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Disclaimers: Characters property of Haggis, Alliance Productions, etc.

Other: Fraser wants Ray to take better care of himself.G-rated.

Author: annezo @ fastmail . fm

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"Yeah, we're going to turn him inside out." Ray drained his coffee cup and winced. "Sour stomach today," he muttered.

He reached for the powdered canister of creamer sitting on the counter and shook a good quarter-cup of the chemical mix into his coffee cup, dissolving it in a stream of the bitter, black liquid.

"Milk would be better for you," Fraser pointed out carefully.

"Kids drink milk, Fraser," Ray said absently. "Real men drink bad coffee." He flipped through the case file he'd dropped onto the break-room counter. Right, Fraser had noticed, into a pile of sticky jam that had dropped from someone else's early-morning snack.

"You should eat some real food, Fraser insisted. "Some actual dairy products, not those...powdered chemical mixes. Your nutritional balance--."

Ray interrupted, right where Fraser expected.

"It's a cultural thing. An American thing, okay?"

That was Ray's excuse every time Fraser brought up the subject. Americans couldn't all subsist on a diet of powdered chemicals and refined white sugar, no matter what Ray said.

If Fraser had anything to say about it, his partner wouldn't be living that way much longer.

"Gotta see the boss," Ray said. "Back in five."

Fraser took advantage of the few minutes of freedom to tidy some of the mess on Ray's desk. Ray might claim he knew where everything was but, with the nature of their partnership it was, to a certain extent, Fraser's desk as well, and he preferred something a bit less...chaotic.

The Lieutenant and his partner walked past Fraser, heading back toward the break-room. Ray must have mentioned the fresh donuts.

Fraser heard Ray explaining that the two of them needed to see "that guy."

That was another mystery to Fraser. If he'd been reporting to his superior-of-record, he would have presented a clear, factual explanation of where he was going and for what reason. Probably backed up with the necessary forms.

In the United States, things were much more...casual.

Fraser slid a handful of interview forms into their proper files. It wasn't that Ray didn't do the paperwork. He just didn't follow through with it until he had to.

While he'd been working, Ray had finished talking to the Lieutenant.

"Look." Ray waved the last bit of a cream-filled donut then shoved it in his mouth. "There. I ate dairy. Happy now?"

Dairy. Fraser winced and decided to be grateful that Dief had decided to wait for him outside this morning. Ray was a very bad influence on his already too-domesticated friend.

Now that he'd finished what he considered the necessary formalities, Ray was in a hurry to get started. Fraser followed him as Ray dove through the early-morning precinct house chaos and out to the parking lot.

"Is there some specific need for haste?" Fraser buckled his seatbelt and braced himself.

"We're busy men, Fraser." Ray slid the car into a gap in the traffic. "We have a lot to do. No time to waste."

Then they were heading down the street, Ray wired on coffee and sugar, thumping on the steering wheel in time to some music only he could hear.

Dief glanced out each side window, then hung over Ray's shoulder, pretending to be interested in seeing where they were going but, if Fraser's suspicions were correct, more interested in the smell of donuts on Ray's breath.

"You want to drive?" Ray grinned at Dief and changed lanes without, in Fraser's opinion, paying enough attention to the other cars that were using the road.

"He's probably worried about reaching our destination safely," Fraser said. But quietly.

Ray glanced in the rear-view mirror and the side-view mirror. "Stupid commuters." He changed lanes again, muttering at the other drivers who were, after all, simply obeying the traffic rules. Fraser tried to focus on the fact that they'd never actually had an accident.

"Okay, when we get there, don't forget your part," Ray ordered.

"My part?" Fraser was grateful for the distraction of conversation.

"Yeah, your part." Ray said impatiently. "You know. Your half of the act."

"Are you saying we have predefined roles in front of the suspect?" Fraser braced himself for the inevitable impact, but Ray tapped the brakes just in time.

"Yeah, I'm war. You're peace. It's like good cop-bad cop." Ray changed lanes again, earning a honk from the Cadillac driver he'd cut off.

Fraser thought about that, instead of his imminent death in a traffic accident. "I don't see why I have to be peace. Why don't I get to be war?"

"You? War?" Ray snickered. "Don't make me laugh. War's a tough-guy."

"I can be tough, when necessary."

"Yeah, marshmallow tough." Ray cut across two lanes of traffic. "Look, don't get me wrong, buddy. I'm not saying you're a...you know, you're a powder puff or anything, but in this duo, I'm the tough guy. "

Marshmallow? This from a man who thought a caffeine overdose was all he needed to chase down criminals?

"I could take you," Fraser said.

"What?"

"I'm saying. If I beat you in a fight, then I'm war, right?"

"You? Take me?" Ray glanced at him. "Okay, maybe you could. But only because I wouldn't want to hurt a buddy."

Ray's arrogance was amazing. Insulting, sometimes.

"You'd be pulling your punches?" Fraser asked.

"Right," Ray shrugged "Because that's what you do. When it's a friend."

"Not if you're war."

"Even if you're war, okay?"

"No, I don't think so," Fraser decided. "If you're war, then you do what you have to do. It stands to reason."

"Reason?"

"Reason," Fraser said firmly. "So, if you pull your punches, then you're not really being very warlike, are you?"

"This is a...what...a theoretical discussion, right?"

"Of course."

"Because we're not really talking about duking it out to see who's tougher, are we?"

"Purely theoretical," Fraser assured him.

"Good. Because...I don't think you could."

"I could take you, Ray," Fraser explained. "I'm taller than you are, and I outweigh you by a considerable amount. Add to that the deleterious effects of your unhealthy diet compared to my own peak physical conditioning and--"

"Deleterious?" Ray hit the brakes, but only because the car in front of him had already stopped at the red light.

"Your diet is very poor, Ray."

"I'm getting this from Mr. Hey, you want to stop for donuts, this morning?"

"Yes, but I didn't eat any of the donuts," Fraser pointed out. "Whereas you ate three of them."

Ray stared at him, "You never eat the donuts."

Very rarely, certainly," Fraser admitted.

"Why do you buy the donuts, Fraser?" Ray's eyes narrowed. "At least once a week you suggest stopping for donuts. Why don't you ever eat the donuts?"

"I had one last month," Fraser pointed out. It would have been more accurate to say he'd had a bite of one, and he wouldn't have gone that far if he hadn't been pressed to by the Lieutenant.

"Why, Fraser?" Ray hit the accelerator and then the brake again as he turned into the street where their suspect lived. "Why do you buy the donuts if you don't you eat the donuts?"

"Because I'm war."

"War buys donuts?" Ray frowned.

"War does what he has to do," Fraser corrected. "Things such as making certain his opponent is in less than peak physical condition, to give himself an advantage in times of battle."

"You buy me donuts because I'm your enemy?" Ray slid the car into a parking space and turned to stare at him.

"No...it's...." Fraser hesitated. "Possibly that analogy doesn't work as well as I'd expected."

"Okay, but I am never eating another donut." Ray looked annoyed.

"Ray, I don't buy you donuts as part of some master strategy to ruin your health," Fraser promised. Ray liked donuts. All of the men at the precinct liked donuts.

"I know what I heard," Ray said stubbornly.

"Ray, you are not my enemy," Fraser insisted.

"Forget it." Ray got out of the car and slammed the door. "Tonight? Dinner? I'm eating my spinach."

Fraser turned to let Dief out of the car. And to hide his smile. One step at a time.

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End