how_obscure: (F/K)
[personal profile] how_obscure
Title: A Time to Every Purpose (temporary? title)
Fandom: due South
Characters/Pairing: Fraser and Kowalski, pre-slash
Rating: PG for the thematic elements
Length: 437
Warning: Angst
Author's Note: This was written for the DS/C6D tag event being run on LJ's ds_noticeboard and DW's [community profile] duesouth. Wihluta had to pass on the tag so [personal profile] mergatrude gets me instead for the prompt "seasons." The song referenced is Turn, Turn, Turn (to Everything There is a Season) by the Byrds. You can listen to it here on Youtube. It is based off of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. You can read the King James (Cambridge ed.) version here. I'm not 100% satisfied with this piece. All the same, I'm considering turning this into a series based on all of the "times" listed in the verses, but I'm not sure if I can come up with something for every one of them. Still, let me know if there's interest, and I'll see what I can do. This fic can also be found on my LJ.

Fraser stands in Ray’s apartment, his friend sitting mere feet from him for all it feels like miles. Ray’s face is covered by his hands, as it has been for the past twenty minutes. It is dark in the apartment; the sun has just about set, but neither of them has bothered to turn on the lights.

Finally, Ray breaks the silence. "I shot a kid." His voice is rough, as though he hasn’t used it in years, mournful and guilty, and Fraser feels his heart ache.

"He was a known felon," Fraser reminds him.

At that, Ray looks up. "He was sixteen."

"He was pointing a gun at you."

"You think that matters?" Ray explodes, jumping up from the couch.

"In the eyes of the law—"

"I’m not talking about the law here, Fraser! I’m talking about me," Ray shouts, fists clenching, and then, just like that, the brief show of anger is over, and he seems to deflate as he let out a rush of air. "He was just a kid, Frase. He was just a kid." And now, the tears are welling in his eyes.

"I know, Ray," Fraser says softly, reaching a hand out to rest on Ray’s shoulder, and before he knows quite what has happened, Ray is in his arms sobbing. Ray clings to him like a lifeline and Fraser holds him just as tightly back, selfishly glad that his friend is the one who is alive.

In that flash of a moment when the teenager raised his gun and pointed it at Ray, time had frozen for Fraser, and when he heard the gun go off, it seemed to take eons to register that it was the teen that had crumpled to the ground. In those eons, ice had settled in the pit of his stomach and fear had made him dizzy. In those eons, all he had thought of was Ray.

But he’s here now, safe in Fraser’s arms.

After several long minutes, Ray’s crying slows, and Fraser murmurs in his ear, "To every thing there is a season."

Ray huffs out a watery laugh. "I’m falling apart and you’re quoting golden oldies at me?"

"Actually, Ray, it’s from the Bible – Ecclesiastes. The Byrds merely—"


"Understood, Ray."

It was several minutes more before they let go.

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July 2012

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