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WIP Amnesty, Day 5, Part 1
Without much ado, because I'm pushing the length limit on this post, here's the kidfic I've been telling everyone about for years. 27,800 words.
Fraser/Kowalski, pre-slash, would've been NC-17 another 150,000 words down the line...
The Mountie crouched down beside the dark-haired boy who sat before the woodstove, peering in. “Looks good,” he said, glancing at the banked fire. “About time for bed, now, don’t you think?”
The boy looked up, meeting the Mountie’s eyes for a moment, then glanced from the angled light at the shuttered windows, to the bed, to the door, to the radio on the table. The Mountie smiled sadly. “In the morning, son. If she’s not home by morning, then it’ll be time for you to radio them to look for her. In the meantime, the best you can do is get to bed, just like you’d do if your mother were here.”
The child nodded, and stood. He crossed the cabin to the bed, and withdrew a pair of pajamas–-red flannel, embroidered near the collar with a small yellow *DRF*–-from beneath the left-hand pillow. He sat down on the floor and took off his hiking boots, lining them up underneath the bed. He took off his socks, his sweater, his trousers, and his undershirt, folding each and stacking them on the bed beside his pajamas, then picked up the pajamas and put them on, buttoning them up with single-minded focus. Then he moved his clothes to the straight-backed chair near the bed. Finally he ground to a halt, looking up uncertainly at the Mountie. “Mum helps me say my prayers.”
The Mountie tilted his head, and did not smile this time, though his eyes crinkled in a kind expression. “You don’t remember how to say them on your own?”
The boy’s expression shifted to something nearly frantic. “Mum says when I’m seven I have to, but I don’t know how and sometimes we don’t anyway, but–-” But tonight, of course, it mattered.
“Easy, son, easy. I’ll help.” He sat down on the foot of the bed, and the boy climbed up and sat tailor-fashion facing him. “Do you fold your hands, usually?”
The boy nodded, folded his hands together and bowed his head, a little soothed already. “Mum says the prayers in French,” he said quietly. “I don’t remember all the words, but I know how to start–-*Au nom du père et du fils et du Saint Esprit, ainsi soit-il*.” The boy crossed himself as he said the words, then peeked up expectantly, keeping his head bowed.
“Ah.” The Mountie nodded his understanding. “I’m sure English will work just as well, for now,” he said softly, and, cupping his hands around the boy’s, he murmured a heartfelt Our Father. Although the words were unfamiliar, the cadences matched, and when the prayer had ended, the boy seemed to consider the bedtime ritual complete. He turned and crawled under the covers in the exact center of the double bed, calling softly, “Wally, up here, now.” A dark grey and white Malamute, rangy and fit from years leading a sled team, lifted himself from his place by the door and trotted over to the bed, leaping up to lie beside the child in a single economical movement.
The Mountie smiled, still sadly, and moved to sit close beside the boy. “Does your mother ever sing to you, son?”
The boy nodded, keeping his wide blue eyes fixed on the man as he nestled close to the dog’s familiar warmth.
“I’ll sing a bit, then, shall I? You’ll like this one, it has your name in it toward the end, first *and* last. Listen for them.”
The boy nodded again, closing his eyes to concentrate as the Mountie began to sing. “*Ah, for just one time, I would take the
Northwest Passage...*”
***
They’d been back nearly two months now, and in the heat of a Chicago July, Fraser was trying desperately to remember what genius had thought that ice cracking in the Arctic meant it was time to go *south*. He was afraid it had been himself; Ray had been all for running through his remaining vacation days, sick days, and unpaid leave allowances to sustain the adventure.
It was apparently too hot now even for criminals to stir out of doors, so he hadn’t had much call to work with Ray in the last several days, and most Canadians, aside from the pair of students suffering from heat prostration who he’d helped send home the day before, seemed clever enough to stay in their own natural habitat at this time of year. Fraser stared blankly at the paltry stack of paperwork the day demanded. The afternoon loomed before him, endless and empty. “I am bored,” he murmured to the desk surface, as though it cared, “and I am hot, and I wish I were back home.”
As if in response, the telephone rang. Hoping against hope that Ray needed him for something that might end in leaping into the lake fully clothed, he snatched up the receiver. “Canadian Consulate of Chicago, Constable Benton Fraser speaking. How may I be of assistance?” Not Ray, then; he usually didn’t make it through the first ten syllables of the salutation before his partner interrupted him.
“Constable Fraser, my name is Harry Blake. I’m an attorney, in Yellowknife, and I... Constable, does the name Rachel Boileau mean anything to you?”
Fraser frowned, and pulled a pad of paper and a pen over. This phone call, he suspected, was going to involve taking notes. “No, sir, I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with Ms. Boileau, to my knowledge.”
“Ah,” the man said, and cleared his throat. It sounded as though he was shuffling papers, and the silence stretched until Fraser realized he would have to say something.
“Does Ms. Boileau believe otherwise, Mr. Blake?”
“No, no, not as such. She had not contacted you when last I spoke to her, and she gave me no real reason to believe she intended to do so. You see, Constable, Rachel Boileau has died, and I am the executor of her will.”
Fraser frowned down at the page where he had written *Harry Blake* and *Rachel Boileau* and penned a small cross before Ms. Boileau’s name. “Am I to understand, then, that Ms. Boileau chose to mention me in her will?”
“Yes, yes, that’s. That’s substantially correct, Constable.” Fraser frowned, pen tracing over the cross on the page, darkening it. *Substantial* seemed an interesting word choice. “You see, Constable, Rachel was, ah, intimately acquainted with your father, Robert Fraser.”
Fraser dropped the pen, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Oh, dear.”
Blake cleared his throat. “They were, in fact, ah. Not only *friends*, Constable, but–-well, in any case, the fact of the matter is that Ms. Boileau, ah, is survived by...” Blake trailed into silence, and Fraser could almost hear him pulling himself together.
He pinched harder on his nose. He could feel his pulse pounding beneath his fingertips. He felt faintly sick. “Mr. Blake, are you trying to tell me that Ms. Boileau had a child with my father?”
“Yes, Constable, precisely.” Blake sounded only slightly relieved, which suggested that, difficult though it had been thus far, the worst of the conversation was not yet over. “Your ostensible half-brother’s name is David Robert Fraser, Constable. He is.” Blake hesitated again, cleared his throat, shuffled some papers. “He is five years old. In her will, Rachel named you as her first choice for his guardian.”
A rushing sound filled Fraser’s ears, though he felt his mouth move around a shape like “Ah,” and his hand moved the pen across the page before him. Taking notes, no doubt. *Brother*. Five years old, and an orphan, and with no one closer to claim him than a total stranger, living thousands of miles away, bound to him by a name, and an accident of biology.
*I was six*, he found himself thinking. *I had my mother until I was six. I had my father, and my grandparents. All David has is me.* He looked down at his notes, and discovered that Blake had been explaining the potential legal complications of the case; beside the list of difficulties, his hand had written in bleak lowercase, *no other kin to contest*. He thought briefly of Maggie, but their relationship would likely never be legally recognized, and of course between the two of them it was obvious which could more easily bear the burden of caring for a small child.
Blake finally stopped speaking. Fraser tried to make his brain *do* something, but it remained stubbornly inert; he could almost hear the futile clicking of an engine not even trying to start. Battery dead. Nothing. “I see,” he said, after much too long, uncertain whether it was an even remotely appropriate response.
“Constable,” Blake said, his voice careful, “I know this is all coming as a great shock. You should understand that you’re not legally bound by Rachel’s request. You’d be within your rights, also, to request a blood test to confirm your relationship to David.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he heard himself say, even and calm. A small boy who’d never had the chance to know his father, his mother suddenly taken from him, cast upon the mercy of distant strangers–-given that kinship, blood ties seemed almost immaterial. “I’ll do it. Is David in Yellowknife now?”
Blake cleared his throat. “Paulatuk, actually. They lived in a cabin several miles outside of the settlement, and the RCMP officers at the outpost there are looking after him until his mother’s funeral, which is scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
A little less than a day. Fraser mentally plotted the normal flight schedules, did the math. “I can be in Paulatuk by then.”
“Ah,” Blake said. “I see. Very good. Look, I’ll meet you at the airport here in Yellowknife, we’ll get the paperwork filled in before you go on. I’ll put everything in motion now, and by the time you and David have everything sorted out in Paulatuk we should be able to get a custody hearing here. That should be nothing more than a formality, and then you can take David home with you.”
Fraser glanced around the office, eyes lighting on the cot, the storage boxes. *Home?* “Yes, sir,” he agreed, because that was easier. He took down Blake’s contact information, exchanged a last few pleasantries on auto-pilot, and then hung up. He stared at the desk and took a few deep breaths, and stood. Time was short, and he had a great deal to do.
***
His cell phone rang, and Ray knew, the way he did sometimes, that it was Fraser. Ray leaned back in his desk chair as he brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Ray, I need you to drive me to the airport.” Fraser spoke in a calm, tight voice that meant he didn’t have to ask when, and just like that he was out of his seat, making incoherent hand signals to Frannie and the new girl she was training, running for the door as they stared after him.
“You got it, Fraser, I’m on my way *don’t you dare hang up*!”
“Ray, I’m–-”
“Just tell me where you’re going, Fraser, and we can do the rest in the car. Tell me where.” His heart was pounding, mind racing to figure out just how bad this was. If it were a Mountie thing, they wouldn’t just drag him off with no notice; it wouldn’t be polite, and if they did they’d make Aynsford or somebody drive him. Who would he drop everything for? Maggie, maybe–-if Maggie was hurt bad, needed him, needed a kidney or something...
“Paulatuk.” Ray could hear, in just three syllables, how hard he was hanging on to his calm, how shaken he was, and immediately revised that opinion about letting him hang up anytime before he got there. He started the car, threw the siren up top, and took off at speed for the Consulate.
He said, “Paulatuk?” at the same time Fraser said, “Ray, you needn’t–-” because he could hear the siren, of course.
“You let me decide that, Fraser. What’s in Paulatuk?” You could blink and miss driving through Paulatuk, on a *dogsled*. If Maggie was hurt, shouldn’t she be someplace bigger? Yellowknife, or Norman Wells, at least? Unless there was nothing they could do for her, and she couldn’t be moved...
“What is in Paulatuk, Ray, is a five-year-old boy named David Robert Fraser whose mother just died. She requested me to take over his legal guardianship, as I am apparently his half-brother.”
Ray wasn’t really aware of anything after that until Fraser’s rising voice, a little tinny through the phone, finally penetrated, repeating his name. “Ray! *Ray*!”
“I’m here, sorry, I’m here. Wow. So you got a kid all of a sudden.”
“The functional equivalent, yes, though as I said he’s actually my father’s child.”
“Like Maggie,” he said, stupidly. *At least Maggie’s okay*.
“Yes, Ray, like Maggie,” and Ray thought, with the little scattered bits of his brain that were still talking to him and each other, that Fraser was going to do just fine with the five-year-old; he already had the tone of voice nailed.
“And the kid’s in Paulatuk.”
“Yes, David is staying there temporarily. Apparently his mother had a cabin in some more remote location.”
Ray slammed the GTO into a completely illegal space near the Consulate, tossed the Official Vehicle tag onto the dash, and headed for the front door. “I’m here,” he said, hanging up, and hesitated a few seconds on the steps outside to process. Fraser suddenly had a kid, kid brother but still a kid, a Canadian kid, in Paulatuk. This was it, this was the sound of the other shoe dropping, this was Fraser going home with every reason not to come back again. It was over, just like that, in the middle of a hot Thursday in July. *It’s over. It’s all over*. The partnership, the friendship, the ordinary day-to-day adventure, all gone without even the expected wind up of transfer request and paperwork. He was driving Fraser to the airport, today, right now, no time to think about what he’d say, whether to hug him or shake hands or cry and cling to his ankle–-but that kind of thing would be the kid’s turf now. Fraser was the kid’s turf now.
Then he stepped inside, and Fraser was crouching in the hallway, knapsack on his back, talking things out with Dief. “Yes, a boy. That’s right. He’s family, you’ll have to help me look after him.” Ray didn’t hear anything from Dief, but Fraser said, “Well, no, I don’t imagine he will.”
Ray stepped closer. “Hey, Fraser, how long til your flight leaves?”
Fraser stood, turning to face him, and Ray bit the inside of his cheek, hard. The look on Fraser’s face, like he was going to crack apart any second, like he was trying so hard to feel happy that he couldn’t feel anything, hit him, a sharp punch in the gut. Fraser had found out, maybe half an hour ago, that he had a kid, kid brother but still a kid, waiting for him in Paulatuk. Fraser, who had willingly come back to Chicago after their adventure, despite being offered practically his choice of assignments by the RCMP, had just been called and told he had an orphaned kindergartner to take care of back in Canada. Christ, and *Ray* thought *his* life was being upended? *Get a grip, Kowalski*. “About ninety minutes, Ray.”
Ray nodded quickly as Fraser walked toward him, and managed a fairly natural looking smile, he thought. “You got things fixed for Dief?”
Fraser hesitated, rubbed at his eyebrow. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d take him, for now. Until I see how things are...”
“Right, of course.” Was that better or worse, to have some piece of Fraser to hang on to, for a little while? Ray glanced down at Dief, mouthed *pizza and donuts and beer*, and looked back up in time to see Fraser rolling his eyes, the happy-mask fading into something almost like a normal, if stressed, expression.
“Anyway,” Fraser added as they stepped outside, “I’m hoping this won’t take more than a week, and Dief would spend most of the trip in quarantine, were that the case, and he hates that.”
Ray blinked rapidly, blinded, he told himself, by the sunlight. “A week?”
“Well, yes, Ray. I realize it’s going to be a major transition for David, but he can’t have many affairs to put in order, and I have a finite amount of emergency leave available.”
“Right,” Ray said, because he had to say something, as his panic cracked apart, shook around his brain like puzzle pieces in a box, and reformed, *It’s over* becoming *He’s bringing the kid to Chicago*, “guess that’s my fault.”
“Oh, no, Ray, not at all,” Fraser said quickly, reassuring. “The vacation time I took on the adventure is something separate entirely. This comes under emergency family leave. In theory, I could take quite a bit, and I will if David needs more time or the legal proceedings turn out to be more involved than I have been led to expect, but I do hate to leave Inspector Meijer in the lurch.”
“Right,” Ray said, because that was a word his apparently-defective brain had approved for release, unlocking Fraser’s door and then going around to the driver’s side.
He sat for a moment, blinking at the steering wheel, then started the car. When he glanced over, Fraser was staring out the window, frowning like he’d never seen the city before. Ray turned his eyes back to the road, scrupulously observing traffic laws, not because he thought Fraser would notice, but because it meant it would take that little bit longer to get to the airport. He was buying just a little more time before he had to watch Fraser leave, even if it was supposed to be temporary.
He glanced over again, and the pale, strained look on Fraser’s face made his stomach hurt. Still, it was an improvement over that first sick frozen smile he’d been wearing. “Fraser,” he said, carefully, “this is all happening awfully fast, and a kid... you okay with this?”
Fraser looked up at him sharply, and said, “Ray, I–-”
Ray quickly raised a placating hand, wondering what he’d said to piss him off. Not that he didn’t have the right to a little short temper today; Jesus, a five-year-old kid, out of the blue like that. Wasn’t even his, in the fun sense. “I get it, Fraser. He ain’t heavy, he’s your brother.”
It took a few seconds, but Fraser shifted from lips-pressed-together-in-irritation to lips-pressed-together-trying-not-to-laugh. Ray took that as a good sign and kept going. “I mean, I’m just your partner, and you carried *me* up a mountain, right? So of course you’ll do right by the kid.”
“Indeed,” Fraser murmured, looking down again, but definitely showing a genuine smile, even if it was a small one. “After my experience with you, a five-year-old should present little difficulty.” Fraser glanced up with an innocent look, and added, “Strictly in terms of mass, I assure you.”
Ray snorted. Fraser had said he was more trouble to look after than a little kid, somewhere in there, but he wasn’t going to argue. Hell, it was probably true; he couldn’t even claim to fidget less. His brain clicked through a series of associations faster than he could see, and Ray heard himself saying, quite casually, “So, Dief will stay with me while you’re gone, and when you get back, you and David will stay over, too, right?”
Fraser blinked. “Ray?”
Ray gave him an innocent look back. “Fraser, you can’t bunk a five-year-old kid in your office. You’re way past due to move out of there anyway. And what else are you going to do, stay in a hotel until you find a place? I know you’ve been living cheap for a while, but the RCMP can’t pay you *that* well.”
Oh, yeah, that was a flash of panic in Fraser’s eyes, and a little relief. He really hadn’t known what he was going to do. “Ray, you needn’t–-” But the protest was weak, and Ray hardly had to try to interrupt him.
“Look, Fraser, you made sure I survived my adventure, the least I can do is help you get started on yours, right?”
Fraser stared out the window for a moment, blinking, before he finally looked back at Ray. “Adventure?”
Ray smiled. “Well, I don’t think you’re gonna be bored.”
***
Fraser dried his hands and face carefully, and inspected himself in the mirror. His hair was freshly combed and still slightly damp. He thought he detected a faint stubble-shadow on his cheeks, and his face looked perhaps a bit pale, but both were likely attributable to the fluorescent lighting of the airport mens’ room. He seemed sufficiently presentable to be a credit to the uniform, and with that fact assured, he picked up the tunic and slipped it on, buttoning and buckling with steady hands and intense focus. He’d had several hours to think, and he’d concluded that the best way to handle this was the way one handled any difficult matter: focusing on the task at hand.
When he was done, he checked the mirror again, and found a perfectly respectable Mountie looking back; just the sort of man one would trust with an orphaned child. With a firm nod to his reflection, Fraser picked up his knapsack and headed out of the bathroom, crossing the mostly-empty concourse to Yellowknife Airport’s single coffee stand, where he had arranged to meet Blake.
He was still a few meters away when a man about his own age stood up from his table and extended a hand. “Constable Fraser?” He quickly closed the distance and shook the offered hand. “I’m Harry Blake.” Blake gestured toward his briefcase, sitting on the table beside them. “I have everything here, if you have time before your plane?”
Fraser nodded. He’d managed to call in a favor from a bush pilot he knew, in order to get from Yellowknife to Paulatuk by morning, but he had a couple of hours to kill in the meantime.
They sat, and Blake opened the briefcase, pulling out a stack of official forms. “I took the liberty of filling in everything I could, so if you’ll just go through and complete the blanks...”
Fraser nodded again, skimming the forms. Application for guardianship, affidavits regarding his residence situation–-one of the blanks was his address in Chicago. He paused for a moment over that one; the address of the Consulate was listed elsewhere, so he couldn’t simply list it and hope no one noticed it was the same. He tugged at his collar, and then began to fill in the address for Ray’s apartment. “This is a temporary address,” he explained, mentally apologizing to Ray for his presumption. “It’s not really what you’d call family housing, so I’ll be moving as soon as I find something more suitable.”
Blake nodded. “Naturally. Everyone involved understands what an upheaval this is for you. If you notify me when you’ve got your new address, I’ll see that it’s updated officially.”
Fraser turned back to the form, signing in triplicate as he said, “So you don’t doubt that I’ll be able to get custody of David?”
“Not seriously, no. You’re RCMP, recently made quite the splash with your heroism, you can fulfill the letter of the residence requirements, and the judge is quite likely to see that keeping David with his family, as his mother requested, is in the spirit of the law.”
He handed the papers back across. “Mr. Blake, I have a question for you.”
Blake nodded, closing his briefcase again, intent.
Fraser took a deep breath. “How did Ms. Boileau die?”
“Ah. It was a hunting accident, actually.”
Fraser stared for a moment, and as if he were back in that hallway four years ago, he heard the coroner’s voice. *Thirty aught six standard hunting rifle, first week of the season.* “A hunting accident,” he repeated, trying not to sound dubious.
“Oh–-not.” Blake looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t that kind of hunting accident. She’d gone out alone, didn’t even take any of the dogs since she couldn’t use a sled, and she liked to leave their lead dog with David when she was out. Apparently she was walking along the lip of one of those little valleys that you can hardly even see unless you’re in it. Piece of ground gave way, and she fell. Broke her neck. It took the RCMP searchers two days to find her.”
Fraser took a breath, steadying himself. An accident. A real accident. If he could be sure it was true, then that was that; it was no less horrible a loss for David, but there would be nothing further he could do, need do. “And David was at home while this was happening?”
Blake looked down then, fiddling with his briefcase. It took Fraser a moment to identify the expression on his face, and then he realized that the attorney was embarrassed. “David was at the cabin, yes. Rachel apparently used to leave him alone for a few hours at a time, and of course she had no way of knowing this would be any different. He apparently...” Blake cleared his throat. “He’s an unusual child, very mature and self-reliant.”
Blake glanced up at him, and Fraser said, “Ah,” schooling his features to some polite approximation of Blake’s chagrin. He had been left alone, too. He hadn’t cried when it happened, just as David hadn’t, although he’d never been on his own for more than a matter of hours, not at that age.
“David apparently waited until the following morning before he radioed the outpost to look for her. The dispatcher asked him if he was alone, and he said no; he said that Wally was with him. In the rush to find the missing woman, no one took the time to find out that Wally was a sled dog. David was alone for three days before Constable Hadley went to the cabin to inform him of his mother’s death.”
Fraser scratched at his eyebrow and tried to imagine the sort of five-year-old who would, left to his own devices, look after himself alone for three days without using available means of communication to request assistance.
“He was fine,” Blake added in a wondering tone. “He’d apparently subsisted on bread and jam and pemmican for three days, taken care of the dogs, kept the fire going... When Hadley told him his mother was dead, he said, ‘That’s the only reason she wouldn’t come back to me.’ And then he asked whether Hadley was going to take him to town. Just like that, cool as you please.” Blake shook his head. “I was stunned when the constable told me that; Rachel used to bring David down to Yellowknife for a couple of weeks every winter, and I’d met him. He seemed quite attached to her–-the way any kid would be to his mother. I can’t imagine how he could handle it so calmly.”
Fraser bit his lip, and remembered being six years old, and knowing with an unshakeable certainty that crying wouldn’t bring his mother back. Doing his chores, following his father to the shed and helping him feed the dogs without being asked. You did the things you had to do, when you had to do them. Blake was a city man, though, and wouldn’t understand that. “I see,” he said finally, instead, and then, “You said David was five years old?”
Blake nodded. “He had his birthday last week, actually. He was born on July 7, 1993–-just a baby when your father died.”
Fraser nodded, and tried to remember how many times he’d spoken to his father between that date and his death. Twice? Three times? Never mind all the times *after*... “Mr. Blake, do you know of any reason why neither my father nor Ms. Boileau ever told me about David? Especially if I was his mother’s first choice as guardian, I don’t understand why I was never informed.”
Blake sighed. “I first met Ms. Boileau several weeks after your father was killed, before all the facts came to light. David was just a toddler, and she told me her whole story–-she’d had a secret relationship with Sergeant Fraser, he’d wanted to keep it discreet because he had enemies who might try to harm her or even David to get to him. That was why she was so concerned to make a will and choose someone to care for David, because she was afraid something might happen to her. At the time, frankly, I thought she was a few geese short of a flock, but when the news came out about your father being murdered by a Mountie... It sounded a bit more plausible after that. Rachel never stopped being afraid, though, not really. Even though David’s legal name is Fraser, she never told anyone in town who his father was; when Hadley called to give me the bad news, he referred to the boy as David Boileau. You are going to be a bit of a surprise.”
“Does David know?”
“Well, he introduced himself to me as David Fraser. And she spoke freely about you in front of him, so I assume that she’d at least told him that he had a brother out there somewhere.” Blake raised a hand to his mouth, stifling a yawn. “Sorry, Constable,” he murmured, and Fraser waved it off. Blake opened up his briefcase again and withdrew a manila envelope. “These are all the papers I thought would be useful to you–-a copy of Rachel’s will, David’s birth certificate, a few pieces of correspondence. I’m afraid there’s not much.”
Fraser took the packet, which indeed seemed rather thin to be the sum of the changes forthcoming in his and David’s lives. “Thank you kindly.”
Blake nodded. “Well, then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get home to bed.”
“Of course, naturally. Thank you for meeting with me so late.” Fraser wasn’t entirely certain what time it was, though he thought the hour must be near midnight–-it was dusky-dark outside, something of a rarity at this time of year.
Blake nodded. “I’ll start trying to get a court date tomorrow, and I’ll notify you as soon as I find out when it is. If I can get ahold of the right people, I might be able to swing a Monday appointment, and you could be back in Chicago the next day.”
Fraser stood again, and they shook hands, and then Blake strode off toward an exit. Fraser, equally purposefully, headed toward the bank of payphones. Holding the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, he flipped open his hip pouch, left-handed, and pulled out the scrap of paper upon which he’d written the Paulatuk RCMP outpost’s phone number; he’d just have a word with whomever was on duty, and let them know he was coming in. He stared at the numbers, suffering one of those odd moments of blank incomprehension that always seemed to accompany lost sleep and overexposure to fluorescent lights, and then his right hand began punching numbers.
It wasn’t until a recorded voice asked him to insert eleven dollars for the first three minutes that Fraser realized the phone number he’d dialed wasn’t the outpost’s, but Ray’s. He frowned for a moment at the phone, then hung it up. He had no reason to call Ray, and in any case it was late, and he was probably asleep. Shaking his head, he picked up the receiver again, carefully dialing the number he’d written down.
***
Ray sat back and stretched, rubbing his eyes with his left hand and flexing his right.
It had been a bad idea to do research. A very bad idea. He glanced down at the notepad beside the keyboard of Frannie’s computer, where his increasingly illegible handwriting listed a dozen books he should check out from the library, as well as stray ominous phrases like ‘attachment disorder’ and ‘adoption trauma’ and ‘adjustment period’. A glance at the clock revealed that it was after midnight, and Ray sat for a while, staring blankly at the computer screen, in the quiet bullpen.
The peace was temporary; in a few hours the bars would be letting out, and from three until dawn, this place would slowly fill up with only-slightly-disorderly drunks, handcuffed to chairs when they inevitably ran out of space in the holding cells. In the meantime, it was just him and Dief and the internet. Ray leaned forward and switched off the computer, and as soon as he did, Dief appeared at his side, whining hopefully.
“Yeah,” Ray said, his voice coming out rusty. He cleared his throat, and tossed his long-empty coffee cup in the trash. “Yeah, we’ll go now. And I know I owe you about a million donuts–-we’ll start the installment plan tomorrow morning, all right?”
Dief just went on staring at him, because he was a wolf, and he didn’t talk. Also, it was sort of dark in there with the computer turned off, and he might not have caught that. Ray stood up, grabbed his notepad, and headed for the door, and Dief followed.
When they were in the car–-Dief taking the front seat with what looked like enormous satisfaction–-Ray sat still another moment, all the advice from all the websites still zinging around his brain. That was way more than he’d wanted; he’d just meant to find out whether he should go buy plug covers and those little plastic cupboard locks, or just clean the apartment and hide the porn, but now he was worried. Really worried.
“The thing is,” he said quietly, to the steering wheel. It was dark, and he wasn’t looking at Dief, and anyway he was a wolf, so it was okay to say it out loud, it didn’t really count. “If the kid doesn’t like me, then that’s it, I’m fucked.”
Dief made a little disapproving noise, and it was just like having Fraser next to him in the car, which was weird in all kinds of ways, but more good than bad on balance.
“Okay, I’m sunk, that better?” Dief didn’t say anything. “It’s just... this is his kid brother, and Fraser hasn’t even met him yet but he’s already the most important thing in the world. So if the kid doesn’t like me, then that’s it for me. And if the kid doesn’t like him, or doesn’t like Chicago, or doesn’t like anybody or anything because he’s traumatized and halfway crazy, then that’s gonna break Fraser’s heart.” Ray couldn’t decide which one would be worse, but at least if the kid hated both of them he and Fraser would still have something in common.
Dief didn’t make any noise at that, but he wormed around the gearshift to lay his head on Ray’s leg. Ray sunk one hand into his fur, not scratching or petting, just touching. Nice to know he wasn’t alone, even if it was just Dief. Dief was practically people, anyway; Fraser and Dief both thought so.
“I mean, he’s Fraser’s little brother, so he’ll probably be okay, right? I mean, they’re not a crazy family or anything.”
Dief made a little noise at that that didn’t reassure Ray much, but there was no knowing what the wolf meant–-hell, he probably just wanted to get home. He couldn’t hear what Ray was saying, after all. And of course wolves didn’t talk. But Dief didn’t move away, and Ray couldn’t drive anywhere until he did, so he sat in the dark awhile longer, enjoying the company and trying not to think.
***
Fraser tucked his Stetson under his arm, straightened his tunic, Sam Browne, and lanyard one last time, and stepped into Paulatuk’s RCMP post. The constable stationed at the desk immediately stood up to greet him. “Constable Fraser? Constable Hill.” Hill was young, with an unadorned sleeve and that fresh-from-the-Academy look that would wear off within a few more months at this remote posting.
“Nice to meet you. I spoke to Corporal MacInnes?”
“Yes, sir. He and Constable Hadley took David home to get dressed for the service, they’ll meet us at the cemetery.”
Fraser nodded. Rachel Boileau’s will, which he had read several times before leaving Yellowknife, requested a simple burial service. “Were you able to get a priest?”
Hill nodded. “Luckily, he was just over in Inuvik this week, so he was able to drive out.” Hill picked up his hat and a small hand-lettered sign from the desk. “If you’d like to leave your bag here, we can head over now.” While Fraser deposited his knapsack on a chair out of the way, Hill affixed the sign, directing any callers to walk down to the cemetery or come inside and wait, to the door.
Fraser walked the short distance to the cemetery at Hill’s side, in silence. Hadley, MacInnes, and another officer stood together in an easily visible cluster of red tunics. A short distance away, a fit-looking man with iron gray hair, dressed in black with a purple cloth of some sort hooked over his arm, was flipping through a small book.
A few feet from the Mounties, near the edge of the open grave, stood a young boy. He was dressed in a blue button-down shirt and brown pants, his brown hair perfectly combed, his boots brightly polished. He looked very small.
As they walked through the rows of tombstones to join the others, Fraser was strongly reminded of his own mother’s funeral. Like this one, it had been attended mainly by Mounties. His grandparents had been out on their circuit, and not reachable in time to make it. At six, he hadn’t had any black clothes; it had been a struggle to find something to wear that wasn’t the same bright red as his father’s uniform. His shirt had been green, he thought. He’d had his father beside him, standing at the grave. And he couldn’t possibly have been so small.
Hill broke away to join his fellows, and as he did, David looked up. His solemn expression actually seemed to brighten somewhat, and he walked over, meeting Fraser near the foot of the grave. Squinting up at him with a smile like a grimace, the boy said, “You’re my brother, aren’t you?” He extended his hand to shake, and Fraser took it, smiling slightly himself at the boy’s grip.
“That’s right, I am. I’m Benton, and you must be David.”
David nodded, reclaiming his hand, and looked around. “Didn’t you bring Dief?”
Fraser was startled, but recovered quickly. “No, I thought he’d be happier staying behind this trip.”
David nodded, meeting his eyes again. “In Chicago?” Fraser nodded, and before he could speak, the boy added, “That’s where we’re going, right?”
Well, at least Rachel had told *someone* what to expect. “That’s right, David. I’m going to take you back to Chicago to live with me, if that’s all right with you.”
David looked puzzled. “What else would I do?” He had no answer for that, and when the boy turned and walked back to his place by the grave, Fraser followed. The priest came over at the same time, meeting them at the side where David had been standing.
He smiled at Fraser and at David, but David was staring down into the empty grave. Fraser was about to say something to the boy when he heard a vehicle approaching, and David looked up as he did, to see a black SUV with curtains covering its rear windows making its way slowly up the access road. The Paulatuk detachment men all headed over to meet the truck, and Fraser looked down again at David.
The child’s hands clenched briefly into fists, then relaxed. He stared steadily at the truck, and Fraser looked back in time to see an older man in a suit hop down from the driver’s seat and make a cap-doffing gesture toward the priest. Then he headed around to the back of the makeshift hearse, which likely only served this purpose for a handful of days every year, and opened up the doors.
The Mounties, who were all roughly of a height, moved in silence, with an ease that indicated that they’d performed this difficult and delicate task together more than once. Hadley and MacInnes hoisted the casket to their shoulders, and Hill and the other constable guided it the rest of the way out of the truck and took their places at the foot. In an unceremonious but effective unity, they made their way from the road toward the grave site.
Fraser couldn’t take his eyes from them, watching as they worked together and thinking of his own partner, thousands of miles away. He and Ray had shouldered more than one burden together that way, but now here he was, alone and unsupported.
Fraser clenched his teeth, forcing his mind from that self-indulgent path. That was no metaphorical load his fellow officers were bearing to this grave, it was David’s mother. He looked down at the child who by rights ought to have all his attention at this moment; David looked smaller and more forlorn than ever, standing alone with six polite inches between his left foot and Fraser’s right. Fraser thought suddenly of the day he met Ray, when he’d received a hug from a stranger as he stood, bewildered and abandoned, in the police department.
Seized by a sudden impulse he didn’t want to stop and question, Fraser bent down and lifted David into his arms as the pallbearers drew near. Though he went on holding himself as stiffly still as he had when he stood on his own, David fit easily into his arms. He weighed, and wiggled, less than Dief, and his warm solid presence against Fraser’s side made this all seem not only real, but possible. He had a brother, and they were going to be a family.
He stepped back from the edge of the grave when Hadley and Hill came up the side, positioning the casket to be lowered. Flat nylon straps in bright yellow–-the kind one might use to pull free a bogged-down truck, or secure a snowmobile to a trailer–-appeared in their hands and were looped around the casket’s handles, and the simple box was lowered smoothly into the ground. As the straps were pulled up and folded away, and the Mounties moved around into place behind Fraser and David, the boy leaned against his shoulder, moving his face close to Fraser’s. He had exactly enough time to think that he’d done the right thing and David was relaxing, before the whisper came in his ear. “Please, Ben, put me down.”
Fraser complied, as quickly as he could without appearing to the other adults present to be flinging David to the ground. When he was on his own feet again, David sidled away another few inches, and stood even more stiffly than before, chin up and shoulders back. It didn’t make David look any taller or older; it just made him look as alone as Fraser felt, standing there with his hands clasped politely behind his back to quell the impulse to reach for him again.
His father, Fraser suddenly remembered, had kept one hand on his shoulder throughout his mother’s funeral. That would have been better; he had presumed too much. A fine beginning, he thought, and took off his hat as the priest cleared his throat and commenced the service.
***
David stayed beside him as they walked back to the RCMP post, though he continued to keep his distance. Once inside, David dashed off to a corner well away from the chairs where the adults settled. Constable Hill headed off to make tea, and Constable Perrin introduced himself before making a quick exit to get some sleep before his night shift. Corporal MacInnes went to walk Father Carty out to his truck, and Fraser found himself sitting alone with Hadley.
Fraser watched David, across the room. He was playing quietly with some stray bits of harness hardware; Fraser caught him looking their way a couple of times, and he always looked away immediately. Hadley leaned forward. “I wouldn’t worry about it, you know,” he said, quietly enough that David wouldn’t hear.
Fraser turned quickly toward his neglected companion. “I’m sorry?”
Hadley’s smile broadened. “I did the same thing, when I met him. I mean, I was there to tell him about his mom. They picked me because I’m good with kids, but I get there and he’s all alone and I just wanted to hug him, and he let me, but he wouldn’t let me near him after that for a day or so. He’s a prickly little thing, but he’s all right.”
Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. “Thank you,” he said finally. “I wish I’d realized that a little sooner.”
Hadley nodded. “Anyway, I don’t think it’ll hurt you; he thinks you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread. Greatest thing ever, maybe, since I don’t think he’s ever seen sliced bread.”
Fraser stole another glance at David, who had turned his back completely. “I beg your pardon?”
Hadley snorted. “Kid hasn’t talked about anything else the whole time. ‘Do you know what my brother did?’ Telling stories like crazy, about you catching poachers and litterbugs and murderers and all *kinds* of stuff you’ve been doing in Chicago. So proud to be your little brother he can hardly stand it.”
Fraser frowned. “I wonder where he heard all of that.”
Hadley shrugged. “His mum, must’ve been. Rachel probably kept track of you, and it’s not like anyone else ever saw the kid.”
Fraser nodded slowly, his eyes on his brother. David, across the room, seemed thoroughly absorbed in his solitary game, and Fraser realized that this was as good a time as any. He turned in his seat, leaning confidentially toward Hadley, and Hadley automatically leaned in as well, raising his eyebrows inquisitively. “I wonder if you could tell me,” he said, schooling his voice to neutrality, “exactly what happened to David’s mother.”
Hadley looked surprised. “MacInnes didn’t tell you?”
Fraser put on his innocently curious look, a harder sell here than in Chicago, but still probably worth a shot. MacInnes had in fact told him on the phone precisely what Blake had told him in Yellowknife. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check another story, and Hadley had probably been more closely involved in the search than his superior officer; he had been the one sent out to speak to David, after all. “We spoke only briefly, so he didn’t have an opportunity to give me much information. For David’s sake, I’d just like to know exactly what happened.”
Hadley glanced first toward David, and then toward the door through which the corporal had departed. Still, as always, invoking a child’s well-being did the job, and Hadley gave a small, decisive nod. “From the time David radioed in to our dispatcher–-she’s in pieces over not realizing he was alone, thinks she should’ve known somehow–-it took us more than two days to find her, and judging from the condition of the body, she’d died not long after she went out. Turned out she wasn’t far from the cabin, hadn’t even made it out to her trap line, which we figured she would’ve. It’s hilly there, all these little ravines you can’t see from uphill, and we found her at the bottom of one.”
Hadley’s eyes cut sideways again, but when Fraser followed his gaze, he saw David, now sprawled on his stomach, frowning in concentration as he tried to link two buckles together.
“She–-I mean, the body–-was in real bad shape. Half in a stream, and animals had been at it, and–-” Hadley shook his head. “Anyway, you could tell from the way she lay, she’d broken her neck. And if that didn’t kill her right away, she’d’ve drowned.”
Fraser frowned. MacInnes hadn’t mentioned that, not in quite those terms. “You don’t know which it was? Wasn’t there an–-”
But no, there wouldn’t have been an autopsy, not here. He’d been spoiled, by his time in Chicago, and even before that, by the large detachment in Tuktoyaktuk, which could usually muster a medical examiner for suspicious deaths.
“It was clear what happened, Constable,” Hadley said, earnestly. “There was no sign of struggle, no sign that anyone else had been anywhere near the site til we got there. I mean, we could see the animal tracks, clear as bells, and nothing else. It’s not like accidents don’t happen out here, and Rachel...”
MacInnes hadn’t offered this explanation, either, and Fraser, after a quick glance toward David, who now seemed to be constructing a tower out of breakaway clips and D-rings, echoed, “Rachel?”
“She wasn’t from around here. I mean–-” Hadley rolled his eyes, betraying a southerner’s frustration with the concept of ‘from around here,’ “she was, sort of, because her granddad built that cabin and his family goes back to the *Hommes du Nord*, but his daughter moved away, married this Boileau, went to Quebec, and Rachel grew up in the city there. Came back for summers with the old man, but he died when she was about fifteen. When she came back up here, the officers around tried to keep an eye out for her, including–-”
Hadley stopped suddenly and bit his lip, and Fraser nearly laughed. “Including my father?”
Hadley nodded. “Anyway, so we really weren’t sure how she was managing, and–-”
He looked like he was trying very hard not to say *It was a matter of time,* and Fraser nodded slowly. It had been an accident, he told himself, turning in his seat to look across the room again at David. Nothing more.
***
Ray flopped down on his bed. His apartment had never been so clean, and he was exhausted. He’d tidied, and dusted, and vacuumed, and by then the mania had taken hold and he’d started scrubbing everything that held still. Dief, wisely, had retreated to the fire escape at the first chance; Ray wished he’d been able to detach himself from the crazy guy driving him and do the same.
He thought about sleeping, but that made him think about reading, which made him think about the plastic bag of library books sitting on his coffee table, which meant he needed to think about something else.
Ray rolled onto his side and pulled his keys out of his pocket. He tossed his keys into his left hand, and fumbled through them until he found the shiny new one with the B scratched into it. Unlocked the shiny new lock on the top night stand drawer. Dropped the keys on top of the night stand and pulled out his gun, transferred it to his right hand, and reached back in, feeling around for the clip. It had found its way underneath one of the magazines, all the way at the back of the drawer. Ray pulled it out and shoved it into place, sighting automatically on his closet door before he quickly unloaded the weapon and returned gun and clip, separately, to the drawer. He locked it up again, and tucked his keys back into his pocket, and laid staring at the night stand for a few minutes.
Stopwatch. He’d seen one somewhere, while he was cleaning. He could practice, get his time down. His eyes slipped shut as he was trying to remember where he’d put the watch, and then he was, mercifully, asleep.
***
Fraser watched, coiling lines, as David went around to each of the dogs, spending a few moments scratching each one’s ears, addressing them by name and telling them they’d done well today, though in point of fact they hadn’t done anything other than refrain from strangling themselves or each other while they were staked out. When this evening ritual was complete, David headed out of the shed, Wally hard on his heels, and Fraser followed.
Once inside the cabin, Wally took up his station by the door, and David went over to the bed and took out his pajamas. Fraser considered offering him assistance, but that hadn’t gone over well the other three times he’d tried it today, so he busied himself at the stove instead, poking at the fire and watching out of the corner of his eye until David had himself ready for bed. He stood hesitantly near the foot, looking toward Fraser, so he closed the stove door and wiped his hands on his pants, turning as he stood to face the boy. “Ready for bed?”
David nodded. “I have to say my prayers now.”
“Ah.” Fraser rubbed his eyebrow, and wondered what he was supposed to do about that. “Would you mind if I joined you?”
David shook his head quickly, so that had probably been the expected response. Fraser went and knelt down at the foot of the bed, and David hesitated long enough to tell him that that wasn’t. Before he could correct himself, however, David had knelt down at his side, folded his hands, and bowed his head. After a moment’s silence, which he spent staring down at David, wondering if he was ever going to see as much of David’s face as he did the crown of his head, Fraser said, “Why don’t you go ahead, tonight.”
David nodded, and began, murmuring first in French as he crossed himself, and then, speaking more carefully, in English, though he reverted to the French pronunciation for the *amen* at the end of the prayer. David seemed to be finished, so Fraser stood, and David quickly did as well, turning back the covers and crawling into the middle of the bed. He stole a quick glance at Fraser before patting the space beside him, but Wally had clearly been watching for the signal and was in bed at David’s side before Fraser had time to do more than look vaguely approving.
He tucked David in and sat down beside him. “Does Wally usually sleep up here with you, then?”
David nodded. “When Mum’s not here. She.” David looked away briefly, choosing his words, and Fraser pressed his hands to his thighs to keep from reaching for him. “We used to share, because I was too little to sleep by myself in the winter. I was going to have my own bed in the fall, though.”
“I see,” Fraser said softly, at a loss, glancing at his own bedroll, still tied up, on the table. It was clear he wasn’t required to take David’s mother’s place, and he supposed he could only be glad that the boy hadn’t yet been taught the sort of manners which would have required him to offer his bed to his guest. Such as he was.
“Will I have my own bed in Chicago?”
Fraser looked back to David with a start. He was pressed close to Wally, one hand buried in the fur of the dog’s flank. “Yes, you will,” he said, “once we find a proper place to live. When we first get back we’ll be staying with my friend, Ray Kowalski, and I’m not sure what the sleeping arrangements will be.” Dear God, there was a thought–-where *would* Ray put them all? He’d slept on Ray’s couch a time or two, and it was reasonably comfortable if a trifle short. David could sleep there, and... He glanced at his bedroll again. Well, they’d sort things out.
“Is Dief staying there now, with Mr. Kowalski?”
“Detective Kowalski,” Fraser corrected absently, “and yes, Dief is staying with him at present.” He looked again at Wally, David’s small hand in the white fur. The dog hadn’t let David out of his sight since Constable Hadley brought them back to the cabin. “David, if you’d like to bring Wally back to Chicago with us, I think we could arrange it without much difficulty.” Ray and Dief would understand, he thought. Wally was the only living being who David knew.
David, however, pulled his hand quickly away from Wally, tucking it under his pillow instead. “Wally’s not a pet,” he said firmly, in a tone which suggested he was parroting what he’d been told by someone else. “He’s a working dog. He should stay with his team.” And the team, of course, was not coming to Chicago; the outpost would board them until fall, and buy them for the RCMP at fair market price when the next fiscal year started.
“That’s true,” Fraser said slowly, “but Dief isn’t a pet either; he’s my friend, and stays with me because we like each other.”
But David turned himself slightly further away from Wally, and wouldn’t meet Fraser’s eyes. “He should stay with his team,” he repeated. Fraser couldn’t bear to agitate him further, and instead resigned himself to leaving Wally behind. Perhaps Dief would be willing to serve as some sort of substitute.
He hated to leave David to sleep on this sort of note, and tried to think of some way to mend things. “Did your mother ever sing to you, David?”
That seemed to startle David; in any case, he looked up and met Fraser’s eyes as he nodded. “Do you...” Fraser tried to look inviting, and David said, “Do you know the one with my, with our, name in it? The roaring Fraser?”
It took him only a moment to place the line, since it had been such a point of contention with Ray throughout their adventure. Ray had resorted to inventing several new verses to redress the balance, inserting his own name as often as he could. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do.” David relaxed a little then, moving closer to Wally, and Fraser cleared his throat and began to sing. He made it through all four verses before David closed his eyes, and lowering his voice, he began on his own, child-appropriate, versions of Ray’s additions. After two of those, and a final repetition of the chorus, David was fast asleep.
Fraser allowed himself, then, to brush David’s hair back from his face, and let his hand rest there a moment. David didn’t wake, and Fraser was only surprised that he’d lasted as long as he had; this had likely been one of the hardest days of his young life. Wally watched him with one knowing brown eye, which he closed as soon as Fraser stood.
He stood a moment in the quiet cabin. There were things he ought to do while David was otherwise occupied; the trunk which stood against the wall under the front window contained “all the important things” according to David, and he should sort through it and see whether it held anything that ought to be dealt with immediately.
On the other hand, it had been one of the harder days of his life, too, and very long. He went to the table, and picked up his bedroll, laying it out near the foot of the bed. He was asleep nearly as soon as he laid down.
***
Part 2
Fraser/Kowalski, pre-slash, would've been NC-17 another 150,000 words down the line...
The Mountie crouched down beside the dark-haired boy who sat before the woodstove, peering in. “Looks good,” he said, glancing at the banked fire. “About time for bed, now, don’t you think?”
The boy looked up, meeting the Mountie’s eyes for a moment, then glanced from the angled light at the shuttered windows, to the bed, to the door, to the radio on the table. The Mountie smiled sadly. “In the morning, son. If she’s not home by morning, then it’ll be time for you to radio them to look for her. In the meantime, the best you can do is get to bed, just like you’d do if your mother were here.”
The child nodded, and stood. He crossed the cabin to the bed, and withdrew a pair of pajamas–-red flannel, embroidered near the collar with a small yellow *DRF*–-from beneath the left-hand pillow. He sat down on the floor and took off his hiking boots, lining them up underneath the bed. He took off his socks, his sweater, his trousers, and his undershirt, folding each and stacking them on the bed beside his pajamas, then picked up the pajamas and put them on, buttoning them up with single-minded focus. Then he moved his clothes to the straight-backed chair near the bed. Finally he ground to a halt, looking up uncertainly at the Mountie. “Mum helps me say my prayers.”
The Mountie tilted his head, and did not smile this time, though his eyes crinkled in a kind expression. “You don’t remember how to say them on your own?”
The boy’s expression shifted to something nearly frantic. “Mum says when I’m seven I have to, but I don’t know how and sometimes we don’t anyway, but–-” But tonight, of course, it mattered.
“Easy, son, easy. I’ll help.” He sat down on the foot of the bed, and the boy climbed up and sat tailor-fashion facing him. “Do you fold your hands, usually?”
The boy nodded, folded his hands together and bowed his head, a little soothed already. “Mum says the prayers in French,” he said quietly. “I don’t remember all the words, but I know how to start–-*Au nom du père et du fils et du Saint Esprit, ainsi soit-il*.” The boy crossed himself as he said the words, then peeked up expectantly, keeping his head bowed.
“Ah.” The Mountie nodded his understanding. “I’m sure English will work just as well, for now,” he said softly, and, cupping his hands around the boy’s, he murmured a heartfelt Our Father. Although the words were unfamiliar, the cadences matched, and when the prayer had ended, the boy seemed to consider the bedtime ritual complete. He turned and crawled under the covers in the exact center of the double bed, calling softly, “Wally, up here, now.” A dark grey and white Malamute, rangy and fit from years leading a sled team, lifted himself from his place by the door and trotted over to the bed, leaping up to lie beside the child in a single economical movement.
The Mountie smiled, still sadly, and moved to sit close beside the boy. “Does your mother ever sing to you, son?”
The boy nodded, keeping his wide blue eyes fixed on the man as he nestled close to the dog’s familiar warmth.
“I’ll sing a bit, then, shall I? You’ll like this one, it has your name in it toward the end, first *and* last. Listen for them.”
The boy nodded again, closing his eyes to concentrate as the Mountie began to sing. “*Ah, for just one time, I would take the
Northwest Passage...*”
***
They’d been back nearly two months now, and in the heat of a Chicago July, Fraser was trying desperately to remember what genius had thought that ice cracking in the Arctic meant it was time to go *south*. He was afraid it had been himself; Ray had been all for running through his remaining vacation days, sick days, and unpaid leave allowances to sustain the adventure.
It was apparently too hot now even for criminals to stir out of doors, so he hadn’t had much call to work with Ray in the last several days, and most Canadians, aside from the pair of students suffering from heat prostration who he’d helped send home the day before, seemed clever enough to stay in their own natural habitat at this time of year. Fraser stared blankly at the paltry stack of paperwork the day demanded. The afternoon loomed before him, endless and empty. “I am bored,” he murmured to the desk surface, as though it cared, “and I am hot, and I wish I were back home.”
As if in response, the telephone rang. Hoping against hope that Ray needed him for something that might end in leaping into the lake fully clothed, he snatched up the receiver. “Canadian Consulate of Chicago, Constable Benton Fraser speaking. How may I be of assistance?” Not Ray, then; he usually didn’t make it through the first ten syllables of the salutation before his partner interrupted him.
“Constable Fraser, my name is Harry Blake. I’m an attorney, in Yellowknife, and I... Constable, does the name Rachel Boileau mean anything to you?”
Fraser frowned, and pulled a pad of paper and a pen over. This phone call, he suspected, was going to involve taking notes. “No, sir, I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with Ms. Boileau, to my knowledge.”
“Ah,” the man said, and cleared his throat. It sounded as though he was shuffling papers, and the silence stretched until Fraser realized he would have to say something.
“Does Ms. Boileau believe otherwise, Mr. Blake?”
“No, no, not as such. She had not contacted you when last I spoke to her, and she gave me no real reason to believe she intended to do so. You see, Constable, Rachel Boileau has died, and I am the executor of her will.”
Fraser frowned down at the page where he had written *Harry Blake* and *Rachel Boileau* and penned a small cross before Ms. Boileau’s name. “Am I to understand, then, that Ms. Boileau chose to mention me in her will?”
“Yes, yes, that’s. That’s substantially correct, Constable.” Fraser frowned, pen tracing over the cross on the page, darkening it. *Substantial* seemed an interesting word choice. “You see, Constable, Rachel was, ah, intimately acquainted with your father, Robert Fraser.”
Fraser dropped the pen, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Oh, dear.”
Blake cleared his throat. “They were, in fact, ah. Not only *friends*, Constable, but–-well, in any case, the fact of the matter is that Ms. Boileau, ah, is survived by...” Blake trailed into silence, and Fraser could almost hear him pulling himself together.
He pinched harder on his nose. He could feel his pulse pounding beneath his fingertips. He felt faintly sick. “Mr. Blake, are you trying to tell me that Ms. Boileau had a child with my father?”
“Yes, Constable, precisely.” Blake sounded only slightly relieved, which suggested that, difficult though it had been thus far, the worst of the conversation was not yet over. “Your ostensible half-brother’s name is David Robert Fraser, Constable. He is.” Blake hesitated again, cleared his throat, shuffled some papers. “He is five years old. In her will, Rachel named you as her first choice for his guardian.”
A rushing sound filled Fraser’s ears, though he felt his mouth move around a shape like “Ah,” and his hand moved the pen across the page before him. Taking notes, no doubt. *Brother*. Five years old, and an orphan, and with no one closer to claim him than a total stranger, living thousands of miles away, bound to him by a name, and an accident of biology.
*I was six*, he found himself thinking. *I had my mother until I was six. I had my father, and my grandparents. All David has is me.* He looked down at his notes, and discovered that Blake had been explaining the potential legal complications of the case; beside the list of difficulties, his hand had written in bleak lowercase, *no other kin to contest*. He thought briefly of Maggie, but their relationship would likely never be legally recognized, and of course between the two of them it was obvious which could more easily bear the burden of caring for a small child.
Blake finally stopped speaking. Fraser tried to make his brain *do* something, but it remained stubbornly inert; he could almost hear the futile clicking of an engine not even trying to start. Battery dead. Nothing. “I see,” he said, after much too long, uncertain whether it was an even remotely appropriate response.
“Constable,” Blake said, his voice careful, “I know this is all coming as a great shock. You should understand that you’re not legally bound by Rachel’s request. You’d be within your rights, also, to request a blood test to confirm your relationship to David.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he heard himself say, even and calm. A small boy who’d never had the chance to know his father, his mother suddenly taken from him, cast upon the mercy of distant strangers–-given that kinship, blood ties seemed almost immaterial. “I’ll do it. Is David in Yellowknife now?”
Blake cleared his throat. “Paulatuk, actually. They lived in a cabin several miles outside of the settlement, and the RCMP officers at the outpost there are looking after him until his mother’s funeral, which is scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
A little less than a day. Fraser mentally plotted the normal flight schedules, did the math. “I can be in Paulatuk by then.”
“Ah,” Blake said. “I see. Very good. Look, I’ll meet you at the airport here in Yellowknife, we’ll get the paperwork filled in before you go on. I’ll put everything in motion now, and by the time you and David have everything sorted out in Paulatuk we should be able to get a custody hearing here. That should be nothing more than a formality, and then you can take David home with you.”
Fraser glanced around the office, eyes lighting on the cot, the storage boxes. *Home?* “Yes, sir,” he agreed, because that was easier. He took down Blake’s contact information, exchanged a last few pleasantries on auto-pilot, and then hung up. He stared at the desk and took a few deep breaths, and stood. Time was short, and he had a great deal to do.
***
His cell phone rang, and Ray knew, the way he did sometimes, that it was Fraser. Ray leaned back in his desk chair as he brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Ray, I need you to drive me to the airport.” Fraser spoke in a calm, tight voice that meant he didn’t have to ask when, and just like that he was out of his seat, making incoherent hand signals to Frannie and the new girl she was training, running for the door as they stared after him.
“You got it, Fraser, I’m on my way *don’t you dare hang up*!”
“Ray, I’m–-”
“Just tell me where you’re going, Fraser, and we can do the rest in the car. Tell me where.” His heart was pounding, mind racing to figure out just how bad this was. If it were a Mountie thing, they wouldn’t just drag him off with no notice; it wouldn’t be polite, and if they did they’d make Aynsford or somebody drive him. Who would he drop everything for? Maggie, maybe–-if Maggie was hurt bad, needed him, needed a kidney or something...
“Paulatuk.” Ray could hear, in just three syllables, how hard he was hanging on to his calm, how shaken he was, and immediately revised that opinion about letting him hang up anytime before he got there. He started the car, threw the siren up top, and took off at speed for the Consulate.
He said, “Paulatuk?” at the same time Fraser said, “Ray, you needn’t–-” because he could hear the siren, of course.
“You let me decide that, Fraser. What’s in Paulatuk?” You could blink and miss driving through Paulatuk, on a *dogsled*. If Maggie was hurt, shouldn’t she be someplace bigger? Yellowknife, or Norman Wells, at least? Unless there was nothing they could do for her, and she couldn’t be moved...
“What is in Paulatuk, Ray, is a five-year-old boy named David Robert Fraser whose mother just died. She requested me to take over his legal guardianship, as I am apparently his half-brother.”
Ray wasn’t really aware of anything after that until Fraser’s rising voice, a little tinny through the phone, finally penetrated, repeating his name. “Ray! *Ray*!”
“I’m here, sorry, I’m here. Wow. So you got a kid all of a sudden.”
“The functional equivalent, yes, though as I said he’s actually my father’s child.”
“Like Maggie,” he said, stupidly. *At least Maggie’s okay*.
“Yes, Ray, like Maggie,” and Ray thought, with the little scattered bits of his brain that were still talking to him and each other, that Fraser was going to do just fine with the five-year-old; he already had the tone of voice nailed.
“And the kid’s in Paulatuk.”
“Yes, David is staying there temporarily. Apparently his mother had a cabin in some more remote location.”
Ray slammed the GTO into a completely illegal space near the Consulate, tossed the Official Vehicle tag onto the dash, and headed for the front door. “I’m here,” he said, hanging up, and hesitated a few seconds on the steps outside to process. Fraser suddenly had a kid, kid brother but still a kid, a Canadian kid, in Paulatuk. This was it, this was the sound of the other shoe dropping, this was Fraser going home with every reason not to come back again. It was over, just like that, in the middle of a hot Thursday in July. *It’s over. It’s all over*. The partnership, the friendship, the ordinary day-to-day adventure, all gone without even the expected wind up of transfer request and paperwork. He was driving Fraser to the airport, today, right now, no time to think about what he’d say, whether to hug him or shake hands or cry and cling to his ankle–-but that kind of thing would be the kid’s turf now. Fraser was the kid’s turf now.
Then he stepped inside, and Fraser was crouching in the hallway, knapsack on his back, talking things out with Dief. “Yes, a boy. That’s right. He’s family, you’ll have to help me look after him.” Ray didn’t hear anything from Dief, but Fraser said, “Well, no, I don’t imagine he will.”
Ray stepped closer. “Hey, Fraser, how long til your flight leaves?”
Fraser stood, turning to face him, and Ray bit the inside of his cheek, hard. The look on Fraser’s face, like he was going to crack apart any second, like he was trying so hard to feel happy that he couldn’t feel anything, hit him, a sharp punch in the gut. Fraser had found out, maybe half an hour ago, that he had a kid, kid brother but still a kid, waiting for him in Paulatuk. Fraser, who had willingly come back to Chicago after their adventure, despite being offered practically his choice of assignments by the RCMP, had just been called and told he had an orphaned kindergartner to take care of back in Canada. Christ, and *Ray* thought *his* life was being upended? *Get a grip, Kowalski*. “About ninety minutes, Ray.”
Ray nodded quickly as Fraser walked toward him, and managed a fairly natural looking smile, he thought. “You got things fixed for Dief?”
Fraser hesitated, rubbed at his eyebrow. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d take him, for now. Until I see how things are...”
“Right, of course.” Was that better or worse, to have some piece of Fraser to hang on to, for a little while? Ray glanced down at Dief, mouthed *pizza and donuts and beer*, and looked back up in time to see Fraser rolling his eyes, the happy-mask fading into something almost like a normal, if stressed, expression.
“Anyway,” Fraser added as they stepped outside, “I’m hoping this won’t take more than a week, and Dief would spend most of the trip in quarantine, were that the case, and he hates that.”
Ray blinked rapidly, blinded, he told himself, by the sunlight. “A week?”
“Well, yes, Ray. I realize it’s going to be a major transition for David, but he can’t have many affairs to put in order, and I have a finite amount of emergency leave available.”
“Right,” Ray said, because he had to say something, as his panic cracked apart, shook around his brain like puzzle pieces in a box, and reformed, *It’s over* becoming *He’s bringing the kid to Chicago*, “guess that’s my fault.”
“Oh, no, Ray, not at all,” Fraser said quickly, reassuring. “The vacation time I took on the adventure is something separate entirely. This comes under emergency family leave. In theory, I could take quite a bit, and I will if David needs more time or the legal proceedings turn out to be more involved than I have been led to expect, but I do hate to leave Inspector Meijer in the lurch.”
“Right,” Ray said, because that was a word his apparently-defective brain had approved for release, unlocking Fraser’s door and then going around to the driver’s side.
He sat for a moment, blinking at the steering wheel, then started the car. When he glanced over, Fraser was staring out the window, frowning like he’d never seen the city before. Ray turned his eyes back to the road, scrupulously observing traffic laws, not because he thought Fraser would notice, but because it meant it would take that little bit longer to get to the airport. He was buying just a little more time before he had to watch Fraser leave, even if it was supposed to be temporary.
He glanced over again, and the pale, strained look on Fraser’s face made his stomach hurt. Still, it was an improvement over that first sick frozen smile he’d been wearing. “Fraser,” he said, carefully, “this is all happening awfully fast, and a kid... you okay with this?”
Fraser looked up at him sharply, and said, “Ray, I–-”
Ray quickly raised a placating hand, wondering what he’d said to piss him off. Not that he didn’t have the right to a little short temper today; Jesus, a five-year-old kid, out of the blue like that. Wasn’t even his, in the fun sense. “I get it, Fraser. He ain’t heavy, he’s your brother.”
It took a few seconds, but Fraser shifted from lips-pressed-together-in-irritation to lips-pressed-together-trying-not-to-laugh. Ray took that as a good sign and kept going. “I mean, I’m just your partner, and you carried *me* up a mountain, right? So of course you’ll do right by the kid.”
“Indeed,” Fraser murmured, looking down again, but definitely showing a genuine smile, even if it was a small one. “After my experience with you, a five-year-old should present little difficulty.” Fraser glanced up with an innocent look, and added, “Strictly in terms of mass, I assure you.”
Ray snorted. Fraser had said he was more trouble to look after than a little kid, somewhere in there, but he wasn’t going to argue. Hell, it was probably true; he couldn’t even claim to fidget less. His brain clicked through a series of associations faster than he could see, and Ray heard himself saying, quite casually, “So, Dief will stay with me while you’re gone, and when you get back, you and David will stay over, too, right?”
Fraser blinked. “Ray?”
Ray gave him an innocent look back. “Fraser, you can’t bunk a five-year-old kid in your office. You’re way past due to move out of there anyway. And what else are you going to do, stay in a hotel until you find a place? I know you’ve been living cheap for a while, but the RCMP can’t pay you *that* well.”
Oh, yeah, that was a flash of panic in Fraser’s eyes, and a little relief. He really hadn’t known what he was going to do. “Ray, you needn’t–-” But the protest was weak, and Ray hardly had to try to interrupt him.
“Look, Fraser, you made sure I survived my adventure, the least I can do is help you get started on yours, right?”
Fraser stared out the window for a moment, blinking, before he finally looked back at Ray. “Adventure?”
Ray smiled. “Well, I don’t think you’re gonna be bored.”
***
Fraser dried his hands and face carefully, and inspected himself in the mirror. His hair was freshly combed and still slightly damp. He thought he detected a faint stubble-shadow on his cheeks, and his face looked perhaps a bit pale, but both were likely attributable to the fluorescent lighting of the airport mens’ room. He seemed sufficiently presentable to be a credit to the uniform, and with that fact assured, he picked up the tunic and slipped it on, buttoning and buckling with steady hands and intense focus. He’d had several hours to think, and he’d concluded that the best way to handle this was the way one handled any difficult matter: focusing on the task at hand.
When he was done, he checked the mirror again, and found a perfectly respectable Mountie looking back; just the sort of man one would trust with an orphaned child. With a firm nod to his reflection, Fraser picked up his knapsack and headed out of the bathroom, crossing the mostly-empty concourse to Yellowknife Airport’s single coffee stand, where he had arranged to meet Blake.
He was still a few meters away when a man about his own age stood up from his table and extended a hand. “Constable Fraser?” He quickly closed the distance and shook the offered hand. “I’m Harry Blake.” Blake gestured toward his briefcase, sitting on the table beside them. “I have everything here, if you have time before your plane?”
Fraser nodded. He’d managed to call in a favor from a bush pilot he knew, in order to get from Yellowknife to Paulatuk by morning, but he had a couple of hours to kill in the meantime.
They sat, and Blake opened the briefcase, pulling out a stack of official forms. “I took the liberty of filling in everything I could, so if you’ll just go through and complete the blanks...”
Fraser nodded again, skimming the forms. Application for guardianship, affidavits regarding his residence situation–-one of the blanks was his address in Chicago. He paused for a moment over that one; the address of the Consulate was listed elsewhere, so he couldn’t simply list it and hope no one noticed it was the same. He tugged at his collar, and then began to fill in the address for Ray’s apartment. “This is a temporary address,” he explained, mentally apologizing to Ray for his presumption. “It’s not really what you’d call family housing, so I’ll be moving as soon as I find something more suitable.”
Blake nodded. “Naturally. Everyone involved understands what an upheaval this is for you. If you notify me when you’ve got your new address, I’ll see that it’s updated officially.”
Fraser turned back to the form, signing in triplicate as he said, “So you don’t doubt that I’ll be able to get custody of David?”
“Not seriously, no. You’re RCMP, recently made quite the splash with your heroism, you can fulfill the letter of the residence requirements, and the judge is quite likely to see that keeping David with his family, as his mother requested, is in the spirit of the law.”
He handed the papers back across. “Mr. Blake, I have a question for you.”
Blake nodded, closing his briefcase again, intent.
Fraser took a deep breath. “How did Ms. Boileau die?”
“Ah. It was a hunting accident, actually.”
Fraser stared for a moment, and as if he were back in that hallway four years ago, he heard the coroner’s voice. *Thirty aught six standard hunting rifle, first week of the season.* “A hunting accident,” he repeated, trying not to sound dubious.
“Oh–-not.” Blake looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t that kind of hunting accident. She’d gone out alone, didn’t even take any of the dogs since she couldn’t use a sled, and she liked to leave their lead dog with David when she was out. Apparently she was walking along the lip of one of those little valleys that you can hardly even see unless you’re in it. Piece of ground gave way, and she fell. Broke her neck. It took the RCMP searchers two days to find her.”
Fraser took a breath, steadying himself. An accident. A real accident. If he could be sure it was true, then that was that; it was no less horrible a loss for David, but there would be nothing further he could do, need do. “And David was at home while this was happening?”
Blake looked down then, fiddling with his briefcase. It took Fraser a moment to identify the expression on his face, and then he realized that the attorney was embarrassed. “David was at the cabin, yes. Rachel apparently used to leave him alone for a few hours at a time, and of course she had no way of knowing this would be any different. He apparently...” Blake cleared his throat. “He’s an unusual child, very mature and self-reliant.”
Blake glanced up at him, and Fraser said, “Ah,” schooling his features to some polite approximation of Blake’s chagrin. He had been left alone, too. He hadn’t cried when it happened, just as David hadn’t, although he’d never been on his own for more than a matter of hours, not at that age.
“David apparently waited until the following morning before he radioed the outpost to look for her. The dispatcher asked him if he was alone, and he said no; he said that Wally was with him. In the rush to find the missing woman, no one took the time to find out that Wally was a sled dog. David was alone for three days before Constable Hadley went to the cabin to inform him of his mother’s death.”
Fraser scratched at his eyebrow and tried to imagine the sort of five-year-old who would, left to his own devices, look after himself alone for three days without using available means of communication to request assistance.
“He was fine,” Blake added in a wondering tone. “He’d apparently subsisted on bread and jam and pemmican for three days, taken care of the dogs, kept the fire going... When Hadley told him his mother was dead, he said, ‘That’s the only reason she wouldn’t come back to me.’ And then he asked whether Hadley was going to take him to town. Just like that, cool as you please.” Blake shook his head. “I was stunned when the constable told me that; Rachel used to bring David down to Yellowknife for a couple of weeks every winter, and I’d met him. He seemed quite attached to her–-the way any kid would be to his mother. I can’t imagine how he could handle it so calmly.”
Fraser bit his lip, and remembered being six years old, and knowing with an unshakeable certainty that crying wouldn’t bring his mother back. Doing his chores, following his father to the shed and helping him feed the dogs without being asked. You did the things you had to do, when you had to do them. Blake was a city man, though, and wouldn’t understand that. “I see,” he said finally, instead, and then, “You said David was five years old?”
Blake nodded. “He had his birthday last week, actually. He was born on July 7, 1993–-just a baby when your father died.”
Fraser nodded, and tried to remember how many times he’d spoken to his father between that date and his death. Twice? Three times? Never mind all the times *after*... “Mr. Blake, do you know of any reason why neither my father nor Ms. Boileau ever told me about David? Especially if I was his mother’s first choice as guardian, I don’t understand why I was never informed.”
Blake sighed. “I first met Ms. Boileau several weeks after your father was killed, before all the facts came to light. David was just a toddler, and she told me her whole story–-she’d had a secret relationship with Sergeant Fraser, he’d wanted to keep it discreet because he had enemies who might try to harm her or even David to get to him. That was why she was so concerned to make a will and choose someone to care for David, because she was afraid something might happen to her. At the time, frankly, I thought she was a few geese short of a flock, but when the news came out about your father being murdered by a Mountie... It sounded a bit more plausible after that. Rachel never stopped being afraid, though, not really. Even though David’s legal name is Fraser, she never told anyone in town who his father was; when Hadley called to give me the bad news, he referred to the boy as David Boileau. You are going to be a bit of a surprise.”
“Does David know?”
“Well, he introduced himself to me as David Fraser. And she spoke freely about you in front of him, so I assume that she’d at least told him that he had a brother out there somewhere.” Blake raised a hand to his mouth, stifling a yawn. “Sorry, Constable,” he murmured, and Fraser waved it off. Blake opened up his briefcase again and withdrew a manila envelope. “These are all the papers I thought would be useful to you–-a copy of Rachel’s will, David’s birth certificate, a few pieces of correspondence. I’m afraid there’s not much.”
Fraser took the packet, which indeed seemed rather thin to be the sum of the changes forthcoming in his and David’s lives. “Thank you kindly.”
Blake nodded. “Well, then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get home to bed.”
“Of course, naturally. Thank you for meeting with me so late.” Fraser wasn’t entirely certain what time it was, though he thought the hour must be near midnight–-it was dusky-dark outside, something of a rarity at this time of year.
Blake nodded. “I’ll start trying to get a court date tomorrow, and I’ll notify you as soon as I find out when it is. If I can get ahold of the right people, I might be able to swing a Monday appointment, and you could be back in Chicago the next day.”
Fraser stood again, and they shook hands, and then Blake strode off toward an exit. Fraser, equally purposefully, headed toward the bank of payphones. Holding the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, he flipped open his hip pouch, left-handed, and pulled out the scrap of paper upon which he’d written the Paulatuk RCMP outpost’s phone number; he’d just have a word with whomever was on duty, and let them know he was coming in. He stared at the numbers, suffering one of those odd moments of blank incomprehension that always seemed to accompany lost sleep and overexposure to fluorescent lights, and then his right hand began punching numbers.
It wasn’t until a recorded voice asked him to insert eleven dollars for the first three minutes that Fraser realized the phone number he’d dialed wasn’t the outpost’s, but Ray’s. He frowned for a moment at the phone, then hung it up. He had no reason to call Ray, and in any case it was late, and he was probably asleep. Shaking his head, he picked up the receiver again, carefully dialing the number he’d written down.
***
Ray sat back and stretched, rubbing his eyes with his left hand and flexing his right.
It had been a bad idea to do research. A very bad idea. He glanced down at the notepad beside the keyboard of Frannie’s computer, where his increasingly illegible handwriting listed a dozen books he should check out from the library, as well as stray ominous phrases like ‘attachment disorder’ and ‘adoption trauma’ and ‘adjustment period’. A glance at the clock revealed that it was after midnight, and Ray sat for a while, staring blankly at the computer screen, in the quiet bullpen.
The peace was temporary; in a few hours the bars would be letting out, and from three until dawn, this place would slowly fill up with only-slightly-disorderly drunks, handcuffed to chairs when they inevitably ran out of space in the holding cells. In the meantime, it was just him and Dief and the internet. Ray leaned forward and switched off the computer, and as soon as he did, Dief appeared at his side, whining hopefully.
“Yeah,” Ray said, his voice coming out rusty. He cleared his throat, and tossed his long-empty coffee cup in the trash. “Yeah, we’ll go now. And I know I owe you about a million donuts–-we’ll start the installment plan tomorrow morning, all right?”
Dief just went on staring at him, because he was a wolf, and he didn’t talk. Also, it was sort of dark in there with the computer turned off, and he might not have caught that. Ray stood up, grabbed his notepad, and headed for the door, and Dief followed.
When they were in the car–-Dief taking the front seat with what looked like enormous satisfaction–-Ray sat still another moment, all the advice from all the websites still zinging around his brain. That was way more than he’d wanted; he’d just meant to find out whether he should go buy plug covers and those little plastic cupboard locks, or just clean the apartment and hide the porn, but now he was worried. Really worried.
“The thing is,” he said quietly, to the steering wheel. It was dark, and he wasn’t looking at Dief, and anyway he was a wolf, so it was okay to say it out loud, it didn’t really count. “If the kid doesn’t like me, then that’s it, I’m fucked.”
Dief made a little disapproving noise, and it was just like having Fraser next to him in the car, which was weird in all kinds of ways, but more good than bad on balance.
“Okay, I’m sunk, that better?” Dief didn’t say anything. “It’s just... this is his kid brother, and Fraser hasn’t even met him yet but he’s already the most important thing in the world. So if the kid doesn’t like me, then that’s it for me. And if the kid doesn’t like him, or doesn’t like Chicago, or doesn’t like anybody or anything because he’s traumatized and halfway crazy, then that’s gonna break Fraser’s heart.” Ray couldn’t decide which one would be worse, but at least if the kid hated both of them he and Fraser would still have something in common.
Dief didn’t make any noise at that, but he wormed around the gearshift to lay his head on Ray’s leg. Ray sunk one hand into his fur, not scratching or petting, just touching. Nice to know he wasn’t alone, even if it was just Dief. Dief was practically people, anyway; Fraser and Dief both thought so.
“I mean, he’s Fraser’s little brother, so he’ll probably be okay, right? I mean, they’re not a crazy family or anything.”
Dief made a little noise at that that didn’t reassure Ray much, but there was no knowing what the wolf meant–-hell, he probably just wanted to get home. He couldn’t hear what Ray was saying, after all. And of course wolves didn’t talk. But Dief didn’t move away, and Ray couldn’t drive anywhere until he did, so he sat in the dark awhile longer, enjoying the company and trying not to think.
***
Fraser tucked his Stetson under his arm, straightened his tunic, Sam Browne, and lanyard one last time, and stepped into Paulatuk’s RCMP post. The constable stationed at the desk immediately stood up to greet him. “Constable Fraser? Constable Hill.” Hill was young, with an unadorned sleeve and that fresh-from-the-Academy look that would wear off within a few more months at this remote posting.
“Nice to meet you. I spoke to Corporal MacInnes?”
“Yes, sir. He and Constable Hadley took David home to get dressed for the service, they’ll meet us at the cemetery.”
Fraser nodded. Rachel Boileau’s will, which he had read several times before leaving Yellowknife, requested a simple burial service. “Were you able to get a priest?”
Hill nodded. “Luckily, he was just over in Inuvik this week, so he was able to drive out.” Hill picked up his hat and a small hand-lettered sign from the desk. “If you’d like to leave your bag here, we can head over now.” While Fraser deposited his knapsack on a chair out of the way, Hill affixed the sign, directing any callers to walk down to the cemetery or come inside and wait, to the door.
Fraser walked the short distance to the cemetery at Hill’s side, in silence. Hadley, MacInnes, and another officer stood together in an easily visible cluster of red tunics. A short distance away, a fit-looking man with iron gray hair, dressed in black with a purple cloth of some sort hooked over his arm, was flipping through a small book.
A few feet from the Mounties, near the edge of the open grave, stood a young boy. He was dressed in a blue button-down shirt and brown pants, his brown hair perfectly combed, his boots brightly polished. He looked very small.
As they walked through the rows of tombstones to join the others, Fraser was strongly reminded of his own mother’s funeral. Like this one, it had been attended mainly by Mounties. His grandparents had been out on their circuit, and not reachable in time to make it. At six, he hadn’t had any black clothes; it had been a struggle to find something to wear that wasn’t the same bright red as his father’s uniform. His shirt had been green, he thought. He’d had his father beside him, standing at the grave. And he couldn’t possibly have been so small.
Hill broke away to join his fellows, and as he did, David looked up. His solemn expression actually seemed to brighten somewhat, and he walked over, meeting Fraser near the foot of the grave. Squinting up at him with a smile like a grimace, the boy said, “You’re my brother, aren’t you?” He extended his hand to shake, and Fraser took it, smiling slightly himself at the boy’s grip.
“That’s right, I am. I’m Benton, and you must be David.”
David nodded, reclaiming his hand, and looked around. “Didn’t you bring Dief?”
Fraser was startled, but recovered quickly. “No, I thought he’d be happier staying behind this trip.”
David nodded, meeting his eyes again. “In Chicago?” Fraser nodded, and before he could speak, the boy added, “That’s where we’re going, right?”
Well, at least Rachel had told *someone* what to expect. “That’s right, David. I’m going to take you back to Chicago to live with me, if that’s all right with you.”
David looked puzzled. “What else would I do?” He had no answer for that, and when the boy turned and walked back to his place by the grave, Fraser followed. The priest came over at the same time, meeting them at the side where David had been standing.
He smiled at Fraser and at David, but David was staring down into the empty grave. Fraser was about to say something to the boy when he heard a vehicle approaching, and David looked up as he did, to see a black SUV with curtains covering its rear windows making its way slowly up the access road. The Paulatuk detachment men all headed over to meet the truck, and Fraser looked down again at David.
The child’s hands clenched briefly into fists, then relaxed. He stared steadily at the truck, and Fraser looked back in time to see an older man in a suit hop down from the driver’s seat and make a cap-doffing gesture toward the priest. Then he headed around to the back of the makeshift hearse, which likely only served this purpose for a handful of days every year, and opened up the doors.
The Mounties, who were all roughly of a height, moved in silence, with an ease that indicated that they’d performed this difficult and delicate task together more than once. Hadley and MacInnes hoisted the casket to their shoulders, and Hill and the other constable guided it the rest of the way out of the truck and took their places at the foot. In an unceremonious but effective unity, they made their way from the road toward the grave site.
Fraser couldn’t take his eyes from them, watching as they worked together and thinking of his own partner, thousands of miles away. He and Ray had shouldered more than one burden together that way, but now here he was, alone and unsupported.
Fraser clenched his teeth, forcing his mind from that self-indulgent path. That was no metaphorical load his fellow officers were bearing to this grave, it was David’s mother. He looked down at the child who by rights ought to have all his attention at this moment; David looked smaller and more forlorn than ever, standing alone with six polite inches between his left foot and Fraser’s right. Fraser thought suddenly of the day he met Ray, when he’d received a hug from a stranger as he stood, bewildered and abandoned, in the police department.
Seized by a sudden impulse he didn’t want to stop and question, Fraser bent down and lifted David into his arms as the pallbearers drew near. Though he went on holding himself as stiffly still as he had when he stood on his own, David fit easily into his arms. He weighed, and wiggled, less than Dief, and his warm solid presence against Fraser’s side made this all seem not only real, but possible. He had a brother, and they were going to be a family.
He stepped back from the edge of the grave when Hadley and Hill came up the side, positioning the casket to be lowered. Flat nylon straps in bright yellow–-the kind one might use to pull free a bogged-down truck, or secure a snowmobile to a trailer–-appeared in their hands and were looped around the casket’s handles, and the simple box was lowered smoothly into the ground. As the straps were pulled up and folded away, and the Mounties moved around into place behind Fraser and David, the boy leaned against his shoulder, moving his face close to Fraser’s. He had exactly enough time to think that he’d done the right thing and David was relaxing, before the whisper came in his ear. “Please, Ben, put me down.”
Fraser complied, as quickly as he could without appearing to the other adults present to be flinging David to the ground. When he was on his own feet again, David sidled away another few inches, and stood even more stiffly than before, chin up and shoulders back. It didn’t make David look any taller or older; it just made him look as alone as Fraser felt, standing there with his hands clasped politely behind his back to quell the impulse to reach for him again.
His father, Fraser suddenly remembered, had kept one hand on his shoulder throughout his mother’s funeral. That would have been better; he had presumed too much. A fine beginning, he thought, and took off his hat as the priest cleared his throat and commenced the service.
***
David stayed beside him as they walked back to the RCMP post, though he continued to keep his distance. Once inside, David dashed off to a corner well away from the chairs where the adults settled. Constable Hill headed off to make tea, and Constable Perrin introduced himself before making a quick exit to get some sleep before his night shift. Corporal MacInnes went to walk Father Carty out to his truck, and Fraser found himself sitting alone with Hadley.
Fraser watched David, across the room. He was playing quietly with some stray bits of harness hardware; Fraser caught him looking their way a couple of times, and he always looked away immediately. Hadley leaned forward. “I wouldn’t worry about it, you know,” he said, quietly enough that David wouldn’t hear.
Fraser turned quickly toward his neglected companion. “I’m sorry?”
Hadley’s smile broadened. “I did the same thing, when I met him. I mean, I was there to tell him about his mom. They picked me because I’m good with kids, but I get there and he’s all alone and I just wanted to hug him, and he let me, but he wouldn’t let me near him after that for a day or so. He’s a prickly little thing, but he’s all right.”
Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. “Thank you,” he said finally. “I wish I’d realized that a little sooner.”
Hadley nodded. “Anyway, I don’t think it’ll hurt you; he thinks you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread. Greatest thing ever, maybe, since I don’t think he’s ever seen sliced bread.”
Fraser stole another glance at David, who had turned his back completely. “I beg your pardon?”
Hadley snorted. “Kid hasn’t talked about anything else the whole time. ‘Do you know what my brother did?’ Telling stories like crazy, about you catching poachers and litterbugs and murderers and all *kinds* of stuff you’ve been doing in Chicago. So proud to be your little brother he can hardly stand it.”
Fraser frowned. “I wonder where he heard all of that.”
Hadley shrugged. “His mum, must’ve been. Rachel probably kept track of you, and it’s not like anyone else ever saw the kid.”
Fraser nodded slowly, his eyes on his brother. David, across the room, seemed thoroughly absorbed in his solitary game, and Fraser realized that this was as good a time as any. He turned in his seat, leaning confidentially toward Hadley, and Hadley automatically leaned in as well, raising his eyebrows inquisitively. “I wonder if you could tell me,” he said, schooling his voice to neutrality, “exactly what happened to David’s mother.”
Hadley looked surprised. “MacInnes didn’t tell you?”
Fraser put on his innocently curious look, a harder sell here than in Chicago, but still probably worth a shot. MacInnes had in fact told him on the phone precisely what Blake had told him in Yellowknife. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check another story, and Hadley had probably been more closely involved in the search than his superior officer; he had been the one sent out to speak to David, after all. “We spoke only briefly, so he didn’t have an opportunity to give me much information. For David’s sake, I’d just like to know exactly what happened.”
Hadley glanced first toward David, and then toward the door through which the corporal had departed. Still, as always, invoking a child’s well-being did the job, and Hadley gave a small, decisive nod. “From the time David radioed in to our dispatcher–-she’s in pieces over not realizing he was alone, thinks she should’ve known somehow–-it took us more than two days to find her, and judging from the condition of the body, she’d died not long after she went out. Turned out she wasn’t far from the cabin, hadn’t even made it out to her trap line, which we figured she would’ve. It’s hilly there, all these little ravines you can’t see from uphill, and we found her at the bottom of one.”
Hadley’s eyes cut sideways again, but when Fraser followed his gaze, he saw David, now sprawled on his stomach, frowning in concentration as he tried to link two buckles together.
“She–-I mean, the body–-was in real bad shape. Half in a stream, and animals had been at it, and–-” Hadley shook his head. “Anyway, you could tell from the way she lay, she’d broken her neck. And if that didn’t kill her right away, she’d’ve drowned.”
Fraser frowned. MacInnes hadn’t mentioned that, not in quite those terms. “You don’t know which it was? Wasn’t there an–-”
But no, there wouldn’t have been an autopsy, not here. He’d been spoiled, by his time in Chicago, and even before that, by the large detachment in Tuktoyaktuk, which could usually muster a medical examiner for suspicious deaths.
“It was clear what happened, Constable,” Hadley said, earnestly. “There was no sign of struggle, no sign that anyone else had been anywhere near the site til we got there. I mean, we could see the animal tracks, clear as bells, and nothing else. It’s not like accidents don’t happen out here, and Rachel...”
MacInnes hadn’t offered this explanation, either, and Fraser, after a quick glance toward David, who now seemed to be constructing a tower out of breakaway clips and D-rings, echoed, “Rachel?”
“She wasn’t from around here. I mean–-” Hadley rolled his eyes, betraying a southerner’s frustration with the concept of ‘from around here,’ “she was, sort of, because her granddad built that cabin and his family goes back to the *Hommes du Nord*, but his daughter moved away, married this Boileau, went to Quebec, and Rachel grew up in the city there. Came back for summers with the old man, but he died when she was about fifteen. When she came back up here, the officers around tried to keep an eye out for her, including–-”
Hadley stopped suddenly and bit his lip, and Fraser nearly laughed. “Including my father?”
Hadley nodded. “Anyway, so we really weren’t sure how she was managing, and–-”
He looked like he was trying very hard not to say *It was a matter of time,* and Fraser nodded slowly. It had been an accident, he told himself, turning in his seat to look across the room again at David. Nothing more.
***
Ray flopped down on his bed. His apartment had never been so clean, and he was exhausted. He’d tidied, and dusted, and vacuumed, and by then the mania had taken hold and he’d started scrubbing everything that held still. Dief, wisely, had retreated to the fire escape at the first chance; Ray wished he’d been able to detach himself from the crazy guy driving him and do the same.
He thought about sleeping, but that made him think about reading, which made him think about the plastic bag of library books sitting on his coffee table, which meant he needed to think about something else.
Ray rolled onto his side and pulled his keys out of his pocket. He tossed his keys into his left hand, and fumbled through them until he found the shiny new one with the B scratched into it. Unlocked the shiny new lock on the top night stand drawer. Dropped the keys on top of the night stand and pulled out his gun, transferred it to his right hand, and reached back in, feeling around for the clip. It had found its way underneath one of the magazines, all the way at the back of the drawer. Ray pulled it out and shoved it into place, sighting automatically on his closet door before he quickly unloaded the weapon and returned gun and clip, separately, to the drawer. He locked it up again, and tucked his keys back into his pocket, and laid staring at the night stand for a few minutes.
Stopwatch. He’d seen one somewhere, while he was cleaning. He could practice, get his time down. His eyes slipped shut as he was trying to remember where he’d put the watch, and then he was, mercifully, asleep.
***
Fraser watched, coiling lines, as David went around to each of the dogs, spending a few moments scratching each one’s ears, addressing them by name and telling them they’d done well today, though in point of fact they hadn’t done anything other than refrain from strangling themselves or each other while they were staked out. When this evening ritual was complete, David headed out of the shed, Wally hard on his heels, and Fraser followed.
Once inside the cabin, Wally took up his station by the door, and David went over to the bed and took out his pajamas. Fraser considered offering him assistance, but that hadn’t gone over well the other three times he’d tried it today, so he busied himself at the stove instead, poking at the fire and watching out of the corner of his eye until David had himself ready for bed. He stood hesitantly near the foot, looking toward Fraser, so he closed the stove door and wiped his hands on his pants, turning as he stood to face the boy. “Ready for bed?”
David nodded. “I have to say my prayers now.”
“Ah.” Fraser rubbed his eyebrow, and wondered what he was supposed to do about that. “Would you mind if I joined you?”
David shook his head quickly, so that had probably been the expected response. Fraser went and knelt down at the foot of the bed, and David hesitated long enough to tell him that that wasn’t. Before he could correct himself, however, David had knelt down at his side, folded his hands, and bowed his head. After a moment’s silence, which he spent staring down at David, wondering if he was ever going to see as much of David’s face as he did the crown of his head, Fraser said, “Why don’t you go ahead, tonight.”
David nodded, and began, murmuring first in French as he crossed himself, and then, speaking more carefully, in English, though he reverted to the French pronunciation for the *amen* at the end of the prayer. David seemed to be finished, so Fraser stood, and David quickly did as well, turning back the covers and crawling into the middle of the bed. He stole a quick glance at Fraser before patting the space beside him, but Wally had clearly been watching for the signal and was in bed at David’s side before Fraser had time to do more than look vaguely approving.
He tucked David in and sat down beside him. “Does Wally usually sleep up here with you, then?”
David nodded. “When Mum’s not here. She.” David looked away briefly, choosing his words, and Fraser pressed his hands to his thighs to keep from reaching for him. “We used to share, because I was too little to sleep by myself in the winter. I was going to have my own bed in the fall, though.”
“I see,” Fraser said softly, at a loss, glancing at his own bedroll, still tied up, on the table. It was clear he wasn’t required to take David’s mother’s place, and he supposed he could only be glad that the boy hadn’t yet been taught the sort of manners which would have required him to offer his bed to his guest. Such as he was.
“Will I have my own bed in Chicago?”
Fraser looked back to David with a start. He was pressed close to Wally, one hand buried in the fur of the dog’s flank. “Yes, you will,” he said, “once we find a proper place to live. When we first get back we’ll be staying with my friend, Ray Kowalski, and I’m not sure what the sleeping arrangements will be.” Dear God, there was a thought–-where *would* Ray put them all? He’d slept on Ray’s couch a time or two, and it was reasonably comfortable if a trifle short. David could sleep there, and... He glanced at his bedroll again. Well, they’d sort things out.
“Is Dief staying there now, with Mr. Kowalski?”
“Detective Kowalski,” Fraser corrected absently, “and yes, Dief is staying with him at present.” He looked again at Wally, David’s small hand in the white fur. The dog hadn’t let David out of his sight since Constable Hadley brought them back to the cabin. “David, if you’d like to bring Wally back to Chicago with us, I think we could arrange it without much difficulty.” Ray and Dief would understand, he thought. Wally was the only living being who David knew.
David, however, pulled his hand quickly away from Wally, tucking it under his pillow instead. “Wally’s not a pet,” he said firmly, in a tone which suggested he was parroting what he’d been told by someone else. “He’s a working dog. He should stay with his team.” And the team, of course, was not coming to Chicago; the outpost would board them until fall, and buy them for the RCMP at fair market price when the next fiscal year started.
“That’s true,” Fraser said slowly, “but Dief isn’t a pet either; he’s my friend, and stays with me because we like each other.”
But David turned himself slightly further away from Wally, and wouldn’t meet Fraser’s eyes. “He should stay with his team,” he repeated. Fraser couldn’t bear to agitate him further, and instead resigned himself to leaving Wally behind. Perhaps Dief would be willing to serve as some sort of substitute.
He hated to leave David to sleep on this sort of note, and tried to think of some way to mend things. “Did your mother ever sing to you, David?”
That seemed to startle David; in any case, he looked up and met Fraser’s eyes as he nodded. “Do you...” Fraser tried to look inviting, and David said, “Do you know the one with my, with our, name in it? The roaring Fraser?”
It took him only a moment to place the line, since it had been such a point of contention with Ray throughout their adventure. Ray had resorted to inventing several new verses to redress the balance, inserting his own name as often as he could. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do.” David relaxed a little then, moving closer to Wally, and Fraser cleared his throat and began to sing. He made it through all four verses before David closed his eyes, and lowering his voice, he began on his own, child-appropriate, versions of Ray’s additions. After two of those, and a final repetition of the chorus, David was fast asleep.
Fraser allowed himself, then, to brush David’s hair back from his face, and let his hand rest there a moment. David didn’t wake, and Fraser was only surprised that he’d lasted as long as he had; this had likely been one of the hardest days of his young life. Wally watched him with one knowing brown eye, which he closed as soon as Fraser stood.
He stood a moment in the quiet cabin. There were things he ought to do while David was otherwise occupied; the trunk which stood against the wall under the front window contained “all the important things” according to David, and he should sort through it and see whether it held anything that ought to be dealt with immediately.
On the other hand, it had been one of the harder days of his life, too, and very long. He went to the table, and picked up his bedroll, laying it out near the foot of the bed. He was asleep nearly as soon as he laid down.
***
Part 2