Title: Making it out Alive
Pairing: Ray Vecchio/Benton Fraser
Genre: Angst, H/C, general whumping
Summary: Benton Fraser isn't supposed to look broken and what Ray's seeing now doesn't fit with the Fraser in his head and he has to force himself not to focus on it.
A/N:I needed some Vecchio/Fraser angst, so I wrote some.
It's all Fraser's fault, that's what Ray's thinking, but he won't say it because Fraser's the one who's all cuts and bruises. Ray doesn't even consider a joke or a jibe because what matters now is getting them out of this – getting Fraserout of this, because Ray's never seen him look so broken and if he lets himself think about it it'll scare him. No, it'll terrify him – which, he thinks, is pretty reasonable because Benton Fraser isn't supposed to look broken and what Ray's seeing now doesn't fit with the Fraser in his head and he has to force himself not to focus on it.
Has to force himself to try and think of a plan.
The cell they're in is small with a concrete floor, concrete walls, and a metal door and even if there was dirt showing Ray has nothing to dig with. Not even any spoons. Just his hands and he's kind of glad he doesn't have to resort to that because his palm still hurts from the knife wound he sustained shortly before someone knocked him out and dragged him here. Still, he'd dig if he had to. For Fraser.
He'd do a lot of things for Fraser, he's realizing. For Fraser who's been passed out since their not-so-gracious hosts dragged him back from wherever they used as their torture chamber. Ray had tried to wake him, shook his shoulder until he mumbled and shifted enough to assure Ray he was still alive. After, Ray decided to let him sleep – he deserved it. He's slumped against the wall now, his chest rising and falling steadily. He'd look peaceful if it weren't for the split lip, the torn tunic, and the bruise forming around his eye.
And Ray's got to get him out of there – has to get them both out – so the peace can be more than a sick illusion.
He stands, leaning against the wall to keep his legs from collapsing beneath him because his left knee feels twice its size and he's been curled up so long his legs are stiff on top of that. He slides along the walls, examining them as he goes, and stops at the door. He tries to open it, just to see, but it's locked. Just like he thought.
That's when his knee gives out and he falls. His head lands heavily on Fraser's stomach and Fraser jolts awake with a surprised cough.
"Sorry, Benny," Ray says, but he doesn't move. He feels Fraser's hand on his head, fingers running lightly over his temple, and Ray wishes he could close his eyes and pretend that they're somewhere else. Somewhere with a bed and heat, preferably. And maybe an arctic wolf with a sweet tooth to guard the door while he and Fraser rest…yeah, that's it, rest.
"Ray," Fraser's voice is hoarse and quiet. Ray shifts carefully, looks up into his friend's face – he looks so calm and collected now, so like he always does, Ray'd be impressed if he weren't so worried.
How're you doing, Benny?" Ray asks, trying to keep his voice steady.
Fraser's brow furrows like it does, his lips tug down into a thoughtful frown. "It would appear I have numerous cuts and abrasions, but I believe they're all superficial," he says, "so I think it's safe to conclude that I'm doing fine."
"I'm not sure about your definition of fine," Ray says, sitting up. He leans against the wall next to Fraser – sitting close so their shoulders touch because he needs to feel Fraser right now. "But, creepy Mountie disposition aside, I hope fine means you can help me find a way out of here."
"That would be impossible, Ray," Fraser says, infuriatingly and wonderfully matter-of-fact.
"Because you're not fine?" Ray asks, looking over at Fraser, eyebrows raised. He wants it to be light but he's well aware it's not but he tries to play it like it is anyway.
And Fraser, of course, is Fraser. "No, Ray," he says, "it isn't that. It's just, well, there is no way out."
"I was afraid you would say that," Ray says. He takes a deep breath and lets his head fall back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling as if it holds the answers.
"I'm sorry, Ray," Fraser says. His voice is so quiet Ray wonders if he's imagined it and his only answer is a nod, but at the same time he's thinking No, Fraser, I'm sorry.
"If this is another edition of the Mountie's conspiracy theories, I don't want to hear it," Welsh said when Ray knocked on his open office door.
Ray went in anyway. "You may want to hear this one, Sir," he said. "It's about the Callahan fire."
"Of course it is," Welsh said, leaning back in his chair. "What about it?"
"Constable Fraser does not believe it was insurance fraud."
"It wasn't fraud," Ray says after an excruciatingly indeterminate amount of too long passes.
"No," Fraser says. "It wasn't."
And they go back to staring at the door. The door that isn't going to open anytime soon and even when it doesit's not going to herald anything good. It's while he's staring at the door that Ray gets the sinking feeling in his stomach.
"We're going to jump them, aren't we?" he asks.
"It would appear to be the only way," Fraser answers.
"Are you insane?" Ray asked, staring at Fraser who was preparing to scale the building looming in front of them. "Wait, don't answer, of course you're insane."
"I really don't see what the problem is, Ray," Fraser said, looking up at the building before him as if he could tell how tall it was by sight (Which, Ray realized, he probably – no, definitely – could).
"In case you hadn't noticed, my superior officer thinks this case is closed," Ray said, stepping in front of Fraser before he could start climbing. "And what about you? Do you even talk to your superior officer?"
"Of course, Ray."
"And?"
"Inspector Thatcher is also convinced that the case is closed."
"So?"
Fraser looked at Ray for a moment and Ray was pretty sure the expression on his face was disbelief. "Someone died, Ray," Fraser said.
And that's all he had to say. "Right," Ray said, stepping aside. "Someone died."
Ray's starting to think the door's not going to open at all and he wonders if the bastards forgot about them or maybe decided they're not worth the effort and he's not sure which is worse and he's trying to puzzle it out when he decides he should probably stop thinking because it's just going to drive him crazy.
So he talks because he learned a long time ago that you don't always have to think to talk.
"You know, Fraser, I used to think I was a good cop," he says.
"You are a good cop," Fraser says.
"That's the point of the story," Ray says.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Please, continue."
Fraser looks at him and he really does look sorry, but Ray just waves a hand and dismisses the whole thing.
"Never mind," he says. "I was being sentimental."
"No, please," Fraser says, settling a hand on Ray's leg. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
Ray sighs, takes a breath. He feels silly, but he keeps talking anyway, and he finds he's thinking more than he'd like to be. "I thought I was a good cop," he says, "till you came along and you kept asking questions even when it looked like we had all the answers and…," he trails off, "I might've been a good cop before," he says, his voice quiet, "but you made me a better one."
Fraser doesn't say anything, and Ray's glad for that because he feels kind of silly. He's glad he got it out, though, and he lets himself feel relieved – if only just a little – and that's when they hear the footsteps.
"It's deserted," Fraser said, slipping through the window into the hotel room. Ray followed, but he wasn't so sure – something felt wrong to him. Like the room was too quiet. But Fraser sounded so sure and Fraser was the one who could sniff a wall and tell you what it was made of or lick a toothpick and tell you who'd chewed on it, so Fraser would know if something was wrong.
Wouldn't he?
Still, Ray decided he better say something. And he was about to, really he was, but the knife was at his throat before he could even open his mouth.
When Ray had woken, Fraser hadn't been there, so he swore he wouldn't let them take Fraser again so when the door swings open he throws himself forward and plows his shoulder into whoever is there. He smiles when his shoulder digs into a soft stomach and he hears the forced exhalation.
"It's all right, Ray," Fraser says and Ray feels hands pulling him back and he doesn't fight because they're Fraser's hands, though he doesn't understand why.
Not until he sees Gardino leaning against the wall gasping for breath.
"Sorry," he mutters, turning to Fraser, leaning on Fraser because even with the door open he still feels like he's in a cage.
"I should've said something," Ray says. They're in the back of an ambulance getting patched up – none of their wounds are serious, the paramedics had said. None of the physical ones, anyway, Ray had thought.
"Said something about what, Ray?" Fraser asks.
Ray shrugs. "Something felt wrong," he says, "in that room. I should've said something."
"You couldn't have known," Fraser says. Ray doesn't answer, looks away. Doesn't even look up when he feels Fraser's hand settle heavily on his knee because even if Fraser says it – which he doesn't – Ray knows he's going to blame himself for a long time to come.
They're barely in the door to Fraser's apartment when Ray snaps – he's not sure if it's relief or fear or what, but he doesn't fight it. Just lets himself snap.
"Damn it, Fraser," he says, grabbing Fraser by the front of his tunic and pushing him up against the wall.
"Did I do something wrong?" Fraser asks, eyes wide with confusion.
"Damn it, Benny," Ray says, and his voice cracks with tears he won't shed and he holds tighter and steps closer pressing his body against Fraser's, trying to get as close as he possibly can.
"I'm sorry."
They say it at the same time, but it's barely a sound – the faintest whisper that they feel as breath ghosting on their lips rather than hear. The moment Ray's said it, felt it, he surges forward, pressing his lips against Fraser's. The kiss is hot and sloppy and it almost hurts, but it's exactly what Ray needs right now because Fraser's lips and hands and body are all reassurances that they made it out alive.
That Ray got Fraser out alive – because he knows he'd be lost if he ever lost Fraser.
"They said to be careful, Ray," Fraser says when they break apart. "Our injuries are still injuries, no matter how superficial."
"Yeah," Ray says. He rests his head on Fraser's shoulder, fighting the tears burning in his eyes – tears that start falling because it's all relief and he can't hold it back anymore. "God, Benny," he whispers, turning his head and brushing his lips against Fraser's neck. "Benny," he says, "Benny, I need you." He says it quiet, not sure he wants Fraser to hear, but he knows Fraser doeshear.
Fraser's hand comes up, cups the back of Ray's head, fingers stroking at his neck. "I need you, too," Fraser whispers.
And that's when Ray breaks – collapses against his friend, lets out the sobs he was afraid of because he was so afraid that Fraser wouldn't say it. Wouldn't mean it. But they need each other and they have each other and Ray knows love is in there somewhere even if neither of them has said it and he's certain there won't be any nightmares tonight. Not as long as he has Fraser. Not as long as Fraser has him.