Website/link to fic: Brigantine1's memories.
Fanlore page: here
First DS fic posted: 2007
Full disclosure: I track Brigantine1's fic like a hawk!
Pairings: F/K, R/R, F/V
Style and strengths: Brigantine does sweet, and funny, and heartbreaking all with equal skill. Check it out: Angst! And Fluff! which makes reading Brigantine a win/win. Her established relationship stories are full of underwritten warmth and care; when she writes first times, the clues drop in delicious morsels. Not only is her Ray Kowalski voice charming and brilliant, she writes Ray through Fraser's eyes brilliantly. She gives her Vecchio delicious snark, while showing us the size of his heart. Her Fraser is most often adorably daffy. She also writes great snippets.
Other DS/C6D activity: A dS/Men with Guns crossover
Then I Got On This Bus, But I Left My Luggage At The Station, F/K. Watching RayK piece the puzzle together is a thing of joy, here.
The Mountie's been tetchy since the Park Services security guys made them put out their camp fire and gave Fraser, of all people, a lecture on public safety. Fine time for them to start getting serious, after Mr. Tucci is dead. Officious morons. Hm. Officious. He'll have to spring that one on Fraser in a sentence one of these days. That wordy sort of stuff really seems to turn his crank.
Okay, where'd that come from, the crank-turning thing, the part where Ray is even contemplating turning Fraser's crank?
"...anything in particular, anything important," Fraser is insisting. He scrubs at one eyebrow, and glances sideways at Diefenbaker, as though daring him to contradict.
Ray decides that the word of the evening here is 'discombobulated,' with which he is personally fine, but when applied to the Mountie, that means something's going on that Ray should know about. "Don't bullshit me, Fraser. What can't you tell me?" He's pretty sure it's got zip to do with beautiful princesses taming people-eating ogres.
Fraser draws himself up and feints, "Who says we were referring to you?"
Ray snorts dismissively. "Who else is here? And if it wasn't about me, then you'd tell me. Kettle's yelling, you gonna get that? Now quit sidewinding, and tell me what's going on."
Fraser turns off the stove burner and pours the boiling water into a dark brown tea pot. His mouth is clamped shut like a bulldog on a postman's ankle.
It Never Really Was About the Car, F/V. Fraser stays up all night watching Starsky and Hutch. Great RayV voice, complete with snark. Adorably loopy Fraser.
Ray loosened Fraser's tie, looped it over his head, and braced himself for the return of the Meaningful Conversation. He should have known better than to think Fraser would let it go, really. "Go ahead. Whatever it is, you can tell me."
Fraser cleared his throat, cracked his neck sideways, swallowed hard, and blurted, "Would it be entirely inappropriate if I were to confess myself more than slightly in love with you?"
Ray sat back, blinking and crushing Fraser's tie in one sweaty fist. He could feel his eyebrows struggling toward his hairline. "Well..." He stalled, debating wildly with himself as to whether such an admission could be taken seriously, with Fraser high on God knew what, and currently incapable of untying his own shoes. "Well, since we're partners, I suppose it probably would be a little bit inappropriate."
"Oh," Fraser said, his voice small and disappointed.
Ray amended carefully, "Of course if I were to be inappropriate along with you, then your inappropriate and my inappropriate would maybe cancel each other out."
Fraser chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. It was an awfully distracting habit. "You really think so?"
Ray suddenly felt like laughing, in spite of the odds against them. Sure it was a ridiculous idea, but then so was the platypus. "I really think so."
Leeward, Benton Fraser/Brian Larsen. This is a follow-up fic to aerye's 9.30 to Yellowknife, which broke Fraser but good. I really needed this story.
"I had two best friends in Chicago," Benton gasps out. "And I lost them both when they... when. Brian, I can't do this, it's not safe, I'll die!"
"Worse," Brian cautions him gently, "you might live."
Keeping Kowalski, Ray/Ray. Okay, so this is a total cheat, because Brigantine1 posted this story just after I'd finished writing the profile. I have to add it, though, because it is made of hearts and WIN and cookies!
At his first glance at Kowalski's hole-riddled white undershirt and his cotton Jockeys with the saggy elastic, Ray's immediate urge was to lock Kowalski in his apartment, and go down to Silverman's men's shop to buy the guy some decent gear. For crying out loud, Kowalski was a detective. He had commendations. Going on four years now he'd hung out with a tall, handsome Canadian in a perfectly pressed wool uniform and a hat whose brim he ironed. It seemed to Ray that at least a little of that sartorial care should have worn off.And one more, because the image is priceless:
Then it occurred to Ray that running out to buy his partner a new set of knickers was an act that might be misconstrued by that partner. And apparently by Ray's libido, because Kowalski standing there with his knobby knees sticking out from under the frayed hem of loose, baby blue boxers, with his worn-through t-shirt clinging tight across his chest while he yawned and blinked and tried to focus enormous blue eyes on Ray, all of that was making Ray want to either adopt him like a puppy, or throw him back onto the bed and kiss him senseless. Ray honestly did not know which scenario surprised him more.
He took refuge in his familiar Chicago Bad Cop routine. "Kowalski, you're a mess. You need new underwear."
Kowalski shoved his glasses onto his face and stuck his chin out. "Bite me."
Disheveled as an alley cat dragged through a knothole backwards, and just as grumpy, Kowalski should not be that... cute. Sweet Baby Jesus, this was bad, very bad. Ray cast aside his pride and resorted immediately to the lowest threat he could imagine. "I will call your mother, and tell her about the deplorable state of your underthings, should you some day need to be taken away in an ambulance. See if I don't."
"My mom's in Arizona."
"She's your mother, Kowalski. Arizona is not far enough away for you to be safe from your mother. China is not far enough away for you to be safe."
Kowalski's lower lip trembled. "I hate you."
Ray snorted. "Go wash your face."
"Christ on a crutch," Kowalski complained, "you let a guy touch your eyeballs and he thinks he owns you!"
The entire bull pen went silent. Every detective in the room stopped, turned, and stared, like a herd of startled wildebeest checking out the lions on the African savannah.
Ray and Kowalski looked at each other for a second and then burst out laughing.