Patterns of Control      Patterns of Control

 by Ashlan

  

 

 Disclaimer: Characters owned by Alliance/Paul Haggis/Paul Gross.

 Author's Notes: Thanks to Joseph for the lightning beta.

 Story Notes: Abortion. 

 

 

 Ray seemed distracted this morning. His responses to Fraser's
conversational sallies were delayed, at best, and desultory. There were
moments when he would stare off to the near distance, a slight frown
wrinkling his brow. His normal banter with his psuedo-sister Francesca was
absent. 

 "Ray, is something wrong?" 

 Ray's eyes snapped to attention, focusing on Fraser's face. His
expression was confused, then a bit - ashamed? Sad? He shook his head and
leaned forward to put his elbows on the desk. "No, nothing's wrong Fraser.
What, uh, the break-in thing. What was that you said, about Janovich not
being the perp?" 

 Fraser didn't quite believe him, but also knew that if Ray wanted to tell
him he would, in his own time. "Ah, well, I believe that Janovich didn't
have time . . . ." As he reiterated his theory about how the crime was
performed, he noticed Ray's eyes lose their focus again. 

 ". . . so, therefore, the Red Wings won the Cup because they employed
magic, which should eliminate them from the standings." Ray nodded while
tapping the eraser of his pencil on the desk blotter. 

 "Ray." Still tapping. "I think, perhaps, I'll take Dief for a walk on the
Dan Ryan." 

 Still tapping, now accompanied by a chewed lower lip. 

 "Ray." No change. 

 "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray . . . ." 

 Finally, a response. "What?!" 

 "I've summarized twice now and you haven't heard a word I've said." 

 Ray sighed and rubbed his face. "I'm sorry Frase. Yeah, you're right,
I've got, um, something on my mind." He looked around the squad room
briefly and came to a decision. 

 "Come on, let's get out of here."  

 Twenty minutes later they were walking through Grant Park, moving
steadily from shade to sunshine. Ray stopped by a bench facing the lake
and settled, crossing one leg over the other and clasping his hands
together. Fraser sat next to him, enjoying the (relatively) fresh air and
quiet. They sat for a time, Ray looking at his hands, Fraser looking at
Dief running through the bushes and at Ray. 

 "You remember that gal I was going out with a few weeks back, uh,
Arlene?" 

 Ray's voice was soft, a bit diffident. Fraser thought for a moment,
trying to bring the woman to mind. 

 "Yes, she's a bit tall, full figured? Has a hearty laugh?" 

 Ray smiled at Fraser's description. "Yeah, she has a hearty laugh and the
big, uh, anyway. Yeah, that's Arlene. Anyhow, we broke up, remember?" 

 Fraser looked at Ray closely. "Yes, I remember. You said she told you
that she didn't want to be tied down, or something to that effect." 

 Ray looked up to Fraser. His expression brought back the memory of the
night Ray had recounted Arlene's words. Ray had been resigned, as if he
could never expect any woman to wish to spend her life with him. Now,
Ray's bringing up the subject, what did that mean? 

 Ray continued. "Yeah, she didn't want to be tied down. Anyhow, she called
me last night, asked me to meet her at Wing Yips, you know, that place
over on Twenty-Sixth? So, I figure, sure, why not? Maybe she wants to uh,
you know, get together for more than dinner. When I got there she was in
the back. We, uh, we got something to eat, but . . . ." He stopped and
turned away from Fraser to look back out over the lake again. As he often
did when nervous or lost in thought, Ray ran his thumb along his jaw. 

 "Remember back when I was, uh, when we were, uh, the Warren murder? You
know, you hypnotized all of us?" Fraser straightened his back as he
followed Ray's change of subject. That wasn't exactly a shining moment in
his memory. The lack of observational skills demonstrated by three trained
professionals still struck him as appalling. 

 "Yes, Ray, I remember." Ray nodded and pointed his fingers at him. Fraser
found himself staring at those two fingers as if they might bite. 

 "Ok, remember how Welsh, no, you pointed out that I was, uh, what's the
word, uh, projecting -- projecting my life into how I saw the thing at the
mall go down?" Fraser nodded but Ray didn't even wait for a response as he
continued. 

 "Remember what I said about why they argued?" 

 Fraser found he was holding his breath and released it in speech. "Yes
Ray. You said something about waiting until her career was set, waiting
for children . . . ." He stopped when Ray flinched and turned away from
him. Ray sat very still, staring down at his clenched hands. It wasn't
until he began to shudder, small, barely perceptible tremors that Fraser
began to worry. "Ray?" 

 Ray shook his head and rubbed a hand over his eyes. When he spoke, his
voice was low and tense. 

 "Women, they bitch about how men got all the power, men control
everything, men keep women in the dark, they're second class, on and on
and on. You want to know the truth? The truth about men and women Fraser?"
He looked over to Fraser again and Fraser wasn't surprised to see the
brightness in his eyes, the shine of unshed tears. 

 "Women are in control. We guys, we don't get anything unless some woman
says, okay, you can have some. Women control everything and we guys are
just a bunch of dogs sniffing around for whatever scraps they're willing
to toss us. And we're happy to get what they throw." He looked away again.


 "Just a bunch of dogs, Fraser, sniffing around when they have the control
and laugh." 

 Fraser was shocked. Ray had never been so negative and bitter, so full of
hate. A brief impulse to argue the point, citing the roles women had been
restricted to over the course of history, Roe Vs. Wade being a landmark
for women gaining control over their bodies and so on. Then he realized
that Ray knew all of this and even espoused most of the ideals inherent in
those arguments. What had happened to cause this anger? He thought back
over their conversation, or rather, Ray's comments. A glimmer of
comprehension came and he felt a chill steal through his body. 

 "Ray, why did Arlene want to meet with you?" 

 Ray's breath hitched and he wrapped his arms around himself. His
shoulders hunched up and he looked up into the sky. He laughed lightly,
but there was no humour in it. 

 "She told me she was pregnant. She thought it was mine and she was going
to get rid of it." Despite his conclusion Fraser was shocked. He didn't
know what to say, but he didn't need to respond. 

 "We, uh, we used protection. I don't know how . . . any way. I don't even
know if she was telling the truth about it being mine, because how do I
know if she was seeing other guys? But she said, she said . . . ." He
stopped and began to rock on the bench and tucked his chin into his chest.
Fraser put his hand on Ray's shoulder in an effort to calm him. 

 "You know, even if it isn't mine, I would, you know, like to have a
chance to find out. But I won't get that chance. I tried, I asked her to
wait, that I'd take the kid; she didn't have to worry about it, just give
me a chance. She refused, her mind's made up, I don't get any say. I, uh,
I gave her all the cash I had on me, to uh, pay for it. That's why she
wanted to meet, she didn't have enough to pay for the, uh, the, uh, uh . .
. ." He stumbled to a stop, unable to say the word and coughed. 

 "That's the only connection I'll ever have with, with . . . it. That I
helped pay for . . . uh, uh, god, oh god." He broke then; silent jerking
sobs making his body clench into itself. Fraser wrapped his arm around
Ray, trying to let him know, if awkwardly, that he emphasized. What to do?
Ray's reaction to this event was worse than when they had saved Beth
Botrelle at the last minute. As he often did when nervous, Fraser began to
ramble. 

 "You know, Ray, many of the old pagan religions are based on goddess
worship. The cultures of these religions were often matrilineal and are
theorized to have been peaceful agricultural societies. The ability to
bear children was seen as a gift of the goddess and women were seen as
blessed, mostly because the mechanics of pregnancy and conception was not
fully understood." 

 He paused to rub Ray's back a moment, trying to discern if what he was
saying was doing any good. Ray turned toward him slightly, leaned into him
and Fraser put his other hand up to rest on Ray's shoulder near his neck.
A young woman walked past with a stroller, looking at them with curiosity
as she passed. Fraser watched her as she continued on her way and felt a
pang of . . . understanding. 

 "There's a theory that recent cultures and religions that are patrilineal
and more warlike in their makeup are due to an envy and fear on the part
of men, who envied women their ability to bear children and feared that
they were not important." He didn't know if his rambling was doing Ray any
good until the trembling under his arm changed. 

 "God, Fraser, what is it with you and the stories?" Ray unbent his back
and leaned against the bench as he looked over at Fraser then away. His
eyes were red and swollen, but he was smiling through his tears. Fraser
was glad he had helped Ray, if only a little, and pulled his arm off Ray's
shoulder. 

 "As you know well, Ray, my education was somewhat more extensive than
most." 

 Ray nodded, his whole upper body moving with the action. "Yeah, yeah,
extensive." He glanced at Fraser without turning his head and shrugged.
"Uh, thanks for listening. I guess we should, um, get back to work,
right?" Fraser looked at his watch. "Actually, as it is now past four
o'clock, I would say it's safe to us to contemplate the rest of the
evening." 

 Ray shifted on the bench, then rose, turning his head while searching for
Dief. "Yeah, let's go contemplate the rest of our evening Fraser. What do
you say to something Chi- . . . uh, Mexican? How's the Mambo Grill sound?"


 "Sounds fine, Ray. Drop by the consulate so I can change first?" They
were walking now, back to the car with Dief following. 

 "Yeah, okay. Hey, tell me again about what you think about the break-ins.
Why don't you think Janovich had anything to do with it?" For the third
time Fraser recounted his theory, knowing this time Ray would pay
attention. And later they would talk more about men, women and patterns of
control. 

End Patterns of Control by Ashlan: Ashland40@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.