Work Text:
There are nights where something goes wrong in Ray's head. Usually it’s after a perfectly ordinary day and there’s nothing to be upset about, but a few hours after the sun goes down, something happens. In his body, it goes like this. First there’s a subtle twinge in his chest that grows into a clenching knot. His heartbeat speeds up and settles down and does it again. He gets little lurches in his stomach. Then it spreads into tension in his arms and turns into a desperate ache in his fingers.
In his head, it goes like this. First there’s a thread of sadness that’s almost sweet. It’s like being homesick for a home he never had. Like he’s lost something that never existed in the first place and he wants it back. Next, he starts to sink into it. It shrinks up around him, too tight and too empty and dragging him in. His thoughts go fast and slow, from too sharp to static and back again. He looks around his brain for the thing that he’s missing, but it’s never there. He knows it won’t be there, and he looks anyway, because what else is there to do?
Eventually he asks. It took him a long time, but he can ask now. He doesn’t have the words, but he’s taught Fraser a thing or two about instinct, so when he says, “Fraser?” soft and questioning, Fraser comes to him. Fraser curls up with him, even if it’s one of those nights where Ray’s ended up sitting on the kitchen floor. He holds on to Ray and keeps him steady. If Ray squeezes his arm, Fraser will tighten his grip. On the nights when it’s still not enough, Ray collapses back and Fraser settles on top of him. It’s unusual, but there’s nothing sexual about it like this. It’s Fraser’s body settling Ray’s. It’s Fraser’s weight keeping Ray’s mind tethered to his body so it doesn’t forget to come back when it goes searching for that missing thing.
Then they wait. Sometimes Fraser tells him one of his Inuit stories or sings one of his weird Canadian songs if he can think of one that isn’t too sad, and it’s a little embarrassing—it makes Ray feel like a little kid— but it’s good too. “It’s all right to feel small,” Fraser told him once. “You’ve seen me that way before.” Ray muttered about it not being the same, and Fraser just shook his head and pressed a kiss to Ray’s temple.
Ray still worries that Fraser will get tired of this… whatever this is, and leave. He worries no matter how many times Fraser tells him it won’t happen, and he worries that Fraser will get tired of telling him that it won’t happen and then maybe it will. But Fraser holds him steady until it passes or Ray drops into sleep. Until the aches are gone and his heart is steady and his brain comes back from its search. He’ll never find the missing thing, but he doesn’t need it. This is good. This is home, and home is more than enough.