Due South: Black Ice (The Slippery Slope Remix)
[ Fraser/Kowalski | PG | 991 words ]
Soon after the events of “Eclipse,” Ray has a bad day.
Original story: Black Ice by keerawa, 2,882 words.
Remix author: nos4a2no9
Black Ice (The Slippery Slope Remix)
Something was wrong with Fraser. Really wrong.
I didn’t know the guy too well, that’s true. We’d only been partnered a couple of weeks, and I was a little distracted, what with the being shot and almost drowning in a burning car and saving Ray the Former from a nasty IA beef. My attention might have been a little divided, but I had picked up on the fact that Benton Fraser, RCMP, my new partner in red serge, wasn’t doing too good.
He came to see me at the station. Fraser was a little earlier than we’d agreed, but I was happy because I’d just picked up a case that Dewey the Fish-Smelling Wonder had blown, and I needed someone to speak to the witness. Since I wasn’t exactly fluent in Chinese, Fraser sure came in handy. When I started to explain to him about the case, one quick look at his face showed that he was...sick, or something. His face was grey and he looked tired, and it didn’t look like he was focusing properly. I checked him out like my mom did when I wasn’t feeling good: hand on his forehead (cool, soft skin) checked out his pupils (Jesus, his eyes were really blue), asked if he was okay.
“Actually, Ray, I’m not feeling very well today.”
Weird of him to admit it. Like I said, I didn’t know the guy too well, but it was pretty clear he wasn’t the type to flat-out say things like that. He had to be feeling lousy.
I suggested as much, but he insisted that, “Translation duties should be sufficiently restful, Ray."
He may be a bit of a freak, but man, I dig the way he talks. And I really needed him on the case. “Okay,” I gave in, telling myself I wasn’t just being a selfish bastard who wanted him along for the company. “But let me know if you start feelin' worse.”
Funny thing was, I did trust him to let me know.
We headed out towards Cook County, and I wished we were cruising along in something better than the pool car. The shocks on the ’97 Intrepid were for shit, and it looked like all the little bumps and jolts were bothering Fraser. He just kept getting paler, staring out at the city with this awful look on his face. I had to wonder what he sees when he watches the city like that. Urban blight, I guess: ugly, run-down old buildings, garbage everywhere, smog and pollution and crowded streets. Real different from what he’s used to.
I don’t know much about Canada, but I don’t think they have cities like Chicago. Or at least, not in Fraser’s Canada. He’d said something about walking on land and sky all at once, and I think he meant that up there, you have a foot in both worlds. Heaven, and Earth. Down here in the big, bad ol’ city, there’s just the one place. And it’s hard to look at, sometimes.
I tried to talk about the case, keep up the conversation so he wouldn’t look so sad and be so quiet. But the words felt hollow and flat, sort of...ugly. And ordinary. Nothing like Fraser. Nothing like the words he needed to hear so he could feel better.
But my attention was divided again. I was thinking about my partner, about this guy who was like no one else I’d ever met. I wasn’t focused on what I was doing, and so when we hit the black ice I panicked. Just for a second, but I was sure--dead sure--that I’d turned into the skid a second too late. The guardrail rushed up and there was a sickening sound of the Intrepid’s tires scraping uselessly against the ice.
You know how they say that your life flashes before your eyes when you’re sure you’re going to die? Never happens. At least, it doesn’t happen to me, and I’ve been in some bad situations. Instead, I usually get a flash of stuff that didn’t happen. Hugging my dad at graduation. My kid being born. Dancing with Stella on our fiftieth anniversary. Good stuff, mostly, but sad. Real sad.
But I saw something new there, in that second before the car skidded to a halt on the bridge instead of plunging through the guardrail and down into the river. I saw me and Fraser curled up in bed together. We weren’t doing anything much, just sleeping. His arms were wrapped around me and he was holding me so close and so tight, his nose pressed into my neck. And we looked...God, we looked happy. Content.
It was a weird fucking image for my brain to supply, and I guess I was so focused on it that it took me an extra couple of seconds to realize that we weren’t actually dead.
“Ray?”
Fraser’s voice startled me a bit. He was looking at me, and he seemed so quiet and calm. Just like he did in that picture in my head. I shook out my shoulders, breathed in through my nose. I wanted to feel angry. Or relieved. Something. Something besides sad, and kind of empty. Because that stuff I’d seen, me and Fraser like that...I wanted it. I really wanted it. And that scared me.
“Fucking black ice!” I banged my hands on the wheel so hard that my palms stung and my fingers ached. I fumbled for the radio and barely heard the door slam behind Fraser.
I called it in, set up my flashers. Tried to stop shaking. Tried not to watch Fraser standing there, so tall and so proud and so alone, watching the cars glide by on the expressway below.
What did he see, in that second? Stuff he regretted never having, or something that he hadn’t known that he’d always wanted?
I opened my door, and tried to figure out how to ask.
Soon after the events of “Eclipse,” Ray has a bad day.
Original story: Black Ice by keerawa, 2,882 words.
Remix author: nos4a2no9
Black Ice (The Slippery Slope Remix)
Something was wrong with Fraser. Really wrong.
I didn’t know the guy too well, that’s true. We’d only been partnered a couple of weeks, and I was a little distracted, what with the being shot and almost drowning in a burning car and saving Ray the Former from a nasty IA beef. My attention might have been a little divided, but I had picked up on the fact that Benton Fraser, RCMP, my new partner in red serge, wasn’t doing too good.
He came to see me at the station. Fraser was a little earlier than we’d agreed, but I was happy because I’d just picked up a case that Dewey the Fish-Smelling Wonder had blown, and I needed someone to speak to the witness. Since I wasn’t exactly fluent in Chinese, Fraser sure came in handy. When I started to explain to him about the case, one quick look at his face showed that he was...sick, or something. His face was grey and he looked tired, and it didn’t look like he was focusing properly. I checked him out like my mom did when I wasn’t feeling good: hand on his forehead (cool, soft skin) checked out his pupils (Jesus, his eyes were really blue), asked if he was okay.
“Actually, Ray, I’m not feeling very well today.”
Weird of him to admit it. Like I said, I didn’t know the guy too well, but it was pretty clear he wasn’t the type to flat-out say things like that. He had to be feeling lousy.
I suggested as much, but he insisted that, “Translation duties should be sufficiently restful, Ray."
He may be a bit of a freak, but man, I dig the way he talks. And I really needed him on the case. “Okay,” I gave in, telling myself I wasn’t just being a selfish bastard who wanted him along for the company. “But let me know if you start feelin' worse.”
Funny thing was, I did trust him to let me know.
We headed out towards Cook County, and I wished we were cruising along in something better than the pool car. The shocks on the ’97 Intrepid were for shit, and it looked like all the little bumps and jolts were bothering Fraser. He just kept getting paler, staring out at the city with this awful look on his face. I had to wonder what he sees when he watches the city like that. Urban blight, I guess: ugly, run-down old buildings, garbage everywhere, smog and pollution and crowded streets. Real different from what he’s used to.
I don’t know much about Canada, but I don’t think they have cities like Chicago. Or at least, not in Fraser’s Canada. He’d said something about walking on land and sky all at once, and I think he meant that up there, you have a foot in both worlds. Heaven, and Earth. Down here in the big, bad ol’ city, there’s just the one place. And it’s hard to look at, sometimes.
I tried to talk about the case, keep up the conversation so he wouldn’t look so sad and be so quiet. But the words felt hollow and flat, sort of...ugly. And ordinary. Nothing like Fraser. Nothing like the words he needed to hear so he could feel better.
But my attention was divided again. I was thinking about my partner, about this guy who was like no one else I’d ever met. I wasn’t focused on what I was doing, and so when we hit the black ice I panicked. Just for a second, but I was sure--dead sure--that I’d turned into the skid a second too late. The guardrail rushed up and there was a sickening sound of the Intrepid’s tires scraping uselessly against the ice.
You know how they say that your life flashes before your eyes when you’re sure you’re going to die? Never happens. At least, it doesn’t happen to me, and I’ve been in some bad situations. Instead, I usually get a flash of stuff that didn’t happen. Hugging my dad at graduation. My kid being born. Dancing with Stella on our fiftieth anniversary. Good stuff, mostly, but sad. Real sad.
But I saw something new there, in that second before the car skidded to a halt on the bridge instead of plunging through the guardrail and down into the river. I saw me and Fraser curled up in bed together. We weren’t doing anything much, just sleeping. His arms were wrapped around me and he was holding me so close and so tight, his nose pressed into my neck. And we looked...God, we looked happy. Content.
It was a weird fucking image for my brain to supply, and I guess I was so focused on it that it took me an extra couple of seconds to realize that we weren’t actually dead.
“Ray?”
Fraser’s voice startled me a bit. He was looking at me, and he seemed so quiet and calm. Just like he did in that picture in my head. I shook out my shoulders, breathed in through my nose. I wanted to feel angry. Or relieved. Something. Something besides sad, and kind of empty. Because that stuff I’d seen, me and Fraser like that...I wanted it. I really wanted it. And that scared me.
“Fucking black ice!” I banged my hands on the wheel so hard that my palms stung and my fingers ached. I fumbled for the radio and barely heard the door slam behind Fraser.
I called it in, set up my flashers. Tried to stop shaking. Tried not to watch Fraser standing there, so tall and so proud and so alone, watching the cars glide by on the expressway below.
What did he see, in that second? Stuff he regretted never having, or something that he hadn’t known that he’d always wanted?
I opened my door, and tried to figure out how to ask.