This is just a minor snippet thing I wrote for the hell of it. I'm getting
into Turnbull lately, and I'm trying him out with all the characters
I can think of to see who clicks the bet.  Course, he doesn't get the
guy in this one, and all my fics seem to feature a different version
of Turnbull. But you'll just have to figure that shit out for yourself.

And hey, maybe you could tell me which one ya like. If any. Or tell me
they all suck. Free country. 

Enjoy. It's just a little rated PG POV thing. :-)

Lucy

They think no one sees them.

I don't know how Fraser can be so incredibly blind to think the closet
door is still closed. The heated looks that pass between them, the innuendo
they think I miss because I am simply too clueless to get it, it's unmistakable.
Even to poor, simple me. 

No, the closet door is wide open, and they're standing in the doorway
for all the world to see. You know, I used to not understand that phrase.
Naif that I am, when someone first told me of a friend being 'in the
closet', I took them literally. Of course I was laughed and, and the
meaning explained to me in much simpler terms than were necessary. 

But now I see the simplicity and truth to the phrase. Constable Fraser
and Ray Kowalski are in a closet. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
They shut themselves and their relationship up with the other skeletons.
And they seem to almost expect any day now for someone to come barging
in, to catch them in the act, as it were. They flash those looks and
use suggestive phrases as though they HOPE for someone to find them out.

That's why I would say they were in a closet. Not a room that could be
safely locked from others. A closet. The image would almost make me laugh
-- Constable Fraser's neatly hung up serge jackets, pressed and flawless.
His carefully polished boots, lined in a neat row. And Ray Kowalski,
set somewhere in a corner so as to not ruin the order of everything else.

It would make me laugh if it weren't so painful. 

I am truly as stupid as they say. I am a silly, brainless, hopeless dolt.
And not because I trip over my words, or the rugs. Not because I lose
files and spill vases of flowers. But because the one thing I aspire
to more than anything in the world is to be the one standing in that
immaculate closet. 

Yes, I've made the ultimate mistake. I've fallen in love with a fellow
officer. A man. A perfect, beautiful, devoted man. Oh, could I make him
happy? I would give everything I have. I can understand him better than
these flighty Americans. I wouldn't laugh at him, or call him a freak.
I would talk to him about everything we have in common. 

And he would talk to me.

Not laugh at me, or look at me with thinly veiled disgust. Not in my
fantasies. We would talk. I would be able to open my mouth and speak,
not stammer or play dumb. He would listen. That's all I ask. 

So you see, I am stupid. 

But I'm not blind.

Constable Fraser comes in from his office in the mornings, bright and
cheerful. He says hello to me and tries very hard to pretend that he
spent the night in that office of his. Which is silly, because Ray Kowalski
is no longer late for work in the mornings. 

Oh, I used to hear about terminal tardiness, whether it was Fraser complaining,
or Ray complaining about his Lieutenant complaining. But no longer. Ray
is now on time every day. Because he gets up so early, to make sure Fraser
is back here at the Consulate before I arrive. 

But still Fraser pretends. And when I ask him in my bland way if he had
an enjoyable night, he gives me a smile and says it was nothing very
special. He follows those answers with a wider, Ray-would-kill-me-if-he-knew-I-said-that
grin, which I am not supposed to notice, and then goes on his merry way.

Ray arrives, if it is the typical day, and comes to me asking if Fraser
is in. As though Fraser is ever out when he isn't with Ray. I, half-wit
that I am, make conversation with him. It usually follows a pattern:

Me (blank yet always polite smile in place): "I'm sure the Constable
will be out shortly. He is usually so happy to leave with you." 

Ray (trying to look innocent and always failing miserably): "Yeah, well.
Guess it must be this Canadian air. It's kinda oppressive." 

Me (of course looking affronted): "There is nothing wrong with Canadian
air, Detective." 

Ray: "Nothin stepping out in some good old American sunshine won't fix."

Me: "I don't imagine you're using very logical thinking, Detective."

Ray (of course getting highly upset for no reason): "What the heck is
wrong with my thinking?" 

Me (wanting to say, 'nothing a good head transplant won't fix'): "Oh,
nothing, Detective! I'm sure it works for you just fine!" 

Ray: "All right then. You know, some of you Mounties actually appreciate
my thought processes." 

Me (knowing where this is going and dreading it): "Is that so?"

Ray: "Yep. In fact, some of ya really get off on it, ya know? Seein'
things in a whole new way. Broadening yer horizons and stuff. You should
try it sometime." 

Me: "Oh, I'm quite content with my horizons as they are now, detective."

Ray: "Yeah, I guess you would be."

Me (of course pretending the man didn't just insult me): "I certainly
would." (setting myself up for more misery) "I believe Constable Fraser
is happy as he is as well." 

Ray: "You don't know Frase." (getting a lascivious gleam in his eye)
"Trust me when I say he gets off on what I do for him." 

And on it goes. I set myself up, and both men continually knock me down.

They're happy together, I know that. I know Fraser now smiles more than
he ever did before. I can see the effect Ray has on him. It's awful of
me to resent it. But I do. I resent every smile Fraser sends my way,
because I know it's not for me. 

And I have started to slowly hate Ray Kowalski. He has everything I don't
-- he can move with grace where I stumble. He is golden and slender and
handsome where I am square, grey, and plain. He has Fraser's love, I
have Fraser's contempt. I have everyone's contempt. Even my own. 

But I sit here at my desk and paste smiles on my face. I stumble, and
stammer, and watch them grin at each other, and ask leading questions.
I pray for the day when Fraser greets me without a smile, when Ray no
longer appears here every day. Even though Fraser will never look at
me with love, I wish for the day when I don't have to see that look given
to someone else. 

They think no one sees them. But I see. I sit at my desk and smile and
see.