Long Journey Home 8
by XTricks
Disclaimer: AA ownes 'em. I don't make money off this.
Story Notes: Set after the series ends.
Long Journey Home 8
Fraser had freaked himself out. Ray, he wasn't so freaked, even if it was kinda
different to have Fraser getting snot all over his shirt instead of the other
way around. He just rubbed his hand over Fraser's not very clean hair and let
him mumble whatever he had to say but didn't want anyone to hear, into his
neck. Baby steps, Ray figured. They'd take this whole wanting thing in baby
steps. Maybe someday--Ray's fingers curled against Fraser's scalp--Fraser's want
would bump into Ray's want, after a few billion baby steps.
Fraser was hurting himself he was crying so hard and it wasn't pretty; raw and
rough and out of practice. Ray wondered how long these tears had been waiting
and wanted to lick them right off his face, right out of his heart. Fraser cried
himself to sleep like a little kid and he looked like one too, red nosed and limp
against the pillows. Fraser was down for the count but Ray was buzzing, he was
a man on a mission. Fraser wanted and Fraser was gonna get. Ray just had to
figure out how.
"Maggie," Ray plunked down on the chair next to hers, in the hallway outside
Fraser's room. Maggie was tired, he could see that. They were all tired and she
was still pissed at him, and too Mountie polie to say so. Ray twitched and picked
at the threads on his shirt, he wasn't going to get anywhere with her and
Frobisher ticked at him. "So, uh, what's the deal gonna be?"
"What do you mean?" she said.
"They ain't gonna keep him here forever right?" Even with state health care, Ray
figured the hospital was gonna give Fraser the boot as soon as they could.
Which would be a good thing 'cause Ray figured Fraser would be a hell of a lot
happier--and get back on his feet quicker--if he was outta here and back to
drinking bark tea and eating oatmeal. "Now that he's got some brains working
again? What's gonna happen? Is he--is he still a Mountie?"
Maggie picked over her answers carefully, eyes wary. "Benton is on disability
pending a doctor's release for duty and a fitness hearing. He is still and officer of
the RCMP."
"Okay, great," Ray didn't figure they'd dump Fraser on his ass in the snow but
he had to wonder, knowing all those years of exile in Chicago, if some nitpicker
wouldn't try and put Fraser out to pasture. Maggie's eyes were still narrow, still
watching him. She wanted an answer, Ray realized, wanted to know if he was
here for the long haul or just to play a guest role and leave her to pick up the
pieces again. "He's gonna have rehab and stuff, right? That'll take awhile."
"Most likely."
"Okay, so--I'll call my boss and get me some leave."
Maggie's brow rose, skeptical. "How long?"
Ray met her eyes. "As long as it takes, Maggie. As long as it takes."
Welsh wasn't any too pleased, even if it was Fraser. Ray didn't have much leave
left, not after the quest, finally he just told Welsh to send up his retirement info
and the number of his union rep 'cause he wasn't coming back. It was easier that
way, one less thing Ray had to think of. He'd figure something out--later. Call
his folks--later. All of that was later. Him and Fraser was now, now, now.
He had to drop a chunk of change to get back up to Alert; the planes got smaller
and the food worse until even putaine sounded good. Ray hadn't much wanted
to go but he and Fraser had talked it out--instead of him just deciding for Fraser
like everyone else thought was such a great idea. He had to be the one to sit
down and tell Fraser no one knew what had happened to Dief. No one had seen
him since Fraser'd been hurt.
"Thank you," Fraser had said, closing his eyes.
"Jeeze, Frase," Ray's voice had cracked. He was hurting at the thought of Dief
gone and couldn't imagine what Fraser was feeling. Now the guy was thanking
him? "For what? Telling you that Dief is MIA?"
"For telling me at all," Fraser said softly. When he opened his eyes again, they
were dark and Ray hated the shadows in them; helplessness and grief. "I'm not
sodamaged that I couldn't guess why no one mentioned him to me."
A little snippy there. Fraser's brain might be full of holes but he still got pissy
when things didn't go his way and hell if Ray wasn't glad to hear it.
"I guess no one wanted you to get upset," Ray muttered and Fraser sighed
sharply through his nose.
"I'm damaged, Ray--
"--not stupid. Yeah, I got that. I do get that one. Sorry, Frase. So, what do you
wanna do?"
"Well," All the starch got knocked out of Fraser and he rubbed his eyebrow,
hiding his face for a moment. All Ray could see was the polite mask and a sort of
hopeless look in his eyes, moving like deep water before it disappeared and there
was nothing left but Mr. Polite. "Well, then. Diefenbaker is a wolf--a half wolf--
no doubt he's returned to the wild. It is his natural home, as you know Ray--"
Ray dropped his head down, propping his thumbs against his eyes and let
Fraser's words roll over his back. He could hear Fraser building up a wall, word
by word, missing Dief on one side and Fraser on the other. Wanting on
one side, Fraser--no, Corporal Fraser, RCMP--on the other. Not good, not good,
and Ray's knee started jigging and he wanted coffee and he wanted Fraser to
shut up.
"--he's quite capable and a wild animal. Even if he were injured, Diefenbaker
would manage as all wild creatures do."
Sucked. Sucked. Sucked. This sucked. Ray squinted angrily at his boots,
scuffing his toe against the white linoleum and leaving grit behind. "Do ya really
think Dief would'a run off on ya?"
"No," Fraser whispered. "Not really. I imagine--that--"
"Maybe so," Ray snapped before Fraser could finish that sentence.
Words out loud would make it too real. "That what you want, huh, Frase?"
Swallowed the anger, it wasn't Fraser's fault that Dief was probably dead.
Sucked so bad, the thing Frase wanted--the thing Frase told him he wanted, Ray
couldn't get him. Right out of the gate and he'd already screwed up, hit Fraser
upside the head with why it wasn't so good to want things, sometimes. "We can
do that, just go on 'cause you're probably right, Dief probably didn't--" Ray
couldn't even say it and how stupid was that? But he couldnt say it, didn't
want to give up on the dumb wolf. Ray looked over at Fraser, seeing
him not wanting too either, the naked look in his eyes made Ray want to kick
somebody in the head. Made him angry at the wolf for a moment, for leaving
Fraser like that, then angry with himself for thinking like that.
"What else can I do?" Fraser's eyes were raw, bright, and it felt like Ray's heart
was being yanked out of his chest. Fraser couldn't hold his gaze he looked down
at his hand like the bandages were real interesting. Ray stared at those blunt
fingers resting on the white sheet inches from his own. Fraser's hands were
always so together, big and strong and competent, but now the tips of the two
fingers were missing. Fraser was human--breakable. Fraser had frozen--parts of
Fraser had frozen to death, had died and it was a whole new rush of
horror that made Ray want to bolt for the men's' room and toss his lunch again.
Fraser had come a few finger widths away from dying out there, alone. His hand
looked stranded out there, like the white hospital sheet was some glacier far out
to sea. Ray swam his hand across the sheets, touching the backs of Fraser's
fingers, palm warming the place where his pinkie and ring fingers weren't
anymore. The sheets were icy cold and Ray shuddered.
"Is gonna hurt less to give up on him now?" Ray asked those fingers and felt
Fraser flinch under his hand. "Or, maybe you think you can hang onto some
hope, huh?"
"It doesn't seem very reasonable," Fraser said and Ray flung himself back in his
chair, hands flying up to scratch through his hair--needed a cut--and scowled at
Fraser.
"Reasonable? What the fuck does that mean, reasonable?" Ray was simmering
in is chair, sweating in the face of Fraser's cold shutting down. When had
reasonable been in their dictionary? When Fraser was jumping off buildings?
When Ray was busting through a window on a motor-cycle? When Fraser was
getting his hat handed to him by Warfield's goons? "This is Dief, you
talk to the damn wolf, how reasonable is that?"
"What do you suggest? I can't very well go out and search for him, can I? I can
barely stand and let's not forget that I can't remember what day it is,
most of the time," Fraser was all snappish now, hurting, and Ray felt like he was
worrying at a wound but, hell, hope was better company than
reasonable.
"Fine, fine," Ray had snapped back, surprising the hell out of himself. "I got legs.
Tell me where to look."
So Ray was in Alert, looking for one deaf wolf in the Canadian wilderness.
Okay," he slapped his gloved hands together and peered around at the rutted
street--yeah, this was a real metropolis--and the blank faces of the buildings.
"What would a maybe-deaf, half-wolf with a donut fetish do if he got lost?"
His first stop was the RCMP headquarters--because there wasn't a Dunkin'
Donuts in Canada--and Fraser's office. Maybe someone had seen something out
there when they were looking at the crime scene, or maybe he'd see Lieutenant
Bly and kick his ass for leaving Fraser out there without back-up. Ray had been
saving some good ass kicking up just for him.
Ray found the local RCMP by the big red and white flag flying from the building;
plus it looked like any cop shop anywhere in the world, old, heavy, kinda glaring
out at the world with a suspicious face. It was pretty small but bigger than Ray
expected. When he went inside and saw a bench full of beefy oil riggers he got
why the place was bigger than it should be for a town the size of Alert. They
must be near a pipeline; Ray thought of Fraser and his 'Thank You Kindly' versus
a bar full of drunk riggers and winced, not sure who he was more sorry for.
He bellied up to the desk where some weedy looking kid was manhandling a
computer. "Hey, I'm looking to speak to the NCOIC."
"Of course, sir, do you have an appointment?"
"Nah. I'm Ray Kowalski. I'm here to look for Diefenbaker?"
"The former Prime Minister? I wasn't aware the Prime Minister was visiting."
Jeeze, it was Turnbull's evil twin with a plastic name tag 'Const. Verity'. "No, no--
the wolf. The wolf. I'm here for the wolf. Fraser's wolf."
"Ah," a look as blank as snow on a soft face that the Pillsbury Dough Boy would
envy, then Ray watched the light bulb go on inside Verity's head, followed
immediately by dismay. "Corporal Fraser's wolf. Wellthat is"
"He ever show?"
Ray didn't expect Verity to take him 'round back to just outside the garage where
a dish of fresh water waited next to a plate ofdonuts. Untouched donuts.
Even if Verity looked like he should still be in high school he had the same
Mountie posture Ray had seen in every one of them, from Fraser to the Ice Queen
as he clasped his hands behind his back and rocked awkwardly on his heels.
"There's been no sign of Diefenbaker, not even on baking day and, well, he
never missed that."
"Got you under his thumb too, huh?"
Verity flushed and his nervous tick was a quick tug at the sleeve of his blue
uniform. "He's practically a member of the RCMPjust because he's a
wolfterribly handy."
"Oh, I got no stones to throw," Ray held up his hands with a smirk. "Wolf ate
more pizza than I did, back in Chicago."
"Ah," then Verity's gaze sharpened. Was that hero worship Ray was seeing?
"Ah? You were Corporal Fraser's Chicago partner?"
"Yeah," One of 'em anyway, but he left that out because Vecchio had always been
Fraser's partner--never mind who Vecchio had been. Ray's mouth
soured. Ray Kowalski had never been Fraser's partner, hell, according to
the paperwork, Ray Kowalski hadn't met Fraser until Canada and Muldoon.
According to paper, Kowalski and Fraser were some kind of weird fluke--
according to Vecchio too. That fluke was the solidest thing in Ray's world; him
and Fraser, two flukes against the world.
"sir, excuse me? Sir?"
"Call me Ray," Ray shook himself and smiled at the Mountie to let him know he
was back from his head-trip. "Somebody take a look up by where--Fraser was
found?"
"Well," Verity hesitated and Ray slung an arm over his shoulder, steering them
both back to the warmth of the depot.
"Did Fraser tell ya that he was three kinds of hero, with that Muldoon thing?"
Ray put out his best 'we're all buddies here' smile. Hey--you got any coffee?"
Ray spun out his story, from turtles to nuclear submarines and SWAT Mounties,
giving Fraser the spotlight he deserved. By the time he was done, Ray had the
oil riggers eating out his hand, as well as Verity. He gotten Verity to spill that
the search team had taken a quick look around for Dief at the crime site, he'd
gotten the address to Fraser's small RCMP house on the outskirts of town and
found out that Bly was out--taking Fraser's patrol as well as his own.
"Sir--" Verity ducked his head and blushed. "Ray, how isCorporal Fraser?"
"Hanging in there," Ray scratched his neck and went on unwillingly at the real
concern in Verity's face. Even the rigger's looked worried, Ray wondered how
often Fraser had arrested them for littering. "Hanging on good, probably trying
to convince them to let him get back to work already."
"Oh, soon I hope, sir--Ray."
"Yeah," he said. "Me too."
He had Fraser's keys; even though Fraser hadn't been able to remember his own
address he'd had Maggie give Ray the keys and the location. So, Ray rented a
jeep and took himself down rutted roads to a tiny pre-fab concrete cabin sitting
in the middle of a bare patch of muddy ground. "Fuck, Fraser--" Ray stood there
with his rucksack in hand and stared at the pathetic place. He'd seen bus stops
that looked more inviting.
Inside wasn't any better--industrial beige paint, a single chair, a cot pushed close
to the pre-fab fireplace, a nook for a stove, sink and small refrigerator. Ray
dropped his bag next to the door and scrubbed at his cold face. He'd figured
Fraser would be happy--he was home--Canada--and Ray went to bed
every lonely night and woke up every morning hanging onto the thought that
Fraser was happy. He needed Fraser to be happy because he sure as hell hadn't
been but this wasn't happy. This was like getting punched in the gut. If Fraser
wasnt happy and Ray wasn't, what the hell had they been doing?
Fraser's battered trunk, playing nightstand for the cot, was familiar and maybe
the only thing that was home in the whole place. Ray sat down on the
cot and lit the lantern, setting it down carefully amid the litter of picture frames.
Bright red caught his eye; Fraser and Vecchio. Another picture of Fraser, looking
more than a little bewildered but game, with Vecchio kids hanging off him and
the Vecchio home in the background. He was there too, pictures from the quest
and some he didn't even know--one where he was sitting on the GTO some
summer day, face tipped to the sun looking goofily pleased with himself. Ray
brushed his fingers over the photos clustered together like a wall against the
barren, empty room.
He threw out all the moldy food forgotten when Fraser had been hurt and made
a dinner of oatmeal and pemmican, sitting in front of the fireplace where he'd
brushed up his quest skills and set a roaring fire. It was a real blast from the
past, except Fraser wasn't there to go on about Inuit or moose or what kind of
new cold they'd discover tomorrow. Ray rolled himself up in his sleeping bag
and made an early night, his back to the house that was not a home and the
silence that was not quiet. Sometime, late, he stirred at the dreamy sound of a
wolf whine, soft and faint.
Ray sat up abruptly, nylon squealing as he struggled with his sleeping bag. It
was still dark out but that didn't mean it wasn't time to get up.
"Dief?" Ray yanked on yesterdays pants--or where they the day before's?--and
the first of many shirts. He'd been dreaming of the wolf. Hearing him. He
scratched at his rough chin. Dreaming? Or not?
"Okay," he said and the floor was cold when he stepped out of the bag
but he paced away, wishing for his music. "So, you're a lost wolf in the
wilderness and you can't find your friends so, where ya gonna go?"
Home, he thought. Wherever home had been. Wherever the Mountie hung his
hat, which was here. No donuts, no pizza but what you want most is
your friend back. Ray could get behind that 'cause here he was, no pizza, no
coffee but he wanted his friend too. "But you don't go into town--why not?"
Because you're hurt, Ray thought in dismay. Too hurt to go on. He pushed aside
the thought that maybe you're too hurt to get home in the first place. That was
the whole reasonable thing and he wasn't going there--not yet. No, he didn't
want to go back to Fraser and be reasonable. "And you ain't got hands."
Ray yanked on a pair of boots and dug out a flashlight from his gear, then
hurried outside, shrugging into a coat as he went. "Dief! Dief!"
"Yelling for a deaf wolf," he muttered. "That's rich, Kowalski, rich."
The snow had melted over the past day and refrozen into sharp ridges and tricky
gullies that had Ray flailing around, flashlight waving in his hand like he was
trying to signal aliens. The violet sky wasn't cloudy and the sun might even be
making an appearance today, if Ray remembered his Northwest Area skies right.
It was butt-ass cold, especially when you were kneeling in the snow and flashing
the light under the wooden stoop to see if some wolf had crawled under there to
keep warm. Melting snow soaked his jeans and Ray could hear Fraser's lecture
in the back of his mind--wet clothes and hypothermia, dead caribou and all.
"Dief? You in here?"
The ground underneath the stoop was bare and dry, no wolf recuperating in the
corner but Ray was on a roll and cold ass weather was sorta like coffee--well, he
was awake anyway. He started searching around the entire house. Piece of crap
place, there were breaks in the foundation. Ray realized some were big enough
for a wolf, and impulsively he went crawling in--with some wrestling and a big
rip on the back of his parka--himself.
All there was under the house was dry dirt and the stripe of his flashlight in the
dark. The base of the chimney blocked off a big chunk of the house and Ray was
crawling around before he realized the shallow divot under his nose was a
pawprint.
"Yo, Dief!" He belly crawled around the chimney and there, pressed up against
the faintly warmed bricks, was a dirty bundle that looked more like someone
had thrown away an old gray blanket than a half-wolf. "Dief--shit, Dief,"
Ray scrambled up to him, banging his head on a strut, and put a shaking hand
on the wolf's bony head. The wolf had been two feet under him all night.
"Oh, god, oh, god," Ray patted his hands over the wolf, feeling harsh fur and
jutting bone. So thin, so weak. Ray wondered if Fraser had looked like this
when the patrol had stumbled on him, dying in the snow. He gripped the
muzzle gently and turned Dief's face to his. The wolf's eyes were rheumy and
deeply sunken, his ears barely pricked at the sight of Ray. "S'gonna be okay,
Dief. Gonna be okay," Ray heard the same faint whine that had disturbed his
dreams last night and Dief's tail thumped weakly in the dust.
"Right, okay--" Ray scrambled towards the dim opening on his belly, wishing
Fraser were here. He'd know what to do, what was wrong, how to fix it. "Vet,
we gotta get to a vet." He didn't even know if there was a vet in Alert.
Dief couldn't walk and Ray had to drag him out from under the house on a
blanket. He made him drink warm water but Dief turned his nose away from
any food. It wasn't any trouble to carry Dief to the jeep, he didn't weigh hardly
anything.
"C'mon, c'mon!" Ray hammered on the steering wheel, cranking the heat up and
the wheel around to race back to Alert. This was wanting, this sick fear in his
mouth. This was wanting.
The thin wire coils bit into Fraser's hand as he gripped the notebook in his lap.
Yesterday's notes were there in his shaky hand; he read them over, all that was
left of a day forgotten behind the dark wall of sleep.
*Dief is alive, injured. Ray found him--because I wanted him to. He didn't
give up.
*Ray says Verity is concerned for my health. I should send him a note.
*Tomorrow I'm to be released--of course, there's still PT and recovery. Ray
found us a place to live.
*My PT therapists are Joseph, Rene (she's getting married next week) and
Marianne. My neurologist is Dougie Rawls.
*Still no sign of the poachers. I need to remember. I have to remember.
*I still can't remember anything reliably.
*Don't forget the change of clothing in the cabinet across from the bed.
Fraser flipped the notebook--a picture of the Canadian flag on the cover--shut
with a snap. His father's journals had been full of his inner life, given Fraser a
chance to know the man he'd never really seen while he was alive. His journals
were nothing more than a laundry list of chores and reminders. He got up, still
feeling distressingly shaky and went over to get the forgotten clothing out of the
cabinet across from his bed and pack them into the nylon dufflebag that had
made an appearance this morning. Ray must have brought it, Fraser assumed
so. He couldn't remember where it had come from.
Once everything was packed. Fraser wrote down that he'd packed everything
from the hospital so that tomorrow, he wouldn't ask Ray if there was anything
missing. The notebook was already half full, Fraser paged back through the lists
of questions, the mentions of events he couldn't remember experiencing. There
were the notes from the neurologist; there was a flaw in the transfer between
short term and long term memory. The next six months would be the critical
ones, if he didn't get better by then, it was unlikely he'd recover at all. According
to his notes, only one month had passed, so far.
He slipped the pen into the wire coil and sat in the wheelchair with his eyes
closed. He would need more notebooks. Fraser opened his eyes and added that
to the list.
TBC 012905
End Long Journey Home 8 by XTricks
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