ext_2615 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
julia-here.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2010-02-15 02:22 pm
julia-here.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2010-02-15 02:22 pm
Due South/Angel PG-13ish (author did not rate)
One of the hard things about recommending (or, indeed, writing) cross-over fics is that they require a fine hand so that one doesn't explain the intersecting series too much and annoy the fans of each, nor too little, and leave the fans of the other confused. This fine little bit of post-series character studies does a workmanlike job of explaining just enough, I think.
Title: flight from jesusland, heralded by ghosts by glossing
Pairing: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski, Ray Vecchio/Nina Ash
Length: 44K
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
glossing
Author Website: Exit Seraphim
Why this must be read: Because it's a perfectly imperfect non-answer answer to the mysteries left by both "Call of the Wild" and "Not Fade Away" and implies sufficient mysteries that it could have, with better luck all around, developed a fandom of its own.
Excerpt: He grabs dinner with the lunatics and Huey, and then he's home in time to kiss the babies goodnight, brush Isabella's hair, put Pietro in the bath. Even in time to eat pasta with gravy that didn't need to be reheated, though he's pretty full from the burgers earlier. Time to kick back and argue with Frannie over the game versus Lifetime, to rub Ma's shoulders and wash up all the dishes.
Fraser and Kowalski are still out when Ray finishes the dishes. They're probably staking out something that has nothing to do with the real problems all around the city, busting little old ladies for sharpening their knitting needles or chasing down fast-food clerks for not wishing the customers a good day.
Or, he thinks as he pads upstairs in sock feet, his hand heavy on the banister, they're fucking. Lunatics in love, and they're his best friends. Well, one's his best friend, the other one's just...*there*. Fucking his best friend.
But Ray's not fucking anyone these days, just working and playing man of the house and that's how he likes it. He's pretty sure that's how he likes this.
He should still be at his desk, but this case -- it's not going *anywhere*. It's building, sure, evidence and tips coming in like they never do, security cameras that actually work, fingerprints that are whole and unsmudged, but it's not going anywhere. It's the case that ate Chicago, the state of Illinois, the whole lower stretch of the Dominion of Canada and America, and he's just a cog. Just one detective in a fleet bigger than he count, and if he punches out early, no one's going to notice.
Except him and his goddamn Catholic conscience, apparently, because it's three forty-seven in the fucking *AM* and he's still awake. Lying flat on his back, sorting through statements and pictures in his mind, listening to the buzz of nothing and dark all around him.
flight from jesusland, heralded by ghosts
Title: flight from jesusland, heralded by ghosts by glossing
Pairing: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski, Ray Vecchio/Nina Ash
Length: 44K
Author on LJ:
glossingAuthor Website: Exit Seraphim
Why this must be read: Because it's a perfectly imperfect non-answer answer to the mysteries left by both "Call of the Wild" and "Not Fade Away" and implies sufficient mysteries that it could have, with better luck all around, developed a fandom of its own.
Excerpt: He grabs dinner with the lunatics and Huey, and then he's home in time to kiss the babies goodnight, brush Isabella's hair, put Pietro in the bath. Even in time to eat pasta with gravy that didn't need to be reheated, though he's pretty full from the burgers earlier. Time to kick back and argue with Frannie over the game versus Lifetime, to rub Ma's shoulders and wash up all the dishes.
Fraser and Kowalski are still out when Ray finishes the dishes. They're probably staking out something that has nothing to do with the real problems all around the city, busting little old ladies for sharpening their knitting needles or chasing down fast-food clerks for not wishing the customers a good day.
Or, he thinks as he pads upstairs in sock feet, his hand heavy on the banister, they're fucking. Lunatics in love, and they're his best friends. Well, one's his best friend, the other one's just...*there*. Fucking his best friend.
But Ray's not fucking anyone these days, just working and playing man of the house and that's how he likes it. He's pretty sure that's how he likes this.
He should still be at his desk, but this case -- it's not going *anywhere*. It's building, sure, evidence and tips coming in like they never do, security cameras that actually work, fingerprints that are whole and unsmudged, but it's not going anywhere. It's the case that ate Chicago, the state of Illinois, the whole lower stretch of the Dominion of Canada and America, and he's just a cog. Just one detective in a fleet bigger than he count, and if he punches out early, no one's going to notice.
Except him and his goddamn Catholic conscience, apparently, because it's three forty-seven in the fucking *AM* and he's still awake. Lying flat on his back, sorting through statements and pictures in his mind, listening to the buzz of nothing and dark all around him.
flight from jesusland, heralded by ghosts