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It's been two weeks since they returned to Chicago. They didn't find the hand of Franklin, of course. That wasn't the point of it all anyway.
Not that Fraser could likely explain in an adequate fashion what the point was, if anyone were to ask, but the fact of the matter was that they went. That Ray nearly died on his first trip North, and somehow still wanted to go back. Wanted to ride into the literal sunset with Fraser, in an environment he had no skill in navigating and no real understanding of.
And not because he harbored any secret deep desire to find any lost expedition. He'd made that very clear several times, in various ways. That it was simply the first thing that came to mind. One of Fraser's many campfire tales just picked at random.
No, Ray wanted to go into the icy unknown just to have an adventure. Any adventure. With Fraser. Ray chose Fraser over Chicago, over his job, even over Stella. Or, rather, his ongoing grief over the loss of Stella. All of that seemed to slide right off him in a matter of days, and though he did spend a significant amount of time complaining and questioning his own sanity, the rest of the time? He was at peace. Even when wheezing along, city-fit behind the sled, there was a subtle smile on his face. As if saying that despite the struggles and unfamiliarity there was nowhere in the world he'd rather be than here. With Fraser.
If that wasn't a declaration of love, Fraser struggled to imagine what else it could possibly be.
But love has many variations, and while Fraser has known for a long time, in his own secret heart, that he loves Ray, loves him deeply and passionately and wants to spend eternity with him in whatever way he can, it's unclear what form Ray's love for Fraser takes. Consequently, Fraser spent the vast majority of their adventure pondering how to proceed once it was over.
The trip itself was a sort of limbo. A space in-between where reality was put on hold in favor of pure survival and battling the elements. And thinking. Thinking deep and profound thoughts about what you need and what you want and what you're willing to risk to get it.
Ray didn't hesitate to throw himself into the very wilderness that almost claimed his life, just to share this experience with Fraser. Because it's what he wanted.
What would Fraser risk to have his deepest wishes fulfilled?
Before the trip he'd more or less settled into the reality of keeping his desires quiet, because while it was clear that Ray cared for him and liked spending time with him, there was no real way of knowing how far that went. Not without asking, anyway. And while Fraser has seen no signs that Ray is homophobic, being the object of a man's affection himself may well be too much. Not to mention the ongoing emotional turmoil of getting used to life without Stella. A process Fraser is unsure Ray will ever actually finish. Much like himself with Victoria. Those two women will forever mark their lives, and they'll both just have to make peace with that.
But now, after this, after what Fraser can't help but think is an act of the most profound love... if he was going to ever ask Ray for more, or to at last declare himself and let Ray decide what to do with the information, this would be the time.
Not during the trip, obviously. Fraser knows full well the kind of rash, impulsive acts Ray is liable to commit when cornered, and if he were to react poorly to the revelation... no. No, better to wait.
So Fraser waited. The entire trip and then two more weeks. At this point he's dragging his feet, he's aware of it. He's afraid. But now that he's thought it, has allowed himself to think of it as a real possibility that he and Ray could...
He wants it so much more now. Wants it desperately enough to risk damaging what they have just to know for sure.
And after the weeks they spent out there, existing and surviving together in some of the harshest conditions on the continent, he can't help but hope that even if the outcome isn't what he wishes for, then their bond will be strong enough to move past it. He dares to believe that he won't ever lose Ray entirely. If he thought for a moment that was a real risk, he would have never even allowed the thought of any kind of declaration to enter his mind.
But he did think it. He thought it, he planned it, and now here he is, outside Ray's door on a Tuesday night, breathing deep and trying to get up the courage to knock. Dief looks up at him with disdain. He could be hogging Ray's squishy couch and be fed secret bits of leftover pizza right now, he's not at all pleased with this sudden hesitation.
“I'm getting there,” Fraser hisses at Dief's complaining, and then the door swings open in front of him.
“What's going on?” Ray asks. “What are you loitering out here for? Did you get confused and thought this was the consulate? Are you standing watch right now?”
Dief snorts out a laugh at Fraser's expense and darts past Ray to get to his beloved couch.
“Of course not, Ray, I was just... that is to say, Diefenbaker and I were having a discussion.” That is the truth. Some of it, at least.
“Guess he won,” Ray mutters, stepping aside to let Fraser in.
Fraser sends Dief a glare where he's lounging on the couch in a most undignified position. “For now,” Fraser grants, making it clear with his annoyed eyebrows that they'll be having a talk about friendship and basic empathy later.
Right now, Fraser only gets the small satisfaction of realizing that there's no leftover junk food around for Dief to get gassy over. He'll gladly take that tiny victory.
“You want a beer or something?” Ray asks, but immediately shakes his head. “Of course not, why did I even- sorry, I'm kinda all over the place today. I'm being shuffled around the station, Welsh doesn't seem to know what the hell to do with me. Shit, I don't know what to do with me,” he mutters, running his fingers through his hair, making it stand up a little before flopping back down. His hair grew longer on their trip and he hasn't had it cut yet. He still makes a token effort of styling it, but he also doesn't seem to mind that it doesn't quite work.
He looks tired, like he hasn't been sleeping right, and, as Fraser looks around, he realizes it's not just junk food that's missing. Ray likes to come home from work, pick up a meal on the way, and sit down with said meal and a beer at home, while watching TV. But there's no food, no beer, and the TV is off. The couch looks a little messy, like Ray was just laying there. All alone in the silence with none of his usual creature comforts.
“Are you alright, Ray?” Fraser asks, trying to ask with a little diplomacy, in case this is some kind of conscious effort to change his habits in a positive way. Fraser wouldn't want to get in the way of that.
“Yeah. No. I dunno,” Ray says on a sigh, sitting down heavily at his rickety kitchen table. “Maybe I'm still jetlagged or something, I don't feel right.”
“Or maybe you're coming down with something. Returning to highly populated areas also means a return to a multitude of human pathogens-”
Ray huffs. “Nah, this ain't the flu or anything. Just my head being a little scrambled from seeing nothing but snow for two months.”
“Ah. Well, it is a significant change of environment,” Fraser says, nervously rubbing his eyebrow as he changes tracks. He can't declare himself tonight. Not if Ray is feeling off. It wouldn't be fair to lay this on him as well. “You should rest,” he says, turning to Dief and jerking his head towards the door. “We'll leave you alone.”
Ray frowns at him. “That's stupid, Fraser, you just got here. And if I didn't want visitors I wouldn't have let you in, now would I?”
“That... is true, I suppose.”
Dief doesn't move a muscle. Clearly he's decided where he's spending his evening. No sympathy at all from that damn wolf. Some friend he is.
“Sit down, Frase, you're wiggin' me out just standing there.”
“As you wish, Ray,” Fraser says, and Ray snorts in an almost Dief-like fashion.
“Damn right as i wish,” he says in an undertone, followed by a sigh as Fraser takes the seat opposite. “Man, I spent so much time up there in the cold, dreaming of cheeseburgers and hot showers, and now that I'm home I don't want any of it.”
That sounds a little concerning, and Fraser wonders if he should recommend therapy. “Then... what do you want?”
“Hell if I know. I open the fridge and close it again without taking anything. I turn on the TV, only to channel surf for five minutes and then turn it off again. I'm exhausted all day, wishing I could be in bed, but then I can't fucking sleep at night. I dunno, Fraser, what does that sound like to you?”
Fraser rubs his eyebrow again. His gut is telling him that his answer here is important, but for the life of him he can't figure out what the correct response is. “Well. Any number of things, really.”
“Pick one. Or three. Go nuts.”
“Well. You seem convinced that there's nothing physically wrong. How about mentally? Depression. Stress. Untreated trauma,” Fraser says with a meaningful look. Ray did nearly die, and, as far as Fraser knows, has yet to see a therapist or even talk about it.
Ray waves him off. “Nah, got no nightmares or anything. Old guy from the neighborhood i grew up in got his leg blown off in '-nam. Jumped at loud noises. Woke up screaming sometimes. Was a real pain in the ass on bad days. That ain't what I got. I'm just... in a funk.”
“Could still be depression. Or... perhaps just a general feeling of... displacement.”
“I've definitely displaced something. My peace of mind,” Ray says with a snort and leans back in his chair.
He looks tired, hair floppy and eyes baggy. But he still looks wonderful to Fraser. The column of his neck dotted with stubble beckons Fraser to touch it as Ray lets his head fall back, and Fraser firmly folds his hands on the table.
“Look, there's just. Something missing,” Ray says with a sigh, smirking when Dief offers a plaintive little woof from the couch. “And not just pizza. You glutton.”
Fraser turns to Dief with a smirk of his own, and a look that very plainly says “see?!”
Dief is unimpressed, and gets up only long enough to curl up again, this time with his back to them, sulking.
“I honestly don't know what to do with him,” Fraser mutters, and Ray lets his head fall back again.
“And I don't know what to do with me,” he tells the ceiling.
Fraser doesn't either, feeling off kilter now that he can't do what he came here for, and is faced with a problem he has no solution for.
“When are you heading back?” Ray asks in a small voice, and it would be tempting to delay answering, to pretend he needs clarification. But he doesn't.
“Next week. Briefly. Just to discuss future placement. I'm still attached to the consulate for another month.”
Ray snorts. “As if they wouldn't let you quit that shit in the blink of an eye if you asked.”
“But I won't. It is my current assignment, and it's my duty to complete it.”
“Right.”
Ray's head is still tilted back, and Fraser loses the battle with himself, eyes trailing down Ray's jaw, tracing his throat, his Adam's apple, the tiny cleft in his chin. He really is a stunningly beautiful man.
“You know,” Fraser says, before he can stop himself. “I think I will accept that beer you offered.”
“Wow, on a school night?” Ray asks with a crooked grin, but gets up to fetch one, and then gets one for himself as well.
Fraser shrugs. “I suppose there's nothing wrong with... letting loose. A little bit.”
“Damn, never thought I'd see the day,” Ray says, popping open both their beers and clinking the necks of the bottles together. “Cheers.”
Fraser does take a sip, but he's mostly distracted by how Ray's neck bobs as he swallows, and Ray isn't a detective for nothing, so of course he notices.
“Got something on my face?”
“No, Ray, no. You look... perfectly fine. I'm just... distracted.”
“Well, that makes two of us,” he says, picking at the bottle's label with his thumbnail. “And, hey, since we can't solve my issues right now, how about yours?”
“Mine? I don't have-”
Ray's eyes are flinty and stunning as he levels Fraser with an unimpressed look. “You're here on a Tuesday when there's not even a game on. You dawdled coming in, and you're having a beer even though you have work tomorrow. Don't bullshit me, Fraser, what's going on with you?”
Fraser quells the urge to rub his eyebrow, since it's one of his obvious tells, but why he even bothers is beyond him. It's not like Ray isn't aware he's on edge. And, on that note, what can Fraser even say to satisfy Ray that his issues aren't what they should be discussing tonight? Once Ray has his teeth in something he simply won't let go, and the way he's looking at Fraser, like he can see right through Fraser's skull if he just looks hard enough, says it all.
He has to confess.
Like so many criminals sat across from this avalanche of a man, there's nowhere for Fraser to run. All he can do is spill his guts and hope the rolling wall of snow that's coming won't smother him.
“I-” he tries, voice cracking so he has to clear his throat. Ray just looks at him, deathly still, as if he knows that what's coming will change their relationship forever. In one way or another.
“I came here tonight to... discuss an important matter- no. No, not discuss, really. Uhm. I wanted to talk... to tell you... something that's been weighing on me.”
“Sounds serious,” Ray says, voice soft in a way it never is with criminals, even when he's sweet talking them.
“It is. Or, I suppose, it could be? Potentially? Part of the reason for my... hesitation, is that I'm... entirely unable to predict the outcome of this conversation. And I don't like that.”
Ray snorts. “No, I know how you hate being on the back foot. Sucks, huh?”
“Indeed,” Fraser agrees, and takes a hearty swallow of his beer. Not that it helps. “The thing is... that is to say, the fact of the matter is...” His voice is shaking, and he closes his hands tightly around the beer bottle, willing it to give him the courage he lacks at the moment.
“You see... I love you, Ray.”
“Hey, love you too, Frase,” Ray says, and while it would be tempting to assume that Ray is just completely ignorant of the possibility that a man could feel romantic attraction to him, Fraser knows he's smarter than that. Besides, he knows Fraser has no hangups about professing his affection for the people he cares about, and he obviously didn't miss all the hemming and hawing. So there's really only one possibility here. He's giving Fraser an out. One last chance to take it back and rethink this.
Whether that's because Fraser's affection is unrequited or because entering a homosexual relationship is still considered career suicide and Ray's simply trying to protect him is unclear, but it also doesn't matter. It's already out there. And Fraser realizes, as he's sitting there, clutching his beer and avoiding Ray's searching eyes, that he's already made his decision. He doesn't want to leave it unsaid. Even if that means Ray will tell him to fuck off and never speak to him again.
As small as that risk is it's still a risk, but, apparently, sometime in the last fifteen minutes Fraser decided he can live with those odds.
“No, I... I'm in love with you, Ray. But i think you understood as much already,” he murmurs, washing down his anxiety with more beer before daring to look up at Ray again.
For a moment their eyes lock, a quiet connection across the table. Maybe a last moment of peace before Ray kicks him out, and Fraser takes it. It's a gift, and he's happy to accept it.
Then, it ends. Ray sighs, gaze dropping to his own hands. “Yeah. I got it the first time. Just. Wasn't sure you knew what you were sayin'.”
“I was. Am. I've been aware of my feelings for... quite some time.”
Ray looks up, a frown crinkling his brow. “Quite some time? Like how much?”
Fraser's not sure how that's relevant, but Ray isn't kicking him out yet, so he's happy to answer any questions Ray might have.
“I... can't say for sure. Months. If not over a year.”
“And you waited until now to tell me? Why?” Ray seems genuinely baffled, and while Fraser truly appreciates how subdued his reaction is so far, he's still entirely clueless on how Ray feels about all of this.
“I'm sure you can imagine a multitude of reasons, Ray. Why does this matter so much to you?”
“Because!” Ray says, voice raised, and jumps to his feet to pace around his small kitchen. And that's so much more like him that Fraser heaves an inner sigh of relief before he remembers that this could still end very badly. “Because in all the time I've known you you've been completely blunt and direct about everything you're feeling. Politely, sure, but I'm frankly impressed how much of a prick you can be without ever saying a single rude word. You don't hold back, is what I'm sayin'. So why me? Why pussyfoot around me!?”
“Because you're by far the most important person in my life, Ray. The risk of it ruining our friendship wasn't worth it to me.”
“So why now? What changed?” Ray asks, voice softening. He's stopped pacing, but his fingers are still twitching, nerves racing under his skin as much as Fraser's.
“You... went on the trip with me.”
“So?”
“So. You went on a trip you had no skill for and no real desire to see the conclusion of. Just to... spend time with me. I'm afraid it ended up giving me hope I'd never dared entertain before this.”
“So... what was your plan before that? Just sit on it?”
“Essentially... yes.”
Ray rolls his eyes. “God, you are a fucking martyr, aren't you.”
“I don't mean to be. The simple fact of the matter is that that your friendship was worth more to me than the chance to make it something more.”
Dropping back down into his chair with a huff, Ray's mouth quirks up into a crooked grin. “But after seeing my unfit ass in the snow the value suddenly dropped enough that it was worth risking?”
Feeling vaguely horrified, Fraser reaches out, but aborts the movement half way across the table. “Ray, no, that's not-”
The grin is still there, and Fraser can't help letting out a frustrated huff. “You think you're being funny.”
“I know I am.” He sits up straighter, leaning his elbows on the table, and fixing Fraser with a look that has so many facets to it that Fraser is completely lost as to how he's supposed to interpret it. “I'm still not clear on what changed?”
Fraser has to clear his throat, all that focus on him making him feel warm, distracting him, and making it hard to form the right words. “It was just... the trip. It felt like... a declaration, of sorts. Made it feel like I could tell you anything, and you'd never walk away. Even if my... affection should turn out to be unrequited.”
The frustrations bubble up again, and Fraser dares to meet that confusing gaze head on. “Is it, Ray?”
“Is what?” he asks, so obnoxiously neutral it almost makes Fraser angry. Not at Ray, at the whole stupid situation, and at a society so narrow minded that speaking something like this can be dangerous and ruinous.
“My affection for you. Is it... unrequited?” His hands shake as he waits for the answer, and Ray just observes him, like a pinned bug in a museum. Or perhaps like a puzzle box lacking a key. Like a crime with no obvious motive.
“You know what, Frase? If someone had asked me that before our trip, I'd have said yes. You're like a brother to me. A brother in arms, right? A comrade in the trenches of bad station coffee and bullpen B.O. Hell, if you'd asked me earlier today, I'm not sure I wouldn't still have said that. But I've been feeling like nothing's screwed on right since I came back from Canada, and it only took a fucking mountie confessing his love for me in my kitchen to figure out why.”
Afraid to ask, and still, still, no answer at hand, Fraser forces his hands to unclench around the beer bottle. Ray isn't angry or upset. He has to remember that much. “And what did you figure out?”
“That the only time I've felt okay since we came back to Chicago... is when you've been in the room. I only went on that dumb fucking trip to spend time with you. I knew that when I decided on it. I knew it the whole time. And, somehow, I was too much of a fucking dumbass to realize that coming back here would mean spending less time with you.”
His eyes are so soft, all of a sudden, and Fraser feels... oddly weak. He wonders if the beer was stronger than he thought. “No, Ray, you- you're probably one of the smartest people I've ever known.”
Ray gushes out a soft huff of laughter, and shrugs. “Well. Good thing you're into that, then, huh?”
For a long moment they both just sit there in silence, and even Fraser, who is well aware of just how incapable he usually is of keeping his mouth shut at all, suddenly can't think of anything to say. He still isn't sure where Ray stands in all of this. He's not angry, that much is certain. And he obviously has a fondness for Fraser as well. But how far that goes? Fraser has no idea.
Perhaps Ray doesn't either, back to picking at the label on his beer, tiny frown on his face. Maybe he needs time. Time to examine all these revelations and think it over. To decide how he feels about it all. It is a lot to process in one go.
But the anxiety of everything he's put out there has clearly destroyed Fraser's logical thinking, because he manages to completely and utterly forget how Ray works. How he waits only long enough to have all the information before taking action. How he finds it intolerable to wait and be cautious when he could be doing something.
So Fraser is surprised when Ray suddenly gets up from his chair, and stares at him, confused and a little worried.
“Ray?”
“I don't know what I'm doing here,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and uncrossing them again. “You get that right, Fraser? I'm just... putting that out there.”
“Alright?” Fraser says, mildly confused, right up until the moment Ray steps around the small table in one, smooth dancer's move, curls his hands around the sides of Fraser's face, and ducks in for a kiss.
It's... not a great kiss. Clearly born more out of desperation to do something than any clear idea of want. But Ray never does anything he doesn't want to, and, for whatever reason in his head right now, he's chosen to kiss Fraser.
Kiss him with more force than skill, hands clutching at Fraser's face like he's worried something is going to tear them apart, and all Fraser can do is reach up to take hold of his wrists, and lean into it.
It's just a long, firm press of lips, but it's more than Fraser ever imagined he'd get. More than he'd ever dared imagine. Never let himself think it, so he wouldn't have to bear the disappointment of it never happening. But now it is, and as much of a dry, clumsy thing it is, it nevertheless makes Fraser's entire body light up, fills him to bursting with feelings he barely knows what to do with. He realizes at that moment that he genuinely never thought he'd realistically get this.
Ray is right. He really is a fucking martyr.
Their lips part with a soft noise, but Ray doesn't move away at all, staying so close that Fraser feels breath on his lips.
“Told you. No fucking idea what I'm doing,” Ray says, eyes darting around Fraser's face, as if there would be some kind of manual on there for how to kiss your best friend.
“It's... it's a dance, Ray,” Fraser manages, voice shaky, clinging onto Ray's wrists to not fly away in a million pieces. “Same dance you've done before. Just... a different partner.”
Ray snorts softly. “Dance, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Well. This dance routine is kinda new for me. Maybe you should lead,” Ray mutters, still so close Fraser can feel their lips brush with every word.
“Well, uhm. I'm not exactly an expert on this either, Ray-”
“Fraser, shut up.”
The second kiss is much better, and it is indeed like a dance, both of them spinning into a mostly unknown future.
But they'll learn the steps together. One tune at a time.
End.