Fraser/LaCroix, anyone?
I never imagined the response to my mention of this pairing would be "LOL," much less "why not!" You guys amaze me. . . Amaze me enough that I'm compelled to humiliate myself in public. Why yes, it's all your fault, D-san and Otter-san!*g*
So I've been trying to write this Fraser/LaCroix story since last summer, and. . . Wait, wait! Don't run away, it's not all that strange, is it? I mean, just look at the slashiness of that episode! There's arguably even more chemistry between them than in Fraser/Smithbauer, IMO. I cannot believe I haven't encountered more than one story of this pairing ever since I've entered DS fandom. Which is the only reason I'm compelled to write it myself. . . (Story of my life, really.)
Anyway, here's the first two scenes of it. Then I got stuck, or rather, lost interest and got lost in RL stuff. But when I find the time to get back to it. . . I'm not entirely giving up on the idea yet. Anybody care to beta this icky thing for me, if and when I start writing it? (I've got to warn though: there's bound to be issues of consent in the story line, quite possibly outright rape, and the villain LaCroix from The Edge will be the stalker with a mad crush on Benny. Such recipe also smells heavily of h/c content, and more schmoop than I myself care for. Hopefully it ends with F/V love, if not an entirely rosy HEA :P)
Unfortunately (or fortunately?), none of those icky or yummy things happen yet in these first two scenes. . .
* * *
The night was a blast, as the Americans seemed to like to say. Vecchio really knew how to romance his lady. She dreamily gazed across the white candle-lit tablecloth, slightly drunk, more than slightly in the mood for something Italian for dessert, catching the Chicago detective smiling back at her like a loon. "What?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking how nice it was to listen to someone being so enthusiastic about her career as a cop."
"Oh, I look all naïve to you smart American policemen, I see."
"No, no, I didn't mean it like that. It's good to be naïve about some things, you know? It's nice to believe in what you do. That's great. I kinda envy you, actually."
"You do, now, do you."
She had only intended to tease him with that, and the only reason she started to get up for the bathroom a few seconds later was because she, well, needed to go, but the Italian seemed to take a different message and grabbed her by the arm. Damn cross-cultural miscommunication.
"Look, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to insult you."
"I know. And you didn't. Relax, I'm just taking a trip to the ladies' room."
"Oh," his gaze dropped, then latched onto her bag next to her seat. "Hey, what's that?"
She sighed. "What's what?"
"That piece of. . . Do you mind?"
If she minded it wouldn't have made a difference, because Vecchio just reached out and slipped out the blow-up from her purse where it had been showing a centimeter or two. Americans. Subtlety. Not two things you can enjoy at the same time, she reminded herself. "Oh, that? Well, I guess it is evidence, but your FBI never believed us in the first place, and nobody asked for it when we came back to the station, so. . ."
The man didn't respond. He looked frozen in place.
"Look, I didn't mean anything by it, okay? Well, I admit I thought the picture was kind of cute. But that's all. He's not the kind of cute you'd want to. . . You know. That's just pin-up picture. I just thought I'd take it home to show to my friends. Give it to my sister, maybe. A souvenir."
He still looked frozen. He didn't even start yelling or anything. This was getting weird.
"Look, what's the matter? Does that have to make you so jealous?"
"Jealous? Why would I be jealous of you?"
"Of--? Uh, I meant of him. What do you mean jealous of me?"
"I'm sorry, what were you just saying?" When the man shook himself and finally looked up, he didn't seem interested in the answer to his own question. He didn't, in fact, seem interested in being here at all. He looked haunted.
"Hey, what's wrong," it made her ask, alarmed.
"I. . . Look, this is the picture we found at the perp's hiding place, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Do you mind if I borrow it?"
"Borrow? Look, you can have it for all I care. I really wasn't thinking all that much when I put it in my purse. It's American property, anyway. Evidence."
"Thanks." He was still distant. It didn't look very much like jealousy at finding a handsome man's picture in your date's purse. It made her uncomfortable, to say the least.
"Vecchio? What's on your mind?"
"I. . . Uh. . . nothing. I just remembered I have something left to do at the precinct. Some paper work. I've got to hand it in first thing in the morning, and--"
"Oh come on, talk to me. If it's about the case. . . Is something still bothering you? We got him; the constable ID-ed him, right? So it's a hundred percent."
"No, not that. It's just-- No."
"Ray. You know you can trust me, don't you? Tell me what's wrong; maybe I can help. I'm a cop too, in case you haven't noticed."
Something glittered in his eyes. For some reason, she thought the detective might be about to cry.
"Do -- Do you recognize this suit?"
"Yeah, it's the one he was wearing that day at the airport. Actually, I've never seen him in another one."
"That's because he doesn't have any."
"Have any."
"Suits. He borrowed this one from Cooper for that airport security gig."
"So the perp took this picture at the airport. So what's the -- Oh. Are you still protecting your friend and his eyesight? This means he really was a camera-man? So what? He also was the assassin; your friend was right, after all. Probably La Croix did have a gun, and he was waiting for his chance. Only, he took the opportunity to take that picture, too."
Ray had started shaking his head, but suddenly stopped and looked straight at her. "Why would he do that?"
"Take a picture? I don't know, ground research, know your enemy --"
"Look at this. What do you see?" He shoved the picture in front of her nose. The guy was positively insane.
"Uh, a Canadian officer?"
"A pin-up. You said so yourself."
"I thought you weren't listening."
"Let's go." He grabbed the check.
Anita had a sneaking feeling this wasn't a date anymore. She wondered where it went wrong. She was still slightly drunk, but all the nice little zing was long gone. "Give me a second. I'll just go powder my nose first and--"
"Sure. Right, I'll get a cab to be waiting for you out front."
"Oh no, I'm coming with you. Never mind. Where are we off to?"
"The precinct," came the answer from the back of the Armani coat, already halfway out through the door.
* * *
"I know this. I've seen these. I used to work personal protection. Why didn't I see it until just now?"
Anita could do little else than stare as Ray dug frantically through files after files after plastic bags.
"Well, we were being thrown a knife at, for one thing. What exactly are you seeing?"
"A pin-up. A stalker. There," the American triumphantly held up an evidence bag he fished out of the pile on his desk.
"I thought the Feds took everything."
"They did. Then they sent everything back when we got an arrest. They expect us to do all the paperwork." He took the envelope out of its bag and opened it.
"Uh. . . That's still evidence."
"Yeah, that's why we're investigating it." Pulling out the letter, he laid it flat on what's left of his desk top.
It was still the same note of threat. For the life of her, Anita couldn't find anything they had missed: . . . Trade representatives Sinclair, Franklin, and Tedesco have betrayed us. I will see them die before they are allowed to betray their countries again. . . Madman.
"I thought he just picked blindly, you know? Someone on the inside, to show us he had the upper hand. . . Shit, he even broke into his apartment."
Constable Fraser. Of course. This was all about him. Focus. She had to focus.
"Not technically, no. Your friend says his door wasn't locked."
"Would you like having a murderous ex-Scout Ranger sneaking into your apartment in the dead of the night?"
"No. That's why I lock my doors."
"Benny. . ."
"Ray, are you feeling all right?"
Anita asked as her date slumped into his chair, looking tired as he never had throughout the past week full of stress. When he finally opened his mouth to explain, he was still absently staring at the handwritten address on the envelope still clutched in his hand -- Constable Benton Fraser -- and his words still didn't make much sense.
"It was just an attempt. Attempt, and intimidation. He didn't actually succeed-- Hell, he didn't even have time to point his gun at the ambassador before we jumped him. It's gonna get him five years, tops, then he's out. I just want to make sure there's nothing more to that sicko than loving trees."
"Like stalking, you say."
"Yeah."
"But why are you still worrying? The case is over. He only approached Fraser to get our attention. So by the time he's out again he will have forgotten all--"
"No, he didn't."
The Mexican didn't follow.
"I mean it wasn't to get our attention," Ray sounded frustrated. It wasn't her fault. "Or well, it was, but he didn't pick Fraser out at random. Look. See?"
He shook the picture again in front of her eyes. Of course, she didn't see. And apparently, he did.
* * *
. . . That's it for now. (I know. Spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes, not to mention voices, but hey, to give full disclosure, this is what my English looks like before I ask help from kindhearted fen like imkalena!)
Note to self: Anita. She's already turning into such a Mary Sue I'm making myself sick. Sorry, to anybody else who felt the same way.
Note to others: So as you can see, this entire story revolves around the one thing I kept thinking while watching The Edge. Namely, "If Fraser were a woman, what they say in this show would definitely mean she was being stalked." But then when you think about it, maybe the show did say he was being stalked, as in stalked personally, if you look at it in a certain way.
That thing about the photo is true BTW. This
is what they find in the woods. It's the exact shot we see of Fraser when he spots the camera-man cum assassin in the airport. (Right after
this scene.) Why would the show give LaCroix that picture? There's no sense in it. Even if LaCroix did pose as a photographer using the real equipment he stole off the real one, why would he be taking a picture of an officer (however beautiful) -- then to be blown up to near life size for keeps, I might add -- at a crucial time when he's supposed to be threatening his real target? They could have given us a much more plausible piece of photo to be found in his hiding place: Fraser in combat gear, for one, since we see the assassin peeping from behind the door in the opening scene.
Well, that's just the tip of the iceberg. So in my view LaCroix totally is a stalker as well as a soldier gone mad. I'm just surprised not so many fen seem to agree, or at least, talk about it through the fics they write. Surely there's more to say about LaCroix than about Steve? Or isn't there?
Editted to fix the links since my old server went down. Bleh.
So I've been trying to write this Fraser/LaCroix story since last summer, and. . . Wait, wait! Don't run away, it's not all that strange, is it? I mean, just look at the slashiness of that episode! There's arguably even more chemistry between them than in Fraser/Smithbauer, IMO. I cannot believe I haven't encountered more than one story of this pairing ever since I've entered DS fandom. Which is the only reason I'm compelled to write it myself. . . (Story of my life, really.)
Anyway, here's the first two scenes of it. Then I got stuck, or rather, lost interest and got lost in RL stuff. But when I find the time to get back to it. . . I'm not entirely giving up on the idea yet. Anybody care to beta this icky thing for me, if and when I start writing it? (I've got to warn though: there's bound to be issues of consent in the story line, quite possibly outright rape, and the villain LaCroix from The Edge will be the stalker with a mad crush on Benny. Such recipe also smells heavily of h/c content, and more schmoop than I myself care for. Hopefully it ends with F/V love, if not an entirely rosy HEA :P)
Unfortunately (or fortunately?), none of those icky or yummy things happen yet in these first two scenes. . .
* * *
The night was a blast, as the Americans seemed to like to say. Vecchio really knew how to romance his lady. She dreamily gazed across the white candle-lit tablecloth, slightly drunk, more than slightly in the mood for something Italian for dessert, catching the Chicago detective smiling back at her like a loon. "What?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking how nice it was to listen to someone being so enthusiastic about her career as a cop."
"Oh, I look all naïve to you smart American policemen, I see."
"No, no, I didn't mean it like that. It's good to be naïve about some things, you know? It's nice to believe in what you do. That's great. I kinda envy you, actually."
"You do, now, do you."
She had only intended to tease him with that, and the only reason she started to get up for the bathroom a few seconds later was because she, well, needed to go, but the Italian seemed to take a different message and grabbed her by the arm. Damn cross-cultural miscommunication.
"Look, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to insult you."
"I know. And you didn't. Relax, I'm just taking a trip to the ladies' room."
"Oh," his gaze dropped, then latched onto her bag next to her seat. "Hey, what's that?"
She sighed. "What's what?"
"That piece of. . . Do you mind?"
If she minded it wouldn't have made a difference, because Vecchio just reached out and slipped out the blow-up from her purse where it had been showing a centimeter or two. Americans. Subtlety. Not two things you can enjoy at the same time, she reminded herself. "Oh, that? Well, I guess it is evidence, but your FBI never believed us in the first place, and nobody asked for it when we came back to the station, so. . ."
The man didn't respond. He looked frozen in place.
"Look, I didn't mean anything by it, okay? Well, I admit I thought the picture was kind of cute. But that's all. He's not the kind of cute you'd want to. . . You know. That's just pin-up picture. I just thought I'd take it home to show to my friends. Give it to my sister, maybe. A souvenir."
He still looked frozen. He didn't even start yelling or anything. This was getting weird.
"Look, what's the matter? Does that have to make you so jealous?"
"Jealous? Why would I be jealous of you?"
"Of--? Uh, I meant of him. What do you mean jealous of me?"
"I'm sorry, what were you just saying?" When the man shook himself and finally looked up, he didn't seem interested in the answer to his own question. He didn't, in fact, seem interested in being here at all. He looked haunted.
"Hey, what's wrong," it made her ask, alarmed.
"I. . . Look, this is the picture we found at the perp's hiding place, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Do you mind if I borrow it?"
"Borrow? Look, you can have it for all I care. I really wasn't thinking all that much when I put it in my purse. It's American property, anyway. Evidence."
"Thanks." He was still distant. It didn't look very much like jealousy at finding a handsome man's picture in your date's purse. It made her uncomfortable, to say the least.
"Vecchio? What's on your mind?"
"I. . . Uh. . . nothing. I just remembered I have something left to do at the precinct. Some paper work. I've got to hand it in first thing in the morning, and--"
"Oh come on, talk to me. If it's about the case. . . Is something still bothering you? We got him; the constable ID-ed him, right? So it's a hundred percent."
"No, not that. It's just-- No."
"Ray. You know you can trust me, don't you? Tell me what's wrong; maybe I can help. I'm a cop too, in case you haven't noticed."
Something glittered in his eyes. For some reason, she thought the detective might be about to cry.
"Do -- Do you recognize this suit?"
"Yeah, it's the one he was wearing that day at the airport. Actually, I've never seen him in another one."
"That's because he doesn't have any."
"Have any."
"Suits. He borrowed this one from Cooper for that airport security gig."
"So the perp took this picture at the airport. So what's the -- Oh. Are you still protecting your friend and his eyesight? This means he really was a camera-man? So what? He also was the assassin; your friend was right, after all. Probably La Croix did have a gun, and he was waiting for his chance. Only, he took the opportunity to take that picture, too."
Ray had started shaking his head, but suddenly stopped and looked straight at her. "Why would he do that?"
"Take a picture? I don't know, ground research, know your enemy --"
"Look at this. What do you see?" He shoved the picture in front of her nose. The guy was positively insane.
"Uh, a Canadian officer?"
"A pin-up. You said so yourself."
"I thought you weren't listening."
"Let's go." He grabbed the check.
Anita had a sneaking feeling this wasn't a date anymore. She wondered where it went wrong. She was still slightly drunk, but all the nice little zing was long gone. "Give me a second. I'll just go powder my nose first and--"
"Sure. Right, I'll get a cab to be waiting for you out front."
"Oh no, I'm coming with you. Never mind. Where are we off to?"
"The precinct," came the answer from the back of the Armani coat, already halfway out through the door.
* * *
"I know this. I've seen these. I used to work personal protection. Why didn't I see it until just now?"
Anita could do little else than stare as Ray dug frantically through files after files after plastic bags.
"Well, we were being thrown a knife at, for one thing. What exactly are you seeing?"
"A pin-up. A stalker. There," the American triumphantly held up an evidence bag he fished out of the pile on his desk.
"I thought the Feds took everything."
"They did. Then they sent everything back when we got an arrest. They expect us to do all the paperwork." He took the envelope out of its bag and opened it.
"Uh. . . That's still evidence."
"Yeah, that's why we're investigating it." Pulling out the letter, he laid it flat on what's left of his desk top.
It was still the same note of threat. For the life of her, Anita couldn't find anything they had missed: . . . Trade representatives Sinclair, Franklin, and Tedesco have betrayed us. I will see them die before they are allowed to betray their countries again. . . Madman.
"I thought he just picked blindly, you know? Someone on the inside, to show us he had the upper hand. . . Shit, he even broke into his apartment."
Constable Fraser. Of course. This was all about him. Focus. She had to focus.
"Not technically, no. Your friend says his door wasn't locked."
"Would you like having a murderous ex-Scout Ranger sneaking into your apartment in the dead of the night?"
"No. That's why I lock my doors."
"Benny. . ."
"Ray, are you feeling all right?"
Anita asked as her date slumped into his chair, looking tired as he never had throughout the past week full of stress. When he finally opened his mouth to explain, he was still absently staring at the handwritten address on the envelope still clutched in his hand -- Constable Benton Fraser -- and his words still didn't make much sense.
"It was just an attempt. Attempt, and intimidation. He didn't actually succeed-- Hell, he didn't even have time to point his gun at the ambassador before we jumped him. It's gonna get him five years, tops, then he's out. I just want to make sure there's nothing more to that sicko than loving trees."
"Like stalking, you say."
"Yeah."
"But why are you still worrying? The case is over. He only approached Fraser to get our attention. So by the time he's out again he will have forgotten all--"
"No, he didn't."
The Mexican didn't follow.
"I mean it wasn't to get our attention," Ray sounded frustrated. It wasn't her fault. "Or well, it was, but he didn't pick Fraser out at random. Look. See?"
He shook the picture again in front of her eyes. Of course, she didn't see. And apparently, he did.
* * *
. . . That's it for now. (I know. Spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes, not to mention voices, but hey, to give full disclosure, this is what my English looks like before I ask help from kindhearted fen like imkalena!)
Note to self: Anita. She's already turning into such a Mary Sue I'm making myself sick. Sorry, to anybody else who felt the same way.
Note to others: So as you can see, this entire story revolves around the one thing I kept thinking while watching The Edge. Namely, "If Fraser were a woman, what they say in this show would definitely mean she was being stalked." But then when you think about it, maybe the show did say he was being stalked, as in stalked personally, if you look at it in a certain way.
That thing about the photo is true BTW. This
is what they find in the woods. It's the exact shot we see of Fraser when he spots the camera-man cum assassin in the airport. (Right after
this scene.) Why would the show give LaCroix that picture? There's no sense in it. Even if LaCroix did pose as a photographer using the real equipment he stole off the real one, why would he be taking a picture of an officer (however beautiful) -- then to be blown up to near life size for keeps, I might add -- at a crucial time when he's supposed to be threatening his real target? They could have given us a much more plausible piece of photo to be found in his hiding place: Fraser in combat gear, for one, since we see the assassin peeping from behind the door in the opening scene.
Well, that's just the tip of the iceberg. So in my view LaCroix totally is a stalker as well as a soldier gone mad. I'm just surprised not so many fen seem to agree, or at least, talk about it through the fics they write. Surely there's more to say about LaCroix than about Steve? Or isn't there?
Editted to fix the links since my old server went down. Bleh.