Author's Notes: Written for the Miracles challenge at ds_flashfiction. My first published story, and my first due South fic.

The knock on his office door caused Benton Fraser to look up from the Form 1882 slash B. "Come in," he called, putting his best how-may-the-nation-of-Canada-be-of-assistance-to-you-today smile on his face. As soon as he saw who stepped through the door, however, the smile disappeared.

"Oh, it's you," he said, dropping his attention back down to the paperwork. "Trying a little common courtesy today for a change, are you? Usually you just pop up with no warning."

Robert Fraser appeared to take no notice of the sarcasm. He merely stood in front of Benton's desk, stetson in hand, gazing with infuriating calmness down at his son. "Good afternoon, Benton. How are you today?"

Benton flicked his eyes back up to his father's face. "I'm fine, Dad. And you?" He signed his name to the bottom of the form, and neatly dropped it into the "out" box. "Of course, I realize that that's a rather silly question."

The ghost of a smile flickered across Robert Fraser's face. "Ah, well, not so much. Do you notice anything different about me today, son?"

Benton sighed, placed his pen down, and gave his father a good once-over. Red serge, stetson, annoying look of placid smugness... "No, you look about the same as always, Dad. Why? What should I be noticing?"

Just then, Constable Turnbull popped his head in the door. "Message for you, sir, from Detective Vecchio. It seems that they're having a bit of--" He broke off abruptly and snapped to attention. "Oh! Forgive me, Sergeant! I didn't mean to interrupt!"

Robert Fraser waved his hand indulgently at the younger man. "At ease, Constable. We all make mistakes; just be more cautious next time." He reached over and took the message from Turnbull, then dropped it on Benton's desk. "Was there anything else, son?"

"No-no, sir! Pleasure to meet you sir--and I do apologize again!" Turnbull turned and stumbled back out of the office.

Benton stared at the closed door for a few seconds before remembering how to close his mouth. "Dad? Why can Turnbull see you?"

An ecstatic grin lit his father's face as he pulled a chair up to the desk. "That's what I've come to tell you son! I'm alive!"

"Alive?" Benton instantly hated the adolescent squeak that accompanied the last syllable of the word. "But-- You can't be-- That's impossible!"

His father continued to grin. "No, it's a miracle." He gazed at Benton's disbelieving face for a few seconds, then rolled his eyes. "Don't believe me? Here." He thrust his right arm, palm up, across the desk. Automatically, Benton wrapped his fingers around the wrist, starting first at the warmth, and then at the gentle but steady pulse beneath the skin.

"Ah...well. It would appear that--but how? Magic? Mad scientist? Voodoo?"

Robert Fraser took back his hand and waved it dismissively. "That's not important right now."

"That's not important right now? What the hell kind of answer is that? You've just-- You've been..."

"Revived? Reanimated? Returned to life? There are a lot of available terms to describe this situation, son. You shouldn't have so much trouble finding one to use."

"But--I mean---have you fully thought this through? You can't just go from being dead one day to being alive the next and expect everything to be just fine. I mean--what are you going to do? How are you going to support yourself? Where will you live?" Benton's eyes flicked over to the closet door.

"Oh, that's an easy one, son. I just figured I'd move in with you and the Yank."

Benton's voice went totally flat. "You *what*?"

"Of course! It makes perfect sense, really--a son should be willing to help his father...I'm pretty sure there's a commandment or two to that end."

"You are *not* moving in with Ray and me."

"Nonsense! I'll just use that room in the back. It'll be a nice change after that closet, let me tell you."

"The room in the--that's my room, Dad!"

His father rolled his eyes. "Oh, come now, Benton. We both know that you can count on one had the number of nights you've actually passed in that room. No, you just continue your little arrangement with the Yank and I'll be nice and cozy on the cot." Benton felt his face grow flushed as his father frowned. "Of course, I'll have to ask the both of you to keep the noise down a little. Just because I *have* slept through the mating calls of the caribou doesn't mean I *want* to on a nightly basis."

Benton was giving serious consideration to finding a quick way to reverse his father's newly-found status among the living when, fortunately for Bob, the phone rang.

"Hiya, Frase. What's going on in Canada?"

Benton glared at the man across the desk from him. "In what sense, Ray?"

"Never mind. Look, did you get my message from Turnbull? We've got a bit of a mini-crisis down here at the station. Frannie's gone apeshit."

With some effort, Benton wrenched his attention away from his father. "Francesca? What happened, Ray?"

"I'm not sure. Some guy came by to see her, and the next thing we know, she locked herself in the supply closet, screaming that she's gonna kill him."

"What's that? Kill who?" Benton was having a hard time focusing on what Ray was saying. His father had found a glass picture frame and was currently entertaining himself by exhaling onto it and watching the glass fog.

"I dunno. Italian, kinda slimy looking. Probably her ex-husband. So we hauled his ass out of there, and boy was he pissed, but she still won't come out. She's pretty freaked. Listen--" and then Benton could hear, muffled through a door, Francesca shrieking "You're dead! You are dead! You're--" and then Ray was back. "So, I thought maybe you could come down here and help calm her down. 'Cause she trusts you, and you're good at that kinda thing. God knows she's not listening to any of us. So whaddaya say? Fraser? You there?"

Benton snatched the frame from his father's hands. "Ah, yes, of course, Ray. I'm on my way. Oh, and Ray...there's, ah, something we need to discuss..."

"Yeah? Is everything all right, Frase?" Ray sounded a little worried.

Benton considered his father for a good minute, then sighed and rubbed his face. "Never mind. We'll talk later. Much, much later. I'll see you shortly, Ray."

Benton hung up and reached for his hat, then stopped short as he saw his father standing by the door. "And where do you think you're going?"

"With you, of course! Duty calls, son. And we're a team now." Robert Fraser stepped out of the door, then looked back at his son. "I know I wasn't around much in my previous life, son, and I am sorry. But don't you fret! I've been given a second chance, and I intend to more than make up for it now. Working together, living together--this will be marvelous!" He jauntily headed down the hall.

Benton Fraser slowly slid back into his chair, dropped his head onto his hands, and tried not to sob.