leafy

Summary: “There’s going to be a tri-national plane crash simulation the week after next,” Fraser continued, “and the RCMP have been asked to assist.”
Challenge: prompt 76 – Tri-national exercise simulates northern plane crash
Pairing: F/K
Rating: PG
Length: Approx 2000 words
Disclaimer: Mine? If only...
Thanks to zabira for beta services and checking my first aid terms in a thoroughly charming way!

The Waiting Wounded

Fraser arrived home just as Ray was putting the last of the logs in the pile by their front door. He began to unwind his scarf once they were inside but Ray grabbed both ends of it and used it to pull Fraser towards him for a hello kiss. Even after a day out in the cold air, Fraser’s mouth was warm and Ray lost himself in the feel of Fraser’s lips and tongue stroking against his. The third time he bumped his head on the brim of Fraser’s hat, however, he pulled away and lifted the hat from Fraser’s head. He hung it on the hook by the door as Fraser took off his coat.

“So how was your day?” Ray asked. “Did you get your man? Did you maintain the right?”

“My day was fine. Actually, we received news of an interesting and exciting event happening the week after next.” Fraser hung up his coat, took a folded piece of a paper from the right pocket and held it out to Ray. “You may like to be involved in it, as a matter of fact.”

Ray took the offered paper with a sense of trepidation. He’d never met anyone whose definition of ‘interesting’ and ‘exciting’ was as loose as Fraser’s.

“There’s going to be a tri-national plane crash simulation the week after next,” Fraser continued, “and the RCMP have been asked to assist. Other such simulations have been conducted elsewhere, although this is one of the most northerly so far. I must say it sounds like an extremely useful exercise. In addition to which, it’s been my experience that it can be highly beneficial to work with officers from other countries.”

“Yeah, I’ve always found our international co-operation to be beneficial” Ray replied with a wink as he opened the memo and began to read. “Hey, they need volunteers to play the injured passengers. I could do that.”

Fraser smiled warmly. “Excellent. I was hoping you’d be able to help. Now, I’ll need to replenish my stock of powdered horn, get hold of some musk ox saliva to make up an ointment, boil some...”

“They’re not real injuries, Frase.” Ray cut Fraser off quickly. It wasn’t really open window weather just now and although he’d had reason, on a number of occasions, to be grateful for Fraser’s home-made remedies, it was no fun being trapped inside while they were cooking or festering or generally stinking the place out. “I did a hospital fire simulation when I was with the 19^th and they did all the injuries with this really cool make up. It looked so realistic, Marty Wilson threw up everywhere. I couldn’t get my boots out the way in time. They were never quite the same again.”

Ray’s face took on a faraway expression and he let out a regretful sigh.

“Man, I loved those boots.”

“Nevertheless, it’s always wise to be properly prepared.” Ray was forced out of his nostalgic daydream as Fraser took the paper from his hand and moved over to the calendar on the wall. He circled the date and turned back to Ray. “Will you also be making preparations for your acting role as an injured man?”

Fraser’s tone was deadpan, but the glint in his eyes gave him away. Fraser loved to tease and Ray loved teasing back, communicating in this playfully competitive way and gently pushing each other as they bantered back and forth. Ray pressed his lips together to contain his grin and he walked over to Fraser with as nonchalant an air as possible.

“Well,” he mused, leaning back against the wall, “I suppose I could work a little on my moaning skills.”

Fraser moved closer, looking thoughtful. “I could help you with that, if you think moaning will prove...useful.”

Ray nodded and continued, trying to carry on the conversation even though Fraser’s body was now pressed right up against his, pinning him to the wall. “It might be. I could lie on the ground moaning and groaning and you could say, ‘Excuse me, I think that blond gentleman over there requires my assistance’ and then you could get down and you know...give me mouth-to-mouth.”

“Could I indeed?” Ray felt the vibration of Fraser’s voice and his warm breath over his jawbone and cheek. He turned his head to brush his lips lightly over Fraser’s.

“Mmm hmmm,” he hummed in return.

Fraser sucked lightly at Ray’s lower lip before kissing it gently. “Well in that case, I’d better practice my mouth-to-mouth technique,” he murmured and covered Ray’s mouth with his in a long, slow kiss.

=-=-=-=-=

Twelve days later...

=-=-=-=-=

“Ooooww.”

“Shush, just lie still.”

“My aa-rrm.”

“Ray...”

“But it huu-uurts.”

“Ray...”

“And I can’t feel my leg!”

“Ray! Please, don’t you think you’re overdoing this?”

“You’re just sore because I’ve got a cooler injury than you, Mr Unconscious.”

Fraser rolled over to look at Ray, who was lying on the ground beside him.

“I am not sore. And might I remind you that I had a head wound before, well before...”

“Before you bandaged up your own head and offered to help...”

“Well, I had envisaged playing a more active role in today’s proceedings....”

“...and after the third time they came along, slapped an ‘unconscious’ sticker on you and told you to shut up.”

Ray propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Fraser. He knew how to look behind Fraser’s mask these days and he could see Fraser was feeling both snippy and spurned. Anyone else looking at him would probably just see a member of the RCMP with a tail of bandage flapping around his right ear. They lay together on a patch of fairly flat ground, pretty much being ignored while they waited for their turn to be ‘rescued’.

Fraser brought himself up level with Ray. “You’d think they’d appreciate that some of the passengers might have a passing knowledge of first aid and would wish to help their fellow travelers. I had no idea the RCMP’s involvement was going to be merely portraying the injured rather than tending to them.”

Ray thought it was time to remind Fraser that he wasn’t the only one feeling disappointed with what the day had offered so far. “And I had no idea we were gonna wear these crappy stickers. What happened to the cool make-up?” he asked.

“It appears, “Fraser began, “that sticky labels identifying our injuries are considerably cheaper than...”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all about the money,” Ray interrupted. “Figures. Hey, I wonder what injury Larsen got.”

They watched as Constable Larsen, clearly relishing his role as a man in agony, was carried past them on a stretcher, writhing and wailing.

“Probably stubbed his toe on impact,” Fraser muttered darkly.

Constable Larsen paused briefly in his performance when he saw Fraser and Ray. He gave them a wide grin and a double thumbs up, then resumed his tortured groans as he was taken away.

Ray shook his head.

“Are you sure he’s not related to Turnbull?”

He’d asked Fraser this question so many times and he still wasn’t satisfied with the answer. The only other explanation he could come up with was some kind of weird Canadian equal opportunities thing – a minimum of one complete nutball in every RCMP posting.

“Frase?”

There was no reply. Fraser was watching a team of nearby medics as they struggled to find the end on a roll of surgical tape. Ray felt sorry for him, like he had back in Chicago whenever Fraser was wasting his time on stupid statue duty outside the consulate. He decided to try and make Fraser feel better about things so he reached out and turned Fraser’s head back to face him.

“You know who you remind me of? he said. “My Grandma Kowalski”.

Fraser raised one inquiring eyebrow. Ray continued. “Yeah, she was just like you, the kind who liked to help people. Every year at Christmas she’d help with a group of people at her church who made boxes of cookies for the old people in the neighborhood. Except one year a guy turned up at her house to ask her if she’d be free on the somethingth of whenever but he didn’t want her to help make the cookies – he wanted to deliver them to her. She was so pissed off about it, but, you know, sometimes the best way to help other people is to let them help you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Ray, but I still can’t help feeling this is a waste of RCMP resources,” Fraser sighed.

Ray tried again.

“Well, look on the bright side. Ever since the day we met I figured I’d end up getting injured working with you. Remember Greta Garbo? At least this way we’re on dry land, getting some fresh air, spending some quality time together and we’re not even hurt.” Ray put as much sincerity as he could into his expression. “I guess what I’m trying to say, Frase,” he said with mock solemnity, “if I had to be fake concussed with anyone, I’d want it to be you.”

Fraser gave Ray a thin smile but Ray could see his heart wasn’t really in it.

Okay, so the speech and the lame joke hadn’t worked. It was time for Ray to try door number three. He shuffled a little closer to Fraser and laid his hand on Fraser’s chest, smoothing down the corner of the sticky label.

“Tell you what,” he said softly. “When we get home later I’ll let you practice your first aid on me. I’ll lie on the bed and you can feel me up...”

Fraser raised both his eyebrows this time.

“...I mean ‘check for broken bones’.” Ray spoke with as much expression as he could, willing this latest tactic to work. The corner of Fraser’s mouth twitched and Ray thought he saw a flicker of interest in Fraser’s eyes.

“That sounds like an excellent use of my time. Thank you for such a kind offer,” Fraser replied.

“You’re welcome.” Ray could feel his skin starting to tingle in relief and anticipation. He decided to press his advantage. “You’ve got to check properly though, do a real thorough job.”

“Ray, I hope you’re not going to be a difficult patient.” Fraser’s voice was lower, almost a purr.

“If I was you’d just have to restrain me, wouldn’t you. Now, how strong are those bandages?” Ray gave a gentle tug at the strip of cloth at the side of Fraser’s head, stroking his thumb over the curve of Fraser’s ear. Fraser held Ray’s gaze and drew in a deep breath, but before he could reply they noticed a team of uniformed medics coming towards them.

“Looks like we’re about to be rescued. Assume the position.” Ray pushed Fraser back down onto the ground and settled next to him. As the rescue crew approached he let out a small and slightly pathetic moan just for good measure.

The medics set to work. “Okay, we’ve got two passengers – one male with a broken left arm, broken left leg, broken ribs and concussion and one male, unconscious.”

Fraser sat up from his position on the ground and ceremoniously peeled the sticker from his jacket

“Fortunately, I have now regained consciousness,” he said brightly.

Ray rolled his eyes. Part of loving Fraser was accepting that he never gave up. Ever. He’d had time to get used to it and sometimes it still drove him up the wall. Fraser was introducing himself to the team but stopped as the guy in charge frowned, peeled a sticker from the strip in front of him and whacked it firmly on the middle of Fraser’s chest.

Fraser dropped his chin and squinted down to read the sticker which proclaimed in big, bold capital letters that he was DEAD.

“Oh dear.”

“Put him over there,” the chief medic said, pointing to a roped off area where Ray could see Constable Larsen sitting with a bandage over his mouth.

As he was escorted away, Fraser could hear one of the junior team members talking to his team leader.

“Sir, I’m not sure what to do with our patient here. Is giggling a symptom of concussion...?”