Author's Notes: Thanks to Primroseburrows for the beta!

"Package for you, sir."

Fraser signed the slip of paper the delivery man held out. The package was plain and brown, and Fraser took it and nodded his thanks to the delivery man, who dashed off again through the heavy doors of the Consulate.

Curious, Fraser turned the package over and found the return address to be Buck Frobisher's. At his desk, he slipped a knife under the tape to cut it, then drew out a letter.

Dear Benton,

I hope this letter finds you well.

Mary and I cleaned out our attic recently, and discovered something we'd forgotten we had. As you might know, your father could not bear to handle Caroline's things after she died, and I know she would have wanted you to have these.

Fraser stopped reading, and abruptly put the letter back. This was a private letter and no business of the RCMP, and he didn't want to read it in his office. He put the package under his desk until the end of the day, out of sight, but definitely not out of mind.

***

After work, Fraser and Dief walked home through the streets of Chicago, which were shimmering with summer heat. Ray Vecchio had bought him an air conditioning unit as a present and Ray Kowalski threatened to kick him in the hat if he didn't use it, so Fraser's apartment was comfortably cool by comparison.

Fraser had turned down an invitation for dinner at the Vecchios', preferring to be alone tonight. He took off his sweat-soaked uniform--even the brown one was much too warm for this weather--and hung it neatly on a hanger. He fed and watered Dief, took a cool shower and dressed in comfortable clothes, then made tea, the familiar motions turning into a ceremony of preparation.

Through it all, the package stood in the centre of the kitchen table.

Fraser sat down and sipped at the tea, then with a deep breath, he took out Frobisher's letter and finished it.

Underneath the letter were books, plain and black. Fraser lifted the one on top, then stroked his finger along the worn edges where the paper was a little fuzzy. He opened the book and started reading on the first page.

12th May, 1958

Bob came back from his patrol yesterday, and we were much too busy for me to find the time to write in my journal. He brought me a new axe, which I dearly needed--the old one hasn't been the same since he "borrowed" it. I swear, if he ever uses my things for RCMP business again, I'll make him sleep out with the dogs.

Fraser's lips twitched in a smile, and he opened the book at another page.

6th September, 1958

A little bird flew into the windowpane today. I thought it was dead at first, but I wrapped it in a scarf and put it on the kitchen table just in case. When I came back from visiting with the Siksik's, it was flying around the cabin, and it took me half an hour to coax it out through the door.

The leaves are beginning to turn red and gold already. I always forget how beautiful it is, and then every year, it takes my breath away.

At the bottom of the page there was a pencil sketch of a chickadee.

The back of Fraser's neck prickled, and he raised his head. "Dad?" he said, then "Mom?" The word felt strange in his mouth. Fraser looked around, seeing no one in the plain kitchen but himself. He didn't expect anyone else--his parents had left this world.

Fraser carefully took out the whole pile of books, perhaps ten of them. He opened another one.

20th March, 1960

If I never live in an igloo again, it will be too soon. We've been snowed in since yesterday, but at least Bob and I managed to finish the roof of the new cabin before it started. Winter is not an ideal season for construction.

I have to admit, though, that it's nice to share a bed (or, well, sleeping roll) so long without interruptions. Snow storms do have their benefits.

Fraser blushed slightly, quickly closing the book and picking another one.

18th June, 1961

It's just as well that the sun is up all the time, because I never know if it's day or night anyway. Ben is finally sleeping now, so I can have a little time to myself. Not that I begrudge him my time--I have never been happier in my life.

Fraser blinked away tears. There was the oddest prickling sensation inside him, as of blood coming back to a limb that had been asleep, or of cold toes warming up before a fireplace. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

A cold nose nudged his hand, pushing to get his attention. Dief's eyes were dark and worried. He reared up, putting his paws in Fraser's lap, and licked at his cheeks. Fraser smiled through the tears.

"I'm all right. But I'm grateful for the concern."

Dief looked doubtful.

"No, I really am. I'm happy. Sometimes we cry because we're happy."

Dief licked his face again. Fraser slid down on the floor beside him and leaned his forehead into Dief's fur. "All right," he whispered. "It isn't...unmixed with grief."

Dief gave a low protective growl, almost like a cat purring, and Fraser could feel the vibration in his chest. "I know you are. Thank you."

He twined his fingers in Dief's fur, and Dief sat patiently and let him.

***

Later that evening, Fraser settled in his bed with a couple of pillows behind his back. The journals were arranged on his nightstand in chronological order, and he'd lit candles to read by. He would tell people about this, but not yet. Tonight was for him, and for his mother.

Fraser opened the first journal and began to read.