Fluorescence    Fluorescence by Laura Shapiro

 Author's webpage: http://www.sirius.com/~lshapiro/vanity



  

 TITLE: Fluorescence
 SERIES: This brief vignette is Part II of my series called "Coming to
Light". 
 AUTHOR: Laura Shapiro
 FEEDBACK: God, yes. Laura@humandesign.com 
 ARCHIVE: Sure, but please ask me first.
 RATING: PG...for now
 SPOILERS: The Deal, An Invitation to Romance, Heaven and Earth
 SUMMARY: Fraser twists on a hook he made himself. 
 DISCLAIMER: If they belonged to me they'd get what they deserve,
especially Franny. Note: a line or two of dialogue blatantly stolen.
 SPECIAL THANKS: To Te, for pointing out that the story needed this bit,
and listening to me ramble. 
 



 It had been a bad week. Fraser didn't like to look at it that way; he
preferred to focus on the good things, to keep a positive outlook. It was
less of a preference, really, than something natural to him. He rarely had
to think about it, he just naturally looked on the bright side. But after
evaluating it from all sides, Fraser was forced to conclude that the last
week had been truly appalling. 

 It should have been simple, straightforward: Benton Fraser kept his
promises. Benton Fraser upheld the code of honor. Benton Fraser, to put it
crudely, didn't tell tales out of school. 

 But there was another sort of promise, another code entirely, that
demanded that he tell Ray what his sister had done: the promise of their
partnership, the code of their friendship. He was honor-bound by the
former. The latter was the pride of his heart. More than that he could
never hope for between them. 

 So when he had risen the morning after his confrontation (and no, he
wasn't thinking of the beating he'd received at the hands of Frank Zuko's
men -- a part of him that he didn't want to examine too closely insisted
that he'd gladly take the same again, and more, if it would help Ray), he
was immediately aware of several new kinds of pain. 

 And seeing Ray was worse. The moral conflict was very real, but almost
eclipsed by the jarring realization that he had (nearly) voiced his
feelings -- he had owned them. And here, standing before him bathed in the
greenish light of the station and demanding irritably to know why he
wasn't at home in bed, was the source of those feelings. Fraser looked at
him and was mortified. He could never tell his best friend what he felt,
yet he'd blurted it out to his sister in a terrifying, yet oddly
illuminating, wash of tears. 

 He'd left almost immediately, reporting to the Consulate rather than
heading for home and bed and (god) endless empty hours in which he'd be
forced to *think*. But the Inspector on duty had taken one look at him and
decided he was unfit for his usual post; no human punching bag was going
to stand guard at *his* front door. So he fobbed off some paperwork on
Fraser and he was able to lose himself, briefly, in copying, collating,
stapling, and filing. Blessed release. 

 Unfortunately, he couldn't avoid Ray for long. There had been the
infuriating affair of Ms. Burns, a blunder of colossal proportions into
which he'd managed to drag his partner, nearly getting him killed in the
process. Fraser had had time for one introspective moment in that hellish
day, pulling the thread from his tunic and envisioning, briefly, taking
the kind of emotional risk Ms. Burns was capable of. But Ray, after all,
was Ray, and such speculation was pointless. 

 Every day, it was more difficult to keep the secret, and more imperative
that he do so. To hide from Ray such vital information about Francesca --
Ray, who put his family before everything else -- felt like a violation.
And yet, to tell him would be every bit as much of a violation: of
Francesca, and of himself. 

 Of course, Fraser also swung unpleasantly on the hook of self-
recrimination: weren't these all just rationalizations? Whom, after all,
was he really trying to protect? 

 In the end, he realized it was possible to lighten his conscience
somewhat without revealing any of the more troubling aspects of
his...experience with Francesca. It sickened him to admit that he was,
technically, still breaking his promise to her. But perhaps if he left out
the details... 

 "Saturday last your sister came to my apartment in the middle of the
night, dressed in what can only be described as less than requisite
attire, and offered herself to me." 

 "...my sister?" 

 Ray's violent reaction was not wholly unanticipated. But in the darkness
of the supply closet, Fraser allowed himself a painful swallow. He'd hoped
that Ray would understand without his having to say so that, of course, he
had not slept with Francesca. Ray's distrust wounded him deeply. 

 And of course, things had only worsened from there, what with Elaine's
outrage, Garrett's accusation, and the subsequent grilling at the hands of
one of the FBI's more annoying representatives. And through it all, Ray
never let up; every chance he got, he was demanding that Fraser tell him
the truth about what had happened that night in his apartment. Every time
Ray asked, Fraser hurt a little more. Every time he had to refuse to
answer, Fraser felt the wedge of dishonesty driving them further apart. 

 In the unforgiving fluorescence of the interrogation room, Ray's depth of
feeling for his sister warmed Fraser to his soul, so much so that he was
almost able to forgive himself for witnessing a conversation that should
have been private. Yet the pain was intense. Watching his partner's
transformation from irascible flatfoot to doting brother made Fraser want
Ray more than ever. 

 So much for looking on the bright side. 

 END OF PART II