My Fic: Clothes Make The Man Pt 1/3 (9,200 words) (Due South, Slash, Fraser/Vecchio, NC17)
Fraser paused at the squad room door and looked around cautiously. The room, cluttered with desks and papers and permeated by a faint, musty, antiseptic smell, was inexplicably empty. He stepped into the room, curious. By the time all the arrests had been made, he and Ray had completed their undercover operation at a very early hour of the morning, but, still, that did not explain the emptiness. Then he heard laughter down the hall and relaxed. The squad was celebrating in one of the interrogation rooms. Probably a birthd ay.
He wove his way across the room with more confidence, picking the shortest path to Ray’s desk. The polyester pants chafed uncomfortably with each step and for the thousandth time since he had first put them on at Ray’s urging, he wondered why used car salesmen couldn’t sell used cars in something more comfortable. And something less gaudy, he mentally added, looking down at the red-and-white-checkered polyester shirt.
He had asked Ray that very same question, only to be told that it was an American tradition, and if he was really serious about going undercover and if he had any hope of catching the car thieves and if he had any understanding that “partners” meant you really trusted your partner and didn’t constantly interrupt him, then he’d better shut up. So Fraser had.
But that left him sweating lightly, rummaging for the paper bag that held his spare Mountie uniform. He knew Ray had put it somewhere when they had changed at the station before going undercover. The evening had started out with Fraser in his standard-issue brown uniform, but after rescuing Ray from the lake, it had been soaked. After they had apprehended the car thieves, Ray had insisted that he change back into his “undercover” clothes rather than drip on the Riv’s seats while driving back to the station. Ray hadn’t seemed to mind the dripping when Fraser had pulled him from the water, but it seemed easier to duck into the dealership men’s room and change than to have an argument.
The interrogation room door swung open and voices came boiling out into the hall, through the swinging doors, and spread through the squad room. It had been a birthday celebration, as evidenced by the officers and police aides filing back to their desks with small paper plates holding pieces of cake. They wielded plastic forks that they waved erratically as they gestured and laughed. Fraser wondered briefly what it would be like to have his own birthday cake. His grandparents had always told him that pemmican pudding and a good book were more than enough to celebrate his entry into this world. Now that he was grown, Fraser felt it would be somehow disrespectful to try to find out otherwise.
Huey nodded in greeting across the room while taking a bite of the moist cake. Eyes averted, Fraser pulled open another drawer and winced at the tangle of old socks, men’s toiletries and paper bags. He plunged deeper into the drawer until he felt the contours of his lanyard and yanked on a bag.
Another burst of laughter pulled his attention back to where Huey and Dewey were talking to a red-headed officer. The man said something and the group turned in unison to smile at Fraser.
Fraser smiled back, stood up, and walked past them, carrying the bag of clothing.
“Heading for the lockers?” Huey asked, still grinning.
Politely, Fraser stopped. “Well, yes. I am going to change. I understand that it is important to immediately re-establish your identity after an undercover assignment.”
The red haired officer sniggered. “Christ, who dressed you? The girls on North Avenue?”
Dewey nearly choked on the piece of cake he was eating.
“No, no,” Huey replied. “Vecchio pulled together that particular ensemble.”
“Ha, I hear he’s quite the clothes man. Armani suits with shoulder pads a mile wide. Like a three-headed Italian Stallion,” the unfamiliar officer offered, rolling his eyes. This set off another round of laughter.
Fraser caught the gist behind the joke and hesitated. While Ray’s clothing did border on the extreme from time to time, it wasn’t as bad as they were making it sound. Nevertheless, Fraser wasn’t sure that Ray would appreciate him defending his wardrobe.
He nodded again politely and turned to leave, only to collide with something small, soft and indisputably Elaine. Her plate arced upwards and landed squarely against his chest.
“Oh my God, Fraser! Oh - my - God! I am so sorry,” she squeaked. “Let me, just let me - wait here. Oh my God,” she said and ran off, leaving Fraser holding the plate and fork against his own chest. He could feel the icing oozing through the thin fabric. He remained completely still, afraid that if he moved too quickly, it would slide even lower.
Behind him, he could hear a loud coughing sound and then Huey gasped, “Oh my God, Fraser. Did you - did you see Elaine’s face?”
“She nearly wet her pants,” Dewey replied in an awed and strangled voice.
“Don’t move Fraser, she’d kill us if you weren’t here when she got back. You’ve just made her day.”
“Hope she brings a towel. Although the way she looked at him, she’d probably be happy to lick him clean.” This set off another round of choking and gasping.
Fraser turned bright red. The conversation really wasn’t appropriate, although he had to admit that Elaine did have an odd look in her eye when she ran towards the ladies room.
“Oh look, now he’s turning red. If Elaine doesn’t hurry, he’ll match that red suit he wears.”
“Like a giant red lobster, from head to toe.” More heads turned and the laughter increased, rippling across the squad room and down the hall. Fraser stood frozen with embarrassment.
“Don’t you guys have anything better to do than stand around gossiping like a bunch of fairies?” Vecchio's voice rang down the hall. He had been parking the car and had to circle the lot several times before finding an empty spot. His glare grew exponentially as he approached the knot of laughing men…men who were suddenly sporting innocent expressions, but Vecchio was not fooled. He ripped the plate out of Fraser’s hands and tossed it into a nearby waste bin. The fork clattered to the ground. Before Fraser could bend over to pick it up, Vecchio was steering him through the crowded hall towards the men’s locker room.
“Christ Fraser, why do you let them do that to you?”
Fraser shook his head and then they were through the doors. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Elaine trailing after them, clutching a wad of moistened paper towels.
“Do what Ray? I didn’t let them ‘do’ anything. I think they were able to do ‘that’ quite well on their own.” Fraser stood by as Ray reached the locker first and opened it with a few brusque twists of his hand.
“How can you expect to be taken seriously when you insist on wearing a red suit with baggy pants everywhere you go? It’s not like it’s required.”
“Well, it is when you are on guard duty, Ray,” he said, opening the paper bag and looking inside. “And also for ceremonial visits from the Queen. And -”
Ray yanked the bag from Fraser’s grasp and tossed it on the bench. “Fraser, remember what we discussed before this assignment. Tell me you remember what we discussed.”
Overbalanced by the heavy boots inside, the bag of clothes slid off the bench to land on the floor with a clunk. Fraser winced. That was no way to treat a dress uniform. “We did discuss the value of listening to one’s partner’s assessment of clothing appropriate to a specific case,” he replied primly, “but that was while we were undercover, and in a milieu that you are admittedly more familiar with. I don’t think you are an expert on the RCMP’s rules and regulations as they pertain to uniforms.”
Ray stared at him steadily. “My shirt is ruined. Take it off.”
“That was what I was planning on doing.”
“Fine.”
The silence hung awkwardly between them while Fraser retrieved the bag and pulled out his tunic. It was like waving a red flag at a bull.
“Dammit, Fraser,” Vecchio started up again. “You know I’m right. Why can’t you even try to fit in? We’re here and this is Chicago. Do you like them laughing at your taste in clothes? Is that it?”
Fraser looked down at the uniform and shook his head. “Ray, they weren’t laughing at the suit exactly. They were laughing at…” and then he stopped. How could he tell Vecchio that they had started off by laughing at an outfit that Ray had so carefully selected? One that Fraser had now ruined?
He looked up and saw Ray’s eyes soften, apparently misunderstanding what Fraser was trying not to say. “Oh hell, Fraser. I didn’t mean that. They weren’t really laughing at you. It’s just a guy thing, you know.”
Ray’s words made Fraser feel even guiltier. “I’ll pay for the cleaning bill” was all he could think of saying.
“Forget the shirt, Fraser. I have dozens like that at home. Besides, it was too big for me anyway.” He stood back and eyed his partner thoughtfully.
“I know what’d cheer you up. Let’s get a few outfits for you. Ones that won’t make you look so - baggy and bright. There’s a men’s shop I go to that might have something that’d suit you.”
“That’s not necessary, Ray, really. You don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, come on Fraser. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Fraser nodded hesitantly.
“And friends help each other. Tell each other truths, the kind of truths other people won’t tell you. And I am telling you, as my partner, you gotta do something about the clothes.”
Right now, Fraser doubted that he himself would qualify as a good friend. If he couldn’t tell Ray the truth about the squad room banter, how could he tell him he believed he was more effective in his own clothes, using his own methods, no matter where he might be situated?
But the look in Ray’s eyes pulled him out of the station and into the Riv. He did insist on putting on his uniform again, watching Ray eye him disapprovingly while retrieving his own suit from the locker.
Ray parked in a red zone and got out of the car.
“Uh, Ray?” Fraser climbed out slowly, leaving the door open.
“Yeah, Benny?”
“I believe this is a no-parking zone.”
“So it is, Benny.”
“Aren’t you going to move your car?”
Ray looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Why should I do that, Benny? I’m a cop.”
“But, uh, Ray”-Fraser cleared his throat-“this isn’t exactly official business.”
“Sure it is. What could be more official than fixing your wardrobe problem? If you don’t have the right clothes, Fraser, you can’t go undercover. Look, I’m a plainclothes detective, right? Right?” He gestured outward with both palms up.
“Yes,” Fraser answered with a long-suffering expression as he joined his hands behind his back.
“Well, can you tell from my clothes that I’m a cop? Well, can you?” Ray gestured down the front of his coat with both hands.
“Ray, that has nothing to do with parking your-”
“Humor me, Fraser, Can you tell?”
“Well, aside from a few minor- No, Ray,” Fraser answered reluctantly, “I can’t tell. But-”
“Well, Fraser, everyone can tell you’re a cop. Everyone. This is an emergency! If you don’t get new clothes right now-Jesus, it could endanger the public, couldn’t it? Are you with me?”
“Ray, I seriously doubt that my uniform could endanger the public,” Fraser said indignantly.
Ray shrugged. “Hey, Benny, be that as it may, I’m the undercover expert, and I’m taking you shopping. So this is official police business. Anyway, the cops in this neighborhood know not to ticket my car. I always shop here.” With long strides, he headed for the front door of J.F. Logan’s Fine Men’s Wear, an attractive storefront a few steps from the corner.
“Whatever you say, Ray,” Fraser replied, following him briskly. As he reached the door he removed his hat and tucked it neatly under his arm.
When the door closed behind them, all the sounds of the city faded away. Gone were the sounds of rumbling tires and blaring horns. The cold wind was stilled. Inside, all was tranquil and warm. The walls were paneled in walnut and a deep burgundy carpet muffled footfalls. A distinguished man dressed in an immaculate gray suit approached Ray with a welcoming smile.
“Mr. Vecchio, how nice to see you. What can I help you with this afternoon?”
“Well, you see, Frederick, it’s my friend.” Ray indicated Fraser, just coming through the door. “He needs everything, from the ground up.” Frederick nodded sadly as if he understood the problem in just one glance.
“Size 44 jacket, I believe. If you would be so kind as to step over here,” he said, indicating a burgundy velvet curtain, “I shall bring you some selections.”
Ray took Fraser’s arm to lead him into the dressing room while speaking confidingly into his ear. “You see, Benny? They know me here. They’ll take good care of us. You’ll see.”
On the other side of the curtain they found a spacious dressing area with mirrors on three walls and a pair of brocade loveseats.
Ray sat in one and stretched his arm out along the back. “So, Benny, you wanna get ready?” Ray looked at him expectantly.
“Ready for what, Ray?”
“Ready to try on clothes. Ready for Fred to bring you some stuff. Come on, you know how this works, right? The guy brings you the clothes, you try them on. So you have to strip down first.”
“I realize that, Ray, but I didn’t anticipate that I would have to remove my clothes in front of anyone.”
“Just me.” They looked at each other for a moment.
Ray sighed dramatically and rose. “I can’t believe you. All right, Fraser, I’m gone. Just make sure you come out and show me everything you try on, okay?” He stood on the other side of the curtain, leaning against the wall with folded arms and a long-suffering expression on his face.
When Frederick returned, he was carrying a gray suit with a blue shirt, a black leather belt, and a tie with gunmetal gray and deep blue patches.
“Hey, nice,” Ray said appreciatively. “No offense, but I think you have to hand these in. My friend is a little shy.”
“Modest, Ray,” came Fraser’s voice from the other side of the curtain.
The clothes were handed in through the curtain, and a few moments later, Fraser emerged wearing them. Ray gave a low whistle. “Bingo. Jesus, that looks good. I can’t believe this, Benny, but I think we got it in one shot. Now all you’ll need is a couple of jackets and some shirts and pants, maybe some turtlenecks. You know, stuff you can wear for everyday.” He stopped talking suddenly and looked closely at Fraser’s face. “Uh-oh. What’s the problem, Fraser?”
In fact, Fraser was looking immensely uncomfortable. “Uh, Ray, I don’t want to offend anyone. These clothes are quite fine. It’s just that… Well, I…”
Ray threw up his hands. “You don’t like them. Go ahead, just say it.”
“I just don’t think they suit me.”
“I have some other selections that might suit,” said Frederick with a reserved air.
Ray watched him go. “Look, you see? You offended him.”
“I’m sure he isn’t offended, Ray. It’s impossible to be offended by someone’s personal taste.”
“Let me tell you something, Fraser, I’m offended all the time by your personal taste,” Ray said angrily.
“It offends you?” Fraser looked surprised and hurt.
“All the time.”
“I find that most irrational, Ray.”
“Now I’m irrational?” Ray asked, leaning forward aggressively so that his face advanced on Fraser’s. “Are you calling me irrational?”
“At times you are,” Fraser said stubbornly.
“Great. I take you shopping, I try to improve your work performance-I heard how they laughed at your uniform in the precinct, don’t think I didn’t-and you call me irrational. Someday you’ll thank me for this, Benny.”
Frederick returned with a dark gray suit that was cut differently than the first. There was a white shirt to go with it. Then there was a brown and gray suit with a cream colored shirt, a navy blazer with gray slacks, and so many suits in different shades of gray and blue so that Ray started to lose count.
“So, was it the brown you didn’t hate, or was it the blue silk and linen?” He mopped his head with a handkerchief.
“Strictly speaking, I don’t ‘hate’ any of them,” Fraser said. “None of them feels…right. It’s hard to describe.”
After a few more tries, Frederick announced that the store’s supply of size 44 regular jackets and 34 slacks was exhausted. He retired to allow them to hash it out between them.
“Holy mother of god,” Ray said disgustedly. “Who the hell are you, the princess and the fucking pea?”
“I’m sorry, Ray. I just couldn’t…” He paused. “Actually, I have an idea. We passed a store on the way here that might have something appropriate.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ray asked suspiciously. “You don’t mean Brooks Brothers, do you, because I don’t shop there.”
“No, it was called Western Emporium, I believe.”
Ray swung around to look at him incredulously. “Tell me you didn’t just say that. Tell me I didn’t just spend three hours helping you to find some decent clothes, and all the time you wanted to go to Western Emporium.” Fraser started to speak but Ray cut him off. “Because you know who shops at Western Emporium, don’t you Benny? I’ll tell you who shops there. Every blue collar guy in Chicago. Every guy who wears jeans, boots, and flannel shirts to the construction site. I can’t believe this.”
“It’s simply a matter of preference, Ray,” Fraser said reasonably. “You see, I don’t really care about clothes. Animals don’t wear clothes at all, and I think-”
“You think we should all run around buck naked?” Ray snapped. “Don’t say anything else. Just get dressed.” Ray stalked out towards the street. “If you’re lucky, I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Fraser dressed quickly, leaving the clothes he had tried on hanging neatly on their hangers. Before leaving the store, he sought out Frederick and said, “Thank you kindly,” supplemented by a grateful smile. Somehow he got the impression that Frederick was not very pleased with his morning’s work.
Ray was still sitting there in the Riv with the motor running, tapping impatiently at the steering wheel. Before Fraser even closed the door he pulled away from the curb.
“Welsh is gonna kill me. There’s a ton of shit I was supposed to take care of today, and one of them is the expense account for our little undercover job. Dammit, I don’t think Welsh is gonna spring for the car. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t make me pay the city’s costs for hauling it out of the lake.” He shook his head. “Christ, I’ve been up all night and my brain is fried.”
“Four hundred dollars is a bit excessive for an expense account, Ray, don’t you think?” Fraser fiddled with his hat, turning it in his fingers.
“Thanks a lot, Fraser. That really helps. You fucking egged me on.” He made a turn that threw Fraser against the car door.
“I’m sorry, Ray. We did rid Chicago of a vicious car theft ring.”
“Yes, we did, Benny,” Ray said moodily. “And we spent too much doing it.”
There was a brief silence. “Ray?”
“What, Benny?”
“Aren’t we going to stop at the Western Emporium?”
Ray glared at him for three whole seconds and ran a traffic signal, making Fraser cringe. “No, Benny, we are not going to stop at the Western Emporium. I wouldn’t be caught dead at the fucking Western Emporium. We are going to your apartment before I go home and declare this day a total loss and finally get some sleep. Any more questions?”
“No, Ray, I think that’s quite clear.”
An icy silence reigned between them for the remainder of the trip.
Fraser kept sneaking glances at Vecchio’s profile as he drove tensely through the streets. They reached Fraser’s apartment and sat there for moment. Fraser cleared his throat and reached for the door handle.
“I need to use the john,” Ray announced and fell silent again.
Fraser waited for more, but Vecchio stared stubbornly ahead. “You’re welcome to use the one in our hall, Ray. And if it’s not working, I am certain the Sheltons on the lower landing will let you use theirs.”
“I could use some coffee, too.” Ray added absently.
Fraser did the only thing he could do. He agreed. “Yes, Ray, coffee would be good.”
Without another word, they opened the car doors and headed up the stairs.
Luckily, the bathroom on Fraser's floor was working and it was unoccupied. Fraser waited quietly in the kitchen, rotating his hat in his hands, twisting it round and round by the brim.
Ray breezed past him and started opening cupboards. He pulled down two mugs, opened a few drawers and then started searching through the cupboards below the sink.
“Fraser, where’s your coffee?”
“I ran out. I haven’t had a chance to restock since we started on the assignment.” Fraser had thought that they had been talking about the desirability of coffee in the abstract. Now that he realized Ray actually expected to drink some, he knew there would be trouble. He braced himself for Ray’s reaction.
“Well, then why did you invite me up for coffee when you don't have any?” Vecchio was almost shouting.
“Well I didn’t actually invite…” Fraser began and then fell silent.
“Don’t you start on me again, Fraser. First you say you want to clothes shop, then you don’t. Then you say, ‘Hey, come up for coffee,’ but you don’t even have any coffee. I bet you don’t have any sugar either.”
Ray’s accusatory tone began to annoy Fraser. It really wasn’t fair if Ray couldn’t be bothered to listen.
“No, I don’t have any sugar. Can I interest you in some rooibos tea?” he asked with more force than he intended.
They stared at each other like strangers. Ray muttered something under his breath. “Ya big red popsicle…” Fraser could feel his face turn red, but this time it was anger, not embarrassment, that fueled his color.
Ray picked up the mugs and shoved them back into the cupboard. With his back turned, he picked up the thread of the argument again.
“The nearest grocery store is ten blocks away; you could at least keep some extra coffee on hand.”
“In the Yukon, you have to travel 20 miles to the nearest supply depot and hand-carry your supplies in.”
Ray turned precipitously. “That’s the problem being around you, Fraser. You’re weird. You’re always talking about life in the Yukon when you’re in the middle of the U.S.A., and now I can’t even take you clothes shopping. I’ll never be able to shop at Logan’s again.”
Fraser stood up straighter to answer this injustice with simple logic. “You’re exaggerating. I’m certain that if you were to buy something, they’d be happy to sell it to you, Ray.”
“You just don’t get it. It doesn’t matter; I’m still stuck with you and your weird clothing. Why can’t you just fit in?”
“I’m comfortable with my clothing. I have been fitting in. And I’ve been adjusting quite well to the Chicago environment.” Fraser couldn't understand why Vecchio couldn’t see this.
“Look at this.” Ray’s voice edged into sarcasm. He walked over and grabbed the fabric of Fraser’s uniform. “You have no idea how bad this looks. You might as well wander around in your shorts, that’s how well you fit in. Why don’t you just take it off?”
Fraser glanced down at Ray’s fist with a bland expression. “It’s a uniform, Ray. It’s supposed to stand out.”
“Oh, give me a break, Fraser. You don’t have to wear it every minute of the day.”
“I don’t.”
“Prove it. Why don't you take it off? Do it now.”
“I don’t see the point of this.”
“It’s not about the point, it’s about the fact that you’re driving me crazy, you and your clothes. I can’t look at you any more if you’re gonna wear that outfit. If you were really my friend, you’d take it off.”
They both paused, struck by the weirdness of the conversation. Then Fraser slowly nodded his head and Ray took a deep breath. He hadn't realized he had stopped breathing.
“All right Ray, but I think to be fair you should do it too.”
“Do what? Take off my clothes? Now you’re being silly, Fraser.”
“Not any more silly than criticizing my clothing when your clothing...” Fraser stopped, realizing he had said too much.
Vecchio’s head snapped around and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What do you mean? You have something to say about my clothing?”
Fraser shook his head uncomfortably, hoping Ray would drop the subject.
“What, has someone said something about my clothing?” Ray persisted.
Desperate to distract him, Fraser mutely began unbuttoning his jacket.
“Fraser, stop nodding your head and tell me what you’re not telling me.”
Fraser couldn’t think of another way to delay the inevitable, short of lying. “You were right about the officers not really meaning to insult me in the squad room. A ‘guy thing,’ I think you called it.”
Vecchio grunted encouragingly. Fraser unbuttoned more of his jacket and plunged on.
“But it was not strictly my clothing they were discussing. It was the outfit you had selected.”
Ray looked puzzled. “Well, of course that outfit was meant to be sleazy. You were going undercover as a used car salesman, for Christ’s sake.”
“You are absolutely correct, Ray. But-” Fraser carefully folded his coat over the kitchen chair and began fiddling with his undershirt.
“Fraser!”
“I believe there was a mention of Armani suits. And something about shoulder pads and a three-headed Vecchio…” Fraser’s voice trailed off.
“And….” Ray’s voice trembled with restraint.
“What I don’t quite understand is what an Italian stallion has to do with your clothing choices.”
The silence stretched into a painful, thin moment. Fraser took advantage of the break to roll the suspenders off his shoulders.
“They are so full of shit!" Ray exploded, clipping his words angrily. “I have excellent taste in clothing. They wouldn’t know fine menswear if it jumped up and bit them in the ass.” Ray’s voice edged into a full throated roar. Fraser removed his shirt and placed it over the tunic. He really didn’t know what to say.
on to part 2
He wove his way across the room with more confidence, picking the shortest path to Ray’s desk. The polyester pants chafed uncomfortably with each step and for the thousandth time since he had first put them on at Ray’s urging, he wondered why used car salesmen couldn’t sell used cars in something more comfortable. And something less gaudy, he mentally added, looking down at the red-and-white-checkered polyester shirt.
He had asked Ray that very same question, only to be told that it was an American tradition, and if he was really serious about going undercover and if he had any hope of catching the car thieves and if he had any understanding that “partners” meant you really trusted your partner and didn’t constantly interrupt him, then he’d better shut up. So Fraser had.
But that left him sweating lightly, rummaging for the paper bag that held his spare Mountie uniform. He knew Ray had put it somewhere when they had changed at the station before going undercover. The evening had started out with Fraser in his standard-issue brown uniform, but after rescuing Ray from the lake, it had been soaked. After they had apprehended the car thieves, Ray had insisted that he change back into his “undercover” clothes rather than drip on the Riv’s seats while driving back to the station. Ray hadn’t seemed to mind the dripping when Fraser had pulled him from the water, but it seemed easier to duck into the dealership men’s room and change than to have an argument.
The interrogation room door swung open and voices came boiling out into the hall, through the swinging doors, and spread through the squad room. It had been a birthday celebration, as evidenced by the officers and police aides filing back to their desks with small paper plates holding pieces of cake. They wielded plastic forks that they waved erratically as they gestured and laughed. Fraser wondered briefly what it would be like to have his own birthday cake. His grandparents had always told him that pemmican pudding and a good book were more than enough to celebrate his entry into this world. Now that he was grown, Fraser felt it would be somehow disrespectful to try to find out otherwise.
Huey nodded in greeting across the room while taking a bite of the moist cake. Eyes averted, Fraser pulled open another drawer and winced at the tangle of old socks, men’s toiletries and paper bags. He plunged deeper into the drawer until he felt the contours of his lanyard and yanked on a bag.
Another burst of laughter pulled his attention back to where Huey and Dewey were talking to a red-headed officer. The man said something and the group turned in unison to smile at Fraser.
Fraser smiled back, stood up, and walked past them, carrying the bag of clothing.
“Heading for the lockers?” Huey asked, still grinning.
Politely, Fraser stopped. “Well, yes. I am going to change. I understand that it is important to immediately re-establish your identity after an undercover assignment.”
The red haired officer sniggered. “Christ, who dressed you? The girls on North Avenue?”
Dewey nearly choked on the piece of cake he was eating.
“No, no,” Huey replied. “Vecchio pulled together that particular ensemble.”
“Ha, I hear he’s quite the clothes man. Armani suits with shoulder pads a mile wide. Like a three-headed Italian Stallion,” the unfamiliar officer offered, rolling his eyes. This set off another round of laughter.
Fraser caught the gist behind the joke and hesitated. While Ray’s clothing did border on the extreme from time to time, it wasn’t as bad as they were making it sound. Nevertheless, Fraser wasn’t sure that Ray would appreciate him defending his wardrobe.
He nodded again politely and turned to leave, only to collide with something small, soft and indisputably Elaine. Her plate arced upwards and landed squarely against his chest.
“Oh my God, Fraser! Oh - my - God! I am so sorry,” she squeaked. “Let me, just let me - wait here. Oh my God,” she said and ran off, leaving Fraser holding the plate and fork against his own chest. He could feel the icing oozing through the thin fabric. He remained completely still, afraid that if he moved too quickly, it would slide even lower.
Behind him, he could hear a loud coughing sound and then Huey gasped, “Oh my God, Fraser. Did you - did you see Elaine’s face?”
“She nearly wet her pants,” Dewey replied in an awed and strangled voice.
“Don’t move Fraser, she’d kill us if you weren’t here when she got back. You’ve just made her day.”
“Hope she brings a towel. Although the way she looked at him, she’d probably be happy to lick him clean.” This set off another round of choking and gasping.
Fraser turned bright red. The conversation really wasn’t appropriate, although he had to admit that Elaine did have an odd look in her eye when she ran towards the ladies room.
“Oh look, now he’s turning red. If Elaine doesn’t hurry, he’ll match that red suit he wears.”
“Like a giant red lobster, from head to toe.” More heads turned and the laughter increased, rippling across the squad room and down the hall. Fraser stood frozen with embarrassment.
“Don’t you guys have anything better to do than stand around gossiping like a bunch of fairies?” Vecchio's voice rang down the hall. He had been parking the car and had to circle the lot several times before finding an empty spot. His glare grew exponentially as he approached the knot of laughing men…men who were suddenly sporting innocent expressions, but Vecchio was not fooled. He ripped the plate out of Fraser’s hands and tossed it into a nearby waste bin. The fork clattered to the ground. Before Fraser could bend over to pick it up, Vecchio was steering him through the crowded hall towards the men’s locker room.
“Christ Fraser, why do you let them do that to you?”
Fraser shook his head and then they were through the doors. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Elaine trailing after them, clutching a wad of moistened paper towels.
“Do what Ray? I didn’t let them ‘do’ anything. I think they were able to do ‘that’ quite well on their own.” Fraser stood by as Ray reached the locker first and opened it with a few brusque twists of his hand.
“How can you expect to be taken seriously when you insist on wearing a red suit with baggy pants everywhere you go? It’s not like it’s required.”
“Well, it is when you are on guard duty, Ray,” he said, opening the paper bag and looking inside. “And also for ceremonial visits from the Queen. And -”
Ray yanked the bag from Fraser’s grasp and tossed it on the bench. “Fraser, remember what we discussed before this assignment. Tell me you remember what we discussed.”
Overbalanced by the heavy boots inside, the bag of clothes slid off the bench to land on the floor with a clunk. Fraser winced. That was no way to treat a dress uniform. “We did discuss the value of listening to one’s partner’s assessment of clothing appropriate to a specific case,” he replied primly, “but that was while we were undercover, and in a milieu that you are admittedly more familiar with. I don’t think you are an expert on the RCMP’s rules and regulations as they pertain to uniforms.”
Ray stared at him steadily. “My shirt is ruined. Take it off.”
“That was what I was planning on doing.”
“Fine.”
The silence hung awkwardly between them while Fraser retrieved the bag and pulled out his tunic. It was like waving a red flag at a bull.
“Dammit, Fraser,” Vecchio started up again. “You know I’m right. Why can’t you even try to fit in? We’re here and this is Chicago. Do you like them laughing at your taste in clothes? Is that it?”
Fraser looked down at the uniform and shook his head. “Ray, they weren’t laughing at the suit exactly. They were laughing at…” and then he stopped. How could he tell Vecchio that they had started off by laughing at an outfit that Ray had so carefully selected? One that Fraser had now ruined?
He looked up and saw Ray’s eyes soften, apparently misunderstanding what Fraser was trying not to say. “Oh hell, Fraser. I didn’t mean that. They weren’t really laughing at you. It’s just a guy thing, you know.”
Ray’s words made Fraser feel even guiltier. “I’ll pay for the cleaning bill” was all he could think of saying.
“Forget the shirt, Fraser. I have dozens like that at home. Besides, it was too big for me anyway.” He stood back and eyed his partner thoughtfully.
“I know what’d cheer you up. Let’s get a few outfits for you. Ones that won’t make you look so - baggy and bright. There’s a men’s shop I go to that might have something that’d suit you.”
“That’s not necessary, Ray, really. You don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, come on Fraser. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Fraser nodded hesitantly.
“And friends help each other. Tell each other truths, the kind of truths other people won’t tell you. And I am telling you, as my partner, you gotta do something about the clothes.”
Right now, Fraser doubted that he himself would qualify as a good friend. If he couldn’t tell Ray the truth about the squad room banter, how could he tell him he believed he was more effective in his own clothes, using his own methods, no matter where he might be situated?
But the look in Ray’s eyes pulled him out of the station and into the Riv. He did insist on putting on his uniform again, watching Ray eye him disapprovingly while retrieving his own suit from the locker.
Ray parked in a red zone and got out of the car.
“Uh, Ray?” Fraser climbed out slowly, leaving the door open.
“Yeah, Benny?”
“I believe this is a no-parking zone.”
“So it is, Benny.”
“Aren’t you going to move your car?”
Ray looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Why should I do that, Benny? I’m a cop.”
“But, uh, Ray”-Fraser cleared his throat-“this isn’t exactly official business.”
“Sure it is. What could be more official than fixing your wardrobe problem? If you don’t have the right clothes, Fraser, you can’t go undercover. Look, I’m a plainclothes detective, right? Right?” He gestured outward with both palms up.
“Yes,” Fraser answered with a long-suffering expression as he joined his hands behind his back.
“Well, can you tell from my clothes that I’m a cop? Well, can you?” Ray gestured down the front of his coat with both hands.
“Ray, that has nothing to do with parking your-”
“Humor me, Fraser, Can you tell?”
“Well, aside from a few minor- No, Ray,” Fraser answered reluctantly, “I can’t tell. But-”
“Well, Fraser, everyone can tell you’re a cop. Everyone. This is an emergency! If you don’t get new clothes right now-Jesus, it could endanger the public, couldn’t it? Are you with me?”
“Ray, I seriously doubt that my uniform could endanger the public,” Fraser said indignantly.
Ray shrugged. “Hey, Benny, be that as it may, I’m the undercover expert, and I’m taking you shopping. So this is official police business. Anyway, the cops in this neighborhood know not to ticket my car. I always shop here.” With long strides, he headed for the front door of J.F. Logan’s Fine Men’s Wear, an attractive storefront a few steps from the corner.
“Whatever you say, Ray,” Fraser replied, following him briskly. As he reached the door he removed his hat and tucked it neatly under his arm.
When the door closed behind them, all the sounds of the city faded away. Gone were the sounds of rumbling tires and blaring horns. The cold wind was stilled. Inside, all was tranquil and warm. The walls were paneled in walnut and a deep burgundy carpet muffled footfalls. A distinguished man dressed in an immaculate gray suit approached Ray with a welcoming smile.
“Mr. Vecchio, how nice to see you. What can I help you with this afternoon?”
“Well, you see, Frederick, it’s my friend.” Ray indicated Fraser, just coming through the door. “He needs everything, from the ground up.” Frederick nodded sadly as if he understood the problem in just one glance.
“Size 44 jacket, I believe. If you would be so kind as to step over here,” he said, indicating a burgundy velvet curtain, “I shall bring you some selections.”
Ray took Fraser’s arm to lead him into the dressing room while speaking confidingly into his ear. “You see, Benny? They know me here. They’ll take good care of us. You’ll see.”
On the other side of the curtain they found a spacious dressing area with mirrors on three walls and a pair of brocade loveseats.
Ray sat in one and stretched his arm out along the back. “So, Benny, you wanna get ready?” Ray looked at him expectantly.
“Ready for what, Ray?”
“Ready to try on clothes. Ready for Fred to bring you some stuff. Come on, you know how this works, right? The guy brings you the clothes, you try them on. So you have to strip down first.”
“I realize that, Ray, but I didn’t anticipate that I would have to remove my clothes in front of anyone.”
“Just me.” They looked at each other for a moment.
Ray sighed dramatically and rose. “I can’t believe you. All right, Fraser, I’m gone. Just make sure you come out and show me everything you try on, okay?” He stood on the other side of the curtain, leaning against the wall with folded arms and a long-suffering expression on his face.
When Frederick returned, he was carrying a gray suit with a blue shirt, a black leather belt, and a tie with gunmetal gray and deep blue patches.
“Hey, nice,” Ray said appreciatively. “No offense, but I think you have to hand these in. My friend is a little shy.”
“Modest, Ray,” came Fraser’s voice from the other side of the curtain.
The clothes were handed in through the curtain, and a few moments later, Fraser emerged wearing them. Ray gave a low whistle. “Bingo. Jesus, that looks good. I can’t believe this, Benny, but I think we got it in one shot. Now all you’ll need is a couple of jackets and some shirts and pants, maybe some turtlenecks. You know, stuff you can wear for everyday.” He stopped talking suddenly and looked closely at Fraser’s face. “Uh-oh. What’s the problem, Fraser?”
In fact, Fraser was looking immensely uncomfortable. “Uh, Ray, I don’t want to offend anyone. These clothes are quite fine. It’s just that… Well, I…”
Ray threw up his hands. “You don’t like them. Go ahead, just say it.”
“I just don’t think they suit me.”
“I have some other selections that might suit,” said Frederick with a reserved air.
Ray watched him go. “Look, you see? You offended him.”
“I’m sure he isn’t offended, Ray. It’s impossible to be offended by someone’s personal taste.”
“Let me tell you something, Fraser, I’m offended all the time by your personal taste,” Ray said angrily.
“It offends you?” Fraser looked surprised and hurt.
“All the time.”
“I find that most irrational, Ray.”
“Now I’m irrational?” Ray asked, leaning forward aggressively so that his face advanced on Fraser’s. “Are you calling me irrational?”
“At times you are,” Fraser said stubbornly.
“Great. I take you shopping, I try to improve your work performance-I heard how they laughed at your uniform in the precinct, don’t think I didn’t-and you call me irrational. Someday you’ll thank me for this, Benny.”
Frederick returned with a dark gray suit that was cut differently than the first. There was a white shirt to go with it. Then there was a brown and gray suit with a cream colored shirt, a navy blazer with gray slacks, and so many suits in different shades of gray and blue so that Ray started to lose count.
“So, was it the brown you didn’t hate, or was it the blue silk and linen?” He mopped his head with a handkerchief.
“Strictly speaking, I don’t ‘hate’ any of them,” Fraser said. “None of them feels…right. It’s hard to describe.”
After a few more tries, Frederick announced that the store’s supply of size 44 regular jackets and 34 slacks was exhausted. He retired to allow them to hash it out between them.
“Holy mother of god,” Ray said disgustedly. “Who the hell are you, the princess and the fucking pea?”
“I’m sorry, Ray. I just couldn’t…” He paused. “Actually, I have an idea. We passed a store on the way here that might have something appropriate.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ray asked suspiciously. “You don’t mean Brooks Brothers, do you, because I don’t shop there.”
“No, it was called Western Emporium, I believe.”
Ray swung around to look at him incredulously. “Tell me you didn’t just say that. Tell me I didn’t just spend three hours helping you to find some decent clothes, and all the time you wanted to go to Western Emporium.” Fraser started to speak but Ray cut him off. “Because you know who shops at Western Emporium, don’t you Benny? I’ll tell you who shops there. Every blue collar guy in Chicago. Every guy who wears jeans, boots, and flannel shirts to the construction site. I can’t believe this.”
“It’s simply a matter of preference, Ray,” Fraser said reasonably. “You see, I don’t really care about clothes. Animals don’t wear clothes at all, and I think-”
“You think we should all run around buck naked?” Ray snapped. “Don’t say anything else. Just get dressed.” Ray stalked out towards the street. “If you’re lucky, I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Fraser dressed quickly, leaving the clothes he had tried on hanging neatly on their hangers. Before leaving the store, he sought out Frederick and said, “Thank you kindly,” supplemented by a grateful smile. Somehow he got the impression that Frederick was not very pleased with his morning’s work.
Ray was still sitting there in the Riv with the motor running, tapping impatiently at the steering wheel. Before Fraser even closed the door he pulled away from the curb.
“Welsh is gonna kill me. There’s a ton of shit I was supposed to take care of today, and one of them is the expense account for our little undercover job. Dammit, I don’t think Welsh is gonna spring for the car. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t make me pay the city’s costs for hauling it out of the lake.” He shook his head. “Christ, I’ve been up all night and my brain is fried.”
“Four hundred dollars is a bit excessive for an expense account, Ray, don’t you think?” Fraser fiddled with his hat, turning it in his fingers.
“Thanks a lot, Fraser. That really helps. You fucking egged me on.” He made a turn that threw Fraser against the car door.
“I’m sorry, Ray. We did rid Chicago of a vicious car theft ring.”
“Yes, we did, Benny,” Ray said moodily. “And we spent too much doing it.”
There was a brief silence. “Ray?”
“What, Benny?”
“Aren’t we going to stop at the Western Emporium?”
Ray glared at him for three whole seconds and ran a traffic signal, making Fraser cringe. “No, Benny, we are not going to stop at the Western Emporium. I wouldn’t be caught dead at the fucking Western Emporium. We are going to your apartment before I go home and declare this day a total loss and finally get some sleep. Any more questions?”
“No, Ray, I think that’s quite clear.”
An icy silence reigned between them for the remainder of the trip.
Fraser kept sneaking glances at Vecchio’s profile as he drove tensely through the streets. They reached Fraser’s apartment and sat there for moment. Fraser cleared his throat and reached for the door handle.
“I need to use the john,” Ray announced and fell silent again.
Fraser waited for more, but Vecchio stared stubbornly ahead. “You’re welcome to use the one in our hall, Ray. And if it’s not working, I am certain the Sheltons on the lower landing will let you use theirs.”
“I could use some coffee, too.” Ray added absently.
Fraser did the only thing he could do. He agreed. “Yes, Ray, coffee would be good.”
Without another word, they opened the car doors and headed up the stairs.
Luckily, the bathroom on Fraser's floor was working and it was unoccupied. Fraser waited quietly in the kitchen, rotating his hat in his hands, twisting it round and round by the brim.
Ray breezed past him and started opening cupboards. He pulled down two mugs, opened a few drawers and then started searching through the cupboards below the sink.
“Fraser, where’s your coffee?”
“I ran out. I haven’t had a chance to restock since we started on the assignment.” Fraser had thought that they had been talking about the desirability of coffee in the abstract. Now that he realized Ray actually expected to drink some, he knew there would be trouble. He braced himself for Ray’s reaction.
“Well, then why did you invite me up for coffee when you don't have any?” Vecchio was almost shouting.
“Well I didn’t actually invite…” Fraser began and then fell silent.
“Don’t you start on me again, Fraser. First you say you want to clothes shop, then you don’t. Then you say, ‘Hey, come up for coffee,’ but you don’t even have any coffee. I bet you don’t have any sugar either.”
Ray’s accusatory tone began to annoy Fraser. It really wasn’t fair if Ray couldn’t be bothered to listen.
“No, I don’t have any sugar. Can I interest you in some rooibos tea?” he asked with more force than he intended.
They stared at each other like strangers. Ray muttered something under his breath. “Ya big red popsicle…” Fraser could feel his face turn red, but this time it was anger, not embarrassment, that fueled his color.
Ray picked up the mugs and shoved them back into the cupboard. With his back turned, he picked up the thread of the argument again.
“The nearest grocery store is ten blocks away; you could at least keep some extra coffee on hand.”
“In the Yukon, you have to travel 20 miles to the nearest supply depot and hand-carry your supplies in.”
Ray turned precipitously. “That’s the problem being around you, Fraser. You’re weird. You’re always talking about life in the Yukon when you’re in the middle of the U.S.A., and now I can’t even take you clothes shopping. I’ll never be able to shop at Logan’s again.”
Fraser stood up straighter to answer this injustice with simple logic. “You’re exaggerating. I’m certain that if you were to buy something, they’d be happy to sell it to you, Ray.”
“You just don’t get it. It doesn’t matter; I’m still stuck with you and your weird clothing. Why can’t you just fit in?”
“I’m comfortable with my clothing. I have been fitting in. And I’ve been adjusting quite well to the Chicago environment.” Fraser couldn't understand why Vecchio couldn’t see this.
“Look at this.” Ray’s voice edged into sarcasm. He walked over and grabbed the fabric of Fraser’s uniform. “You have no idea how bad this looks. You might as well wander around in your shorts, that’s how well you fit in. Why don’t you just take it off?”
Fraser glanced down at Ray’s fist with a bland expression. “It’s a uniform, Ray. It’s supposed to stand out.”
“Oh, give me a break, Fraser. You don’t have to wear it every minute of the day.”
“I don’t.”
“Prove it. Why don't you take it off? Do it now.”
“I don’t see the point of this.”
“It’s not about the point, it’s about the fact that you’re driving me crazy, you and your clothes. I can’t look at you any more if you’re gonna wear that outfit. If you were really my friend, you’d take it off.”
They both paused, struck by the weirdness of the conversation. Then Fraser slowly nodded his head and Ray took a deep breath. He hadn't realized he had stopped breathing.
“All right Ray, but I think to be fair you should do it too.”
“Do what? Take off my clothes? Now you’re being silly, Fraser.”
“Not any more silly than criticizing my clothing when your clothing...” Fraser stopped, realizing he had said too much.
Vecchio’s head snapped around and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What do you mean? You have something to say about my clothing?”
Fraser shook his head uncomfortably, hoping Ray would drop the subject.
“What, has someone said something about my clothing?” Ray persisted.
Desperate to distract him, Fraser mutely began unbuttoning his jacket.
“Fraser, stop nodding your head and tell me what you’re not telling me.”
Fraser couldn’t think of another way to delay the inevitable, short of lying. “You were right about the officers not really meaning to insult me in the squad room. A ‘guy thing,’ I think you called it.”
Vecchio grunted encouragingly. Fraser unbuttoned more of his jacket and plunged on.
“But it was not strictly my clothing they were discussing. It was the outfit you had selected.”
Ray looked puzzled. “Well, of course that outfit was meant to be sleazy. You were going undercover as a used car salesman, for Christ’s sake.”
“You are absolutely correct, Ray. But-” Fraser carefully folded his coat over the kitchen chair and began fiddling with his undershirt.
“Fraser!”
“I believe there was a mention of Armani suits. And something about shoulder pads and a three-headed Vecchio…” Fraser’s voice trailed off.
“And….” Ray’s voice trembled with restraint.
“What I don’t quite understand is what an Italian stallion has to do with your clothing choices.”
The silence stretched into a painful, thin moment. Fraser took advantage of the break to roll the suspenders off his shoulders.
“They are so full of shit!" Ray exploded, clipping his words angrily. “I have excellent taste in clothing. They wouldn’t know fine menswear if it jumped up and bit them in the ass.” Ray’s voice edged into a full throated roar. Fraser removed his shirt and placed it over the tunic. He really didn’t know what to say.
on to part 2