Oh, The Places You'll Go

Modern Household Gods (or It Takes Three)

Notes: One day a beautiful fangirl called slidellra lost her zebra. I wrote this in an attempt to help her find it. omphale23 beta'd it and made it better. *hearts them both*


Ray started it. How could he not? When the three of them spent weeks being so damn careful not to talk about the super-sized elephant in the room. When a trip to the bathroom took on the significance of a circumnavigation just to get round the thing (not to mention the extra time needed to relieve two types of pressure).

What Ray knew was simple. It was driving him crazy. It was driving Vecchio crazy. And Fraser was tugging at his collar so yeah, crazy.

Someone had to lead the dance. So first Ray kissed Vecchio, slow and long and deep, until he could feel it in his toes. And then he tugged Fraser in, sliding along Vecchio's jaw line to make way. And Fraser followed, reluctant at first, but more and more enthusiastic until the lines between them blurred and all Ray knew was thrumming limbs and tingling skin and hot, hot, hot.


Fraser took care of the logistics. He telephoned his Commanding Officer and requested extended leave which was granted with alarming eagerness. They would need some time together, the three of them, to familiarize themselves with the startling changes in their situation.

He organized their removal to a bigger apartment, a transfer, Diefenbaker's arrival. It was the least he could do after causing such a disruption.

And he spent some time pondering the equal division of time, of ensuring that no one suffered loneliness or jealousies of heart. There had been too much of that, for all of them. But when he raised the matter Ray said,

"Nothing on that fridge but the grocery list and bad artwork, you get me?"

And Ray said,

"Put a ruler to that paper and it's going someplace you won't like."

Fraser capitulated, though quietly he still did what he could.

It took him a while to discover that a third of three was everything.


Becoming a family took time. It had been weird enough getting used to him and Kowalski, and now Fraser was in the mix. Some nights there were just too many legs.

Sometimes Ray could see Fraser standing a little apart, maybe staring out of a window and he knew Fraser was thinking of pristine snow and the quiet of his cabin. Not the hot summer of Chicago or the constant bickering which was how he and Kowalski traded affection. And so Ray would turn off the TV or radio, run Fraser a cool bath, make him some of that disgusting bark tea, encourage his Inuit stories and not fall asleep while he was telling them. Fraser would slowly come back from wherever he was, and they'd all fall asleep together, same as every night, tangled up like puppies and Ray's hands would find Fraser, soothe him, keep him with them.

Sometimes Kowalski's tongue would get sharper along with his edge. He couldn't sit still, wouldn't talk, make eye contact. So Ray would heckle him until he took Dief off for a long run through the streets and as soon as the door shut behind him he would pull out the flour and the pizza stone and get to work. Kowalski would come back to steaming hot pineapple pizza (the things Ray did for love), an open beer, sports on the TV and four hands and two mouths, ready and willing.

Some nights Ray would look at the two of them and wonder how the hell they got there. But then someone would smile or ask an opinion on a case or even just wash the dishes and it would all make sense again. And yeah, some nights there were too many legs, but most nights it worked out just fine.

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