Stakeout	  Stakeout

 by Doll

  

 

 Disclaimer: 

 Author's Notes: Dedicated specifically to Bast, who always gets me what I
want; and parenthetically to Speranza, who never laughs at my geeky fan
mail.

 Story Notes: 

 

 

 So, I'm sitting in the car, not saying nothing, tapping out the guitar to
'Marigold' on the steering wheel. And yeah, I know you can't really do
that, but I can hear it in my head and that's good enough, right? 

 That's what I'm actually doing. What I'm pretending to do is watch the
house across the street, waiting to see if that scumbag Roberts will show
up. Which he will not. I mean, yeah, the wife and kiddies are in there,
but the 20-year old mistress is in the condo across town, and she's hot to
go, so I'm just saying. Huey, he's going to get the collar, and Fraser and
me? We're going to get sore asses and bad coffee. 

 I flick a quick glance over at Fraser. He's all stiff and alert and
Mountie On Duty. Ha! I bet I could jump in the back seat and take a nap
and Fraser would still be able to bust Roberts and give me the credit.
He's all over everything. I sigh, and Fraser turns to look at me. "Is
everything all right, Ray?" 

 I shrug. "Eh, stakeouts." 

 "Indeed," Fraser says, nodding like I said something smart. I start
tapping the wheel again, and he goes back to watching the house. So then I
go back to what I'm really doing, which is not watching the house and it's
not even the guitar thing, which is what I'm pretending I'm really doing,
but it's really not. 

 What I'm really doing is thinking about what the hell I'm going to do to
Vecchio, if he's lucky enough to come home. 

 I'm not saying I want him to come back dead or nothing. The Vecchios have
been real good to me, treated me like family, and god knows I need it just
then. So, not dead. But for what he did to Fraser, well, he could come
back a little banged up and I wouldn't cry too much. 

 He was Fraser's closest friend, right? Everyone says so, Fraser says so,
so I know it's true. So how could he leave Fraser hanging, with nothing
but that crappy postcard? Because he's got to know it's not like Fraser's
got friends swarming out of the woodwork here. 

 Yeah, sure, he's nice as hell, and polite, and he'll talk to anyone, but
it's all surface, you know? I mean, Fraser's the kind of guy you'd invite
to your sister's wedding reception, but not to dinner with your parents.
Because you know him, but you don't really know him. And he does it on
purpose. It's like he turns his niceness into a shield, and nobody gets
through. 

 Just like his uniform. He puts in on, and bam! Everybody's eyes are
burned by all that red, and they don't see the lonely guy stuck inside it.
It's all Ken Doll on parade. 

 I noticed that right off; really, I was surprised other people didn't.
But then, I'm good at this undercover shit, it's what I do. I got files, I
got sources, I got freaking photos. Fraser didn't used to be like this,
all buttoned-down and buttoned-up and formal. And I know red is for dress
and brown is for daily, so don't tell me he's not doing it on purpose,
okay? Just don't. 

 I'm not saying it's all pretend, like he's my pretend friend because I'm
only the pretend Vecchio. I know he's my friend for real, you don't get
that snarky and pissed-off at someone if you don't trust them, deep down,
not to use it against you. So our friendship, that's solid, that's good,
that's great. 

 What I'm saying is, I'm in, but not all the way in, you know? Probably
not even as far in as real Vecchio was. But look how that turned out, huh?
It's not like I blame Fraser or nothing. Hell, you get hit over the head
enough, you go out and buy a helmet. Just makes sense. 

 Fraser, though, I think he's got to be the loneliest guy ever. More than
me, even. I mean, I got my folks, I got my brother; hell, even Stella I
can still talk to if I really need to. But who's Fraser got? Me and the
wolf, that's who. And Dief, he's a loyal son-of-a-bitch, sure, but not the
nicest of people. Got quite the mouth on him, that wolf. My opinion, no
disrespect. 

 I look at Fraser, sometimes, and I think he concentrates so hard on the
Mountie stuff, just so he don't start shaking. 

 I sigh again, because he's got no-one but me, and I'm not really cutting
it. You'll die, inside where it matters, if you don't have someone to talk
with, to be yourself with, to touch you and need you, all the way down to
the core. Failure to thrive. Fraser, now, he's getting all brittle and dry
inside, and he's going to snap one day soon, I can see it coming. 

 My watch beeps, and the radio crackles, letting us know that the second
shift's here and we're done, and can thank god go home. 

 Fraser's on top of it, all Mountie efficient and 'nothing to report' and
'have a pleasant evening, Detective Johnson', so I let him get on with it
while I sit and think. 

 I mean, I might not be as lonely as Fraser, but it's not like I got a
party going on, either. I think I might be even more needy than he is,
which is saying something. And I know I want to be in with him, in and
further in, not in but out like I am now. So I think maybe I got an idea. 

 Fraser coughs discretely. "Ray? Our relief is here, and in position. If I
could trouble you for a lift to the Consulate?" 

 So I'm flying here, flying on the risk I'm about to take, flying blindly
on the power of the hunch. Do not underestimate the hunch. I take a deep
breath and dive in. "Fraser, my friend," I say, grinning wildly. "Come
home with me." 

 Fraser raises an eyebrow and fingers the brim of his hat. "That's a kind
offer, Ray, but I usually reserve Thursday evenings for Diefenbaker's flea
dip." 

 My grin gets even bigger, because there's Clueless Mountie, and clueless
mountie, and don't think I don't know the difference, because I always do.
This time, though, he's just clueless. 

 So just so he knows what's on offer, what's on tap, I lean over and put
my hand on his leg. On his inner thigh, to be precise. Then I look up at
him, look him dead in the eye, and say, "Fraser. . .Ben, come home with
me." 

 Fraser's eyes widen, and he looks down at my hand and blushes,
honest-to-god blushes. And he's quiet long enough that I start to worry,
but then he looks back up at me, and when I see what's in his eyes, what's
there just for me, well, my breath catches, stutters in my chest. 

 See, this is why I love Fraser. Because even with all the crap he's had
done to him, even though everyone he's loved has hurt him or left him or
screwed him over, he's still big enough and brave enough, he still trusts
me enough to follow me, to twitch his lips up in a little Fraser smile and
say, "Thank you kindly, Ray. That sounds delightful.", and put his hand,
all broad and warm and alive, over mine. 

 So we sit there, grinning like idiots at each other, but of course I have
to move my hand eventually, to put the car in gear so we can actually go
home, which I really, really want to do. And that ruins the moment, but
not the mood, and you know what? I bet I break five, maybe six traffic
laws on the way home, and Fraser? He don't say word one. 

 So I guess maybe I won't have to hurt Vecchio after all. 

End Stakeout by Doll: space___monkey___@hotmail.com

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