Disclaimer: The llama belongs to the B. Everybody else belongs to Alliance Atlantis.

Author's Notes: Written for the buzzylittleb, and everybody who's upset about the attacks in London.

Story Notes: This story was originally known as "A Shack in the Chicago Wilderness".
Subtitled as, "For Reasons that Do Not Need Exploring at This Juncture, A Llama Is Trying To Eat My Partner".

"Fraser -- slow down, dammit -- "

Fraser doesn't pay Ray any attention, though it does briefly occur to him that he may suffer for it later. He tips his hat apologetically to an elderly woman, whose cane he has just narrowly missed tripping over, and runs on.

"Who're we chasing, anyway?" Ray gasps. "Litterbugs?"

"No."

"Jaywalkers?"

"No."

"Who?"

These boots really are not designed for running any significant distance -- Fraser expects he has blisters on his heels already, and others forming. "Diefenbaker."

"Oh." Ray wheezes a bit. Fraser would bet, if he were a betting man, that Ray's regretting smoking now. Or perhaps not, seeing as Ray's never been one to mind logic when it doesn't suit his purposes. "Okay. So -- who's Dief chasing?"

Fraser smiles politely at a passing tourist, who's assumed a somewhat stunned expression and is blinking at them. As he passes, the sidewalk lights up with a flash from her camera. "I haven't the faintest, Ray. In point of fact," he squeezes through a group of sullen-looking teenagers, waving his apologies, "I can't say with any certainty that he's chasing anything at all."

Ray makes an incoherent, exasperated exclamation, which may or may not be "Then what the fuck -- ?" Fraser hears Ray breath come closer, and turns his head a fraction to see Ray running alongside him, scowling irritably. "Then why the hell'm I busting my lungs over here?" he demands.

"Well," Fraser replies reasonably, "you would be less susceptible to breathing trouble if you'd -- "

"Fraser."

"Yes?"

"You know what I mean."

Fraser suppresses a smile. "Ah. Right you are, Ray."

"So then why -- "

Fraser spies the tip of Dief's tail whipping around the corner. He's completely ignored the bakery there, and the chocolate doughnuts on display; he must feel he's on an important mission indeed. "Well, he told me to follow him. He said it was urgent."

Ray expels some air roughly through his mouth -- it's difficult to tell if he means to express incredulity, or if he's merely trying to catch his breath. "I didn't hear him say nothin'."

"That would be because he told me with his tail," Fraser explains, neatly sidestepping a puddle.

Ray doesn't quite manage it, and spends a few moments lamenting over his socks before finally seeming to process what Fraser's said. "With his tail?"

"Yes. With his tail."

Ray chooses not to comment on this for a minute; once they've rounded the corner themselves, he says, "You're shitting me, aren't you?"

Fraser glances at Ray briefly with mild irritation. "No, of course I'm not."

"Okay," Ray says, holding his hands up, "you're not. You're just a freak. Right?"

"Naturally."

"Okay," Ray says, seemingly appeased now that Fraser has confirmed his original suspicions. "Hey, watch your hat," he says, pointing at a low-hanging overgrown tree branch, and swipes the hat off Fraser's head helpfully.

"Ah. Thank you kindly."

"No prob." Ray settles it onto his own head. He looks faintly ridiculous, but Fraser doesn't have the heart to spoil his fun with something that irrelevant.

Unfortunately, when he turns his eyes back to the sidewalk, Dief has vanished. "Oh dear," he says, stopping short.

"What?" Ray asks. "Oh -- you lost him? Well, that's fine -- we'll just go back, and he'll come find us, and -- "

"No," Fraser protests, "no, I think I can find him. You see, I only looked away for a moment -- he must have turned, as he couldn't possibly have made it to the corner in that amount of time. It's just a matter of finding where. I think -- " Fraser approaches an oddly leafy area to their left, kneels down, and sniffs the unpaved soil. Sure enough, he can smell wolf -- it's almost certain that Dief came this way. Nonetheless, he thinks, as he sees Ray watching him expectantly, it can't hurt to be sure -- so he picks up a clod of dirt and touches his tongue to it inquisitively.

Ray's reaction is pleasantly predictable. "Jesus Christ, Fraser!" he exclaims, turning away with his hand over his mouth, "I am sorry, I am not going to believe that the only way for you to find out whatever it is Dief wants to show you is to eat crap off the road." Fraser raises his eyebrows innocently. Ray glances back at him, and he obliges and licks the clod again. "God, that's disgusting -- I'm not looking, okay? Tell me when you've figured out whatever the fuck it is you're trying to figure out -- "

"He's gone through there," Fraser says, trying and failing to not appear amused.

"I swear, Fraser," Ray says as he goes in first, his hand hovering over his gun, "sometimes I think you're doing that just to get to me."

Fraser lets himself grin at Ray's back. He supposes that his expression at that moment must be as close to wicked as he'll ever manage to produce.

Inside, it is -- astonishing. Implausible, even -- and beautiful. It bears no resemblance to Chicago streets at all, mostly in that it's so very, very --

"It's really green in here," Ray says quietly, looking confused.

'Yes," Fraser agrees, inhaling the smell of grass and moist dirt and trees gratefully. "Green, as you say."

"Kinda looks like a park, except for the part where -- " Except for the part where it's entirely superior to a park, Fraser thinks, but says nothing -- "there's no fee." Suddenly Ray looks not just confused, but uneasy. "Fraser?"

"What?"

"No fee. No tickets. No little stupid plastic bracelet things -- somethin's queer."

Fraser sighs. "It could be a community garden," he suggests.

"It could be a trap," Ray counters. "There's no people here, Fraser -- "

"And how, precisely, could it be a trap?" Fraser interrupts, trying hard not to sound irritable. He scans the shrubbery for white fur.

"I dunno, it could be aaigh!" Fraser jumps, and looks back at Ray. "Something's got my hair! It's eating my head! What -- Fraser, do something -- "

Fraser peers around Ray warily, and then has to keep himself from laughing. Ray probably wouldn't appreciate that. "Calm down, Ray. It's all right. It's just a llama." A rather young, confused one, too, he thinks. It rolls its eyes at him, ascertaining that he's not threatening it, and turns its attention back to Ray's hair.

"Yeah, easy for you to say -- you're not the one who's balding, here -- "

"Oh, nonsense, Ray. You're not balding, as I believe I've said before." Fraser bends, tears some grass from the ground, and holds the strands out in the palm of his hand. The llama sees them, and apparently considers -- though it's difficult to say for sure. Fraser hasn't been keeping up with his llama-body-language.

"Fraser? What're you -- did you say it's a llama?" Ray seems to be less attentive than usual, today.

"Yes." Finally, the llama lets go of Ray's hair in favor of the grass. "There," he tells it quietly, though it's ridiculous to expect it to understand, "that's more nutritious for you."

Ray is running his hands over the back of his head, and looking highly distressed. "Ow -- look, Fraser, I'm pretty sure llamas aren't usually people-eaters. They're not on my list of animals to run the hell away from." He casts a reproachful glare at the llama. "At least, they weren't."

"Come now, Ray. I'm sure its intentions were entirely benevolent. It probably just mistook your hair for hay. The color is uncannily similar, I'm afraid."

"Why would I be wearing hay on my head?"

"I'm afraid such anthropological speculation is beyond the mental capability of the average llama."

Ray grumbles something, but doesn't challenge the statement -- after all, it's quite true. "Hey," Ray says suddenly, "look, there's a -- shack, or something, over there. Maybe -- "

Fraser shrugs. "Perhaps Dief's there. Perhaps there's someone he wants us to meet, there."

"Yeah. C'mon, let's go!" Ray starts off enthusiastically, but he stops abruptly when -- "Fraser, that llama's following me. Why's he following me? Look, you," he says, addressing the llama sternly and pointing at his own head, "you are not allowed to eat this, here, okay? It's not good for you, and it's really not good for me."

Fraser feels it necessary to intervene. "I believe," he says, "that it's merely taken a liking to you."

Ray scowls. "Okay -- I can't get the chicks, but I can get the llamas. Greatness." He stomps off to the shack, the llama trotting eagerly after him, and Fraser following them both at a somewhat more sedate pace.

His pace gets somewhat spoiled when he sees his father leaning against the shack, Diefenbaker waiting at his feet. "Er," Fraser says, and starts to whistle.

"Hey, there's Dief! Fraser? Where'd you go?" Ray peers around a bush, apparently llama-less. "The llama found him. Looks like they're buddies, or something, too. And there's a Mountie guy -- bet he's lost -- "

"I beg your pardon?" Fraser chokes, feeling his eyebrows shoot up past his hat-line.

"C'mon, Frase, don't tell me you're scared of Mounties."

"I -- no, I just -- can you see him?"

Ray looks somewhat frustrated. "Well, of course I can -- he's right there! My eyes ain't that bad -- "

"Ah," Fraser says, which is apparently quite the wrong thing to say.

"'Ah'? Look, I do not know what kind of 'ah' that is -- you've got eleven different kinds of 'ah's, and none of them fit this, here." Ray huffs. "Look, I'm gonna go tell him where the Consulate is, and then we're gonna go back to work, okay?"

Fraser stumbles helplessly after him, wondering if there is, in fact, a live Mountie about that he hasn't seen -- but no. It's only Bob Fraser -- and Ray can, apparently, see him.

"'Lo, Benton," he says as they approach. "I see your dog follows directions on occasion -- but I then I guess it was for his own good, too, so it's not particularly surprising."

"Er," Fraser says again, stupidly, "what -- ?"

"You know each other?" Ray asks uncertainly, and Bob beams at Ray with a sort of paternal affection -- which makes Fraser's stomach drop several feet, weighted down very effectively with dread.

"Oh, naturally, son. I'm his father."

Ray starts to grin. "Uh -- you mean that in some sort of, uh, metaphorical way, right? 'Cause his dad's kinda -- "

" -- dead, yes. Which I am." Bob holds his hand out; to anyone else, it would look like he was only offering to shake hands, but Fraser knows --

"Shit!" Ray says, staring at his hand, which has just gone through Bob's without any resistance whatsoever. "You're a ghost -- "

"Don't worry, son," Bob says cheerfully, "I only try to help. Which is why I'm here, in fact -- I've got a little present for you boys. Do you like it?"

Fraser looks around uncertainly. "Er. Well -- "

"Now I know there's no caribou, and no snow just yet -- but they said they were fresh out of caribou, and gave me this unhinged llama instead. And they said they couldn't make it snow here until it did so of its own accord, and -- " Fraser wisely chooses not to ask who "they" are. " -- and as for the permafrost -- well, even you can do without that, I'll bet."

"I -- thank you," Fraser says, "thanks, Dad, but I don't -- "

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Bob asks, looking from Fraser to Ray expectantly.

"Uh," Ray starts tentatively, "he's gonna live here?"

"And you too, my boy, you too! I was very careful about choosing this area -- there's a pizza place across the street, and municipal parking nearby -- "

"Oh dear," Fraser says under his breath, finally suspecting his father's intentions.

Ray hasn't. "But that's a shack," he protests. "Why would I -- "

"Because," Bob explains, somewhat exasperated, "you want to do some hanky-panky with Benton, here."

Ray's jaw drops, as well it should. "I'm sorry, Dad," Fraser says, his face burning, "I don't think we -- "

"Oh, no, you don't. You and this Yank here have found enough excuses to keep us lot -- and I hold you entirely at fault for my having to socialize with a half-wolf, Benton -- in the middle of this Shakespearean drama, and I've had quite enough. Haven't you, Diefenbaker?" Dief whines, and Fraser throws him a dirty look. "All right! So! You've got yourself Canada, here, and he's got himself Chicago out there, and now you don't have to whine at us about how you'll never belong in the same place together." With that, Bob vanishes -- Fraser doesn't even have a chance to mention that this vegetation is rather unlike the kind found back home.

"Fraser?" says Ray, looking over. Oh dear. He must be horrified, or angry, or something, surely. "Your folks do that a lot?"

"Ah." Fraser's mouth is dry, and doesn't seem to want to form coherent words. "Ah. Just my father, actually, he -- tries to be helpful..."

Ray squints at the shack speculatively. "You know something?"

"What?"

"I wish he'd done that sooner." Ray looks at Fraser. "I mean, the Canada-in-Chicago thing -- I coulda done without this llama in my hair."

--fin