Ritual
Copyright January 29-30, 2005 by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Disclaimer: "due South," with its related characters and themes, does not belong to me. I make no money from this venture.
It seemed to have been a bad day for Ray, judging from the various stains and bruises; and if Fraser had counted correctly, Ray had cursed the city of Chicago twice, the human race seven times, and flower vendors eighty-three times. Now that the arrest had been made and night had fallen, perhaps Ray could go home to recuperate and begin the next morning with a fresh start.
When Ray offered him a ride home, Fraser demurred. He didn’t want to take up Ray’s time. The walk home would-
Ray told him in no uncertain terms to get into the car.
Deciding that upsetting Ray would run counter to his own desires, Fraser got into the car. Ray was so tense that there was no conversation during the drive; even Diefenbaker remained quiet.
When Ray stopped the car, Fraser thanked him for the ride. Ray grunted, looking straight ahead, tapping the steering wheel. Ray seemed so tense and agitated, Fraser let Diefenbaker out of the back and quickly thanked Ray again, closing the door and turning to the consulate. Unlocking the door, Fraser hoped that Ray would find an appropriate way to unwind. He wasn’t quite sure what Ray’s main concern was; surely their day hadn’t been any more stressful than usual. Less so, in fact, taking in the relative-
The engine stopped.
Fraser turned back to see Ray stepping from the car. Hesitating, Fraser let Diefenbaker into the building, waiting as Ray approached. The streetlights highlighted Ray’s scowl. Not sure why Ray had followed him, Fraser asked, “Ray, would you like to come inside?” Maybe Ray wanted to discuss the case. Maybe Ray wanted to unburden himself of some other preoccupation. Fraser was willing to lend an ear and to provide Ray with whatever counsel he could.
“Yeah, whatever,” Ray muttered, and pushed past Fraser, entering the consulate. He rubbed his hand over his hair as Fraser came in, closing the door and turning on a few lights. “Here,” Ray said, handing him an envelope without looking. “I got this.”
“Why, thank you, Ray,” Fraser said. It was a slim red envelope with “Fraser” scrawled across the front in lieu of a standard address. He pulled out a card. He was surprised that Ray had bought him a card, since…
A card. A red envelope. Today was St. Valentine’s Day. Fraser was sure of it, because each one of the flower vendors had alluded to the fact.
Puzzled now, Fraser read the card. There was a simple depiction of flowers on the front, along with the words, “Every man needs someone special in his life.” Flipping open the card, Fraser read, “Happy Valentine’s Day to my someone special.” Below those words was written, “Ray.”
To buy himself time to think, Fraser cleared his throat.
“It comes every year, you know,” Ray said.
Fraser could only assume that Ray still wasn’t looking at him. He couldn’t be certain, because he wasn’t looking at Ray.
“I always got something, every year, every February,” Ray said. “A card or flowers or candy or jewelry. I took her to dinner, I took her dancing.”
Suddenly, Fraser understood. At least in part. Ray was used to celebrating the day, was used to having someone to share the holiday with. Ray didn’t have a woman to celebrate with anymore. All Ray had now was Fraser. A poor substitute, indeed.
“I didn’t have anyone to take dancing this year,” Ray said. “But there were cards everywhere, hearts all over the city, so I got something. It’s kind of a habit.”
Indeed, a ritual of many years. Ray had been devoted to Stella. He wasn’t a man who’d forget to offer a token of his affection.
“Then once I had it, I didn’t have anybody to give it to. There’s nobody in my life who’s…” Ray didn’t finish that sentence; from the corner of his eye, Fraser could see Ray moving in tense agitation. “But there’s you, you’re probably the most important person in my life these days because of us being partners and everything, so I figured, hell, I might as well give it to you, have you be my person this year.”
“Ah,” Fraser said. He was Ray’s…person? Communicating with Ray was difficult at best, oftentimes. Fraser didn’t know where the fault lay, whether it were with himself or with Ray. It was, in part, a cultural problem.
Sometimes, Fraser thought that Ray understood him better than anyone else ever had, and he flattered himself that he knew Ray quite well, also.
At other times, communicating with Ray was like waving frantically at interplanetary travelers.
Like everyone else, Ray communicated as much with his body as he did with speech. Ray’s expressions, gestures, posture, and tics spoke volumes. Fraser had been aware of Ray’s stress and tension all day, without Ray ever needing to vocalize, “I’m feeling stressed out and tense, Fraser.”
It was beginning to dawn on Fraser that their casework might not have been the primary cause of Ray’s tension. Perhaps Ray had been concerned about this moment, the handing over of the card. Surely Ray had bought it earlier, but it had taken Ray all day to give it to him. And even now, Ray didn’t seem overjoyed at the offering.
This moment seemed, somehow, to be an important one. Ray was, in effect, telling Fraser that he was special, that he was Ray’s “person.” This year, at least.
Stella had been Ray’s “person,” no doubt, in previous years. There was no possible way for Fraser to take her place. And yet…
Fraser took a careful look at Ray. He wanted to catch the meaning of this exchange. He’d have to tread carefully, to avoid leaping to conclusions, to avoid saying the wrong thing.
Ray had given him a valentine.
St. Valentine’s Day was a day for lovers.
Fraser was Ray’s partner, Ray’s person. Fraser was aware of the multiple meanings of the word “partner.” He didn’t want to assume, but-
“We don’t have to kiss or anything,” Ray said testily, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his hands in his pockets. “It’s just a card. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Fraser studied Ray’s eyes, which were guarded. Ray’s tone and posture, they were at once defensive and aggressive. He was supposed to accept Ray’s meager explanation, and drop the subject.
Perhaps it would have been wiser to do what Ray wanted, but Fraser preferred in this instance to push a little more. He took everything that Ray had just said, examined it, and decided that it was possible, even very likely, that Ray had meant the exact opposite. He’d worked with Ray too closely to believe that Ray always meant what Ray said. Usually, what Ray said had nothing to do with what Ray actually thought and/or wanted.
“Oh, we don’t?” Fraser asked mildly. “Well, no, we wouldn’t, I suppose. Still, it is important to honor tradition. In point of fact-”
“So buy me flowers, Fraser,” Ray snapped, shifting uncomfortably, clearly agitated. “It’s just a damned card, you don’t have to make some big huge thing out of it. This isn’t a big ‘I love you’ exchange.”
Fraser raised his eyebrows. “But I do love you, Ray.”
Ray glared at him. “Why do you always have to take everything the wrong way?”
Fraser waited without changing his expression.
“Damn it,” Ray snapped, and took his hands from his pockets. “You know I love you, too, Fraser, that’s not the point.”
Fraser held up the card.
Ray sighed, turning in a slow, tight circle. “Yeah, okay, that’s the point, but this isn’t supposed to be a big thing, Fraser, okay?” he asked when they were face-to-face again.
Fraser studied him. “What is it supposed to be, then?”
“Hell, I don’t know, Fraser, it’s just supposed to be a Valentine’s Day card!”
“A small thing, perhaps,” Fraser said.
Ray crossed his arms over his chest and examined Fraser right back. “Small,” he finally insisted.
A small thing, then, but a thing, nonetheless. Fraser smiled.
Ray refused to smile back.
Fraser loved Ray’s stubbornness and Ray’s “attitude.” It made him smile more broadly.
The corners of Ray’s lips twitched upward.
Fraser wanted to laugh.
Ray’s face broke into a wide smile. “You win,” Ray said, looking more relaxed than Fraser had seen him all day. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Fraser.” Ray gave his shoulder a warm squeeze.
“Ray,” Fraser said, knowing that he should be forthright. He cleared his throat, and Ray’s hand left him. Lowering his eyes to the card in his hands, Fraser tried to locate the correct words.
“Fraser,” Ray said, sounding disappointed and frustrated and irritated, “you don’t have to…”
“I insist upon it,” Fraser said, raising his gaze, meeting Ray’s eyes. He said what had to be said. “You are my person, as well, Ray.”
“I thought Dief was your person,” Ray said.
“Dief is not, strictly speaking, a human being,” Fraser said.
Ray grinned. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d noticed.”
“I didn’t think to buy you a card,” Fraser said. “I’m not used to partaking in this tradition, and I’m afraid that the idea of offering you a token of my affection or esteem never occurred to me.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Ray said. “Most guys don’t give other guys Valentine’s Day cards.”
“You’ve given one to me,” Fraser said. “In the spirit of the holiday, surely I could give something to you.”
“So give me five bucks and we’ll call it even,” Ray said, offering his palm.
“I didn’t think that an exchange of money was a part of the custom,” Fraser said.
“An exchange of money is part of every American custom,” Ray said.
Fraser was willing to concede the point. “Nonetheless, something more in tune with the message of the day seems more appropriate,” Fraser said.
“Fine,” Ray said. “Cards, flowers, chocolate, expensive dinners, kisses, sex, racy lingerie, expensive perfume…” He was ticking the points off on his fingers, and he frowned, apparently trying to think of another.
Fraser tipped Ray’s chin and brushed a soft, slow kiss over Ray’s lips.
Ray looked at him.
Fraser dropped his hand and moved back a step, calmly.
“I told you, this isn’t going to be a big thing,” Ray warned him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“If this were a big thing, I’d have propositioned you,” Fraser said reasonably. “As we agreed to it being a small thing, I thought that a brief kiss would be more fitting.”
Ray crossed his arms over his chest.
Fraser thought that this conversation was going well, despite the fact that he was torn between denying that it had ever happened and wanting to ravish Ray.
“This isn’t a kissing partnership,” Ray said.
“We’re partners, and we’ve just now kissed,” Fraser said. “I’m afraid that I’ll have to beg to differ.”
“This isn’t a kissing partnership,” Ray repeated firmly.
“Are you denying the fact that we’re partners, or the fact that we’ve kissed?” Fraser asked. “Both would seem to be inherently true, but I’d be interested in hearing your denials.”
“While we’re partners, we can’t kiss,” Ray said.
Fraser tried to guess where Ray might be taking this conversation, and failed. “When are we not partners?” He knew that Ray took their partnership as seriously as he did, and in his mind, there was never a minute of the day when he wasn’t Ray’s partner.
“When we’re off-duty,” Ray said.
Perhaps now they were getting somewhere. “When are we off-duty?” Fraser asked. Since he lived in his place of employ, and since a simple walk in the park could turn into a hostage situation, he tended to consider himself constantly on duty.
Ray grinned. “When you’re out of uniform and I’m unarmed.”
Fraser considered that idea.
Ray shed his coat, then reached for his holster with a smile.
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