Author's Website:

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own mind. Pity me for that and don't sue.

Author's Notes: This newbie loves email and welcomes comments.

Story Notes: Here lies spoilers for CotW.

Fraser,

Hey. I'm not so good at this writing thing, you know, but I figure what the hell, not like things can get any worse right now huh? All I wanted to say is (you can place a real long pause about here for emphasis if you like) sorry. I'm sorry Fraser. Sorry that I didn't see, I didn't know. I didn't know.

But I know now right? Found out 'cause I was the one they lumbered the clean up with. Not lumbered like, I mean, not like you have much stuff anyway but, you know. Going through your stuff. I set apart this day. This day to do it. Go through it all and box it up. Done. And I was kind of selfish about it too. Waited 'till I knew they were off somewhere. Didn't need anyone else getting in on the act. Slipped in your office, still smells of Dief, all quiet. Too quiet. Still. Peaceful. Just stood there for I don't know how long. A long time, just stood. Stood and looked at not much, 'cause you don't have much do you? I mean, that's all you have in the world?

I went through your desk first. All of your papers were gone, not like you had a backlog or anything. My desk? Pretty much looks like a bomb hit it half the time. You knew that. Yours? Neat and tidy, all up to date, filing mountie style. Then I went into your closet. Appropriate is what that is right, considering what I found. Like you left them there on purpose. Did you? Is that the sort of thing you'd do Fraser? I'm not sure that I know anymore. See, you're going away. I don't like it. It's worrying me, that, the forgetting thing. What if I forget? What if I forget? You. Us. All of it. God Fraser, you can't just disappear on me. Not now. Not now. Not like this. Well anyway, I start clearing out your closet and I find them. Just sitting there innocent as snow. You'd like that image, if you were here, I think.

I keep thinking of our adventure, wondering why you asked me. What changed between that night round the campfire where you tried to reassure me, I think, about my place, where I didn't know what you meant, to that night in the tent, outside Buck's lodge 'cause he was overcrowded and you wanted to commune with your homeland or something. I saw the look in your eyes Fraser. I knew something was up but I couldn't get through, you wouldn't let me get through would you? No, you just let it all fester in there, in that hard hard chest until the middle of the night, until I'm asleep and you're touching me, or the sleeping bag anyway. Clutching at it like you're falling away, falling down deep. But I got you, I had you. It was okay. Woke up to teary eyed mountie, still not talking, except to finally say, to ask, to mention how opportune the time was to follow up on my death bed promise. To take an adventure. The mountie, the cop and the wolf. And I said yes of course, even though I wasn't quite sure why you'd asked, or why you suddenly sounded so quiet and desperate and like you needed me. So I guess nothing changed between that night round the campfire and that night in the tent, not for me anyway, 'cause I still didn't know what you meant.

Now I know what you mean, and I'm seeing those hands clutching at my sleeping bag in a whole new light. Hearing you ask me for something when maybe you wanted something else. I still can't quite get that though. But I'm working on it, or I could have, if you'd told me. Not like I was completely oblivious you know, not like I'd never considered, never thought, sometimes wondered that maybe I liked you more than I should. But you never gave me a chance did you Fraser? Never thought maybe I wanted something else too, something more than I really knew how to ask for. You must have known I was screwed up over the thought of losing you. You must have known. Except you didn't huh? You didn't. So it seems. And now I don't know what to do, I don't know where to look for you, and I don't know why you disappeared on me. Why you disappeared.

You remember a couple of weeks into the adventure, I was freezing my skinny ass off wrapped in blankets up against the fire, you kept telling me to sit further back from it else I catch cold or singe my eyebrows, you were perched on your little patch of snow carving a chunk of wood into the shape of an animal. I remember, if I close my eyes, looking up and just, you know, something, seeing something. There was something there, between us. Not just the fire. Like the fire. Heat. I don't know. I remember thinking you were doing what you always do, just being you, but I couldn't be me anymore. Couldn't just get up and dance in the middle of all that snow and ice. Not without looking like some insane person. I really didn't know what I was doing, what I was supposed to do. So I just watched you, followed you. Little lost puppy dog. Just like with Stella. Chasing after my own tail. That's when I stopped you know. That night, when you never looked up, never saw what I was seeing, or did see it and kept your head down on purpose. I stopped following you. Then what do you know if one day, out of the blue, you don't up and bump into me from behind.

I can't tell you any of this stuff. If you were here I could make you understand, you'd understand. You were always good at looking at me and just getting it. I can't write all that well, I don't know from words and touchy feely talk show crap. I know from catching bad guys and seeing you every day so as every day I know you're there, you're with me, you're okay. Haven't seen you in six weeks now Fraser. That's 42 days. I did the math. 42 days of not knowing where the Hell you are, who the Hell you're with. I mean they've got me clearing out your room Fraser. Say they can't wait anymore, need to get the job done so they have to hire someone else. They've got me clearing out your stuff, packing it all up so no one can be reminded of the mountie that got away. That went away and never even told anyone anything was wrong. If you've been kidnapped again Fraser, if you've gone off on some sort of grand Canadian zeal thing and gotten yourself killed I'm gonna kick you in the head so hard. I mean, you couldn't have called your partner, you couldn't have called me and said something? Told me something was wrong? 'Cause its not like you told Vecchio either. I'd understand if you told Vecchio, he's your friend, your partner, I get that. You could have told him. But no, he and Stella haven't heard from you. Who does that leave? Buck hasn't heard, Maggie's beside herself, Frannie's off her head with worrying, Welsh had you on an APB two days in, Thatcher called back and said if there's anything she can do and Turnbull, well Turnbull's Turnbull you know, but he hasn't heard anything either, so who does that leave? Then that gets me thinking that maybe this has something to do with Quinn's death, you know, 'cause I know you took that pretty hard. He was your mentor, maybe you'd gone off on some sort of vengeance gig or something, got into trouble. I don't know. I don't know. Just, if you'd said something. You would have said something if you were planning to leave, wouldn't you?

So, back to those letters. I mean what's that all about huh? You're in love with me! Yes that warrants an exclamation mark. I mean, you're in love with me? You love me. First I've heard of it. Last I heard you were that numb skull mountie guy who kinda put up with me 'cause I was a lost cause, or because I was willing to follow you into dumb ass situations and nearly get my head blown off. You love me? You write letters to me and then don't send them, keep them bundled up in your closet like so much evidence of an embarrassing crush. We're 40 years old, what is that? I mean is it that bad, being in love with me? Is it that painful that you couldn't just tell me, that you had to write it all down and hoard it away like some dirty secret that you couldn't quite shake off? You see, Fraser, so many question marks, so many question marks that you just left with no thought for who was going to read these damn things. Who was going to get left looking after your little fantasy diary. Is it a joke? Is it some sort of Canadian male bonding ritual. What? Just, what Fraser. I don't get that. I don't get writing to me and not just talking to me, telling me, something. I mean, where did it all come from anyway, underneath all that pristine spit and polish red red serge. You want to touch me, it says. God I mean, it says that sometimes you can feel it itching inside your skin, with wanting to touch me. If you didn't keep talking about our adventure I'd swear that you were talking about someone else but you love me, me, it says. So, what Fraser? You left 'cause you couldn't deal with that? Couldn't deal with liking me, wanting to be with me, so you run away? Or go out on some stupid mission and get yourself caught, get yourself capped or knifed or beaten, or God knows what? Never gave me a chance. So maybe you didn't want to want it huh. I get that. I get that. I mean, during the divorce I figured it would have been a lot easier if I didn't want Stella all the time, or so much. So maybe you just needed time away from me, cold shower kind of thing. I get that.

I just wish I knew where you were.

Ray