Disclaimer: Not mine, never were and never will be.

Author's Notes: Written for missapocalyptic

Silent Night By sam80853

Silent night, Holy night All is calm, all is bright 'Round yon virgin Mother and Child Holy infant so tender and mild Sleep in heavenly peace Sleep in heavenly peace

Ray can hear Fraser's voice as soon as he opens the Consulate door with his library card which is long expired (he hadn't used it anyway), and which he just keeps to get into the Consulate without bothering Fraser to open the door for him.

It took him longer than expected to get away from the Christmas party at the station and to Fraser who had to attend a similar party here at the Consulate.

Everyone is obviously long gone - the Consulate is dark, just a small amount of light escapes through a half closed door at the end of the hall where Fraser must be.

Silent night, holy night Shepherds quake at the sight Glories stream from Heaven afar Heav'nly hosts sing Alleluia Christ the Savior is born Christ the Savior is born

Fraser is singing, his voice accompanied by a piano - just a few notes here and there like he has forgotten how to play the piano or, which was more likely, like he's just learning how to play the instrument.

Carefully Ray steps closer, avoiding the loose floorboard a few feet away from Fraser's office, that would give his presence away, and reaches the door on the right.

Silent night, holy night Son of God, love's pure light ...

Ray peeks through the half-closed door - the party must have been over for quite some time because Fraser has taken off his uniform jacket to be more comfortable and his Henley is rolled up his forearms.

Fraser's voice sounds like honey and too much cigarettes but most of all it sounds like loneliness right now, deeply sad and Ray's heart aches. No one as great a person as Fraser is supposed to sound this heartbreakingly, and as much as Ray wants to hear the end of the song, he just can't stand Fraser's voice any longer. He pushes away from the door frame and into the room, his right hand reaching out, touching Fraser's shoulder.

"Hey, Frase," Ray's voice is almost a whisper.

Fraser's fingers falter over the keyboard, his glance straight forward; Ray had caught him in a vulnerable moment, a very private moment, and he needs a minute to compose himself, to get his features under control again.

"I didn't hear you entering, Ray," Fraser's voice is still low, his eyes avoiding Ray's.

"Library card."

"I see," Fraser says, still sitting stock-still, Ray's warm hand on his shoulder.

Ray doesn't know what to do or say, he has never seen Fraser this ... quiet, with every fibre of his body.

The whole room, which isn't that huge to begin with, seems to close around Ray, making it hard to breathe, and feeling Fraser's warm body beneath his hand radiating sadness makes Ray feel helpless, his heart beating heavily in his chest.

"You wanna get out of here?"

"Certainly, Ray," and a jerk goes through Fraser's body, pushing him away from the piano and Ray but not from whatever has that strong grip on Fraser's dark mood.

It doesn't even change when Ray suggests a walk in the park - obviously trying to lighten Fraser's mood - with Dief before they go to Ray's apartment for dinner and some Christmas movies on TV.

The night is quiet - or as quiet as it could be in a city like Chicago -, and Fraser knows that he is too silent for Ray's comfort but he can't bring himself to talk. He just walks beside Ray through the darkness, listening to the snow creaking underneath his feet while Dief chases through the snow.

Fraser doesn't even know what brought this on. Perhaps it's this time of year, a time you are supposed to spend with your family and friends, a time of forgiveness and peace, of love. And while Fraser certainly feels love, love for Ray, he's unable to make this love shine through, to make Ray aware of it.

Fraser has forgotten how.

Ray's head is spinning, it's too freaking quiet. He can hear his own thoughts running around in his head. That's not good, not good at all. Because Ray never listens to that voice inside his head, a voice talking about patience and caution. Ray is a man of action - jump first, think later. Fraser's the thinking guy in this duet ... alright, Fraser's the talking guy too but he's not doing it now and it's driving Ray nuts. Something has to be done and thinking it through would just delay its outcome.

Fraser can feel Ray's agitation, knowing very well that he is causing Ray discomfort and on basic instinct Fraser reaches for Ray's hand at the same time as Ray does.

Their fingertips touch, an electrical shock running through their bodies but before either of them can make full contact a female voice cuts through the silence around them.

Fraser starts running without conscious thought, his boots leaving heavy marks in the snow, Dief right in front of him, urging him to go faster.

Ray hesitates a second - maybe a whole minute, who knows -, looking at his hand that has just touched Fraser's fingertips.

What the hell?

Ray has touched Fraser before, in fact he's all-over the guy on a daily bases but this was different, somehow. Not just that Ray doesn't usually get to touch Fraser's skin, as covered up as Fraser is, but ... Fraser has reached for him, has touched his hand like it's something they usually do.

Wow.

Dief's bark from the distance lets Ray drop his hand and sprint after Fraser whom he can't even see anymore, reaching for his gun and glasses.

Fraser is running after Diefenbaker, not able to see clearly in the darkness that is only interrupted by the light of a few lamp posts - the authorities really should consider a more proper lighting. He just has to concentrate on Diefenbaker's barks and he would ... Fraser slips, crashing to the ground on his back, breathing heavily.

Oh dear.

Ray was following Fraser's footsteps in the snow, sees him fall and starts running even faster.

"You okay?" Ray breathes heavily, sliding to his knees beside Fraser, one hand on Fraser's chest.

"I slipped," Fraser voice is filled with wonder, like a Mountie isn't supposed to slip on snow-covered ground.

"You hit your head?"

Gentle hands push off Fraser's hat, touching his scalp, feeling for bumps, and Fraser doesn't want to move anytime soon.

Diefenbaker barks excitingly, he has hunted down his prey and Ray looks into the distance, then at Fraser again, not sure if Fraser is to be left alone so he can arrest whoever just did something stupid with a Mountie and a cop around.

"I'm alright, Ray," Fraser is still lying on the ground, immobile. "Go!"

"You sure?"

"Yes, Ray."

"Okay, I'll be back in a second," and Ray pets Fraser's chest reassuringly before he heads after Diefenbaker.

Fraser relaxes visibly, ignoring the wetness soaking through his clothes, staring up into the air.

Stars are shining bright - stars he used to see in his homeland but never in Chicago.

The city is well lit and makes it hard to see anything besides its ugliness, makes Fraser forget how small one human being is in the wide expanse of the universe.

But now Fraser gets a feeling of the wideness around him like he used to in the Territories where he was fully aware of his own caducity.

Snowflakes fall out of the darkness and on Fraser's face, melt on his warm face - it's peaceful.

"Pitter patter, Son," Bob Fraser's face appears in Fraser's field of vision, a huge fur cap on his head. "I can smell a crime happening."

"You are dead, Dad," Fraser doesn't move a muscle. "You can't smell anything I suppose."

"Right. Right," Bob agrees, "but it isn't for the lack of trying though. But perhaps my mishap with ...," Fraser doesn't know where his father gets all those ridiculous stories he's so fond of telling. But they are just stories after all and something of more importance shall be spoken of now.

"Merry Christmas, Dad," Fraser interrupts Bob's flow of words.

"Ah ... yes, Son," Bob hesitates. "Merry Christmas, Benton."

Silence falls around them while Fraser is looking up into his father's face, seeing the deep lines around his eyes, his pale skin.

Dead.

His father is dead and in death they are closer than they ever were when Bob Fraser was still alive.

"Frase?"

Ray's face replaces Bob's in Fraser's line of vision and Fraser smiles up at his friend, deciding here and now that he mustn't die in order to ... Fraser touches Ray's cold cheeks with both of his hands, his thumbs gently rubbing the coldness away, his eyes steady on Ray's.

"Merry Christmas, Ray," Fraser whispers before his hands slip around Ray's neck to pull him close for a kiss.

Ray's head is spinning; he doesn't know what's happening. All he knows is that he just handcuffed a guy to the park gate, calling for back-up and somewhere around then and now he must have entered the Twilight Zone because Fraser is still lying on the ground with his hands on Ray's neck, and his mouth moving tenderly over Ray's, coaxing his lips apart to slip his tongue in.

Fuck Twilight Zone, this is a Christmas tale, Ray figures, leaning into the kiss, touching his tongue to Fraser's.

"Merry Christmas, Son," Bob Fraser whispers regretfully before he vanishes into thin air.

Fraser doesn't hear is father part, he's busy flipping Ray over, both hands on Ray's head to better kiss Ray's inviting mouth, to lick snowflakes, that fall quite heavily now, off Ray's face.

The End