Work Text:
Ray is working on a case, really he is. He only sort of hears Frannie say, "You know, Frase, my favorite author's Canadian. Used to be you could count on her, a book every three months, like clockwork. Really steamy clockwork. But she hasn't put out anything new all year!"
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that, Francesca."
"I've reread her books so many times they just fall open to the good parts. Not 'Ice in Her Heart,' though — that one weirds me out."
That title jumps out at Ray because that book had weirded him out, too. Work can wait. "Are you talking about Anna Athabasca?" he asks Frannie. Stella got him hooked before they split, and he's been waiting for a new one for ages.
Frannie grins at him. "You know her work — bro?"
"I've read 'em all. Say, Fraser, she's Canadian, you're Canadian. Do you know her? Can you maybe get us some signed first editions?"
"That'd be so cool," Frannie says.
Fraser hesitates a fractional moment too long before he says, "Not all Canadians know each other."
"But some Canadians know each other," Frannie says hopefully. "And you know everybody."
"I can't say that I've ever been introduced to her."
"But you've read her stuff, right?" Frannie asks.
"I don't have much time for reading fiction," Fraser says, but he's doing the shifty eyes. Ray knows from the shifty eyes.
"I think you'd like her," Frannie says. "Her protagonists are all — you know — really good people. They deserve to find love. And they do, in the romances."
"Yeah," Ray says, his mind building castles in the sky. Canadian ice castles. Maybe they're igloos. Maybe he can get Fraser to read him some of the good parts. Maybe Fraser really has read her books and just doesn't want to admit to Frannie that he can spell "sex." Or — maybe — "Really good people. Upstanding in their field. And a little — haunted." Not unlike some Canadians he could name.
Fraser says, "A good ghost story can be compelling." He's still not looking at Ray, and definitely not looking at Frannie, who brought her cleavage to work today.
"Yeah, I remember you telling me about Lou Spaghetti," Ray says.
"Skagnetti."
"Him, yeah."
Frannie says, "The Athabascas aren't ghost story-ghost stories. They're love stories that have a ghost in them."
"Ah, I see." Fraser tugs at his collar. "Ray, surely we should, ah."
Ray raises his eyebrows. "What's the matter, Fraser? You been reading Athabasca instead of case files? Got you a little fogged up?"
"Ah, no. I merely think that if we are going to make any progress on the Goldberg case, we should be going."
Frannie says, "I'll lend you my favorite of hers tomorrow, Frase. You can tell me what you think."
And the book will fall open to Frannie's favorite sex scene.
"That would be most generous of you," Fraser says. "Thank you kindly. Ray?"
He can save Fraser from Frannie without stopping the interrogation forever, so he does. "All right, let's get outta here. C'mon, Dief."
Diefenbaker doesn't respond till Fraser leans over and says, "We're leaving," all clear and bright, like he's typing with his pretty mouth.
Fraser types like 100 words a minute, so who knows what he manages in his free time? Or, what he managed, before he started making time with Ray.
Once they've got the wolf loaded into the car and they're in traffic where Fraser can't run away immediately, Ray says, "You read all Athabasca's stuff, don't you."
"I'm, ah. Familiar with her work."
"But you're not saying you read it." Ray glances at him. "Fraser. Buddy. Did you happen to read it first of anybody in the world?"
"After — a manner of speaking."
Ray smacks the steering wheel. "She's not your sister, is she?"
"You've met my sister. Does she really strike you as a novelist?"
"No, no, she didn't. Not wordy enough. Athabasca's got this thing about, whatsit, prosody. Purply prosody. She's gotta be someone who grew up with access to a library." Ray looks him over again, waiting for him to spill, then back at the road.
Ray's a master interrogator. He can wait.
Fraser sighs. "Many people have access to libraries in this day and age, even in Inuvik."
"Don't mean they make use of them. Not like, well. You." Ray waits a moment, then asks, "You write books, Fraser?"
"On occasion."
Ray pulls over because it's all falling into place and he can't stop grinning enough to steer. "Seriously."
"Yes, Ray," Fraser says testily.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"That very much depends on what you think —"
"Fraser. Fraser. My friend Fraser. My favorite Benton, who hangs with cops and knows all the words in the world. Are you telling me you, Benton fucking Fraser, are Anna Athabasca?"
"I think you've deduced as much."
"That ain't the same as you telling me." Ray tips up his sunglasses and looks deep into Fraser's eyes. "Tell me."
Fraser doesn't flinch. "I have written several novels under that nom de plume, yes."
"She's got, like, ten. Eleven."
"Fiction is a difficult habit to break."
"So what happened this last year — oh." Ray faceplants into the steering wheel, laughing at himself, at Fraser, at the circumstances."You've been too busy getting busy to write your romances down."
"Too busy living one, yes."
Ray grins at him, because yeah they are, then realizes — "Holy shit. Stella's gonna kill me."
"She seemed supportive of your finding other romantic interests the last time you spoke of her."
Ray thinks of Stella's face when she'd realized why he hadn't come knocking so often. She'd been relieved, and a little worried, because dating a Mountie is dating a cop, and she knows from dating a cop and marrying a cop. Not that he's marrying Fraser. "Not that! Athabasca's her favorite — same as me — she turned me on to her. To you. To those books. In the first place."
Fraser presses his lips together. "Ah. I'm very sorry to disappoint Stella."
"And Frannie. Shit, when Frannie finds out —"
"Francesca must never find out."
Ray leans back, sobering. "I won't tell her."
"Well, I certainly don't intend to come clean about this."
Diefenbaker puts his head on Fraser's shoulder and huffs.
"We'll get going soon, furface," Ray tells him. "Right now we gotta strategize. I won't tell Stella. Nobody's telling Frannie. Does Vecchio know?"
Fraser goes pink, which he almost never does unless he's just about to come. "Not to my knowledge."
The pink in his cheeks makes Ray think happy thoughts, and then he really thinks about Anna Athabasca's books and frowns. "Hang on a second — those scrappy Catholic cops. All them guys. The mouthy Irish guy with the big family. The Polish guy with the big family — that was, what, her third book, your third book. All those guys. Were they based on —"
Fraser snaps, "Ray," like he can make it not true.
That is not a "no." "They were!"
"Ray!"
Ray's mind is going a mile a minute. The most recent couple of Athabascas were about a different kind of guy, without such a big family. Both of the last two love interests were divorced, and — "Oh shit, you. You put me in a book. Two books. The guy who dances. The actor."
Fraser unfastens his seatbelt. "I think I could use a walk. Diefenbaker —"
Ray reaches for him but Fraser shies away. "No, no, no no no no no. Hang on. I won't — it's fine. You were figuring things out."
Fraser sniffs. "They do say, 'Write what you know.' What I have always found more productive is to write what I wanted to know."
"Biblically." Ray grins at him.
Fraser opens his door.
Ray puts his hand on Fraser's knee. "Don't go nowhere. Let me take you home. This calls for a celebration. I'll call in sick."
"I haven't called in sick since —" Fraser winces, but he closes the door again.
Ray knows this story. "'Ice in Her Heart,' huh."
"Quite."
"Okay, maybe no calling in sick, but I'm taking you home."
"Fine."
Ray waits till they're back out in traffic to say, "I got a couple of favorite scenes I need you to read to me."
Fraser sighs. "We have work to do."
"When we get the work done," Ray promises Fraser.
"I've never given a reading. For obvious reasons."
Fraser's got a great voice. "You can practice on me."
Fraser hums. "Well — perhaps," which is as good as a "Yeah, of course," from anybody else.