His Own Dungeon
Post CotW
Summary: The city is wearing him down but something is keeping Fraser in Chicago. Rated for language.
Ray watched Fraser, watched him as he tried to sink back into the old routine. The fast pace of the city, Ray's home.
It was killing him.
It was obvious if you knew what to look for, and Ray knew. He could make a career out of studying this man. It was there in every slow turn of the head, the way he'd shake himself back into a conversation, never more than half listening.
Mostly though, it was in the eyes.
A wiser man than Ray once said they were the windows to the soul. If Fraser's were anything to go by then this soul was decaying, fast.
He supposed he should have known, when on an ice field in the asscrack of the North Fraser had stood, hat and all, grinning like a loon. He'd never be able to go back, not really.
On his more fanciful days Ray compares him to the frozen land he loves so much. All pale, snowy skin and ice blue eyes. Dark hair rising like a mountain in all that snowy pale. Then he'd look closer, see the thaw moving in. The cracks appearing in all that ice and he knew he had to get Fraiser home. Somehow.
He tried suggesting a holiday. Nothing odd about that, just two friends getting away for a while. Didn't even push to go back to the Northwest Areas or whatever. Just Manitoba. Check out Assiniboine Park, look at the monkey's in the Zoo, maybe Fraser'd finally give him a lecture, tell him they weren't technically monkeys, that gibbons were a form of ape. Or not. Too busy he'd said. Inspector Thatcher's replacement was still only settling in and he couldn't possibly leave now.
Bullshit.
Fraser was scared of something, though God alone knew what. Maybe he figured he was going soft, that the city had made him too soft to ever really fit in again up there. Nah, that couldn't be it. The whole Hand of Franklin thing shoulda taken care of any worries like that.
It was definitely something though. Ray knew it. Just could'nt seem to put his finger on quite what. Oh hell, he was a detective right? Maybe he should just do what he always did once he had his suspect: ask.
Yeah, that was it. No more of this dancing round the issue. Time to just get it out there. Try and shake loose some info.
"Hey Frase. What's up with you lately? You bin all quiet. Normally can't shut ya up! What, you run out of Inuit stories?"
Just for a moment Ray thought he saw something behind those dying eyes. Something that looked a helluva lot like hope, mixed with something he couldn't quite read. Something fragile. Then it was gone, leaving only grey blue emptiness.
"Nothing's wrong Ray, I'm fine."
Bullshit.