Iris
by Cat Young

Ben glanced up from the form he was reviewing. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to have a seat in the lobby, Ray?"

"Huh? Nah, I'm fine. You almost done with that?"

Ben turned his attention back to his work as he answered. "My shift ends at five, Ray."

"Yeah, but are you almost done?" Ben just looked at him. "Oh kayyy…" Humming under his breath, he looked around the office again. It wasn't very exciting, the walls bare except for a portrait of Queen Elizabeth from at least forty years ago. He and Lizzie had exchanged plenty of unamused stares since a certain devotee of hers had moved into this office.

The window gave a perfect view of the window across the alley, which was covered with a yellowed sheet of newspaper. Ray leaned on the sill, hoping to make out a headline or two, but the print was too small and after a minute or two he gave up. Pushing himself away from the windowsill, he wandered to the desk and started examining the objects on it. There were a couple of books standing in a neat line between gray metal bookends. Their spines faced Ben, naturally, but to judge from the fact that they were all the same height and bound in brown fake leather, Ray doubted that they were anything interesting. A stack of forms like the one Ben was perusing lay in the "IN" box, beneath a clear glass paperweight that had the RCMP crest stamped on the bottom in gold. The curved upper surface of the glass gave it an interesting magnifying effect, and he played with it for a few seconds before putting it down.

The plant that Ben had inherited with the office was still there, a little larger and greener than it had been when he had first made its acquaintance. Ray stuck a finger into the pot as he had often seen his mother do, and found the soil within just slightly moist. Of course Ben would water it on the perfect schedule, just as he did everything else. There weren't even any dead leaves he could pick off and dispose of.

Leaning against the pot was Fraser's clip-on ID tag from the trade summit, and Ray picked it up. It looked pretty much like his own, with a washed-out photograph taken against that blue background that he swore had been government-tested to make everybody look diseased. Underneath that were the lines of text: Const. Benton P. Fraser, RCMP. Height: 6'0," Weight: 77kg, Hair: brown, Eyes: grey. Grey?

"Hey, Benny?"

"Hmm?"

"You've got grey eyes?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your tag. It says your eyes are grey. I thought they were blue. Not that I've been staring at your eyes or anything," he added hastily.

"Of course not, Ray. You're a detective, it's only natural that you should be observant."

Accepting this, Ray tossed the tag up in the air and caught it, then glanced at his watch again. Three minutes to five. "So what color are they?"

"Hm?"

"Your eyes. What color are they?"

"I don't know, Ray. I've never particularly paid attention."

"Look at me."

Ben complied, resting his paperwork on the desk. Ray leaned down to check, then straightened up with a mildly surprised expression.

"Well, Ray?"

Ray blinked. "Brown."

"Ah." He picked the form back up and resumed reading. He finished the last page just as the clock down the street struck five. Signing his name in the box marked "For Office Use Only," he placed the form in his "OUT" box and stood up. "Shall we go?"

"Sure." Ray slung his coat over his arm and opened the door, standing aside to let Ben through first. They met Turnbull in the lobby, also preparing to leave, and he clapped him on the shoulder in passing. "Hey, Renny, have a good one." As an afterthought he added, "Hey, Renny. If I were to ask you what color Fraser's eyes were, what would you say?"

"Are you asking me, or is this a purely hypothetical question?"

"I'm asking."

"They're grey, I believe." He took a closer look. "Although in this light, they appear to be more green, with perhaps a hint of blue."

Ray wrinkled his forehead, then looked again himself. Turnbull was right. He shook his head. Ben just looked puzzled. Ray checked again when he dropped Ben off at his apartment. Blue. Not a bluish green or bluish grey that he could have reconciled with the earlier judgments, though he wondered what the hell kind of color "bluish brown" would be. Nope, they were blue, blue like the sky in Canada or the awning over Ray's favorite deli. Weird.

Ben's eyes became an object of fascination for him over the next few weeks. He discovered that they were usually blue or grey, especially when he was outdoors. Sometimes they were green, occasionally brown, and once he could have sworn they were almost purple. He found himself watching them, trying to catch the moment they changed. He even started checking other people's eyes, but most of them were pretty much the same color every time. Nice eyes, sometimes even beautiful, but kind of, well, boring.

As for Ben, he was at first embarrassed, then amused, and finally came to enjoy Ray's attention. He developed a habit, when they were together, of making more eye contact in an unconscious offer to be checked. Sometimes Ray commented on them, more often not, but he always looked.

Eyes transmit far more than color.

It had been almost a month, and the two of them were sharing a pizza in Ben's apartment. Conversation had dwindled, and Ben was now watching Ray watch his eyes. Ray's own pupils slowly dilated, and Ben smiled. He didn't look away, and a few seconds later, Ray smiled as well. Dinner was over, and dessert promised to be wonderful.

END