first ds fan fic... yes, ive entered the Land of Doom
Hope im posting right. please tell me if im not.. i know how to make comments but i have no idea about my own LJ.
My first ever ds fan fic.. no, in fact my first ever fic that i've posted.
So, please comment, advice, insults, i'll take anything me!
Title:
Untitled ('cos a) I haven't thought of a title yet and b) I just started writing and didn't think this would become anything... it's not 'cos I was being lazy; although I am kinda lazy, but that's another story...)
(Beta par moi, cos I'm a perfectionist so any mistakes, sue me)
Don't know any of the technical language for fanfics but the first chapter is based on the end of BDtH. The basis of the fic though is yet to come and that will be written with my own dialogue, duh. This is just to ease me (and you) in gently and to give me some practise at writing these things.
Pairing: Fraser and RayK
Chapter 1: G (is that the rating when it's okay for anyone of any age to read? In England we'd call it U or PG... anyway, there's no slash (yet, not sure if there will be any, don't think im ready for that sort of story, heheh))
Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, you really think I'd be wasting my time writing about them? Ok, so I would still write about them but.... *sigh* Ain't mine. Never were, never will be unless.. *evil plan* Heh.
Summary: Read the thing, it summarises itself better than I can.
oh, it works as a ficlet on it's own too. kinda like the start of their friendship.
If anyone knows the names of some ds communities i could post this in, could you please let me know? thankies!
Written by Caz
Written for Sal
Chapter One: Whaddya know? They both smile.
“In conclusion, this man is not Ray Vecchio.”
He stared at the Lieutenant, willing with all his might that someone, someone, would finally agree with him, see what he saw, realise what he’d realised the second he’d seen him. This man, this suspect, was not Ray Vecchio. He was not the dear companion Fraser had left at the 2-7 a fortnight ago, he was not the cocky Italian-American detective who had befriended him when he’d first come to Chicago, lost (spiritually at least, he was well learned in the art of compass reading) and on the trail of the killers of his father. Indeed, he is a detective, as far as Fraser can fathom and he has a somewhat - non conformability about him - unconventional idiosyncrasies that set him apart from the other police officers that Fraser has encountered during his time in this non conforming, unconventional city. But he was not, could not be Ray Vecchio, Detective First Grade, CPD, despite what his badge may say.
Unless he’d had plastic surgery.
“Constable, you have an uncanny power of observation.”
Fraser held his breath. Was this an affirmative to his suspicions or was Lieutenant Welsh simply taking this, seemingly inappropriate, opportunity to compliment him on his surveillance skills? He had no idea.
“Thank you.” He ventured.
Welsh slipped off his glasses and scratched his nose.
“Of course he’s not Ray Vecchio.”
Ah. He wasn’t going mad. And he didn’t have a hole in his proverbial bag of marbles. For some reason Fraser found this revelation less than comforting. If this man was not Ray Vecchio, then where was he? Who was this new detective? Why did he answer to the name Ray Vecchio? Have his badge? Call Fraser his partner? Drive Ray’s precious Buick Riviera?
The Lieutenant was still talking.
Fraser tried to pay attention.
“…deep undercover with the mob.”
The mob? The Mob? Fraser’s eyebrows shot up uncontrollably. The Mafia? Ray had joined the Mafia?
“Now, to protect his identity, we have to make-believe this guy is Ray Vecchio.”
“I see.”
Fraser didn’t know if he was lying then or not. He hoped he wasn’t. He’d never liked liars and he wasn't keen on the idea of becoming one himself at this particular moment in time.
He pursed his lips but his eyebrows furrowed in response. “Lieutenant, have you by any chance heard from Ray?”
In hindsight, that was an incredibly superfluous question. He was glad he’d asked it anyway.
“Oh, no, no. And I don’t expect to either.”
Fraser nodded as though he understood. He said he understood. Perhaps he’d just lied again. He wished he had his hat with him.
“But listen, Constable, I want you to give this guy a fair shot. He’s a real good cop. And…”
Fraser sent in the accountant on his way out.
* * *
Ray picked up the postcard from his desk, studying the picture on the front. Huh, a mountain. Not many of those in Chicago. And snow, lots and lots of snow. He didn’t need to look at the name on the back to know who it was for. He’d never been a slickster at math, but even for him, the equation was easy. Mountain+Snow = Mountie Man. He turned it over. Give the guy a gold star.
“Hey Fraser, this turned up on my desk. It’s for you.”
Strange seeing him outta the uniform. He handed the card over.
Cold out here. Heat me up. Literally or symbolically? The hell? Was Fraser some kind of inc- incog- undercover secret agent freak who received his cases in code? He was the undercover guy in this soap. Which meant - Hmm, this equation was a little trickier. Go for the easy option.
“What d’you make of it?”
“It’s a message.”
Duh. No gold star for you, Benton-buddy. Buddy? He hardly knew the guy and yet, heh, he’d already taken his first bullet for him. And his last. Yeah, he’d been wearing a vest but jeez joe, who’da thunk that a hunk of metal whizzing into your chest could hurt so freakin’ much? It was like he’d been a tuning fork, vibrating a gazillion times a nano-second, the shocks shaking his bones and he’d fallen down into this guys arms like a whack job who’d sniffed one too many KraftyKidz glue sticks. Yeah, that sounds so much better than a damsel in distress who’d fainted due to the heat. He’d been shot, man. Therefore, thus, hence, he himself was manly. Stanley Raymond Kowalski was manly. Who cares he’d been scared outta his wits, what little he had left of them, seeing as most of ‘em had gone up in flames when the Mountie was playing garnish to the Mazel tov cocktail that had been his patrol car. Ah well, he didn’t like the Riv anyway. Too bulky. Too showy. Too green. Give him a Goat any day. Least it didn’t come with a salivating wolf.
He followed Fraser over to Huey’s desk (Huey? Yeah, yeah, Huey. Or was it Dewey?) He’d have to check that out. After all, he’d been working with them for, what? Five years? Six? He squeezed the file he had shoved under this arm. Vecchio’s file. He’d have to swat a bit more if he was gonna pull this off without any more funny business. Funny business including not-so-skinny dipping in the lake they, we (apparently) call Michigan, flame throwing on the highway or inner thigh and calf fondling under the dash. His left eye twitched as he watched Fraser heat the postcard with a lighter.
Heat me up. Cool, literal then.
That’s when it got a little weird. A photo of Vecchio and the Mountie? Smiling? Oh man, Vecchio smiles?? That was not part of the dealio. He’d asked around, kept it on the low, talking to strictly trust-worthy people now, not that he found it real easy to trust anybody, even before he took this gig; and pretty much everyone had told him Vecchio kept mostly to himself, unless he had something to say. That he could do. He was good at the alone stuff. But with the Mountie? He’s smiling. Smiling. That ain’t keepin’ to yourself. That’s a yeah-I-trust-this-dude-he’s-mine-hands-off-get-your-own kinda look. He’d worn one himself enough times when he’d taken Stella out to dinner. Not that she liked it. Or even wore one in return. Hers always screamed more god-clingy-or-what-yeah-I’m-with-him-but-ask-me-later-and-you-shall-hear-a-different-tale. Oh Lord, how he missed Stella.
He’d have to smile around this guy now?
“Sumthin’ I should worry about?”
God, yes. Stanley Kowalski does not smile.
Anymore.
“No, no.” He sounded so god-damned sincere. “No, everything’s alright. Everything is actually fine.”
Hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
“Okay… well…”
Nothing left to say. Good work today, thanks for settin’ me on fire, see ya around, freak.
Freak who called me Ray.
He walked away, hunkering down to do his alone thing, hit the Vecchio file, grab a Chinese and spend another oh-so-exciting night in front of the box. But hey, least the Bulls were playing tonight. Maybe he’d sit there in his Bulls tee and woolly hat, go all out for once. Hell, maybe he’d even have a little shuffle after the game, see whether his hips haven’t seized up from the cold water in the lake. Home swee-
“Hey, Ray!”
Ray? Strike two! Case halfway open in his palms, he swivelled slowly round, unsure whether he’d heard Fraser right. He cocked his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again, waiting.
“Would you er…”
He tried not to look to pathetic, standing there, face like he’s trying to work out … something real tough. He swayed a little.
“Would you like to go and get something to eat with me?”
Still working it out. And it was tough tough, not just real tough. Was this guy for real? Uber-freak.
Despite himself, his lips tugged into a small, shy smile.
“Yeah.”
He felt his inner thigh and calf tingle. Stop smiling, idiotka. And maybe try sayin’ something.
“Uhh… I just got ta- ” What? Excitement, excitement. “I’ll - I’ll put away these files and I’ll meet you at the car.”
Great time to develop a neatness disorder.
“Alright.”
Would you look at that? Fraser smiles around Vecchio too.
“That’s good.”
Ray licked his still-smiling lips as he walked out the pen. Bulls are gonna havta wait.
*any comments greatly received. i think i need the help.. *cringes* .. how bad is it? please, tell me the truth. You gotta be harsh to be kind! Oh and... I think I'm gonna write the next chapter even if this gets super bad feedback cos practise makes perfect.. or rather Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance, substitute the word Preparation for the word Practise and it almost makes sense!*
"Caz, now you're blithering."
"Yeah, ok, I am. Sorry."
AND OH MY GOD! I love deana (
spikesloveslave)
She made me the bestest icon in the entire world!! ENTIRE UNIVERSE! HELL, THE BESTEST BEST ICON EVER! Paul Gross on Noel's House Party!! (screen cap from Stormymouse, cap it site)
I'M FULFILLED.
Feels good.