A Certain Smile 4	A Certain Smile 4 by Alison

 Author's notes: Hi. 

Thanks to Evelyn, Sylvie and Eliza for their help. Remaining mistakes are
mine. 

This whole series is for Sarah, but this part's for Colin. 

Hope you like it. Let me know.

  

 A CERTAIN SMILE IV 

 The Consulate is strangely quiet when I open the door. A quick glance at
my watch assures me that it's not early in the morning; in fact it's
somewhat later than usual, but Ray freely admits that it's his fault that
I never managed to get out of bed at my usual time. Not that I exactly
fought him off with a stick. I feel a completely inappropriate smirk begin
to spread over my face and quickly attempt to school my features into
something approaching their usual blandness. 

 No, the reason for the silence has nothing to do with the hour. It has
everything to do with last night's reception celebrating the Queen's
birthday. I shut my mind to a comment Ray made about stepping over drunken
footmen and close the Consulate door behind me, perhaps a little more
firmly than intended. Nobody stirs. 

 I walk into the kitchen and halt abruptly. Turnbull is sitting at the
table, gazing into a cooling cup of tea as if it holds the secrets of the
universe. He doesn't acknowledge my presence and I get the distinct
impression that he is still suffering badly from the aftereffects of
imbibing far too much caffeine last night. 

 "So Constable," I say heartily, switching the kettle on to make a cup of
tea for myself. "How are we this fine morning?" I take another cup out of
the cupboard, perhaps a little more noisily than is necessary. 

 "Could you possibly ... not speak for a little while, sir?" he whispers,
not raising his head from his hands. "I do realise that you require some
explanation for my behaviour yesterday but I wonder if we could just ...
wait?" 

 "What you did yesterday evening was ... well, it was very wrong," I say,
glaring at the kettle. I don't know whether I'm angry or amused. Ray spent
the whole night assuring me in his own inimitable way that I am the one
for him, and of course I know that. I think, on balance, that I'm amused. 

 Once my tea is made I turn around and lean against the counter, still
managing to summon up a glare, although there really is very little anger
in me. 

 "So I think I'd like to hear what you have to say to me," I say firmly.
"Just what were you thinking?" 

 Turnbull finally raises his face from his hands, looking deeply unwell. 

 "Sir," he says quietly. "I can't apologise enough for what happened. I
was a little ... the worse for wear I think, and Detective Vecchio looked
so ..." he glances up as if trying to judge my reaction. 

 "So what?" I ask. 

 "Edible," Turnbull mutters, his head sinking back into his hands. "He
looked edible." 

 "But it's not up to you to ..." Oh dear. If I finish this sentence it
will conjure up all kinds of mental pictures. I shrug mentally and dive
in. "eat him," I finish, taking a large drink of tea to try and stop
myself smiling. 

 "You have to realise something," I say to his bent head. "Detective
Vecchio is my ... partner. He's made his choice and that choice is me.
It's not my problem that you want what you can't have; it's yours. You'll
have to learn how to deal with it. Do I make myself clear, Constable?" 

 Turnbull raises his head again, then very slowly climbs to his feet. I
wonder for a wild moment if he's about to be sick. But no. He takes a deep
breath and then straightens up properly. He does however keep his hands
flat on the table. 

 "Yes sir, you do indeed," he says. "I am sorry that I took ... liberties
with Detective Vecchio and I can assure you it will never happen again." 

 As if on cue, the kitchen door slams open and Ray breezes in, full of
energy and life. Oh dear. 

 "Hey Frase!" he says. "I was on my way to work when I remembered that
we're supposed to be seeing my mom tonight. Thought I'd stop by and remind
you." 

 //Of course you could have just telephoned me, couldn't you? Or perhaps
not...// 

 He walks over to the table and sits down opposite Turnbull, who is now
standing as if he has turned to stone. 

 "Turnbull," he says quietly, a look of concern on his face. "how are you
today? Okay I hope?" 

 With a strangled grunt, Turnbull drags himself round the table and out
through the open door. 

 "Ray!" I hiss, trying not to laugh. 

 "What?" he says, looking at me as innocently as he can. 

 "You just can't help it can you?" I ask, walking around so that I can put
my hands on his shoulders. "You see Turnbull and something evil in you
leaps to the surface." 

 "I only asked how the guy was doing," protests Ray. He leans back until
his head is resting against my stomach. 

 "No you didn't, Ray," I answer, gently kneading those always-tense neck
muscles. "You asked how he was doing in that way you have." 

 "What way?" he asks, moving again, dropping his head forward and giving
me better access to his neck. 

 "Stop it," I say. "You're just fishing now." 

 "Nah," he says. "Can't fish in a kitchen. Not enough water." 

 He pulls away and stands up. "Gotta get to work," he says regretfully. He
leans forward and kisses me briefly, then heads out of the kitchen. I hear
him say goodbye to Turnbull and he has that tone in his voice again. 

 

 Halfway through the morning I decide that I have had enough of Turnbull
mooning about like a lovesick calf. And if he knocks over one more
valuable ornament he will be paying off the damages for the rest of his
life. 

 A quick call to Ray is the order of the day. 

 "Vecchio," he snaps when he picks the phone up, full of that attitude I
love. But what I think I love more is the way that his voice softens when
he realises who he's talking to. 

 "Hey," he says in response to my greeting. "What's the matter?" 

 "Nothing at all," I say. "I was just wondering if I could possibly borrow
you for an hour or so?" 

 "'Course you can," he answers. "Do you want me to come over there?" 

 "Yes please," I answer, looking out of my office door and wincing as
Turnbull just manages to catch a priceless plate before it hits the floor.


 "D'you want me to bring anything? Handcuffs, chocolate sauce ...?" he
continues and I can hear the smile on his face. 

 "No Ray, just yourself will be more than adequate," I assure him. "We
have to tell Turnbull a few things." 

 "With pictures or a practical demonstration?" he asks, then his voice
changes and he turns back into Detective Vecchio. Somebody has obviously
approached his desk. 

 "Listen, I gotta go. I'll be there as soon as I can okay?" 

 "Okay Ray," I say. And then I can't resist it. I turn my back on Turnbull
and say, low voiced, into the receiver, "I loved what we did last night. I
can't wait to do it again." 

 His voice sounds slightly strained as he says, "Okay, that's fine. I'll
... I'll take care of that. Goodbye." 

 Sometimes it's nice to feel that I've won, however small the victory. 

 

 Ray appears at the door of the Consulate some 45 minutes later and steps
into my office accompanied by the crash of breaking crockery. He raises
one eyebrow at me in question and I shake my head. 

 "At least he's made it as far as the kitchen," I say by way of
explanation. "I don't think there's anything in there which is
irreplaceable." 

 "Why are you letting him do it?" asks Ray. "Couldn't he just, I dunno,
sit somewhere out of the way?" 

 "Unfortunately, the after effects of his caffeine overdose have left him
full of energy. It's better to find him something to do. I do feel though,
that dusting was a bad suggestion." 

 "Dusting's always a bad suggestion," says Ray, perching on the edge of my
desk and picking up a pencil, which he immediately puts into his mouth. I
have reason to be grateful for that oral fixation. 

 "So what do you want from me?" he asks, his voice somewhat muffled. 

 "I want both of us to try and tell Turnbull to snap out of his crush on
you," I answer. "I've told him before that he needs to try and ... get out
more, but it doesn't seem to work. Perhaps if you told him?" 

 He shrugs, and even around the pencil I can see an evil grin trying to
break the surface. 

 "Call 'im in," he says, and I can feel my heart sink. There is a very
good chance this isn't one of my best ideas. 

 Still. Mustering myself as best I can, I stand up and walk around the
desk, intending to call Turnbull in so that we can begin our talk. I'm not
prepared for Ray's hand shooting out and grabbing my lanyard, pulling me
close for a long, wet kiss. He pulls me even closer and I stumble until
I'm pressed against his knees, which he willingly parts. Almost
involuntarily I put my hand in his hair, holding him so that he has no
chance of getting away. 

 Eventually lack of breath forces us apart. Ray is flushed and panting,
eyes bright with devilment. 

 "Call 'im in," he says again. 

 I go to the door and call Turnbull's name. He appears out of the kitchen
and I beckon to him. Shedding his apron and rubber gloves, he makes his
way into my office, freezing in his tracks as he sees Ray sitting on the
desk. Turnbull's face is a marvellous mirror to his feelings and I would
have to say that at the moment he feels rather sick. 

 "Constable," I say, "I think we need to talk about this problem you have
with Detective Vecchio." 

 "Problem, sir? Oh no, I don't have a problem as such. No, well that is to
say, yes..." 

 Oh god. Sometimes I understand why Ray gets that glazed look in his eye
when I start to blither. Turnbull has that rare ability to put a normally
healthy person into a coma when he really gets started. Always better to
nip it in the bud. 

 "Thank you Turnbull," I say loudly, cutting across his monologue. "I
think that we all know that you do have something of a problem, and
although I don't really wish to discuss my private life with anybody, and
certainly not with you, it may be the easiest way to make you understand."
I gesture to Ray who smiles at Turnbull, immediately making my job degrees
harder. 

 "Ray has made his choice," I say, going over old ground. "But he has an
... aspect ... of his personality which, regrettably, makes him something
of a flirt." 

 "Hey!" Ray glares at me, but I ignore him. He knows as well as I do that
it's the truth. 

 "And unfortunately you have latched onto that aspect of his personality,"
I continue. "However, just because the detective is a flirt..." I can feel
Ray's eyes boring into my back, but I press on regardless. "...doesn't
give you the right to, er, make advances towards him. Do I make myself
clear?" 

 Oh dear. I can feel a hole being burned in the back of my uniform, I know
that I'm blushing and if Turnbull's head hung any lower, he'd be in danger
of overbalancing. 

 "Oh no," says Ray in that quiet way which always spells trouble. "We
wouldn't want to give anybody the wrong idea would we? After all, when
somebody's got it in their head that somebody else is owned by that first
somebody the other somebody has to do exactly what they're expected to do.
Right?" 

 "I have absolutely no idea what you mean by any of that," I answer
turning to look at him. "However, taking a stab at it, I just want to say
that I don't own you, and if that's what you think then I'm sorry. You
know that I would never stop you doing what you want to do. I don't stop
you doing what you want. Actually I don't think I * could * stop you." I
stop before Turnbull feels the need to hand me a shovel so I can dig
myself even deeper into this hole I'm making. 

 "So would you like to take another stab at that then?" he asks politely,
before a look of mixed horror and surprise crosses his face. "Another
stab," he repeats softly and then glares at me again. "That is so your
fault." 

 "Would you mind leaving now, Constable?" I ask, gesturing towards the
door. "Just bear in mind what I've said." As if he's likely to forget the
absolute drivel I have managed to come out with in the last half hour. 

 Confusion showing even more clearly than usual, Turnbull does as he's
told and departs, leaving me with a very quiet Ray. I turn to face him,
not sure what I'm going to be looking at. Quiet Ray can be dangerous. 

 To my relief he looks more amused than anything. 

 "We've known each other a while now, Frase," he says conversationally,
"and I have to say that I've heard you ... what's the word you use?
Blither, that's it. I've heard you blither on before, but that deserves
some kind of award." 

 "That wasn't at all the idea Ray," I say taking a step towards him. "I
just wanted Turnbull to snap out of it." 

 He slides off the desk and covers the remaining distance between us. 

 "Turnbull," he says, just before kissing me, "would have trouble snapping
out of anything. To snap out of something you have to be in something
first." 

 Much as I enjoy the kiss, my mind has yet again decided to try and keep
pace with Ray's. 

 "So," I say, when Ray finally releases my mouth. "Are you saying that
Turnbull isn't in ... something?" 

 The feel of Ray's clever fingers running up and down my back almost
distracts me from the reply, spoken softly against the flesh of my throat.


 "Turnbull just wants what we have. It doesn't have to be with me. The
poor guy's lonely. I told you once that we should get him laid. And we
should." 

 I put my hands in Ray's hair and pull him away so that I can look at him.
Some of my concern must show because he laughs again. 

 "Not me!" he says. "God, I've already got what I want. We'll find
somebody stupid ... I mean willing, and then just stand back and watch the
fireworks." Then all the laughter dies from his eyes and he stands very
still, just looking at me. 

 "What's the matter?" I ask eventually, unable to stand it any longer. 

 "I wish you'd get it into your head that you're it," he says. "IT, do you
understand? How can somebody as gorgeous and just incredibly nice as you
not believe that you're worth loving?" 

 I gather him into my arms and hold him him as tightly as I can. I can't
tell him, can I? I can't tell him that I look at him every day and wonder
what this creature of light is doing with me. I have darkness in my soul,
such darkness, and just by looking at me in a certain way, by smiling a
certain smile, he drives it away. And it frightens me to need that as much
as I do. I always thought I'd be alone, and he's made me start to believe
that it doesn't have to be like that. 

 "Do you think you could let go?" he says into my ear. "Cracked a rib
here." 

 I laugh and let him go. He grins at me and kisses me again. 

 "I gotta go," he says. "Don't worry about Turnbull, don't worry about me.
I'm just a flirt, remember? Doesn't mean a thing." 

 I watch him leave my office, and I laugh out loud as he looks back over
his shoulder giving me a ridiculously overdone lascivious wink. That's the
difference, I suddenly realise; he works to make me laugh. He wants me to
laugh with him. 

 As long as he does that, then I'm safe. 

 The End