Title: Just Before the Thread Snaps
Fandoms: due South
Characters: Benton Fraser, (Ray Vecchio, Ray Kowalski)
Rating: G
Length: ~550 words
Disclaimer: I didn't create these characters, I don't own them, I derive no profit from their use.
Angst-to-hope ratio: Medium?  It's kind of what you make of it.
Summary: Fraser is hanging by his fingernails...so what else is new?


Geoffrey Tennant: My reason may very well be hanging by a thread. Well, my friends, it is my belief that the best things happen just before the thread snaps.  – Slings & Arrows


Fraser’s right shoulder has passed from aching to tingling and is now starting to go numb.  This is a problem, and one for which he doesn’t have an immediate solution.

The obvious solution would be to not be hanging by your fingernails from the side of a cliff, says Ray Vecchio’s voice in his mind.

The obvious solution would be to have a partner somewhere nearby who could haul you up, or go for help, counters Ray Kowalski.  Or, you know, sit at the top laughing at you and chucking peanuts.

Fraser can’t help smiling, though he knows this is a very bad sign.  If Ray or Ray were actually here, what they would have to say would not be nearly so calm, or so friendly.  When the voices in his head start acting out of character, that generally means that he’s starting to lose his grip on reality.  Paradoxically, it’s only been in his most lucid moments that he’s seen actual, literal ghosts.  And that hasn’t happened for a long time, now.

He wonders whether Ray or Ray would visit him that way if. . .if something happened to them.  Horrifying as the thought is, it warms the pit of his stomach a little.

Fraser, have you considered the possibility that you are a first-class nutjob? asks imaginary Ray Vecchio with his characteristic irritation laced with affection overlying worry that he always imagined he was good at hiding.

Or, you know, that you’re a miserable stubborn lonely fucker? Ray Kowalski’s anger is real and bitter, but the worry under it is just as unmistakable.

Fraser can’t feel his fingers.  Soon, his grip will relax in spite of himself, and then. . .well, it’s a very long way down, indeed.

Don’t worry, Benny, you can always come and visit us instead.  I mean, hey, what’s a little death between friends?

No, you fucking well can’t.  If you show up dead on my doorstep, Fraser, I’ll slam the door in your face.  Don’t think I won’t.

That sort of thing never seemed to stop Fraser’s father from visiting, he would tell Ray Kowalski if Ray were really here.

Yeah, well, I’ll – I’ll shoot myself in the head if I have to.  Honest to God, you pull a stunt like that, I’ll –

But Fraser can’t listen any longer.  He takes a deep breath, clenches his (completely numb, now) right hand as hard as he can, kicks out with his feet, and swings his (twice-broken, bleeding) left arm up over his head.  Pain screams through him, bright white shrill, drowning out the voices and all coherent thoughts, as his boots bounce off rock and his knees bend and he launches himself up into the air.

As he sprawls, groaning, on solid ground, face in the dirt, both his arms on fire, body shaking, sweat soaking his ripped shirt, he can hear both Rays yelling at once.  He can’t make out the words, can’t concentrate enough for that, all he gets are fragments: . . .never fucking learn. . . and . . .I don’t know, he’s pretty smart for a Mountie, maybe there’s hope. . .

It’s only much later, when he’s managed to drag himself to his feet, rig a splint and start stumbling towards home, that they finally shut up.