ds_aprilfools Prompt 28 - Author's Choice - Euphemisms
I made it.
This month was exhausting - fun, creative, interesting - but knackering also.
It was partly my slightly obsessive streak that made me carry on, but a lot of it was down to the amazing comments and support from all you guys. I was really thrilled and humbled to get such a response. I was expecting to be unfriended for spamming you every day with smutlets! But instead I got a boost to keep going and complete the challenge. Thirty stories, two new fandoms, 31,454 words later- and still standing. Thank you to everyone who read or left a comment or demanded sequels. *hugs you all*
So, I give you the dance of the exhausted but triumphant fanfic writer...
*shimmies on spot, beams, twirls, high-kicks, pogos, soft shoe, Riverdance tippy-tapping...(big finale)...PAUL GROSS ARMS! \o/\o/\o/*
*falls flat on face and sleeps for a week*
Prompt - 28 Author's Choice - Euphemisms
Fandom - Due South
Characters - Fraser, Kowalski, Dewey, Huey, Frannie.
Warnings - language, teensy angst.
Rated - PG.
Thank you - to missapocalyptic for the bloody difficult prompt! :-)
Euphemisms
Ray is only half-listening to Dewey’s story. Most of them are bull anyway, so he’s just nodding whenever he remembers to. Fraser’s the polite one in this partnership and if he wants to give Dewey an audience for one of his lame-assed anecdotes, that’s his choice. Ray wants to finish this paperwork so he can get the hell out of here and into his two days off.
He comes to a word that doesn’t look right, no matter how he messes with the letters or how many ‘l’s he puts in it, and looks up to ask for Fraser’s help. Only Fraser looks weird. He’s still listening to Dewey, but he’s gone kind of still and his eyes look sort of shiny, unfocussed. Ray frowns and tunes into Asshole FM.
“… so this guy, he’s getting seriously itchy, finding a million reasons why he can’t provide his alibi. And we’re thinking ‘this is the guy’. He’s sweating, stuttering, it’s classic nervous stuff, he’s changing his story every time he tells it, so we say to him that we’re taking him in for questioning.”
Ray looks from Dewey’s ugly motormouth back to Fraser, confused because this sounds just like every other ‘Tom Dewey saves the world single handed’ story he’s ever heard and Ray wonders what he’s missing.
Ray looks at the faces of the little crowd Dewey has gathered. Nichols, Fehr and Van Eyck from uniformed, but none of them look like Fraser’s frozen thing. From across the room Jack catches Ray’s eye and gives him a long, steady look that Ray just doesn’t get, but when Ray frowns at him, Jack looks away.
“And this guy nearly faints on us. Seriously - I thought he was gonna cry or something. Right, Jack?”
“Dewey, maybe you should write some of this down on a report or something?” Jack asks, his voice calm and persuasive, but Dewey brushes him off.
“So another guy steps out from the bunch of other suits. Big guy, you know? One of the partners… and says ‘He was with me,’” Dewey pauses for effect, his grin getting wide, “’…all night.’ The guy’s a fairy! Can you believe that? And no one knew, not his boss, not his girlfriend, not his colleagues. Him and the junior partner - both of them, friends of Dorothy. Shirt-lifters! Man, did it get quiet after that!” Dewey hoots with mirth, inviting the others to share his hilarity. And Van Eyck and Nichols are lapping it up, acting like Dewey has just told the best story ever.
But Fraser - man, he looks bad - and after a few seconds, even an asshole like Dewey can’t help but notice that he’s gone kind of quiet.
“Oh, Fraser! Sorry,” Dewey laughs and Ray’s guts turn to jello. He can’t believe that Dewey, A. has an idea like Ray has got recently - that Fraser might not be entirely straight - and B. if he has, that he’s gonna to bring it up here in front of the bullpen, God and everyone.
Fraser is just sitting there like a mark, clutching his stupid hat and his Mountie face - the one that he guards Canada with - it’s missing in action. Ray moves forward involuntarily, wanting to stand in between Fraser losing it and Dewey, who he thought he hated before, but it turns out he was wrong. Now he hates him.
But Dewey’s already talking. “I dunno what you call it where you come from. It’s like a metaphor or something. Friend of Dorothy’s? Shirt-lifter? It means that the guy is gay, Fraser. You know? Like batting for the other team?”
Fraser nods somehow, jerky and unnatural, and Ray doesn’t know whether to be relieved that Dewey is so shit-thick that he hasn’t noticed Fraser’s lack of a girlfriend since the psycho chick, or if he should be kicking his ass down the corridor for making Fraser look like that.
He’s saved from making that choice by - of all people - Frannie, who strolls by with a contemptuous roll of her eyes.
“So there were two guys in love - big deal,” she sneers. “It’s people - and I use the term under achievement - people like you that mean that they had to hide the fact that they were together. You’re a weasel, Dewey. In fact I think weasels would be insulted if they knew I’d said that.”
She stops beside Ray - right in the place where Ray had been trying to get without drawing attention to the fact - stood in front of Fraser as a kind of human shield. Ray wonders quickly if that’s an accident or not.
“What?” Dewey asks, his face a mask of innocence. “I’m not homophobic - they can do whatever they want to do to each other. Just so long as they don’t hit on me,” he asserts with a nod and a grin at Van Eyck.
“Don’t worry, I doubt there’s much chance of that,” Frannie smiles sweetly. Nope, no accident.
“Good, because I’m a ladies man,” Dewey says, striking a pose, not even knowing he’s just been slammed.
“I doubt that’s gonna happen either,” Ray replies, crossing his arms in a none too subtle threat.
Dewey looks like he’s going to take exception to his comment, and Ray is all over that. It gives him a legitimate reason to pound the guy. But Jack is there, steering Dewey back to his desk, talking to him quietly, distracting him.
Jack Huey is a guy Ray would take a bullet for. He deserves a medal working with that jerk of a partner.
And Ray is left wondering when everybody suddenly became this protective of Fraser. Welsh is - but he’s the boss and a good man, and Ray is because, well for one thing it’s his job and he’s not getting into the other reasons. But Frannie and Jack? And then Ray feels a little disappointed in himself that he didn’t give them enough credit and feels a little better that he knows he’s not the only one watching out for Fraser - the world’s most naïve man. The guy might bounce back from gunshots and stab wounds, but every hero has a weakness.
Fraser’s is his heart.
The little crowd breaks up when Ray frowns at them - only Frannie stays put, still standing between Fraser and the dispersing cops. When they’re alone, Frannie turns, her smile bright.
“Hey Fraser,” she says, as if she’s only just realised he was there. And it’s so smooth; Ray wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching her.
“Francesca,” Fraser nods, still subdued.
“So if you’re done with this, I’ll just…” Frannie takes the report copy from Ray, her eyes darting from him to Fraser and back again.
Ray nods and smiles at her, and reminds himself to sneak some of that expensive chocolate she likes into her drawer next week. “Thanks.”
He turns to Fraser and grabs his coat from the back of his chair. “That’s all, folks,” he says. “Let’s go. So, I’m thinking pizza…”
Ray manages to get Fraser in the car before he runs out of things to say. Fraser is kind of on autopilot and Ray can’t get the memory of his saddened face out of his head. Fraser’s too good to be beaten down by something like this - fuck Dewey and his stupid, tiny mind.
No one should be able to make the Mountie look like he’s lost hope.
Ray badly wants to make that go away.
They drive twenty-three blocks without a word, and Fraser doesn’t even seem to notice that Ray isn’t driving them home until he pulls up beside Lake Michigan, killing the engine and rolling down his window.
Fraser sits up straighter and looks around him slowly.
“Ray?”
“I’m sorry about Dewey. You get used to it,” Ray says before he loses his nerve.
“What are you…?”
Ray turns his face to Fraser’s and the words die on Fraser’s lips. Fraser knows what Ray is talking about. What he doesn’t know is the next bit.
“I’ve heard them all,” Ray continues, looking past his steering wheel and out over the water. “Ass bandit. Fag. Cocksucker. Butt pirate. Even the nicer ones - gay, queen, queer, homo.” Ray shrugs. “They’re none of them good words. Make it sound dirty.”
“Ray, I appreciate what you are trying to do,” Fraser says quietly.
Ray ignores him. “First time I got called one, I laughed, because I was just too dumb to know that was what I was - that those words might apply to me.”
Out of the corner of his eye Fraser’s hands go very still and Ray figures it’s too late to stop anyway.
“Anyway, that’s when I learned that laughing at them is a good way to confuse them. Gives you a bit of leverage. It’s when you try to beat their heads in that they suss that they might have got it right.” Ray runs his thumb over the knuckles of his right hand - he can still feel the scars, even though they faded years ago.
“It’s not funny though, Ray,” Fraser murmurs.
“I know.”
“That man today, he had to make a choice between protecting his lover or keeping quiet. He shouldn’t have had to be hiding in the first place.”
“I know that too,” Ray replies with a dip of his head. “But realistically? It’s the way it is right now.”
It’s starting to get dark and the wind is getting up, making little caps of white on the choppy waves. Ray watches the gulls dip and skid on the air currents and waits. He’s said his piece. And maybe Fraser has nothing to say - he hasn’t admitted anything. Maybe Ray has misread and he needn’t have done this, but somehow, still, he doesn’t think so.
The quiet is surprisingly relaxed - more like ‘watching a game’ quiet or ‘on a stakeout’ quiet than ‘just said something really important’ quiet. And Ray loves that about Fraser, even life’s dramas don’t have to take on huge, world-eating significance. They can still hang.
“They are euphemisms and dysphemisms - slang or pejorative epithets at best,” Fraser says suddenly into the comfortable peace.
Ray turns to look at his partner, dragging his mind back from the mellow place it goes to when sitting next to a quiet Fraser. He looks better. There’s a little line on his forehead from a frown, but when Ray looks into his eyes, there’s Fraser - right there and ready to take on whatever comes their way.
“Detective Dewey’s nomenclature was in error,” Fraser states seriously. “The terms he recounted were not metaphors.”
“Well that’s not all that Dewey’s got wrong. The guy’s a dick.”
“Now, that’s a metaphor.” Fraser smiles - a quirk of his lips and a twinkle in his eye, and Ray can finally let go of the breath he’s been holding since they were at the two-seven.
Ray laughs and rolls up his window. “So about that pizza?” he asks, starting the engine.
“Well, Ray, that depends,” Fraser says, looking down at his hands with a small smile. “Would the pizza be actual or euphemistic?”
Fin
This month was exhausting - fun, creative, interesting - but knackering also.
It was partly my slightly obsessive streak that made me carry on, but a lot of it was down to the amazing comments and support from all you guys. I was really thrilled and humbled to get such a response. I was expecting to be unfriended for spamming you every day with smutlets! But instead I got a boost to keep going and complete the challenge. Thirty stories, two new fandoms, 31,454 words later- and still standing. Thank you to everyone who read or left a comment or demanded sequels. *hugs you all*
So, I give you the dance of the exhausted but triumphant fanfic writer...
*shimmies on spot, beams, twirls, high-kicks, pogos, soft shoe, Riverdance tippy-tapping...(big finale)...PAUL GROSS ARMS! \o/\o/\o/*
*falls flat on face and sleeps for a week*
Prompt - 28 Author's Choice - Euphemisms
Fandom - Due South
Characters - Fraser, Kowalski, Dewey, Huey, Frannie.
Warnings - language, teensy angst.
Rated - PG.
Thank you - to missapocalyptic for the bloody difficult prompt! :-)
Euphemisms
Ray is only half-listening to Dewey’s story. Most of them are bull anyway, so he’s just nodding whenever he remembers to. Fraser’s the polite one in this partnership and if he wants to give Dewey an audience for one of his lame-assed anecdotes, that’s his choice. Ray wants to finish this paperwork so he can get the hell out of here and into his two days off.
He comes to a word that doesn’t look right, no matter how he messes with the letters or how many ‘l’s he puts in it, and looks up to ask for Fraser’s help. Only Fraser looks weird. He’s still listening to Dewey, but he’s gone kind of still and his eyes look sort of shiny, unfocussed. Ray frowns and tunes into Asshole FM.
“… so this guy, he’s getting seriously itchy, finding a million reasons why he can’t provide his alibi. And we’re thinking ‘this is the guy’. He’s sweating, stuttering, it’s classic nervous stuff, he’s changing his story every time he tells it, so we say to him that we’re taking him in for questioning.”
Ray looks from Dewey’s ugly motormouth back to Fraser, confused because this sounds just like every other ‘Tom Dewey saves the world single handed’ story he’s ever heard and Ray wonders what he’s missing.
Ray looks at the faces of the little crowd Dewey has gathered. Nichols, Fehr and Van Eyck from uniformed, but none of them look like Fraser’s frozen thing. From across the room Jack catches Ray’s eye and gives him a long, steady look that Ray just doesn’t get, but when Ray frowns at him, Jack looks away.
“And this guy nearly faints on us. Seriously - I thought he was gonna cry or something. Right, Jack?”
“Dewey, maybe you should write some of this down on a report or something?” Jack asks, his voice calm and persuasive, but Dewey brushes him off.
“So another guy steps out from the bunch of other suits. Big guy, you know? One of the partners… and says ‘He was with me,’” Dewey pauses for effect, his grin getting wide, “’…all night.’ The guy’s a fairy! Can you believe that? And no one knew, not his boss, not his girlfriend, not his colleagues. Him and the junior partner - both of them, friends of Dorothy. Shirt-lifters! Man, did it get quiet after that!” Dewey hoots with mirth, inviting the others to share his hilarity. And Van Eyck and Nichols are lapping it up, acting like Dewey has just told the best story ever.
But Fraser - man, he looks bad - and after a few seconds, even an asshole like Dewey can’t help but notice that he’s gone kind of quiet.
“Oh, Fraser! Sorry,” Dewey laughs and Ray’s guts turn to jello. He can’t believe that Dewey, A. has an idea like Ray has got recently - that Fraser might not be entirely straight - and B. if he has, that he’s gonna to bring it up here in front of the bullpen, God and everyone.
Fraser is just sitting there like a mark, clutching his stupid hat and his Mountie face - the one that he guards Canada with - it’s missing in action. Ray moves forward involuntarily, wanting to stand in between Fraser losing it and Dewey, who he thought he hated before, but it turns out he was wrong. Now he hates him.
But Dewey’s already talking. “I dunno what you call it where you come from. It’s like a metaphor or something. Friend of Dorothy’s? Shirt-lifter? It means that the guy is gay, Fraser. You know? Like batting for the other team?”
Fraser nods somehow, jerky and unnatural, and Ray doesn’t know whether to be relieved that Dewey is so shit-thick that he hasn’t noticed Fraser’s lack of a girlfriend since the psycho chick, or if he should be kicking his ass down the corridor for making Fraser look like that.
He’s saved from making that choice by - of all people - Frannie, who strolls by with a contemptuous roll of her eyes.
“So there were two guys in love - big deal,” she sneers. “It’s people - and I use the term under achievement - people like you that mean that they had to hide the fact that they were together. You’re a weasel, Dewey. In fact I think weasels would be insulted if they knew I’d said that.”
She stops beside Ray - right in the place where Ray had been trying to get without drawing attention to the fact - stood in front of Fraser as a kind of human shield. Ray wonders quickly if that’s an accident or not.
“What?” Dewey asks, his face a mask of innocence. “I’m not homophobic - they can do whatever they want to do to each other. Just so long as they don’t hit on me,” he asserts with a nod and a grin at Van Eyck.
“Don’t worry, I doubt there’s much chance of that,” Frannie smiles sweetly. Nope, no accident.
“Good, because I’m a ladies man,” Dewey says, striking a pose, not even knowing he’s just been slammed.
“I doubt that’s gonna happen either,” Ray replies, crossing his arms in a none too subtle threat.
Dewey looks like he’s going to take exception to his comment, and Ray is all over that. It gives him a legitimate reason to pound the guy. But Jack is there, steering Dewey back to his desk, talking to him quietly, distracting him.
Jack Huey is a guy Ray would take a bullet for. He deserves a medal working with that jerk of a partner.
And Ray is left wondering when everybody suddenly became this protective of Fraser. Welsh is - but he’s the boss and a good man, and Ray is because, well for one thing it’s his job and he’s not getting into the other reasons. But Frannie and Jack? And then Ray feels a little disappointed in himself that he didn’t give them enough credit and feels a little better that he knows he’s not the only one watching out for Fraser - the world’s most naïve man. The guy might bounce back from gunshots and stab wounds, but every hero has a weakness.
Fraser’s is his heart.
The little crowd breaks up when Ray frowns at them - only Frannie stays put, still standing between Fraser and the dispersing cops. When they’re alone, Frannie turns, her smile bright.
“Hey Fraser,” she says, as if she’s only just realised he was there. And it’s so smooth; Ray wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching her.
“Francesca,” Fraser nods, still subdued.
“So if you’re done with this, I’ll just…” Frannie takes the report copy from Ray, her eyes darting from him to Fraser and back again.
Ray nods and smiles at her, and reminds himself to sneak some of that expensive chocolate she likes into her drawer next week. “Thanks.”
He turns to Fraser and grabs his coat from the back of his chair. “That’s all, folks,” he says. “Let’s go. So, I’m thinking pizza…”
Ray manages to get Fraser in the car before he runs out of things to say. Fraser is kind of on autopilot and Ray can’t get the memory of his saddened face out of his head. Fraser’s too good to be beaten down by something like this - fuck Dewey and his stupid, tiny mind.
No one should be able to make the Mountie look like he’s lost hope.
Ray badly wants to make that go away.
They drive twenty-three blocks without a word, and Fraser doesn’t even seem to notice that Ray isn’t driving them home until he pulls up beside Lake Michigan, killing the engine and rolling down his window.
Fraser sits up straighter and looks around him slowly.
“Ray?”
“I’m sorry about Dewey. You get used to it,” Ray says before he loses his nerve.
“What are you…?”
Ray turns his face to Fraser’s and the words die on Fraser’s lips. Fraser knows what Ray is talking about. What he doesn’t know is the next bit.
“I’ve heard them all,” Ray continues, looking past his steering wheel and out over the water. “Ass bandit. Fag. Cocksucker. Butt pirate. Even the nicer ones - gay, queen, queer, homo.” Ray shrugs. “They’re none of them good words. Make it sound dirty.”
“Ray, I appreciate what you are trying to do,” Fraser says quietly.
Ray ignores him. “First time I got called one, I laughed, because I was just too dumb to know that was what I was - that those words might apply to me.”
Out of the corner of his eye Fraser’s hands go very still and Ray figures it’s too late to stop anyway.
“Anyway, that’s when I learned that laughing at them is a good way to confuse them. Gives you a bit of leverage. It’s when you try to beat their heads in that they suss that they might have got it right.” Ray runs his thumb over the knuckles of his right hand - he can still feel the scars, even though they faded years ago.
“It’s not funny though, Ray,” Fraser murmurs.
“I know.”
“That man today, he had to make a choice between protecting his lover or keeping quiet. He shouldn’t have had to be hiding in the first place.”
“I know that too,” Ray replies with a dip of his head. “But realistically? It’s the way it is right now.”
It’s starting to get dark and the wind is getting up, making little caps of white on the choppy waves. Ray watches the gulls dip and skid on the air currents and waits. He’s said his piece. And maybe Fraser has nothing to say - he hasn’t admitted anything. Maybe Ray has misread and he needn’t have done this, but somehow, still, he doesn’t think so.
The quiet is surprisingly relaxed - more like ‘watching a game’ quiet or ‘on a stakeout’ quiet than ‘just said something really important’ quiet. And Ray loves that about Fraser, even life’s dramas don’t have to take on huge, world-eating significance. They can still hang.
“They are euphemisms and dysphemisms - slang or pejorative epithets at best,” Fraser says suddenly into the comfortable peace.
Ray turns to look at his partner, dragging his mind back from the mellow place it goes to when sitting next to a quiet Fraser. He looks better. There’s a little line on his forehead from a frown, but when Ray looks into his eyes, there’s Fraser - right there and ready to take on whatever comes their way.
“Detective Dewey’s nomenclature was in error,” Fraser states seriously. “The terms he recounted were not metaphors.”
“Well that’s not all that Dewey’s got wrong. The guy’s a dick.”
“Now, that’s a metaphor.” Fraser smiles - a quirk of his lips and a twinkle in his eye, and Ray can finally let go of the breath he’s been holding since they were at the two-seven.
Ray laughs and rolls up his window. “So about that pizza?” he asks, starting the engine.
“Well, Ray, that depends,” Fraser says, looking down at his hands with a small smile. “Would the pizza be actual or euphemistic?”
Fin