All Due South characters belong to Alliance. 

This story is a sequel to Just One Look. It's the same story, but this
time as told from Fraser's POV. Rated PG.  

Thank you Linda, for the suggestion to write this. 

I love feedback, even negative BiermannR@home.com 

  A Second Look by Ruthie Biermann 

I must admit I'm disappointed in Ray. I was certain he would agree to
participate in a foot race for charity this weekend. I'm afraid I cannot
hide my disapproval as he declines my request. Watching him speak, I
notice he's irritated with me, and I haven't a clue as to why. I haven't
said anything since I first approached him about the race, but he's
staring at me and growing steadily more annoyed. 

"Fraser, I told ya I'm too busy ta go running in a race with you this
weekend," he says and proceeds to wave his arms in a grand gesture over
the substantial pile of case files lying on his desk. Apparently,
Leftenant Welsh has issued him an ultimatum for the work to be completed
by Monday. I think about the many times I've suggested to Ray that he work
on his files in a timely manner, thus avoiding this burden every few
months. Evidently, my words have fallen on deaf ears. I decide to broach
him again about the race. 

"Ray, it's for a good cause. The more people who participate, the more
money they can raise for the local homeless shelters." 

He shakes his head at me. "Do not do that, Fraser. Do not do that to me,"
he barks. I'm afraid I have no idea what he's accusing me of doing. I seem
to have agitated him even more now, although I'm still at a loss as to the
reason. I decide to question him, remaining optimistic he'll reply without
biting my head off. 

"Do what, Ray?" I ask as I look at him blankly. I'm trying not to further
incite him. 

He's pointing at my face. "That, Fraser. What yer doin' with yer face and
yer head...and makin' me feel all guilty." 

I can't imagine what he's talking about and I tell him so. And I certainly
cannot be blamed for his feelings of guilt over having turned me down.
Based on his behavior, I can only surmise that Ray is sensitive to my non
verbal facial expressions, although why, I cannot fathom. I can call his
name five times before he responds, but it appears I give him one simple
look, and he accuses me of being the source of his guilt. The only other
individual who's sensitive to my tacit expressions in this manner is my
companion, Diefenbaker. However, he's a wolf...a deaf wolf...so it's quite
logical for him to respond to me on that level. Why Ray seems to be so
highly attuned to my countenance is a mystery. Dare I admit to myself that
I have such power over my partner? It's quite an intriguing scenario. I'll
definitely have to think about this at another time. 

He's now rewarding me with a face any five year old would be proud of when
his Mother tells him to eat his string beans. I wait a few moments and try
again. 

"So, Ray, will you accompany me?" 

"Yeah, okay, Fraser. Cuz it's fer charity and everything, not because of
that," he says, as he points to my face again. Is he indeed referring to
my facial expression? I tilt my head in confusion and begin to question
his meaning when he speaks. 

"Don't say anything, Fraser. I already said I'd do it. Now lemme get some
work done." 

Ah, victory. I smile broadly at him. I find Ray to be a very interesting
study of human behavior, as mere moments ago, he was very annoyed with me,
and now he's happily returning my smile. Actually, Ray looks quite
fetching when he smiles. 

"That's wonderful Ray," I say. I pause knowing he won't be pleased with my
next statement. "You can pick me up at the Consulate tomorrow morning at
seven-thirty." 

As anticipated, he's again presenting me with the five year old's face, a
variation, I should say, as he now looks as if he's just been sent to his
room without dessert. 

"Oh jeez, isn't it dark at seven-thirty?" He is whining, being difficult.
I truly believe that Ray enjoys being difficult. He must...why else would
do it so often? He's fully aware that it's daylight at seven-thirty which
I cheerfully remind him. No reaction. I smile and turn to leave. He calls
me back. 

"Hey Frase, while yer here, maybe you can help me with all these case
files." He has the most peculiar expression on his face now....if I didn't
know any better, I could swear he was imitating a helpless animal. Could
it be that he's attempting to manipulate me with that expression? Perhaps
he's thinking that turnabout is fair play. Well, Ray, my friend, I am not
one to be manipulated.	

I smile again. "I'm sorry, Ray," I say, "but I really must get back to the
Consulate." 

He sinks down into his chair and drops his head into his hands. I leave
before his mood changes for the fourth time inside of five minutes. 

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

It is seven-fifteen on a beautiful, cold and crisp Saturday morning. Dief
and I have just returned from our morning constitutional and we're waiting
for Ray to pick us up. I'm concerned that he hasn't had time to train for
the race as I did, and have decided to discuss it with him. He arrives in
the GTO promptly at seven-twenty. As Dief and I approach the car, I notice
he's wearing....what I assume to be sweats, however, I would venture to
say they're on their last legs so to speak. I, myself, am wearing my
official RCMP sweats, which I painstakingly ironed last night and hung in
the closet to avoid wrinkling.	

As I pull the seat forward for Diefenbaker, I see that Ray looks rested
and, well...serene. Of course, that may change at the drop of a hat.
Speaking of hats, I must admit that I'm not comfortable with the idea that
I'm not wearing my Stetson today. However, being mindful that it would
most likely hinder my running performance, I've left the Stetson in the
safety of my locked office.  

I slide into the passenger seat. "Good morning, Ray. How are you?" I say,
smiling and anticipating any and all responses from my most volatile
partner.  

"Hey, Frase. Good. How 'bout you?" he responds, returning my smile, as he
turns around and pets Dief. 

"Very good, thank you, Ray. Are you prepared for considerable physical
exercise this morning?" I ask him, as I enjoy the solitude of an early
Saturday morning in the city. 

"Sure, Frase. I figure it can't be any harder than boxin' a few rounds,"
he says as he pulls into the street. I'm actually surprised to hear him
say that, as running a half marathon is significantly more strenuous than
a boxing match, and I tell him so. He doesn't seem concerned. 

"Half marathon? So what's that? Five miles or somethin'?" he asks me,
tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. 

Oh dear. I thought I had informed him of the distance yesterday.  

"Why, no, Ray, a half marathon is 21.0975 kilometers," I explain to him. 

He looks over to me now. "Can ya be more exact, Fraser?" He asks me.
Actually, I thought I was being exact, and I'm frankly confused by his
question. 

"Well, no, Ray," I say looking back at him. 

He shakes his head and turns his attention back to the road. "Okay,
Fraser, what's that in American?" 

"13.10938 miles," I say, hoping that is precise enough for him.  

"Uh, what?" Now he looks genuinely surprised. I can only infer from his
reaction that I haven't told him the distance. I must work on that. Being
forgetful can have dire consequences, especially when dealing with one
Stanley Raymond Kowalski. 

"Didn't I tell you, Ray?"  

"No, Fraser, you didn't." He sounds quite bothered with me again.  

"I'm sorry, Ray." I truly am as I'm now apprehensive about his ability to
finish the race. "Do you feel you'll have a problem?" I ask him. 

"No, do you feel I'll have a problem?" He shoots back at me, keeping his
eyes on the road. 

I turn my head to look out the windshield, wishing he would forget what he
had just asked me.  

"Fraser."  

Unfortunately, he remembers. 

"Oh, sorry, Ray." I have to be honest with him. "Well, the fact that you
haven't been training can be a factor..... 

He interrupts me. "So yer sayin' you don't think I can do it?" He seems
quite agitated at this point. If he weren't driving, I would attempt to
calm him with one of my facial expressions to which he seems so highly
attuned. But as his eyes are on the road, I settle for words. 

"No, no, of course not, Ray." I take advantage of the fact that he's not
looking at me and sweep my eyes over his torso to assist me in evaluating
his physical condition. "You're...you're relatively fit."  

Apparently, he's still not satisfied. "Relatively, Fraser? Relative ta
what?" 

I look back out the windshield. "Well, relative to the average man your
age," I explain. He doesn't answer. I wonder what is currently floating
about in that rewired brain of his. Knowing Ray, he may very well respond
by asking me if I know how much a pound of nails weighs on Pluto. He
finally speaks. 

"Okay, Fraser, we'll see how fit I am." 

I nod at his somewhat vague response. "Yes, I'm sure we will."	

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

We arrive at the event and Ray parks the GTO on the grass next to a "No
Parking" sign. I purposely point that out to him, to which he responds by
blatantly lying and advising me that he has obtained a permit to park on
the grass. Now I certainly realize it's not ethical to try to influence
his behavior utilizing a facial expression, which, I've just recently
discovered, appears to have a profound effect on Ray. But it's the only
persuasive resource I have at the moment to communicate to him my
disapproval at his brazen disregard of the law. The fact that he's a
police officer does not excuse his behavior. I present him with my
seemingly most compelling chastising expression. He appears to study my
face for a few moments as if attempting to memorize it, but despite my
best efforts, the car remains on the grass. Perhaps I don't wield the
power over him I thought I did. This warrants further study. 

We walk over to the area where the rest of the runners are warming up. I'm
very happy to note that so many people have decided to come out for
charity. I imagine that this being a beautiful, unseasonably cool day
played a major part in the generous turnout. I look over towards Ray who
is obviously enjoying the atmosphere. 

"We need to register and obtain numbers, Ray," I tell him, and he follows
me to the tables. 

We sign in and receive our numbers. I pin mine on my sweatshirt and, as
Ray seems distracted, I take his number and pin it on his shirt. I follow
his eyes to the sidelines and discover he's watching Diefenbaker, who has
found a new friend in the form of a small, white dog. I glance back at Ray
and can't help but notice his eyes have moved on to the small, white dog's
owner, who happens to be a very attractive young woman. I return him to
the matter at hand. 

"Let's jog a little, Ray, so we can warm up and then stretch," I say as I
take his arm and guide him to an open area. 

He protests, as I anticipated he would. "Hey, Frase," he says, "shouldn't
we save our energy?" 

I smile inwardly at his transparent attempt to remain with the crowd
teeming with very attractive women. Of course I don't fault him for
wanting to stay, but the purpose of our presence is to run a race for
charity and I see it's up to me to keep Ray's mind on that fact. 

"Ray, if you don't warm up and stretch, you can injure yourself," I tell
him as I continue to guide him towards a quieter location where we can
accomplish that. 

He shrugs his shoulders as if he acknowledges defeat. "Okay, Fraser,
whatever you say." 

We begin jogging slowly. It feels good and I sense my mind becoming
attuned with my body. Evidently, Ray doesn't feel the same way and wants
to talk. 

"Hey, Frase, gotta ask you somethin'," he says to me. 

I glance over to him and then straight ahead, attempting to accommodate
his need to talk along with my intertwining of mind and body.  

"Yes, Ray." 

"I get the feelin' you don't think I could finish this race," he says as
he jogs alongside me. 

I sigh. "Ray, we discussed this in the car. I feel your abilities are
quite adequate."  

I notice in my peripheral vision that he has stopped running. I, however,
continue....but not for long, apparently. 

"Fraser!" I hear him shout from behind.  

I U-turn and jog back towards him, and note that he is standing with his
hands on his hips, a look of determination in his eyes. I can't help but
wonder what he has planned for me. 

"Yes, Ray," I repeat. 

"We're warm enough, let's stretch now." 

Actually, we do need a longer warmup session, but I can tell by that look
of resolve in Ray's eyes that we're not going to get it. I give in, as
usual. 

"As you wish." We both begin to stretch. 

He quickly stops and looks at me. "What does that mean?" he asks. 

I sit on the grass and he sits down next to me. I continue to stretch; Ray
doesn't. 

"What does what mean?"	

"Adequate," he replies. 

"Adequate, Ray," I explain, "it means satisfactory, sufficient,
accepta....." 

He interrupts me, obviously bothered. "I know what adequate means, Fraser.
But what do you mean?" 

I was afraid of this. I look over towards him. He's waiting for my
response. I attempt to formulate appropriate words in my head as I don't
want to offend his sensibilities. I realize I'm running my thumbnail along
my eyebrow, a habit that usually shows itself when I'm somewhat nervous.
Most of the time I'm unaware I'm doing it, but I assume I'm conscious of
it now because of my recent realization of Ray's sensitivity to my non
verbal expressions. 

"Well, what I mean," I say slowly, "is that you may very well finish the
race, but I'm quite certain....." 

"That I can't beat you?" He asks, interrupting me. 

Ray has something on his mind. I will tread lightly until I know what it
is. I smile. He doesn't smile back. Hmmm, interesting. 

"Well, Ray, I've been training for this event for the past two weeks,
so....." 

"So...yer quite certain I can't beat you," he interrupts me again. 

I stop stretching and look at him. Now I know. He's issuing me a
challenge. I forge ahead. 

"Yes, Ray, I'm quite certain you can't." There, I've said it. 

He smiles. "Okay," he says, "why don't we make this interesting?" 

I frown. "If you're referring to a wager, Ray, gambling is illegal in the
state of Illinois, unless, of course we bet for candy...or air." I'm quite
certain he's not interested in gambling for candy and even less interested
in air. I wait, totally intrigued.  

He smiles again. "'Kay, Frase. How 'bout this? If you win, I buy ya
breakfast all next week." 

Seems harmless enough. I nod my head. "So, it would follow that if you
win, I buy you...." 

He interrupts me yet again. "Nope, I got somethin' else in mind fer you." 

Ahh. I knew he wouldn't disappoint. "And that would be?" I ask, growing
more fascinated. 

"If I win, you finish my case files tomorrow." 

I can't help but smile as I picture the pancakes, omelettes and french
toast I'll be feasting on for a week. I'm amused that this is his way of
manipulating me into doing his paperwork for him. 

"Fine, Ray, you have a bet." I lean forward and we shake on it. 

He stands and holds out his hand to help me up. I take it. 

He begins to walk towards the start line. I call to him. "Ray, you didn't
really stretch very much. Don't you think...." 

"Hey, Frase, yer helpin' the competition," he says. "I guess you really
like the idea of doin' a shitload of paperwork on a Sunday." 

I shake my head. "Language, Ray," I admonish, "and, no, I'm just worried
about you injuring yourself." Which I am. I have concerns as he hasn't
trained for this event or warmed up sufficiently. 

"Thanks, Fraser, but I got it covered." He turns away again. "Ya might
wanna think about sharpening all yer pencils tonight cuz yer gonna need
'em tomorrow," he tosses over his shoulder. 

I narrow my eyes and ponder my strategy for defeating my partner. I look
up to find Ray watching me as he walks towards the start line. 

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

The runners are all lined up now, and there are quite a few of us. The
taller runners are towards the rear, so Ray and I are almost in the last
row, on opposite ends. I take these last few minutes to stretch, as we
didn't adequately accomplish that earlier due to Ray's challenge. I look
over to find him staring at me. I smile broadly. He hesitates. Knowing
Ray, he's most likely planning some sort of machination, but then he
surprises me with an even brighter smile. I can't help but speculate if
that smile is part of his game plan, or if it's an involuntary response to
my newly discovered power over him.  

The starter pistol goes off and in about sixty seconds all the runners are
in their stride. I find a comfortable pace and turn towards Ray to find
him running slightly behind me. I'm glad to see he's pacing himself. I
take a moment to study the runners in my line of vision. I'm not surprised
to note the disparity in ages. Many are quite older, which I find to be
comforting for some reason. I can't explain why. Perhaps I'm thinking of
my father. I see Ray pull ahead out of the corner of my eye and realize my
mind has been wandering. I quicky compose myself and concentrate on my
pacing. 

We've been running approximately half an hour now and the last mile marker
read four miles. I marvel at all the people who came out for this event,
many on the sidelines cheering the runners on and offering cups of water.
I partake often. I hope Ray is also. I realize I haven't checked on him
lately and glance over to find he's still slightly behind me, and he's
watching me. I worry about him because of his insufficient warmup, and I
assume it shows on my face. But he alleviates my dismay when I see him
wink at me. I wink back. Now he looks dismayed. I smile inwardly as I
realize my winking managed to unnerve him. 

We've been in the race a little over an hour. The last mile marker read
nine miles, which means there are approximately four remaining. Many of
the runners have dropped back almost out of sight range. At present there
are five of us running about the same speed, including Ray, a young woman,
another man about my age and an older gentleman. I check on Ray and note
that he's looking over to the sidelines. My eyes instinctively follow and
I see Diefenbaker running alongside keeping pace with Ray and myself, and
I also take note of his small, white companion trotting next to him. 

I hear a woman scream a name..."Billy"... and turn my attention back to
the course. But I'm too late, as I suddenly see a small child run out from
the sidelines directly in front of me. I manage to avoid him, but in the
process, I lose my balance and fall, quite hard, landing painfully on my
knees. My momentum drags me forward and I feel, as well as hear, my knees
scraping along the concrete.  

The child's Mother whisks him away before she even realizes I've fallen. I
remain on the ground, on all fours now, my head down, taking deep breaths
attempting to regain control. Dief has raced over and is licking my face.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. 

"Frase, you okay?" Ray is kneeling beside me. He helps me sit down on the
ground. 

I glance over to see the distress in his eyes. 

"I'm fine, Ray," I say. However, I feel my face contort from the pain and
quickly turn away, but too late as I'm sure Ray has noticed. I take a deep
breath and turn back to him. The young woman and older gentleman have also
stopped running and are standing behind him. I'm moved by their
thoughtfulness.  

"Ray, you need to finish the race," I say hoarsely. "The more miles you
run, the more money you'll raise for charity." 

"Ferget the race, Frase, yer hurt," he says. I can hear the emotion in his
voice. 

Two paramedics appear and one of them asks me how I am while the other
tends to my wounds. Now that they've arrived, the other two runners return
to the course and resume their running. I want Ray to continue the race
also. I look at him, attempting to hide the burning pain in my knees.  

"Ray, please, I'll be fine. Finish the race." I say, wishing to convey to
him that I understand he's worried about me, but I also want him to
understand that it's important to me that he finish the race.
Unfortunately, I don't have the energy to tell him that now. He seems to
comprehend anyway. 

"You sure yer gonna be okay, Frase?" he asks, looking into my eyes. The
paramedics are cleaning my knees with antiseptic and as much as I try, I
can't hide the pain from Ray. But he knows that I need for him to complete
the race. 

"Yes, Ray. Now go ahead," I say. 

He squeezes my shoulder and smiles. I attempt to return his smile but I'm
not very successful. 

Ray stands and turns around to begin running again. He glances over his
shoulder for a moment, then picks up speed as he literally takes off. The
paramedics continue to clean and bandage my knees. I can hear people
cheering up ahead. I imagine they're cheering for Ray. I motion to
Diefenbaker.  

"Go find Ray," I say, and Dief sprints to the sidelines and disappears. 

After the paramedics finish their work, one of them helps me to my feet.
He asks me if I'm with someone who can drive me to the hospital, and I
explain that Ray is my friend and he's currently in the race. He offers to
take me to the ER. I decline and ask if he'll drive me to the finish line.
I wish to be present when Ray crosses it. He agrees and we walk carefully
to the ambulance. I find that I can walk without too much difficulty if I
go at a slow pace. I hear more cheers coming from the sidelines towards
the finish line. Ray must be winning. 

The ambulance gradually makes its way to the end of the course. As we
drive, I strain to see the runners. We pass the woman and the older man
who had stopped when I had fallen, but there's no sign of Ray. We drive a
little farther, and now I can see him...he's running alone. Well, not
really, as I can also see Diefenbaker running with him on the sidelines.
I'm disturbed by Ray's stride as it isn't as strong as it had been. I see
him take a cup of water. Good. I wish I could see his face, but he's
looking straight ahead so I can only view his profile. We drive ahead to
the finish line. The paramedic takes a lawn chair from the back of the
ambulance, and walks with me to the side of the finish line a few yards
past the ribbon. He opens the chair, positions it for me and shakes my
hand. I thank him and slowly slide into the chair to watch the runners
approach. 

I think about Ray. He apparently had a strong desire to win our bet, but
I'm certain not in this manner. He'll argue with me, but I intend to tell
him that he has, indeed, won.  

My thoughts are interrupted by loud screaming and Diefenbaker's barking. I
look up to see Ray and his opponent approaching the finish line, running
side by side. I can see Ray's face now, and I'm shaken by the pain in his
features. But I'm also heartened by the determination in his face. He
looks up and our eyes meet. He appears happy, and relieved, I think, to
see me. I keep my eyes on him. He's watching me. I need for him to win...I
know he can do it. I notice him studying my face as he comes nearer. He
winks at me again, and I instinctively wink back. Suddenly he pulls ahead
of the other runner. The crowd's cheers are deafening now. Dief is barking
continuously. The gap between Ray and the other runner is widening. My
eyes are still on him....his are on me. Just a few yards away from the
finish line, I call out his name and he's there....he hits the ribbon and
breaks it. I'm overwhelmed with emotion and pride. People are running up
to Ray and I see someone grab his arm and hike it into the air. A moment
later, Ray disappears into a sea of people. I would like to go find him,
but I wouldn't get very far with these knees. Dief appears at my side and
sits down, waiting with me. The crowd opens, and Ray emerges. He's holding
a bottle of water, limping slightly, his face etched with pain. He
approaches us and collapses next to me, rubbing his calves, looking up at
me and squinting from the sunlight in his eyes. I lower myself to the
ground and move his left hand to his right calf as I begin massaging the
left.  

"Thanks, Frase," he says. I smile at him and he smiles back. 

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

It's nine-fifteen on Sunday morning, and Diefenbaker and I are sitting in
the back of a cab on our way to the precinct. I was concerned I wouldn't
get a cab this morning as none of the drivers would agree to a wolf riding
in their cab. I finally presented the last driver with a ten dollar bill,
which managed to persuade him. 

As we ride I think about Ray, certain I'll find him working on his files
when I arrive. He won't be happy to see me. We had discussed this at
length in the GTO when Ray dropped me off at the Consulate yesterday. We
had just returned from the hospital where Ray had taken me after the race.
The doctor told me that I had sustained some very deep scrapes, but that
I'd be as good as new in a few weeks. 

I had told Ray in the car that as far as I was concerned, he did win the
bet, and that I was planning to go to the precinct today to complete his
paperwork, as per our handshake. Ray almost went ballistic, insisting the
bet was invalidated when I injured myself. He had been extremely animated
in his argument, and I noticed that he threw in a few facial expressions I
hadn't seen before. I assume he was trying to give me a taste of my own
medicine. I finally agreed, but it was merely to placate him. I intended
to finish the case files all along.  

We reach the precinct around nine-thirty. It takes me about ten minutes to
walk up the stairs. The doctor had given me some pain pills which I did
take before we left the Consulate, but it's still somewhat difficult to
negotiate a stairwell. We enter the squad room and Ray isn't at his desk,
but I see his jacket on the back of his chair. There are open files strewn
all over the place, on the floor, on his desk, on other chairs surrounding
his work station. He's probably getting his hundredth cup of coffee for
the day, so I take the opportunity to sit in my usual chair and open a
file. 

I've just started working when I notice Diefenbaker get up and trot over
to the other side of the room. I turn my gaze back to the open file in
front of me.  

"Fraser." I look up to find Ray standing in front of me. I smile. He
smiles back after a moment's hesitation. He doesn't appear to be pleased
to see me. 

"What'cha doin' here, Fraser?" he asks, sounding angry. But then I take
note of the sparkle in his eye which tells me otherwise. 

"I came to assist you, Ray," I say, and turn my attention back to the open
file. 

I hear him groan as he drops down into his chair. He must be sore today as
I assumed he would be, but I deem it wise not to discuss it. He grabs the
file away from me. 

"Frase, we talked about this. We pulled the plug on the bet when you fell.
Ya don't hafta help me," he argues. 

"I'm not here because of the bet, Ray," I say. "I'm here because you're my
partner and my friend, and I want to help you with your case files." Which
is true. What I don't tell him is that I intend to give him a convincing
lecture on the benefits of keeping case files up to date...but I'll save
that for later. 

He continues to argue. "No, Frase. Yer hurt and you should be home
restin'. Now take yer wolf and go home." He's looking at me and his face
takes on the most stern and disapproving cast I've seen him use yet. It's
similar to one he presented to me yesterday, but today, it's almost
frightening. I smile inwardly at the picture in my mind of him practicing
that expression, probably in front of his bathroom mirror. If I didn't
know he was mimicking me, I would truly be intimidated. But I do so I'm
not.  

"I knew you'd come around Ray," I say, suppressing my laughter. I take the
file back from him and resume working on it. 

I furtively watch as he stares at the file for a few moments, his mouth
open. I make a mental note that while endearing, Ray looks much more
attractive with his mouth closed. He shakes his head and shrugs as he
picks up another case file and begins to work on it. 

I resolve that I'll one day tell him that I'm aware of his attempts to
imitate my facial expressions that he finds so compelling. And I'll also
tell him that he's quite proficient at it, but that day is not today.  

The End 

Feedback would be very nice BiermannR@home.com