Old Clothes The Due South Fiction Archive Entry Home Quicksearch Search Engine Random Story Upload Story   Old Clothes by BJCochran Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas. Author's Notes: Thanks to AKite and special thanks to Karen/s for a wonderful grammatical going over. Any mistakes are mine. Story Notes: Spoilers for lots of eps - they really all run into the wonderful Ray/Fraser dynamic. Not sure when this takes place. Sometime after CotW. Old Clothes April, 2005 By Bridget Cochran (dS, F/K, adult content) Ray liked his old, white tee shirts. Well, they used to be white, but now they were gray. And shrunk, getting little holes from runs from where his holster caught when he took it off at night. But, they were worn, broken in - comfortable. Ray liked that in his tee shirts. The vest was the lining from an old down coat that he blew out too many times to fix with duct tape any more. Sometimes the zipper thing scratched him when he wasn't paying attention, but hey, it worked. Kept him warm in the drafty old 2-7. He wasn't a satirical dynamo. He'd never be a Vecchio in the clothes horse category, but it's not like he didn't have his own happening style, his own down-and-dirty look. If it came by the pound from the Goodwill, it was on his closet floor. Ray sighed and looked at the bottom of his coffee mug. He probably should wash it occasionally, but why bother? Why bother with new clothes? Why bother with any damn thing? Fraser was here. In the building. Had been here for a couple of hours. He'd said, hello, Ray. Happy birthday, Francesca. Then disappeared down into the Lieu's office to confer with Dash Riprock. Okay, Rich Dirkson. Acting Lieutenant Richard Dirkson. Filling in for Welch while he recovered from prostate surgery. That guy freaking sparkled in that preppy, shiny, hair-always-the-right-length-way. Ray never got that. His own hair was too long, too short, too red, too blond, too slimed with product. Ray gave it up and tossed the mug, coffee and all, in the trash. Lieutenant 'Call me Rich' Dirkson didn't like Ray. Didn't so much as say it as didn't. It was the look. The Look. Down the nose, constantly measuring Ray and finding him wanting. Like if he looked like shit, he'd do his job like shit. Not true. Ray did his job pretty good. Received citations. The good kind. Kept innocent people from getting the needle. Put scum away to stay, mostly. But this Dick Dickson. Ray couldn't please him. Reports not on time. Reports sloppy. Reports not getting filed electronically. Police work was not all reports. Ray was jonsing for a cigarette. Even patted his pockets for his lighter. One he hadn't carried in years, the one stuck in a cubby in his roll top. He was sure in a mood though. Looking over to the Lieu's glass walled office, he could see Fraser bending over the desk side-by-side with Rich. Red tunic, dark dress shirt. Both wearing dark pants. Both asses reminded him of bubble butts in the magazine stuck between his mattress and box spring. But neither one of them would ever be shaking in his direction on purpose. "Shit," Ray said and turned back to his desk. Pushing his glasses up to rub his eyes, Ray let a breath out through his teeth. It sucked being Ray Kowalski sometimes. He was just a regular guy trying to slog a living in the rough and tumble world of the Chicago PD. Sometimes he had a partner, but these days, not so much. Dick Dickson wanted Fraser to go over case files, review reports, lend expert tracking advice, excluding Ray every damn time. Sometimes even on his own fucking files. He'd smile in his face and say some bullshit like, 'wouldn't want to take you from your work, Kowalski.' Bastard. The worst part? Fraser didn't seem to see it. "He's a very thorough man, Ray." "His insights are excellent, Ray." "Wants all his ducks in a row, Ray." Quack - fucking - quack. But, Rich knew what he was doing. Fraser was Ray's partner. But, you see, Ray got it. Ray wasn't good enough to have a partner like Fraser. Fraser was pristine, a good officer - shiny like Dirkson. Ray got that. Ray didn't deserve something as good as Fraser in his life. Dirkson did. "Ray. Ray. Ray." Ray blinked and pulled his specs back onto his face before squinting up into Fraser's impatient face. "Yeah, Fraser?" "Just wanted to tell you that Rich and I were leaving for lunch." "Nah, sorry, Frase, don't have time for lunch today." Ray sat back in his chair eyeing Fraser as the man cracked his neck, unable to make eye contact. "Sorry to hear that, Ray." Really? Ray didn't say. Weren't even gonna invite me, were you? Lt. Dirkson's smirk said it all. Go blow, Ray. Someone, somewhere else. Dirkson came out of his office, walking toward the door. "You coming, Constable?" Although he looked uncomfortable under Ray's scrutiny, Fraser seemed to be wanting Ray to understand something. So, Ray went with a 'who-me?' look until Fraser was forced to leave. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>   End Old Clothes by BJCochran Author and story notes above. Please post a comment on this story. Read posted comments.