Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no money from this.

Author's Notes: Written for the DS Aprilfool's Challenge on LJ and the prompt of "Behind my back."

"Hello, Son."

Benton Fraser instinctively tuned away from the sound of his father's voice and stared determinedly out into the darkness. "Dad!"

"I think there're a few things we should discuss in the interests of... What are you doing, Benton?"

"Well, I was answering the call of nature..."

"Ah, very good. Carry on," Bob Fraser replied heartily. "You see son, there comes a time in a man's life when he has to make certain choices... certain... ah... significant decisions..."

"About the call of nature?"

"What? No! What are you talking about?"

"I could ask you the same question, Dad. Look, do we actually have to discuss this now? I'm rather busy..."

Bob Fraser made a show of looking around the barren, icy landscape. Dark came early this far north, and Benton and the Yank had already set up camp, eaten and were settling down for the night. The dogs were fed and staked out. The tent was pitched, the light of a lamp glowing from inside, making it look cosy and inviting - the only splash of colour visible.

"Well if you're busy," Bob said a little sarcastically, "I'll be getting along, but it is rather urgent actually."

Fraser took a deep, calming breath and looked over his shoulder at the ghost of his father. "What can possibly be that urgent? You're dead! I doubt there's anything so pressing that..."

"How are you and the Yank getting on?" Bob interrupted, still looking off into the empty arctic night.

"Fine," Benton snapped. "I have done this before you know. I'm not completely without resources. And Ray is adapting admirably. You really don't need to... Not that I'm not pleased to see you, but... I thought you were gone for good."

"Well, yes. That's as it may be."

"Is Mum here?" Benton asked quickly, scanning the vicinity nervously.

"What? Oh, no, no. She's... ah.... elsewhere." Bob settled his hat on his head more firmly and glanced at his son's back. "You know it's not healthy to have certain parts of a male anatomy exposed to this kind of cold for this long, Benton. Aren't you done yet?"

"You know, Dad, I suddenly find that I have lost the urge altogether," Benton said with a sigh, tucking himself in and turning to look at his father.

"Ah, well. There you are then."

"Indeed. Goodnight, Dad."

Bob Fraser watched his son's retreating figure as he walked back to the little orange tent and ducked inside.

This was going to be trickier than he'd thought.

o~o~o~o

"You see, I've come to realise that maybe I haven't been entirely helpful in the past with issues of a... ah... personal nature."

"Ray!"

The air was white with driving snow making it impossible to see anything clearly. Benton stood, his legs braced against the vicious, bitter wind and his hands cupped to his mouth. "Ray!"

"I see now that that I may have had a detrimental effect on your ability to make connections with others easily," Bob continued doggedly.

"Ray?"

"I thought that perhaps we could have a chat about... ah... that sort of thing. Benton? Are you listening to me?"

"Ray?"

Bob Fraser looked at his son closely. There was something about him - something about the way he was breathing hard and looking about frantically.

"Is everything alright?"

"Ray and I were separated by the storm," Fraser said shortly, not even stopping to glance at his father.

"Ah. Well, there you are then. So how is life going, Benton?"

Fraser just frowned, squinting into the blizzard. "Didn't you just hear me? Ray?"

"He's just over there, son. Do you think we could talk just for a minute? He'll be fine," Bob persisted.

That pulled Benton up short. "You know where he is?"

"Yes, he's about sixty metres south-south-east of this position. Facing the wrong direction, of course, and beginning to panic, but not in any immediate danger..."

Benton fumbled under his parka and pulled out a compass, shielding it with his hand and bending so he could see the tiny needle. "I don't understand you, Dad. That's my partner out there in this," he muttered.

"Well it's him I needed to speak to you about, actually. You and the Yank, you've... ah... you're a good team and I know that you think a great deal of him..."

Benton straightened, looked up and walked directly through his father and off into the screaming wind, shouting for Ray to stand still.

Bob sighed. "I didn't bring him up to be so rude as to walk through an incorporeal relative. America's ruined him." He clapped his hands together, looked about him, then disappeared.

o~o~o~o

"Buck, I need a favour."

"Ah, Bob. How are you? I thought you had..." Buck waved a loofah around his head a couple of times, hoping to signify the great beyond.

Bob straightened his shoulders and sat down beside the large, steaming tub of water, which contained a pruney Buck Frobisher - still wearing his hat. "Yes, well apparently I have left a few things undone."

"Criminals?" Buck growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

Bob scowled. "No, it's Benton. It would appear that my presence has... impeded his... ability and desire to... find a suitable... uh... mate..."

"Caroline kicked you out, did she?"

"I don't know why you'd think that. I'm perfectly capable of recognising my own shortcomings."

"Right you are," Buck nodded. "Won't let you come home until you've fixed it?"

"No," Bob admitted with a sigh. "Really, the woman is as stubborn now as she ever was. Death hasn't mellowed her at all."

"Well I'd love to help, but they're already sixteen days ahead of us and we don't have any females posted to this detachment anyway," Buck informed him, attacking the hard skin of his feet with his soapy loofah.

"Well that's not the problem. It would seem that Benton's already found someone, but lacks the wherewithal to press his suit."

"Oh-ho! The Yank!" Buck nodded. "Well, Bob, Benton's a grown man now, and a resourceful one at that. I'm sure that when the time comes, he'll know what to do. Would you pass the soap, please?"

o~o~o~o

"It's a simple plan. All you have to do is bite the Yank. Not hard of course, just enough blood so Benton will be forced to..."

...

"Well of course he won't shoot you."

...

"You're his lead dog, he'd be insane to..."

...

"Doughnuts? No, I don't have any doughnuts."

...

"No, I have no intention of going to fetch some for you."

...

"Diefenbaker, I find your fixation with pastries disturbing in the extreme. We're talking about Benton's future happiness here. Now are you going to help me or..."

...

"I don't think that's actually anatomically possible for a human."

o~o~o~o

Bob waited until his son left the tent. He was always up first, feeding the dogs and melting water for tea. It took the Yank a little longer to get used to the idea of it being morning again.

Bob stepped into the tiny cramped tent and hunkered down. The Yank was only visible as a few tufts of blonde hair inside his sleeping bag.

"I wonder if I might have a quick word?" Bob began.

There was some sort of muffled noise from within the fabric, and Bob took this as a good sign.

"You see the thing is Benton is awfully fond of you, and I don't know how you feel about such things but I think, given the right motivation, he might actually... that is to say, he wouldn't be averse to... if you were to offer to..."

There were more grunts from inside the sleeping bag and a hand appeared, flapped at him a couple of times and went limp.

"There comes a time in a man's life..." Bob began again. " ...oh what's the point? Honestly. It's quite ridiculous for me to be playing cupid to two middle-aged men. It's completely undignified. If you don't have the sense to sort it out for yourselves, then there's no hope for you anyway."

Bob regarded the now still pile of nylon and padding. "It seems perfectly obvious to me that Ben is in love with you for reasons, I might add, that are quite beyond me. I can only hope that if you share his affections that you are of a more forthright nature than my son, or I fear you will both end up lonely. And believe me, Yank, that's not a thing to be wished on any man."

The sleeping bag didn't respond, but Bob nodded as if it had, straightened up and stepped back out into the half-light of dawn.

Two blue/grey eyes, wide and unfocussed appeared over the top of the sleeping bag and blinked.

o~o~o~o

Bob sat on the bottom step of the porch. Caroline hadn't even listened beyond the first sentence of his carefully prepared explanation. Really, the woman was impossible. He'd forgotten how very steely her gaze could get and how sharp her tongue could be.

God, how he'd missed her.

And now all that stood between them and the sweet hereafter was her stubbornness and two inches of pine door - the same one that had been pointedly shut in his face fifteen minutes ago.

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried. Benton refused to talk, Buck wouldn't get out of the bath and Diefenbaker wouldn't negotiate unless it involved sugary snacks that he couldn't provide. He'd had high hopes for the Yank, but even that had failed. He had simply put on extra layers, eaten the pemmican Benton had offered and been more jumpy than ever all day - no declarations of undying love in sight.

Bob sighed, and then sniffed. Butterscotch Pudding. Oh, she really didn't play fair.

What did she expect him to do? He couldn't force them to fall in love. Short of going in there with a...

Bob stood up, sniffed again, nodded and disappeared.

o~o~o~o

The sun was well up in the sky, the dogs were lying in the snow looking fed and happy to just wait, and the weather conditions were perfect, yet there was no activity in the camp. Bob peered around, shading his eyes to scan the horizon - maybe they had gone off to hunt? But there were no tracks that Bob could see other than the trampled area in front of the tent.

Diefenbaker was watching him, his ears pricked forward and an amused look in his eye that Bob didn't care for.

Perhaps they were sick. Perhaps hypothermia. Bob didn't think it particularly cold, but being dead, it was hard to tell.

Bob put away his gun. He could hardly demand that they kiss each other if they were incapacitated in some way. He made his way toward the tent, listening for any hint that something was untoward, but all was quiet. The tent was still zipped up tight, so Bob reluctantly stuck his head through the wall of the nylon. He hated the way that felt, all slippery and strange.

In the orange glow of the interior, Bob could immediately see why they hadn't broken camp despite the lateness of the hour. Benton lay on his back with the Yank's head cushioned on his shoulder, their arms wrapped around each other, sound asleep. The Yank was drooling and snoring softly, his hair even more disastrous than it usually was.

Bob lifted his eyes to look at his son, to find him staring back, his gaze horrified. Bob beamed broadly, made a questioning face and gestured between the two men squashed together in the sleeping bag.

With a blush that Bob could see despite the orange tinge, Benton nodded slowly and carefully.

Bob beamed again and stuck his thumb up.

Benton's eyebrows climbed into his hairline, but he nodded once more, a tentative smile on his face.

Bob nodded in return, smiled one last time and waved goodbye.

Benton's eyes became thoughtful and followed him as he pulled back through the hateful nylon.

Bob stood up straight, taking one last look around before he went. Diefenbaker stretched, got up and strolled over, sniffing him curiously.

"No, it's butterscotch pudding," Bob told him.

...

"No, and even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you," Bob said and disappeared.

Fin