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ds_noticeboardTITLE: Whaddya Know? They Both Smile.
PAIRING: Fraser/RayK
RATING: Hey, suitable for all, y'all!
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Alliance Atlantis called to say they were suing me. Time to become a lawyer, me thinks. Dialogue belongs to Paul Gross... unless he cribbed it from someone else.
Works as a fic on it's own. Intended as a Prologue though. Let me know what you think, so I know whether or not to continue on to the "dinner" Fraser mentions! Any mistakes are my own evil doing.
Written by Caz
Written for Sal
Chapter One: Whaddya know? They both smile.
“In conclusion, this man is not Ray Vecchio.”
He stared at the Lieutenant, willing with all his might that someone, someone, would finally agree with him, see what he saw, realise what he’d realised the second he’d seen him. This man, this suspect, was not Ray Vecchio. He was not the dear companion Fraser had left at the 2-7 a fortnight ago, he was not the cocky Italian-American detective who had befriended him when he’d first come to Chicago, lost (spiritually at least, he was well learned in the art of compass reading) and on the trail of the killers of his father. Indeed, he is a detective, as far as Fraser can fathom and he has a somewhat - non conformability about him - unconventional idiosyncrasies that set him apart from the other police officers that Fraser has encountered during his time in this non conforming, unconventional city. But he was not, could not be Ray Vecchio, Detective First Grade, CPD, despite what his badge may say.
Unless he’d had plastic surgery.
“Constable, you have an uncanny power of observation.”
Fraser held his breath. Was this an affirmative to his suspicions or was Lieutenant Welsh simply taking this, seemingly inappropriate, opportunity to compliment him on his surveillance skills? He had no idea.
“Thank you.” He ventured.
Welsh slipped off his glasses and scratched his nose.
“Of course he’s not Ray Vecchio.”
Ah. He wasn’t going mad. And he didn’t have a hole in his proverbial bag of marbles. For some reason Fraser found this revelation less than comforting. If this man was not Ray Vecchio, then where was he? Who was this new detective? Why did he answer to the name Ray Vecchio? Have his badge? Call Fraser his partner? Drive Ray’s precious Buick Riviera?
The Lieutenant was still talking.
Fraser tried to pay attention.
“…deep undercover with the mob.”
The mob? The Mob? Fraser’s eyebrows shot up uncontrollably. The Mafia? Ray had joined the Mafia?
“Now, to protect his identity, we have to make-believe this guy is Ray Vecchio.”
“I see.”
Fraser didn’t know if he was lying then or not. He hoped he wasn’t. He’d never liked liars and he wasn't keen on the idea of becoming one himself at this particular moment in time.
He pursed his lips but his eyebrows furrowed in response. “Lieutenant, have you by any chance heard from Ray?”
In hindsight, that was an incredibly superfluous question. He was glad he’d asked it anyway.
“Oh, no, no. And I don’t expect to either.”
Fraser nodded as though he understood. He said he understood. Perhaps he’d just lied again. He wished he had his hat with him.
“But listen, Constable, I want you to give this guy a fair shot. He’s a real good cop. And…”
Fraser sent in the accountant on his way out.
* * *
Ray picked up the postcard from his desk, studying the picture on the front. Huh, a mountain. Not many of those in Chicago. And snow, lots and lots of snow. He didn’t need to look at the name on the back to know who it was for. He’d never been a slickster at math, but even for him, the equation was easy. Mountain+Snow = Mountie Man. He turned it over. Give the guy a gold star.
“Hey Fraser, this turned up on my desk. It’s for you.”
Strange seeing him outta the uniform. He handed the card over.
Cold out here. Heat me up. Literally or symbolically? The hell? Was Fraser some kind of inc- incog- undercover secret agent freak who received his cases in code? He was the undercover guy in this soap. Which meant - Hmm, this equation was a little trickier. Go for the easy option.
“What d’you make of it?”
“It’s a message.”
Duh. No gold star for you, Benton-buddy. Buddy? He hardly knew the guy and yet, heh, he’d already taken his first bullet for him. And his last. Yeah, he’d been wearing a vest but jeez joe, who’da thunk that a hunk of metal whizzing into your chest could hurt so freakin’ much? It was like he’d been a tuning fork, vibrating a gazillion times a nano-second, the shocks shaking his bones and he’d fallen down into this guys arms like a whack job who’d sniffed one too many KraftyKidz glue sticks. Yeah, that sounds so much better than a damsel in distress who’d fainted due to the heat. He’d been shot, man. Therefore, thus, hence, he himself was manly. Stanley Raymond Kowalski was manly. Who cares he’d been scared outta his wits, what little he had left of them, seeing as most of ‘em had gone up in flames when the Mountie was playing garnish to the Mazel tov cocktail that had been his patrol car. Ah well, he didn’t like the Riv anyway. Too bulky. Too showy. Too green. Give him a Goat any day. Least it didn’t come with a salivating wolf.
He followed Fraser over to Huey’s desk (Huey? Yeah, yeah, Huey. Or was it Dewey?) He’d have to check that out. After all, he’d been working with them for, what? Five years? Six? He squeezed the file he had shoved under this arm. Vecchio’s file. He’d have to swat a bit more if he was gonna pull this off without any more funny business. Funny business including not-so-skinny dipping in the lake they, we (apparently) call Michigan, flame throwing on the highway or inner thigh and calf fondling under the dash. His left eye twitched as he watched Fraser heat the postcard with a lighter.
Heat me up. Cool, literal then.
That’s when it got a little weird. A photo of Vecchio and the Mountie? Smiling? Oh man, Vecchio smiles?? That was not part of the dealio. He’d asked around, kept it on the low, talking to strictly trust-worthy people now, not that he found it real easy to trust anybody, even before he took this gig; and pretty much everyone had told him Vecchio kept mostly to himself, unless he had something to say. That he could do. He was good at the alone stuff. But with the Mountie? He’s smiling. Smiling. That ain’t keepin’ to yourself. That’s a yeah-I-trust-this-dude-he’s-mine-hands-o
He’d have to smile around this guy now?
“Sumthin’ I should worry about?”
God, yes. Stanley Kowalski does not smile.
Anymore.
“No, no.” He sounded so god-damned sincere. “No, everything’s alright. Everything is actually fine.”
Hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
“Okay… well…”
Nothing left to say. Good work today, thanks for settin’ me on fire, see ya around, freak.
Freak who called me Ray.
He walked away, hunkering down to do his alone thing, hit the Vecchio file, grab a Chinese and spend another oh-so-exciting night in front of the box. But hey, least the Bulls were playing tonight. Maybe he’d sit there in his Bulls tee and woolly hat, go all out for once. Hell, maybe he’d even have a little shuffle after the game, see whether his hips haven’t seized up from the cold water in the lake. Home swee-
“Hey, Ray!”
Ray? Strike two! Case halfway open in his palms, he swivelled slowly round, unsure whether he’d heard Fraser right. He cocked his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again, waiting.
“Would you er…”
He tried not to look to pathetic, standing there, face like he’s trying to work out … something real tough. He swayed a little.
“Would you like to go and get something to eat with me?”
Still working it out. And it was tough tough, not just real tough. Was this guy for real? Uber-freak.
Despite himself, his lips tugged into a small, shy smile.
“Yeah.”
He felt his inner thigh and calf tingle. Stop smiling, idiotka. And maybe try sayin’ something.
“Uhh… I just got ta- ” What? Excitement, excitement. “I’ll - I’ll put away these files and I’ll meet you at the car.”
Great time to develop a neatness disorder.
“Alright.”
Would you look at that? Fraser smiles around Vecchio too.
“That’s good.”
Ray licked his still-smiling lips as he walked out the pen. Bulls are gonna havta wait.
COMMENTS would be helpful. *Nods* Very very helpful indeed. Beta'd par moi cos a) i don't know what beta EXACTLY means and b) I don't know where i can find such a thing/object/person.
And if you hate it, tell me! And i shall try harder next time! *feels self-conscious*
Written for Sal
Chapter One: Whaddya know? They both smile.
“In conclusion, this man is not Ray Vecchio.”
He stared at the Lieutenant, willing with all his might that someone, someone, would finally agree with him, see what he saw, realise what he’d realised the second he’d seen him. This man, this suspect, was not Ray Vecchio. He was not the dear companion Fraser had left at the 2-7 a fortnight ago, he was not the cocky Italian-American detective who had befriended him when he’d first come to Chicago, lost (spiritually at least, he was well learned in the art of compass reading) and on the trail of the killers of his father. Indeed, he is a detective, as far as Fraser can fathom and he has a somewhat - non conformability about him - unconventional idiosyncrasies that set him apart from the other police officers that Fraser has encountered during his time in this non conforming, unconventional city. But he was not, could not be Ray Vecchio, Detective First Grade, CPD, despite what his badge may say.
Unless he’d had plastic surgery.
“Constable, you have an uncanny power of observation.”
Fraser held his breath. Was this an affirmative to his suspicions or was Lieutenant Welsh simply taking this, seemingly inappropriate, opportunity to compliment him on his surveillance skills? He had no idea.
“Thank you.” He ventured.
Welsh slipped off his glasses and scratched his nose.
“Of course he’s not Ray Vecchio.”
Ah. He wasn’t going mad. And he didn’t have a hole in his proverbial bag of marbles. For some reason Fraser found this revelation less than comforting. If this man was not Ray Vecchio, then where was he? Who was this new detective? Why did he answer to the name Ray Vecchio? Have his badge? Call Fraser his partner? Drive Ray’s precious Buick Riviera?
The Lieutenant was still talking.
Fraser tried to pay attention.
“…deep undercover with the mob.”
The mob? The Mob? Fraser’s eyebrows shot up uncontrollably. The Mafia? Ray had joined the Mafia?
“Now, to protect his identity, we have to make-believe this guy is Ray Vecchio.”
“I see.”
Fraser didn’t know if he was lying then or not. He hoped he wasn’t. He’d never liked liars and he wasn't keen on the idea of becoming one himself at this particular moment in time.
He pursed his lips but his eyebrows furrowed in response. “Lieutenant, have you by any chance heard from Ray?”
In hindsight, that was an incredibly superfluous question. He was glad he’d asked it anyway.
“Oh, no, no. And I don’t expect to either.”
Fraser nodded as though he understood. He said he understood. Perhaps he’d just lied again. He wished he had his hat with him.
“But listen, Constable, I want you to give this guy a fair shot. He’s a real good cop. And…”
Fraser sent in the accountant on his way out.
* * *
Ray picked up the postcard from his desk, studying the picture on the front. Huh, a mountain. Not many of those in Chicago. And snow, lots and lots of snow. He didn’t need to look at the name on the back to know who it was for. He’d never been a slickster at math, but even for him, the equation was easy. Mountain+Snow = Mountie Man. He turned it over. Give the guy a gold star.
“Hey Fraser, this turned up on my desk. It’s for you.”
Strange seeing him outta the uniform. He handed the card over.
Cold out here. Heat me up. Literally or symbolically? The hell? Was Fraser some kind of inc- incog- undercover secret agent freak who received his cases in code? He was the undercover guy in this soap. Which meant - Hmm, this equation was a little trickier. Go for the easy option.
“What d’you make of it?”
“It’s a message.”
Duh. No gold star for you, Benton-buddy. Buddy? He hardly knew the guy and yet, heh, he’d already taken his first bullet for him. And his last. Yeah, he’d been wearing a vest but jeez joe, who’da thunk that a hunk of metal whizzing into your chest could hurt so freakin’ much? It was like he’d been a tuning fork, vibrating a gazillion times a nano-second, the shocks shaking his bones and he’d fallen down into this guys arms like a whack job who’d sniffed one too many KraftyKidz glue sticks. Yeah, that sounds so much better than a damsel in distress who’d fainted due to the heat. He’d been shot, man. Therefore, thus, hence, he himself was manly. Stanley Raymond Kowalski was manly. Who cares he’d been scared outta his wits, what little he had left of them, seeing as most of ‘em had gone up in flames when the Mountie was playing garnish to the Mazel tov cocktail that had been his patrol car. Ah well, he didn’t like the Riv anyway. Too bulky. Too showy. Too green. Give him a Goat any day. Least it didn’t come with a salivating wolf.
He followed Fraser over to Huey’s desk (Huey? Yeah, yeah, Huey. Or was it Dewey?) He’d have to check that out. After all, he’d been working with them for, what? Five years? Six? He squeezed the file he had shoved under this arm. Vecchio’s file. He’d have to swat a bit more if he was gonna pull this off without any more funny business. Funny business including not-so-skinny dipping in the lake they, we (apparently) call Michigan, flame throwing on the highway or inner thigh and calf fondling under the dash. His left eye twitched as he watched Fraser heat the postcard with a lighter.
Heat me up. Cool, literal then.
That’s when it got a little weird. A photo of Vecchio and the Mountie? Smiling? Oh man, Vecchio smiles?? That was not part of the dealio. He’d asked around, kept it on the low, talking to strictly trust-worthy people now, not that he found it real easy to trust anybody, even before he took this gig; and pretty much everyone had told him Vecchio kept mostly to himself, unless he had something to say. That he could do. He was good at the alone stuff. But with the Mountie? He’s smiling. Smiling. That ain’t keepin’ to yourself. That’s a yeah-I-trust-this-dude-he’s-mine-hands-o
He’d have to smile around this guy now?
“Sumthin’ I should worry about?”
God, yes. Stanley Kowalski does not smile.
Anymore.
“No, no.” He sounded so god-damned sincere. “No, everything’s alright. Everything is actually fine.”
Hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
“Okay… well…”
Nothing left to say. Good work today, thanks for settin’ me on fire, see ya around, freak.
Freak who called me Ray.
He walked away, hunkering down to do his alone thing, hit the Vecchio file, grab a Chinese and spend another oh-so-exciting night in front of the box. But hey, least the Bulls were playing tonight. Maybe he’d sit there in his Bulls tee and woolly hat, go all out for once. Hell, maybe he’d even have a little shuffle after the game, see whether his hips haven’t seized up from the cold water in the lake. Home swee-
“Hey, Ray!”
Ray? Strike two! Case halfway open in his palms, he swivelled slowly round, unsure whether he’d heard Fraser right. He cocked his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again, waiting.
“Would you er…”
He tried not to look to pathetic, standing there, face like he’s trying to work out … something real tough. He swayed a little.
“Would you like to go and get something to eat with me?”
Still working it out. And it was tough tough, not just real tough. Was this guy for real? Uber-freak.
Despite himself, his lips tugged into a small, shy smile.
“Yeah.”
He felt his inner thigh and calf tingle. Stop smiling, idiotka. And maybe try sayin’ something.
“Uhh… I just got ta- ” What? Excitement, excitement. “I’ll - I’ll put away these files and I’ll meet you at the car.”
Great time to develop a neatness disorder.
“Alright.”
Would you look at that? Fraser smiles around Vecchio too.
“That’s good.”
Ray licked his still-smiling lips as he walked out the pen. Bulls are gonna havta wait.
COMMENTS would be helpful. *Nods* Very very helpful indeed. Beta'd par moi cos a) i don't know what beta EXACTLY means and b) I don't know where i can find such a thing/object/person.
And if you hate it, tell me! And i shall try harder next time! *feels self-conscious*
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 01:38 am (UTC)Very nice for a first time.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-27 12:17 pm (UTC)Gotcha. :) Thanks for the advice!
no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-27 12:23 pm (UTC)The only real reason i used his whole name Stanley Raymond Kowalski was to compare what he was like when he was Stanley, i.e when he was a kid and unmanly to how he feels now having just stepped in front of the bullet and survived. But I guess since it's his first day undercover with his new partner, he would be thinking, or at least, trying to think of himself as Vecchio. I just always get the feeling at the end of the ep, that he knows Fraser is asking him out for dinner and not Vecchio. Oh, this is confusing, lol.
Thanks for the comments and help for the future!
no subject
Date: 2006-09-27 01:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-27 01:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 09:03 am (UTC)You should definitely keep going with it. And if you'd like a beta to help you out with the little nuances of character and general proof reading stuff, I'd be happy to oblige.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-27 12:31 pm (UTC)I did have a problem with the structure of the dialogue but i didnt want to put "said Fraser" or "asked Ray" etc, cos i wanted to show it all from their POV's and i wanted the uncertainty there to reflect each of the characters uncertainty (even though we've all probably watched BDtH about a million times each!) and know exactly who is talking where and when!
Thank you so much for the offer of a beta! I may very well be
politely knocking on ur doorbegging you for help in the future! Thanks for commenting!no subject
Date: 2006-09-27 12:54 pm (UTC)That's what I get for commenting late at night.
Anyway...my email is blue_silver@westnet.com.au for when you're ready. I try to be quick and very thorough, and I don't wear out easy. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-09-27 11:06 am (UTC)My favourite line was: "Fraser nodded as though he understood. He said he understood. Perhaps he’d just lied again. He wished he had his hat with him." I love the idea that Frasers hat is a comfort to him!
Oh, and a beta reader is like an editor or a proofreader. I think the word 'beta' comes from computer software beta releases, when the designers let real people use it and find all the little bugs and errors.
Beta readers are easy to find - just post to
no subject
Date: 2006-09-27 12:36 pm (UTC)He wished he had his hat with him.
Yeah, that's one of my favourites too. :)
Thank you very much for the clarifying the beta thing. so i can just post for one on the noticeboard if i wear out ultra chrome with numerous re-reads?!?! cool! thanks for taking the time to comment! *smiles bigger*
no subject
Date: 2006-10-03 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-03 09:44 pm (UTC):)