Title: Lost
Author: Amireal
Disclaimer: Good god, would I BE this poor if I owned them?
Author's notes: I was tied down and held hostage and forced to feed someone else's muse. This is what happened. Its… a lot of self introspection.
Rating: PG-13 (maybe)
Feedback: Please. Feedback inspiration sequel.
Fraser knows that he's smart. He could even qualify as extremely intelligent, resourceful, above average in most subjects. He's aware that his brain is more sponge-like than most. In a way, that's the reason he's glad he never had any formal schooling. The type of school with 20 - 30 other children, socialization being the key component he's glad he missed.
It became obvious at Depot that his brain just isn't wired that way. Of course, every time he goes down that road it leads to the inevitable internal discourse on weather those his initial schematics had been changed by his early childhood, or if he'd been born that way.
So, yes, Fraser knows he's smart. But that doesn't stop him from feeling stupid.
These days it's a feeling he's gotten used to. In the beginning it's just an entire new vocabulary he was simply expected to know. Then a set of social rules that seems to contradict themselves at every turn.
So, Fraser does what he knows best. He becomes even more stubborn.
If he can't adapt to the world, then world will have to adapt to him.
Ray Vecchio and he did an admirable job of meeting in the middle.
Equilibrium is a sacred thing. He's learns that. Until you have it, you can't understand it, and until you lose it, you can't appreciate it.
Fraser has moments of understanding his entire life.
Appreciation, however, that is new. Through the ashes of his apartment, he appreciates.
Fingerprints, dental impressions, cars exploding, spiky blonde hair; through it all, he appreciates so much it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.Now he comprehends lost.
And, to borrow a phrase, it sucks.
Six months later, and he still flails for footing.
As he and Ray argue just next to the lake, he can barely make his own mind understand why he does the things he does anymore, let alone explain it to Ray.
A sudden stinging sensation stops him. He's about to fall, metaphorically of course. Worse, he doesn't know who he can call for help.
Fraser is back on dry land, the floor doesn't heave with each step and reality seems to be reasserting itself. But he finds the longer he's back in the real world, the further equilibrium slips from his grasp.
One day he walks out of the Consulate, hat on head, bag in hand, uniform hanging, alone in his closet, and request for leave of absence sitting serenely on the Inspector's desk. He supposes he should have waited for an answer. However, he finds that he doesn't care very much either way. That just throws him off more.
He walks for a long time.
Then he does something he's never done before. He decides to be decadent, completely and utterly selfish. If he's not himself, he might as well enjoy it.
The hotel lobby is a sea of marble, he welcomes the cold atmosphere. The air is frigid and the gleaming surfaces reflect the soft light. It's oddly familiar and almost comforting.
The credit card feels odd in his hand. It's a small, rectangular piece of plastic that cuts into his skin as he holds it, waiting for his turn.
He doesn't use it often, but he's had it longer than most realize. It is difficult to conduct his financial affairs without one.
The room he is shown to is plush. Thick carpeted floors, large, four poster bed, a bathroom the size of his old apartment. He takes it all in, vowing to appreciate each facet in his own time.
He takes a long bath, watches a movie and sleeps for a long time.
In the morning, he learns to appreciate blackout curtains.
Washed, dressed and paying the bill at the hotel restaurant leaves him with little do to. He remembers a rather large bookstore in the vicinity of the hotel. He finds their tea passable, but the chairs are comfortable and the reading selection more than satisfactory.
He returns to his room, several books in hand. Reading, ensconced in the lavish couch, he begins to relax for the first time in 6 months.
The next day, Fraser remembers to appreciate the quiet.
Sometime around 5:00, he realizes he hasn't moved in hours. Stretching, he freshens up, grabs his wallet and at the last moment, leaves his hat. The concierge is most helpful in pointing out local dining establishments.
He asks for a table that's hidden, someplace in the back, where they won't mind him reading. The food is excellent and he enjoys the experience. After, he takes a long walk, appreciating a neighborhood he doesn't often have a chance to explore.
It's 9:00 when he returns to the hotel, his stomach still pleasantly full, a bag of books on his arm. The door opens, the bag is placed gently on the table and his coat neatly beside it. He turns on the light next to bathroom, intending to take another long bath.
He turns and is stopped cold by the figure slouching on the couch.
He's jammed into the corner, so that he faces the door. One leg is resting against the back, casually bent, the other is hanging off the side, bouncing tightly against the floor. A beer bottle rests in between, left hand loosely clasped around it, the right tapping urgently against the couch. The light casts a ghostly glow on the pale scowling face.
Fraser swallows back a bitter taste.
They stare at each other.
"I should be so pissed." The figure on the couch mutters before standing up.
Fraser is still frozen.
Ray walks slowly towards him, coming to a stop just under the light. "And if it were anyone but you, I'd yell first and ask questions later."
Fraser's hands start to tremble.
Ray's head tilts and studies him carefully, "God Frase, what's so wrong that you felt you needed to run away?"
He closes his eyes and swallows again. He works his jaw, moves his lips… but there is no answer to give. No air in his lungs, his chest is so tight and he begins gasping. His knees give way and he curls in, hugging himself. He's rocking and gasping and fat tears are running down his face.
Sometime later, he's not sure how much, he's aware of two arms curled tightly around him and a strong chest under his face. Ray has somehow gotten him to lean against him, curled between his outstretched legs. When there's nothing left but hiccups, Ray does nothing more than continue tracing nonsense patterns into his back.
Fraser is almost asleep when Ray taps him lightly, "Hey Frase, I don't wanna make you do nothing you don't wanna do, but my back is gonna be one grumpy compadre come morning if we don't move this to the bed."
He nods faintly and moves to stand but his body is stubbornly sluggish. Ray bounces to his feet, offering a hand up to Fraser. He then turns off the light and tugs Fraser gently to the bed.
"You wanna change or something?" Ray asks.
With no words left, he just wearily picks up two pairs of sweat pants, tosses one to Ray and mechanically begins changing.
As he slides into bed, Fraser feels that someone would be disappointed that his life has come to this. If only he could figure out what this is.
Ray turns off the light and slips in beside him.
He tenses as the bed dips.
"Hey, Frase, just sleep. I'll be here in the morning."
And he does.
He wakes to find himself curled around one of the overstuffed, king sized pillows on the bed. Ray is, surprisingly, up before him, and in the shower. He stands and shuffles around the room, unsure of what to do next. A small table in the corner tells him that Ray has ordered breakfast while he slept.
Tea, in an unobjectionable form and two hard boiled eggs later and the morning doesn't feel as harsh.
Ray exits the bathroom in a cloud of steam, sweatpants riding low on his hips and towel slung over his shoulders. He spies Fraser from the other side of the room, "My mother always said, if you're eating, it can't be that bad."
Fraser smiles, the act alone, makes him feel better.
Ray joins him at the table, prepares a cup of coffee, grabs something pastry like and inhales. About halfway through the cup, he looks up, "So uh, how you doing?"
There's a worried intensity to the stare that comforts Fraser. "Ok." He finally answers. "I think."
Ray leans in, the air of conspiracy in his posture, "Well, between you, me and the coffee, you're allowed to be not ok sometimes." He gives Fraser an uncertain look, "You do know that, right?"
He nods brokenly, "I don't think that what I've been feeling could be called, 'not ok'."
Ray leans back into his chair, "That much I could have figured out on my own."
Fraser bows his head and studies his hands, "I think… Ray, that is I think I'm… lost." He raises his hands in defeat.
Ray's eyebrows do their little dance of confusion and he purses his lips, "Lost?"
He nods. "Lost. As in, without anchor. Adrift. No points of reference for guidance. Lost."
"Lost." Ray repeats.
"Lost." He confirms.
They stare at each other.
"So then," Ray continues, "What you need to do is find yourself. I get that. I so get that. I got earrings and permanent ink that says so." He stands and crosses to Fraser. "So Frase, how we gonna find you?"
Fraser notices Ray's hand his resting securely on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. He covers it with his own, clutching it tightly.
Ray kneels beside him, "Hey Frase, its ok. I'm not so good with a compass, but this I pretty much got covered."
He leans in, only meaning to draw comfort from his friend, but the angle changes and their lips meet softly.
Ray's hand slides behind his neck, holding him firmly while his lips are softly kissed. When he ends the kiss, Fraser feels a bit dazed.
"Hey," Rays says softly, "Just so you know, you didn't just screw up."
Fraser lets out a sigh of relief. "That is helpful to know Ray." This time when he leans it and touches Ray's lips, it's on purpose.
They kiss for some minutes, until Ray as close to Fraser as possible without sitting on his lap. They separate, lips swollen and panting slightly. Arms are entwined and chests plastered against each other, they simply rest their foreheads against one another.
Ray eases away, brushing his fingers across Fraser's cheek, "Come on, let's go get you unlost.." He stands and offers Fraser a hand up.
He takes it, stands and slides his arms around Ray. He presses a quick kiss on his lips before saying, "I think we've already started."
Ray gives him a toothy grin and says, "Cool.' Before pushing him towards the shower.
THE END