Gratitude

Gratitude

Rating: soft R for male-male kissing and dirty talk

Pairing: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski

Disclaimer: "due South," with its related characters and themes, does not belong to me. I make no money from this venture.

Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and the Stratford Shakespeare Festival.

Wherein Fraser gives, and gives, and takes.

Notice: I can't believe that I wrote anything this short. I can't believe that I wrote anything without graphic sex. I can't believe that I finally finished a straightforward F/K piece. I may expand on this story later to make up for the brevity and lack of smut. Also, when you get to a certain spot, just think of the problem in two ways: either blame me for being a bad writer, or think of katana space.

When he thought about it later, he wasn't sure of his intentions. He wasn't sure whether they were as generous as they seemed. Any way he looked at the situation, he came off looking selfish. But the degrees of selfishness were what concerned him the most. Depending on one's viewpoint, he was greedy and manipulative at the least.

He'd been Ray Kowalski's unofficial working partner for some time, and they'd been best friends for just as many years. Ray had become his closest, at times his only friend. His former friends were all in Canada, and Ray Vecchio was in Florida. He and Ray Kowalski worked together well and played together well, both on his "home turf" and Ray's. They could chase criminals together, dogsled across the Northwest Territories together, and anything in between.

When they were separated for three weeks, he felt that those weeks were the longest of his life. He hadn't realized just how he'd come to depend on Ray. He could talk with Ray about anything, anything at all, and no matter how Ray teased him, Ray always was willing to listen. Ray was interested in what he had to say, in how he thought. And he was used to Ray's physical presence. Ray was at his side constantly, talking, jittering, smiling, thinking, listening. He missed having someone beside him. He missed having someone to bounce ideas off of, and he missed Ray's unique perspectives. It was amazing, he always thought, how the two of them could live through the exact same experience and come out of it with entirely different interpretations of events.

He hadn't known how long Ray would be away from him. Ray was working undercover and hadn't been able to tell him about the job. They didn't keep secrets from each other deliberately, but for Ray's safety he couldn't know about Ray's undercover work, so he didn't ask and Ray didn't tell. Therefore, he had no idea where Ray was or how long Ray would be there. "Not long" was all that Lieutenant Welsh had told him.

He'd stayed away from places he normally saw Ray, including the 27th. Excluding the Canadian Consulate, of course. He knew that when Ray returned, he'd hear about it.

And late one afternoon, as he was just stepping out after work to take Diefenbaker for a walk, Diefenbaker barked and he looked up to see Ray stepping from the familiar black GTO. Ray leaned over the roof and said, "Hey, Fraser, you busy?"

They'd gone to Ray's apartment in an unusual silence. He hadn't known Ray to go undercover for more than a few days, except of course for the stretch of time as Ray Vecchio. He wasn't sure how Ray liked to handle these sorts of jobs. Could Ray talk about it now that it had ended? Would Ray want to talk about it? Since he didn't know anything at all, couldn't begin to guess, he had no specific angle of entry.

Ray let them into the apartment and called for pizza, then sat on the couch.

"Are you certain that you're in the mood for company, Ray?"

Ray sighed and said, "Yeah, Fraser, sit. Gotta talk to somebody, you know? Gotta see a familiar face. Even a familiar fuzzy face," he added, and Dief nosed at his knee. "So come on," he said to Fraser, "have a seat, let me talk your ear off for a change."

Once Ray started talking that evening, he couldn't stop. He told Fraser all about the job, his three weeks, what had happened before those weeks, what was likely to happen now.

Ray hadn't been hurt, but the stint had held a great deal of potential danger, specifically to Ray; and Fraser was glad that he hadn't been told what Ray had been going into, because he knew that he would have interfered. He trusted Ray, but when Ray was in danger he felt compelled to do something to alleviate the danger, to save Ray. Maybe that was because usually Ray only was in trouble in the first place because of something that he'd done.

After the pizza the two of them went for a walk with Diefenbaker, then returned to Ray's apartment. Ray drove Fraser back to the Consulate and stopped the car.

"Good to be back. Back in my life. It really is my life, you know?"

"Of course, Ray. Who else's would it be?"

Ray looked at him with a familiar "you can't possibly be that stupid, Fraser" expression. "Vecchio's."

"That's silly, Ray." He wouldn't bother to dignify such a claim with further words. But he did remember something. Before they'd gone to Ray's apartment he'd ducked back into his office to retrieve an item for Ray, and now he recalled it. "I have something for you, Ray."

"Yeah?" Puzzled.

"Yes." He pulled the small box from his cartridge case and presented it in one hand.

"You got me a present? You got me a present? Is this some weird Canadian holiday I forgot?"

"No, Ray. I thought of you while you were gone, and this seemed an appropriate token."

"Really? 'Cause it's not my birthday."

"I'm well aware of that, Ray. I simply wanted you to know that you were missed."

"Hell, nobody ever just gets me something to get me something. Nobody ever misses me, either. That's kinda cool, Fraser. Freakish, of course..."

Fraser supplied the warranted, "Of course, Ray."

"...but kinda cool." Ray finally took the small black box from Fraser's palm and cracked it open quickly. "Hey. Hey."

"Yes, Ray?"

"You got me...it's mine. It looks just like mine. Fraser, where did you find this?"

"I made a few inquiries. I described your missing bracelet and asked where I could get a similar one."

Ray lifted it from the box, holding it up, gazing at it as it caught the light from the street lamps. "Fraser, that is awesome. I missed it. I mean, I've worn it like every day for my entire life. Not that it's a big deal, it's just this thing on my wrist, but I got used to it, you know?"

"Yes, Ray."

Ray looked at him and smiled. "Thanks, Fraser." He set down the box; his long fingers caught Fraser's chin and he brushed his lips over Fraser's in a soft, brief, chaste kiss. Then, moving with complete grace, he freed Fraser's chin as his deft fingers closed the bracelet around his wrist. "Feels like home."

Fraser cleared his throat. "Well. Yes. You're welcome, Ray. Quite welcome. We'd best go inside now. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Sure. I'll stop by in the morning, see if you wanna come catch bad guys with me."

"That would be fine, Ray." He stepped from the car, held the seat for Dief, and said, "Welcome home, Ray."

"Thanks, Fraser."

He closed the door, let himself into the Consulate, made a security check, went through his entire nightly routine, and fell asleep without missing a step. He didn't pause to wonder what Ray had done; he didn't even tell himself not to think about what Ray had done. He simply didn't think about it, at all, for one second. He didn't know why Ray had kissed him, and as far as he was concerned, it had not happened.

Ray never acted like anything was out of the ordinary.

But somewhere deep inside himself, he realized later, he was replaying the moment. The Moment. The Moment of The Kiss. Ray's kiss. Ray's touch, Ray's lips. Ray's taste: faint from the brush of their lips, but warm, masculine, slightly sweet.

And something deep inside of him wondered what he could do to get Ray to kiss him again.

One day (two weeks and three days after The Kiss), he met Ray at the 27th precinct and noticed that Ray wasn't wearing the bracelet. Not wanting to make Ray feel compelled to wear it, but wondering where it was and sure that Ray hadn't carelessly misplaced it, he asked after its whereabouts.

"I was hoping you wouldn't notice," Ray said, sitting back in his chair. "I knew better. Got to slammin' doors earlier, and it broke. Sorry, Fraser. I didn't mean to ruin your nice present."

"It broke, Ray?"

"Yeah. The catch or clasp or whatever." He dug it from his pocket and dropped it with a jingle on his desktop. "Know where I can get it fixed?"

"I could fix it for you, Ray."

"You can? Of course you can. They teach jewelry in Mountie school, I forgot. I can get it fixed myself, Fraser. They have places in the Yellow Pages."

"I'd be happy to fix your bracelet for you, Ray," Fraser said, picking it up himself. "If I've presented you with an inferior product, I feel responsible for its maintenance."

"You would. If you gotta go somewhere or buy something, you let me know. I'll pay for it."

"That shouldn't be necessary, Ray."

It was, however. He took it to a local jeweler he trusted and had the clasp replaced, then strengthened. He explained that Ray at times led a rough-and-tumble lifestyle, or at least not a very sedate one. Once the clasp was secure, and both Fraser and the jeweler were satisfied, Fraser returned the bracelet to Ray.

In the privacy of Ray's apartment one evening.

Where Ray gave him a second brief, chaste kiss and went to answer the phone.

Ray's phone call gave Fraser the time to cool off a little. It also gave him the opportunity to come to his senses.

He'd presented Ray with a gift. Ray had kissed him, a simple gesture of gratitude, completely unexpected. He'd presented Ray with another gift, in a sense, and Ray had kissed him again. Fraser was not a stupid man. He might have guessed that if he gave Ray something again, Ray might give him a second kiss. He'd known that the possibility existed. He'd taken advantage of the opportunity.

He felt deeply ashamed. He was taking advantage of Ray's physical generosity. He was taking advantage of Ray. He received so little physical affection of any sort, either casual or sexual, that he was stooping to working for kisses from Ray. His best friend. His partner. He had no right. No right at all.

He couldn't ask Ray to stop kissing him. That would seem rude, and he wasn't quite prepared to bring up the subject or to explain himself. Besides which, Ray had never mentioned the kisses.

He'd just have to keep from doing anything nice for Ray.

He behaved as he ought for over three weeks. He mentally labelled those two kisses as aberrations and pushed them from his thoughts. They'd never be repeated.

Then twenty-three days after the second kiss, a package arrived at the consulate.

Bruce Springsteen's new album. He'd special-ordered it a few months ago. He'd placed the order knowing that Ray was fond of the artist, knowing that Ray would want it as soon as possible. It had been no trouble to place a request in advance of the album's publication date.

But now he had a brand-new CD of Ray's favorite artist. And even with Ray's fondness for music, Ray had been so preoccupied with work lately that Fraser was sure that the album's impending arrival in stores had slipped Ray's mind. He was sure that if he presented Ray with the CD, that Ray would be...grateful.

Well, surely that was no reason to hide the CD. He'd gotten it for Ray, and he'd give it to Ray.

There was no reason to expect that Ray would kiss him.

Maybe if he handed it to Ray in the middle of the busy station...

He wouldn't wrap it or make a big deal of the occasion; he'd simply hand the CD over to Ray in a casual, matter-of-fact manner.

But he liked watching Ray open gifts. He liked the curiosity, the eagerness. Most of all, he liked watching Ray realize that someone had gone to trouble, that someone cared, that someone bothered to buy and wrap presents just for Ray.

He wrapped the album neatly in old white giftwrap with red maple leaves. It was all that he could find at the consulate. He wrapped it in thin red ribbon and placed it neatly on his desk. He'd go to the station-

"Hey, Fraser."

He stood quickly. "Ray."

Ray wandered into his office. "You busy?"

"I..." He grabbed the gift and thrust it at Ray. "Here."

"What's this?"

"A present. For you." Half of him was appalled at his utter lack of class. The other half was thinking that with the door open, Ray wouldn't kiss him. Then he smacked himself, mentally, very hard, for being disappointed.

"Hey, wow. Thanks, Fraser." Ray accepted the present, giving him a wary, curious glance. "You've been all sorts of Santa Claus lately. Must be the red suit." Ray untied the bow and ripped the paper. "Holy... Fraser!"

"Yes, Ray?" Ray was looking at him with wide eyes, then at the CD cover, then at him, then at the CD again.

"This is what I think it is. Is this what I think it is?"

"Yes, Ray."

"Fraser, you are the best friend anyone has ever had."

Apparently Ray was willing to kiss with the door open. Fraser blinked a few times.

"I gotta go listen to this. Wonder if I could ditch work and go home to play it? Welsh wouldn't notice."

"He might, Ray." He ran his tongue over his lower lip. Not to catch Ray's taste, of course. That would be improper. Immoral.

"Someday, Fraser, someday, I'm gonna give you something to make up for all this good stuff you do for me."

"There's no need to make anything up to me, Ray."

"Maybe that's why I have to," Ray said. There was something deeply philosophic in Ray's offhand comment, and Fraser spent the evening turning over the idea. He contrasted Ray's pure motives with his own shameful ones, and determined to do better in the future. He would follow Ray's example of friendship and generosity.

He wondered whether Ray kissed everyone who did something nice. Not complete strangers, of course. And he couldn't imagine Ray's lips on Leftenant Welsh's. But Francesca, perhaps? Stella, of course - - though Fraser hadn't seen her do anything nice for Ray. One presumed, however, that at one point in her life she had been kind to Ray, and perhaps Ray had kissed her then.

Well, most likely, Ray had done a great deal more than kiss her. And knowing Ray, knowing Ray's energy, affectionate nature, easy physicality, and interest in the opposite sex, it was quite likely that Ray had done a great deal more than kiss her, at any provocation.

There was no good way to answer his question. He couldn't approach Francesca and ask her whether Ray had kissed her. It was none of his business what Ray did or why.

Ray's pleased reactions to Fraser's simple gestures implied that Ray didn't receive presents often. Really, Fraser could only imagine Ray receiving token gifts from Ray's mother, these days, and she was in Arizona now. Perhaps Fraser was the only one in Ray's life who would bother to fix Ray's bracelet clasp or pick up a CD.

Which meant that he was the only one whom Ray was kissing.

He could use his father's advice right now. He needed someone to tell him to snap out of it. Diefenbaker wasn't paying attention, and his lectures weren't working on himself.

He wondered what would happen if he kissed Ray. Were these gestures allowed to be reciprocal? Would Ray see anything strange in a quick brush of lips to lips if initiated by him?

He'd never dare. He knew that he'd never be able to bring himself to make advances to Ray.

He was at the station one afternoon a few days after The Third Kiss. Francesca was speaking with him while Ray was in Leftenant Welsh's office. She was looking at a website on which one could buy sunglasses. He really wasn't certain how that pertained to her work, but it really wasn't his place to ask.

"You know," she said, "Ray..." She stopped talking, blinked, and laughed. "I don't even know which Ray Vecchio I was about to talk about. Anyway," and she clicked her mouse a few times, looking over various sunglass styles, "I know the green-eyed Ray Vecchio was always looking for the perfect pair. And the blonde Ray Vecchio - - wow. Those are nice."

Fraser tilted his head to one side and considered. "Yes, they are rather nice." They would look excellent on Ray. The blonde one.

"Wow, on sale, too. Those are really nice." She sighed. "Wish I had a boyfriend to buy them for."

He pretended not to notice the half-wistful, half-predatory expression on her face. "You could buy them for Ray."

"Ray? You want me to buy them for him? First of all, where do I have the money to go around buying - - he isn't even my real brother. Not that I'd buy anything for him, either." There was a pause. "They are really nice, though."

"On sale."

"It's not even his birthday."

"All the more reason to get them for him, then, isn't it?" he asked with a smile into her eyes.

Ten minutes later, Francesca was filling out an on-line order form.

Fraser was a very bad person. He'd just talked Francesca into doing something nice for Ray just so he could measure Ray's reaction. He was taking advantage of her generosity now as well as Ray's. And he'd done prodding and smiling and, god help him, he knew that she was interested in him, and he'd taken advantage of that interest. Ten minutes of smiling and politeness and he felt sick to his stomach. She was a wonderful person, and he had no right to...had he been flirting? He'd been so stupidly desperate to get her to buy a pair of sunglasses that he may very well have been flirting.

And, in the end, he'd handed over some money. She'd pay half and he'd pay half, as long as she agreed to keep his half secret.

He'd flirted like mad.

Three weeks later, on the tail end of the two-to-three weeks shipping date, Fraser was in Leftenant Welsh's office with Ray. Leftenant Welsh was called out for a moment, telling them to stay put. Ray fidgeted and fumed and fussed, but was in enough trouble already not to risk incurring more wrath by leaving. So they stayed put.

Francesca entered with a beautifully gift-wrapped package in her hands. "Hey. Ray. Gotcha something."

"Me?" Ray asked, facing her with confusion.

"Don't expect it to become habit or anything."

He smiled, a beautiful, blinding smile. "Thanks, Frannie." He turned over the box, shook it by his ear, grinned at her impatience, and tore open the paper, opened the box. "Hey. Wow. Cool. Hey, Frase, I'm gonna be the snazziest guy this side of the border." He smiled again. "Thanks, Frannie," he said, and gave her a one-armed, affectionate squeeze. "You're the best."

"Don't get excited," she said, pushing him away, turning red, heading for the door. "It was his idea. He talked me into it, he paid for half."

Ray's smile increased a notch or two. "Thanks, Fraser." One sweet, chaste kiss, and Ray left the leftenant's office in search of a mirror.

Leftenant Welsh returned to the office to find only a shell-shocked Mountie. He rolled his eyes and sent Fraser off to find Ray. Fraser went in search of Ray with one numb idea: Ray hadn't kissed Francesca. Ray had not kissed Francesca. Ray had not kissed Francesca.

Ray had kissed him.

Only him.

As though it were the most natural course of action to be taken.

Which it couldn't be.

He found Ray in the men's bathroom, fingers running over bleached blonde spikes. "Hey, Fraser. How do I look?"

"Beautiful, Ray."

"They're sunglasses, Fraser, not a miracle cure." Ray removed the sunglasses, tucked them into the collar of his shirt, and said, "Guess I oughta go back to Welsh's office before he notices I'm missing. Unless...he already noticed and he sent you after me?"

"Yes, Ray."

"Better get my butt moving, then. Come on. Let's listen to me getting yelled at some more, then we can go solve crimes or something." He paused before the door, blue eyes looking at Fraser with a question. "You meant that?"

"Meant what, Ray?"

"You know."

"Know what, Ray?"

"Come on, Fraser, I'm not fishing for compliments here. I just... Nobody ever said that about me before, and I know you don't lie, but you got that polite thing happening. So did you mean what you said or did you...mean what you said?"

"Leftenant Welsh is waiting for us, Ray."

Ray sighed in frustration. "Okay, come on, then," he said, pushing at the door.

"Nobody, Ray?" The words came out before he'd considered them. That didn't usually happen to him.

Ray let the door close again, looked at him. "Nobody I ever heard. And I'm pretty sure that when people talk about me behind my back, it isn't about that. So you say it, I don't know. You say a lot, Fraser, and a lot of that lot doesn't mean a whole lot."

He frowned, sorting through those words. Ah, yes. Ray meant that he spoke a great deal without saying much. So perhaps it was hard for Ray to sort out what was content-rich and what was superfluous. He was seeing his way clear to broaching a sensitive subject. "It is similarly difficult for me to distinguish your moments of sincerity."

"Words don't do me much good," Ray said. "If you can't tell what I mean by what I say or don't say, you gotta check my actions. Actions speak louder than words. And maybe between the two of us, we'll figure out some way to communicate what's going on."

He sensed meaning underlying Ray's words. It gave him the strength to say, with more solemnity than he'd intended, "I meant what I said, Ray."

"I meant what I did."

They were speaking the same language after all. "You're beautiful, Ray."

Ray kissed him. A long kiss. Not chaste. Not chaste at all. He braced himself with a hand on the wall behind Ray, other hand curling around Ray's nape. When Ray paused to inhale, he managed to say, "Leftenant Welsh is waiting for us, Ray."

"Fuck Welsh," Ray said, ducking in for another kiss.

"Now, Ray, that's entirely inappro-"

"Fuck me," Ray suggested, ripping open the velcro collar of his tunic.

"All right," he said, and licked Ray's tongue.

"Fraser!" Ray exclaimed, shocked, and started to laugh between kisses.

matthew@matthewtime.com
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