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Fraser has started spending more time outside. Which shouldn’t be possible for him, but somehow he’s doing it. He’s going on long walks, and he’s sleeping in a tent more nights than he isn’t. When Ray finds him in the park, he acts like himself. Or at least, he pretends to act like himself, but it’s a version of himself that’s a few shades paler, that wanders the night like one of those hitchhiking ghosts, always asking for a ride but never getting in the car.
Ray sits up with him as often as he can, but Fraser won’t talk about it. He just keeps telling campfire stories with depressing endings, no matter how many times Ray asks for them to end in a grisly murder. Ray thinks that Fraser’s working himself up to something, as if each story is getting a little closer to the truth. Getting a little closer to being about himself.
It takes a week.
Fraser’s been poking at the fire aimlessly, even though it’s burning well. Burning a little too well, and sending smoke into Ray’s eyes no matter where he sits. But Fraser always has to be doing something. God forbid he stays still once in a while.
“You know, my father never loved anyone other than my mother,” Fraser says, and that’s how Ray knows they’re finally getting somewhere. Because whenever Fraser says “My Father” what he really means is “Me.” Or at least, the version of himself he wants to be. Thinks he should be.
“Really?” Ray says, “Nobody? Then how’d your sister get made?”
He means it as a joke, but Fraser is not in a joking mood. He shrugs, stabbing at the fire again.
“I’m sure he liked her mother, but he didn’t love her. He didn’t love anyone, other than mom,” Fraser lifts the stick and watches the end burn, brow slightly furrowed. “When I was young, I thought that’s how it worked for everyone. You fall in love once, and you never know when it will happen.”
Ray doesn’t remember having many thoughts about love as a child, although he does remember having a new crush every week. The crush on Stella was the most persistent, but not necessarily the most intense.
Although, he can picture young Fraser being a bit more focused. Steadfast and stoic, carefully evaluating the other kids on the playground until he found the right one.
“It took me a long time to realize that wasn’t how it worked.” Fraser sort of smiles at that, although it’s not one of his real smiles. It’s too mean, too self-effacing. “But even though I knew other people fall in love plenty of times, I always thought it would be different for me.”
And here they are. Present Fraser, talking about himself. Talking about all the horrible, painful things that are happening in his twisted Mountie brain. But there’s a long pause before he speaks again. Sometimes, going into Ray’s own brain is like shoving his arm into a bear trap, and it has to be worse for someone like Fraser.
“She was the only woman I ever loved,” Fraser says, finally.
They both know who he’s talking about. It’s funny, in a not funny way, but Ray read her file a couple of times before he ever met Fraser, and he always thought she sounded like a nightmare. A gorgeous con artist, too smart for everyone’s good. The file was tactful about her and Fraser’s history. Too tactful. Ray hadn’t known a thing until he got dropped in the middle of it.
She’s finally been arrested, after almost four years on the run. She was being held at a jail in Arizona of all places. Nice and warm.
When Fraser got the call, he looked like he was going to throw up.
“I thought that meant something,” Fraser says.
Ray wants to reply, but he can’t figure out how to string his words together. Even though he knows what Fraser’s saying. He knows that feeling. Making a screwed up relationship into something fated, something destined. Turning your life into a story, because then you know how it ends.
“She was the only woman I ever loved,” Fraser says again. The words sound oddly rehearsed, as if he’s said them so many times they’ve lost all meaning. “But not the only person.”
Ray feels like Fraser just slapped him.
Because what the hell is that supposed to mean? And how the hell is he supposed to respond? Is he just supposed to sit here and listen? To be calm?
He shoves his hands into his pockets and bites the inside of his cheek, hard. This must be the longest he’s ever kept his damn mouth shut.
“I loved my friend Mark, until he moved away. And I loved my other friends. It took me a long time to realize that’s what was going on. I thought that’s just how friends felt about each other.”
Fraser’s smiling again. A sad smile. Ray wants to jump into the fire, or do a cartwheel, or run into traffic. Anything to get that look off Fraser’s face.
“And then I got older and realized that I was different. From my friends. And from my parents. Because I loved so many people, and they only loved each other. And I thought that maybe I was…”
He trails off then. Still that look on his face, like he’s in pain. Like he’s been stabbed in the back and hit with a car. Like his heart is breaking.
“Maybe there was something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Fraser,” Ray says, the words coming out in an overeager rush. He’s been quiet too long. He thinks his mouth might be bleeding. “There’s a lot of people–”
“I know there are other people like me, Ray,” Fraser says, shaking his head and huffing out a little laugh. “I’m not entirely uneducated.”
“Oh, shut up,” Ray says. There’s a nervous, almost angry feeling bubbling in his chest. He keeps seeing baby Fraser in his head. With the big blue eyes and the dark wavy hair and so, so much love for everyone. For the whole world, and every worthless person in it. “There’s nothing wrong with loving too much, Fraser. Most people have the opposite problem.”
Fraser is staring at Ray now, but his expression is different. It’s soft, glowy, like the campfire it’s reflecting.
“And maybe your dad never had any crushes, but I guarantee your mom liked lots of guys. And girls too, because most people are like that.”
Ray might be projecting, but Fraser doesn’t correct him. Just keeps staring at Ray like he’s his favorite constellation to find in the night sky.
“I love you, Ray,” Fraser says, and maybe Ray really will run into traffic. Has anyone ever run into traffic out of happiness before?
“Yeah, I thought that’s where you were going with this,” Ray says, unable to look directly into Fraser’s campfire-bright eyes. “Took you long enough.”