a place where he could drink with no one bothering him.
On the other hand, Gardino and Kowalski can also be a lot of fun, as demonstrated in Less Than You Think by brooklinegirl. Just don't think about how it's all going to end.
They worked in different precincts, but he'd known Gardino for a couple of years now, and sure, he was a goof, but he was a good cop. He jogged over to Ray after the last panel after a long-ass day of "sensitivity" training - when Ray considers himself to be pretty damn fucking sensitive already, though mostly it's sensitivity about his time being wasted with training like this - and suggested they grab a beer, grinning at Ray like he was one hundred percent sure Ray wouldn’t say no.
Ray hesitated. "I should get home…"
"C'mon." Gardino bumped him with his shoulder, turned to start walking slowly backwards in front of him. "One beer. Your treat." He spread his hands and grinned, his paisley purple tie flipping back over his shoulder in the wind, leaving the short end dangling absurdly in front of his plaid shirt.
Ray shook his head, but followed in the direction Gardino led. "One beer, Gardino, and I'm not buying your nasty-ass Pabst Blue Ribbon. You must have a buck you can spare."
"Aw, Kowalski, you just don't have a taste for the good stuff."
Kowalski/Turnbull, Fraser/Kowalski/Turnbull in later chapters. Three Lone, Lorn Creatures by Matthew Haldeman-Time. A long angst fest, in which Turnbull turns out to have 1) several cats, 2) a massive library and 3) issues stacked on issues. After the first chapter, it's revealed that some of those issues stem from sexual abuse by previous 'lovers,' and once raised, those issues will be addressed primarily through the application lots of sex, so caveat lector.
Ray returned the following evening. He told Renfield what he thought of Steinbeck so far; he'd read much farther than Renfield had expected. Ray seemed pleased again with Renfield's cooking, which made Renfield blush and stammer. They discussed Ray's cases and Inspector Thatcher and whether Diefenbaker could actually be considered a "pet." Then they cleaned up the kitchen. Renfield eyed Ray's CD player warily while Ray visited the bathroom. Then Ray informed Renfield that they were going to dance whether the Mountie liked it or not. At Ray's insistence they both went barefoot, and Ray shed layers down to the single T-shirt again, this time blue. Ray put on a CD of dance music and grabbed Renfield's hand. They started where they'd ended their last dancing session, facing each other, Ray gripping Renfield's hands.
When the CD ended an hour later, Ray gave Renfield a quick hard squeeze, shimmied over to the kitchen for a glass of water, and tossed his T-shirt onto the floor. "Damn, I'm hot," he panted.
Renfield was inclined to agree, but swallowed the urge.