Voodoo - by Ashinae	  

Rating/Warning: R. Slash. Language, and non-descriptive sex. 
Pairing: Fraser/Vecchio 
Disclaimer: They're not mine :( 
Spoilers: Victoria 
Summary: Ray's under Fraser's spell. A dark sort-of take on the
relationship. 
Notes: OK, so this isn't so much Bad!Ben or Dark!Fraser so much as a
Twisted!Benny. I don't see him like this, but it doesn't mean I can't
*write* him like this. Besides, as far as I am concerned, this is a
plausible sort of what-if. 

Feedback appreciated at ashinae@poetic.com. 
Due South fanfic page, "Whispers in the Dark" - http://ashinae.tripod.com.


* * * * * 

VOODOO - by Ashinae 

Okay, so, magic isn't real, right? Magick, maybe, but I've always been
told those kind of people who do "that sort of thing" are probably
Satanists anyway and should be avoided at all costs, but that's not really
what I'm talking about. 

No, what I'm talking about is a certain guy I know. 

Shut up. He's not a witch or anything strange like that. 

But when he looks at me, it's magic. 

I don't know what it is, all I know is that I am under his spell and God
knows I don't want out. Well, I do. But I don't. I want in and I want out
and I want to be captured and caged and I want to be free and every time I
look in his eyes it's like this little death. 

Death, life, love, lust, it's all the same. All the same but completely
different. 

I want him. 

I shouldn't want him. Everything I've ever been told has told me it's
Wrong to feel this way about another man. But I can't help it. 

He's beautiful. 

See, that's not so hard to say. He's fucking gorgeous, and damn him to
hell for that. For making me want him and think about him. 

I think about him all the time. We spend so much time together, and then
when we're apart, he's almost all I think about. 

Should I worry? Probably. Do I? Hell no. 

Because I love him. 

That's not hard to say either. It was for a long time. Just thinking it
was painful, at first. Damn near killed me. But now, I can look in the
mirror, look *myself* in the eye and say, "I love him." 

Can't look *him* in the eye and say it, though. I'm afraid that if I did,
the spell would be broken. That he wouldn't want to love me back. I'm not
sure why I feel that way, to be perfectly honest. 

He's the one doing the voodoo. Weaving his magic charm around me. 

And then we kissed. I couldn't believe it when it was happening. He was
holding me in his arms, and we were chest to chest, groin to groin, mouth
to mouth, and I was clutching him, terrified of letting go, terrified that
if I pulled away and opened my eyes he would vanish--poof, begone--in a
cloud of smoke. 

He said he loved me. Whispered it, softly, in my ear. 

Gave me that little smile. 

And I was putty in his hands. 

And he tore my heart out. Destroyed me completely, but I got through that.
I always do, work my way through *his* insecurities and *his* neediness
and *his* inability to trust me, or himself, or anyone else. 

He's more fucked up than I am, I think. I've faced my demons, fought them
down and gotten rid of them, for the most part. 

He's the only demon now. I don't mean that in a bad way. Just that I have
to get through him. Through *to* him, that I love him and I can't bear the
thought of not being with him. 

But he holds me at arms-length, unable to trust me. 

Damn him. 

Everyone thinks he's perfect, can you imagine that? But they don't see him
like I do. They don't see the *real* man behind the pretty red uniform. 

I know he's manipulated me. Done everything he could, in the nicest way
possible, to get me to see *his* side, to do whatever he wants me to. And
I was very willing to go along, each time. 

But I'm *not* willing to go away. 

He's tried telling me he doesn't love me. I don't believe him. I refuse to
believe him, because of the way he looks at me, watches me, and he won't
go away either, but he thinks it's easier for us to be "just friends."
Easier after *her*, after what she did to us. 

After what he did to us. 

They both fucked us over pretty damn good. 

I hate her. I hate her for coming into our lives, I hate her for making
him... 

It was like I never really existed. Why can't he love *me* like that? 

Love me enough to give up everything he is for me, for that one single
moment in time? 

Throw it all away for that kind of love. 

But he doesn't love me like that. 

The insecurities in me sometimes believe he doesn't love me at all
anymore. Maybe never did, despite the whispers in the dark and the few,
sweet, wonderful nights we had together. 

I hate her. 

Because she did this. And he wanted me to pretend that whatever we had
shared didn't matter, didn't mean anything. 

But I wouldn't give up on him, no matter how much he wanted me to. That's
what he wanted. It was like he expected me to complete this cycle in his
life--that someone loves him, then ultimately leaves him. 

That's not the way it's gonna work this time. No way in hell. I would do
anything to prove it to him. Do *everything* for him. 

I already do everything for him. 

What more does he need from me? I've given him my heart and my soul. Gave
him my body. Held him in the dark. 

He cried. He cried the first night we had sex. He thinks I wasn't aware,
he thinks I was sleeping, but I know he cried. What I don't quite know, is
*why.* 

Why can't he *love* me, the way I love him? He's trusted me with his life.
Why won't he trust me with his heart? 

My greatest fear is that he never really loved me at all. That he's just
manipulating me, again, as always, because he can. He knows the power he
has over me, there's no way he doesn't. And then he goes home at night and
laughs at me, tells Dief what a fool I am for hanging on to him, after-- 

After her. 

Maybe it's magic. Maybe it's voodoo. But he owns me completely. 

And so he kissed me. Again, finally, after months, literally, of longing
and waiting and praying and hoping, he kissed me. 

It's been so long. So fucking long. 

He whispers in my ear again: "Love you, I love you, Ray, I love you", over
and over as he covers my body with his, slides his smooth, pale skin over
mine. Slides himself inside me and takes me-- 

Takes me, but doesn't give of himself. There's always holding back, never
wanting to surrender everything, no matter how much I reassure him that I
will catch him if he falls. 

Even with the sweet words, there is little that is sweet about him this
time. Not like before, when he was so tender and loving and gentle.
Nothing like that at all. 

Oh, God above, he's using me. And I can't stop him. 

He's hard, demanding, taking my body and fucking my mind with his words
and his promises and his hands and his cock. But for one moment, for one
wonderful, fleeting moment, I can honestly feel he *does* love me. 

Then it's over, and we're lying together on his bed, sweaty and panting,
with me draped over him and his arm around my back and my head on his
shoulder. He stares at the ceiling and I close my eyes, knowing he won't
ask me to leave. He at least has the heart to allow me to stay the night. 

How can someone so beautiful be so cold? 

Oh, but he's hot. Hot and passionate, like no one could ever imagine. He
wakes me with his lips on my neck, sometime past midnight, and he fucks me
again, and it goes on forever, but not long enough. My world narrows down
to this, to him inside me and to hell with the rest but I know tomorrow
he'll regret it. He'll tell me to pretend it never happened, that it was a
mistake, and for both our sakes we can only be friends. 

Friends. 

I hate that word. 

Let's just be friends. 

Oh, we'll still be friends. But you can fuck me anytime you want. Use me.
Take me. Destroy me. Turn me inside out and upside down and let me pick up
the pieces of my own shattered heart because obviously you don't care. 

He says he does. Promises me he'll never hurt me again. And God help me
because I believe him. He looks at me the right way, touches me the right
way, and that's all it takes to make me forget everything. All the shit
that has happened to us, between us, vanishes, and I am pulling him to me
again, begging him to take the day off and spend it with me. He agrees,
and I think maybe I'm dreaming. He calls Thatcher while trying to ward me
off of him; when he hangs up he grabs me and kisses me, hard, then pulls
back and grins, shoos me off to have a shower so he can take Dief out.
When he returns he all but devours me, fucking me senseless and leaving me
a puddle of goo in the middle of his bed. 

So he drops the bombshell on me when we're eating pizza for dinner. 

He's going back to Canada. 

For good. 

Transferring. Out of Chicago, out of my life, gone gone gone. 

That's when my world suddenly makes sense. Stark, startling clarity. I'm
not completely stupid, I knew what was happening between us, what he was
doing, but I didn't really *know* until that moment. How coldly he told me
he was leaving, how he looked me right in the eyes and there wasn't any
sadness there. 

I jump up from the table, yelling at him, cursing and screaming as loudly
as I can while he just *sits* there, the stupid bastard. Once I've gotten
most of it out of my system, he stands up and comes around the table,
stopping in front of me, his hand rising to touch my cheek. 

"Oh, Ray. You have to know that this could never last, you and I." 

"I love you!" 

"I know you do." 

"Did you ever love me, Fraser?" 

"Of course I love you, Ray. I love you very much. But we can't be foolish.
We weren't meant to be. Not in this life. Maybe another, just not here. I
never intended to stay." 

"I'll come with you!" 

"Don't be ridiculous. You would never survive in the Territories with me.
You'd only be in my way. Ray. Ray, look at me. *Look* at me. This was over
before it began. I'm leaving on Friday." 

I can't think of anything to say, past the lump in my throat and the
pain... the pain everywhere. Oh, fuck it hurts. I grab my coat and leave,
run out to the Riv and drive home, storm up to my room like I've seen
Frannie do so many, many times, slamming my door shut and collapsing on my
bed. 

Staring at the ceiling. 

I have no more tears for him. 

He stole them. Stole them all, along with my heart and my soul and my mind
and my body. 

I laugh bitterly in the quiet room, wondering what it is about this man
that has so blindly attracted both me and my sister. 

Magic. Witchcraft. Curses and hexes and spells and potions. 

Fuck him. 

And would you believe it? They hold a little "going away" party for him at
the Precinct on Thursday night. And he acts so self-effacingly humble
about it, blushing all the way, stuttering his thank yous and goodbyes.
Never once does he actually look at me. 

Once it's all over, I stay at my desk, staring at the chair that he has
sat in so many times. I barely notice when the Lieutenant sits down. He
clears his throat a few times before it registers that he's there. He asks
me what's wrong, and it all comes out, the whole damn story, from start to
finish, and he just doesn't know what to say to me. But somehow, he's just
not surprised, at all. 

This is probably for the best, after all. 

And Ma insists that the family take him to the airport. Weepy goodbyes
abound, while I stand away from them, watching that persona, that
sweetness dripping off of him as he hugs Ma and Frannie and Maria, shakes
Tony's hand, then turns to me. 

"Goodbye, Ray." 

"Bye, Fraser." 

"I'll be in touch." 

"Yeah. As a friend?" 

"As a friend, Ray." 

And he smiles at me. Shares another hug with Ma, picks up his bag, and
Fraser turns away and heads to security. But right before he takes the
step through, he turns and looks at *me.* 

And with that one look, I know. 

Magic. 

It'll never be over, this whatever it is between us. 

Benton Fraser. 

Me. 

Voodoo. 

FIN