Fraser clasps his hands on the formica tabletop, staring at his thumbs. "I found him as a pup in an abandoned strip mine. It was the height of winter and he was almost frozen from exposure. There was no sign of his mother, or his pack." His gaze drifts out the plate glass window to look at the white wolf, who's sitting patiently on the sidewalk, watching people go by. "A couple of years ago, he dove into the frigid waters of Prince Rupert Sound to save my life. He burst his eardrums in the process of doing so." Diefenbaker's deafness is his responsibility. But that's not what he says.
It doesn't quite come out as a question. He needs food and coffee. Not necessarily in that order. If he doesn't get them soon, he's likely to let his mouth walk off without his brain.
Again, that shake of his head, as he leans forward to rest an elbow on the table. "He's free to leave at any time, Ray. He has no undue obligation to me, other than his breed's inherent sense of loyalty."
"Well, not exact-- " he starts, then cuts himself off, his gaze settling on his friend once more. He purses his lips for a moment, then tilts his head as he watches him. "Yes."
The waitress comes by to take their order. Fraser requests merely a mug of hot water, and once it arrives, produces a teabag from his ever-present belt pouch and dunks it into the water. It garners something of an odd look from the waitress, but the Mountie seems oblivious.
Ray's order isn't so simplistic. Eggs, sausage, biscuits, and gravy. Okay, so not his normal fare. But it sounded good. And more importantly, it goes well with large quantities of coffee.
He opens his mouth as if to dispute his observation, then looks off past him, reconsidering. His fingers drop the tag of the teabag, letting it hang against the side of the cup as he brings his focus back to his friend. "That's not strictly true, Ray."
"I'm usually on duty when I'm around people, Ray. It's considered ... " He trails off, toying with the mug in his hands. The scent of chamomile wafts up under his nose, the steam hot on his skin. Silence follows. "It's a personal choice."
The waitress comes by with Ray's order, and leaves them both alone once more in the deserted diner. Fraser leans forward a little in his seat, wrapping both hands around his tea, looking down into the pale liquid with a distant intensity.
Ray's awful good at pushing an issue. Sometimes he knows better though than to go stickin' his nose where it don't belong. Fraser's body language screams 'uncomfortable'. He should be willing to leave it alone.
He just can't help himself. "You're not on duty now."
"I'm always on duty, Ray." He should know that better than anyone. It doesn't matter if he's on the clock or not -- Benton Fraser never stops being Benton Fraser.
He lifts his head to look his partner in the eye, then gives him a small smile before reaching for a spoon to stir his tea. But there's a shadow behind his eyes as he does so. Something not quite right.
He rubs absently at his ear, glancing out the window briefly, his tongue running over his bottom lip. He seems to almost be steeling himself for what comes next. When he speaks again, his tone is a little softer than usual, his eyes fixed firmly on the tea in his cup, and the spoon that circles its bottom slowly. "I was six years old when my mother died." There's a brief shake of his head. "I don't know the how, or the why. I don't even remember much about that time, except ... " He getures to his face, "my father's beard. It grew longer, and thicker ... and he became thinner ... paler. He stopped going to work."
His gaze lifts from the cup to look at Ray, but he doesn't hold his partner's eyes for long. "My mother died, and ... my father stopped living. And then, one day ... I woke up, and breakfast was on the table. Oatmeal, with, uh ... sliced banana. And he was sitting at the table, and he was crying. I'd never seen him cry before, or since." A pause, another look down into his tea. "I hated oatmeal. Hated it with a passion." There's an almost wistful smile up at Ray, as he sets the spoon down, and steeples his hands over his mug. "I still do. But I sat down at that table, that morning. And I ate every last spoonful. For my dad. Because I didn't know what else I could do for him."
A silence hangs between them for several long minutes. What does a man say to a story like that? How can he convey his remorse? Once in a blue moon, Ray will have the sense to just keep his mouth shut. Now is one of those times.
When his order finally arrives, Ray has it packaged to go.
It's a fact that doesn't go unnoticed. Fraser watches his friend, as if gauging the change in the conversation's mood. He's the one who finally breaks that silence. "The answer is yes, Ray. I would." He pauses, and a smile ventures forth. "Just as long as it's not oatmeal."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 04:47 am (UTC)Lame, Ray. Lame. Way to apologize.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 04:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 05:04 am (UTC)It doesn't quite come out as a question. He needs food and coffee. Not necessarily in that order. If he doesn't get them soon, he's likely to let his mouth walk off without his brain.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 05:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 05:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 05:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 05:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 06:05 am (UTC)He gets that a lot.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 08:52 pm (UTC)"Don't you ever eat?"
no subject
Date: 2008-01-04 05:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-04 05:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-04 05:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-04 06:04 am (UTC)It's obvious Ray doesn't think that counts.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-04 06:12 am (UTC)The waitress comes by with Ray's order, and leaves them both alone once more in the deserted diner. Fraser leans forward a little in his seat, wrapping both hands around his tea, looking down into the pale liquid with a distant intensity.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-04 06:19 am (UTC)He just can't help himself. "You're not on duty now."
Open mouth, insert foot.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-04 06:27 am (UTC)He lifts his head to look his partner in the eye, then gives him a small smile before reaching for a spoon to stir his tea. But there's a shadow behind his eyes as he does so. Something not quite right.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-04 06:37 am (UTC)"And if you weren't? Would you share a meal with me? Something that doesn't clog the arteries?"
Simple yes/no question. Or so he thinks.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-04 06:53 am (UTC)His gaze lifts from the cup to look at Ray, but he doesn't hold his partner's eyes for long. "My mother died, and ... my father stopped living. And then, one day ... I woke up, and breakfast was on the table. Oatmeal, with, uh ... sliced banana. And he was sitting at the table, and he was crying. I'd never seen him cry before, or since." A pause, another look down into his tea. "I hated oatmeal. Hated it with a passion." There's an almost wistful smile up at Ray, as he sets the spoon down, and steeples his hands over his mug. "I still do. But I sat down at that table, that morning. And I ate every last spoonful. For my dad. Because I didn't know what else I could do for him."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-05 04:38 am (UTC)When his order finally arrives, Ray has it packaged to go.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-05 04:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-05 05:05 am (UTC)"Stuff's nasty," he adds without reservation or tact.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-05 05:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-05 05:25 am (UTC)"Orange Ju- No. No, that's just not right, Fraser. I have a perfectly good appetite. Don't ruin it with stories of gross mixed with yuck."
no subject
Date: 2008-01-05 05:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-05 05:50 am (UTC)There's something he's forgetting. He was supposed to-
Dammit. What is he forgetting? BING BING BING BING BING LIGHT BULB.
"The latte."