That thing with the Spoons F/K 1/2
A while ago rattyfleef and piig set me up with one of their 1st year fiction exercises. I wrote one, and then this fell out of my head today. The only thing I want to know is: why for damn can I only write about spoons?
Polish matters. Damn right it does. Fraser’s folks must have been missionaries against the evils of tarnish, the way he evangelically attacked Ray’s spoons with a tub of pink stuff and a snowy handkerchief snapped from his pocket.
“Fraser, those aren’t actually silver. I got all of em’ at the thrift store.”
After his plastic forks had run out, and the paper plates as well, Ray had gone out to find something to stick in his empty kitchen. Something cheap that he could throw away when Stella took him back. Half an hour at the local junk shop and he’d gotten a couple of plates, a couple of mugs, bowls, glasses and a handful of cutlery that had been bundled up with a rubber band. When he got back to the apartment, he’d taken one look at his new stuff, thrown them in the cupboards and didn’t get up off the couch for the entire weekend.
Fraser hummed as he buffed the bowl of a teaspoon, then paused to look at his reflection in it.
“Hey, you hear me, Fraser?”
“Of course Ray.” He looked up. “A most fortunate find. It’s a shame you’ve let them go for so long.”
“Wait, you mean they’re really silver?” Ray sat down next to Fraser’s little spread on the kitchen counter. Ray could see Fraser’s thumb circling over the little scrolly end of the teaspoon, then up down up down the handle.
“Oh, indeed. Lovely condition, in fact. I’m surprised anyone could ever part with them.” He leveled an eye down the length of a knife. “Quite lovely.”
A little bit of lightening went into Ray’s brain. This was his partner. This was his life now. No tiny, familiar apartment with his snappish, stubborn, beautiful wife. No Ray Kowalski, even. Just this Canadian with chicken-drumstick pants sitting in Ray’s just-for-now kitchen, ogling Ray’s stupid stupid just-for-now cutlery.
“Ok, give me that.” He snatched the knife out of Fraser’s hand. “I don’t think we know each other well enough for this.”
“Nonsense,” Fraser said blithely. He picked up a fork. “I don’t mind. All they need is a little bit of care.”
“Yeah well, I don’t care about them.” Ray pushed up from the chair. “I don’t care about the freaking spoons, Fraser. They aren’t even mine. They’re just for... Everything here,” Ray waved his arms, “it’s all…” He couldn't start to like this new life, this fake life with shiny forks and Benton Fraser in it.
Fraser put down the handkerchief and put his hands in his lap. His face was slightly pinched, like it had been looking at Ray Vecchio’s too-new Detective First Class badge that very first time. Ray rubbed his forehead.
“Look, I’m sorry. They’re just…forget the spoons, please? Just…”
“I understand. I'll finish another day.”
“No, come on, Fraser, I mean it-“
Fraser stood and started stacking the cutlery. “Ray," he said, "They're just spoons. They can wait. Forever, in fact.”
That was. Huh. “Ok. Thanks Fraser.” Ray turned around, and he heard Fraser gently put the silver away.
“Would you care for some tea?” Fraser said. Ray whirled around.
“Would I care for-this is my apartment. I should be asking if you’d like some tea.”
Fraser smiled. “Thank you, Ray, I’d love some.”
Ray narrowed his eyes and made a show of muttering under his breath as he filled two mugs with water and stuck them in the microwave. He felt a bit vindicated when Fraser squawked-actually squawked-and insisted that he actually boil the water on the stove. He saw Fraser’s eyes go wide and horrified when Ray popped a saucepan on the burner, but he knew the guy well enough to know it was mostly for show.
TBC
Be nice. I'm learning.
Polish matters. Damn right it does. Fraser’s folks must have been missionaries against the evils of tarnish, the way he evangelically attacked Ray’s spoons with a tub of pink stuff and a snowy handkerchief snapped from his pocket.
“Fraser, those aren’t actually silver. I got all of em’ at the thrift store.”
After his plastic forks had run out, and the paper plates as well, Ray had gone out to find something to stick in his empty kitchen. Something cheap that he could throw away when Stella took him back. Half an hour at the local junk shop and he’d gotten a couple of plates, a couple of mugs, bowls, glasses and a handful of cutlery that had been bundled up with a rubber band. When he got back to the apartment, he’d taken one look at his new stuff, thrown them in the cupboards and didn’t get up off the couch for the entire weekend.
Fraser hummed as he buffed the bowl of a teaspoon, then paused to look at his reflection in it.
“Hey, you hear me, Fraser?”
“Of course Ray.” He looked up. “A most fortunate find. It’s a shame you’ve let them go for so long.”
“Wait, you mean they’re really silver?” Ray sat down next to Fraser’s little spread on the kitchen counter. Ray could see Fraser’s thumb circling over the little scrolly end of the teaspoon, then up down up down the handle.
“Oh, indeed. Lovely condition, in fact. I’m surprised anyone could ever part with them.” He leveled an eye down the length of a knife. “Quite lovely.”
A little bit of lightening went into Ray’s brain. This was his partner. This was his life now. No tiny, familiar apartment with his snappish, stubborn, beautiful wife. No Ray Kowalski, even. Just this Canadian with chicken-drumstick pants sitting in Ray’s just-for-now kitchen, ogling Ray’s stupid stupid just-for-now cutlery.
“Ok, give me that.” He snatched the knife out of Fraser’s hand. “I don’t think we know each other well enough for this.”
“Nonsense,” Fraser said blithely. He picked up a fork. “I don’t mind. All they need is a little bit of care.”
“Yeah well, I don’t care about them.” Ray pushed up from the chair. “I don’t care about the freaking spoons, Fraser. They aren’t even mine. They’re just for... Everything here,” Ray waved his arms, “it’s all…” He couldn't start to like this new life, this fake life with shiny forks and Benton Fraser in it.
Fraser put down the handkerchief and put his hands in his lap. His face was slightly pinched, like it had been looking at Ray Vecchio’s too-new Detective First Class badge that very first time. Ray rubbed his forehead.
“Look, I’m sorry. They’re just…forget the spoons, please? Just…”
“I understand. I'll finish another day.”
“No, come on, Fraser, I mean it-“
Fraser stood and started stacking the cutlery. “Ray," he said, "They're just spoons. They can wait. Forever, in fact.”
That was. Huh. “Ok. Thanks Fraser.” Ray turned around, and he heard Fraser gently put the silver away.
“Would you care for some tea?” Fraser said. Ray whirled around.
“Would I care for-this is my apartment. I should be asking if you’d like some tea.”
Fraser smiled. “Thank you, Ray, I’d love some.”
Ray narrowed his eyes and made a show of muttering under his breath as he filled two mugs with water and stuck them in the microwave. He felt a bit vindicated when Fraser squawked-actually squawked-and insisted that he actually boil the water on the stove. He saw Fraser’s eyes go wide and horrified when Ray popped a saucepan on the burner, but he knew the guy well enough to know it was mostly for show.
TBC
Be nice. I'm learning.