fic: Discord and Strife
Title: Discord and Strife
Fandom: due South
Length: 1200 words
Characters: Ray Kowalski, Benton Fraser, Diefenbaker
Rating: PG-13
Content notes: no warnings apply
Author note: written for the Prediction challenge at
fan_flashworks; set after s3 ep4, Strange Bedfellows.
this one is for
theicescholar, who got me into this in the first place and then egged me on to write the fic.
Summary: Stella's prediction was probably right. Doesn't mean Ray has to like the way things turned out.
On a scale from 1 to endangering your life in wildly bizarre ways, wrapping up the Barnardine fraud case is a 2.5 at most. No performance arsonists, no unexploded bombs, and only the perp ended up in the lake they call Michigan. A few cuts and bruises, but otherwise a good day in Ray and Fraserland. And now they’re heading back to the city, with pizza and beer in their future if Ray has anything to say about it.
He doesn’t even realize he’s humming that Lhasa song till he catches Fraser looking at him funny.
“What?”
“Nothing, Ray.”
Dief’s obviously not buying that, because he says something rude in wolf from the back seat.
“Unhelpful, Diefenbaker,” Fraser says. “And uncalled for.”
“Hey, you got something to say, spit it out, Fraser.” Ray grips the Goat’s steering wheel tighter.
It’s been three days since Fraser hammered on Stella’s door, saved her life and Ray’s and broke up whatever might have happened between them that night. Ray went home alone, put on that song again and dreamed of dancing with Stella. Kissing Stella. Making love with Stella, the way they would have if Fraser hadn’t come knocking. Well, and if that sick bastard Dwayne Weston hadn’t killed them both first.
Too busy to think much about that, the last three days. But now the case is over, and here it all comes again. Fuck.
And yeah, Stella’s prediction was probably right: You could stay, we could make love and it would be great, like a thousand times before. But tomorrow we'd be right back where we were this morning. Maybe a couple more regrets.
Doesn’t mean Ray has to like the way things turned out.
“What you said to Weston, Ray. About accepting when something’s over.”
“I told you, I was lying.”
“Nevertheless -” Fraser begins.
“Don’t you fucking nevertheless me, Fraser.”
“Ray, I only meant -”
“Where do you get off dishing out relationship advice? Like you know shit about it.”
“I admit my experience may not be -”
“What you don’t know about women would make a good book, Fraser. Real good.”
Fraser doesn’t get mad at him. Doesn’t get snippy, which frankly is the least Ray expects after a crack like that. He just stares straight ahead till the light changes from red to green. Doesn’t even chew Ray out for busting the speed limit.
“Yes, Ray,” he says, very quietly. “I expect you’re right.”
Which, now Ray feels like shit. And that sucks, because he’s the one hurting, right? But yeah, like Fraser said to Dief, uncalled for. He’s seen the file on Victoria Metcalf, and throwing that in Fraser’s teeth? Not buddies. Fraser’s kind of pale, and holding onto his Stetson real tight. Like he might fall through the floor or something if he didn’t.
Ray scowls at the road signs, the traffic, the city lights getting closer by the minute. His throat feels like it’s full of sand. It’s so fucking quiet in here now, even Dief’s not saying anything.
“Want to get pizza?” It’s the nearest he can get to sorry right now.
“Thank you kindly, Ray, not tonight,” Fraser says. Still too fucking quiet. Still staring straight ahead.
Dief makes a smart remark from the back seat and Fraser turns to glare at him.
“You eat too much pizza as it is, Diefenbaker,” he says.
Dief mutters and growls.
“Even so,” Fraser says. Fuck knows what that’s in answer to.
There’s a nasty silence lasting most of the way back to the station.
“You want I should drop you at the Consulate?” Ray offers.
He half expects Fraser to say they can walk from here, but Fraser nods and says “Thank you,” like it hurts him to talk.
So Ray drops Fraser and Dief at the Consulate and heads home to tell Turtle all about it. Like always, it’s a one-sided conversation, Turtle not holding his end up the way Dief apparently can. Ray’s ex is back in town and they are never ever getting back together and his partner is a crazy Mountie who makes him feel bad by talking to a fucking wolf. Half-wolf. Whatever. How is this Ray’s life?
There’s a big tight knot of misery in his gut, there’s nothing on TV, and getting drunk feels like a really good idea right now, except for how he knows it isn’t. He wonders what Stella’s doing now. Wonders what Fraser’s doing. Looking at his scar in the mirror, maybe. And Christ, Ray’s been through some shit over Stella but it never got him shot in the fucking back. So yeah, saying what he said to Fraser about women was a shitty thing to do, and he can’t see how to make it right. If there’s one thing Fraser’s big on, it’s not talking about stuff he doesn’t want to talk about. Not that Ray’s great at talking either. Goes with the territory.
So he’ll, what, maybe pick up some donuts on his way to the Consulate tomorrow, make sure Fraser gets the chocolate ones before Dief scarfs them all. Best he can come up with. Might as well go to bed, seeing as tonight is a wash.
He’s brushing his teeth when the phone rings. Nearly gives him a heart attack.
“Vecchio,” he mumbles. Mouth full of toothpaste. Should’ve spit first.
“Hello, Ray.” Fraser sounds less pinched than earlier, which is something.
“Hey, Fraser. You OK?”
Stupid question, but Fraser doesn’t bite his head off for it, the way Ray might if he was the one whose partner’d been an asshole.
“I, ah. Was going to ask you the same.”
“Oh,” Ray says stupidly. Hell if he knows the answer to that.
“Diefenbaker has pointed out that it wasn’t very friendly of me to turn down your invitation. It’s possible that his interest in pizza may be affecting his judgement -”
“Could be,” Ray says, because pizza is right up there with donuts on the list of wolf reasons for doing stuff.
“I wasn’t sure whether you wanted company tonight, but if you did -” Fraser trails off.
“I - I dunno, Fraser. I’m still kind of fucked up, I guess.”
“Understood.”
Which you’d think would bug the hell out of Ray, but for some reason doesn’t this time. Even makes him unclench a bit.
“Want to get pizza tomorrow?” he asks.
“I - yes, thank you kindly, Ray. I’d like that… What? Yes, we’re going for pizza with Ray tomorrow. Are you happy now?”
Wolf noises in the background.
“Sounds like the answer’s yes,” Ray says, and grins.
“Yes,” Fraser says. Sounds like he’s smiling too. “Goodnight, Ray.”
“Night, Fraser.”
Ray finishes cleaning his teeth and gets into bed. The knot in his stomach seems to have gone. OK, so his life is seriously fucked if he’s cheering up at the thought of pizza after work with the Mountie and the wolf, but hey, pizza and beer. Better than a poke in the eye. They don’t usually make plans, but it feels good for a change.
Fraser’s voice saying “Goodnight, Ray” echoes in his head. Nice of him to call. Ray’s chest is warm, and his legs and arms are heavy, and then he’s asleep.
***
Title from Richard Edwards's poem Amantium Irae.
Also posted at https://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/244120.html with
comments.
Fandom: due South
Length: 1200 words
Characters: Ray Kowalski, Benton Fraser, Diefenbaker
Rating: PG-13
Content notes: no warnings apply
Author note: written for the Prediction challenge at
fan_flashworks; set after s3 ep4, Strange Bedfellows.
this one is for
theicescholar, who got me into this in the first place and then egged me on to write the fic.
Summary: Stella's prediction was probably right. Doesn't mean Ray has to like the way things turned out.
On a scale from 1 to endangering your life in wildly bizarre ways, wrapping up the Barnardine fraud case is a 2.5 at most. No performance arsonists, no unexploded bombs, and only the perp ended up in the lake they call Michigan. A few cuts and bruises, but otherwise a good day in Ray and Fraserland. And now they’re heading back to the city, with pizza and beer in their future if Ray has anything to say about it.
He doesn’t even realize he’s humming that Lhasa song till he catches Fraser looking at him funny.
“What?”
“Nothing, Ray.”
Dief’s obviously not buying that, because he says something rude in wolf from the back seat.
“Unhelpful, Diefenbaker,” Fraser says. “And uncalled for.”
“Hey, you got something to say, spit it out, Fraser.” Ray grips the Goat’s steering wheel tighter.
It’s been three days since Fraser hammered on Stella’s door, saved her life and Ray’s and broke up whatever might have happened between them that night. Ray went home alone, put on that song again and dreamed of dancing with Stella. Kissing Stella. Making love with Stella, the way they would have if Fraser hadn’t come knocking. Well, and if that sick bastard Dwayne Weston hadn’t killed them both first.
Too busy to think much about that, the last three days. But now the case is over, and here it all comes again. Fuck.
And yeah, Stella’s prediction was probably right: You could stay, we could make love and it would be great, like a thousand times before. But tomorrow we'd be right back where we were this morning. Maybe a couple more regrets.
Doesn’t mean Ray has to like the way things turned out.
“What you said to Weston, Ray. About accepting when something’s over.”
“I told you, I was lying.”
“Nevertheless -” Fraser begins.
“Don’t you fucking nevertheless me, Fraser.”
“Ray, I only meant -”
“Where do you get off dishing out relationship advice? Like you know shit about it.”
“I admit my experience may not be -”
“What you don’t know about women would make a good book, Fraser. Real good.”
Fraser doesn’t get mad at him. Doesn’t get snippy, which frankly is the least Ray expects after a crack like that. He just stares straight ahead till the light changes from red to green. Doesn’t even chew Ray out for busting the speed limit.
“Yes, Ray,” he says, very quietly. “I expect you’re right.”
Which, now Ray feels like shit. And that sucks, because he’s the one hurting, right? But yeah, like Fraser said to Dief, uncalled for. He’s seen the file on Victoria Metcalf, and throwing that in Fraser’s teeth? Not buddies. Fraser’s kind of pale, and holding onto his Stetson real tight. Like he might fall through the floor or something if he didn’t.
Ray scowls at the road signs, the traffic, the city lights getting closer by the minute. His throat feels like it’s full of sand. It’s so fucking quiet in here now, even Dief’s not saying anything.
“Want to get pizza?” It’s the nearest he can get to sorry right now.
“Thank you kindly, Ray, not tonight,” Fraser says. Still too fucking quiet. Still staring straight ahead.
Dief makes a smart remark from the back seat and Fraser turns to glare at him.
“You eat too much pizza as it is, Diefenbaker,” he says.
Dief mutters and growls.
“Even so,” Fraser says. Fuck knows what that’s in answer to.
There’s a nasty silence lasting most of the way back to the station.
“You want I should drop you at the Consulate?” Ray offers.
He half expects Fraser to say they can walk from here, but Fraser nods and says “Thank you,” like it hurts him to talk.
So Ray drops Fraser and Dief at the Consulate and heads home to tell Turtle all about it. Like always, it’s a one-sided conversation, Turtle not holding his end up the way Dief apparently can. Ray’s ex is back in town and they are never ever getting back together and his partner is a crazy Mountie who makes him feel bad by talking to a fucking wolf. Half-wolf. Whatever. How is this Ray’s life?
There’s a big tight knot of misery in his gut, there’s nothing on TV, and getting drunk feels like a really good idea right now, except for how he knows it isn’t. He wonders what Stella’s doing now. Wonders what Fraser’s doing. Looking at his scar in the mirror, maybe. And Christ, Ray’s been through some shit over Stella but it never got him shot in the fucking back. So yeah, saying what he said to Fraser about women was a shitty thing to do, and he can’t see how to make it right. If there’s one thing Fraser’s big on, it’s not talking about stuff he doesn’t want to talk about. Not that Ray’s great at talking either. Goes with the territory.
So he’ll, what, maybe pick up some donuts on his way to the Consulate tomorrow, make sure Fraser gets the chocolate ones before Dief scarfs them all. Best he can come up with. Might as well go to bed, seeing as tonight is a wash.
He’s brushing his teeth when the phone rings. Nearly gives him a heart attack.
“Vecchio,” he mumbles. Mouth full of toothpaste. Should’ve spit first.
“Hello, Ray.” Fraser sounds less pinched than earlier, which is something.
“Hey, Fraser. You OK?”
Stupid question, but Fraser doesn’t bite his head off for it, the way Ray might if he was the one whose partner’d been an asshole.
“I, ah. Was going to ask you the same.”
“Oh,” Ray says stupidly. Hell if he knows the answer to that.
“Diefenbaker has pointed out that it wasn’t very friendly of me to turn down your invitation. It’s possible that his interest in pizza may be affecting his judgement -”
“Could be,” Ray says, because pizza is right up there with donuts on the list of wolf reasons for doing stuff.
“I wasn’t sure whether you wanted company tonight, but if you did -” Fraser trails off.
“I - I dunno, Fraser. I’m still kind of fucked up, I guess.”
“Understood.”
Which you’d think would bug the hell out of Ray, but for some reason doesn’t this time. Even makes him unclench a bit.
“Want to get pizza tomorrow?” he asks.
“I - yes, thank you kindly, Ray. I’d like that… What? Yes, we’re going for pizza with Ray tomorrow. Are you happy now?”
Wolf noises in the background.
“Sounds like the answer’s yes,” Ray says, and grins.
“Yes,” Fraser says. Sounds like he’s smiling too. “Goodnight, Ray.”
“Night, Fraser.”
Ray finishes cleaning his teeth and gets into bed. The knot in his stomach seems to have gone. OK, so his life is seriously fucked if he’s cheering up at the thought of pizza after work with the Mountie and the wolf, but hey, pizza and beer. Better than a poke in the eye. They don’t usually make plans, but it feels good for a change.
Fraser’s voice saying “Goodnight, Ray” echoes in his head. Nice of him to call. Ray’s chest is warm, and his legs and arms are heavy, and then he’s asleep.
***
Title from Richard Edwards's poem Amantium Irae.
Also posted at https://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/244120.html with
comments.