Title: Silence

Author: necessary angel

Pairing: RT/RK and BF/RK

Rating: G m/m implications

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Spoilers: Some for "Asylum" and minor ones for "Burning Down the House."

Notes: This picks up just after the end of "Asylum". Te asked and this was the result, it just took a little longer than I expected. Thanks are more than due to Kasha and Megan for fine beta services. And thanks also to Maxine for the read through and suggestions. This is a much better story thanks to them.

All errors and transgressions are mine alone comments etc to necessary_angel@yahoo.com

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Silence
by necessary angel

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It is dark and quiet in the Consulate. This is more than somewhat unsettling after the excitement of the last couple of days. I'm looking over my shoulder, jumping at shadows that are as familiar as my own hands. I have been restless all afternoon. The sole reason I'm still here, long after Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser have left, is the need to complete my report.

I've no idea where the Inspector spends her off-duty hours, nor do I care to know. Constable Fraser, on the other hand...I know where he will be, or rather, with whom. My colleague is a creature of habit, and the Consulate holds little attraction for him most evenings. I suppose I would feel the same if I were sleeping in my office...a choice I find somewhat odd, but Benton seems content enough, happy even. Perhaps that has little to do with his living arrangements. I shake my head and turn my attention, as best as I can, back to my task.

It isn't, however, Benton's familiar voice I keep listening for as I struggle over the final paragraphs of my report. It isn't his footsteps that I'm almost certain I hear. No, it is someone whose absence I feel very strongly, despite the short time for which he took refuge here.

He has gotten under my skin in a way few other people have ever managed. Detective Vecchio, this latest version of him, that is. The first time I saw him, I was shocked. This was the man they had chosen to replace Benton's unofficial partner? It made even less sense than most official decisions and choices. I could only suppose that this lean, blond man, with unconventional hair and the most compelling eyes I'd ever seen, had the necessary talent and skill to offset his striking physical differences from the real Raymond Vecchio. Fortunately, the remote threat of fire to the new Consulate building had provided an ideal opportunity to cover my startled reaction.

I could chalk it up to the unexpected physical appearance of the man. Inspector Thatcher had of course briefed me. Fully, I can only assume. I know she has very little respect for my abilities, but there would have been little point in concealing information in this case. As best as I can gather, it was a rushed operation, and the Americans had been unable to provide a photograph. I was expecting ...well, a different person to be accompanying Constable Fraser. I could put it down to just how different he was, but that would be less than honest. The strength of my reaction surprised and disconcerted me. I didn't like that feeling. I didn't like the fascination I felt, either.

An absorption that neither he nor Benton had time or inclination to notice. They were entirely too fascinated with each other. I see more than they think. Or, more truthfully, perhaps they don't care who sees.

For a man who is supposed to be an undercover cop, Ray Vecchio's replacement makes very little effort to hide what he is thinking and feeling. As for my colleague, Benton Fraser is more open and far easier to work with than he has been in a very long time.

I have learned to deal with it. My envy at the ease and speed with which they have formed a real partnership, a real friendship, that is. You would have to be even more impervious than I supposedly am not to notice that. What I find less easy to deal with is my own resentment of that connection and the simmering, seemingly mutual, attraction that shivers between them.

My contact with the new Detective Vecchio - it still seems ridiculous to call him that - had been sporadic and mercifully brief. Until he came sliding into the Consulate hallway on his knees, yelling Constable Fraser's name as he all but collapsed at my feet.

He was, of course, all challenge and attitude when Constable Fraser left him in my charge. I'd expected that, wanted that. Not just for the innate appeal of it, for it is a look he wears well, but because it gave me the necessary space, any fluster on my part was easily explained away.

I hadn't intended to escalate it, to find myself egging him on, challenging him. I couldn't help myself; I'm a pushover for such situations. I hadn't found someone who would and could play like that since I came to Chicago.

Would I have really fought him over curling?

Maybe.

Nothing serious, though.

He looks like he might spar - something about his stance, playful as it was. I haven't boxed very often since I came to Chicago. Part of me wishes that I'd been able to see what he would have done. I think he might have carried it through, I think we would have had a little sparring match, to our mutual satisfaction.

I can't pretend that our confrontation was anything more than a diversion for him. To sit back and watch your career disappearing is one of the more distressing experiences a policeman ever undergoes. I was a distraction, more of one than he expected. There was speculation amongst the challenge and attitude in his eyes when he started playing me in order to obtain my uniform. I might have played it much more dumbly than I did if it hadn't been for that look.

Ray is quick in all ways and I didn't want him thinking too hard about me. I certainly didn't want him picking up on my helpless fascination with him. I've no option but to smother what I feel, such things when unrequited are best left unacknowledged.

Getting him into my uniform was a disquieting experience. I hadn't expected him to look like he had been wearing it every day of his life. By rights he should have looked ridiculous, given the disparity in our physiques, or, at the very least, uncomfortable. He certainly complained enough as he struggled with the unfamiliar fastenings, but by the time he left the Consulate building, that uniform was his.

I've just caught myself sniffing the collar of my tunic for perhaps the hundredth time since he returned it to me last night. Oh, for God's sake, Renfield. My muttered self-recrimination sounds unnaturally loud and I look around before taking a deep breath. Whatever traces of Ray there had been were long gone. I had been wearing the tunic all day, for heaven's sake, and it was almost midnight.

My reasoning didn't matter in the slightest; my tunic still feels unnatural, odd against my skin. I hate that feeling. I haven't felt it since I left the Academy. I don't think I have ever felt it to this degree before. The dress uniform is impractical at times, especially during the summer, but it has never previously felt like I am wearing someone else's skin.

I smooth one hand down my chest and pick up my report once more. I've no wish to spend the night in the Consulate. Playing my part in Constable Fraser's simplistic and extremely effective plan this morning reminded me of how much I miss police work. I was lucky to get this position in Chicago, but a Consular career hadn't been my original intention when I joined the RCMP. I would settle to my usual duties soon enough, but even the extra paperwork can't take the edge off of being back in the saddle again.

My reports are finally complete when I hear a key in the main door.

"Turnbull! What on earth are you still doing here?"

"Don't ya have a home to go to?" Ray winks at me as he turns back towards the door.

Benton glances at him with a slight frown and Ray pauses in the doorway. He looks at me, and, then quickly, back at Benton.

"I was just finishing up. Inspector Thatcher wanted my report on this morning's events on her desk first thing." I stand and gather my papers.

"I see."

Benton turns away slightly and shakes his head at Ray. I hide my smile as I move towards Inspector Thatcher's office to deposit my report.

"I'll pick ya up after your shift tomorrow. 'Night, Fraze."

"Good night, Ray."

"'Night, Turnbull."

Ray's voice is pitched perfectly to reach me in my hideaway. I say nothing and barely breathe while I wait. The door bangs shut behind Ray, and I can hear Benton moving towards his office. I sit in Inspector Thatcher's chair, my fingers clenched around my report, and wait for the Consulate to fall silent again.

Silence; yes, that's what I need.

End.