Don't Plan To Cry	

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em *wail* just borrowin' 'em, and I promise I'll
give 'em back ... eventually. Please don't sue, I'm a student and so
perpetually broke. 

Rating: R? Bad language and m/m relationship (no sex, sorry!) so I guess R
is right, yeah? 

Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski (cuz I dunno about you, but I can't get into that
whole Kowalski/Turnbull thing, but hey *shrug* whatever yanks your chain) 

Author's Notes: This is me first due South fanfic piece, and it came about
during a bout of flu that really pissed me off. What you read here is
basically what I was goin' through about three hours ago *weak grin*, but
people don't wanna read about me and I figgered RayK would understand.
Lucky for him, he has Frase, me ... I don't. The title is taken from a
track called Voodoo (lyrics used without permission) on the Two Houses
album that I've been driving me neighbours crazy with (it's on repeat ...
permanently, hehe) and when I was puzzlin' over a title good ol' Paul
Gross starts singin' real loud. I heard ya. Ta Paul!
 This wasn't betaed so any mistakes are mine, all mine I tell you!!
(insert maniacal laughter here) 

All comments, advice (on the story, not my mental health) and flames to
wylt@hotmail.com, I need feedback like Kowalski needs Frase, gimme! 

Don't Plan To Cry (c) Wylt, September 1999. 

    

Hush now darlin', don't plan to cry
 I said hush now baby, that ain't my style
 Look at you, god knows I do
 I put it down to a thing called Voodoo
 I put it down to the curse of love
 I put it down to Fate 

   

I’m sinking.
  

The sentence made little sense to him, but the truth of the statement that
buzzed through his brain like a bee on speed was undeniable.
 He tried to breathe deeply, push away the anger that threatened to
overwhelm him because anger was safer than the other emotions he was
hiding from, but it just set off a fit of hacking coughs that left him
breathless and irritated. Goddamned fucking flu. He leant his forehead
against the smooth wall of his apartment and gently pounded his fists into
the unrelenting concrete, enough to smart but not cause any permanent
damage. And, when that wasn’t enough to calm him, he began to bang his
head against it instead. The urge to hurt something was overpowering, and
he stilled the impulses flying to his feet, his knees and his fists
without really thinking cuz it wasn’t himself he wanted to hurt.
 A mental image of Fraser, Mr ‘I’ll Lick Anything As Long As It’s
Disgusting’, the Perfect Mountie that he *knew* wasn’t, couldn’t, be all
*that* perfect, flashed into his head. The familiar litany fell from his
lips; Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, RAY! And he stopped banging his head and laughed
instead. The world was a sad place when ... he stopped, not really sure
what he was thinking. The world was a sad place, end of sentence, period,
over, full stop, finito.
 Without conscious thought his hand reached for the packet of cigarettes
lying on his coffee table and he had one lit before he knew what he was
doing. It had been years since he’d last smoked, and he knew that now, of
all times, when it was all he could do to draw a breath without feeling it
catch on the phlegm in his lungs, it was a fucking stupid thing to do. But
he didn’t care. Because smoking was better than going quietly mad in an
empty apartment with no one but yourself to piss off.
 The phone rang, it’s loud brrrriiiinnnggg startling him and cutting
through the soft music in the background. The ansafone picked up, but he
grabbed the receiver, hoping it would be Fraser. Instead, it was Frannie,
checking up on him and for some reason that annoyed him. Couldn’t they
just leave him alone?! Somehow, he managed to sound polite, if not
cheerful, and within two minutes the conversation was over and he was back
to prowling the living room floor.
 His thoughts returned to his partner, Constable Benton Fraser of the
Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Frase was always polite, so untouchable, so
calm and strong in the face of just about anything. No, scratch that. In
the face of anything. And he thought back to his deceit on the phone, and
his impulses to lash out at anything, anyone, so long as the violence
within him was exhausted, even if it was only for the moment.
 Is that how it is for you? He asked the mental image of Fraser. Is this
what ya do? Still all emotions, smother the impulses before they grow too
strong to control? Live yer life so that no one else knows how ya feel cuz
it’s easier and there’s no repercussions if they don’t? Nobody gets hurt
by the things ya feel if they don’t know about ‘em, right Frase? He could
understand that. The fear of hurting someone with his true feelings could
be greater than the pain of keeping them hidden, and after a while he’d
bet that a person, or a Mountie, wouldn’t even realise they were doing it.
He’d have hurt Frannie if he’d given into his impulse and told her to fuck
off before slamming the phone down, but that weren’t what he was thinking
about. This went deeper. And it went back to the emotions he was trying to
hide from.
 His hand reached into the drawer before he even realised what he was
looking for. A second pack of ciggies, out of the five he’d bought a
couple of days ago when he’d finally gotten so bored of his surroundings
he’d ventured out to his nearest shop for a change of scenery. Even if
said scenery was snow, graffiti, dickheads and more snow. Not to mention
snow, cold air and a nose that wouldn’t stop forgetting how to work
properly.
 He sighed bitterly, wondering when the fury that simmered beneath the
surface of every single damn moment of his life had been called into
existence. What had happened to make him so cynical, so angry, and as a
result so violent? Because, for him, violence was the only way to burn
that overflow of rage. Even if it was only at a wall. There had been a
time when the anger was easier, when it’s presence within him had faded to
such a degree he never thought about it. That had been because of Stella,
Assistant State’s Attorney Stella Kowalski, his ex-wife. But he pushed
away thoughts of Stella because with them came the pain ... and more
anger.
 The only other person who could calm him, make him swallow his violence
was Fraser. And he din’t wanna go there cuz there were a whole load o’
them emotions all nicely tangled up inside him that he didn’t wanna look
at. Ever. Thankyoukindly.
 His pacing took him past the TV and, despite the fact that the stereo was
still playing, he snatched up the remote, thumbing it on. Flicking through
the endless channels his shoulders slumped as he realised that he didn’t
want the TV on and the impulse to throw the remote through the window was
suppressed and quickly turned into a smooth lob that settled the small
plastic box onto the couch where it promptly disappeared between the
cushions.
 Nope. Weren’t gonna work. The anger wasn’t gonna disappear. People had to
distract him for that to happen, and the only person who ever came to his
apartment was Fraser. And he’d told the Mountie to fuck off an’ leave him
the hell alone after two days of the over-protective Mother Hen routine
Fraser had had goin’. Even Dief had looked hurt at that one. And those
blue eyes of Fraser’s had narrowed and then hardened to stare at him
coldly. Just like after he’d popped him one on the shore of the Lake. And
then he’d gone, just gone. Before he could apologise, before he could
cover, before he could tell him -
 His mind hit a wall, and pulled up so fast he blinked. Don’t go there,
Kowalski, he told himself sternly.
 A bead of sweat trickled it’s way with a stubborn slowness that bordered
on ticklishness down the back of his neck. Swiping at it, he realised with
a start how hot he was. Yanking his sweater off and throwing it absently
on the floor he grasped the edges of his t-shirt, flapping the hem to
create a cooling breeze across his stomach. His breath was short, panting
against the heat as he struggled to draw a full lungs worth of air into
him and he slid down the wall to huddle miserably with his legs drawn up
to his chest.
 It annoyed him that Fraser defined him. He was the skinny guy with
Fraser, the blonde guy, the impulsive guy, the outspoken guy, the erratic,
rude, blunt and impolite guy. Never just a guy. Never just Ray, or Stan,
or Kowalski, Vecchio even. When people pointed him out they just nodded
towards Fraser and said; see that guy, the one you want is standin’ next
to him. But he could handle that on a normal day, cuz people would have ta
be blind not to notice Fraser. He shone. No one else could ever hope to be
seen, because Fraser’s beauty eclipsed them. And he couldn’t get mad at
Frase for it, cuz it weren’t even like he did it on purpose, though he
*knew* the Mountie wasn’t unaware of the reactions his presence caused. It
was just easier to deal with if he pretended he din’t.
 What *did* piss him off was that he needed to be pushed for things to be
done, an’ Frase was the only one who could do it without makin’ him so mad
he wanted to pop ‘im. Well, apart from Stella. But she’d left him, left
that responsibility and buggered off. And it wasn’t even like it had been
a responsibility, cuz he’d tried to make sure she never had to push him to
get him to do stuff. He’d wanted to please her, so he’d done all the
pushing himself.
 It all came down to not giving a shit. Not caring if his home was a pig
sty. Not caring if the clothes he wore were creased and rumpled. Not
caring if he ate properly, or if he went to bed hungry because he couldn’t
be arsed to cook. Not caring if the bills were paid or not, or if he had
enough money. Luckily, for the most part anyway, that bit was covered. But
the rest, he couldn’t bring himself to care, didn’t have the energy and he
especially didn’t have the energy now. Because if nobody else cared, then
why should he?
 His gaze fell onto the ash tray sitting on the corner of the low table
and he was surprised to see six butts half hidden by the ash. Then he
shrugged. Time enough for another twenty or so yet.
 The acrid smoke bit at his lungs and he coughed so hard he thought he was
gonna puke, but it wasn’t enough to make him put the damn thing out, so
once he’d calmed down he kept right on puffing away.
 What was he gonna do? He sighed, unsure what particular part of his life
that thought referred to, and as the small breath mingled with the heated
air in his apartment the anger faded somewhat. Only problem was, as the
anger dissipated all that was left was misery. And the anger was most
definitely preferable. It gave him the energy to get outta bed in the
morning, the will to go out an’ catch scumbags, the strength to see the
day through without killing himself. Because dwelling on the misery only
made him feel suicidal. Not that he’d actually kill himself, but there
were days, he knew, that he could quite happily have gone somewhere he
shouldn’t have without back-up, or stood up at the wrong moment during a
firefight. Quick n easy. But he was too much of a coward, and he didn’t
really wanna die if he was honest. He just wanted the anger and misery to
go away. He wanted the hollow pit inside of him that was filled with
loneliness and hurt to fuck off. Oh, it was easy enough during the day,
with people around him to distract him, to forget. But whenever he was
alone, that pit swelled and threatened to drag him down into a black
depression he was afraid he’d never claw his way up from. And he was
terrified that all he would ever feel was the anger, violence, pain,
loneliness and emptiness.
 His mind turned once more to Fraser, and he wondered if the brave Mountie
ever felt this way. And then mulled over his habit of turning to Fraser
when he felt out of his depth. Why? In his mind’s eye he saw those
beautiful blue eyes once more. But they were smiling this time. Really
smiling. At him. And the light that shone from them was blinding. And he
realised, with a pang, that he needed that light. It was strong enough to
keep the darkness at bay. When Fraser was around he felt safe, nothing and
nobody could hurt them when they were together, including himself.
Overtired and overemotional he fought down the sob rising in his throat,
because Fraser wasn’t here. That light wasn’t here. And without it he was
sinking.
 He grabbed for the packet of cigarettes again, needing an anchor, any
kind of anchor, and shakily lit another one, willing his body to stop
aching. Six would soon become eight.
 His need for Fraser was all encompassing; emotional, physical, mental.
His mobile lips twisted into a grin at that. Yeah, mental. Defines us both
pretty good. But he was skirting the truth, distracting himself, because
he didn’t want to admit - even to himself - that he ... What? That he
needed Fraser? He already knew that. So what? He rummaged around inside
himself, shining a bright torch on all those feelings he hadn’t wanted to
look at cuz not to was not an issue now. If he didn’t he lost; his will,
his ... well hell, himself. He’d lose himself sooner or later without that
light. Without that love. And he knew then. And it scared the shit out of
him.
 Because he was in love with Fraser.
 He’d known he loved him. But that was the kind of love you had for a
friend, for a brother, y’know? But that wasn’t *exactly* the kinda love he
felt for the tall, flawlessly white skinned Mountie with eyes so blue you
could drown in them, although it was part of it. He was *in* love with
him. A freak. He was in love with a freak, so what did that make him? He
smiled, course that made him a freak too. But then the smile faded, cuz
this is Fraser I’m talkin’ about. And there ain’t no way the Mountie is
gonna return these feelings. And that was almost as bad as the
never-ending sea of anger inside of him. But the light was still
available, even if the love wasn’t. And he’d take all he could get right
now, before he sank beneath the waves and let it carry him away. He could
do that. He *would* do that, because the alternative was not only
unthinkable, but downright terrifying.
 The desire to bask in that light, let it calm the rage burning inside of
him and soothe the violence drove him into action. He pulled his jacket
over his t-shirt, feeling the cold leather ease the heat burning through
his body, and grabbed his keys as he headed for the Consulate, the light,
and Fraser.
  

The Consulate building was dark, and his instincts told him that it was
empty even as he pounded vainly at the large door. He stood back, face red
and disappointed as he realised that Fraser wasn’t home. He dropped to his
knees on the cold, frost-bitten and snow covered steps, his lean form
shaking. He couldn’t cope, he couldn’t. Despite the cold he was still hot,
and he belatedly realised he probably had a fever. But the will to move
had left with the Mountie and he just huddled on the floor as he struggled
to regain enough strength to get up. Minutes, hours, years later he pulled
himself to his feet and staggered back to the GTO. Firing up the engine,
he pulled away from the curb and headed back to the loneliness of his
apartment, all the while wondering where, and with who, Fraser was.
 The scene outside his apartment block bewildered him. Blue and whites
were running all over the joint like blue-arsed flies, civilians had
flocked to the parking lot, over eager to see something gruesome and he
wondered if they’d get their wish. Flagging down the nearest uniform he
could see he fished around in his pocket for his badge and asked for an
explanation. Seemed that some loony had decided to use his home, well his
building, as a good place to experiment whether he could fly or not. The
officer he was talking to was wondering, with perverted fascination, if
bouncing counted. His answering smile was brittle and he pushed past the
flatfoot to enter his building, climbing wearily up the stairs. The loony
was braver than he was. He fumbled for a moment through all his keys for
the right one, finally fitting it into the lock despite the ceaseless
trembling that had started at the Consulate. Without Fraser who would burn
the gloom from his soul? And he allowed himself to briefly wonder if the
loony was lonely and needed some company wherever they were now.
 He pushed open the door, into the dim light of one lamp that failed to
cut into the overall darkness of his apartment. He paused, one leg raised
to kick the door shut as a shadow detached itself from the wall and
coalesced into the shape of Fraser. Tall, broad Fraser with his dark hair
curling at his nape and his blue eyes wide with worry and fear. His gaze
moved past the Mountie and fell onto the white form of Diefenbaker curled
in a corner sound asleep. If the wolf was here then Fraser was real, not
another figment of his imagination. He let out the breath he’d been
unconsciously holding, feeling his lungs burn and struggled to hold back
the coughing fit he could feel forcing it’s way upon him. His softly
exhaled sigh sounded more like a strangled sob to his ears, but it was
quickly deafened by the choking coughs racking at his body. He looked up,
through watery eyes, to find Fraser standing next to him, face and eyes
unreadable. He held a hand out, gesturing at him to wait until he caught
his breath before starting his lecture, and was surprised when strong
fingers encircled his wrist and pulled him up from his slumped position
against the wall. Fraser’s other hand rubbed gently at his back, soothing
the shuddering as he struggled for air and control at his touch. His
forehead was pressed against Fraser’s shoulder, the Mountie’s muscular
body supporting him, and his nostrils were filled with the clean scent of
soap, shampoo and the basic essence of Fraser.
 The Canadian pulled him over to the sofa, hands gently pushing him down
into the cushions as he silently lifted his feet to the chair and removed
his boots. He closed his eyes, fighting to breathe, just breathe. His
apartment door was pushed shut and he could hear Fraser fussing around in
the kitchen, the sound of running water suggested he was making tea. The
lecture he’d been expecting wasn’t coming ... yet, he amended quickly. Yer
ain’t *that* lucky, Kowalski, he wryly told himself. He wondered briefly
how Fraser had got into his apartment, then gave a mental shrug. Who
cares? He’s here. He’s here with me, not out somewhere with someone else.
 He struggled upwards, hauling himself into a sitting position as his nose
clogged and bubbles of crap started to affect his breathing. Fraser’s hand
on his shoulder made him jump and he opened his eyes.
 ‘Lay down, Ray.’
 He shook his head, unable to catch enough breath to speak and fought
against the gentle pressure of his hand. He gestured wildly for the box of
tissues on top of the TV, needing to clear his nose and his throat.
 ‘Lemme up Frase, ‘less you want me to die of asphyxiation.’ He was proud
of himself for managing to gasp out that sentence, was proud of that word,
even if it had been ‘word of the day’ on some toilet paper in a cafe he
couldn’t remember the name of. He started coughing again and Fraser
hurried to pass him the tissues. He blew his nose noisily, sniffing
against the last vestiges and was pleased to discover his nose was working
properly again.
 The Mountie had retreated back into the kitchen, leaning against the
dividing wall, watching him expressionlessly.
 ‘That’s what smoking does to you, Ray.’
 He groaned, falling back onto the sofa. Shit. He’d forgotten about the
ashtray, but then he hadn’t been expecting Fraser to be here. 
 ‘How are you feeling?’
 He grinned. ‘Like shit.’
 ‘Have you eaten?’
 He shook his head. ‘No appetite.’ He waited for the Mountie to tell him
he had to eat to keep his strength up, to reprimand him for swearing, but
it didn’t come. He frowned, something was wrong with Fraser. He seemed
almost ... angry. And that never happened.
 ‘Frase?’ His voice was quiet, uncertain, but the Mountie didn’t seem to
hear him. He pushed himself to his feet, cautiously entering the kitchen. 
 Fraser looked up from the tea he was making and nodded. Just once, and
for no reason he could see.
 ‘I just wanted to check that you were okay, Ray. I’ll go now.’
 His hand snaked out as Fraser brushed past him, fastening with an iron
grip about his wrist as he realised that the Canadian was leaving him.
 ‘Frase, I’m sorry ‘bout yellin’ at ya. Y’know, the uver day when I tol’
ya to fuck off. I din’t mean it. I’m sorry if I hurt ya, or anythin’.’ And
he was sorry, because when Fraser was hurt the light dimmed, and without
that light Fraser wouldn’t be Fraser. He never wanted to hurt Fraser
again. Ever. Kiss him, maybe. But not hurt him.
 Suddenly all the pent up emotion, the misery and loneliness was too much
for him to cope with and he clutched at Fraser’s shirt with both hands.
 ‘Don’t go.’ He begged desperately. ‘Please, don’t ...’ Leave me, he meant
to say, but couldn’t. Because this was Fraser, and if he knew he’d run a
mile.
 ‘Ray?’ A hand came up to brush at his hair, a gentle touch that undid
him. ‘What’s wrong?’
 He gave one last flailing kick against the strong tug of the waves inside
of him. ‘Drowning.’ He gasped, hoping Fraser would understand, cuz Fraser
always did. It’s what he was good at.
 ‘What can I do? What do you need?’
 His head was buried in the joint between Fraser’s neck and shoulder and
he could feel the tears rising, equal with the terror. But it was the
terror of eternal loneliness, not of the moment.
 ‘You. Need you. Your light.’ He whispered the words against the white
skin, so pale it was the colour of snow. And his tears were falling,
soaking the patterned blue shirt, and he was shuddering and sobbing and
didn’t care.
 Because Fraser’s arms were cradling him. Fraser’s hands were caressing
him. Fraser’s voice was pushing back the darkness so that his light could
shine in. Two little words. Two little words that kept it at bay.
 ‘It’s yours.’
 They sank to the floor, Fraser with his back to the door and he was being
held against that strong body. Fraser’s voice was breathing comforting
assurances into his ear, the sounds unintelligible. He concentrated on
them, on that deep, vibrant voice and stilled as he finally heard the
words.
 ‘I love you, Ray. Everything’s going to be alright. I promise.’
 The light was suddenly so bright it blinded him, and his breath caught.
He opened his eyes, pulling back to look up into those amazing eyes. They
were smiling. Really smiling. At him.
 And maybe, just maybe, the light would be strong enough to destroy the
darkness and the well would fill with something else. Someone else.
Fraser.
 Because, he suddenly discovered, Fraser had been there all along.
  

Finis