Title: Valet    

Title: Valet 

Author: necessary angel 

Pairing: RT/RK 

Rating: G - m/m implications 

Spoilers: For Asylum 

Disclaimer: Not mine. 

Notes: Turnbull's reaction to Ray K. wearing his uniform. You could
consider it a companion piece to "Silence". Or another spin on a theme
that just won't leave my head. <g>. 

Thanks to Megan for speedy, speedy beta and to Kasha for encouragement.
This is for them. 

  

********* 

Valet by necessary angel 

************ 

He had played me.  

I knew that even as I fumbled with the fastenings of my tunic. No doubt
Constable Fraser had his spare 
 uniforms in his office, but he would not approve of this enterprise by
Detective Vecchio. Therefore, 
 Detective Vecchio would have to make do with my uniform.  

My fingers stuttered as they dealt with my bootlaces. He had played me.  

And not particularly well at that. The outrageously transparent play
Detective Vecchio had made for 
 my uniform should have been easy to turn away. It would have been, but
for the speculation and humor 
 in his eyes. The humor which, strangely enough, wasn't directed at me,
but rather at himself; that intrigued 
 me almost more than the speculation. 

It hadn't taken him very long to start wondering about me. Even Benton
Fraser had taken longer. This 
 unconventional man had taken his first proper look at me today, and that
had been enough.  

I hadn't been able to stop myself encouraging him in his deliberate
provocations. I have never been able to resist 
 such situations. A sparring match over curling might have been considered
a step too far, but in any case it was a 
 moot point. Although it might have been fun to find out if the purpose
behind the playful stance Detective Vecchio 
 had taken up translated into action. Benton, of course, had dropped right
into the game when he had returned with
 Detective Vecchio's notes. The mischievous edge that had accompanied his
impromptu strip routine had thrown
 Detective Vecchio. I was free to smile at that now.  

I gathered my uniform and made my way back to the conference room. The
games had turned serious. 
 I knew that Benton would expect me to keep Detective Vecchio here in the
Consulate, and I could keep him 
 here.	

He was safe here. 

But safe wasn't enough. Not for him, and it certainly wouldn't have been
for me. Standing back and watching
 your career disintegrate ... well, I wondered at Benton for expecting him
to do just that.  

My uniform would provide him with a surface disguise. The rest of it was
up to him. I had no idea what kind of
 policeman he was, but he must have the necessary talent and skills to be
a good undercover operative. Otherwise,
 he wouldn't be here wearing another man's name. He certainly hadn't been
chosen for the role of Detective Vecchio
 based on his appearance. 

"At last, Turnbull. I thought you'd...." His voice trailed off and he was
staring at me.	

At all of me. 

My face felt hot but I met his gaze as levelly as I could. "I assume you
still...." 

"Yeah, yeah. It's just that...never mind. Give it here." 

I passed him my bundle of clothing and he shook it out. I took up station
beside the door and waited. He would 
 need assistance. I suppressed the giggles that rose up at the memory of
my first attempts donning the Serge. 
 It hadn't been funny then, just unbelievably frustrating. 

"Jeez, it's hard to believe that anything this bright could be considered
a disguise." He was shedding his own 
 clothes with dizzying speed. Long lean muscles covered in winter pale
skin, and, most intriguing of all, the blue 
 green flash of a tattoo. 

"You'll need your undershirt." 

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. Itchy, right?"  

He wriggled back into his shirt, and that was almost worse than watching
all that skin being uncovered. 

"Very." I stepped closer but made no move to help. I wanted him to ask.  

He had pulled on the jodhpurs and was frowning over the fastenings. I
could hear the muttered curses, and bit 
 the inside of my lip. 

"Fuck... how do you and Fraze cope with this every day?" 

"Practice."  

I still hadn't offered my assistance, but it was getting much more
difficult to maintain my straight face. 

"Okay, I give; how do these things work?" His grin was rueful and I should
have felt some shame at letting him
 struggle. 

I knelt down and worked at the ties, trying to ignore the dense feel of
his calf muscles. "Like this, so that the boots 
 fit correctly." 

"You know, if you were Fraser I'd be getting a lecture about the proper
care and wear, and no doubt the history of 
 the uniform." He winked down at me. 

"I'm not Constable Fraser, and if I were...." 

"I'd not be almost wearing this uniform." 

"Something like that." I sat back. "Sit down and I'll do your, my...oh,
the boots." 

The boots were easier, another layer between my fingers and his skin.  

"These are okay." He stood up barely seconds after I finished lacing the
boots. He took a couple of experimental 
 steps. "Almost worth the price of admission." 

"I beg your pardon?"  

I eased myself to my feet. The conference room floor was not at all kind
to bare knees. The extra height the boots 
 had given him looked good; he looked good. Surprisingly good. He should
have looked ridiculous, given the disparity
 in our physiques.  

"The pants. Silly, itchy pants, Turnbull." 

"You don't have to wear them." The sarcasm slipped out before I could
prevent it.  

"Couldn't wear the target ... I mean, the tunic, without them." His tone
was utterly reasonable and I couldn't help 
 smiling at his words. 

The worst of it was over. He managed the tunic and the Sam Browne without
my help. 

He eyed the lanyard with distaste. "Shit, worse than having to wear a tie,
and I never thought I'd say that."  

"Easier to strangle someone with it." I was standing next to him and I
reached out my hand for the lanyard. 

He watched me warily as I slipped it over his head. He smelt of shampoo,
my soap, gunpowder, and then faintly 
 of sweat. My fingers fumbled on the lanyard and he drew in a shaky
breath. "Um, that strangling thing..." 

"Was merely an observation. There; all done."  

I stepped back and eyed him critically. He would do. The tunic was
slightly overlong in the sleeves, but nothing 
 too obvious.  

He settled my Stetson on his head and tugged at his collar. "Jeez, you and
Fraze deserve medals, or locking up, 
 or something." 

I bristled, but before I could find any words he was moving out of the
room. He paused at the main doors.  

"Er... thanks, Turnbull. I mean it." Every trace of mockery and humor had
been wiped away. 

I nodded. He tipped the brim of the Stetson with one long fingered hand
and left. 

From the window, I watched him run down the steps in the flimsy protection
of my uniform, 
 as if he did it every day. 

End