Proposition

"What a fucking awful day." Ray sat on the bench outside of booking, head in his hands, elbows on his knees, the very picture of a demoralized cop.

"Ray," Fraser chided; but his heart wasn't in it. He sat beside his partner, leaning back against the wall, head tilted up to look at the ceiling and block out the sights of the police station around them. He was also tired, depressed, and at a loose end now that their case had been closed without resolution.

"C'mon Fraser, if this isn't a good excuse for swearing, what is?"

"You have a point."

"You know, if this was a movie, we'd jump onto the first plane out of O'Hare and follow Bartleton to Rio. We'd find him as soon as we got there, get into a firefight--cause in the movie we'd still have our guns with us--and take down that SOB in a hail of bullets."

"That would be very satisfying," Fraser agreed, "if this were a movie."

"Yeah. Maybe some slow-mo John Woo sequences. . . but we'd get him and nobody would yell about due process or national sovereignty or anything."

"A TV movie, perhaps?"

"Naw, they don't have the budget for it. They could maybe scrape together enough to send Dief, but then it would be a kids show--'Incredible Journey Meets Robocop-wolf'."

Fraser smiled, distracted from his anger and disappointment by Ray's whimsy.

"Please don't mention that in front of Diefenbaker. He has delusions of grandeur as a world traveler already."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"What do you normally do when a case ends as badly as this one has?"

"What do you mean, normally? Normally the perp goes down, 'cause I'm a damn good cop, and you know it." He sighed. "But yeah, sometimes they get away. I know what you're saying. Before I married Stella, I'd go down to the gym, wear myself out sparring, but I'm way out of shape for it now. Couldn't spar for long enough to calm down--I'd just be more tired and still angry. What do you do?"

Somehow this conversation was easier since they weren't looking at each other. The flotsam of humanity in the station moved around them, but didn't intrude on their bubble of privacy.

"At home I would chop wood or shovel coal. Here I walk, and play my guitar."

"That work?"

"No, not very well. Not at all, really."

"When we were married, I'd grab Stella and go home and make love, god, for hours. She loved it, I loved it, and it worked."

"And now?"

"Dunno. Haven't tried it since we split. I need a partner who's willing, who knows what I've been dealing with, and who can keep up with me."

"A partner." Fraser, unseen by Ray, licked his lower lip. "I keep up with you. And know exactly what you've been dealing with."

Ray sat up, scanned the hallway around them, until he was sure nobody was listening. He carefully didn't look at Fraser. "I'm willing if you are."

"I am."

Ray nodded once, as acknowledgment. Then again, with more enthusiasm. "Up and at 'em, Fraser." He turned his quick smile towards Fraser as he stood.

"As they say," Fraser replied as he also levered himself off the bench, "let's blow this popsicle store."

"Stand, Fraser. Popsicle stand." Ray put his hand on Fraser's shoulder and guided him out the station doors into the cool Chicago night.

Notes

Thanks to Betty Burch for cleaning this up.

I write this stuff for love. You couldn't pay me enough to do this for money. They belong to Alliance.