ENSEMBLE BASKETBALL FIC!
Sep. 23rd, 2007 11:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
r_vecchioTitle: Ensemble (or Boy's Night Out, thanks to Fraser!mun...)
Rating: PG
Cast: RayV, RayK, Fraser, Turnbull, Huey and Dewey
Pairings: RayV/Turnbull, RayK/Fraser, uh...Huey and Dewey XD
Summary: BASKETBALL ENSEMBLE FIC!!
Notes: I don't know how to play basketball...
Words: 5,500 approx.
Disclaimer: Not mine :(
“Fraser.”
“Aw, come on!” Dewey barked, practically stomping his sneaker-clad foot in annoyance. “You knew I wanted him!”
Jack’s narked protest, “Uh, hello? I’m your partner, over here!” was ignored by all, as Ray swung round to face Dewey, shrugging his indifference.
“You wanted to play Name That Tune to decide, Dewser.” He tossed the basketball right over the other cop’s head and Fraser snatched it swiftly from the air, tucking it so it fit snugly under his arm. “Not my fault if you don’t know your Bee Gees from your ABBA.”
Dewey’s gaze followed the arc of the ball before he snorted in response. Jack chuckled behind him and they turned to look at each other, eyes crinkling, mouths opening in unison.
Ray hastily held up a palm. “Try busting my chops on that one and you’ll be picking Reebok out from between your teeth for the next fortnight and a half. And you,” he pivoted round again, somehow managing to scrunch up his nose and shoot a glare at the same time, “you wanna stop trying to make out with my point guard right before a game?”
Kowalski rolled his eyes but made no effort to stop nuzzling Fraser’s neck.
Turnbull had turned quite the shade of crimson red from the very public display of affection, so much so that it almost looked like he was still wearing his uniform. Ray smirked in amusement, sent him a furtive wink, which only succeeded in making him blush brighter, then schooled his face back into a stern frown.
“I need his knees to be solid, Kowalski. Mush won’t do me much good.”
Fraser’s eyes widened when blonde spikes of hair brushed up his cheek and teeth latched teasingly onto his earlobe. “Ah...” He cleared his throat, his hand instinctively rising to pull at a stiff collar that wasn’t there. “Perhaps Ray is right, Ray. Now may not be the best time to uh…” Arms snaked around his waist, teeth tugged a little on the lobe, wicked grin stretched wide around it, “to uh… We need to focus,” he finished decisively, a slight waver in his voice.
Ray sighed in impatience. Just who was Benny trying to convince?
“Off. Now!” He warned, already bouncing on his heels a little from his pent up energy. He had bucket loads to burn, thanks to a particularly quiet week at the 2-7; and Turnbull’s being in the same room as him, whilst also having to endure one sickly-sweet mano a mano right there under his nose, was doing bupkiss for the itchy, buzzing feeling crackling under his skin. He felt like one giant bottle of carbonated water, just waiting to pop, and if Kowalski didn’t play fair, he wasn’t going to think twice about popping one on him. “Get your asses in gear before I come over there and do it for ya.”
“Fraser’s ass is in top gear,” Kowalski shot back instantly, leer behind his eyes and his tone, head slicing round to stare defiantly at his partner. Turnbull shuffled away towards the wall as his superior started to turn an uncannily similar color to him.
“Oh jeez, Ray,” Jack whined, “that, we did not need to know. I was happy not knowing that.”
“So was I,” Dewey chirped up, raising a hand in the air and wiggling his fingers.
Ray, for his part, said nothing, but let his eyes slip shut in a ‘Lord, give me strength,” kind of way. He opened them back up to a grinning Kowalski, hefting his shoulders like he was wearing a holster and holding his hands to the side, facing each cop in turn.
“What?” He demanded defensively. “He’s my husband, PDAs are allowed. Expected, even,” he added, pinkie finger half sticking out as he waved an emphatic hand around. When he tossed a glance back to Fraser, and was met with a wall of impassiveness, tinged with a little embarrassment, he sniffed indignantly, as if suddenly aware of the silence. “Oh-kay.”
“Can we play now?” Ray didn’t wait for an answer. “Good.” He turned to Dewey, daring him to challenge his choice again. “Fraser.”
Dewey held up his hands. “Hey, Top Gear’s all yours. Jack.”
“Predictable.”
“Like you taking the Mountie wasn’t.”
“And now I’m gonna take another one,” Ray quipped, overly pleasant, motioning for Turnbull to come stand beside him.
Ren looked relieved, eternally grateful even, like Ray had just saved his fish from almost certain death, not picked him for a casual three-on-three after work. Ray had a hard time telling if that was because he hadn’t been left ‘til last to be picked, or because it meant he finally had an excuse to move away from the two lovebirds without appearing rude or impolite.
Kowalski started, almost violently, and beat out his words, a quick snap of his head to show his annoyance. “Oh, that’s buddies. That’s partners, Vecchio, real nice.”
“Karma’s a bitch,” Ray retorted, unconsciously slinging an arm over Turnbull’s shoulders and tilting his head towards him. He curled a finger towards Fraser and beckoned him over, smug expression plastered all over his face. Oh yeah, this was a winning team alright. Mounties, two of them, who could beat it? Ray had the makings of his very own Canadian army right here; the Duck Boys plus one wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Don’t leave me with them.” A newly wide-eyed Kowalski gestured lamely over to Jack and Dewey, who were huddled together, fingers dancing to an imaginary drum beat. Huey’s patented rataplan rolled off his lips and the pair erupted into a fit of hysterical laughter. “Don’t ever leave me with them.”
Fraser smoothed an eyebrow, pulled an apologetic grimace, and strode quickly over to join his team. He made it three, maybe four feet, before Kowalski leapt forward and punched the basketball out from under his arm, grabbing it before it hit the ground.
“Fair’s fair.”
“Fair schmair. Do your worst,” Ray muttered, slinging his other arm over Fraser’s shoulders and bringing his boys into a huddle to talk strategies.
***
At Jack’s, “It’s gotta be half-court,” Ray’s head shot up and he fixed his eyes on the brick wall, listening.
Dewey instantly chimed in. “Yeah! I mean, come on, there’s only five of us.”
“Six.”
“What did I say?”
“You said-”
“If you two don’t zip it, there’ll only be four of us capable of playing.” Kowalski’s dulcet tone cut right through the room. He rolled his shoulders again, trying to shake out the irritation already beginning to settle in.
Ray sniggered and yelled at the wall, “Full court, full time, no negotiation,” before ducking back down and nudging himself between the two Mounties. Full court was going to be the only way he was ever going to get rid of these jitters, he knew for sure.
***
“…on Dewey, okay? Stick to him like Krazy Glue, I don’t ever wanna see him unmarked. He might be short, gentlemen, but he’s quick.”
Turnbull nodded once, firmly, like he’d just received his orders for the day from Inspector Thatcher. But when Ray slapped him on the back and let his hand linger there for longer than was strictly necessary before moving it back up to his shoulders to match Fraser, his frown of concentration softened into a small smile of affection. That much, he could allow himself. He cast his superior a guilty look, nevertheless, but found him deep in discussion with Ray, gesticulating enthusiastically with his hands about the best way to keep the ball out of Kowalski’s reach, which tactics would be most effective. Turnbull again, lost himself in eager concentration.
***
“Pepperoni. Has to be,” Dewey insisted, flicking the hair out of his eyes like it proved the point for him. “You can’t make a good pizza without it.”
“Nah, nah, see, I’d easily forgo the pepperoni if I could get extra cheese,” Jack interjected, “only if it was really stringy. That’s gotta be the best topping. Can’t make a pizza without it. Period.”
Kowalski shifted restlessly on his feet and kept tossing glances over his shoulder at the other team.
“What d’you think, Ray?”
“I think you’re both idiots.”
“About pizza,” Jack finished, insult washing over him, unlike his partner, who screwed up his face in a pouty scowl.
“Can you believe he didn’t pick me?” He shifted on the balls of his feet again, doing a little shuffle. “Boom boom boom,” shadow punch, “talk about partnership.” He felt like he was back at high school - a short, four-eyed geek who always got left ‘til last.
There was a beat of silence before Dewey unfolded his face and turned back to Huey. “Pepperoni! Has to be!”
***
“…be best to cut, Turnbull.”
“‘Cut,’ sir?”
“Yes, cut, Turnbull.”
“Cut what, sir?”
“You do know how to play basketball, right?” Ray jumped in, a look of pure fear on his face.
“Of course I do, Ray.”
Ray didn’t look convinced. “So, you know how to cut, right? Know when to screen?”
Ren nodded along, completely unfazed. “I’m not sure it’s very polite to dribble though, in front of all these people.”
Fraser gaped, actually gaped at Turnbull, then turned to Ray, who was sucking in a sharp breath. A look of pained despair passed between them.
“Should we…?” Fraser waved a hand vaguely in the air.
“I think so.” Ray agreed.
“Okay, Turnbull, here’s a new plan.”
“Man-to-man defense!”
“Which basically means you guard your opponent and try to stop him taking any action,” Fraser spoke slowly and enunciated.
“Krazy Glue!” Ray reminded him.
“Yes…just like Krazy Glue…”
Turnbull’s head swung back and forth between the two men, seeming to take it all in. “You want me to pretend to be Krazy Glue?”
“No, no, no, no,” Fraser shook his head.
“No!” Ray joined in. “We want you to be Krazy Glue! No pretence involved.”
Ren lowered his voice and bent his head secretively. “I see. Catch them off guard when they’re least expecting it. I must say, good plan, sir.”
“…Thank you, Turnbull.”
“Come on, come on, let’s do this. Ren, you’ll be marking…”
***
“Nuh uh. Cheese. Extra stringy.”
“Pepperoni! Extra meaty. Scattered all over the base.” Dewey was getting really into it, mimicking a chef baking a pizza. “Maybe a little bit chopped up and mixed right in there with the tomato so you get that spicy taste with every bite.”
Jack and Kowalski met him with a double whammy of a you’re fucking crazy expression that covered more than just their faces.
“What? It’s yummy.”
“We’re supposed to be partners.”
“Oh, please. He was gonna pick Turnbull over you any day.”
“Oh yeah?” Kowalski loaded his weight onto a hip and jutted out his jaw. “Why’s that?”
“I thought you were partners?”
Kowalski frowned, started to take a dangerous step towards the other cop.
“You work it out.” The shit-eating grin on Dewey’s face did nothing to douse Kowalski’s temper.
Silence.
“Cheese,” Jack offered helpfully, hoping to break the ice.
“Pepperoni!” Dewey was right back into bantering mode.
“Cheese,” Jack replied, matter-of-factly.
“Pepperoni!”
“Che-”
“Pineapple!”
***
“Pass it, guys. Don’t be a ball-hog.”
“Right you are, Ray.”
“Team Canada shall prevail!” Turnbull cried excitedly, pumping his fists in the air.
Ray shook his head, very slowly, as a titter of laughter came from the other end of the court. Turnbull flushed and dropped his arms, clearing his throat and tugging down his t-shirt like he was straightening red serge.
“Of course, by Team Canada I meant-”
“Team work’s what’s gonna win it,” Ray interrupted, clapping his hands together. “We gotta wipe the floor with them, I got a rep to uphold.”
“And we shall do that, Ray.” Fraser nodded, before a thumb went back to his eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you weren’t talking metaphorically, and if that is case, then I’m not entirely sure how one would physically ‘wipe the floor’ with three grown men, especially taking into consideration that one of them is, in fact, your partner and my husband, and the other two are fellow officers of the law. The consequences of such an act would be pro-”
“Fraser.”
“Yes, Ray?”
“Shut up.”
“As you wish.”
Turnbull blinked between the pair, taken aghast by the way they interacted. And telling his superior to ‘shut up,’ well, that was just…just…
“Actually, Ray,” Ren started, drawing himself up to his full height, back ramrod straight. “I think Constable Fraser has a point.”
Ray stopped stretching and immediately slammed his hands on his waist, fully facing Ren.
“And we haven’t even considered the hygienic implications of-”
“Turnbull.”
“…Yes, Ray?”
Ray didn’t open his mouth. Staring Ren down was quick and easy enough.
“I’ll be quiet now, Ray.”
“Krazy Glue.” Ray tapped his temple, the Mountie’s eyes automatically fluttering shut with the contact. At the curious look that flitted across Fraser’s face, Ray quickly pulled back his arm and swung fist into palm. “Okay! We gonna play or what?”
***
“So…” Jack looked back to his team. Kowalski was squaring off against Dewey, and Dewey, being the much shorter of the pair was in the very slow process of backing down, but couldn’t keep the arrogant smirk off his lips. “What’s our plan?”
***
“Ahem,” Fraser cleared his throat behind his hand and Dewey nodded over Kowalski’s shoulder to him.
“Hubby’s back.”
Kowalski sneered before turning round.
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to let me have this.” Fraser licked his bottom lip.
“Sure, Frase,” Kowalski grinned inanely and let Fraser take the basketball right out of his hands. He was still grinning as Fraser walked away with it, entirely unaware of both Jack and Dewey staring incredulously at him.
“Why, man? You let him take the ball!”
Spell suddenly broken, Kowalski glanced down at his empty hands and back up, his neck snapping audibly. “Wha-uhh.” He whirled on Fraser, who was already throwing in, to mark the start of the game. “Freak!”
“Oh yeah, like that’ll make him give us our ball back.”
A hand cuffed Dewey from behind and he yelped, rubbing his head. By the time he’d stopped pouting and looked behind him, Jack was halfway across the baseline already.
***
“Go on,” Ray shooed Turnbull away, simultaneously trying to block Jack’s attempts to swipe the ball. “Go get art n’ crafty. Go! I swear to God, you touch me there one more time and it’ll be your head I’m dribbling up and down this court, Jack.”
***
“Good evening, Detective Dewey. Might I say how well you’re looking.”
Dewey puffed and panted, the color in his face deepening the harder and faster he tried to dodge around the Mountie standing next to him.
“Get outta my way, Turnbull!”
Ren simply stepped from side to side, arms out to the side, a human blockade. His breaths were still steady and shallow.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” And he actually sounded apologetic, too. “I’ve been given strict instructions to stick to you like Krazy Glue, so if you’ll just let me…”
Ren manoeuvred himself closer, plastered himself to Dewey, so the floppy-haired face smashed up against his chest in whichever direction Dewey tried to run.
Jack was yelling somewhere off in the distance, Dewey wasn’t sure where though since his ears seemed to be muffled by two giant hands.
“Oh, come on!” He cried, most of the sound swallowed by the modern day Goliath stuck to him like a barnacle. He wrenched his head free, tipped it as far back as his neck would allow, to look up at Turnbull. He felt like he was in New York, surrounded by skyscrapers. And this one was the Empire State.
“Come on! I got him marking me?!” The game continued as normal, nobody taking any notice of Dewey’s complaints or his incessant pointing at the man in front of him. “That’s not fair!”
Turnbull simply saluted and grabbed Dewey’s head again, sticking it to his chest.
***
“Gimmetheball. Gimmetheball. Gimmetheball. Gimmetheball. Gimmetheball,” Kowalski chanted, arms spread wide, legs spread wider, as he shadowed Fraser around the court.
“As I told you last time you asked me that, Ray, I simply cannot adhere to your request,” Fraser replied politely, swooping the ball through his legs and turning his back on his husband.
“Wanna play it that way, do ya? Fine,” Kowalski cocked his head, glint in his eye. “Adhere to this.” He grabbed Fraser from behind and tugged him against his body, pressing an altogether different request into the back of his leg.
“Ah.” Fraser sounded like he was winded and immediately dropped the ball. Dewey swung by and scooped it up, high fiving Kowalski on the way.
“Whooo! Can’t believe it actually worked!” He pumped a fist in the air in triumph, grinning wildly at Jack, before running straight into a Turnbull-shaped wall and falling over.
Ren’s head swung around, this way and that, as if he couldn’t quite figure out what had hit him. Eyes finally alighting on the sprawled cop by his feet, he stretched out his arm. “Oh!” He gasped in surprise and peered down. “May I offer you my hand, Detective?” He asked with a smile, not a single hair out of place.
A soft groaning could be heard from the other end of the court and Ray spent the next ten minutes playing with an imprint of the brick wall embedded in his forehead.
***
Ray sprinted down the court, stopped, and pivoted on one foot to find Fraser in exactly the position he needed to be in. Bounce pass, Fraser snatched it from low off the ground, dribbled, shouted “Look, Ray, seahorses!” and crossed Kowalski with no trouble at all. He tossed it back to Ray, who palmed it, bent his knees and rocketed off the ground.
Or so he thought.
No matter how many times he had tried, he’d never once managed a dunk in his life. He was a sucker for punishment though and attempted one every time, manfully taking the flack he inevitably received after a game was over. And tonight, like usual, he got no where near enough height, missed the rim completely, and couldn’t muster up enough velocity to hit the backboard.
Air ball.
“Vecchio! You’re white!” Dewey yelled, jogging to collect the ball to pass it inbounds again. He rolled it around in his palms, feeling the heat radiate off the warm rubber. “Brickin’ it’s the best you’ll ever do.”
Ray panted, fingers digging into his waist to stem the stitch-like twinges. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, the message was clear. “Least I got a better chance than a squirt like you,” he smirked, ruffling the cop’s mop of hair as he lolloped past.
Dewey made to go at him but Jack yanked on the back of his shirt and shook his head, taking the ball off him. Ray walked away chuckling his amusement.
***
“Timeout. TIMEOUT!” Dewey wheezed. “This is so not fair.”
They were 29-17 down at the end of the second period, which meant tempers were flaring on Team Quack. (Kowalski refused to refer to it as that, unless he got to kick both Huey and Dewey in the head twice each time they used the name. They had refused to agree to the deal, and won by majority vote. Team Quack it was, then.)
Kowalski had laid up a good few shots but none had stuck, and with Dewey too short to jump shoot, and Jack spending all his time peeling Dewey off the floor, the walls, Turnbull… he wasn’t standing still long enough to be able to take a simple set shot. So Kowalski had started whining about Dewey and his vertical handicap and Dewey had started back chatting, and Jack had had to pull them apart three times already.
At 18-9 down, God help him, Kowalski had actually needed to back up Ray when he’d turned into a raging bull after Dewey cried faux foul on Turnbull. Headlocks had ensued, Fraser and Ren had stood back and debated upon whether Prince Rupert really was the best place to fly in yet another standard military modified field unit (they both agreed to blame Inspector Thatcher for the last blockage) and if they were going to have to wait that long for it anyway, they may as well upgrade to the new 19 centimeter-stem on a 11-liter displacement model and order it from the RCMP headquarters in Saskatchewan.
So, 29-17 and it was half time and everybody except Ray was knackered.
“What d’you want us to do about it? Build you a platform so you can score?”
Dewey flipped him off, taking a long drag out of his water bottle and wiping a towel over his head.
Fraser and Kowalski had gone to “relieve themselves” together --
“What’re you, girls? You gotta pee together now too? Does that come written as a subsection to the gay marriage contract? ‘I must forevermore pee with my husband lest I be thought of as a normal human being?!’”
By the time he’d finished his rant, Fraser and Kowalski had already left.
-- which probably consisted of another make-out session in the cubicle.
Ray was having to stay as far away from Turnbull as he possibly could during their break. With all the testosterone that was flying around, he was finding it hard not to just growl in frustration, wave fuck to it all and push the guy up against the wall; but the brushes they’d had on court, twenty minutes of running right into each other, sweaty and panting, a hand here, a touch there, had already nearly driven Ray off the rails.
Ren seemed to understand, since he spent most of his time sitting alone on the bench and re-hydrating himself. He passed a particularly exciting two minutes trying to explain to Huey and Dewey the importance liquids during a workout of this kind, until Dewey cracked a joke about bladder infections and Huey knitted his dark brows on him and Dewey got in a sulk because “That was funny, godammit! Why aren’t you laughing?!” before he skulked off to write it down before he forgot.
An unfortunate Jack had to endure another few minutes hearing about a fish that used to open its mouth three times more often than other fish and due to a gill malfunction, ending up consuming enough water to drown a small caribou; and soon died itself from water poisoning. (Turnbull fervently pointed out this was not one of his fish because he knew how to look after his pets and if one took in too much water, that was okay because he knew mouth-to-mouth anyway.)
***
“Give us Fraser,” Dewey exclaimed, sauntering back onto the court ten minutes later and coming to a stop in front of Ray, “and we’ll let you take Kowalski.”
“Oh yeah,” Ray snarked, “like I’m gonna swap my first choice for my last.”
“Hey!” Kowalski stepped between them, Fraser trailing behind and wiping his hands on his towel. “Tell me you woulda picked me over him,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Dewey, “if he hadn’t been team captain.”
Ray pursed his lips.
“I don’t, I don’t hear nothing, Vecchio.” He stuck his ear to Ray’s mouth before pulling back with a glare. “My ears better start workin’ or your mouth better start talkin’. Doesn’t matter which. ”
“Take Turnbull, and we’ll have Jack,” Ray negotiated.
Dewey shook his head in a wide circle, “No way, no way, man. Jack stays with me.”
“Partn-” Kowalski shoved himself into Ray’s line of vision. “Partners, Vecchio. You know what that means?”
“Come on, second for second, Dewey. You get yourself a Mountie, even Stevens.”
“Oh, you’re not Starsky.”
“He is tall,” Jack informed helpfully.
“Take Kowalski off my hands instead? That’s my final deal.”
“Hey!” Kowalski whirled on Dewey. “If it wasn’t for me you woulda still been a big fat zero.”
“I dunno,” Ray shrugged. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“You, shut your kisser. Take me, Vecchio.”
“Thought about it yet?”
“You alright to do this, Ren?”
“It’s quite alright, Ray.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
“Then I’ve thought about it.”
“And?”
Kowalski whirled on him. “And?”
“Welcome to Team Canada, Kowalski.”
“Mmph, yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He slung an arm around Ray’s shoulders, walked them down the court, nodding happily. “The Three Stooges.”
***
Turned out Ray couldn’t have made a better trade. Not that Turnbull hadn’t been a good player, heck, he’d been fantastic, Ray probably couldn’t have found a better defense player if he’d scoured the entire state of Illinois. But he wanted to shake things up a bit now, catch Team Quack by surprise, and with the three of them working together, slick cogs in a slick machine, offense was now their friend.
They knew what each other was going to do before they even did it. Tuned in, switched on, working as one. Simple chest passes soon turned to swift no-looks, Fraser throwing with perfect accuracy and knowing exactly where both Rays liked to receive the ball.
Kowalski let out an long, impressed whistle when he watched Fraser pass behind his back to Ray, line up a shot and score twenty feet from the basket to gain them three points. His whooping could be heard over the Duck Boys’ moaning.
42-23
“Is this team work, or what?” Ray grinned, leaning heavily against Kowalski to get his breath back. They both swiped heavy arms out to Fraser as he came closer and gave him a simultaneous congratulatory hug. “Well played, man.”
“And you, Ray. Both of you.” He amended, smiling at each man in turn. This was what team work was all about.
***
“Turnbull, over here! Over here! I’m free!”
“Turnbull, over here! I’m free too! I’m over here!”
“Turnbull! Throw me the ball!”
“Turnbull!”
“Turnbull!”
“Turnbull,” Fraser began sternly, sucking in breaths through clenched teeth, and resting his hands on his hips, no longer attempting to gain control of the ball. “Turnbull.”
The Constable immediately stood to attention.
“Yes, sir!”
The rest of the players stared in amazement, panting hard.
“Give me the ball, Turnbull.” Fraser commanded.
“Yes, sir!”
***
Five seconds later it was 45-23.
***
“I can’t…believe…they…” Dewey was doubled over, wincing down at his toes. Jack patted him lightly on the back, his own chest heaving. “Beat us.”
“It was close, man,” Huey lamented, hoping to soothe his partner’s irritation. “It was close.”
Dewey straightened up to find Ray and Kowalski stood side-by-side, pulling mocking faces in his direction. Ray had five fingers splayed on his right hand, four on his left, and Kowalski held up three and two; and they waved their arms about, striking victorious poses until Dewey huffed in anger and spun around, turning his back to them.
Their raucous laughter filled the entire hall.
***
Ray always needed to pee whenever he got over-excited. Whooping opponents asses in a game was one of those times. He’d flushed and tucked himself back in before the door swung open and Turnbull entered the bathroom.
Ray grinned at him in the mirror as he washed his hands but Ren looked away to hide his face, backing into one of the cubicles.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Ray flapped his hands about for a quick air dry, then forced one around the door to stop the Mountie from closing it on him. “Something wrong?”
“No, nothing, Ray,” came the quiet reply, followed by a desperately disguised sniff.
“That doesn’t sound like nothing to me. Come out here.” Ray gave the door a shove and it swung open just in time for him to see Turnbull’s shoulders sag. “This because of the game?”
Ren looked away again and approached the sinks, twisting on the cold tap and cupping his hands beneath the water. “I’m just being silly, Ray.” Unfortunate timing lead Ren to sniff again at the exact moment he splashed the icy water all over his face and it ended in a minute long coughing fit.
Ray passed him copious amounts of paper towel and tossed a quick glance to the door. By the time Turnbull had dried himself off, Ray was pressed up against him, the entire left side of his body covered in Italian-American male.
“Is this because I substituted you?” Ray asked carefully, resting the tip of his chin on Ren’s shoulder and exhaling softly against his neck.
Turnbull didn’t answer, just wiped his nose with the paper towels and tried to stop the corners of his lips from quivering. Being excluded from Team Canada had brought back old, painful memories of having been transferred to Chicago, practically thrown out of his own country because he was a little too ‘kooky.’ And having to join Team ‘Quack’ hadn’t helped matters either.
“Had to make it fairer on the guys,” Ray began, fitting his arms loosely around Turnbull’s waist. “A Mountie on each team was the only way to do it.”
Turnbull wasn’t brave enough to point out that Constable Fraser was a member of the RCMP too and couldn’t he have been substituted instead? He knew what the answer would have been had he asked, anyway. And besides, he didn’t want to put Ray in a difficult position like that, especially when he knew how much Fraser meant to him. He tried his hardest to push that worrying thought from his mind tonight though. Ray was with him, he was the Mountie Ray wanted, he told himself.
“It didn’t make it fairer though,” Ren’s breath hitched. “I gave the ball to Constable Fraser, Ray, even though we were playing a game.”
A gentle puff of laughter hit Turnbull’s ear. “That was pretty funny.” When Ren started to pull out from his grasp, Ray tightened his arms and apologised. “Maybe you were undercover,” he whispered. “Maybe deep down your loyalties were still with Team Canada and you deliberately sabotaged the Duck Boy’s chances of winning, hmm?”
Turnbull liked the sound of that. Always loyal to Canada. He perked up a little and turned his face to Ray’s. “Do you really think so?”
“Uh huh,” Ray nodded knowingly, his mouth quirking. “You did it for the Queen.”
That got him an outright beaming grin, 100 wattage, brighter than the strip-lights illuminating the bathroom. “Yes! I did it for the Queen!”
“Team Canada will prevail,” Ray smirked, and leaned forwards to leave a quiet kiss on Ren’s lips. He was sweaty and repulsive but he didn’t think Turnbull would mind too much. He was right. “We okay now?”
Ren sniffed happily and hummed his agreement around another kiss.
***
“Wiped the floor, Benny,” Ray grinned, swiping his gym bag off the bench and onto his shoulder, heading down the hall towards the exit.
“We did indeed, Ray,” Fraser smiled back, running a hand through his damp hair and mussing it, leaving it sticking up randomly in places.
“Wanna grab a pizza to celebrate?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure what Ray’s plans are…” Fraser glanced around, shifting the towel off his shoulder and into his own duffel.
“KOWALSKI! PIZZA! NOW!” Fraser tugged on his earlobe and simply blinked at Ray. “Now he does.”
“It would appear so, yes,” Fraser agreed, watching as the cop scooped up his stuff and came jogging along to catch them up.
“Someone yell?”
“Pizza,” was all Ray grunted before Kowalski was nodding a vigorous assent and scratching his growling stomach.
“Extra meaty?” Dewey’s head poked up between Ray and Fraser’s shoulder and he wheedled his way between them, Jack and Turnbull joining the four at either end of the line.
“Extra cheesy,” Huey corrected, holding up a forefinger.
“With pineapple on top,” Fraser supplemented, looking over to Kowalski, his cheeks reddening a bit.
“And blubber and lichen,” Kowalski added, slinging his free arm over Fraser’s shoulders and bowing his head.
“Pepperoni,” Dewey argued, looking around Ray to glare at Jack.
Ray helped by dropping back, narrowly avoiding being spat on when Huey tossed back a “Cheeeeese, final answer.” Turnbull did the same so they were walking shoulder to shoulder behind the rest of them.
“What about you, Ray?” Ren asked, small smile on his lips when Ray held open the fire exit and gestured for him to go first. “What do you want on your pizza?”
Ray let the door swing back with a bang and they made their way across the parking lot. Dewey and Kowalski were already sorting out where they were going to eat, and each partnership was splitting off into their cars to convoy their way to the joint.
The cool air prickled on his skin, goosebumps appearing almost immediately. His muscles felt spent but he wasn’t entirely wiped, and his fresh t-shirt wasn’t sticking to him like his last one had done. Heading to the Riv, he stopped at the driver’s door and studied Ren over the roof. The Mountie tilted his head curiously.
“I dunno about you, but I’m more interested in dessert,” Ray winked, inciting much the same effect as before. Oh yeah, he had just enough energy saved for that.
Rating: PG
Cast: RayV, RayK, Fraser, Turnbull, Huey and Dewey
Pairings: RayV/Turnbull, RayK/Fraser, uh...Huey and Dewey XD
Summary: BASKETBALL ENSEMBLE FIC!!
Notes: I don't know how to play basketball...
Words: 5,500 approx.
Disclaimer: Not mine :(
“Fraser.”
“Aw, come on!” Dewey barked, practically stomping his sneaker-clad foot in annoyance. “You knew I wanted him!”
Jack’s narked protest, “Uh, hello? I’m your partner, over here!” was ignored by all, as Ray swung round to face Dewey, shrugging his indifference.
“You wanted to play Name That Tune to decide, Dewser.” He tossed the basketball right over the other cop’s head and Fraser snatched it swiftly from the air, tucking it so it fit snugly under his arm. “Not my fault if you don’t know your Bee Gees from your ABBA.”
Dewey’s gaze followed the arc of the ball before he snorted in response. Jack chuckled behind him and they turned to look at each other, eyes crinkling, mouths opening in unison.
Ray hastily held up a palm. “Try busting my chops on that one and you’ll be picking Reebok out from between your teeth for the next fortnight and a half. And you,” he pivoted round again, somehow managing to scrunch up his nose and shoot a glare at the same time, “you wanna stop trying to make out with my point guard right before a game?”
Kowalski rolled his eyes but made no effort to stop nuzzling Fraser’s neck.
Turnbull had turned quite the shade of crimson red from the very public display of affection, so much so that it almost looked like he was still wearing his uniform. Ray smirked in amusement, sent him a furtive wink, which only succeeded in making him blush brighter, then schooled his face back into a stern frown.
“I need his knees to be solid, Kowalski. Mush won’t do me much good.”
Fraser’s eyes widened when blonde spikes of hair brushed up his cheek and teeth latched teasingly onto his earlobe. “Ah...” He cleared his throat, his hand instinctively rising to pull at a stiff collar that wasn’t there. “Perhaps Ray is right, Ray. Now may not be the best time to uh…” Arms snaked around his waist, teeth tugged a little on the lobe, wicked grin stretched wide around it, “to uh… We need to focus,” he finished decisively, a slight waver in his voice.
Ray sighed in impatience. Just who was Benny trying to convince?
“Off. Now!” He warned, already bouncing on his heels a little from his pent up energy. He had bucket loads to burn, thanks to a particularly quiet week at the 2-7; and Turnbull’s being in the same room as him, whilst also having to endure one sickly-sweet mano a mano right there under his nose, was doing bupkiss for the itchy, buzzing feeling crackling under his skin. He felt like one giant bottle of carbonated water, just waiting to pop, and if Kowalski didn’t play fair, he wasn’t going to think twice about popping one on him. “Get your asses in gear before I come over there and do it for ya.”
“Fraser’s ass is in top gear,” Kowalski shot back instantly, leer behind his eyes and his tone, head slicing round to stare defiantly at his partner. Turnbull shuffled away towards the wall as his superior started to turn an uncannily similar color to him.
“Oh jeez, Ray,” Jack whined, “that, we did not need to know. I was happy not knowing that.”
“So was I,” Dewey chirped up, raising a hand in the air and wiggling his fingers.
Ray, for his part, said nothing, but let his eyes slip shut in a ‘Lord, give me strength,” kind of way. He opened them back up to a grinning Kowalski, hefting his shoulders like he was wearing a holster and holding his hands to the side, facing each cop in turn.
“What?” He demanded defensively. “He’s my husband, PDAs are allowed. Expected, even,” he added, pinkie finger half sticking out as he waved an emphatic hand around. When he tossed a glance back to Fraser, and was met with a wall of impassiveness, tinged with a little embarrassment, he sniffed indignantly, as if suddenly aware of the silence. “Oh-kay.”
“Can we play now?” Ray didn’t wait for an answer. “Good.” He turned to Dewey, daring him to challenge his choice again. “Fraser.”
Dewey held up his hands. “Hey, Top Gear’s all yours. Jack.”
“Predictable.”
“Like you taking the Mountie wasn’t.”
“And now I’m gonna take another one,” Ray quipped, overly pleasant, motioning for Turnbull to come stand beside him.
Ren looked relieved, eternally grateful even, like Ray had just saved his fish from almost certain death, not picked him for a casual three-on-three after work. Ray had a hard time telling if that was because he hadn’t been left ‘til last to be picked, or because it meant he finally had an excuse to move away from the two lovebirds without appearing rude or impolite.
Kowalski started, almost violently, and beat out his words, a quick snap of his head to show his annoyance. “Oh, that’s buddies. That’s partners, Vecchio, real nice.”
“Karma’s a bitch,” Ray retorted, unconsciously slinging an arm over Turnbull’s shoulders and tilting his head towards him. He curled a finger towards Fraser and beckoned him over, smug expression plastered all over his face. Oh yeah, this was a winning team alright. Mounties, two of them, who could beat it? Ray had the makings of his very own Canadian army right here; the Duck Boys plus one wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Don’t leave me with them.” A newly wide-eyed Kowalski gestured lamely over to Jack and Dewey, who were huddled together, fingers dancing to an imaginary drum beat. Huey’s patented rataplan rolled off his lips and the pair erupted into a fit of hysterical laughter. “Don’t ever leave me with them.”
Fraser smoothed an eyebrow, pulled an apologetic grimace, and strode quickly over to join his team. He made it three, maybe four feet, before Kowalski leapt forward and punched the basketball out from under his arm, grabbing it before it hit the ground.
“Fair’s fair.”
“Fair schmair. Do your worst,” Ray muttered, slinging his other arm over Fraser’s shoulders and bringing his boys into a huddle to talk strategies.
***
At Jack’s, “It’s gotta be half-court,” Ray’s head shot up and he fixed his eyes on the brick wall, listening.
Dewey instantly chimed in. “Yeah! I mean, come on, there’s only five of us.”
“Six.”
“What did I say?”
“You said-”
“If you two don’t zip it, there’ll only be four of us capable of playing.” Kowalski’s dulcet tone cut right through the room. He rolled his shoulders again, trying to shake out the irritation already beginning to settle in.
Ray sniggered and yelled at the wall, “Full court, full time, no negotiation,” before ducking back down and nudging himself between the two Mounties. Full court was going to be the only way he was ever going to get rid of these jitters, he knew for sure.
***
“…on Dewey, okay? Stick to him like Krazy Glue, I don’t ever wanna see him unmarked. He might be short, gentlemen, but he’s quick.”
Turnbull nodded once, firmly, like he’d just received his orders for the day from Inspector Thatcher. But when Ray slapped him on the back and let his hand linger there for longer than was strictly necessary before moving it back up to his shoulders to match Fraser, his frown of concentration softened into a small smile of affection. That much, he could allow himself. He cast his superior a guilty look, nevertheless, but found him deep in discussion with Ray, gesticulating enthusiastically with his hands about the best way to keep the ball out of Kowalski’s reach, which tactics would be most effective. Turnbull again, lost himself in eager concentration.
***
“Pepperoni. Has to be,” Dewey insisted, flicking the hair out of his eyes like it proved the point for him. “You can’t make a good pizza without it.”
“Nah, nah, see, I’d easily forgo the pepperoni if I could get extra cheese,” Jack interjected, “only if it was really stringy. That’s gotta be the best topping. Can’t make a pizza without it. Period.”
Kowalski shifted restlessly on his feet and kept tossing glances over his shoulder at the other team.
“What d’you think, Ray?”
“I think you’re both idiots.”
“About pizza,” Jack finished, insult washing over him, unlike his partner, who screwed up his face in a pouty scowl.
“Can you believe he didn’t pick me?” He shifted on the balls of his feet again, doing a little shuffle. “Boom boom boom,” shadow punch, “talk about partnership.” He felt like he was back at high school - a short, four-eyed geek who always got left ‘til last.
There was a beat of silence before Dewey unfolded his face and turned back to Huey. “Pepperoni! Has to be!”
***
“…be best to cut, Turnbull.”
“‘Cut,’ sir?”
“Yes, cut, Turnbull.”
“Cut what, sir?”
“You do know how to play basketball, right?” Ray jumped in, a look of pure fear on his face.
“Of course I do, Ray.”
Ray didn’t look convinced. “So, you know how to cut, right? Know when to screen?”
Ren nodded along, completely unfazed. “I’m not sure it’s very polite to dribble though, in front of all these people.”
Fraser gaped, actually gaped at Turnbull, then turned to Ray, who was sucking in a sharp breath. A look of pained despair passed between them.
“Should we…?” Fraser waved a hand vaguely in the air.
“I think so.” Ray agreed.
“Okay, Turnbull, here’s a new plan.”
“Man-to-man defense!”
“Which basically means you guard your opponent and try to stop him taking any action,” Fraser spoke slowly and enunciated.
“Krazy Glue!” Ray reminded him.
“Yes…just like Krazy Glue…”
Turnbull’s head swung back and forth between the two men, seeming to take it all in. “You want me to pretend to be Krazy Glue?”
“No, no, no, no,” Fraser shook his head.
“No!” Ray joined in. “We want you to be Krazy Glue! No pretence involved.”
Ren lowered his voice and bent his head secretively. “I see. Catch them off guard when they’re least expecting it. I must say, good plan, sir.”
“…Thank you, Turnbull.”
“Come on, come on, let’s do this. Ren, you’ll be marking…”
***
“Nuh uh. Cheese. Extra stringy.”
“Pepperoni! Extra meaty. Scattered all over the base.” Dewey was getting really into it, mimicking a chef baking a pizza. “Maybe a little bit chopped up and mixed right in there with the tomato so you get that spicy taste with every bite.”
Jack and Kowalski met him with a double whammy of a you’re fucking crazy expression that covered more than just their faces.
“What? It’s yummy.”
“We’re supposed to be partners.”
“Oh, please. He was gonna pick Turnbull over you any day.”
“Oh yeah?” Kowalski loaded his weight onto a hip and jutted out his jaw. “Why’s that?”
“I thought you were partners?”
Kowalski frowned, started to take a dangerous step towards the other cop.
“You work it out.” The shit-eating grin on Dewey’s face did nothing to douse Kowalski’s temper.
Silence.
“Cheese,” Jack offered helpfully, hoping to break the ice.
“Pepperoni!” Dewey was right back into bantering mode.
“Cheese,” Jack replied, matter-of-factly.
“Pepperoni!”
“Che-”
“Pineapple!”
***
“Pass it, guys. Don’t be a ball-hog.”
“Right you are, Ray.”
“Team Canada shall prevail!” Turnbull cried excitedly, pumping his fists in the air.
Ray shook his head, very slowly, as a titter of laughter came from the other end of the court. Turnbull flushed and dropped his arms, clearing his throat and tugging down his t-shirt like he was straightening red serge.
“Of course, by Team Canada I meant-”
“Team work’s what’s gonna win it,” Ray interrupted, clapping his hands together. “We gotta wipe the floor with them, I got a rep to uphold.”
“And we shall do that, Ray.” Fraser nodded, before a thumb went back to his eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you weren’t talking metaphorically, and if that is case, then I’m not entirely sure how one would physically ‘wipe the floor’ with three grown men, especially taking into consideration that one of them is, in fact, your partner and my husband, and the other two are fellow officers of the law. The consequences of such an act would be pro-”
“Fraser.”
“Yes, Ray?”
“Shut up.”
“As you wish.”
Turnbull blinked between the pair, taken aghast by the way they interacted. And telling his superior to ‘shut up,’ well, that was just…just…
“Actually, Ray,” Ren started, drawing himself up to his full height, back ramrod straight. “I think Constable Fraser has a point.”
Ray stopped stretching and immediately slammed his hands on his waist, fully facing Ren.
“And we haven’t even considered the hygienic implications of-”
“Turnbull.”
“…Yes, Ray?”
Ray didn’t open his mouth. Staring Ren down was quick and easy enough.
“I’ll be quiet now, Ray.”
“Krazy Glue.” Ray tapped his temple, the Mountie’s eyes automatically fluttering shut with the contact. At the curious look that flitted across Fraser’s face, Ray quickly pulled back his arm and swung fist into palm. “Okay! We gonna play or what?”
***
“So…” Jack looked back to his team. Kowalski was squaring off against Dewey, and Dewey, being the much shorter of the pair was in the very slow process of backing down, but couldn’t keep the arrogant smirk off his lips. “What’s our plan?”
***
“Ahem,” Fraser cleared his throat behind his hand and Dewey nodded over Kowalski’s shoulder to him.
“Hubby’s back.”
Kowalski sneered before turning round.
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to let me have this.” Fraser licked his bottom lip.
“Sure, Frase,” Kowalski grinned inanely and let Fraser take the basketball right out of his hands. He was still grinning as Fraser walked away with it, entirely unaware of both Jack and Dewey staring incredulously at him.
“Why, man? You let him take the ball!”
Spell suddenly broken, Kowalski glanced down at his empty hands and back up, his neck snapping audibly. “Wha-uhh.” He whirled on Fraser, who was already throwing in, to mark the start of the game. “Freak!”
“Oh yeah, like that’ll make him give us our ball back.”
A hand cuffed Dewey from behind and he yelped, rubbing his head. By the time he’d stopped pouting and looked behind him, Jack was halfway across the baseline already.
***
“Go on,” Ray shooed Turnbull away, simultaneously trying to block Jack’s attempts to swipe the ball. “Go get art n’ crafty. Go! I swear to God, you touch me there one more time and it’ll be your head I’m dribbling up and down this court, Jack.”
***
“Good evening, Detective Dewey. Might I say how well you’re looking.”
Dewey puffed and panted, the color in his face deepening the harder and faster he tried to dodge around the Mountie standing next to him.
“Get outta my way, Turnbull!”
Ren simply stepped from side to side, arms out to the side, a human blockade. His breaths were still steady and shallow.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” And he actually sounded apologetic, too. “I’ve been given strict instructions to stick to you like Krazy Glue, so if you’ll just let me…”
Ren manoeuvred himself closer, plastered himself to Dewey, so the floppy-haired face smashed up against his chest in whichever direction Dewey tried to run.
Jack was yelling somewhere off in the distance, Dewey wasn’t sure where though since his ears seemed to be muffled by two giant hands.
“Oh, come on!” He cried, most of the sound swallowed by the modern day Goliath stuck to him like a barnacle. He wrenched his head free, tipped it as far back as his neck would allow, to look up at Turnbull. He felt like he was in New York, surrounded by skyscrapers. And this one was the Empire State.
“Come on! I got him marking me?!” The game continued as normal, nobody taking any notice of Dewey’s complaints or his incessant pointing at the man in front of him. “That’s not fair!”
Turnbull simply saluted and grabbed Dewey’s head again, sticking it to his chest.
***
“Gimmetheball. Gimmetheball. Gimmetheball. Gimmetheball. Gimmetheball,” Kowalski chanted, arms spread wide, legs spread wider, as he shadowed Fraser around the court.
“As I told you last time you asked me that, Ray, I simply cannot adhere to your request,” Fraser replied politely, swooping the ball through his legs and turning his back on his husband.
“Wanna play it that way, do ya? Fine,” Kowalski cocked his head, glint in his eye. “Adhere to this.” He grabbed Fraser from behind and tugged him against his body, pressing an altogether different request into the back of his leg.
“Ah.” Fraser sounded like he was winded and immediately dropped the ball. Dewey swung by and scooped it up, high fiving Kowalski on the way.
“Whooo! Can’t believe it actually worked!” He pumped a fist in the air in triumph, grinning wildly at Jack, before running straight into a Turnbull-shaped wall and falling over.
Ren’s head swung around, this way and that, as if he couldn’t quite figure out what had hit him. Eyes finally alighting on the sprawled cop by his feet, he stretched out his arm. “Oh!” He gasped in surprise and peered down. “May I offer you my hand, Detective?” He asked with a smile, not a single hair out of place.
A soft groaning could be heard from the other end of the court and Ray spent the next ten minutes playing with an imprint of the brick wall embedded in his forehead.
***
Ray sprinted down the court, stopped, and pivoted on one foot to find Fraser in exactly the position he needed to be in. Bounce pass, Fraser snatched it from low off the ground, dribbled, shouted “Look, Ray, seahorses!” and crossed Kowalski with no trouble at all. He tossed it back to Ray, who palmed it, bent his knees and rocketed off the ground.
Or so he thought.
No matter how many times he had tried, he’d never once managed a dunk in his life. He was a sucker for punishment though and attempted one every time, manfully taking the flack he inevitably received after a game was over. And tonight, like usual, he got no where near enough height, missed the rim completely, and couldn’t muster up enough velocity to hit the backboard.
Air ball.
“Vecchio! You’re white!” Dewey yelled, jogging to collect the ball to pass it inbounds again. He rolled it around in his palms, feeling the heat radiate off the warm rubber. “Brickin’ it’s the best you’ll ever do.”
Ray panted, fingers digging into his waist to stem the stitch-like twinges. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, the message was clear. “Least I got a better chance than a squirt like you,” he smirked, ruffling the cop’s mop of hair as he lolloped past.
Dewey made to go at him but Jack yanked on the back of his shirt and shook his head, taking the ball off him. Ray walked away chuckling his amusement.
***
“Timeout. TIMEOUT!” Dewey wheezed. “This is so not fair.”
They were 29-17 down at the end of the second period, which meant tempers were flaring on Team Quack. (Kowalski refused to refer to it as that, unless he got to kick both Huey and Dewey in the head twice each time they used the name. They had refused to agree to the deal, and won by majority vote. Team Quack it was, then.)
Kowalski had laid up a good few shots but none had stuck, and with Dewey too short to jump shoot, and Jack spending all his time peeling Dewey off the floor, the walls, Turnbull… he wasn’t standing still long enough to be able to take a simple set shot. So Kowalski had started whining about Dewey and his vertical handicap and Dewey had started back chatting, and Jack had had to pull them apart three times already.
At 18-9 down, God help him, Kowalski had actually needed to back up Ray when he’d turned into a raging bull after Dewey cried faux foul on Turnbull. Headlocks had ensued, Fraser and Ren had stood back and debated upon whether Prince Rupert really was the best place to fly in yet another standard military modified field unit (they both agreed to blame Inspector Thatcher for the last blockage) and if they were going to have to wait that long for it anyway, they may as well upgrade to the new 19 centimeter-stem on a 11-liter displacement model and order it from the RCMP headquarters in Saskatchewan.
So, 29-17 and it was half time and everybody except Ray was knackered.
“What d’you want us to do about it? Build you a platform so you can score?”
Dewey flipped him off, taking a long drag out of his water bottle and wiping a towel over his head.
Fraser and Kowalski had gone to “relieve themselves” together --
“What’re you, girls? You gotta pee together now too? Does that come written as a subsection to the gay marriage contract? ‘I must forevermore pee with my husband lest I be thought of as a normal human being?!’”
By the time he’d finished his rant, Fraser and Kowalski had already left.
-- which probably consisted of another make-out session in the cubicle.
Ray was having to stay as far away from Turnbull as he possibly could during their break. With all the testosterone that was flying around, he was finding it hard not to just growl in frustration, wave fuck to it all and push the guy up against the wall; but the brushes they’d had on court, twenty minutes of running right into each other, sweaty and panting, a hand here, a touch there, had already nearly driven Ray off the rails.
Ren seemed to understand, since he spent most of his time sitting alone on the bench and re-hydrating himself. He passed a particularly exciting two minutes trying to explain to Huey and Dewey the importance liquids during a workout of this kind, until Dewey cracked a joke about bladder infections and Huey knitted his dark brows on him and Dewey got in a sulk because “That was funny, godammit! Why aren’t you laughing?!” before he skulked off to write it down before he forgot.
An unfortunate Jack had to endure another few minutes hearing about a fish that used to open its mouth three times more often than other fish and due to a gill malfunction, ending up consuming enough water to drown a small caribou; and soon died itself from water poisoning. (Turnbull fervently pointed out this was not one of his fish because he knew how to look after his pets and if one took in too much water, that was okay because he knew mouth-to-mouth anyway.)
***
“Give us Fraser,” Dewey exclaimed, sauntering back onto the court ten minutes later and coming to a stop in front of Ray, “and we’ll let you take Kowalski.”
“Oh yeah,” Ray snarked, “like I’m gonna swap my first choice for my last.”
“Hey!” Kowalski stepped between them, Fraser trailing behind and wiping his hands on his towel. “Tell me you woulda picked me over him,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Dewey, “if he hadn’t been team captain.”
Ray pursed his lips.
“I don’t, I don’t hear nothing, Vecchio.” He stuck his ear to Ray’s mouth before pulling back with a glare. “My ears better start workin’ or your mouth better start talkin’. Doesn’t matter which. ”
“Take Turnbull, and we’ll have Jack,” Ray negotiated.
Dewey shook his head in a wide circle, “No way, no way, man. Jack stays with me.”
“Partn-” Kowalski shoved himself into Ray’s line of vision. “Partners, Vecchio. You know what that means?”
“Come on, second for second, Dewey. You get yourself a Mountie, even Stevens.”
“Oh, you’re not Starsky.”
“He is tall,” Jack informed helpfully.
“Take Kowalski off my hands instead? That’s my final deal.”
“Hey!” Kowalski whirled on Dewey. “If it wasn’t for me you woulda still been a big fat zero.”
“I dunno,” Ray shrugged. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“You, shut your kisser. Take me, Vecchio.”
“Thought about it yet?”
“You alright to do this, Ren?”
“It’s quite alright, Ray.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
“Then I’ve thought about it.”
“And?”
Kowalski whirled on him. “And?”
“Welcome to Team Canada, Kowalski.”
“Mmph, yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He slung an arm around Ray’s shoulders, walked them down the court, nodding happily. “The Three Stooges.”
***
Turned out Ray couldn’t have made a better trade. Not that Turnbull hadn’t been a good player, heck, he’d been fantastic, Ray probably couldn’t have found a better defense player if he’d scoured the entire state of Illinois. But he wanted to shake things up a bit now, catch Team Quack by surprise, and with the three of them working together, slick cogs in a slick machine, offense was now their friend.
They knew what each other was going to do before they even did it. Tuned in, switched on, working as one. Simple chest passes soon turned to swift no-looks, Fraser throwing with perfect accuracy and knowing exactly where both Rays liked to receive the ball.
Kowalski let out an long, impressed whistle when he watched Fraser pass behind his back to Ray, line up a shot and score twenty feet from the basket to gain them three points. His whooping could be heard over the Duck Boys’ moaning.
42-23
“Is this team work, or what?” Ray grinned, leaning heavily against Kowalski to get his breath back. They both swiped heavy arms out to Fraser as he came closer and gave him a simultaneous congratulatory hug. “Well played, man.”
“And you, Ray. Both of you.” He amended, smiling at each man in turn. This was what team work was all about.
***
“Turnbull, over here! Over here! I’m free!”
“Turnbull, over here! I’m free too! I’m over here!”
“Turnbull! Throw me the ball!”
“Turnbull!”
“Turnbull!”
“Turnbull,” Fraser began sternly, sucking in breaths through clenched teeth, and resting his hands on his hips, no longer attempting to gain control of the ball. “Turnbull.”
The Constable immediately stood to attention.
“Yes, sir!”
The rest of the players stared in amazement, panting hard.
“Give me the ball, Turnbull.” Fraser commanded.
“Yes, sir!”
***
Five seconds later it was 45-23.
***
“I can’t…believe…they…” Dewey was doubled over, wincing down at his toes. Jack patted him lightly on the back, his own chest heaving. “Beat us.”
“It was close, man,” Huey lamented, hoping to soothe his partner’s irritation. “It was close.”
Dewey straightened up to find Ray and Kowalski stood side-by-side, pulling mocking faces in his direction. Ray had five fingers splayed on his right hand, four on his left, and Kowalski held up three and two; and they waved their arms about, striking victorious poses until Dewey huffed in anger and spun around, turning his back to them.
Their raucous laughter filled the entire hall.
***
Ray always needed to pee whenever he got over-excited. Whooping opponents asses in a game was one of those times. He’d flushed and tucked himself back in before the door swung open and Turnbull entered the bathroom.
Ray grinned at him in the mirror as he washed his hands but Ren looked away to hide his face, backing into one of the cubicles.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Ray flapped his hands about for a quick air dry, then forced one around the door to stop the Mountie from closing it on him. “Something wrong?”
“No, nothing, Ray,” came the quiet reply, followed by a desperately disguised sniff.
“That doesn’t sound like nothing to me. Come out here.” Ray gave the door a shove and it swung open just in time for him to see Turnbull’s shoulders sag. “This because of the game?”
Ren looked away again and approached the sinks, twisting on the cold tap and cupping his hands beneath the water. “I’m just being silly, Ray.” Unfortunate timing lead Ren to sniff again at the exact moment he splashed the icy water all over his face and it ended in a minute long coughing fit.
Ray passed him copious amounts of paper towel and tossed a quick glance to the door. By the time Turnbull had dried himself off, Ray was pressed up against him, the entire left side of his body covered in Italian-American male.
“Is this because I substituted you?” Ray asked carefully, resting the tip of his chin on Ren’s shoulder and exhaling softly against his neck.
Turnbull didn’t answer, just wiped his nose with the paper towels and tried to stop the corners of his lips from quivering. Being excluded from Team Canada had brought back old, painful memories of having been transferred to Chicago, practically thrown out of his own country because he was a little too ‘kooky.’ And having to join Team ‘Quack’ hadn’t helped matters either.
“Had to make it fairer on the guys,” Ray began, fitting his arms loosely around Turnbull’s waist. “A Mountie on each team was the only way to do it.”
Turnbull wasn’t brave enough to point out that Constable Fraser was a member of the RCMP too and couldn’t he have been substituted instead? He knew what the answer would have been had he asked, anyway. And besides, he didn’t want to put Ray in a difficult position like that, especially when he knew how much Fraser meant to him. He tried his hardest to push that worrying thought from his mind tonight though. Ray was with him, he was the Mountie Ray wanted, he told himself.
“It didn’t make it fairer though,” Ren’s breath hitched. “I gave the ball to Constable Fraser, Ray, even though we were playing a game.”
A gentle puff of laughter hit Turnbull’s ear. “That was pretty funny.” When Ren started to pull out from his grasp, Ray tightened his arms and apologised. “Maybe you were undercover,” he whispered. “Maybe deep down your loyalties were still with Team Canada and you deliberately sabotaged the Duck Boy’s chances of winning, hmm?”
Turnbull liked the sound of that. Always loyal to Canada. He perked up a little and turned his face to Ray’s. “Do you really think so?”
“Uh huh,” Ray nodded knowingly, his mouth quirking. “You did it for the Queen.”
That got him an outright beaming grin, 100 wattage, brighter than the strip-lights illuminating the bathroom. “Yes! I did it for the Queen!”
“Team Canada will prevail,” Ray smirked, and leaned forwards to leave a quiet kiss on Ren’s lips. He was sweaty and repulsive but he didn’t think Turnbull would mind too much. He was right. “We okay now?”
Ren sniffed happily and hummed his agreement around another kiss.
***
“Wiped the floor, Benny,” Ray grinned, swiping his gym bag off the bench and onto his shoulder, heading down the hall towards the exit.
“We did indeed, Ray,” Fraser smiled back, running a hand through his damp hair and mussing it, leaving it sticking up randomly in places.
“Wanna grab a pizza to celebrate?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure what Ray’s plans are…” Fraser glanced around, shifting the towel off his shoulder and into his own duffel.
“KOWALSKI! PIZZA! NOW!” Fraser tugged on his earlobe and simply blinked at Ray. “Now he does.”
“It would appear so, yes,” Fraser agreed, watching as the cop scooped up his stuff and came jogging along to catch them up.
“Someone yell?”
“Pizza,” was all Ray grunted before Kowalski was nodding a vigorous assent and scratching his growling stomach.
“Extra meaty?” Dewey’s head poked up between Ray and Fraser’s shoulder and he wheedled his way between them, Jack and Turnbull joining the four at either end of the line.
“Extra cheesy,” Huey corrected, holding up a forefinger.
“With pineapple on top,” Fraser supplemented, looking over to Kowalski, his cheeks reddening a bit.
“And blubber and lichen,” Kowalski added, slinging his free arm over Fraser’s shoulders and bowing his head.
“Pepperoni,” Dewey argued, looking around Ray to glare at Jack.
Ray helped by dropping back, narrowly avoiding being spat on when Huey tossed back a “Cheeeeese, final answer.” Turnbull did the same so they were walking shoulder to shoulder behind the rest of them.
“What about you, Ray?” Ren asked, small smile on his lips when Ray held open the fire exit and gestured for him to go first. “What do you want on your pizza?”
Ray let the door swing back with a bang and they made their way across the parking lot. Dewey and Kowalski were already sorting out where they were going to eat, and each partnership was splitting off into their cars to convoy their way to the joint.
The cool air prickled on his skin, goosebumps appearing almost immediately. His muscles felt spent but he wasn’t entirely wiped, and his fresh t-shirt wasn’t sticking to him like his last one had done. Heading to the Riv, he stopped at the driver’s door and studied Ren over the roof. The Mountie tilted his head curiously.
“I dunno about you, but I’m more interested in dessert,” Ray winked, inciting much the same effect as before. Oh yeah, he had just enough energy saved for that.
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Date: 2007-09-24 12:20 am (UTC)My face hurts from laughing. XD I can't possibly tell you my favourite parts, because just.. dude. LOVELOVELOVE!!
(although, dun dun dun! Dewey saying that Ray would always choose Ren over RayK? Oh, and also: I agree with the charming Mr Kawolski. PINEAPPLE! :D)
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Date: 2007-09-24 12:44 am (UTC)Yay! It's funny! Whoop! I'm so glad!
(*gasp* I know!! I couldn't believe that either! I don't even think that's true! As much as Ray and I love Ren, Kowalski's just...well, Kowalski. But Ray wouldn't ever have to choose between them, I don't think, so yay, crisis averted! Uh huh *nods vigorously* Pineapple ALL THE WAY! Pineapple pineapple pineapple! Mmmmm...)
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Date: 2007-09-24 01:59 am (UTC)(Aww, I like your averting the crisis. ;) And it was hinted at the reeasons why Ray may choose Turnbull! GASP. Suspicion!
..ahem.)
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Date: 2007-09-24 11:21 am (UTC)(We like to keep TEH DRAMAH in play whenever possible!)
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Date: 2007-09-24 12:21 am (UTC)Fraser says they need to go curling next -_-
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Date: 2007-09-24 12:49 am (UTC)Ray's boy's night out: head to the gym, basketball, pizza.
Dewey's boy's night out: head to the ice rink, ice hockey, pizza!
Huey's boy's night out: straight to the comedy club, pizza!
Uh, Kowalski's might be boxing, pizza!
And it's pretty obvious what Fraser and Turnbull's would be... XD
Oh God, if I ever read up on curling (and can actually understand the rules) I would LOVE to write a Canadian version of a BNO. You tempt me so!
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Date: 2007-09-24 01:02 am (UTC)Curling really isn't hard to follow at all. Men with Brooms taught me most of what I know :P
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Date: 2007-09-24 01:08 am (UTC)Oh, you're mean. Now I'm really tempted if it means I can sit down and watch MWB for a "legitimate" reason...
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Date: 2007-09-24 01:17 am (UTC)It's a flippin' awesome movie! That's all the reason you need, missy!
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Date: 2007-09-24 01:40 am (UTC)Awesome, baybee!
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Date: 2007-09-24 01:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-24 11:33 am (UTC)All I remember seeing is PG walking into a lamp post? I think I need to watch the film in its entirety... *salutes*
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Date: 2007-09-24 07:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-24 07:30 pm (UTC)Wait, is it "cringe-worthy CRK in Last Night and his bare backside" naked or Mmmmmmmmm naked?!
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Date: 2007-09-24 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-24 08:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-24 07:26 pm (UTC)Ditto. Though, I find with Ren around I occasionally pop over to Wiki to pick up a few more phrases and rules...
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Date: 2007-09-24 07:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-24 01:40 am (UTC)And then I highlighted a bunch of other stuff, but I had to stop when I thought I might actually wet my pants.
This is made of love. *hearts* And I can't even tell you how happy this made me:
“He’s my husband, PDAs are allowed..."
*is delirious*
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Date: 2007-09-24 11:35 am (UTC)This is what we like to hear! :D
Thank you kindly (and so very, very much!) for your lovely words! I'm so glad you liked it!
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Date: 2007-09-24 05:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-24 11:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-24 07:22 pm (UTC)It was the perfect pick me up! And I loved the fighting over the pizza and Kowalski not understanding why Ray didn't pick him \o/
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Date: 2007-09-24 07:35 pm (UTC)Hehehe. Ray was sniggering in my head all the time I was writing the pizza stuff! He was like: "Hahaha, while I'm here strategising, they're bickering over food! Hahaha*cough*extracheese*cough*ahahahaha! We're so gonna win!"
So glad you enjoyed reading it!
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Date: 2007-09-24 07:49 pm (UTC)Hee! I love the Kowalski is so distracted by the "he didn't pick me", he doesn't get drawn into the pizza debate 'til later XD
Hey! Are you going to do the dS secret santa?
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Date: 2007-09-24 08:03 pm (UTC)PINEAPPLE! (Add 'cucumber' to my fav fruit list too!! And green seedless grapes! Mmm! They're not my favourites though...)
Aww, nah, I don't think I'm good enough for one of those sorts of challenges. I wouldn't wanna ruin someone's Christmas if I got their prompt and made a pig's ear of it!
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Date: 2007-10-01 02:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-01 07:22 pm (UTC)