by anonymous co
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Aren't mine, don't own 'em, thought they were cute and might like to have some fun. Besides, talk about subtext. This is JiM's fault, and Bone's. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. But
Author's Notes:
Story Notes:
This story is a sequel to: Moment of Truth
Fraser's been down lately, and I'm not sure why, and he's not talking. So I'm hanging in there, figuring he's not used to talking about his troubles, he's used to listening to everyone else's, and I guess that's okay.
Because he puts it aside when we're together, mostly, and I only catch little bits of it, and when we're together alone, on our private time, I hardly see it at all.
I don't like that much, I figure he's just not used to sharing that, and nagging him isn't going to help, so I just ask him once in a while how he's doing.
Usually, I get one of his Just-For-Ray smiles when I ask him that, but today, sitting out on the reservoir-only Fraser, I swear-he claps his gloves together and looks at me kind of sad and says, "I'm homesick."
I don't know what to say back. I'm sorry, yeah, but I feel like shit because I don't want him to go home.
Luckily, we get distracted by a fish that turns out to be a dead guy. Luckily? Maybe for me, but not for the dead guy.
So, we're off and running on this crazy case and Fraser knows who the perp is, or thinks he does, and even though I'm working, I'm doing the job, I'm on top of it, I can't help worrying at that homesick thing
So, we're tracking Muldoon and I'm worrying about that in the back part of my mind, and he's all business, he's all focused, and that's just normal for us while we're working, but he's been spending a couple of nights a week at my place until now, and now he's at the Consulate, what little rest he gets.
Because we're tracking, we're staking out, and I'm getting a cold. Dammit.
I hate this. I hate whatever he's got behind his eyes, because he looks pretty damned unhappy and I don't know why, and he's not talking.
About anything but the case, anyway.
I'm sitting at a campfire watching the Ice Queen try and get Fraser to kiss her. I've got a big black hole where my gut should be, and I'm watching the Ice Queen and I have to finally get up and walk away.
Not because I've got my shorts in a knot because Fraser might kiss her. Because he's home, and I can see it on his face, and I know he's going to stay here.
He belongs here.
I'm a selfish asshole. I know it. And it doesn't help that great big black hole at all.
Fraser got us a tent together, at least, but I don't feel like going there. I don't know where to go. It's like too much of Fraser got tangled up in me and I don't know who I am any more. I'm not Ray Vecchio. If Fraser goes back, I figure he'll be partnered up with Vecchio again, or still, considering I've been Vecchio for the last year.
Somehow, I'm not sure he's going to go back.
I only thought I was scared before. Going back to Chicago without him, living in that apartment without ever seeing him, I'm scared. It was bad after Stella and I split. I know that, I was drinking too much, and I took risks I shouldn't have, and when I got this undercover gig, I straightened my act out. Somebody else's life riding on it, that I could use, and then there was Fraser.
I'm cold, too, I'm not sure I'm ever going to get warm again, and I'm wandering around in the dark when Fraser finds me.
"Ray, come back to the fire."
I nod, frozen through to the bone. Follow him back. Heat's good, and the flames are pretty and kind of hypnotize me and I'm thinking about Franklin's hand, and Fraser's sitting there watching me when I look over at him. "Are you all right?"
I laugh, kind of sharp. "I'm good, Fraser. Thinking about Franklin."
He smiles at that. "Well, you did live through it all."
"And Delbert got us out of the crevice."
"Delmar," he says absently and rubs his eyebrows. "We were talking about something before Inspector Thatcher interrupted."
So I wait. I'm not going to bring it up, I'm a little scared of what he'll say.
"Ray, Ray Vecchio and I will always be partners, always be friends, no matter whether we work together or not. Just as you and I will be." He leans closer to me. "Whether we work together or not." Intense look.
He's trying to tell me something without saying it right out, and I'm scared again, hoping it's what I want to hear, and scared to think it is. "Yeah?"
"I hope you know that."
I wish I spoke Fraser fluently sometimes. I mean, I do, compared to most other people, I think, but right now, it's like being at the airport in Ottawa that time and hearing the announcements in French. "I'm trying to," I finally tell him.
He gets that, I think, he looks a little sad. "Let's go to bed, Ray."
I sigh and follow him over. He ties down the tent openings to keep the wind out and then startles the hell out of me by moving the two cots close together. "Not quite the same," he tells me, and his mouth quirks, I can see it in the lantern light.
It's a good sign, though, and I feel a little better. Inside the sleeping bag, I pretty much huddle, and even with the lantern out and the tent dark, I can sort of make out this pale spot that's Fraser's face. Looks like he's looking at me. Wouldn't put it past him to be able to see in the dark.
"I want my adventure," I blurt out. "I think I wanna find that reaching out hand, Fraser."
He's quiet for a minute, shifts a little bit. "Right now?" A little surprised, but there's something happy underneath his voice.
"Well, not this minute. But yeah. Hey, I lived through it all, like you said. I said that's what I was gonna do."
"Hmmm."
See? I want to choke him when he does that.
"It's early in the year yet," he says, kind of thoughtful. "It's not impossible, though."
Rollercoaster again. I'm instantly jazzed. "Yeah?"
"I certainly have a great many days of leave I can use," he says, still thoughtful. "Are you sure this is what you want."
Oh, yeah, I'm sure. "I want," I tell him.
I hear him laugh a little. "Well, let me think about what we'll need, then." Warm voice, affectionate voice, and I wrap that around me like the sleeping bag. Feel his hand come out and touch my face, and I drag mine up out of the sleeping bag to put over it. He rubs his fingers over three days of stubble, and I turn my face, nip real gently at them.
He makes a soft sound, leans over carefully and our lips brush. "Sleep, Ray." Soft voice. "You've worked hard the last few days."
Yeah, right, he's the one hauled my ass over the mountain when I was out of my head. But I nod, kiss him again, feeling a lot better.
One helluva lot better. I just won't think about what happens after the adventure, that's all.
End Nunavut Blues by anonymous co: JimPage363@aol.com
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