Author's website: http://unhinged.kixxster.org

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be; not that this' ever kept me from dreaming.

Author's Notes: Written for the Flashfiction Documentation Challenge.

Story Notes:

Shorthand
By MR

"Ray?"

"Yeah, Frase?"

"What are you doing?"

I look up from studying the mess on the coffee table. "Going through my notes?"

The eyebrow goes up. "Case files?"

"Nah, my personal notes." I return to sifting through the debris.

"Personal notes?"

He's not gonna let it rest. Damn Mountie gets his teeth into something and you might as well try and shake off a barracuda. "Notes about cases, Frase."

"Ah." He leans forward and studies the collection; miscellaneous jottings on the backs of candy bar wrappers, torn-off pieces of paper towels, strips of napkin... "I thought you had a notebook to put case notes in."

"I do. But I don't always remember to bring it with me. And sometimes I gotta write something down right now. I can't count on being somewhere I can get my hands on a notebook."

"Hence the notes." He picks one up and studies it, frowning. "Ray, this makes no sense at all?"

I snatch it away from him. 'JL, W. Side, jag, white-blond'. "Makes perfect sense. Remember back when someone was stealing Jaguar's? I had a meet with a snitch at the Westside Bar & Grill. He knew who was doing it."

"White-blond?"

"He was white-blond, or at least JL said he was. Turned out it was dyed."

Fraser gives me a look that plainly says 'of course it was, Ray,' and picks up another one. "And this?"

'3/4: Tony's, lg. p/cb; Ching Dow, 2 s/s pork, fr. rice, f/c'. "That was the night we worked late on the Carrington case, remember? Welsh sent me out for food."

"So in other words, you have your own system of shorthand?"

"You ever through about becoming a Detective, Frase?"

He continues to paw through the pile, occasionally picking one up and reading it. Finally, he leans back and looks at me. "You know, Ray, if the FBI were to ever stop you, I'm not entirely sure you could convince them you weren't a terrorist carrying coded messages."

He looks so serious I crack up. "Benton buddy, I think US intelligence has better things to do with their time than go through a cop's wallet."

"Well you never know, Ray." I can tell by the sparkle in his eyes he's yanking my chain. "I mean, what would they be likely to make of this?"

He holds it up. I see what he's got and make a lunge for it, but he's already off the couch. "I wonder what this could mean?"

"Frase." I try to make it sound like a threat, but my heart's beating too hard to put much into it. Jesus, I walked right into it didn't I?

He studies it a minute; when he looks back at me, there isn't a trace of humor on his face. Oh, shit. "Ray. Does this mean what I think it does?"

I resist the urge to pound my head repeatedly against the coffee table. "Depends on what you think it means, Frase."

He nods and, to my surprise, sits back down on the couch next to me, spreading that damn note smooth on the table. When he speaks, he doesn't look at me. "There are things...by which I mean...Ray, when one man finds another man has repeatedly written their initials on a napkin, intertwining the letters and drawing hearts around them, it tends to make the other man draw certain conclusions."

I can't look at him so I stare at the carpet. "I was doodling. Wasn't really thinking about it. You were playing tin soldier in front of the Consulate, so I had to go to lunch alone, and I was doodling on the back of a napkin, and I should've just left the stupid thing there, okay? I don't know why I tore it off and put it in my wallet."

"Perhaps because you meant it?" His voice is so hopeful I have to look at him. And it's all there shining through those eyes; everything I thought was just me hoping for what I couldn't have. "Did you mean it, Ray?"

I can't believe he's giving me an out. Well, yeah, I can, actually. This is Benton Fraser we're talking about here. The man who'd be more than willing to take the blame for everything from Adam and Eve getting cast out of Eden to the situation in the Middle East if he thought it'd make everyone happy.

"I meant it, Frase." My voice isn't as steady as I'd like, but this thing between us-I thought it was all one-sided, ya know? I figured it was just my dirty little mind working overtime. "Kind've of a drippy thing for a guy my age to do, drawing hearts and flowers like that."

"Not at all, Ray." He's smiling and looking embarrassed at the same time. "I never-nobody's ever done that for me before."

It takes a minute for what he said to sink in. "You never had anybody carve your initials and theirs into a tree or spray paint it on a wall?" He shakes his head. "And you didn't do it for anyone else?" Another shake. "Jesus, Frase, that's gotta constitute some sort of abuse."

His mouth quirks. "Does it?"

"Hell yeah. I'm pretty sure it's a Constitutional right." That makes him snort. "One of those clauses you don't hear much about."

"Ray."

"Yeah?"

"Look at me, please?" I do, and that's when he leans in and kisses me."

FIN

End Shorthand by MR: psykaos42@yahoo.com

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