Disclaimer: Not mine, never has been, never will be.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Summary: Written for the Footwear Challenge on the Due South Flashfiction Live Journal Community.
A. Kite ( Akite68163@aol.com )
September 2003
It takes a considerable effort to maintain the uniform of a member of the RCMP. I find it a comforting, soothing pastime. A ritual, if you will. The jodhpurs and tunic, of course, go to the dry cleaners, but there are boots and brass to polish and shine. Leather to oil. Shirts and shorts to starch and iron.
I get the most satisfaction; I do have to admit, from the up keep of my boots. My grandmother always said that you could tell a lot about a person by their footwear. As I reflect upon it while applying the first coat of polish, I believe that to be true.
Ray Vecchio favors, or did favor, fine Italian leather shoes when the weather permitted their wear. I hope that wherever he is that he's at least happy with his shoes. I would think that being undercover with Mafia to be an excellent opportunity for the wearing of fine shoes.
Inspector Thatcher tends toward the practical unless the occasion demands the wearing of high heeled shoes. One can only hope that the infrequency undoes the damage they can cause. Heaven knows my feet ached for days after my foray disguised as a woman, and I only wore shoes of the lowest heel. How Francesca Vecchio can torture her poor feet day after day is beyond me. I don't believe I've ever seen the woman in shoes with less than a two inch heel.
Time for a cup of tea while this coat sets. There's nothing better than a good cup of tea. Herbal, in deference to the lateness of the hour. Now back to work. Ah, yes! The brush is bringing up the gloss nicely.
Something that Ray should think about doing to his own boots. Especially after a day like today. Though, his boots certainly fit his demeanor. What does he call them? His head kicking boots, that's it. No heads kicked today, but they work quite well on wooden doors, thankfully.
Now comes the best part - the spit shine. Though, I would never actually use saliva on my boots. A small amount of water, the thinnest of cloths and the lightest of touches with the polish. That's how one gets a mirror shine on a pair of boots.
What's that sound? "Ray!" He's holding up an expired credit card as a trophy.
"Hey, Fraser! When are you going to get a better lock on that door anyway?"
I have no chance to answer. Diefenbaker appears to greet Ray in his usual manner. Sniffing to see if Ray has brought him a treat, no doubt.
"Hey ya, furface! Nope, no pizza tonight." Dief whines. "No doughnuts, either. Fraser, don't you feed this mutt?"
"Once daily, Ray, as dogs should be fed." This brings a moan from Diefenbaker. Though, I'm not sure if it's in protest of being called a dog or the feeding schedule.
Ray walks over to my cot where I'm sitting as I work. "Shining those granny boots is a big job, huh?"
"One that I quite enjoy, Ray," I answer.
He looks down at his own scuffed, ankle high footwear. "I should probably put some time into these things, you think?"
I set down my polishing cloth. "Ray, I'd be honored to polish your boots. They did save my life today."
"Aw damn, Fraser. I didn't come over here to have you shine my shoes," he stops, and I wait patiently for him to tell me why he did stop by.
"You disappeared at the station. I wanted to make sure you were all right."
I duck my head and remember. The perpetrators that kidnapped me had been processed. Ray and I had finished the paperwork. Ray took the report into Lieutenant Welsh's office. Then ASA Kowalski arrived. She barely spared a glance in my direction before heading straight into the lieutenant's office. I could see through the blinds. I saw Ray's face light up at the sight of her. I saw the longing in his eyes. I left.
"I'm fine, Ray," I lie.
"Look at me in the eye and say that," he challenges. I cannot. "I thought so."
I take the boot that I'm holding between my knees and throw it across the room. It makes a loud thud startles us both. I hate them, and I hate sitting in this room night after night polishing them. I look up - up into Ray's eyes and say it, "I want you to look at me the way you look at her." I take Ray's head between my hands and bring his mouth to mine.
He moans - he moans and moves away. He gets up and retrieves my boot.
"This mean what I think it means, Fraser?" he asks. He stands before me. "You want to knock boots with me?"
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I believe I understand his idiom.
He grabs my head this time and kisses me. Ray pulls back and says, "Pitter, patter, then. We can't spit shine here."