Night Driving by Jessica Harris   Night Driving By Jessica Harris  

Rating : PG. Fraser/Ray K
 Disclaimer: Sadly, they don't belong to me.
 Feedback: Always welcome at lumpj@hotmail.com	

There's no light here but the cones of the headlights, showing me the
white line ribboning out before us into the night. The trees by the side
of the road are just darker shapes against the dark sky, and the noise of
the engine and the radio playing staticky oldies makes a soft cushion of
sound around us. Fraser is quiet beside me, staring out the window in some
kind of road trance, miles away inside his head. And I know that if I
start thinking about it, it'll scare me, how quiet he is. So I try not to
think about it, and concentrate on the road.  

I've always liked road trips. You pack up what you want, you leave the
rest behind, and you take off towards -- well, whatever it is you want to
take off towards. And as long as you're in the car, that could be
anything. There's nothing but the road and infinite possibilities in front
of you.  

Of course, that only lasts until the car stops. Once you actually get
somewhere, you realise that there's only so much you can leave behind,
that you're still the same old person with the same old troubles, and that
where you're headed has already been half decided by where you've been.  

But as long as you're in motion you can forget that. Sometimes I wish that
there was some way you could just keep going. That this drive could last
forever, just him and me and the road reeling out before us. All the other
stuff left behind.  

'Cause it's the other stuff that's killing us.	

I thought I could leave my past behind. But I've found out it's not so
easy. I want this with him. But I can't stop thinking about how hard it's
going to be for the rest of our lives, and he just doesn't understand. He
doesn't get the way that other people think. The things that the other
guys in the squadroom would say if they knew, the things I know they'd
say, 'cause I would have said them too, once. What Frannie would think, or
Stella, or, oh God, my father, how it would kill him, just kill him if he
knew about us -- I never was the man he wanted me to be, and now to turn
out queer on top of everything else....  

And I know that none of that stuff should matter, but it all gets tangled
up inside my head until I don't know anything anymore. Sometimes at the
station I'll look up and see him looking at me, and when I meet his eyes
there's just so much there that I have to look away. And then I feel bad
for looking away, so I look back, and I can see that he's trying to
reassure me, silently, and that makes me feel... well, I'm afraid that
it's written all over my face, how that makes me feel, as clearly as it is
on his, out there for everyone to see and know and judge. So I have to
look away again. And then when I look back there's this look in his eyes,
kind of hurt and --  

And I can't stand to see it there, and know I caused it. And then I can't
look at him at all, or even be near him, so I jitter out of the room and
try to find something else to do.  

Then I get to thinking, what if I looked at him one day and that thing,
that thing he feels for me, wasn't there in his eyes any more. And when I
think about that, I have to go find him again, and look into his eyes, and
it all starts all over again. And by the time we get home I'm tied in
knots inside from it, tied so tight it hurts, and all I want is to drag
him into bed and climb on top of him until we've fucked that feeling away
and I can go to sleep with my arms around him, but I don't deserve that,
do I? Not after I've been goddamn looking away from him all day.  

So I shrug his touch off and stare out the window at the dark while he
sleeps beside me. And sometimes the night and the sound of his breathing
are enough to loosen the knots a little and I'll reach out under the
blankets and he'll come awake under my hands and it's all like it should
be. But other times he'll catch my wrists and stop me. Say, "Not now,
Ray." Or something like that. Not angry. Just.... ok, well, a little
angry. I can't blame him. I'd be going crazy if someone was doing this to
me. But I just can't help it. Last time he said, "Does this really make
you so unhappy, Ray?" and I could have cried. He does make me happy. It's
just everything else…  

The car crests a hill and I can see the faint glow of city lights in the
distance, and it makes me feel like I've swallowed a stone. And suddenly,
like they belong to someone else, my hands are spinning the wheel and
pulling us over onto the shoulder of the road, jarring Fraser from his
road-trance.  

"What is it, Ray?" he asks, "Is something wrong with the vehicle?"  

I shake my head and turn to him. I'm suddenly full of crazy ideas --
"Let's never go back!" I want to say to him, "Let's go to Canada and build
one of those, those snow things, up where no one will ever find us, and we
can live there forever!" But when I open my mouth all that comes out is,
"You know, don't you, Fraser? Know that I -- how much I -- I love you.
Right?"  

He just looks at me for a moment, all serious, and for the first time I
see how tired he looks, how much older than the picture I have of him in
my head.  

"Thank you, Ray," he finally says. And then, "But I wish it made you
happier. I don’t know if I can continue like this."  

And I lose it. Put my head down on the wheel and start to cry. And then
his arms are pulling me over, holding me to him, stroking my hair while I
cry like the coward I am. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," is all I can say, and he
just holds me tighter and doesn't say a word.