What do you look for in a romantic partner?
"I thought your tastes ran more towards... well, towards..."
"Psychotics?"
"Brunettes."
"Ah."
"I suppose it's up to me to mention your kissing the Yank."
Benton Fraser was nearly dozing in the hard-backed chair in front of the fireplace in his father's office. Upon returning from the docks he had taken a long warm shower, a rare indulgence, and changed into dry clothes, but his skin still felt clammy and the foul taste of lake water had seemed to linger no matter how many times he brushed his teeth. He was still cold, a deep bone-cold, and the sensation was peculiarly unpleasant.
If he hadn't been craving warmth, or at the very least a more familiar cold, he never would have gone in there. His father's was the last face he wanted to see. Those words were the last he wanted to hear.
Ben shifted in his uncomfortable seat and muttered, "Go away."
Robert Fraser leaned back in his desk chair. It creaked gently. It had, a moment before, been empty. "Not strictly what I meant when I said a partnership is like a marriage. Trust you to take a body at his word, son."
"No, I wouldn't assume your concept of a marriage places a high premium on kissing. The idea that two people might kiss presupposes that they're in the same room." He might have sounded a bit less harsh if his father had sounded a bit less tickled.
"Ah, you admit it was kissing."
Ben leaned forward, took the poker from its stand and viciously stabbed at a log on the fire. "I admit nothing."
"I may be dead, but I'm not blind, son. Plain as day, you--"
"I performed a necessary life-saving measure."
Robert Fraser nodded in earnest agreement. "You kissed him!"
"Without air, Ray would have died."
"And if you hadn't bit the bullet and done it sometime, you very well might have."
Ben tipped his head back and rolled his eyes imploringly at the ceiling. "How poetic. 'Bit the bullet'."
"I meant--"
"No, it's apt," he said quickly. "Considering my romantic history, it's really quite apt. Thank you, Dad."
His father was briefly, blessedly silent. Then he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, steepled his fingers and looked Ben over searchingly. "You know, considering your romantic history, I have to admit I thought your tastes ran more towards... well, towards..."
"Psychotics?"
"Brunettes."
"Ah."
Robert Fraser rose from his desk, pulled a chair over to the fire and took a seat beside his son. "You could do worse."
Ben quite simply wanted to die. "Obviously."
"He seems to like the wolf. Probably wouldn't shoot it."
"I'd think not."
"Not really the type for poetry and billowy coats, either. You could do with a bit less drama."
"I could do with a bit less company," Ben said.
"If that were true, you wouldn't be in this mess," his father said mildly. He took the poker from Ben and stirred the fire. From the corner of his eye he watched Ben struggle for a response.
"Ray was married," Ben said finally, as though it should explain everything.
"And you might as well have been. Circumstances change. People change."
"They do not," Ben snapped, like a child.
His father was characteristically undeterred. "He's alone. You're alone. You get on together, when you're not brawling like sailors. Really, it would only make sense."
"What would?"
"The two of you working out some kind of... arrangement."
Ben hung his head and groaned.
"No time for prudishness, son."
"I don't want an arrangement. For God's sake, Dad, I--"
"Well, how do you know? I'm beginning to think you have no idea at all what you do--"
"I want," he said, and for quite some time the words hung alone as a complete sentence. It was enough of an admission in itself. "Ray."
"You do?"
"Yes."
"Really?" his father asked, squinting at him.
"Very much."
"Ah."
"Indeed," Ben said weightily.
Robert Fraser nodded and tended the fire. "What about that nice Catholic girl?" he asked after a few minutes.
"Dad--" Ben laughed in spite of himself.
"Fine mothers, Catholics."
"Be that as it may."
"She's very agreeable. You'll want somebody pleasant to come home to."
"I don't want somebody to come home to." Ben looked at his father, his expression hardening slightly. "I want somebody to go home with. I want somebody who'll be with me."
"Your mother was always with me."
"Oh, yes. In your heart. That's very nice. That did her a great deal of good."
His father watched the fire, looking cold.
"I don't need a wife," said Ben, a handful of moments later, and his tone was a concession if the words weren't. "I need a partner."
He fell quiet alongside his father, listened to the flames crackle and thought about water. He still could taste it.
Hours might have passed before he felt his father's heavy hand clap his shoulder.
"Then I'd reckon you ought to try kissing him on solid ground next time," Robert Fraser said.
By the time he thought to argue that there hadn't been a first time, Ben was once again alone.
ooc: Right, so, I wasn't really sure what to do with this... because Ben has never looked, and when he does find someone it's really not something that can be broken down piece by piece. Anyway, I don't know, this happened and maybe it works. Mostly I just wanted to write something with Bob. I love Bob.
"Psychotics?"
"Brunettes."
"Ah."
"I suppose it's up to me to mention your kissing the Yank."
Benton Fraser was nearly dozing in the hard-backed chair in front of the fireplace in his father's office. Upon returning from the docks he had taken a long warm shower, a rare indulgence, and changed into dry clothes, but his skin still felt clammy and the foul taste of lake water had seemed to linger no matter how many times he brushed his teeth. He was still cold, a deep bone-cold, and the sensation was peculiarly unpleasant.
If he hadn't been craving warmth, or at the very least a more familiar cold, he never would have gone in there. His father's was the last face he wanted to see. Those words were the last he wanted to hear.
Ben shifted in his uncomfortable seat and muttered, "Go away."
Robert Fraser leaned back in his desk chair. It creaked gently. It had, a moment before, been empty. "Not strictly what I meant when I said a partnership is like a marriage. Trust you to take a body at his word, son."
"No, I wouldn't assume your concept of a marriage places a high premium on kissing. The idea that two people might kiss presupposes that they're in the same room." He might have sounded a bit less harsh if his father had sounded a bit less tickled.
"Ah, you admit it was kissing."
Ben leaned forward, took the poker from its stand and viciously stabbed at a log on the fire. "I admit nothing."
"I may be dead, but I'm not blind, son. Plain as day, you--"
"I performed a necessary life-saving measure."
Robert Fraser nodded in earnest agreement. "You kissed him!"
"Without air, Ray would have died."
"And if you hadn't bit the bullet and done it sometime, you very well might have."
Ben tipped his head back and rolled his eyes imploringly at the ceiling. "How poetic. 'Bit the bullet'."
"I meant--"
"No, it's apt," he said quickly. "Considering my romantic history, it's really quite apt. Thank you, Dad."
His father was briefly, blessedly silent. Then he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, steepled his fingers and looked Ben over searchingly. "You know, considering your romantic history, I have to admit I thought your tastes ran more towards... well, towards..."
"Psychotics?"
"Brunettes."
"Ah."
Robert Fraser rose from his desk, pulled a chair over to the fire and took a seat beside his son. "You could do worse."
Ben quite simply wanted to die. "Obviously."
"He seems to like the wolf. Probably wouldn't shoot it."
"I'd think not."
"Not really the type for poetry and billowy coats, either. You could do with a bit less drama."
"I could do with a bit less company," Ben said.
"If that were true, you wouldn't be in this mess," his father said mildly. He took the poker from Ben and stirred the fire. From the corner of his eye he watched Ben struggle for a response.
"Ray was married," Ben said finally, as though it should explain everything.
"And you might as well have been. Circumstances change. People change."
"They do not," Ben snapped, like a child.
His father was characteristically undeterred. "He's alone. You're alone. You get on together, when you're not brawling like sailors. Really, it would only make sense."
"What would?"
"The two of you working out some kind of... arrangement."
Ben hung his head and groaned.
"No time for prudishness, son."
"I don't want an arrangement. For God's sake, Dad, I--"
"Well, how do you know? I'm beginning to think you have no idea at all what you do--"
"I want," he said, and for quite some time the words hung alone as a complete sentence. It was enough of an admission in itself. "Ray."
"You do?"
"Yes."
"Really?" his father asked, squinting at him.
"Very much."
"Ah."
"Indeed," Ben said weightily.
Robert Fraser nodded and tended the fire. "What about that nice Catholic girl?" he asked after a few minutes.
"Dad--" Ben laughed in spite of himself.
"Fine mothers, Catholics."
"Be that as it may."
"She's very agreeable. You'll want somebody pleasant to come home to."
"I don't want somebody to come home to." Ben looked at his father, his expression hardening slightly. "I want somebody to go home with. I want somebody who'll be with me."
"Your mother was always with me."
"Oh, yes. In your heart. That's very nice. That did her a great deal of good."
His father watched the fire, looking cold.
"I don't need a wife," said Ben, a handful of moments later, and his tone was a concession if the words weren't. "I need a partner."
He fell quiet alongside his father, listened to the flames crackle and thought about water. He still could taste it.
Hours might have passed before he felt his father's heavy hand clap his shoulder.
"Then I'd reckon you ought to try kissing him on solid ground next time," Robert Fraser said.
By the time he thought to argue that there hadn't been a first time, Ben was once again alone.
ooc: Right, so, I wasn't really sure what to do with this... because Ben has never looked, and when he does find someone it's really not something that can be broken down piece by piece. Anyway, I don't know, this happened and maybe it works. Mostly I just wanted to write something with Bob. I love Bob.