not_that_ray | (no subject)

He's already moved the stack once. It doesn't stop him from moving it again. From one side of the desk to the other. This time though he takes the time to rifle through the layers, looking not just under but between the loose sheets of paper. The stack hemorrhages paper clips and scraps of small scribblings as he does so. Some land on his lap. Others fall onto the floor or into the trash can.

"Gotta..."

The whole thing teeters. Ray is, of course, oblivious. It's abandoned in favor of the top drawer of his desk. He yanks it open and thrusts his hand in, moving the mess inside around with no rhyme or reason. The contents haven't changed since the last time he looked five minutes ago.

"... be here..."

He slams it home, causing the entire desk to stagger. The vibration in turn causes the precariously perched collection of papers to slide in every direction. His eyes grow to the size of saucers as he dives for the unwieldy monster.

"Shit!"

The paperwork just seems to glide right past his hands, his efforts mocked.

From one small mess to one gigantic mess. Nice, Ray. Nice.

"... somewhere," he breathes out in defeat.

Which seems to be an uncanny cue for Fraser to make his customary morning appearance, stopping just shy of the paper blizzard that's now fluttering down around him near his Strathcona-booted feet. He says nothing as he glances down, then looks back up at his partner, but the slight lift of his eyebrows asks the inevitable question anyway.

A brief nod; then he gets to his feet, replacing the hat on his head in anticipation of their departure. Then he looks around for Diefenbaker, who seems conspicuous by his absence. "Diefenbaker," he says sharply-- even though they both know he's deaf as a post. He hopes he's not attempting to work his lupine charms on Francesca in order to obtain a doughnut again.

Conversation thoroughly diverted.

Painfully.

Fraser almost slams his head on the GTO's dashboard, spared only by his quick reflexes. Diefenbaker ends up between them in the front seat. Behind, annoyed Chicago motorists slam their hands on the horn. He adjusts his red uniform, and looks across at his partner, not appearing perturbed in the least. "The girl in Human Resources, Ray." As if he should have been paying attention and following this inexplicable tangent all along.