sivib (sivib) wrote,
sivib
sivib

Undercover challenge: fic snippit

I'm not at all sure this is going to go anywhere else, but I wanted to get it out of my head, anyway.
Un-beta'd and envenom'd, so all errors are mine own.

Title: Cross-purposes
Rated: PG
Pairing: Fraser/RayK pre-slash
comments welcome and fondled and molested

Synopsis: A series of murders among the male prostitutes of Chicago have caught the attention of the CPD. All the victims bear a superficial resemblance to Fraser. This is a scene snippt from near the beginning of the story in my head.


Denim. That was the first thing Ray saw as he shouldered his way into Welsh’s office. Long, lean legs encased in faded denim and ending in a pair of beat up, sprung heel cowboy boots that might once have been brown, but were now mostly scuff. Following those legs up, Ray’s dick gave a little twitch. Western style shirt to match the boots, sleeves rolled up to show off a pair of well-muscled forearms, lightly dusted with dark hair. The hat Ray was expecting to see perched atop the man’s head sat on a battered backpack at his feet, next to a weathered denim jacket.

The man was a wet dream, perched on one end of Walsh’s couch like a gift from the gods.

Ray covered his sudden desire by taking a long drink of over-brewed break room coffee, already growing cold in the cup. “We recruiting from vice?” he asked, taking up the other half of the couch in a sprawl. “I don’t think we’re gonna catch him that way. No offence, pal, but he probably knows every cop on….”

Ray’s voice froze as the man turned to face him at last. “Hello, Ray,” Fraser said, and licked his lower lip apprehensively. “I told you that you wouldn’t like my idea.” He ran his hand over his chin, peppered with two day’s worth of stubble, and then ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it and making him look impossibly younger.

Springing up, coffee forgotten, Ray said, “No. No, no, no, no, and also, no.” He crossed the room to stand by the door, folding his arms. If Fraser tried to get out that way, looking like the body down on Mort’s slab, looking like the perp’s fondest fondling fantasy, well Ray would simply body block him and then sit on him until he, Fraser, came to his senses. “No way, no how, Fraser. You are not doing this.”

“I must, Ray.” Fraser’s voice was quiet, but determined. Ray’s heart sank. He knew that tone, and knew there wasn’t a thing in the world that would dissuade Fraser from doing just what he had in mind. It was like trying to get a donut away from Deif. It wasn’t gonna happen. “As you said, I’m just his…type. Lieutenant Welsh has assured me that I will be kept under surveillance until the perpetrator makes his move, at which time he will be apprehended. I feel strongly that this is our best chance at drawing him out. Would you take care of Diefenbaker for me, while I’m away?”

Ray’s head was swirling, and he stood his ground before the door. “No. Just no. There is no way I’m going to let you do this. You’re not throwing your life away like this. You got no idea what it is like, Fraser. You’re gonna have to blend in, so he doesn’t suspect you’re a cop. That means sleeping rough, standing on corners and pretending to be interested in every sweaty, horny businessman who comes trolling for a piece of your ass. It means no showers, no tea, no wolf, no friends, no,” his voice broke, not saying ‘no me’ even if he was thinking it loud. “No breaks. It means lying, Fraser, and you do not do that. And it might just mean you end up downstairs with your throat cut. So, no. No way, no how.”

A dangerous glint flashed in Fraser’s eyes. “Let me, Ray?” He picked up the sweat-stained hat and set it on his head. It looked outrageously out of place, in place of the Stetson, but the air of authority Fraser donned at the same time made it look like the most normal thing in the world. “I am an officer of the law just as you are, Detective. Assuming risk in the line of duty is part of the job description. Even if the people we are protecting are homosexual.”

What? Just, what? “Fraser, I…” but that was as far as Ray got. Standing abruptly, Fraser stalked to Walsh’s desk and picked up a packet of papers. “I will be out of physical contact after I leave here. You will maintain surveillance and provide me with the occasional customer for verisimilitude?”

Walsh nodded. “As you say, Constable. If I can’t talk you out of this, that is. Ray’s right about how tough it is out there. We won’t be able to protect you from the other denizens of the street, should you get into trouble. It would be out of character for Chicago’s finest to show up out of the blue like that.”

“Understood.” Fraser picked up the jacket and shrugged it on; Ray shivered just thinking about the late fall chill outside the precinct walls. Fraser might be used to the cold, but he was also used to being prepared for it. The only thing between the cold wind off the lake and Fraser’s skin was a layer of denim and cotton. It wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t match Fraser’s breadth of shoulder, but the hoodie would stretch. Moving fast, Ray stripped off his leather coat and then his sweatshirt, shoving it at Fraser impatiently. “You’re gonna freeze out there,” he said.

Anger and hurt warred in Fraser’s eyes, but he took the offering just the same. “Thank you kindly, Ray,” he said, and tucked it into the backpack. “I know you don’t approve of what I’m doing, but I feel I must.”

There was something unsaid, that needed saying, but Ray had no idea what it was. That crack about homosexuals and how they deserved protection made him think maybe Fraser had the wrong idea about his views on the subject, but there wasn’t time to get into it and this wasn’t the place to explain just why Fraser had the wrong end of that particular stick. Not with Walsh standing right there and half the squad room listening in.

Realizing he was still in front of the door, Ray stepped aside. As Fraser passed, Ray reached out and took his arm. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Fraser. I got your back. You set him up and I’ll knock him down, yeah?”

Now Fraser just looked confused, but at least he didn’t look pissed any more. “Thank you, Ray,” he said, and shouldered the backpack. A stranger looked out of Fraser’s eyes, a down on his luck Canuk looking for some eating money, a little lost in the big city, a little innocent, a little hungry. It shook Ray to see the transformation, but really was it so different from how Fraser usually looked? “I’ll be in touch. Look for me in or near Amundsen Park. The first body was found there.”

“I know. I read the report.” Ray couldn’t bring himself to let go of Fraser’s sleeve. “I….”

Fraser took the clasping hand gently in his and broke Ray’s grip. “I will be in touch,” he repeated, and then he strode out through the squad room. Half way through, the Mountie stride became a mosey, almost an amble, and Ray could see Fraser trying on his new persona as he moved through and out and away.

“He’s gonna get himself killed,” Walsh muttered, taking a drink from his long cold coffee cup and grimacing.
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