All Due South characters belong to Alliance.

This story is a sequel to Just One Look. It's the same story, but this time as told from Fraser's POV. Rated PG.

Thank you Linda, for the suggestion to write this.

I love feedback, even negative BiermannR@home.com

A Second Look

by Ruthie Biermann

I must admit I'm disappointed in Ray. I was certain he would agree to participate in a foot race for charity this weekend. I'm afraid I cannot hide my disapproval as he declines my request. Watching him speak, I notice he's irritated with me, and I haven't a clue as to why. I haven't said anything since I first approached him about the race, but he's staring at me and growing steadily more annoyed.

"Fraser, I told ya I'm too busy ta go running in a race with you this weekend," he says and proceeds to wave his arms in a grand gesture over the substantial pile of case files lying on his desk. Apparently, Leftenant Welsh has issued him an ultimatum for the work to be completed by Monday. I think about the many times I've suggested to Ray that he work on his files in a timely manner, thus avoiding this burden every few months. Evidently, my words have fallen on deaf ears. I decide to broach him again about the race.

"Ray, it's for a good cause. The more people who participate, the more money they can raise for the local homeless shelters."

He shakes his head at me. "Do not do that, Fraser. Do not do that to me," he barks. I'm afraid I have no idea what he's accusing me of doing. I seem to have agitated him even more now, although I'm still at a loss as to the reason. I decide to question him, remaining optimistic he'll reply without biting my head off.

"Do what, Ray?" I ask as I look at him blankly. I'm trying not to further incite him.

He's pointing at my face. "That, Fraser. What yer doin' with yer face and yer head...and makin' me feel all guilty."

I can't imagine what he's talking about and I tell him so. And I certainly cannot be blamed for his feelings of guilt over having turned me down. Based on his behavior, I can only surmise that Ray is sensitive to my non verbal facial expressions, although why, I cannot fathom. I can call his name five times before he responds, but it appears I give him one simple look, and he accuses me of being the source of his guilt. The only other individual who's sensitive to my tacit expressions in this manner is my companion, Diefenbaker. However, he's a wolf...a deaf wolf...so it's quite logical for him to respond to me on that level. Why Ray seems to be so highly attuned to my countenance is a mystery. Dare I admit to myself that I have such power over my partner? It's quite an intriguing scenario. I'll definitely have to think about this at another time.

He's now rewarding me with a face any five year old would be proud of when his Mother tells him to eat his string beans. I wait a few moments and try again.

"So, Ray, will you accompany me?"

"Yeah, okay, Fraser. Cuz it's fer charity and everything, not because of that," he says, as he points to my face again. Is he indeed referring to my facial expression? I tilt my head in confusion and begin to question his meaning when he speaks.

"Don't say anything, Fraser. I already said I'd do it. Now lemme get some work done."

Ah, victory. I smile broadly at him. I find Ray to be a very interesting study of human behavior, as mere moments ago, he was very annoyed with me, and now he's happily returning my smile. Actually, Ray looks quite fetching when he smiles.

"That's wonderful Ray," I say. I pause knowing he won't be pleased with my next statement. "You can pick me up at the Consulate tomorrow morning at seven-thirty."

As anticipated, he's again presenting me with the five year old's face, a variation, I should say, as he now looks as if he's just been sent to his room without dessert.

"Oh jeez, isn't it dark at seven-thirty?" He is whining, being difficult. I truly believe that Ray enjoys being difficult. He must...why else would do it so often? He's fully aware that it's daylight at seven-thirty which I cheerfully remind him. No reaction. I smile and turn to leave. He calls me back.

"Hey Frase, while yer here, maybe you can help me with all these case files." He has the most peculiar expression on his face now....if I didn't know any better, I could swear he was imitating a helpless animal. Could it be that he's attempting to manipulate me with that expression? Perhaps he's thinking that turnabout is fair play. Well, Ray, my friend, I am not one to be manipulated.

I smile again. "I'm sorry, Ray," I say, "but I really must get back to the Consulate."

He sinks down into his chair and drops his head into his hands. I leave before his mood changes for the fourth time inside of five minutes.

***************

It is seven-fifteen on a beautiful, cold and crisp Saturday morning. Dief and I have just returned from our morning constitutional and we're waiting for Ray to pick us up. I'm concerned that he hasn't had time to train for the race as I did, and have decided to discuss it with him. He arrives in the GTO promptly at seven-twenty. As Dief and I approach the car, I notice he's wearing....what I assume to be sweats, however, I would venture to say they're on their last legs so to speak. I, myself, am wearing my official RCMP sweats, which I painstakingly ironed last night and hung in the closet to avoid wrinkling.

As I pull the seat forward for Diefenbaker, I see that Ray looks rested and, well...serene. Of course, that may change at the drop of a hat. Speaking of hats, I must admit that I'm not comfortable with the idea that I'm not wearing my Stetson today. However, being mindful that it would most likely hinder my running performance, I've left the Stetson in the safety of my locked office.

I slide into the passenger seat. "Good morning, Ray. How are you?" I say, smiling and anticipating any and all responses from my most volatile partner.

"Hey, Frase. Good. How 'bout you?" he responds, returning my smile, as he turns around and pets Dief.

"Very good, thank you, Ray. Are you prepared for considerable physical exercise this morning?" I ask him, as I enjoy the solitude of an early Saturday morning in the city.

"Sure, Frase. I figure it can't be any harder than boxin' a few rounds," he says as he pulls into the street. I'm actually surprised to hear him say that, as running a half marathon is significantly more strenuous than a boxing match, and I tell him so. He doesn't seem concerned.

"Half marathon? So what's that? Five miles or somethin'?" he asks me, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Oh dear. I thought I had informed him of the distance yesterday.

"Why, no, Ray, a half marathon is 21.0975 kilometers," I explain to him.

He looks over to me now. "Can ya be more exact, Fraser?" He asks me. Actually, I thought I was being exact, and I'm frankly confused by his question.

"Well, no, Ray," I say looking back at him.

He shakes his head and turns his attention back to the road. "Okay, Fraser, what's that in American?"

"13.10938 miles," I say, hoping that is precise enough for him.

"Uh, what?" Now he looks genuinely surprised. I can only infer from his reaction that I haven't told him the distance. I must work on that. Being forgetful can have dire consequences, especially when dealing with one Stanley Raymond Kowalski.

"Didn't I tell you, Ray?"

"No, Fraser, you didn't." He sounds quite bothered with me again.

"I'm sorry, Ray." I truly am as I'm now apprehensive about his ability to finish the race. "Do you feel you'll have a problem?" I ask him.

"No, do you feel I'll have a problem?" He shoots back at me, keeping his eyes on the road.

I turn my head to look out the windshield, wishing he would forget what he had just asked me.

"Fraser."

Unfortunately, he remembers.

"Oh, sorry, Ray." I have to be honest with him. "Well, the fact that you haven't been training can be a factor.....

He interrupts me. "So yer sayin' you don't think I can do it?" He seems quite agitated at this point. If he weren't driving, I would attempt to calm him with one of my facial expressions to which he seems so highly attuned. But as his eyes are on the road, I settle for words.

"No, no, of course not, Ray." I take advantage of the fact that he's not looking at me and sweep my eyes over his torso to assist me in evaluating his physical condition. "You're...you're relatively fit."

Apparently, he's still not satisfied. "Relatively, Fraser? Relative ta what?"

I look back out the windshield. "Well, relative to the average man your age," I explain. He doesn't answer. I wonder what is currently floating about in that rewired brain of his. Knowing Ray, he may very well respond by asking me if I know how much a pound of nails weighs on Pluto. He finally speaks.

"Okay, Fraser, we'll see how fit I am."

I nod at his somewhat vague response. "Yes, I'm sure we will."

***************

We arrive at the event and Ray parks the GTO on the grass next to a "No Parking" sign. I purposely point that out to him, to which he responds by blatantly lying and advising me that he has obtained a permit to park on the grass. Now I certainly realize it's not ethical to try to influence his behavior utilizing a facial expression, which, I've just recently discovered, appears to have a profound effect on Ray. But it's the only persuasive resource I have at the moment to communicate to him my disapproval at his brazen disregard of the law. The fact that he's a police officer does not excuse his behavior. I present him with my seemingly most compelling chastising expression. He appears to study my face for a few moments as if attempting to memorize it, but despite my best efforts, the car remains on the grass. Perhaps I don't wield the power over him I thought I did. This warrants further study.

We walk over to the area where the rest of the runners are warming up. I'm very happy to note that so many people have decided to come out for charity. I imagine that this being a beautiful, unseasonably cool day played a major part in the generous turnout. I look over towards Ray who is obviously enjoying the atmosphere.

"We need to register and obtain numbers, Ray," I tell him, and he follows me to the tables.

We sign in and receive our numbers. I pin mine on my sweatshirt and, as Ray seems distracted, I take his number and pin it on his shirt. I follow his eyes to the sidelines and discover he's watching Diefenbaker, who has found a new friend in the form of a small, white dog. I glance back at Ray and can't help but notice his eyes have moved on to the small, white dog's owner, who happens to be a very attractive young woman. I return him to the matter at hand.

"Let's jog a little, Ray, so we can warm up and then stretch," I say as I take his arm and guide him to an open area.

He protests, as I anticipated he would. "Hey, Frase," he says, "shouldn't we save our energy?"

I smile inwardly at his transparent attempt to remain with the crowd teeming with very attractive women. Of course I don't fault him for wanting to stay, but the purpose of our presence is to run a race for charity and I see it's up to me to keep Ray's mind on that fact.

"Ray, if you don't warm up and stretch, you can injure yourself," I tell him as I continue to guide him towards a quieter location where we can accomplish that.

He shrugs his shoulders as if he acknowledges defeat. "Okay, Fraser, whatever you say."

We begin jogging slowly. It feels good and I sense my mind becoming attuned with my body. Evidently, Ray doesn't feel the same way and wants to talk.

"Hey, Frase, gotta ask you somethin'," he says to me.

I glance over to him and then straight ahead, attempting to accommodate his need to talk along with my intertwining of mind and body.

"Yes, Ray."

"I get the feelin' you don't think I could finish this race," he says as he jogs alongside me.

I sigh. "Ray, we discussed this in the car. I feel your abilities are quite adequate."

I notice in my peripheral vision that he has stopped running. I, however, continue....but not for long, apparently.

"Fraser!" I hear him shout from behind.

I U-turn and jog back towards him, and note that he is standing with his hands on his hips, a look of determination in his eyes. I can't help but wonder what he has planned for me.

"Yes, Ray," I repeat.

"We're warm enough, let's stretch now."

Actually, we do need a longer warmup session, but I can tell by that look of resolve in Ray's eyes that we're not going to get it. I give in, as usual.

"As you wish." We both begin to stretch.

He quickly stops and looks at me. "What does that mean?" he asks.

I sit on the grass and he sits down next to me. I continue to stretch; Ray doesn't.

"What does what mean?"

"Adequate," he replies.

"Adequate, Ray," I explain, "it means satisfactory, sufficient, accepta....."

He interrupts me, obviously bothered. "I know what adequate means, Fraser. But what do you mean?"

I was afraid of this. I look over towards him. He's waiting for my response. I attempt to formulate appropriate words in my head as I don't want to offend his sensibilities. I realize I'm running my thumbnail along my eyebrow, a habit that usually shows itself when I'm somewhat nervous. Most of the time I'm unaware I'm doing it, but I assume I'm conscious of it now because of my recent realization of Ray's sensitivity to my non verbal expressions.

"Well, what I mean," I say slowly, "is that you may very well finish the race, but I'm quite certain....."

"That I can't beat you?" He asks, interrupting me.

Ray has something on his mind. I will tread lightly until I know what it is. I smile. He doesn't smile back. Hmmm, interesting.

"Well, Ray, I've been training for this event for the past two weeks, so....."

"So...yer quite certain I can't beat you," he interrupts me again.

I stop stretching and look at him. Now I know. He's issuing me a challenge. I forge ahead.

"Yes, Ray, I'm quite certain you can't." There, I've said it.

He smiles. "Okay," he says, "why don't we make this interesting?"

I frown. "If you're referring to a wager, Ray, gambling is illegal in the state of Illinois, unless, of course we bet for candy...or air." I'm quite certain he's not interested in gambling for candy and even less interested in air. I wait, totally intrigued.

He smiles again. "'Kay, Frase. How 'bout this? If you win, I buy ya breakfast all next week."

Seems harmless enough. I nod my head. "So, it would follow that if you win, I buy you...."

He interrupts me yet again. "Nope, I got somethin' else in mind fer you."

Ahh. I knew he wouldn't disappoint. "And that would be?" I ask, growing more fascinated.

"If I win, you finish my case files tomorrow."

I can't help but smile as I picture the pancakes, omelettes and french toast I'll be feasting on for a week. I'm amused that this is his way of manipulating me into doing his paperwork for him.

"Fine, Ray, you have a bet." I lean forward and we shake on it.

He stands and holds out his hand to help me up. I take it.

He begins to walk towards the start line. I call to him. "Ray, you didn't really stretch very much. Don't you think...."

"Hey, Frase, yer helpin' the competition," he says. "I guess you really like the idea of doin' a shitload of paperwork on a Sunday."

I shake my head. "Language, Ray," I admonish, "and, no, I'm just worried about you injuring yourself." Which I am. I have concerns as he hasn't trained for this event or warmed up sufficiently.

"Thanks, Fraser, but I got it covered." He turns away again. "Ya might wanna think about sharpening all yer pencils tonight cuz yer gonna need 'em tomorrow," he tosses over his shoulder.

I narrow my eyes and ponder my strategy for defeating my partner. I look up to find Ray watching me as he walks towards the start line.

***************

The runners are all lined up now, and there are quite a few of us. The taller runners are towards the rear, so Ray and I are almost in the last row, on opposite ends. I take these last few minutes to stretch, as we didn't adequately accomplish that earlier due to Ray's challenge. I look over to find him staring at me. I smile broadly. He hesitates. Knowing Ray, he's most likely planning some sort of machination, but then he surprises me with an even brighter smile. I can't help but speculate if that smile is part of his game plan, or if it's an involuntary response to my newly discovered power over him.

The starter pistol goes off and in about sixty seconds all the runners are in their stride. I find a comfortable pace and turn towards Ray to find him running slightly behind me. I'm glad to see he's pacing himself. I take a moment to study the runners in my line of vision. I'm not surprised to note the disparity in ages. Many are quite older, which I find to be comforting for some reason. I can't explain why. Perhaps I'm thinking of my father. I see Ray pull ahead out of the corner of my eye and realize my mind has been wandering. I quicky compose myself and concentrate on my pacing.

We've been running approximately half an hour now and the last mile marker read four miles. I marvel at all the people who came out for this event, many on the sidelines cheering the runners on and offering cups of water. I partake often. I hope Ray is also. I realize I haven't checked on him lately and glance over to find he's still slightly behind me, and he's watching me. I worry about him because of his insufficient warmup, and I assume it shows on my face. But he alleviates my dismay when I see him wink at me. I wink back. Now he looks dismayed. I smile inwardly as I realize my winking managed to unnerve him.

We've been in the race a little over an hour. The last mile marker read nine miles, which means there are approximately four remaining. Many of the runners have dropped back almost out of sight range. At present there are five of us running about the same speed, including Ray, a young woman, another man about my age and an older gentleman. I check on Ray and note that he's looking over to the sidelines. My eyes instinctively follow and I see Diefenbaker running alongside keeping pace with Ray and myself, and I also take note of his small, white companion trotting next to him.

I hear a woman scream a name..."Billy"... and turn my attention back to the course. But I'm too late, as I suddenly see a small child run out from the sidelines directly in front of me. I manage to avoid him, but in the process, I lose my balance and fall, quite hard, landing painfully on my knees. My momentum drags me forward and I feel, as well as hear, my knees scraping along the concrete.

The child's Mother whisks him away before she even realizes I've fallen. I remain on the ground, on all fours now, my head down, taking deep breaths attempting to regain control. Dief has raced over and is licking my face. I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Frase, you okay?" Ray is kneeling beside me. He helps me sit down on the ground.

I glance over to see the distress in his eyes.

"I'm fine, Ray," I say. However, I feel my face contort from the pain and quickly turn away, but too late as I'm sure Ray has noticed. I take a deep breath and turn back to him. The young woman and older gentleman have also stopped running and are standing behind him. I'm moved by their thoughtfulness.

"Ray, you need to finish the race," I say hoarsely. "The more miles you run, the more money you'll raise for charity."

"Ferget the race, Frase, yer hurt," he says. I can hear the emotion in his voice.

Two paramedics appear and one of them asks me how I am while the other tends to my wounds. Now that they've arrived, the other two runners return to the course and resume their running. I want Ray to continue the race also. I look at him, attempting to hide the burning pain in my knees.

"Ray, please, I'll be fine. Finish the race." I say, wishing to convey to him that I understand he's worried about me, but I also want him to understand that it's important to me that he finish the race. Unfortunately, I don't have the energy to tell him that now. He seems to comprehend anyway.

"You sure yer gonna be okay, Frase?" he asks, looking into my eyes. The paramedics are cleaning my knees with antiseptic and as much as I try, I can't hide the pain from Ray. But he knows that I need for him to complete the race.

"Yes, Ray. Now go ahead," I say.

He squeezes my shoulder and smiles. I attempt to return his smile but I'm not very successful.

Ray stands and turns around to begin running again. He glances over his shoulder for a moment, then picks up speed as he literally takes off. The paramedics continue to clean and bandage my knees. I can hear people cheering up ahead. I imagine they're cheering for Ray. I motion to Diefenbaker.

"Go find Ray," I say, and Dief sprints to the sidelines and disappears.

After the paramedics finish their work, one of them helps me to my feet. He asks me if I'm with someone who can drive me to the hospital, and I explain that Ray is my friend and he's currently in the race. He offers to take me to the ER. I decline and ask if he'll drive me to the finish line. I wish to be present when Ray crosses it. He agrees and we walk carefully to the ambulance. I find that I can walk without too much difficulty if I go at a slow pace. I hear more cheers coming from the sidelines towards the finish line. Ray must be winning.

The ambulance gradually makes its way to the end of the course. As we drive, I strain to see the runners. We pass the woman and the older man who had stopped when I had fallen, but there's no sign of Ray. We drive a little farther, and now I can see him...he's running alone. Well, not really, as I can also see Diefenbaker running with him on the sidelines. I'm disturbed by Ray's stride as it isn't as strong as it had been. I see him take a cup of water. Good. I wish I could see his face, but he's looking straight ahead so I can only view his profile. We drive ahead to the finish line. The paramedic takes a lawn chair from the back of the ambulance, and walks with me to the side of the finish line a few yards past the ribbon. He opens the chair, positions it for me and shakes my hand. I thank him and slowly slide into the chair to watch the runners approach.

I think about Ray. He apparently had a strong desire to win our bet, but I'm certain not in this manner. He'll argue with me, but I intend to tell him that he has, indeed, won.

My thoughts are interrupted by loud screaming and Diefenbaker's barking. I look up to see Ray and his opponent approaching the finish line, running side by side. I can see Ray's face now, and I'm shaken by the pain in his features. But I'm also heartened by the determination in his face. He looks up and our eyes meet. He appears happy, and relieved, I think, to see me. I keep my eyes on him. He's watching me. I need for him to win...I know he can do it. I notice him studying my face as he comes nearer. He winks at me again, and I instinctively wink back. Suddenly he pulls ahead of the other runner. The crowd's cheers are deafening now. Dief is barking continuously. The gap between Ray and the other runner is widening. My eyes are still on him....his are on me. Just a few yards away from the finish line, I call out his name and he's there....he hits the ribbon and breaks it. I'm overwhelmed with emotion and pride. People are running up to Ray and I see someone grab his arm and hike it into the air. A moment later, Ray disappears into a sea of people. I would like to go find him, but I wouldn't get very far with these knees. Dief appears at my side and sits down, waiting with me. The crowd opens, and Ray emerges. He's holding a bottle of water, limping slightly, his face etched with pain. He approaches us and collapses next to me, rubbing his calves, looking up at me and squinting from the sunlight in his eyes. I lower myself to the ground and move his left hand to his right calf as I begin massaging the left.

"Thanks, Frase," he says. I smile at him and he smiles back.

***************

It's nine-fifteen on Sunday morning, and Diefenbaker and I are sitting in the back of a cab on our way to the precinct. I was concerned I wouldn't get a cab this morning as none of the drivers would agree to a wolf riding in their cab. I finally presented the last driver with a ten dollar bill, which managed to persuade him.

As we ride I think about Ray, certain I'll find him working on his files when I arrive. He won't be happy to see me. We had discussed this at length in the GTO when Ray dropped me off at the Consulate yesterday. We had just returned from the hospital where Ray had taken me after the race. The doctor told me that I had sustained some very deep scrapes, but that I'd be as good as new in a few weeks.

I had told Ray in the car that as far as I was concerned, he did win the bet, and that I was planning to go to the precinct today to complete his paperwork, as per our handshake. Ray almost went ballistic, insisting the bet was invalidated when I injured myself. He had been extremely animated in his argument, and I noticed that he threw in a few facial expressions I hadn't seen before. I assume he was trying to give me a taste of my own medicine. I finally agreed, but it was merely to placate him. I intended to finish the case files all along.

We reach the precinct around nine-thirty. It takes me about ten minutes to walk up the stairs. The doctor had given me some pain pills which I did take before we left the Consulate, but it's still somewhat difficult to negotiate a stairwell. We enter the squad room and Ray isn't at his desk, but I see his jacket on the back of his chair. There are open files strewn all over the place, on the floor, on his desk, on other chairs surrounding his work station. He's probably getting his hundredth cup of coffee for the day, so I take the opportunity to sit in my usual chair and open a file.

I've just started working when I notice Diefenbaker get up and trot over to the other side of the room. I turn my gaze back to the open file in front of me.

"Fraser." I look up to find Ray standing in front of me. I smile. He smiles back after a moment's hesitation. He doesn't appear to be pleased to see me.

"What'cha doin' here, Fraser?" he asks, sounding angry. But then I take note of the sparkle in his eye which tells me otherwise.

"I came to assist you, Ray," I say, and turn my attention back to the open file.

I hear him groan as he drops down into his chair. He must be sore today as I assumed he would be, but I deem it wise not to discuss it. He grabs the file away from me.

"Frase, we talked about this. We pulled the plug on the bet when you fell. Ya don't hafta help me," he argues.

"I'm not here because of the bet, Ray," I say. "I'm here because you're my partner and my friend, and I want to help you with your case files." Which is true. What I don't tell him is that I intend to give him a convincing lecture on the benefits of keeping case files up to date...but I'll save that for later.

He continues to argue. "No, Frase. Yer hurt and you should be home restin'. Now take yer wolf and go home." He's looking at me and his face takes on the most stern and disapproving cast I've seen him use yet. It's similar to one he presented to me yesterday, but today, it's almost frightening. I smile inwardly at the picture in my mind of him practicing that expression, probably in front of his bathroom mirror. If I didn't know he was mimicking me, I would truly be intimidated. But I do so I'm not.

"I knew you'd come around Ray," I say, suppressing my laughter. I take the file back from him and resume working on it.

I furtively watch as he stares at the file for a few moments, his mouth open. I make a mental note that while endearing, Ray looks much more attractive with his mouth closed. He shakes his head and shrugs as he picks up another case file and begins to work on it.

I resolve that I'll one day tell him that I'm aware of his attempts to imitate my facial expressions that he finds so compelling. And I'll also tell him that he's quite proficient at it, but that day is not today.

The End

Feedback would be very nice BiermannR@home.com