Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Starship/6102/home.html

Author's disclaimer:
There once was a company in Toronto,
Who made the world's best TV show.
People, wolves, places, and plot,
All the rights they have got.
But here I can do what I want to!

Author's notes: Inspired by the recent birth of my twin cousins. Thankfully NOT born in a barn. Dedicated as always to the wonderful men and women of RSY.

He could see the dogsled coming while it was still several kilometers away, a maelstrom of barking fur, high plumes of snow and a distraught Mountie in the process of becoming a father. The dogs seemed to be feeding off of the emotions of their driver, pulling the wooden and rawhide sled across the tightly packed snow as if it weighed no more than their shadows. Constable Buck Frobisher watched it approach at a breakneck speed, praying silently that his friend's exuberance wouldn't lead to a last minute crash. Caroline would shoot him.

As the sled came near the front of the cabin, Buck took a step back to avoid the spray of ice crystals thrown up as the runners bit into the tundra and the sled came to a halt. Almost before the vehicle had come to a stop, the driver was off. He disregarded the dogs completely as he stumbled over his own feet in his haste to reach his partner. One shaking, mittened hand lifting the goggles that had protected his eyes from the blinding snow, Constable Bob Fraser revealed bright blue eyes that were vivid with anxiety. "Grrmd Mmood, Buuuh!"

With a flash of annoyance in his eyes, Bob tore away the thick woolen scarf covering his mouth. "Great Scott, Buck!" he gasped, "Is she really....?!"

Buck nodded, his own eyes wide as he looked at his anguished friend. The two men had been partners for just a little more than three years now, and he considered Bob as close as a brother. His own daughter, Julie, had been born only six months ago, and he knew well the gut-twisting worry that was turning his partner into a highly qualified straight-jacket candidate. Bob had been there for he and Kate, now he was going to be there for Caroline.

Placing calming hands on the shorter man's shoulders, he looked him straight in the eyes. "Yes, Bob. Thirteen hours ago."

"Thi--" Bob's face took on an alarming shade of pale. Swaying dizzily, he grabbed onto the handle of the dogsled. Unfortunately, the dogs, freed of their driver's influence, had taken the liberty of moving a few meters onward. Constable Robert Fraser, rapidly gaining a reputation as one of the most promising young officers the RCMP had know, rapidly knew something else. Snow only looked soft. When one was introduced to it with one's nose by way of gravity, it wasn't the least bit forgiving.

Without saying a word about the undignified descent, Buck reached down and hooked his arm beneath the thick leather sleeve of the other man's parka, hauling him to his feet. "Come on now, Bob, let's get you into the cabin."

Grabbing Buck's arm in a vise-like grip, Bob's trembling was detectable even through the multiple thick layers they both wore. "She...she's in the cabin?"

"No, she's in the barn."

He nearly went down again. Thankfully, Buck caught him in time. The near-faint didn't last long though, as the young Mountie was infused with a burst of desperate energy. Staggering back, eyes wide and wild, he looked aghast at his friend. "The BARN?!! For Pete's sake, Buck, what in hell is she doing in the BARN?!! Is she all right?" A catch of fear appeared in his voice, and he reached out, grabbing the fur collar of Frobisher's parka in his fists and drawing him close. "Is she all right? The baby! Oh dear God, are they all right?!!"

Continuing his gentle efforts to steer Bob towards the cabin, Buck nodded. "Yes, Bob. Caroline's just fine. She went into labour thirteen hours ago. Your wife - with all due respect, your wife who has more than her share of your pigheadedness - decided that contractions indicated a favorable time to feed the dogs. A high likelihood she wouldn't be able to do it again soon and all. Her water broke."

The iron grip on his collar didn't relax. "But she wasn't alone, right? Caroline...you were with her? Weren't you?"

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "Well...eventually."

"What the hell kind of answer is 'eventually'?!!!" Bob's voice had risen to a near-hysterical pitch.

"Well she wasn't due for another week, you know." A hint of annoyance crept into his tone. "I came by, like I promised. Found her soon enough." He shook his head. "My God, Bob, Caroline's a pretty little thing, but she has the mouth of a sailor. And a damned fine arm."

"Arm?"

Buck nodded his head down, and when his collar was finally released, reached down to show off a neat slit sliced into the heavy leather of his parka at the side of his hip. "She thought I was you, Bob. Threw a damned knife at me! Another half meter to the right, and Julie might well be an only child! I have a suspicion that was her original intention, however the contraction likely disrupted her aim."

The neat cut in his friend's coat seemed to throw reality into Bob's face as surely as the snow had impacted him a few moments previously. "Caroline did that?"

"Yes, Bob, Caroline did that. And she has another one."

"Another one?"

"Another knife. She had two of them. Big, wicked things for cutting the frozen meat. I wouldn't recommend going in there if I were you."

For a moment, the imperiled father seemed swayed, then he changed his mind as another thought came to mind with considerable volume. "She's STILL OUT THERE?"

Sheepishly, Buck nodded. "She was six hours along by the time I got there...we couldn't move her. She uh..." he blushed bright crimson, slipping one gloved finger under his collar. "She sort of had her knickers around her knees, and it's fifteen below out here. But it's ok, I got a Doctor, and he's in there with her."

"A Doctor?" Bob had begun to pace, three paces briskly in each direction as he rapidly trod a trench in the snow. "So there's a Doctor with her?"

"Yes."

"And she's ok."

"Yes."

"And the baby's ok."

"Yes."

"And she's...not particularly friendly at the moment?"

"No."

The wind changed direction at that moment, carrying a cry from the barn. It sounded like something from another world entirely, as the already anguished sound had been twisted and spun by the Yukon wind. The closest correlation either man could come up with was that of a walrus being slowly eviscerated with a dull and rusty knife while being slow-roasted over hot coals. That settled things for Bob. "So...we wait in the cabin, eh?"

Clapping a firm hand on his partner's shoulder, Buck turned him firmly towards the distant log structure. "I've got whiskey in there."

"Thank God."

***

An hour later, the door to the cabin opened, admitting a frigid gust of Arctic air that made the fire gutter briefly in protest. A slight dusting of snow drifted onto the floorboards, and the two Mounties ensconced in communion with a bottle of whiskey looked up in trepidation.

Buck had allowed himself to relax with the fiery brew, and it's effects were beginning to show. There was a decided laxity to his demeanor, the deep, peaceful wisdom of the moderately inebriated visible on his face. Bob, on the other hand, had barely managed a single swallow. His hands were shaking too badly to even lift the glass to his lips, and he had stared at it intensely. Perhaps the soothing effects of the alcohol could be assimilated visually. It was worth a try, anyway.

Now, as he saw the figures in the open doorway, the whiskey was struck entirely from his mind. Leaping to his feet, he upset the glass, spilling the amber liquid unnoticed across the coarse wooden tabletop. "Caroline!"

A huge, hulking creature in leather and furs filled the wide doorway, his face concealed beneath a hood made from the hide of an elk, the head still complete with antlers. His broad shoulders nearly brushed the sides of the door. In his arms, he cradled Caroline, her petite form appearing like a child beneath the raw fur that protected her from the ravaging Arctic wind. Looking from his wife's daintily vulnerable frame to the dark, wild eyes of the man, his face as leathered and creased as his clothing, Bob felt his heart clutch. "You're the Doctor?"

The only reply was a low grunt, then the elk-man took two broad steps into the cabin, placing her with surprising gentleness on one of the armchairs by the fire. With the same brusque silence as he had entered, he left, shutting the door securely behind him. Bob's jaw hung open as he stared after the stranger, but his thoughts were abruptly snapped back to reality by a soft voice.

"Are you going to stand there, or are you going to come see your son?"

Son. His son. He was a father. A father with a son. A son meant a boy. His boy. "I have a...son."

As if in answer, a loud, energetic wail rang out through the cabin. Bob had never heard a more beautiful sound. The boy certainly had healthy lungs!

Stepping over towards the fire, he looked down at his wife. Her face was reddened and brightly sheened with sweat, her auburn hair falling in limp strands across her forehead from beneath her hood. Her eyes were slightly dulled with exhaustion, but he could still see the strength and fire he so loved about her. She was a lovely creature, but sturdy, able to care for herself. She seemed to have forgiven him - or at least didn't seem particularly inclined to hurl cutlery at him - as she smiled slightly.

Nodding her head down slightly, she pulled back a corner of the fur that was hiding a squalling, squirming something. Bob leaned forward eagerly. This was his son, his baby boy.

It looked like a wrinkly old man. It was bright red, it's face squished up tightly. It's eyes were closed as though welded, and there seemed to be a white, waxy substance smeared over it's skin. It's hair was little more than a few wisps of dark fuzz, and it's toothless mouth gaped like an angry wound as it wailed. All of Bob's thoughts of a clean, cooing, bright-eyed Gerber baby came crashing down. In what he would soon realize to be an exceedingly poor moment of judgment, he said - without bothering to edit - the first thing that came to his mind. "It's ugly."

Were some wordsmith a thousand years hence to look back on history and attempt to define that quaint twentieth-century expression "put your foot in it", they would have had to look no farther than that moment in that cabin. Indeed, Bob Fraser was distinctly tasting thigh.

Caroline's eyes blazed hot, and a new flush appeared to her cheeks as she lowered the fur almost protectively over her son. Her voice had taken on a quietude that Bob had learned to fear, and he swallowed hard. "Robert Charles Fraser, that is not an 'it'. That is my son. The son that I just spent a goddamned lifetime delivering without so much as an aspirin. Delivering in the barn. Exposing my bare ass to a barn that was barely ten degrees above zero. Lying on hay that itched like hell. Assisted by your useless partner and an Inuit with a deer on his head. A gentleman who saved your life when he made me hand over the knife that I had reserved to make damned sure that your would never, ever do this to me again. I did not go through that to deliver an 'it.' That 'it' is your son. Our son. And *he* is the most beautiful little boy that you ever saw. Either that, or the next time you deign to burn down a cabin, you, Robert, had better be in it at the time."

Bob nodded almost desperately, well aware of his grievous error and the mortal peril in which it had placed him. The thought of Buck's sliced jacket was chillingly prominent in his mind. "Oh, he's beautiful, Caroline. Gorgeous, in fact. Dazzling, magnificent, marvelous, handsome, adorable..."

His wife's voice was as cold as the wind blowing outside the cabin's warm walls. "Thank you kindly, Bob, I don't need a thesauruses."

Looking again at the tiny being snuggled in Caroline's arms - quiet now, one tiny thumb having found it's way to his mouth - a sense of wonder began to overtake the shock. True, he was rather rumpled looking, but that was to be expected if one thought about it. Yet, need of ironing aside, that was his son. An entire human being in perfect miniature, one half his, one half Caroline's, all formed from their love for each other. She was right. He was beautiful. "Does he have a name?"

They'd already agreed upon his first name, and the list of middle names narrowed to a few. Bob wasn't expecting to be surprised, but when Caroline made her announcement, he was. "Benton Thomas Fraser."

Bob pouted slightly. "I thought we'd agreed on Benjamin."

"There are ten thousand Benjamin's out there." Ever so gently, the young mother caressed her infant's satin cheek. "I wanted him to have something special, something gentlemanly and proud. And besides, he's still a Ben."

Ben's father made a face. "But 'Benton'? Caroline, is that even a first name?"

"Yes it is. I read it in a book somewhere." Her tone was one he knew well. The
'I've-made-up-my-mind-and-you'd-have-better-luck-arm-wrestling-a-grizzly-bear' tone. "And I liked it." She planted a light kiss on her son's forehead. "Besides, you forfeited your objection when you called him ugly."

She had a point. "Benton it is then."

Carefully, almost as though he were afraid the child would shatter at his touch, Bob reached down and rested one weathered hand against his son's head. "May I?"

Caroline nodded, and he slipped his hands gently beneath the infant, lifting him in his swaddling bundle of furs. He was satisfyingly heavy, and Bob laughed quietly as Ben protested the disruption with another loud burst of crying. Cradling him in his arms, Bob swayed slowly back and forth, bouncing slightly. "Shhhh...hello, Benton. Hello, son. Did you know I'm your father? Yes, I am. Constable Robert Fraser." He smiled, "Maybe you can be a Mountie too someday?"

Hearing this, Caroline laughed. "Over my dead body. My son is not going to go out chasing criminals while *his* wife has a baby in the barn."

Solemnly, Bob nodded, unable to tear his eyes from his new baby boy. "Yes, ma'am."

***

Thirty-eight years later

***

He could see the dogsled coming while it was still several kilometers away, a maelstrom of barking fur, high plumes of snow and a distraught Mountie in the process of becoming a father. The dogs seemed to be feeding off of the emotions of their driver, pulling the wooden and rawhide sled across the tightly packed snow as if it weighed no more than their shadows. Detective Ray Kowalski watched it approach at a breakneck speed, praying silently that his friend's exuberance wouldn't lead to a last minute crash. Meg would shoot him.

As the sled came near the front of the cabin, Ray took a step back to avoid the spray of ice crystals thrown up as the runners bit into the tundra and the sled came to a halt. Almost before the vehicle had come to a stop, the driver was off. He disregarded the dogs completely as he stumbled over his own feet in his haste to reach his partner. One shaking, mittened hand lifting the goggles that had protected his eyes from the blinding snow, Constable Benton Fraser revealed bright blue eyes that were vivid with anxiety. "Grrmd Mmood, Ruuuh!"

With a flash of annoyance in his eyes, Ben tore away the thick woolen scarf covering his mouth. "Great Scott, Ray!" he gasped, "Is she really....?!"

Ray nodded, his own eyes wide as he looked at his anguished friend. The two men had been partners for just a little more than four years now, and he considered Ben as close as a brother. His own son, Benny, had been born only eight months ago, and he knew well the gut-twisting worry that was turning his partner into a highly qualified straight-jacket candidate. Ben had been there for he and Maggie, now he was going to be there for Meg.

THE END