(Companion to Alice in Stonyland's "Wrapped Up")

Debbie Hann (April 29, 2000)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fraser moved around the small table efficiently stacking several plates and bowls and was turning towards the small kitchen when Ray's rising voice reached him.

"Stupid, damned . . . thing . . . frigg'n possessed . . ."

An odd crinkling noise underscored the frustrated and escalating mutterings cascading out the doorway, and just before Fraser poked his head around the jam, he heard something hit the floor with a muffled "thunk."

"Ray?"

The blond cop pushed his hand through his hair, frustration evident in his gestures. "It doesn't matter what I do, that stuff never works for me. It deliberately sticks to itself! Or maybe the metal teeth go dull! Bet they see me coming and do it just for me!"

Fraser's eyes widened at his friend's tone and his insistence that inanimate objects were out to get him.

Setting the stack of dishes he was carrying down on the counter, Fraser bent down and picked up the elongated, rectangular box. A mangled, crumpled, and half-torn sheet of the plastic wrap extended beyond the lid, perforated in a few places, but not very many.

"God, I hate that stuff."

"I hardly think it's deliberate, Ray," Fraser said, trying to hide a smile as he straightened and unkinked the wrap so he could make a clean tear.

"Huh, that's what you think, Mountie."

Cocking his eyebrow at Ray, Fraser moved the hand holding the now-straightened wrap down with a smooth motion, tearing it smoothly, never breaking eye contact with Ray.

"Show off."

"Mounties do not show off, Ray. We simply perform to specifications."

"Oh, pulleezz! I suppose you always manage to seal those Ziplock baggies on the first try too, don't you, Fraze."

"Doesn't everyone?" he replied, flashing his patented Innocent Mountie look as he tore off an unsullied sheet of plastic wrap, avoided having it touch itself, and covered the leftovers tautly.

Finishing sealing the container, Fraser leaned his hip against the counter and turned toward his friend. Ray stood leaning against the counter, his arms crossed and the remnants of a grin still playing on his face, but Fraser could see something else lurking in his eyes. Perhaps this was the Saran that broke the camel's back, but something else was clearly bothering Ray and precipitating this outburst.

Ray avoided Fraser's piercing look and dropped to one knee, sinking both hands into the fur around Dief's neck. Refusing to look back up at the tall Canadian, Ray grinned at Dief. "So, didja like the ham, furball? Always gotta have ham at Easter."

"I don't know how he had room for ham considering how many of those marshmallow confections he consumed."

Dief swiveled his head around and gazed at him with mournful eyes, a small moan completing the image of a maligned wolf.

"Don't give me that! I saw you skulk away with them."

"Actually, Fraze, I think you should give 'im credit for eating those."

"Really? Why should I do that?" Fraser's tone made it very clear how little of chance there was of that.

Rising, Ray didn't try and hide his growing grin. "Well, I mean, they're bunnies and chicks, right? Shouldn't that count as hunting?"

"Strangely," he replied, glaring at both of his friends, and trying not to laugh at the glee he felt rolling off of Ray, "I don't remember game coming in cardboard boxes."

"You mean to tell me you've never heard of the box caribou?"

"I can't say that I have, Ray."

"Well, that's cuz they're stealthy and, uh, illusive, but I hear they're up there on those ice floes in the Yukon."

"I see; they must be kin to the box turtle."

"Exactly! How did you know, Fraze?"

"Mounties know many things," he answered, continuing with the thought, 'like when their partners are trying to deflect questions with jokes.' Standing there, mentally debating whether or not he should come out and ask Ray what was bothering him, Fraser realized the shadowed look was back in his friend's eyes and that decided the issue. "Ray, is something troubling you?"

"Nah, Fraze, it's nothing," Ray said, reaching for a bowl and stepping towards the fridge, hiding again.

It was an attempt, Fraser reflected, that was as transparent as the plastic wrap Ray found so recalcitrant. "Ah, it's simply that you've seemed a bit melancholy today, especially since Detectives Huey and Dewey, and Lt. Welsh departed."

"Oh, you know, end of the party let down, buddy. 'Sides, I'm still bummed Dewey won the egg hunt; Welsh picked some really hard places."

"Yes, it was quite a challenge. Although Dewey did beat the two of us by only one egg."

Smiling out the side of his mouth, Ray thought back to the image of four grown men running around madly grabbing eggs fast as they could find them. "At least I beat Huey. Don't think I'd ever be able to hold my head up again if he'd won."

Fraser slid the last of the leftovers into the refrigerator. "Would you rather be alone, Ray?" Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the other man's back stiffen as Ray dabbed at a potato salad stain on the counter.

"No, don't leave!" He paused for a moment, moderating his tone, before slowly turning around to face Fraser, his face carefully neutral. "I mean, I'd like the company, and I rented Harvey and all you said you'd never seen it."

"Alright, Ray; Dief and I do enjoy Jimmy Stewart."

"Greatness." He flashed one of his quick grins, once again hiding the lingering shadows behind his cockiness.

They finished the last bits of cleaning up, falling easily into teamwork, before moving into the living room. Ray had gone quiet, so Fraser let him be, perfectly content with the silence and hoping it might give Ray the space to open up.

After tossing Dief off the couch lupines really do take up an amazing amount of space the two men settled in, Ray taking care of setting up the tape.

Fidgeting with the remote, Ray stared down at it as if it held the answers to the universe, and broke his silence. "It's just . . ." The quiet start sputtered to a stop.

"Just?" Fraser prompted gently after a moment.

Ray's head flopped back against the back of the couch, his eyes closed. "Stella told me she was leaving Easter morning."

Fraser just waited, not really staring at his friend, but Ray felt the weight of his gaze nevertheless.

He took a deep breath, fully aware that the longer he stalled, the longer Fraser would wait. And no one could wait like Fraser. He exhaled in a rush and started talking. "I'd gotten up early, cuz, you know, things hadn't been so good, were getting steadily worse." Having started, the words came flooding out in a torrent. "She was working all the time; I was working all the time so I didn't have to be in an empty apartment. We hadn't really talked to each other, except to yell, in months, and hadn't done anything in bed for even longer. I'd turn out the light and die inside a little more each night, staring up at the ceiling, lying there awake, wanting to touch her, knowing if I did, she'd pull away, and not knowing what to do to fix it."

"So I got up early that morning, made her egg and sausage gravy, like we did our first Easter, hoping we could have a slow, mellow morning, talk, get past the crap we were caught in." He flung his arm over his eyes, shielding more. "Shit, I'd even saved up and bought her this ring she'd seen before Christmas and liked, and I'd stuck it in a plastic egg. Yellow one. Hidden it so she'd have to search, hoping we could have a little fun, get beyond the adult stuff she was always so focused on."

"I sat in the living room for a long time waiting for her to get up; finally, I poured her a glass of orange juice, even used one of those goblets she liked so much, and took it to her. Turns out she wasn't asleep; she was on the phone talking to the lawyer-guy she'd been having an affair with."

Suddenly Ray jumped up and running his hands through his spiky hair, he paced for a few moments before going to lean against the side of the window, facing mostly away from the man still sitting quietly on the couch. He couldn't believe he's told him this much, even if it was Fraser. Might as well finish it. Staring out at the deepening evening, he went on.

"All once, everything made sense the late nights, not being home for dinner, not wanting me to touch her. I, uh," he cleared his throat, trying to cover the breaks in his voice with a cough, knowing he wasn't really fooling the Mountie, "I felt like the world's biggest chump. I mean, I was a cop, right? I was supposed to be able to detect patterns of behavior. But it'd never even occurred to me. I mean, we were married."

"I don't know how long I stood there listening to her talk about how she was going to tell me soon, that things couldn't go on this way, how much she missed this guy. Finally, I dropped the glass. Didn't mean to, it just fell. It made this really clear, bright shattering sound against the parquet floors she'd decided she needed. An' you know, I think she was more upset at the goblet and the floor than the fact that I knew."

He grew quiet for a moment, remembering feeling orange juice splatters on his bare feet and wishing he could run away but feeling like his feet were part of the floor. "The look on her face was pretty classic, though. We stared at each other across our bed, an' as she stumbled through saying goodbye to what's his name, it was like someone threw a switch that made her head see-through, and I could see the wheels turning, trying to figure out what I'd heard and how she could cover and what she was going to say next."

"She'd become . . . transparent, I guess, and I could really see for the first time that the girl I fell in love with, the one who hadn't cared when we hadn't had much money, who'd exploded a whole pot of eggs trying to hard-boil them our first Easter, had been covered up by this woman sitting in front of me. I could still see parts of her, though; still can even now, ya' know?"

Fraser had sat on the couch, feeling the knap of the material underneath his hands as clearly as the echoes of remembered pain and confusion in his friend's voice, wishing he knew what to say. Wishing there was something he could do to ease the betrayal Ray had felt, was still feeling. Wishing there was some way he could express his contempt for Stella's thoughtless actions.

Then Ray asked if he knew what it was like to find out the woman in front of you wasn't who you thought she was. Granted, it was a rhetorical question, but he definitely knew, quite vividly, what that felt like.

"Yes," his voice felt rusty to his own ears. "Even when it was clear what Victoria was up to, that she had been working to frame me the entire time, I could still see the woman I had come to know up in Fortitude Pass, who had faced death with me and come out the other side. I still don't know which Victoria was more real, the one whose words kept me alive, or the one who tried to take my life." He looked up from his hands to see Ray staring at him with wide eyes.

"Yeah, who is the real one, my Stel or Assistant District Attorney Kowalski?"

"Perhaps they are both equally real, or perhaps since the views of both Victoria and Stella were our perceptions, neither was truly real, but were simply what we wanted, and didn't want, to see.

"So they're both real, and they're both fake? Isn't that some of that circular logic stuff you're always talking about."

"Indeed."

"Doesn't help, though."

"No," Fraser said around a small sigh, "it doesn't."

Pushing away from the wall, Ray walked back towards the couch. "Sorry to dump that all on you."

"It wasn't a burden, Ray. I was happy to listen."

"Yeah, me too."

Ray flopped back down on the couch, feeling kinda beat but a little better too. Talking about it hadn't made it go away, but it was nice knowing even Fraser the Perfect Mountie didn't have everything figured out either. "Well, I guess that about wraps it up, doesn't it, Fraze?"

"As long as you don't have to tear the plastic wrap, Ray."

It took several moments of staring at Fraser across the expanse of the couch for that to sink in. Then there was nothing to do but respond to the dancing eyes staring back at him and laugh. Felt good.

Fin.

Copyright Deborah Hann, April 2000