WIP Amnesty, Day 5, Part 2

[dira]

Around mid-morning, after breakfast and the day’s first chores had been dealt with, and the dogs staked out again, David headed out to the space before the cabin to play tag with Wally. Fraser stood in the doorway, watching him as he worked the kinks out of his back and mentally scolded his own softness in wishing for some nice snow to sleep on instead of a wooden floor.

David would occasionally flash a grin at Wally as they played, but he seemed for the most part quite seriously focused on their game, which, given the apparently boundless energy of a five-year-old and a summering sled dog, would likely go on until Fraser called a halt. Steeling himself, Fraser pulled the trunk over nearer to the doorway and, sitting down in the opening, lifted the lid and pulled out the first item which came to hand, a cardboard box.

To his surprise, it had *Ben* written on the lid in a familiar hand. Steadying the box on his knees, he lifted the lid. The first thing to meet his eyes was a note, in that same familiar writing.

*Rachel,

Some things from when Ben was young. I’ve nowhere to keep them safe these days and maybe this will give you some ideas what to expect with the little one.

Love to you both,
RF*

He reread the short note several times, but there could be no interpretation put to it other than that his father had wished Rachel to know him, or at least about him. Setting the page carefully aside, he looked to the contents of the box, and couldn’t help a smile.

On top lay his baby bag, which he hadn’t realized still existed outside his father’s office in his closet. He touched it lightly, studying the stitching, then raised it to his face. The smell of the leather and fur, a faint soap scent, perhaps sweat... for just an instant, he could see his mother again. His hands tightened on the leather, and he forced himself to look up, away, toward David, dodging left right left before turning to run again, Wally bounding good-naturedly after him.

Underneath the baby bag, he found a couple of much-gnawed items, carved originally, he thought, from bone or perhaps antler. His name, Ben, was scored deeply into each one. His father must have made them, he realized; away on duty during his son’s infancy, he had sat in camp and carved teething toys to send home.

He set them down quickly on the baby bag, and picked up the envelope that stood against the side of the box, tipping out a stack of pictures. The top one was from his Academy graduation; he’d never found a copy among his father’s things, and now, at least, he knew why. Beneath it were a handful of pictures of himself as a child, more than he had ever known existed. Three had been taken during his toddlerhood, and he squinted without much recognition at the chubby dark-haired baby before him.

Then he came to one taken when he was about four years old. He was dressed in brown pants and boots, and a bright red sweater with small yellow stripes at the cuffs, made by his mother in imitation of his father’s dress uniform, which had always fascinated him. He stood, grinning widely, beside his father, dressed for once in civvies, his hand resting on top of Ben’s head. He closed his eyes, and he could feel that hand, heavy on top of his hair; he remembered being so excited to have his father home that he could hardly speak, only smile, and wear his new sweater, and follow his father everywhere he went. He remembered squinting in the sunlight, his father calling laughing instructions to Muldoon as he fiddled with the camera, his mother standing to one side, watching her men with pride. He let the pictures fall back into the box, and buried his face in his hands.

When he’d pulled himself together, he returned everything to the box, ignoring the remainder of its contents, and returned it to the trunk. He reached for a more innocuous folder, and only noticed as he opened it that David had stopped his game and was standing a few meters away, watching him with apparent concern. He forced a smile. “It’s all right, David.” The boy nodded, tagged Wally between the ears, and resumed his game, but Fraser noticed that David was watching him now, warily, no longer wholly intent on playing.

Fraser stifled a sigh, trying to keep his expression neutral. This was probably the first moment of normality David had been able to have in days, and he’d drawn him from it. Perhaps if he kept still, David would forget he was there. He flipped through the pages before him without really seeing anything; it was legal and financial documentation, insurance forms and medical records. He tried to focus, but the words blurred before his eyes, the black print on white paper too harsh under the bright sunlight. He laid them aside as well and picked up the small packet beneath them.

Photos again, but these were bright and new, Kodak-processed. He stared a long time at the first one, which showed his father, in full dress uniform, holding a dark-haired infant, perhaps six months old, who could only be David. The proud smile on his face was nearly identical to the one he’d just seen, in the picture of his father and himself. When he looked up, David was watching him again, this time from a distance of about two feet. He smiled a little more naturally this time, and beckoned David closer, tilting the photo so that he could see it. “You know who that is, David? That’s Dad holding you, when you were a baby.”

David nodded, stepping into the doorway to stand close to Ben’s side. He set one small hand on his brother’s shoulder, leaning in to look at the picture, and Fraser’s smile widened.

***

Ray was about to give up and go home empty-handed when his phone rang. “Yeah?”

“Hello, Ray, it’s good to hear your voice.”

He burst into a grin, and almost fell to his knees right there in front of God and everyone. “Fraser! Where are you, how’s it going?”

“Things are going well, I think, Ray.” Well, he *thought*? Hell, that could mean anything, coming from Fraser, and the connection wasn’t so good that he could tell whether that was fake-happy in Fraser’s voice.

“The kid’s doing all right?”

“Yes, David seems to be dealing with everything remarkably well; but then he knew already that he’d be coming to Chicago with me. He seems quite curious to meet Dief, and you.”

Dief, and him. Well, a Yank cop probably wasn’t much to compare with a wolf, from a kid’s point of view, especially when the kid had Fraser for a brother, not to mention The Illustrious Sergeant Bob Fraser for a dad. Ray could deal. “That’s good, Fraser.”

“I feel I should tell you, Ray,” and Fraser’s voice dropped a little, and it occurred to Ray to wonder where Fraser was calling from–-who the hell had a phone, in Paulatuk? “David is, well, a somewhat reserved child. I picked him up when we first met, and I believe it was something of an affront to his dignity. I know you can be, ah–-” Fraser trailed off, probably trying to think of a polite way to say *grabby*.

No running up to the kid and hugging him before they’d even been introduced. He’d figured for that anyway, good to know he’d been thinking in the right direction. “Gotcha, Fraser. I won’t push him.” He’d pushed Fraser, of course, first day, not even introduced, and if Fraser wasn’t ‘somewhat reserved’ nobody was. That had turned out okay, though, lucky him. “Has to be weird, anyway, when you think about it. I mean, here you are, you’re a little kid, and people are always just picking you up and moving you around.”

“Quite so, Ray.”

Ray nodded, even though Fraser couldn’t see him; seemed like he knew anyway.

“I am a little worried,” Fraser said, still in that lowered voice. “David seems quite attached to the lead dog from his mother’s sled team, but he’s adamant that they’re working dogs and shouldn’t be split up, so we’re leaving all of them behind.”

*Bingo*. “That’s rough, Fraser.” And it was, it was awful that the kid couldn’t or wouldn’t bring his dog back, but that wasn’t to say the situation didn’t have its upside. “That lead dog, he a, what, husky, like Dief’s relatives?” Blue eyes, he’d seen blue eyes somewhere...

“A Malamute, actually, Ray. They’re a very clever breed, as I think Mack and Ginger taught you. Wally seems to have been a good caretaker for David.”

Ray was nodding again, and moved down the aisle, looking through the masses of synthetic fur and fluffiness until he found a bin with stuffed dogs who had black and white fur and brown eyes, and curly white plumes of tails. He sorted through them and picked the best one, then showed it to Dief, who barked his approval. “That really sucks about his dog, Fraser,” he said, moving toward the stairs, since Dief apparently had a Thing about escalators today. “You got any idea yet when you’ll be back?”

“Ah. Tuesday, probably, at the earliest. I’ll be in touch when I know our flights.”

“Sounds good, Fraser. Tell David hi for me, okay?” Dief barked again, drawing looks from a few other Toys’R’Us customers, but Ray just smiled and shrugged the shoulder with the badge on it. “And tell him hi for Dief, too.”

“I certainly will, Ray. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Likewise, Fraser.” He hung up, tucked the phone away, and hugged the stuffed dog experimentally. Yeah, that should be just about right.

***

The judge shuffled some papers, nodding to himself. “One question, Constable Fraser.” He looked up, frowning slightly, and Ben sat up infinitesimally straighter and gave his best politely inquisitive look. “Is there a reason you chose to apply for David’s guardianship rather than adoption?”

Fraser blinked, and tried to remember if Blake had even mentioned the possibility of adoption, during that first phone call. Glancing to his side, he saw Blake nod slightly, *go ahead*, so they probably had had some sort of conversation on the topic.

He thought a moment and found he had an answer. “Yes, sir, there is. It seems to me that the purpose of adoption is to legally create a family tie where none exists.” He glanced down at the top of David’s head, as his brother sat at his right, neatly dressed and quiet, and directed his words as much to the child beside him as to the judge who would decide their fate. “That’s not necessary in this case, because David and I are already family. We are brothers. My application for guardianship is merely a request for the legal recognition of that tie, and the permission to care for David as a brother should.”

David looked up at him, and Fraser smiled a little. David smiled a little back, and the judge cleared his throat. “David Fraser. Do you understand what we’re discussing here today?” They both turned their attention back to the judge, and David nodded. “Do you want to go and live with Ben, David?”

David nodded again. “He’s my brother, sir. I should stay with my brother.” David looked down briefly, then back up. “He has important work in Chicago. I want to go to Chicago with Ben, please.”

The judge cracked a smile at that. “Well, I think we’re all in order, here, then. Constable Fraser, your application for guardianship is hereby granted. I’m not sure when or how we’ll manage the obligatory home visit, but we’ll be in touch.”

Blake and the judge and the children’s advocate all stood, and Fraser followed suit, David hopping down from his seat on his other side. Hands were shaken all around, and he was given some more papers and ushered out of the hearing room, out of the courthouse, into the sunlight, with his brother by his side.

***

Fraser stopped suddenly on the sidewalk, and David, beside him, stopped as well, looking up at him curiously. They’d be flying home tomorrow, spending all day on planes and in airports, and David would need something to occupy him. As much as he hated the irony, Ben reached out and pulled open the door, gesturing David into the bookshop ahead of himself.

He’d never been into this particular shop before, but the smell of the place–-dust and paper and mystery, and somewhere a cat–-was familiar all the same. After taking a few appreciative breaths, and with a mental salute to his grandparents, whose library had given him the power to feel at home among any collection of books, he looked down at David. The boy was gazing around, wide-eyed; apparently he’d never been into this shop, either. When he finally looked up, Fraser smiled down at him. “I was thinking,” he explained, “you might like a book or two, to read tomorrow on the plane.”

The wonderment slipped away from David’s face, and he looked down at the floor, his small shoulders hunching briefly. Finally, visibly steeling himself, he met Fraser’s eyes again. “I don’t know my letters yet,” he said, quietly. “I can’t read.”

“Ah.” He bit back the first thought that came to mind--*What, not at all?*--and said instead, “Well, now you can start learning. That’s what big brothers are for, you know, to help you learn things.” David seemed to relax a little at that assurance, and looked around again. Ben guided him over to the children’s section, aiming for the picture books. “Here, why don’t you choose one of these? Just look through them and see which one you like. I’ll be right over there.” He waved vaguely toward the Non-Fiction section, a couple of aisles away in the small shop, and David nodded without looking, already enthralled by the assortment of brightly colored books.

Fraser moved away to Non-Fiction, picked up the first book that came to his hand, and then stood still, watching David. The boy picked up first one book and then another, holding them carefully, scrutinizing their covers and hefting them uncertainly. He occasionally opened one to look at the pages, although, given their large size, this was somewhat difficult to do standing up, and David seemed hesitant to chance dropping or otherwise damaging one of the books. After he’d carefully replaced half a dozen candidates, he pulled a light blue book out from behind a stack of red ones. The cover was illustrated with a large white bear, painted in a broad, simple style. David stared at the cover for a couple of minutes without looking away, and then, without checking its contents, looked around for Ben.

He was already heading back over to the corner where David stood, the book he’d picked up still in his hand. David raised the book he was holding. “I like this one, please,” he said, his eyes fixed, not on his chosen book, but on Ben.

He smiled. “Do you know what kind of bear that is?”

David nodded, smiling shyly back. “Polar bear.”

Ben smiled wider. “Here, look.” He pointed to the first two words of the book’s title. “That’s what this says, David. Polar - bear.”

David looked down at the black type, tracing his fingers over the words Ben had indicated. “Polar bear,” he repeated, softly, and Fraser smiled. Then he looked up again, and nodded toward the book in Ben’s hand. “Is that one for you to read on the plane?”

Fraser looked down at the title for the first time, and raised a hand to his forehead, smoothing one eyebrow with a thumbnail as he reminded himself that David didn’t know his letters yet. “No,” he said, as casually as he could manage, “I was just looking at this one.”

On their way up to the cash register, he set *The Joy of Gay Sex* down on the Fantasy Fiction shelf, assuring himself that, judging by his own recent experience, it was a more accurate classification than the original one.

***

The phone rang as Ray was unlocking the door. He set down dinner on the coffee table as he grabbed the phone, making an emphatic *wait* gesture at Dief. “Kowalski.”

“Hello there, Ray.”

He couldn’t stop the grin from taking over his face. “Fraser! How’s it going?” Dief barked, and backed off from his investigation of the coffee table, though Ray knew better than to think he’d be distracted for long.

“We had our hearing today, and I was formally granted David’s guardianship. We’re flying back to Chicago tomorrow.”

*Tomorrow*. Ray looked around the apartment, trying to figure out what he’d forgotten to do. He should clean up again, take out the trash. Cook something. “Tomorrow, all right, that’s great. When does your flight get in?”

“Seven thirteen, Terminal 3.”

“Air Canada, right?” Ray made another gesture at Dief as he headed for the bedroom, knowing perfectly well it was useless and he was going to have to settle for eating whatever Dief didn’t get into before he got back.

“That’s correct, Ray.”

“I’ll be there with bells on, Fraser.” He picked up the measuring tape and a pencil from on top of his dresser. “Hey, how tall is David?”

“How... tall, Ray?” Fraser sounded like he was still trying to figure out the bells thing, and Ray decided to just let him stew over that one.

“Yeah, y’know.” He dropped the tape alongside the closet door, lining up the end with the floor. “How tall is he, would you say? I wanna make sure he’ll be okay reaching the sinks and stuff.”

“Ah. Well, I’d estimate he’s about 115 centimeters, that is--”

“Three foot nine,” Ray muttered, reading across the tape as he made a mark on the door frame. “Got it.”

“Any other questions?” Fraser sounded amused.

“Nah,” Ray said, eyeing the presents he’d picked out. He could ask whether Fraser thought David would like them, but he wanted to see whether he could make it on his own judgement there. “I think we’re all set.”

“Ah. All right then, Ray. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Seven thirteen, Terminal 3, Air Canada.”

“As you say. Good night, Ray.”

“Night, Fraser.”

He hung up the phone and set it down on the dresser, and picked up the presents. Left hand, down by his side. Then, watching himself in the mirror on the closet door, he crouched down, til his head was level with the mark. Just there, okay, his knees could do that for a few minutes. “Hi,” he said, smiling at the mirror. “I’m Ray.”

***

Fraser was not quite asleep in the unaccustomed comfort of his hotel bed when a small sound from the next bed brought him fully alert. He rolled onto his side, pushing up on one elbow as he squinted in the dimness. David was lying flat on his back, arms at his sides, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly. Distant headlights cast a brief illumination through the chink in the curtains, and he saw light reflecting off David’s wide-open eyes.

“David?” he said, softly, but as soon as he spoke David’s eyes snapped shut, and he rolled onto his side, facing away. Ben frowned, staring across the space between them, perhaps six feet, at the small boy’s stiff pajama-clad shoulder. He stayed that way for a long time, watching, until at last David seemed to be asleep. He did not sleep himself for a long time after that.

***

Fraser rolled up the sleeves of his henley, in preparation for the warmth of a Chicago evening. It was a good thing they’d arrived after the peak of the day’s heat, because David didn’t have any clothes appropriate to summer this far south–-they’d have to go shopping soon. “David,” he said ], as the boy looked around the plane as though they hadn’t just spent the last few hours in it, waiting for the seatbelt light to go off. “Why don’t you take off your sweater? It’ll be very warm outside.”

David tore his gaze away from his surroundings long enough to struggle out of the bright red sweater he was wearing, leaving him in a white undershirt and brown corduroys. He folded the sweater neatly and settled it in his lap, then resumed looking around. Ben couldn’t help smiling; he felt nearly as excited to have landed in Chicago as David seemed to be.

When they were finally permitted to begin disembarking, Fraser picked up his own knapsack and helped David on with his backpack after tucking his sweater inside with his book and his pajamas, and then, from longstanding habit, prepared to wait, letting others off ahead of himself. Several people in his immediate vicinity, however, held back, waving them ahead, and with a jolt he realized that, for David’s sake, he was now an object of others’ politeness. He hid his momentary confusion in motion, ushering David out into the aisle.

They departed the plane quickly, David leading, though he fell back to Fraser’s side as soon as they emerged into the Jetway, and inched closer to his side as they moved along, other passengers hurrying past. Fraser set his hand on David’s shoulder, and David looked up at him, smiling a little nervously.
Then they were stepping out into the terminal, and there was Ray, leaning against the end seat in a row. He was staring abstractedly out a window, so that it took a moment before he spotted them, and then his face lit with a familiar grin that warmed Fraser more than summer in Chicago. He raised his hand from David’s shoulder to wave at Ray, and David drifted slightly away from his side as he looked around, trying to see through the crowd from his waist-high vantage.

Ray moved to meet them, and Fraser noticed he was carrying a small paper shopping bag, half-hidden behind his back. Then they were face-to-face, and Fraser felt his own grin mirroring Ray’s. “Ray, this is David. David, this is–-” he faltered there, as he wasn’t sure what to tell David to call Ray, but Ray winked briefly at him, and dropped down into a crouch, putting himself at David’s eye level.

“Hi there,” he said, with a friendly smile for David alone, “I’m Ray.”

David smiled shyly back, and shook Ray’s offered hand. “Hello, Detective–-”

“Detective?” Ray repeated, his smiled widening as he tilted his head. “Hey, did I say I was called detective?”

David shook his head, uncertain.

Ray glanced up at Fraser. “Well, do you call this guy Constable?”

David shook his head again, his smile returning in the face of Ray’s obvious good humor. “He’s my brother. I call him Ben.”

“Ben, huh? Well, see, he’s your brother and I’m his friend, so that means you and me are going to be friends too, I hope. And you don’t call people you’re going to be friends with ‘detective’. You call them Ray.”

David blinked, and Fraser bit his tongue, but to his surprise, David said what he was thinking. “Even if that’s not their name?”

Ray didn’t quite laugh, though his eyes twinkled with humor. “Always. Ask your brother if he’s got any friends around here who aren’t called Ray.”

David looked up at him, and Ben said, with the straightest face he could manage, “Just Diefenbaker, and I brought him with me.”

“Okay,” David said, looking back to Ray with a grin. “Ray.”

“All right! Now that we got that sorted out...” Ray put one knee down to the floor, steadying himself as he turned and pulled something out of the bag he’d been carrying. “I, um, brought you a couple welcome-to-Chicago presents, but this one’s really more to help you not miss Canada too much.” He brought out a stuffed dog from behind his back, and Fraser realized that it wasn’t just a stuffed dog–-it was a Malamute.

Fraser edged sideways a little, to get a better look at David’s face. He was staring wide-eyed at the toy, and Ray was looking just as delighted at his happiness as David looked at the gift. After a moment’s hesitation, David took the dog from Ray’s hand, immediately hugging it close to himself. “Thank you kindly, Ray,” he said after another moment, and then he looked up at Ben. “Do you think... do you think it would be okay to call him Wally?”

Fraser smiled. “I think that would be fine.”

“Wally,” David murmured to the dog, petting it behind the ears. “You’re a good dog.”

Fraser looked over at Ray again, to see what he thought of that, and met his gaze turning up. They shared a smile, and then Ray returned his attention to David. “Okay, and I also got you a real Chicago present.” David looked up eagerly, and Ray held out a child-sized baseball cap, bright red and sporting a Chicago Blackhawks emblem. “This is a Hawks hat, it means you root for our hockey team here in Chicago, which of course you’re going to do for as long as you’re living here.”

David accepted the hat with another “Thank you kindly,” and put it on.

Fraser couldn’t resist saying, “You know, Ray, Canadians in the north traditionally support the Oilers.”

Ray looked up at him and glanced around ostentatiously. “This doesn’t look like the Northwest Areas to me, Fraser.” David was watching them both, from under the brim of his red hat, with obvious fascination. “When in Chicago, do as the Chicagoans do, huh?”

Fraser didn’t bother actually refuting that statement, merely rocked on his booted heels and raised an eyebrow. “That’s as may be, Ray. But should anything unfortunate happen to David’s hat, I must say that, as his guardian and a Canadian, I’d be compelled to replace it in a more appropriate fashion.”

Ray turned his attention back to David. “You’ll guard that hat with your life, won’t you, buddy?”

David nodded solemnly, and Ray smiled. “Good, greatness. We should probably get a move on, Dief’s going to get bored and eat the couch or something if we don’t get home soon. David,” Ray patted his own shoulder. “You want a ride? I know you could walk it,” he added, casually, “but that way you’d get a better view, see the lay of the land.”

David hesitated a moment, and then nodded. Fraser leant a hand–-there was a brief scrambling confusion of limbs–-and then Ray was straightening up with David astride his shoulders. David settled his hands lightly in Ray’s hair, and pressed his heels against Ray’s sides, tucked under his arms. He held Ray’s dog under his arm, and wore Ray’s hat, and he was smiling more than Fraser had seen him at any time in the last two days. Ray turned and headed toward the baggage claim, and Fraser followed a step behind, trying not to feel more jealous than happy.

***

The kid stopped at the landing, and Ray looked up from making sure he didn’t drop the trunk he and Fraser were carrying to see him waiting there. “One more flight up, then right,” he said, waving him on. David nodded and took off before Ray could wonder whether he was old enough to know his right from his left.

He looked back down, at Fraser, who still had that grin plastered on his face, and shifted his grip a little in the nylon straps that were wrapped around the trunk, taking another careful step up. The trunk, which apparently held everything of David’s and his mom’s that had been worth bringing south, was old-fashioned, with a big tarnished lock and brass studs all over. It had bright yellow strapping all around it, keeping it shut and giving them something to grip–-he’d known it had to be the one when he saw it at the luggage carousel, there was something about that combination of old and rustic and high-tech that screamed ‘Arctic’. The place was totally traditional, except when there was something newer that you had to jump on because it made it that little bit easier to stay alive.

Around the landing and up the last flight, and when they reached the hallway, David was standing at the door to his apartment, waiting for them. Ray felt his eyebrows go up. “Wow, good guess, David. How’d you know which one?”

The kid made a little gesture toward the door with the arm that held Wally clamped against his side. “Dief was talking to me.”

Ray nodded, wondering as they walked up whether David meant talking, the weird not-bark vocalization that Dief did sometimes, or talking, like ‘Hey, it’s this door right here, come on, the donuts are in the cupboard.’ Probably both; thinking wolves talked to you probably ran in the family. Without setting down his end of the trunk, Ray fished his keys out of his pocket. He slammed the side of his fist against the door–-whether he could hear it or not, the rattle of the door would back Dief off far enough that David could get through before he got jumped–-and then unlocked the door and pushed it open so David could dart inside.

Sure enough, Dief had backed off just to the edge of the tile, and bounded forward again as soon as the kid got inside. David laughed as he got his face licked, and Dief kinda danced around him but didn’t actually knock him down. After a second Ray realized that Fraser was still behind him in the hallway, and moved on, stepping around the kid and the wolf, and headed for the handiest clear space to set the trunk down.

Once he got his hand loose, he stood staring down at it, flexing his fingers and rubbing at the red stripe indented across his palm, waiting for Fraser to say something.

What he said, finally, was, “Ray,” in a weird choked voice. Ray looked up quickly, but Fraser was just staring at the spot where the couch was until a couple days ago, where there was now a scattering of cushions on the floor, rubbing fiercely at one eyebrow.

Ray shrugged, and walked over to the little space he’d made with a bookshelf and a screen, with the couch made up as a bed for David, and Fraser’s cot alongside. There were milk crates stacked between, with a lamp on top, and a couple more at the end of the couch, for David to keep his stuff in. “I went and got your stuff,” he said, waving at the cot and the storage boxes stacked at the foot. “I figured you wouldn’t mind. Aynsford gave me a hand with the cot.”

Fraser followed him over, and again he didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, which was a really long time to stand there waiting for him to say something, and then, “I think the cot belongs to the Consulate, actually.”

“Really?” Ray couldn’t tell if that was good. It’d be easier if he could bring himself to look at Fraser, but they were both just staring at the little makeshift bedroom like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “Meijer seemed pretty pleased to see it leave, so I think it’s yours now.”

“Ah,” Fraser said, and then, “I–-Ray, I don’t know how to thank you, you’ve--”

Ray waved a hand, trying to hide the relief that flooded him. Fraser wasn’t pissed at him for presuming too much, pushing too hard. He didn’t need to hear anything else. “Told you I’d help you out on your adventure, right? Consider it paybacks for all those nights you made camp by yourself because it took me half an hour just to crawl out of the sled.”

He dared to glance over, then, and caught a little smile on Fraser’s face. David trotted up just then, with Dief at his side. His hat had gotten knocked off, and unlike his brother, he apparently *could* have messy hair. Of course he appeared to have about half a pint of wolf spit in it, which probably made a difference.

“Is this where we sleep?”

Fraser nodded quickly, moving forward, setting his knapsack down on the cot. “Yes, yes. You’ll be sleeping on the couch here, and I’ll be on the cot, right next to you, just like the hotel.” David brushed past Ray, taking off his backpack and setting it in the middle of the couch, just like Fraser had done with his. Aside from the messy hair he was the perfect mini-Fraser; they were even dressed alike, brown pants and boots and undershirts. David’s pants, of course, lacked the spiffy yellow stripe, but Ray had already been lectured more than once on how the stripe–-the whole uniform–-had to be *earned*, so of course a five-year-old wasn’t there yet.

Ray glanced around. “You guys eat on the plane? You want anything to drink or anything?”

Fraser, who was of course familiar with the usual state of his refrigerator, opened his mouth to say something, probably that water was fine, and Ray said quickly, “I got milk, I wasn’t sure what kind you like so I got two percent. And juice.”

Fraser closed his mouth again, and Ray had to look away from the expression on his face. He had to remember to be someplace else when Fraser found the oatmeal. David was frowning intently as he tried to flatten his sticking-up hair with the hand that wasn’t clutching Wally, and said, “Could I have some milk, please?”

“Yeah, buddy, coming right up, come on.” He turned away quickly, headed to the kitchen, David following him and Dief following David, probably hoping something interesting would get spilled. He grabbed one of the plastic cups off the shelf, and poured it two-thirds full of milk, and took it over to the kitchen table. David climbed up into a seat, and Ray set his cup down in front of him, and then Fraser was standing by the table, and Ray said, “Siddown, I’ll get you a cup too,” and Fraser just nodded and sat.

He filled up another plastic cup, just like the one he’d given David, and set it down by Fraser, and then he took the seat across from him, on the other side of David, and watched them both, drinking their milk seriously, like it demanded all their attention. Maybe it did; Ray had always been more in the pinch-your-nose-and-knock-it-back school of milk-drinking, but they seemed to like it.

Once he’d emptied his cup, David was looking around the apartment, almost bouncing with excitement, but Fraser said quietly, “David, it’s about time for bed. It’s been a long day,” and the kid just went still, just like that, and nodded, hopping down from his chair and going over to the couch. Fraser smiled almost apologetically as he got up to go supervise, like Ray hadn’t known he was going to be spending his time taking care of the kid, and Ray took the cups and rinsed them out while Fraser showed David the bathroom.

He stayed quietly in the kitchen fiddling with stuff in the sink, listening as David got ready and said his prayers–-half in French, it sounded like, but he said the Our Father in English and Ray mouthed the words along, like a reflex. Then David said something to Fraser in French, and they talked like that for a couple minutes. Ray wondered what they were saying, straining to catch a word he could understand, but they spoke quickly, and David’s accent was different from Fraser’s, and he didn’t know more than three or four words of French anyway. Then Fraser cleared his throat and started to sing “Northwest Passage,” and Ray turned around to look toward them, leaning against the counter.

He could just see Fraser, sitting on the end of the couch, looking over at David as he sang. It reminded him of the Adventure; that had been their theme song, out there in the Big White Empty, and even though he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket Fraser had managed to hammer the melody into his brain after a while, through sheer repetition. In the early days, though, when he had all he could do just to keep himself moving, just to eat at the end of the day and fall asleep in the tent instead of sitting by the fire, Fraser used to sing it to him every night, just like he was singing to David now, except Ray had never seen Fraser smile at him like that.

As if he’d heard that thought, Fraser looked his way, without pausing in his singing, without dimming the smile. Ray turned away quickly, feeling like he’d been caught watching something he shouldn’t. Fraser wasn’t singing for him, after all; he was singing for the kid. Ray dried his hands quickly, trying to tune out the sound of Fraser’s voice, and slipped away to his bedroom.
He should’ve shut the door, of course, but then he wouldn’t be able to hear Fraser singing, so he left it half open as he puttered around the room, jittery with leftover nerves. It had gone all right, though; the kid seemed to like him, Fraser wasn’t mad, they were here safe and everything was going to be fine.

Ray was staring blankly into his sock drawer when Fraser tapped on the door frame. He looked up and said the first stupid thing that came to mind. “I didn’t know David spoke French.”

“Ah,” Fraser said, and rubbed his eyebrow. “Yes. His mother was originally from Quebec, and while she seems to have been primarily English-speaking, she used enough French with David that he acquired a native fluency.”

Ray nodded, and looked back down at his socks. They were all neat and tidy, because he’d done that at some point over the weekend, so he couldn’t actually straighten the drawer any more than it already was. He went on staring at it anyway. “That’s good. Good that he has you to talk French to, y’know. My parents used to speak Polish to each other, when me and m’brother weren’t supposed to know what they were saying. Kev, of course, he was always telling me he knew what they were saying, drove me nuts, but I don’t think he really knew, y’know, any more than I did, he just–-”

“Ray.”

For maybe the first time ever, he stopped on the first repetition of his name, and looked up at Fraser. He was actually *leaning* on the door frame. “Yeah, Fraser?”

He tugged on his ear, rubbed his eyebrow, and then met Ray’s eyes with an almost pained look. “Ray, do you remember the day we met?”

Ray smiled. “Yeah, Fraser.” He pushed the sock drawer shut, moved a step closer. “Flaming car, dunk in the lake, getting shot, it was a pretty memorable day.”

Fraser smiled faintly back, and rubbed at his eyebrow again. If he’d been wearing the serge he’d have tugged at the collar, Ray thought, but as it was he just made a weird little gesture with his hand, near his throat, and then lowered it to his side. “Yes. I was wondering, actually, if you remembered, the, ah, the first thing you did, when we met.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Fraser, and under the scrutiny, Fraser straightened up and took a tiny step inside, and Ray really looked at him for the first time since the airport. Now that he wasn’t compulsively grinning anymore–-not on his best behavior for the kid, maybe–-he looked whacked. His face was tight with exhaustion, the skin under his eyes looking just faintly darkened.

And he wanted a hug, Ray realized, even as Fraser tugged at his ear again, obviously trying to figure out what else to say to make Ray get that. He was tired, and he needed a hug which Ray didn’t think had ever happened before, so bad that he’d come in here looking for it, and Ray was so slow on the uptake he was going to make the poor Mountie ask for it, in actual words, in another second.

He went over to him, real close. “Yeah, Fraser, I think I remember. Something like, um,” he leaned forward, put his arms around him, and Fraser lifted his arms a little to make it easy, “something like this, right?”

“Ah,” Fraser said, shifting a half-step closer, “yes, Ray, very much like this.” And then he lowered his arms, hugging Ray back, his hands splayed on Ray’s back, warm through his t-shirt.

Ray tightened his arms a little more, and cleared his throat. “Faster, though. I figured you’d pop me one if I stuck around.”

“Oh,” Fraser said, close to his ear, very close, “I–-I hope you know that I would never, Ray, never take offense because your culturally conditioned modes of expressing affection are different from my own.”

Ray snorted, and set his chin on Fraser’s shoulder, since it was right there in front of him and exactly the right height and all. “Yeah, Fraser, now that I know you I’m not worried you’ll punch me for hugging you.”

“Oh,” Fraser said, again, and then the starch seemed to go out of him, his shoulders slumping, and he lowered his head, turning it so his cheek was on Ray’s shoulder, so when he spoke Ray could feel Fraser’s breath against his throat, “I’m glad to hear that, Ray.”

He didn’t say anything after that, and Ray tightened his arms a little more–-carefully, not so much that it would seem like the end-of-hug squeeze, just enough to tell Fraser to stay put–-and shifted his weight, settling himself on his feet so he could just stand like this all night, if Fraser wanted to. It should’ve been too warm to be this close–-he was sweating a little, and Fraser, in wool pants and a thermal shirt, should’ve been, too, although it seemed like he never did–-but he didn’t mind. He’d been Mountie-less for five days, so this was just like making up for lost time. He closed his eyes, and realized he could feel Fraser’s heart beating under his hand, which was kind of cool. Fraser could probably hear his heart beating, and Ray thought about saying something, but then this was good too, this not-talking hugging thing.

Finally Fraser sighed, cool against the side of his neck, and straightened up, stepping away. Ray let him go, tucking his hands firmly into his pockets to keep from trying to pull him back. That had probably been Fraser’s hugging quota for the rest of the decade, after all. “I’m sorry, Ray, it’s been a long day, I think I’d better get to bed.”

Ray nodded, and when he smiled Fraser smiled back, and it wasn’t hard to look at him anymore. “Yeah, flying sucks. Go on, don’t want the kid waking up someplace strange without you by him.”

Fraser nodded, and headed out to the dim living room, and Ray scrubbed one hand through his hair, looking around his room. It was barely dark out, and he wasn’t jittering anymore, but he was still miles away from sleep. He’d need something to do.

***

Fraser laid down on his familiar cot with a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been looking forward to sleeping on the floor, but Ray, it seemed, had thought of everything. David slept soundly on the couch, barely an arm’s length away, leaned up against the back of the couch as he had leaned against Wally at home, his face buried in the fur of his stuffed dog.

Fraser rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the quiet sounds of Ray, sitting sprawled in an armchair, shifting his position nearly as often as he turned pages. The single light he had on, near his chair, made enough light for Fraser to make out the ceiling as he fought down the memory of Ray in his arms.

*It wasn’t like that,* he told himself firmly. *Ray didn’t mean it like that, he’s never meant it like that, he wouldn’t have done it if he knew you’d think of it like that, and it is not fair to think of it that way when it wasn’t.*

He closed his eyes, evening his breathing, wishing he could force his mind to calm as easily as his body. *Accept,* he told himself, as he had been telling himself for years. *Accept his friendship. Don’t presume, just because you want more. Don’t push.*

He wrapped his empty arms around himself, and after a time David’s breathing and Ray’s considerately quiet fidgeting lulled him to sleep.

***

David woke up in a half-light like dawn, and looked around, confused. The dog under his arm–-*Wally*–-and Ben sleeping nearby made him remember, though. They were in Chicago, and in Chicago the nights stayed long, even in the summer.

David slipped out of bed, quietly, since Ben was still sleeping, and picked up his clothes from where they were stacked on the little shelf by his couch bed. He took them along to the bathroom, used the toilet and washed up, standing gingerly on the books that were stacked in front of the sink. Last night, Ben had stared at them for a moment and then said that if Ray left them on the floor like that, it would be all right to step on them.

When he’d gotten dressed, washed his face and combed his hair, he took a moment to look at the books. They were big and thick with bright yellow covers and thin pages, some yellow and some a pale grey, all closely printed with black words. There were some pictures, toward the end, but he could make no sense of them, so he closed them and set them back where he’d found them.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Ben was still sleeping, but Dief was waiting for him just outside the door, and he’d brought Wally over. “Thank you kindly, Dief,” he whispered, and petted him behind his ears before he picked up Wally. Dief whuffed softly in reply, and licked his cheek.

He ought to start the morning chores, but he wasn’t sure what that meant here in Chicago. There was no fire that he could see, and he supposed they didn’t need one, as warm as it was down south here. The only dog to feed was Dief, but David knew better than to ask him about when and how much he was meant to be fed–-dogs always said *Now, in fact no one’s fed me for days, better give me double.* He checked Dief’s water dish, and found it nearly empty–-but not all the way, so Dief wasn’t thirsty enough to drink the last drops. Anyway, he ought to be taken out after he was watered, but David didn’t see any lines about to stake him out. Of course, Dief was a lead dog, so he probably didn’t go on a line, but even so, David didn’t know where he could possibly go out; they’d have to go down three flights of stairs just to get outside, and the outside he’d glimpsed last night had been nothing but concrete.

“Sorry, Dief,” he whispered, turning away from the kitchen. Dief didn’t seem to mind, trotting over to the big open area and hopping up into the armchair. David followed, looking around.

There was a tv, he realized. There had been a tv at the hotel where he and his mum had stayed last winter, and he had watched it sometimes while his mum slept. He scowled down at the floor, blinking hard, fighting back babyish tears. After a moment, he looked up again, determined; he would watch the tv, quietly, until Ben woke up. That way Ben could get his sleep–-it wasn’t good to wake people, he knew, if you woke up before they did. If they were still sleeping, it meant they were tired and needed to rest.

He needed a remote control. There were an assortment of them on the table, and he studied them carefully. Three were complicated affairs with buttons of different colors, and he didn’t dare try to use any of them. After examining the remaining two, trying to remember the remote from the hotel, he chose the plainest, picked it up, and pressed a button, pointing it hopefully toward the television.

The tv remained dark and silent, but a burst of pounding noise erupted from behind him. He jumped, badly startled, and turned, staring frozen at the source of the noise. Dief, behind him, was barking, and then Ben appeared, nearly running, and stabbed some buttons on the machine the noise had come from, shutting it off. David tried to catch his breath, his gasps loud in the sudden silence as he clutched Wally close with both arms wrapped around himself. Silly to be scared of a noise, it was just loud, it couldn’t hurt him.

*Woke Ben up*, David thought, dazed, as Ben came over and took the remote gently from his hand, setting it back down on the coffee table. “Did you want to watch tv, then?”

He nodded, not meeting Ben’s eyes. He should have known better than that. Ben went over to the tv and pushed buttons on it–-he should’ve done that, he shouldn’t have messed about with remotes when he didn’t know which was which–-and settled on a station showing cartoons.

“There you are,” Ben said, softly, like he was talking to a baby, and patted his shoulder. David, shamed, flinched from the touch, and Ben pulled his hand back and stepped away. “Have a seat, and I’ll make some breakfast.”

David nodded again, and sat down on one of the cushions on the floor. He kept his back very straight, and set Wally down at his right side, and Ben headed toward the kitchen. Even over the tv, he heard the sound of Dief’s water dish being filled.

He was staring steadily at the tv when he heard footsteps. *Ray*. He must have woken Ray up, too. He felt himself blushing hotly. Ray didn’t stop at the kitchen, but came over to him, and David waited to be told off for messing with the remotes, but Ray sat down next to him without saying anything, stretching out his legs and leaning back on his elbows, close to David’s left side. David kept his eyes on the tv.

After a minute, Ray leaned sideways, bumping David with his shoulder, and David finally looked over, to see Ray smiling at him. “Hey,” he said quietly, and nodded sideways, toward the kitchen, where Ben was making oatmeal. “He never lets me leave it on that loud, either.”

He opened his mouth to defend Ben, to tell Ray it had been his fault, but Ray just smiled wider and winked, and turned his attention to the tv, and David followed suit, smiling slightly at Ray’s joke. After a minute, Ray said, “You like this show?”

David hadn’t been paying much attention to the cartoon on the tv, and certainly hadn’t given any thought to watching anything other than the program Ben had chosen. “It’s fine, thank you.”

Ray tilted his head to one side, and went on watching. “It’s actually kind of boring, I think,” Ray said, and David looked sideways at him. He was tempted to agree, but he didn’t want to say Ben had chosen badly; if he wanted David to watch this one, David would watch it.

Ray turned to look at him again. “You mind if I change it?”

On the other hand, Ray was his host, and it was his television, so David shook his head with a faint sense of relief, and Ray sat up and scooped all the remote controls off the coffee table, dumping them on the cushion between himself and David.

“Okay,” Ray muttered, staring down at them. “It’s not this one.” He moved one of the enormously complicated remotes to one side. “And I don’t think...” After another hesitation, he moved the other two complicated ones as well, leaving only the two David had chosen from. Then he picked up the one David had tried. “Is it...?”

Ray wasn’t really asking him, exactly, but David said, hesitantly, “I think that one goes to the,” and waved at the thing that had made all the noise.

“The stereo?” Ray said, and squinted, looking from the remote to the stereo. “Yeah, you’re right. Must be this one, then. Thanks.”

David smiled, pleased to have helped. “You’re very welcome, Ray.”

Ray huffed a laugh, smiling with all his teeth, so that his eyes crinkled. He pushed several buttons on the remote in rapid succession, and the picture changed repeatedly before he settled on one. “Okay, here we go, this is way better. Channel thirty-seven, gotta remember that.” David leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees and watching the screen with rapt attention. *Thirty-seven, remember thirty-seven.* “See, okay, that gray guy, that’s Bugs Bunny.”

David frowned and turned to look at Ray, trying to phrase himself politely. “He doesn’t look very much like a bunny, does he?”

“Well,” Ray said, “he’s got the ears, that’s the important part.”

***

When Fraser called David for breakfast, Ray followed him to the kitchen. Ben had already dished up oatmeal and milk for himself and David, and poured a cup of coffee for Ray. Ray took the coffee, pouring in candies from the box on the counter, swirling the mug to mix them in, and then drinking quickly. Ben sat down by David and began to eat, watching with surprise as Ray got a dish down from the shelf and filled it from the pot on the stove, scraping the sides to get the last of the oatmeal.

Fraser turned his eyes to his bowl as Ray sat down across from him, still without saying anything. David, at his side, was eating quietly, his eyes straying occasionally back in the direction of the now-quiet tv, where Ray had been introducing him to American cartoons.

The familiar repetitive motions of Ray’s hands caught his eye, and Fraser finally looked up to see him shoveling brown sugar into his oatmeal, and couldn’t help smiling. “You know, Ray, now that your body isn’t struggling to maintain equilibrium in an Arctic environment, it’s not actually necessary to eat as much sugar as oatmeal.”

Ray looked up at him and grinned without hesitation; if he had perceived any slight, he gave no sign. “I’m hooked on it like this, Fraser, can’t change it now.” He stirred it until the dark brown streaks of melting sugar were evenly distributed through the oatmeal. “And I can’t believe I’m eating oatmeal in July, anyway.”

“Well, Ray, breakfast will help you start your day’s work, whether you’re behind the dogs or at the station.”

Ray stared down at the bowl, and licked his spoon in what was not, Fraser was certain, intended to be a suggestive fashion. Unless Ray was much, much crueler than he’d ever imagined. “Yeah,” he said finally. “About that.”

Fraser tore his eyes away from Ray’s spoon. “I beg your pardon?”

Ray stirred his oatmeal. “About my day’s work,” he clarified. “I don’t have one, today. Figured I’d hang out here, make sure you guys were settled. I could drive you, if you needed to go anywhere.”

“Ah,” Fraser said, and ate some oatmeal–-which Ray had bought, for them–-while he considered the fact that Ray had taken the day off work, for them. Finally, because he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t be either embarrassing or ungrateful, he said, “Well, I was going to take David shopping, for more appropriate summer clothes.”

David’s attention had wandered to the living room, but at that he looked quickly to Ben. Ray, noticing, smiled. “Greatness. We’ll get David all outfitted, maybe show him a little bit of the town. We could even go to the Zoo or something, it won’t be too crowded on a weekday.”

Fraser looked away quickly, but not quickly enough to miss the excitement on David’s face as he turned to Ray. “Do they have polar bears at the zoo?”

Polar bears. Of course. He should have seen this coming. He carefully set down his spoon.

“Yeah, they got polar bears. They got all kinds of animals.” There was an odd note in Ray’s voice; he must have noticed Fraser’s response. He forced himself to meet Ray’s eye, and saw the instant when Ray realized, though Fraser wasn’t sure how he knew; they’d never discussed Victoria, just as they spoke of Stella as little as humanly possible. “But, y’know, it’s kind of hot out. The polar bears might not–-”

David looked from Ray to him, and Fraser could see the child trying to mask his disappointment, and he knew what he had to say. “Well, I’m sure we’ll get a good look at the other animals–-giraffes, and elephants, for example. And the polar bears generally perk up during their feeding time, even if they spend much of the rest of the day sleeping or underwater.”

David brightened again, and from somewhere Fraser summoned a return smile, which he held until David turned his attention to Ray. “There’s an elephant in my book, too, after the polar bear,” he said quickly. “And a peacock–-do they have peacocks at the zoo?”

Fraser kept his eyes toward the table, but he knew that Ray was watching him as he said easily, “Well, we’ll have to see when we get there, buddy, won’t we?”

***

Part 3