(no subject)

[not_that_ray]

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.

Comments

[chicagomountie.livejournal.com]

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.

[not-vecchio.livejournal.com]

He throws up his hand, his fingers straight and palm faced out. The jerky motion screams 'stop'.

"I got it. S'under control," he insists. The tone of his voice says it's anything but.

[chicagomountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser can't take a hint. "Ray--"

[not-vecchio.livejournal.com]

"No."

He kicks his foot out suddenly. The unfortunate victims of his temper go flying.

"Okay?"

[chicagomountie.livejournal.com]

There's no arguing with him when he's like this. The Mountie simply looks at him, with an expression that hints that he'll regret asking him to shut up in approximately three minutes' time. "Understood."

[not-vecchio.livejournal.com]

A deep breath is drawn in. And let out slowly. When there's no more air left in his lungs, he throws his head to the side and there's an audible 'crack'. He spends another minute or so staring down at the papers without movement or comment.

"Fraser, you haven't -"

He cuts himself off, sounding a little on the sheepish side.

[chicagomountie.livejournal.com]

He studies him for a moment, as if debating whether those words negate his earlier beratement for him to shut up. He ventures the query anyway. "I haven't what, Ray?"

[not-vecchio.livejournal.com]

"You haven't seen my glasses anywhere, have ya?"

A more miserable creature there never was.

[chicagomountie.livejournal.com]

"They're in the glove compartment of your car, where you put them yesterday morning." That said, he places his Stetson on the chair opposing Ray's desk, and crouches to start picking the scattered papers from the floor.

[not-vecchio.livejournal.com]

Okay, he feels stupid now. And about an inch tall. They're right where he left them. Dumb fuck.

"Thanks, Fraser." The words are quiet and sincere. A second later, he too starts picking up papers.

[chicagomountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser exhibits his usual preciseness as he plucks the papers from their distraught position, ably returning them to sequential order in their respective files. Perhaps a change of subject is required. "An hour or two of reorganisation and a few minutes of attention to your desk once a day would arguably relieve a lot of your frustration, Ray."

[not-vecchio.livejournal.com]

The response is immediate. "Yeah, but then I wouldn't be able to find anything."

[chicagomountie.livejournal.com]

The Mountie's expression is nothing short of mildly bewildered, as he sets another folder back on the chaotic desk. "I don't think I follow how that could happen, Ray. I've been known to use the Dewey decimal format for my own purposes, but for your own, a simple system going by case number and arranging your drawers according to items used most frequently being at the front with lesser used items at the rear would, on the contrary, be of much benefit to you. On average, I think it could save you a total of ... " He pauses, looking off into the distance as he does the math, "Approximately fifty-seven minutes a week."

[not-vecchio.livejournal.com]

"See, here's the thing. I don't have trouble finding my paperwork, Fraser. There's a method to the madness. I'm just not so hot on keepin' track of my glasses."

[chicagomountie.livejournal.com]

He casts an unmistakably dubious look at the toppled stacks on his partner's desk, but thinks better of pushing the issue, straightening as he finishes collecting the errant papers on the floor. "Your prescription isn't strong enough to proclude the notion of contact lenses as a viable option."

[not-vecchio.livejournal.com]

The answer is barely loud enough to be heard. "Can't get 'um in."

[chicagomountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser seems patently oblivious to his discomforture, suddenly, while the bustle of the station continues to flow around them. "It's really not that difficult, Ray. It's simply a matter of practice."

[not-vecchio.livejournal.com]

"I have practiced, Fraser. Not like I didn't tried or something."

His voice is still purposefully low.

[chicagomountie.livejournal.com]

He glances at him briefly, a not unsympathetic look reflected in his eyes. "Understood." Fraser plucks his Stetson from the chair, tucking it into its usual place under his arm before thinking better of it, and sitting down. He then reaches for one of the devastated folders on the desk, and begins reassembling it. It's like a reflex action, almost. A compulsion to put things into a sense of order. Something else is bothering his friend, but it's unclear what, and he has no desire to push. He'd rather it be a voluntary act. "Were you planning on going to the range this afternoon?" he asks eventually, fully aware that his friend tends only to use the things when he has to shoot accurately, or for stakeouts that require being able to see further than approximately thirty yards ahead.

[not-vecchio.livejournal.com]

Why does this job have to include so much paperwork? He reaches for the waste basket, takes a second to dump it into another larger basket not that far from his desk, and then proceeds to start shoving sheets into the emptied receptacle.

"Yeah. Was thinkin' about it."

His own special way or organizing. Making piles within piles within piles.

"Look, I- Wouldn't mind some company. That is if you're-"

[chicagomountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser watches the activity with no small measure of inward despair. The librarian in him feels affronted by the wanton abuse of information. He hides it fairly well, however, choosing to look away from the crime and fidgeting with his Stetson instead. "I took the early shift this morning."

That's his way of saying 'Yes.'

[not-vecchio.livejournal.com]

Ray's in that odd state between desires. On one hand, he wants to be alone. On the other hand, he's pretty sure he shouldn't be. If there's anybody he trusts while in this kind of a funk, it's Fraser.

"Lunch? Then the lanes?"