A Hundred Thousand Words
by Nos4a2no9
Author's Notes: For the wondrous malnpudl on the occasion of her birthday.
A Hundred Thousand Words
The very first thing Ray learned on the Quest, aside from the way Fraser's skin tasted, and that Fraser liked to be kissed slow and sweet, was that the Inuit didn't really have hundreds of different names for "snow."
"That's a myth," Fraser explained in what Ray had come to think of as his Arctic Tour Guide voice. "There are various words for "snow" in the Inuktitut dialects, but no more so than any other language, including English. European anthropologists misunderstood the construction of root derivatives in Eskimoan language groups, and the myth became widely disseminated. It's only recently that linguists have tried to clarify the issue."
Fraser paused and glanced at Ray, maybe to make sure that he was still awake, maybe because he expected Ray to nod and say, "Oh, yeah, I hate it when those anthropologists don't check the construction of root derivatives!" Ray wasn't really even sure what a root derivative was.
But Fraser seemed to be waiting for some kind of a response, so Ray rubbed his mittened hands together--Jesus, it was cold--and said, "Huh. You'd think the Eskimos--Inuit, I mean--" he said quickly before Fraser could correct him, "would have at least a couple more words for snow than we got. Not much else around here to talk about."
Ray's heart thumped a little louder at the sight of Fraser smiling in brilliant Arctic sunshine, and at the memory of that wide, happy smile flashing at him in their tent last night.
"That's an interesting perspective, Ray," Fraser said as he turned to check the lashings on their sled. Ray admired the view until Fraser stood upright again and moved on to check the team.
"There have been quite a few studies that explore the impact of environment on language formation, but no conclusive link has ever been established. The Inuit certainly have a lot of ways to describe snow: light snow, heavy snow, slushy snow, snow that lies stiffly on the ground, snow that covers something up--but that does more to illustrate the complexity and versatility of their language than any sense of desperation brought about by sheer boredom."
Fraser was fucking with him. Ray could see that: Fraser's body language was loose and relaxed, and he kept stopping what he was doing to look at Ray and grin at him. If they were standing close together, Fraser would probably knock his shoulder against Ray's, and maybe even laugh.
And Ray, pathetic case that he was, would be willing to talk linguistic theory all morning if it meant he could hear Fraser's laugh. Which was short and sweet and unexpectedly high-pitched, and in certain cases--a giggle. It wasn't a very dignified laugh, which was maybe why Fraser had never let any strangers hear it the whole time he lived in Chicago. But he'd let Ray hear it, before, and last night. Even thinking about the sound of Fraser's laugh made Ray feel warm and happy.
He could probably come up with a hundred different ways to describe Fraser's laugh, and he felt a little pang of sympathy for the Inuit. Seriously, snow that lies stiffly on the ground? Maybe they didn't come up with all those snow words like the white scientists said, but they definitely had to love this place a lot to be able to describe snow so well.
As Ray looked around the Arctic wasteland that surrounded them, white-on-white in every direction, icy snow hills and pale blue morning sky bearing down from above, he figured out that he could probably come up with a hundred thousand new words for what he felt for Fraser.
And maybe, just maybe, Fraser had a couple of words for what he felt for him, too.
Ray tossed the rest of his coffee into the fire and stood. Today was going to be a beautiful day.
the end
End A Hundred Thousand Words by Nos4a2no9
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