Turn Toward Home (F/K, G)
Title: Turn Toward Home
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Rating: Innocuous, with vague reference to sex.
Length: ~3800 words
Summary: "Ray thinks this probably isn't how they should be spending the early evening of their first Valentine's Day together."
Author's Notes: Many thanks to spuffyduds for a gentle and timely beta.
This started as a heart-shaped snippet for lamentables, but it turned into a longer piece. I was going to post this on the 15th, or as I was calling it, Leap Valentine's Day (365 days till the next occurrence of the holiday). I didn't quite make that deadline, either. Happy February 16th, everyone.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and locations do not belong to me. This is an amateur work of fanfiction written solely for personal pleasure.
Turn Toward Home
Ray thinks this probably isn't how they should be spending the early evening of their first Valentine's Day together. They have only been together for three months, and Ray really doesn't know what to do about Valentine's Day this year. He probably should have thought of a plan that doesn't involve putting all his layers of winter clothing back on as soon as they got back to his apartment.
Fraser is sitting on the couch wearing his blue flannel shirt, a sweatshirt, and he has his jacket already on. He's pulling on wool socks and his hiking boots. Ray is wearing his heavy coat, gloves, and a really dopey looking hat which flattens his hair. In this cold, he can't afford to go without it if they are going to make it all the way down to the park.
Dief is going to start bouncing off the walls any minute. His ears are up high, and he keeps whining , first at Fraser, and then at Ray. Lately, Dief has been stuck indoors at the consulate. He's acting pretty squirrelly, and definitely needs a good run before they settle in to do anything else.
If Ray's week hadn't been so crazy, he would have given this whole Valentine night thing a little more thought. Not much chance, though. Ray had spent the past two days interviewing guys from the bust of a huge meth ring. He hasn't seen much of Fraser.
"Hey, I could have used you at the station today," Ray says.
"The auditor from Ottawa is due to arrive on Monday. I am afraid I still have a lot of work to do on the file reorganization project. I wish the Inspector hadn't put that off so long."
"Right, but I can't believe you didn't get in on the bust after you spent so much time helping me set up those boneheads. We could have killed with those interviews. The dealer's five closest weasely friends. I could have used your good cop. Dewey wanted to butt in and do bad cop, as if."
Ray was blustering. He didn't say I missed you , but Fraser gets it.
Fraser had been racing all week to keep the Inspector happy, and Canada had won out over the 2-7. He pulled a couple of extra shifts at the consulate and still had to find odd hours to put in even more time, starting really early and staying late. That meant he slept in his own cot in his office.
Ray can handle the job without Fraser for a couple of days. It is the nights that get to him-- missing any of his nights with Fraser. That really sucks.
Fraser usually stays three or four nights a week at Ray's now, and he has accumulated some clothes, and a few personal odds and ends in one of the drawers of Ray's dresser. They don't usually plan their nights together. It depends on if Fraser has to go in early, or how tired they both are. Or, on a night like tonight--if Ray can just get Fraser into the car, back to his place, and up the stairs before he thinks of any good reason not to come back with him.
Thank god Ray hadn't had to make up some reason to call him this afternoon. Fraser showed up in the bullpen when Ray was almost finished for the day. Fraser ignored the chaos of pink paper hearts stuck all over everything, and Frannie dropping hints of what a special day it was. She'd become distracted while seductively licking a cherry tootsie pop, and got it stuck to Dief's coat. After Frannie snipped the lollipop out with a pair of manicure scissors, Ray had them all out the door and into the car, smooth as cream.
Dief whines again, and claws the front door a couple of times.
"Hey, watch the woodwork, furface."
As Fraser bends to tie his second boot, he says, "Diefenbaker has been getting more churlish and annoying all day. I think he's been watching too many sentimental movies. I don't know where he got the idea that he'd be spending the day wooing attractive females."
Dief shoots Fraser a pissy look and grumbles, then takes an uncharacteristic puppyish leap toward Ray, snaps at the tendon at the back of his calf, and bounds around to sit on Ray's foot.
Ray gives him a quick, vigorous scratch on the heavy ruff around his neck, and says, "Yeah, buddy, I hear that. Let's get out of here for awhile, and let you get your ya-yas out." Dief leaps up and barks several times, then snaps playfully at Ray's calf again, herding him to the door.
"Yeah, we're going."
Once on the street, they turn to the familiar route to the park. Dief trots ten feet in front of them, tail up and waving like a flag, weaving through the crowd of other people still making their way home from work. The neighborhood regulars know Fraser and Dief by now, and don't mind when Dief runs loose on the street, or in the park.
The evening is very cold and the sky has a few high, wispy clouds, faintly orange against the deepening blue. The sun dips low, already hidden behind the taller line of apartment towers and commercial buildings of the distant skyline. Light still glows on the windows of the low apartment buildings and shops of the neighborhood.
They lose sight of Dief as he squeezes through a knot of people up ahead. Then they hear a little squeak of protest. Fraser walks a little faster to catch up.
A lady Ray recognizes from the ground floor of his building is standing very still, holding a heart -shaped chocolate cake frosted with whipped cream away from Dief's muzzle. She is wearing four-inch heels and a trench coat. Ray's eyes linger briefly on the arresting sight of the shiny red shoes, and her thin, brown ankles above them. She shows a brief flash of leg high up, as Dief brushes against her again. She is maybe wearing nothing else. Somebody is going to get a surprise tonight. The wolf stares pleadingly up at the cake she clutches in both hands.
"I'm terribly sorry Mrs. Martinez, but Diefenbaker has quite a sweet tooth, and the smell of chocolate seems to have made him lose his manners. That cake does look wonderful. I am sure that Carlos will enjoy it."
A flush crosses her face, as she shifts the cake to one hand. She tugs the collar of the trench coat up with her other hand. "Yes, I hope you have a nice night, too, Benton," she says in her lilting accent. She readjusts her grip on the cake, and hurries away up the street as fast as her heels allow.
Yeah, a nice night. Valentine's Day, good Christ. He should have made some plans. Cake and high heels wasn't going to fly for two guys, but what about a dinner reservation? He hadn't thought to make a dinner reservation anywhere. Is that what he should have done?
He wasn't even sure if that was expected, or even something Fraser would like. They went out often, usually to one of the little Italian hole- in- the- wall places over near the consulate, or sometimes to the Chinese place that had the great dim sum on Saturdays. Nowhere too fancy, nowhere romantic, and nowhere with dancing.
"Do you want to get dim sum on Saturday?" He just blurts it out, apropos of nothing.
"Sure," says Fraser.
He'd taken Stella out to the fanciest dinner he could afford every year. When they went out on Valentine's Day the food was always tall and sauce was always squiggled on the plate, which was too white and too big. He always felt hungry and grouchy at the end of the meal.
He used to send flowers to her office where her legal assistant and the secretaries could coo over them. Those roses he sent every year started to backfire on him the last few years they were together, started to make her angry. She seemed to think that sending two dozen roses was not personal enough. He'd been afraid to stop sending them, though-- afraid she'd sense his growing misery and hopelessness. She loved his confidence. Her contempt crystallized when he'd lost that with her. For years he kept trying, and on Valentine's Day that meant pink lacy panties that cost a small fortune, handmade truffles from the fancy counter at Chocolat D'Or , the amethyst bracelet with the clasp that broke when he went to put it on her wrist. Always red roses to her office. Ray sighs, and shakes off the thought.
"You really should apologize to Mrs. Martinez the next time we see her, Diefenbaker. That was uncalled for. You know that chocolate is not good for you, and remember what happened the last time you tasted whipped cream?"
Dief huffs and gallops off again. He doesn't go far. As usual, Dief stops cold in front of the plate glass window at Katz Floral.
"Again with flowers, huh? We gotta stop and window shop every time. Tell me how you got a wolf who likes flower arranging. "
"Just my good fortune, Ray."
The entire window is nothing but cheap-looking glass vases, each filled with a dozen roses, a plastic stake and blank card sticking out above the curled flowers. They are all red. There are more roses-- white, yellow, and pukey -looking purple--wrapped in cellophane bunches, in buckets on either side of the door. Ray peers through the window at the dozens of vases all lined up, and the sign that reads:
1 dozen- $29.99, 2 dozen $55.99, 12 dozen only $299.99. Wow her this Valentine's Day!
The roses look like they have been popped out of a mold. They really are pretty boring. What do you know, Stella was right again.
Fraser seems kind of interested, though. Ray raises an eyebrow at him.
"They're a standard 'hybrid tea' variety, bred for slow opening. They wouldn't have much scent, like a wild rose has."
Ray shrugged, and they moved on from the window.
Crazy holiday, anyway. Where do he and Fraser fit on a day like today? Wow her, right. Roses with no smell. Right. For your strange, whittle-it-yourself, whatever-they-were of three months.
Right.
Maybe he should have called this morning to say Happy Valentine's Day. He'd thought of it as he was making his first cup of coffee, but it felt girly, silly.
But what about when they got home? Walking the wolf really wasn't the most romantic choice, but it seemed urgent at the time. A lot of the time, getting rid of the red uniform, and his own shoulder holster meant more than just changing into more comfortable clothing. A lot of evenings they spend an hour kissing, grappling, and rubbing each other off on the bed before Ray could even decide to have a beer before dinner. Tonight they had barely looked at each other as they changed out of work clothes. Maybe Fraser had been expecting him to make a gesture, push him up against something, and show him that he was irresistible. Everybody wants to feel sexy and desired on Valentine's Day. Had Ray missed his cue?
Fraser is gazing distractedly at a window display of kitchen gadgets, and smiling a little to himself. When he feels Ray's eyes on him, it turns into a real smile. Fraser's hand cups his forearm for a moment, and then his hand moves away, and back into his jacket pocket.
It seems like they are OK.
Ray takes a deep breath of the freezing air. He does have a couple of small presents for Fraser, hidden under the bed. He plans to hand them over after dinner. He doesn't want to make too big a deal out of it. They are just small things that made him think of Fraser.
There is a book he found with an eye-catching cover. It was written by a British lady who traveled around to find out where the different pigments to make all the colors of paint came from. It is cool--full of stories about painting and traveling. He'd already read half of it on the nights Fraser wasn't around. He figured Fraser might like to talk about the book sometime. He also bought a pair of deep brown, buttery-soft gloves that looked hand stitched. Those came from the shop where he took his leather jacket in to be sewn up and cleaned after the last nutty chase. He'd only had plain white wrapping paper in the junk drawer, but he wrapped the two presents anyway. He had found a place to hide them, even though Fraser wasn't there last night.
Dief waits at the traffic light for them. They stand at the intersection, waiting for the signal to change, and Ray thinks presents after dinner. Oh, shit. Is there any food in the house? He had not only not made any plans to go out, but he had flaked out on buying anything to cook, let alone anything special to eat. Ordering a pizza seems run of the mill.
"We should stop at Lee's on the way back, I think we're out of...uh, everything."
The light changes to green, and the walk signal comes on. They cross the busy intersection.
Ray hears himself a second too late. We're out of everything.
They haven't talked yet about Fraser moving in. Fraser doesn't even have a key yet. And even on those weeks when he ended up staying more than three or four nights, he still never stays in the apartment when Ray isn't there. He has a towel on the rack and a scary straight razor in a cup on the bathroom counter, but no key, no plans, no talk, yet.
Ray glances at Fraser again, trying to judge whether he heard the slip. This time, Fraser is looking straight ahead, his eyes following Dief as he sprints far ahead of them through the entrance gate of the park. "Right you are," Fraser says.
Dief runs around the perimeter like a crazy thing, zigging and zagging around the trees along the boundary, making five or six huge loops at full speed. Eventually he slows down in a patch of really deep snow. He does odd little kangaroo hops every few feet, so he can get his chest up out of the snow, and clear the next drift. He stops occasionally to sniff around, covering his face up to the ears in powder. Fraser laughs, and the sound makes a bubble of something rise in his own chest, till he is laughing a little, too. Dief pushes away the soft layer of snow with his nose, and digs frantically into the crusty, hard-packed drift, looking for a rabbit warren underneath.
Fraser calls him off. "Your rations will be enough to get through the night. You don't need to bother those poor creatures today. Though I am glad that your instincts have driven you to hunt something other than junk food." Fraser gives the wolf a companionable pat much like he'd given Ray's arm a few minutes ago.
Fraser and Dief set off at a fast jog on the clear pavement of the running trail loop. Ray leans against a bench and watches them.
Dief dances alongside, as Fraser runs with long, easy strides, his breath puffing out white--slowly, steadily. He knows from previous trips here that Fraser can run that loop without stopping for a good, long time without even panting for breath. Tonight, he stops next to Ray after the second trip around. His cheeks are pinking up from cold and mild exertion, and his eyes are bright. It is a nice change from the tired man who met him at the station. Ray wants to lean forward to kiss him, but they don't usually do that in the park, not with a whole group of teenagers down at the pond, playing hockey.
Instead, Ray bends down to make a snowball. He spends a few minutes throwing snowballs for Dief, who chases them, snapping his jaws and growling at them, instead of the rabbits. Then they walk over the other end of the park, to watch the kids play for awhile.
As Fraser always does when they see the kids out playing, he tells Ray another fragment of the story about a guy named Mark who had been his friend in Inuvik.
"Sometimes we got so involved in our game that we would play until it was almost too dark to see. My grandfather had to come out with a lantern to find me and get me to come inside more than once. On those days, I was late with my chores, and my grandparents got pretty upset with me. They were strongly in favor of finishing one's duties before turning to play."
"That's still not how I picture you as a kid. Playing so hard that you forgot what you were supposed to be doing. Forgetting yourself like that. Making the adults mad. I thought you mostly studied Latin, or something."
"Much of the time, I did. However, I loved pond hockey, and I had some friends to play with during those times we lived in town."
Ray ponders this for a minute. "I'm pretty good on skates. Let's play sometime. I think I can scrounge up or borrow some equipment. Some of the guys in Robbery are in a league."
"I would love that. I haven't skated much since I was a boy, but I could always keep up with Mark. Well, I did try it again twice, a few years ago. One night Mark, Ray Vecchio and I played hockey on a pond, with a boy about that age who came along."
"Really?" Ray feels a small twinge of jealousy. He assumed his offer to play hockey was something special, but Ray Vecchio had already beaten him to that.
"Oh, yes, although Ray spent a great deal of time falling down. He hadn't skated much before."
"Huh," says Ray, and grins. Hockey, sometime soon, then.
On the way back, they cross to the other side of the street, and stop in at Lee's, the small Korean grocery five blocks from Ray's building. The store is small, so Dief stays outside, curled under the bench just outside the door.
Old Mrs. Lee is at the register, and she smiles widely when Fraser and Ray come in. Old Mrs. Lee doesn't speak a lot of English, and Fraser only knows please and thank you in Korean, but that delights her. He manages to use his vocabulary every time they shop there.
Fraser's eyes skip right over all the convenience store crap at the front--the beer, the chips, the candy bars and the lottery counter. He always heads right back to the crowded, darker corner with the tiny produce case with a light over it like an aquarium. Fraser spends a moment over the case, and looks thoughtful. Then he bends to examine several cardboard boxes on the floor with vegetables in them. Ray turns away and heads to the meat counter. There are some chicken feet with the nails still on, and a few disgusting chunks of tripe in the meat case, but there are also a few plump, good looking whole chickens, and a fan of glistening pink-orange salmon fillets on ice. Ray gets Young Mrs. Lee to wrap a chicken to roast tomorrow night, and three of the salmon fillets. They'll go in the broiler and he can get some potatoes started right when they get back. It won't take too long.
When he turns back to find Fraser, he sees that Fraser has picked up a hand basket from the front of the store, and is filling up plastic bags with produce. He thought of potatoes, good. He's also got some knobbly looking carrots with the green parts still on top, and some brown, wrinkled mushrooms, and a cucumber, and two huge bags full of greens. One looks like spinach, but he doesn't even know what the other one is. Fraser also has a bag of apples, and is sniffing at a miniature crate of fancy Spanish tangerines.
Fraser sees the brown wrapped packages in his hands. "What did you get, Ray?"
"Salmon fillets."
"Great. We've got potatoes, and plenty of things to make salad."
Ray stares at the basket heaped up with vegetables. There is enough for salad for a week, or more. There are half a dozen apples in the bag.
They aren't just picking up a few things for dinner tonight. They are shopping for the next week. Fraser said we've got potatoes.
Fraser really wants to buy a whole little crate of tangerines to leave on Ray's breakfast bar, and he's not worried about a thing. Fraser is sniffing and squeezing oranges while Ray is figuring out his whole damned life here at the corner market.
Ray wants to buy him Spanish tangerines. Ray wants to buy him as much damned salad as he wants.
Fraser looks so happy as he runs his thumbnail over the tangerine rind and holds it up for him to sniff. Ray gets it, that this is what Fraser wants--just their ordinary happiness. On Valentine's Day and any other night he can get it.
"Great, Ben, yeah. Whatever you want." He gamely sniffs the tangerine skin. It smells fantastic. He knows they are going to go home and have a great dinner, and go to bed, and after, feed each other tangerines. "Throw 'em in the basket."
Ray hands Fraser a bunch of bills, not taking time to figure out how they are going to split this, or if they are going to bother. Old Mrs. Lee and Fraser spend a few minutes not-chatting as she rings up their groceries. Fraser says please and thank you in Korean, and nods politely. While Fraser is paying the bill, Ray ducks behind a row of crackers, and fishes out his key-ring. The apartment key works off the ring easily. Fraser will have to let them in when they get home, but Ray's got a spare he can add back on later.
They stop at the bench outside to redistribute the heavy bags of food, and to get Dief. Ray puts his hand on Fraser's shoulder.
"Hold up a second, OK?" Ray says. He has to do this right now, before he loses his nerve. "I've got something I want to give you."
Ray picks up Fraser's cold hand, which smells like tangerines, and presses a quick kiss into his palm. Then he puts the key into it, and closes his fingers around it.
END
Note: The book Ray buys for Fraser is Colour, by Victoria Finlay.
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Rating: Innocuous, with vague reference to sex.
Length: ~3800 words
Summary: "Ray thinks this probably isn't how they should be spending the early evening of their first Valentine's Day together."
Author's Notes: Many thanks to spuffyduds for a gentle and timely beta.
This started as a heart-shaped snippet for lamentables, but it turned into a longer piece. I was going to post this on the 15th, or as I was calling it, Leap Valentine's Day (365 days till the next occurrence of the holiday). I didn't quite make that deadline, either. Happy February 16th, everyone.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and locations do not belong to me. This is an amateur work of fanfiction written solely for personal pleasure.
Turn Toward Home
Ray thinks this probably isn't how they should be spending the early evening of their first Valentine's Day together. They have only been together for three months, and Ray really doesn't know what to do about Valentine's Day this year. He probably should have thought of a plan that doesn't involve putting all his layers of winter clothing back on as soon as they got back to his apartment.
Fraser is sitting on the couch wearing his blue flannel shirt, a sweatshirt, and he has his jacket already on. He's pulling on wool socks and his hiking boots. Ray is wearing his heavy coat, gloves, and a really dopey looking hat which flattens his hair. In this cold, he can't afford to go without it if they are going to make it all the way down to the park.
Dief is going to start bouncing off the walls any minute. His ears are up high, and he keeps whining , first at Fraser, and then at Ray. Lately, Dief has been stuck indoors at the consulate. He's acting pretty squirrelly, and definitely needs a good run before they settle in to do anything else.
If Ray's week hadn't been so crazy, he would have given this whole Valentine night thing a little more thought. Not much chance, though. Ray had spent the past two days interviewing guys from the bust of a huge meth ring. He hasn't seen much of Fraser.
"Hey, I could have used you at the station today," Ray says.
"The auditor from Ottawa is due to arrive on Monday. I am afraid I still have a lot of work to do on the file reorganization project. I wish the Inspector hadn't put that off so long."
"Right, but I can't believe you didn't get in on the bust after you spent so much time helping me set up those boneheads. We could have killed with those interviews. The dealer's five closest weasely friends. I could have used your good cop. Dewey wanted to butt in and do bad cop, as if."
Ray was blustering. He didn't say I missed you , but Fraser gets it.
Fraser had been racing all week to keep the Inspector happy, and Canada had won out over the 2-7. He pulled a couple of extra shifts at the consulate and still had to find odd hours to put in even more time, starting really early and staying late. That meant he slept in his own cot in his office.
Ray can handle the job without Fraser for a couple of days. It is the nights that get to him-- missing any of his nights with Fraser. That really sucks.
Fraser usually stays three or four nights a week at Ray's now, and he has accumulated some clothes, and a few personal odds and ends in one of the drawers of Ray's dresser. They don't usually plan their nights together. It depends on if Fraser has to go in early, or how tired they both are. Or, on a night like tonight--if Ray can just get Fraser into the car, back to his place, and up the stairs before he thinks of any good reason not to come back with him.
Thank god Ray hadn't had to make up some reason to call him this afternoon. Fraser showed up in the bullpen when Ray was almost finished for the day. Fraser ignored the chaos of pink paper hearts stuck all over everything, and Frannie dropping hints of what a special day it was. She'd become distracted while seductively licking a cherry tootsie pop, and got it stuck to Dief's coat. After Frannie snipped the lollipop out with a pair of manicure scissors, Ray had them all out the door and into the car, smooth as cream.
Dief whines again, and claws the front door a couple of times.
"Hey, watch the woodwork, furface."
As Fraser bends to tie his second boot, he says, "Diefenbaker has been getting more churlish and annoying all day. I think he's been watching too many sentimental movies. I don't know where he got the idea that he'd be spending the day wooing attractive females."
Dief shoots Fraser a pissy look and grumbles, then takes an uncharacteristic puppyish leap toward Ray, snaps at the tendon at the back of his calf, and bounds around to sit on Ray's foot.
Ray gives him a quick, vigorous scratch on the heavy ruff around his neck, and says, "Yeah, buddy, I hear that. Let's get out of here for awhile, and let you get your ya-yas out." Dief leaps up and barks several times, then snaps playfully at Ray's calf again, herding him to the door.
"Yeah, we're going."
Once on the street, they turn to the familiar route to the park. Dief trots ten feet in front of them, tail up and waving like a flag, weaving through the crowd of other people still making their way home from work. The neighborhood regulars know Fraser and Dief by now, and don't mind when Dief runs loose on the street, or in the park.
The evening is very cold and the sky has a few high, wispy clouds, faintly orange against the deepening blue. The sun dips low, already hidden behind the taller line of apartment towers and commercial buildings of the distant skyline. Light still glows on the windows of the low apartment buildings and shops of the neighborhood.
They lose sight of Dief as he squeezes through a knot of people up ahead. Then they hear a little squeak of protest. Fraser walks a little faster to catch up.
A lady Ray recognizes from the ground floor of his building is standing very still, holding a heart -shaped chocolate cake frosted with whipped cream away from Dief's muzzle. She is wearing four-inch heels and a trench coat. Ray's eyes linger briefly on the arresting sight of the shiny red shoes, and her thin, brown ankles above them. She shows a brief flash of leg high up, as Dief brushes against her again. She is maybe wearing nothing else. Somebody is going to get a surprise tonight. The wolf stares pleadingly up at the cake she clutches in both hands.
"I'm terribly sorry Mrs. Martinez, but Diefenbaker has quite a sweet tooth, and the smell of chocolate seems to have made him lose his manners. That cake does look wonderful. I am sure that Carlos will enjoy it."
A flush crosses her face, as she shifts the cake to one hand. She tugs the collar of the trench coat up with her other hand. "Yes, I hope you have a nice night, too, Benton," she says in her lilting accent. She readjusts her grip on the cake, and hurries away up the street as fast as her heels allow.
Yeah, a nice night. Valentine's Day, good Christ. He should have made some plans. Cake and high heels wasn't going to fly for two guys, but what about a dinner reservation? He hadn't thought to make a dinner reservation anywhere. Is that what he should have done?
He wasn't even sure if that was expected, or even something Fraser would like. They went out often, usually to one of the little Italian hole- in- the- wall places over near the consulate, or sometimes to the Chinese place that had the great dim sum on Saturdays. Nowhere too fancy, nowhere romantic, and nowhere with dancing.
"Do you want to get dim sum on Saturday?" He just blurts it out, apropos of nothing.
"Sure," says Fraser.
He'd taken Stella out to the fanciest dinner he could afford every year. When they went out on Valentine's Day the food was always tall and sauce was always squiggled on the plate, which was too white and too big. He always felt hungry and grouchy at the end of the meal.
He used to send flowers to her office where her legal assistant and the secretaries could coo over them. Those roses he sent every year started to backfire on him the last few years they were together, started to make her angry. She seemed to think that sending two dozen roses was not personal enough. He'd been afraid to stop sending them, though-- afraid she'd sense his growing misery and hopelessness. She loved his confidence. Her contempt crystallized when he'd lost that with her. For years he kept trying, and on Valentine's Day that meant pink lacy panties that cost a small fortune, handmade truffles from the fancy counter at Chocolat D'Or , the amethyst bracelet with the clasp that broke when he went to put it on her wrist. Always red roses to her office. Ray sighs, and shakes off the thought.
"You really should apologize to Mrs. Martinez the next time we see her, Diefenbaker. That was uncalled for. You know that chocolate is not good for you, and remember what happened the last time you tasted whipped cream?"
Dief huffs and gallops off again. He doesn't go far. As usual, Dief stops cold in front of the plate glass window at Katz Floral.
"Again with flowers, huh? We gotta stop and window shop every time. Tell me how you got a wolf who likes flower arranging. "
"Just my good fortune, Ray."
The entire window is nothing but cheap-looking glass vases, each filled with a dozen roses, a plastic stake and blank card sticking out above the curled flowers. They are all red. There are more roses-- white, yellow, and pukey -looking purple--wrapped in cellophane bunches, in buckets on either side of the door. Ray peers through the window at the dozens of vases all lined up, and the sign that reads:
1 dozen- $29.99, 2 dozen $55.99, 12 dozen only $299.99. Wow her this Valentine's Day!
The roses look like they have been popped out of a mold. They really are pretty boring. What do you know, Stella was right again.
Fraser seems kind of interested, though. Ray raises an eyebrow at him.
"They're a standard 'hybrid tea' variety, bred for slow opening. They wouldn't have much scent, like a wild rose has."
Ray shrugged, and they moved on from the window.
Crazy holiday, anyway. Where do he and Fraser fit on a day like today? Wow her, right. Roses with no smell. Right. For your strange, whittle-it-yourself, whatever-they-were of three months.
Right.
Maybe he should have called this morning to say Happy Valentine's Day. He'd thought of it as he was making his first cup of coffee, but it felt girly, silly.
But what about when they got home? Walking the wolf really wasn't the most romantic choice, but it seemed urgent at the time. A lot of the time, getting rid of the red uniform, and his own shoulder holster meant more than just changing into more comfortable clothing. A lot of evenings they spend an hour kissing, grappling, and rubbing each other off on the bed before Ray could even decide to have a beer before dinner. Tonight they had barely looked at each other as they changed out of work clothes. Maybe Fraser had been expecting him to make a gesture, push him up against something, and show him that he was irresistible. Everybody wants to feel sexy and desired on Valentine's Day. Had Ray missed his cue?
Fraser is gazing distractedly at a window display of kitchen gadgets, and smiling a little to himself. When he feels Ray's eyes on him, it turns into a real smile. Fraser's hand cups his forearm for a moment, and then his hand moves away, and back into his jacket pocket.
It seems like they are OK.
Ray takes a deep breath of the freezing air. He does have a couple of small presents for Fraser, hidden under the bed. He plans to hand them over after dinner. He doesn't want to make too big a deal out of it. They are just small things that made him think of Fraser.
There is a book he found with an eye-catching cover. It was written by a British lady who traveled around to find out where the different pigments to make all the colors of paint came from. It is cool--full of stories about painting and traveling. He'd already read half of it on the nights Fraser wasn't around. He figured Fraser might like to talk about the book sometime. He also bought a pair of deep brown, buttery-soft gloves that looked hand stitched. Those came from the shop where he took his leather jacket in to be sewn up and cleaned after the last nutty chase. He'd only had plain white wrapping paper in the junk drawer, but he wrapped the two presents anyway. He had found a place to hide them, even though Fraser wasn't there last night.
Dief waits at the traffic light for them. They stand at the intersection, waiting for the signal to change, and Ray thinks presents after dinner. Oh, shit. Is there any food in the house? He had not only not made any plans to go out, but he had flaked out on buying anything to cook, let alone anything special to eat. Ordering a pizza seems run of the mill.
"We should stop at Lee's on the way back, I think we're out of...uh, everything."
The light changes to green, and the walk signal comes on. They cross the busy intersection.
Ray hears himself a second too late. We're out of everything.
They haven't talked yet about Fraser moving in. Fraser doesn't even have a key yet. And even on those weeks when he ended up staying more than three or four nights, he still never stays in the apartment when Ray isn't there. He has a towel on the rack and a scary straight razor in a cup on the bathroom counter, but no key, no plans, no talk, yet.
Ray glances at Fraser again, trying to judge whether he heard the slip. This time, Fraser is looking straight ahead, his eyes following Dief as he sprints far ahead of them through the entrance gate of the park. "Right you are," Fraser says.
Dief runs around the perimeter like a crazy thing, zigging and zagging around the trees along the boundary, making five or six huge loops at full speed. Eventually he slows down in a patch of really deep snow. He does odd little kangaroo hops every few feet, so he can get his chest up out of the snow, and clear the next drift. He stops occasionally to sniff around, covering his face up to the ears in powder. Fraser laughs, and the sound makes a bubble of something rise in his own chest, till he is laughing a little, too. Dief pushes away the soft layer of snow with his nose, and digs frantically into the crusty, hard-packed drift, looking for a rabbit warren underneath.
Fraser calls him off. "Your rations will be enough to get through the night. You don't need to bother those poor creatures today. Though I am glad that your instincts have driven you to hunt something other than junk food." Fraser gives the wolf a companionable pat much like he'd given Ray's arm a few minutes ago.
Fraser and Dief set off at a fast jog on the clear pavement of the running trail loop. Ray leans against a bench and watches them.
Dief dances alongside, as Fraser runs with long, easy strides, his breath puffing out white--slowly, steadily. He knows from previous trips here that Fraser can run that loop without stopping for a good, long time without even panting for breath. Tonight, he stops next to Ray after the second trip around. His cheeks are pinking up from cold and mild exertion, and his eyes are bright. It is a nice change from the tired man who met him at the station. Ray wants to lean forward to kiss him, but they don't usually do that in the park, not with a whole group of teenagers down at the pond, playing hockey.
Instead, Ray bends down to make a snowball. He spends a few minutes throwing snowballs for Dief, who chases them, snapping his jaws and growling at them, instead of the rabbits. Then they walk over the other end of the park, to watch the kids play for awhile.
As Fraser always does when they see the kids out playing, he tells Ray another fragment of the story about a guy named Mark who had been his friend in Inuvik.
"Sometimes we got so involved in our game that we would play until it was almost too dark to see. My grandfather had to come out with a lantern to find me and get me to come inside more than once. On those days, I was late with my chores, and my grandparents got pretty upset with me. They were strongly in favor of finishing one's duties before turning to play."
"That's still not how I picture you as a kid. Playing so hard that you forgot what you were supposed to be doing. Forgetting yourself like that. Making the adults mad. I thought you mostly studied Latin, or something."
"Much of the time, I did. However, I loved pond hockey, and I had some friends to play with during those times we lived in town."
Ray ponders this for a minute. "I'm pretty good on skates. Let's play sometime. I think I can scrounge up or borrow some equipment. Some of the guys in Robbery are in a league."
"I would love that. I haven't skated much since I was a boy, but I could always keep up with Mark. Well, I did try it again twice, a few years ago. One night Mark, Ray Vecchio and I played hockey on a pond, with a boy about that age who came along."
"Really?" Ray feels a small twinge of jealousy. He assumed his offer to play hockey was something special, but Ray Vecchio had already beaten him to that.
"Oh, yes, although Ray spent a great deal of time falling down. He hadn't skated much before."
"Huh," says Ray, and grins. Hockey, sometime soon, then.
On the way back, they cross to the other side of the street, and stop in at Lee's, the small Korean grocery five blocks from Ray's building. The store is small, so Dief stays outside, curled under the bench just outside the door.
Old Mrs. Lee is at the register, and she smiles widely when Fraser and Ray come in. Old Mrs. Lee doesn't speak a lot of English, and Fraser only knows please and thank you in Korean, but that delights her. He manages to use his vocabulary every time they shop there.
Fraser's eyes skip right over all the convenience store crap at the front--the beer, the chips, the candy bars and the lottery counter. He always heads right back to the crowded, darker corner with the tiny produce case with a light over it like an aquarium. Fraser spends a moment over the case, and looks thoughtful. Then he bends to examine several cardboard boxes on the floor with vegetables in them. Ray turns away and heads to the meat counter. There are some chicken feet with the nails still on, and a few disgusting chunks of tripe in the meat case, but there are also a few plump, good looking whole chickens, and a fan of glistening pink-orange salmon fillets on ice. Ray gets Young Mrs. Lee to wrap a chicken to roast tomorrow night, and three of the salmon fillets. They'll go in the broiler and he can get some potatoes started right when they get back. It won't take too long.
When he turns back to find Fraser, he sees that Fraser has picked up a hand basket from the front of the store, and is filling up plastic bags with produce. He thought of potatoes, good. He's also got some knobbly looking carrots with the green parts still on top, and some brown, wrinkled mushrooms, and a cucumber, and two huge bags full of greens. One looks like spinach, but he doesn't even know what the other one is. Fraser also has a bag of apples, and is sniffing at a miniature crate of fancy Spanish tangerines.
Fraser sees the brown wrapped packages in his hands. "What did you get, Ray?"
"Salmon fillets."
"Great. We've got potatoes, and plenty of things to make salad."
Ray stares at the basket heaped up with vegetables. There is enough for salad for a week, or more. There are half a dozen apples in the bag.
They aren't just picking up a few things for dinner tonight. They are shopping for the next week. Fraser said we've got potatoes.
Fraser really wants to buy a whole little crate of tangerines to leave on Ray's breakfast bar, and he's not worried about a thing. Fraser is sniffing and squeezing oranges while Ray is figuring out his whole damned life here at the corner market.
Ray wants to buy him Spanish tangerines. Ray wants to buy him as much damned salad as he wants.
Fraser looks so happy as he runs his thumbnail over the tangerine rind and holds it up for him to sniff. Ray gets it, that this is what Fraser wants--just their ordinary happiness. On Valentine's Day and any other night he can get it.
"Great, Ben, yeah. Whatever you want." He gamely sniffs the tangerine skin. It smells fantastic. He knows they are going to go home and have a great dinner, and go to bed, and after, feed each other tangerines. "Throw 'em in the basket."
Ray hands Fraser a bunch of bills, not taking time to figure out how they are going to split this, or if they are going to bother. Old Mrs. Lee and Fraser spend a few minutes not-chatting as she rings up their groceries. Fraser says please and thank you in Korean, and nods politely. While Fraser is paying the bill, Ray ducks behind a row of crackers, and fishes out his key-ring. The apartment key works off the ring easily. Fraser will have to let them in when they get home, but Ray's got a spare he can add back on later.
They stop at the bench outside to redistribute the heavy bags of food, and to get Dief. Ray puts his hand on Fraser's shoulder.
"Hold up a second, OK?" Ray says. He has to do this right now, before he loses his nerve. "I've got something I want to give you."
Ray picks up Fraser's cold hand, which smells like tangerines, and presses a quick kiss into his palm. Then he puts the key into it, and closes his fingers around it.
END
Note: The book Ray buys for Fraser is Colour, by Victoria Finlay.