The More You Know, F/K
Thanks to ifreet and sisterofdream, my wondrous, brilliant and intrepid friends, for helping tractor beam me out of my non-fic-finishing loop. You guys rock.
The More You Know
"Look, it's just not normal," Frannie says.
"Frannie," Ray sighs. "I say this with the utmost respect and compassion, but you are entirely off your tiny little rocker."
"I am telling you, Ray, a woman knows!"
"That is crazy, okay? That is completely off the wall, Frannie, c'mon. We're detectives here, okay, a whole force full of detectives. Don't you think somebody would have noticed?"
"That's the whole point, Ray! He's supposed to fit in!"
"Then he's doing a crap job of it, Frannie, because Fraser may be a lot of things, but he does not fit in."
"Just ask him, okay?" Frannie says, exasperated.
"What?! You ask him. You're the one who wants to know."
"He's not gonna tell me, Ray," she rolls her eyes. "You, he might tell."
"Why would he tell-okay, this is stupid. I am not having this conversation. Goodbye, Frannie."
"Think about it!" she calls after him. "It would explain a lot!"
**
The awful thing is, it kind of would explain a lot.
Not that this makes Frannie's crackpot theory any less nutso. But, yeah, Fraser sometimes acts a little weird. Ray is not one to throw stones; he knows he's got his own ecc-exc-ex-odd habits. He's okay with that.
And he's okay with Fraser's odd habits, too. The jumping off stuff he could live without, but other than that-okay, and the licking things he could live without. That he could live without. And maybe the obsession with the hat.
But it's not like that stuff bothers him. It's just Fraser being Fraser.
So maybe he can ask him, just because Frannie thought of it, and it's insane, and it might be good for a laugh over pizza. A conversation starter. Something.
It's so damn stupid, but he can't get it out of his head.
**
Ray watches avidly as Fraser drinks his glass of water. His throat works and his hand is steady on the glass. When he finishes, he looks up and meets Ray's gaze.
"Ray? Is everything all right?"
He starts. "Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, sure. Everything's great. Greatness."
"I'm pleased to hear that," Fraser says heartily, and goes back to examining the Belluci file.
Ray pretends to study it over Fraser's shoulder a little longer. "So, uh, the water didn't bother you?"
"Bother me, Ray?"
"You know, like, uh, go down the wrong pipe, or, uh, stiffen you up or-"
Fraser is looking at him with a pleasant, blankly expectant expression, hands folded neatly in his lap.
"Never mind. So you think the dog walker did it?"
**
It's not like Ray spends a lot of time checking people out in the men's room, but he's gotta wonder. And, really, it's not like he has evidence that there's anything wrong under all the serge and the bulky sweaters and the pumpkin pants and the jeans and the boots and… so Fraser covers up a lot. So what? He's from Canada; it's cold up there.
That doesn't mean he doesn't have skin or anything.
But maybe kinda sort of Ray spills an ice cream sundae on Fraser, and maybe kinda sort of it happens to be close to Ray's apartment, and maybe kinda sort of the only thing to do, really, is to invite Fraser upstairs to clean up, and his Henley's all stained, and Ray has a clean shirt Fraser can borrow, and-wow. Fraser looks pretty good with his shirt off.
And his skin is, you know, all there and everything.
"I got some-you want some tea, Frase? I got-I got no tea. I got-you wanna, uh, put this shirt on now?"
"Thank you kindly, Ray," Fraser says, like Ray hasn't been acting like a complete whack job.
"Sure," Ray says faintly.
Fraser tilts his head. "Ray? Is there something you want to ask me?"
"Me? I… why would-uh, maybe?"
Frase smiles. He walks slowly up to Ray, takes the t-shirt out of Ray's hands, and sets it carefully aside. "You can ask me anything, Ray," he says, and leans even closer, his sweet, soft mouth dangerously close to Ray's ear.
And, okay, this was not the question Ray was thinking of asking, but… "You wanna come to bed with me, Fraser?"
"Oh, yes," Fraser says, and his kiss makes Ray want to ask him that over and over for the next fifty years of his life.
**
Afterwards, they lie around in Ray's hopelessly rumpled bed, their naked limbs tangled. Ray's body feels deep-down sated like he hasn't felt in years. Fraser keeps running his hands up and down Ray's chest, and it feels too good to move, ever.
"So, Frase," Ray says comfortably.
"Yes, Ray?"
"Tell me more stuff about you. About, I dunno, Canada. Inuit. Not caribou. I don't wanna hear about caribou."
"All right, Ray," Fraser looks amused. "What would you like to hear about? I have some fascinating stories about local throat-singing culture in-"
"Not that," Ray says hastily. "About when you were a kid, or--you never really talk much about your parents. You, uh, did have parents, right?"
Fraser raises his eyebrows. "Two, yes," he says dryly.
"Right, right. That's cool." Ray idly runs his fingers through Fraser's hair. "So, uh, what did your parents do?"
"Well, as you know, Ray, my father was a Mountie. Rather unorthodox in his methods, it was said. He had singular tenacity when in pursuit of criminals. It was said once he had a target in his sights, nothing would stop him until the criminal was brought to justice."
"Chip meets block," Ray mutters.
"Well, Ray," Fraser demurs. "I do try to live up to his example, but it is my hope to have improved upon his tendency to distance himself from emotion. It wasn't his fault really--more like an oversight. A flaw in his makeup, if you would."
"So what about your mom?"
"She was reputedly very talented," Fraser says. "Her work was said to be far ahead of her time, but she felt confined by the expectations of academia to constantly publish, teach and attend conferences, though her aim was always to serve the good of mankind through her accomplishments. She preferred pursue her projects out in the field, in a more isolated, controlled setting."
"Oh," Ray said. "So, what, she moved out to the tundra to study snow?"
"Oh, no, Ray," Fraser's smile is guileless. "Her field was robotics."
The More You Know
"Look, it's just not normal," Frannie says.
"Frannie," Ray sighs. "I say this with the utmost respect and compassion, but you are entirely off your tiny little rocker."
"I am telling you, Ray, a woman knows!"
"That is crazy, okay? That is completely off the wall, Frannie, c'mon. We're detectives here, okay, a whole force full of detectives. Don't you think somebody would have noticed?"
"That's the whole point, Ray! He's supposed to fit in!"
"Then he's doing a crap job of it, Frannie, because Fraser may be a lot of things, but he does not fit in."
"Just ask him, okay?" Frannie says, exasperated.
"What?! You ask him. You're the one who wants to know."
"He's not gonna tell me, Ray," she rolls her eyes. "You, he might tell."
"Why would he tell-okay, this is stupid. I am not having this conversation. Goodbye, Frannie."
"Think about it!" she calls after him. "It would explain a lot!"
**
The awful thing is, it kind of would explain a lot.
Not that this makes Frannie's crackpot theory any less nutso. But, yeah, Fraser sometimes acts a little weird. Ray is not one to throw stones; he knows he's got his own ecc-exc-ex-odd habits. He's okay with that.
And he's okay with Fraser's odd habits, too. The jumping off stuff he could live without, but other than that-okay, and the licking things he could live without. That he could live without. And maybe the obsession with the hat.
But it's not like that stuff bothers him. It's just Fraser being Fraser.
So maybe he can ask him, just because Frannie thought of it, and it's insane, and it might be good for a laugh over pizza. A conversation starter. Something.
It's so damn stupid, but he can't get it out of his head.
**
Ray watches avidly as Fraser drinks his glass of water. His throat works and his hand is steady on the glass. When he finishes, he looks up and meets Ray's gaze.
"Ray? Is everything all right?"
He starts. "Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, sure. Everything's great. Greatness."
"I'm pleased to hear that," Fraser says heartily, and goes back to examining the Belluci file.
Ray pretends to study it over Fraser's shoulder a little longer. "So, uh, the water didn't bother you?"
"Bother me, Ray?"
"You know, like, uh, go down the wrong pipe, or, uh, stiffen you up or-"
Fraser is looking at him with a pleasant, blankly expectant expression, hands folded neatly in his lap.
"Never mind. So you think the dog walker did it?"
**
It's not like Ray spends a lot of time checking people out in the men's room, but he's gotta wonder. And, really, it's not like he has evidence that there's anything wrong under all the serge and the bulky sweaters and the pumpkin pants and the jeans and the boots and… so Fraser covers up a lot. So what? He's from Canada; it's cold up there.
That doesn't mean he doesn't have skin or anything.
But maybe kinda sort of Ray spills an ice cream sundae on Fraser, and maybe kinda sort of it happens to be close to Ray's apartment, and maybe kinda sort of the only thing to do, really, is to invite Fraser upstairs to clean up, and his Henley's all stained, and Ray has a clean shirt Fraser can borrow, and-wow. Fraser looks pretty good with his shirt off.
And his skin is, you know, all there and everything.
"I got some-you want some tea, Frase? I got-I got no tea. I got-you wanna, uh, put this shirt on now?"
"Thank you kindly, Ray," Fraser says, like Ray hasn't been acting like a complete whack job.
"Sure," Ray says faintly.
Fraser tilts his head. "Ray? Is there something you want to ask me?"
"Me? I… why would-uh, maybe?"
Frase smiles. He walks slowly up to Ray, takes the t-shirt out of Ray's hands, and sets it carefully aside. "You can ask me anything, Ray," he says, and leans even closer, his sweet, soft mouth dangerously close to Ray's ear.
And, okay, this was not the question Ray was thinking of asking, but… "You wanna come to bed with me, Fraser?"
"Oh, yes," Fraser says, and his kiss makes Ray want to ask him that over and over for the next fifty years of his life.
**
Afterwards, they lie around in Ray's hopelessly rumpled bed, their naked limbs tangled. Ray's body feels deep-down sated like he hasn't felt in years. Fraser keeps running his hands up and down Ray's chest, and it feels too good to move, ever.
"So, Frase," Ray says comfortably.
"Yes, Ray?"
"Tell me more stuff about you. About, I dunno, Canada. Inuit. Not caribou. I don't wanna hear about caribou."
"All right, Ray," Fraser looks amused. "What would you like to hear about? I have some fascinating stories about local throat-singing culture in-"
"Not that," Ray says hastily. "About when you were a kid, or--you never really talk much about your parents. You, uh, did have parents, right?"
Fraser raises his eyebrows. "Two, yes," he says dryly.
"Right, right. That's cool." Ray idly runs his fingers through Fraser's hair. "So, uh, what did your parents do?"
"Well, as you know, Ray, my father was a Mountie. Rather unorthodox in his methods, it was said. He had singular tenacity when in pursuit of criminals. It was said once he had a target in his sights, nothing would stop him until the criminal was brought to justice."
"Chip meets block," Ray mutters.
"Well, Ray," Fraser demurs. "I do try to live up to his example, but it is my hope to have improved upon his tendency to distance himself from emotion. It wasn't his fault really--more like an oversight. A flaw in his makeup, if you would."
"So what about your mom?"
"She was reputedly very talented," Fraser says. "Her work was said to be far ahead of her time, but she felt confined by the expectations of academia to constantly publish, teach and attend conferences, though her aim was always to serve the good of mankind through her accomplishments. She preferred pursue her projects out in the field, in a more isolated, controlled setting."
"Oh," Ray said. "So, what, she moved out to the tundra to study snow?"
"Oh, no, Ray," Fraser's smile is guileless. "Her field was robotics."