Preternatural Guidance	Preternatural Guidance

 by Beth H

  

 Author's website: http://beth-h.mrks.org

 Disclaimer: Nope. Still not mine.

 Author's Notes: 

 Story Notes: Just in case anyone cares, I'm holding Debbie (aka Starfish)
entirely to blame for this. She shot down my original idea (I think her
exact words were: "Have you been drinking?") and left me in a state of
complete writers block, until a fit of madness the final afternoon of the
challenge led me to kinda-sorta cannibalize the lovely "Parental Guidance"
for spare parts. Huge apologies to her co-authors Alanna and Kass for
semi-blatant theft. No apologies to Starfish. :) 

 

 

 Preternatural Guidance
 by Beth H
 (c) June 7, 2003 

 "Aren't you taking your cell phone, Ray?" 

 "Nah. It's dead." 

 "Surely it can be repaired." 

 "Fraser, when I say dead, I mean really dead. As dead as a doorman." 

 He deliberated briefly whether he should ask if Ray might have been
thinking of the more common Dickensian phrase "dead as a door nail" or
whether he'd meant to say the less common, yet apparently equally
acceptable "dead as a door knob," but before he could decide between them,
he saw Ray grinning at him. 

 He shook his head and sighed. "You say these things on purpose, don't
you?" 

 Ray laughed. "Don't know what you mean, buddy. Listen, I'm going to get
the car. Why don't you go rescue the wolf from the clutches of Aisha and
Naomi down in Dispatch, and meet me out front." 

 "Certainly." He looked back at the phone. "I'll take this with me, if you
don't mind. Perhaps some charitable organization might appreciate
receiving it as a gift." 

 "A dead cell phone? I don't think anyone takes . . . never mind. Yeah,
sure . . . bring it along. Meet you out front in five, okay?" 

 Fraser watched as Ray left the squad room, then picked up the phone, but
before he could put it in his jacket pocket, it rang. He looked down at
the phone in confusion, but automatically opened the connection. 

 "Good afternoon. You've reached Detective Ray Kowalski's cellular
telephone. Constable Benton Fraser speaking. How may I help you?" 

 *"Ben? Is that you?"* 

 The sound of the woman's voice tugged at his memory. 

 *"Oh, my darling. I've missed you so much."* 

 Fraser swallowed hard and closed his eyes. 

 "Mum?"  

 Ray didn't know what was up with Fraser, but whatever it was, it had him
distracted enough to trip over a coiled rope and fall into a vat of fish
heads during an investigation down at the pier. The weirdest thing - apart
from the fact that this was probably the first time Fraser had ever
tripped over anything in his life - was that he didn't even seem to notice
he was stinking worse than Dewey on a bad day. Ray practically had to drag
him back to the apartment by his lanyard and throw him into the shower. 

 Ray sighed. At least Fraser wasn't hiding out tonight. Every evening for
the past week, Fraser'd headed back to the Consulate as soon as they'd
finished whatever case-related stuff Ray had going. Six nights in a row,
Ray'd asked if Fraser wanted to come over to his place or maybe catch a
movie, but each time, Fraser refused - politely, of course - saying that
he was expecting a phone call. 

 As if on cue - and just barely audible over the sound of Fraser singing a
sea shanty in the shower - he could hear the phone ring. Ray frowned. His
new cell was programmed to play the opening notes of "London Calling" when
it rang. And Fraser didn't have a cell phone, not unless . . . . he picked
Fraser's jacket up off the back of the couch. Yep, that was his old phone
in the pocket. Ringing. 

 "Yeah?" 

 *"Detective Kowalski, is it? I was hoping I'd be able to speak with
you."* 

 The guy's voice sounded familiar, like somebody he'd met up in Canada. 

 "That's right. I'm Ray Kowalski. Who's this?" 

 *"Bob. I'm Benton's . . . what, Caroline? Yes, it's his friend. Yes, I'm
asking him!"* 

 "Uh . . . Bob? You sure you don't want to speak with Fraser?" 

 *"Oh no, you're the one I wanted to speak with. We . . .well, that is to
say, Caroline was wondering whether you like caribou stew."* 

 "Whether I like . . . uh . . . it tasted pretty good the last time I was
freezing out on an ice field. You sure you don't want me to get Fr . . .
Benton for you?" 

 *"Not necessary. He's always liked caribou stew, even when he was a
little boy."* 

 "Yeah, well . . . okay, then. Is that it?" 

 *"Yes, thanks. You know,"* he whispered conspiratorially, *"I told his
mother she didn't have to make a fuss, but you know women. Always worried
about getting these kinds of occasions just right. Goodnight, Detective."*


 "Call me Ray," he said automatically. 

 *"Ray, it is. We're looking forward to meeting you, son."* 

 He was still staring at the broken cell phone when a towel-clad Fraser
came out of the bathroom five minutes later. 

 "Ray, do you think I might borrow one of your . . . ." 

 He looked at the phone in Ray's hand. 

 "Ah." 

 "Yeah, you can say that again, Benton. You got anything you forgot to
mention this week? Because you know, if I didn't think it would get me
locked up in a rubber room somewhere, I'd say I was just talking to your
dead father about dinner plans with your family." 

 Fraser licked his lip. 

 "Well, to be honest, Ray . . . ." 

 Ray began to pace back and forth in the living room. "Fraser, what the
hell have you been saying to them? And don't tell me you haven't been
talking to them all week, because I won't believe you. It explains why
you've been acting so weird. But . . . what? You made dinner plans?" 

 Fraser's eyes widened. "This is what's disturbing you? That my parents
want to have us over for dinner? Not the fact that they're both . . .
dead?" 

 Ray stopped in his tracks. "Oh. Yeah, okay . . . I suppose that should
seem more weird than it is." He shook his head, then scowled at Fraser.
"Don't change the subject, which is what have you been talking about with
them? Because I gotta tell you, Fraser, I'm having a flashback to a phone
call from Stella's dad, the night before her sweet sixteen party, saying
it was high time they met me." 

 Fraser turned away, but Ray could still see the blush on his pale skin. 

 "I suppose . . . I may have been a bit excessive when . . . extolling
your qualities." 

 Ray tilted his head. "You saying you lied to your parents about me,
Fraser?" 

 "No, of course not!" Fraser turned back to face Ray. "Just that . . . I
may have gone on a bit longer than . . . ." He sighed. "It's been a long
time since I've been able to speak with my mother, Ray." 

 Ray wasn't sure what suddenly happened to the air supply in his
apartment. All he knew was that when he put his arm around his partner and
held him, the tightness in his chest started to ease again.  

 Ray closed the refrigerator door and turned around. "That's the last of
it, yeah?" 

 "I believe so," Fraser said. "At least it's the last of the leftovers." 

 "We're not going to talk about how it was possible to end up with
leftovers from your family dinner, right?" 

 Fraser sighed. "We could, but I don't think it would be a terribly
productive use of our time. I've found that, where my family's concerned,
it's sometimes better to just . . . . " 

 "Go with the flow?" 

 Fraser nodded. "Something like that, yes." 

 "I like them, Fraser. Even . . . whatshisname, the one who brought the
cole slaw." 

 "Uncle Tiberius." 

 "Yeah, Tiberius. He told me that the two of you used to spend a lot of
time together when you were a kid." 

 "Mmm. He was the one I felt I could best talk to about . . . well . . .
certain feelings of . . . ." 

 "Because he's queer, too." 

 "As you say." 

 Ray sat down on a stool and looked at the packages spread out over the
kitchen counter. "Seems to me the whole family's okay with it now." 

 "They did seem to be rather taken with you. Most of these packages are
yours." 

 He barked out a laugh. "I don't know how much that means. Your grandma
kept giving me the evil eye." 

 "She gave you a gift, Ray." 

 "She gave me pajamas. With little red fire engines on them. In some
cultures that's like handing someone a chastity belt." 

 Fraser muttered something to the floor. 

 "What? What'd you say?" 

 "Just that . . . she gave the same kind of pajamas to me a few years ago
during a stay in hospital." 

 "Yeah?" Ray pulled the pajamas out of the bag they were in and looked at
them for a minute. They really weren't too bad. "You know they think we're
a couple, right?" 

 "I'm afraid so, Ray. I should have said something to disabuse them of
that notion, but . . . ." 

 "But you didn't really want to, did you?" 

 Fraser shook his head. "No. I'm sorry. I'll call them tomorrow and . . .
." 

 "Let it go." 

 "What?" 

 "Just . . . go with the flow. You don't have to say anything. Nothing's
written in stone." 

 Fraser looked at Ray in surprise. "You mean you'd . . . ." 

 "I don't mean anything, yet. Let's just . . . let's just get some sleep.
And Fraser?" 

 Fraser stopped pulling the cushions off the couch and stacking them
neatly on the coffee table. 

 "Yes, Ray?" 

 "I think the bed's big enough for two. 

 Ray wasn't sure he was ready to talk about what was going on between
them. Definitely didn't want to think about having to talk to his own
parents about this. But . . . it might make a nice change to have in-laws
who didn't hate him, this time around. 

End Preternatural Guidance by Beth H: beth-h@mrks.org

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