[Ray falls down; goes boom] for imamountie
Ray was going to blame it on Canada. Never mind the fact that he had been there for what seemed like forever, and never mind the fact that he had been hurt on American soil more times than he could count.
No, he was sticking with this. It was Canada's fault.
He had gotten a case - real cut and dry, a simple find the scumbag and return what he ( Read more... )
No, he was sticking with this. It was Canada's fault.
He had gotten a case - real cut and dry, a simple find the scumbag and return what he ( Read more... )
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Ray tried not to yell at nurses, he really did. But that was difficult when everyone on the staff seemed to think Ray had broken every bone in his body rather than just sprain one ankle. Sure, the doctor had said some sprains were actually worse than breaks, but that didn't change the fact that it was only one limb that was injured.
And if he had to hear one more person asking how it happened, he was going to kick another garbage can. With his good foot, of course. Where was Fraser, anyway?
As two nurses walked quickly past Ray, he overheard one of them telling a crowd of people-- "American." Knowing looks were exchanged.
Ray scowled.
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Before the rest of that morbid thought crossed his mind, Fraser became distinctly aware of a... well, a rukus coming from one of the nearby rooms. At first he thought he might be imagining things, but no, that was most certainly a Ray Vecchio-style rukus.
Overcome with relief, Fraser distractedly excused himself from Dr Apple's presence and dashed towards the sounds - when he heard nurses uttering American to each other in not-at-all-hushed tones, he knew he was at the right room. He burst through the door, Dief at his heels, and stopped for a moment to simply enjoy the sight of Ray, alive and well, before coming back to reality and making a beeline towards the bed ( ... )
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That was about as far as Ray's thoughts got before he was attacked and suddenly couldn't breathe.
"Fra--" Ray made a squeaky sort of sound, finding it hard to talk. "What--you okay?" Why was Fraser so - clingy?
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Twelve days ago, Fraser had begun reminding himself of the fact that Ray was his husband and that he loved him unequivocally, personality quirks and all. Even if those personality quirks were presently driving Fraser, to be blunt and use Ray's parlance, completely nuts. Do not misunderstand, he was extremely glad that Ray was feeling well enough to act like himself, and he was extremely glad that a sprained ankle (and a bruised ego) were the extent of Ray's injuries.
But there really was a limit to how much whining a man could stand listening to, no matter how much he loved Ray. It was to the point, Fraser hated to admit, that he actively looked forward to going to work not only to help those in need and to bring criminals small and large to justice, but also as a break from caring for Ray.
But he was certainly not stalling over going into the house. Not at all. The front porch needed to be swept, and right this minute. Yes.
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This was all stuff he had ranted endlessly over to Fraser. He knew he was driving Fraser crazy, but he couldn't seem to stop. Especially since it was only recently when he managed to start going without the crutches for moments. Which, thank god, because he was pretty sure he was getting bruises in his armpits because of those things. Of course, Fraser liked to remind him to use them every chance he got.
Dief was at the door, making weird little whining sounds. Ray had just sat down, naturally, and so he was whining the whole time he limped over.
"Fine, fine, get out," he muttered, pulling open the door. "What the--Fraser? What are you doing?"
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Dief woofed and gave him a look that clearly said no one's buying that, then wandered off to sniff the giant oak tree in the centre of the lawn.
Traitor.
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He inched to the side, trying to hide the fact that he didn't have his crutches at the moment.
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