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Benton Fraser was a terrible Master. And Ray should know – he's had enough over the countless years he'd been a djinn, most of them nasty, greedy little asshats that he'd been glad to be rid of. But this one, he was a whole new brand of awful, and Ray wasn't sure what to think.
Take the whole Ray thing, for instance. He had a name now, because his new Master had insisted on it. Seriously, they'd been in the middle of an argument (which seemed to be their communication form of choice) and all of the sudden his Master had stopped mid-sentence and given him the oddest look before saying he refused to continue until he knew just who he was speaking to.
******
“Who? What?” he'd sputtered, flummoxed. “What do you – you know who you're talking to, because I am right. Here.”
“Yes, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't know who you are.”
“I'm your fucking djinn!”
His master had just raised an eyebrow. “Setting aside the ownership argument for the moment, I'm sure that isn't the name you were born with,” he'd replied in the snarky, all-too calm way that immediately got under the djinn's skin.
“You sure I was born?” he'd countered. “Maybe I was formed from pure magickal energy?”
“Were you?”
“No,” he'd huffed, ignoring his Master's well-there-you-go look as he went on. “Doesn't mean I even remember my name, if I ever had one.”
The smug look had been instantly morphed into one of concern. In a way, it was worse, because smug was easy to deal with. Worry, about him? Not so much.
“Why is this so important to you?” he asked.
“Why isn't it important to you?” his Master replied, hints of exasperation lacing his tone.
“Because it isn't!” he growled. “Because I'm not a person! I'm property, and have been for longer than I can remember. That is a fact, Benton Fraser, and too fucking bad if you don't like it – it's how things are, and always will be. To pretend like I'm anything else is, well it's cruel, that's what it is.” He rubbed a tired hand over his face. “So even though I've got no right to ask, please stop trying to make my existence better and accept it like I have.”
His Master hadn't responded, just walked over to the window, arms crossed over his chest, and watched the snow swirl around, dancing lightly through the air in a way the djinn envied, though he'd never say it. He wanted to go back to his bottle, but it felt like something big was about to happen, like maybe he'd finally gotten through his Master's thick skull.
A few long minutes later and he was regretting his decision to stay put. But finally, still facing the window, his Master spoke.
“I can't do anything about your life so far. I do realize that. And I don't mean to make light of anything you've gone through to this point. I can't imagine your existence, to be honest.” He finally turned, face a mask of resolve. “That doesn't mean I have to continue things as they have been. I cannot and will not believe that you are less of a person than I am. And I will not call you djinn, or slave, or any other term you've been called by your masters in the past. I am not them. And you are not mine.”
He opened his mouth to protest (and start argument #457 on that particular subject), but stopped when his Master raised his hand. “I'll thank you kindly for not responding to my last statement. I haven't got the energy for that fight again today.”
“What do you want, then?” he asked tiredly.
“Like I said, I want you to have a name. And I'd rather you chose it yourself, since you don't remember the one one you were given.” Their eyes met, his Master's hopeful. “Can you do that?”
“Is that a request, or a wish?”
The deep, resigned sigh he got in response was no surprise. “Not a wish. It was just a hope.”
The djinn couldn't help the harsh laugh that elicited. “You never stop, do you? Do you not get that the world isn't this happy place you want it to be? You think if you look hard enough, you'll find a ray of sunshine in the middle of a storm. I hate to break it to you, but that just isn't going to happen.” A thought struck him. “Only, you know what? It actually did, because that's how you found me, a djinn who wants nothing more in this world than to grant you wishes, only you won't fucking let me.” He glared at his Master, weeks of frustration boiling over. “You can have pretty much anything you fucking want if you'd just let yourself fucking want it! I am your ray of fucking sunshine in this shitstorm of a world, Benton Fraser, and you know what? If that's what it takes to remind you of it, that's the name I want.”
He gave his Master a mean smile. “Call me Ray, short for Ray of Fucking Sunshine, thank you very fucking much.”
“Ray.” His Master seemed to consider it a moment, then nodded and smiled, as if Ray hadn't just dumped all over him. “I'm very pleased to meet you.”
******
So now Ray was Ray, and Benton Fraser was infuriating. Because sooner or later he'd tire of whatever game this was, and show his true colors. He'd realize the wealth and power he had at his fingertips, and then he'd become like all the rest. Ray knew it would happen; it was inevitable.
So Ray wracked his brain to figure out how to speed up the process. Because the faint glimmer of hope Ray knew was growing inside him with every kindness he was shown was the worst thing he'd ever felt. He had to stop it from gaining any ground and soon – before losing it would break him more completely than any mistreatment he'd ever suffered from his openly cruel Masters.