Rating G
Disclaimer: Two characters belong to me. All others are property of Alliance.
This story "inspired" by discussions on the Due South list of casting problems in Season 3.
Another slow day at the consulate. No emergencies, no challenges, no chewing out by the Inspector. Fraser straightened his desk and took his hat from the rack. His head started to turn toward the corner, but he caught himself with a jerk and an indrawn breath. Dief wasn't there: hadn't been there for nearly a year. Fraser liked to imagine him running through a heavenly forest, ecstatically chasing the best of both his worlds: jelly-filled rabbits, chocolate-covered ground squirrels, and ptarmigan with sprinkles. The image made him smile, then sigh.
Out the door, onto the sidewalk. Again a jerk and a sigh. No Ray either. He'd been gone almost as long as Dief. He, Fraser felt, was also safely in heaven. What with his giving his life to save a child, and Mama Vecchio storming heaven just in case, there didn't seem much doubt. He had been rather disappointed that Ray hadn't visited him as his father still did occasionally.
Losing both of his best friends in so short a time had left him rather lonely, even after eight months. A long, empty evening stretched before him, and he tried to decide what to do with the time. He was always welcome for dinner at the Vecchios': Mrs Vecchio even insisted he call her Ma. But every time he did she started to cry, and he found that hard to bear. Occasionally he stopped by the precinct and chatted with old friends there; Huey had even started asking him for advice on cases. Fraser wasn't sure if it was out of kindness or a real desire for his help.
But neither appealed to him this evening. He turned toward home, walking slowly and savoring the spring air. At the apartment he stopped to check the mailbox, and found a note tucked in with the circulars. It read, "Call me. About a dog." The name was unfamiliar.
He went to the payphone and dialed the number.
"Yeah?" said the answering voice.
"This is Benton Fraser. You left a note? About a dog"
"Oh, right!" The voice perked up. "You had a big dog, right? All fluffy and all?"
Fraser had to take a deep breath before answering. "Yes, he passed away some time ago."
"Well, he left something behind. Six somethings, in fact. I got one left. You want 'im?"
"Him?" Fraser thought he knew - hoped he knew - what was coming. "What - exactly - did Dief leave behind?"
"Puppies. You want 'im or not?"
The cab ride to the caller's home had been rather expensive, but Fraser hadn't the patience to wait for a bus. The man on the phone, whose name was Sam, had had a lovely dog of the female persuasion. It rather disappointed Fraser that Dief had apparently been unfaithful to Maggie, but it was too late to give the wolf a lecture on the virtues of monogamy. More to the point, there had been six pups, five of which had taken after their father with heavy coats, alert expressions and agile bodies. These the man had quickly found good homes for, and made a tidy sum in the process. Now there was only one left. Sam had been reluctant to describe him, except to say that he had had no luck 'gettin' rid' of him. Having found out that Fraser had been the father's owner, he hoped the constable would take the young, hungry, growing dog off his hands.
Sam greeted him at the door and gestured toward a rug in the corner. "He ain't much ta look at, and he ain't one uh them playful dogs. But maybe..." He shook his head doubtfully.
Fraser looked in the corner and saw a young dog, seven or eight months old. Never would he have guessed that this was Dief's son. It lay with its long, pointy nose on its paws, eyeing him with disdain. It had long, thin legs and a torso to match. Its coat was various shades of brown, and so short it almost looked hairless.
He held out his hand and spoke encouragingly. "Here, boy, come on."
The dog raised the place where its eyebrows would have been and grunted without lifting its head. After carefully regarding him for a few seconds, it rose and advanced with an air of nonchalance, sniffed his hand and growled. Fraser drew his hand back quickly.
"He... he probably is suffering from rejection. And he misses his siblings." He nodded as if trying to convince himself. "That's why he isn't very friendly right now. But I'm sure," he nodded again, more confidently, "I'm sure we'll get along."
Sam seemed relieved. "Yeah, he'll be fine. I'll get his things."
Fraser called after him. "By the way, what breed was the mother?"
"Collie," Sam said over his shoulder. "Go figure."
Sam came back with a paper bag. "Got his collar in here. You got a leash?
If not I can get a piece of rope." He opened the bag to display a motley group of items. An empty Parmesan cheese can: "He fished this outta the trash." A man's shoe: "Useta have a pair of these - cost a bundle. Then he ate one and took the other for a pillow." He shooed the dog off the rug and added that to the bag. "Okay, he's all packed. So long, fella." He gave the dog a friendly pat on the head.
"Does he have a name?" Fraser asked.
Sam winced. "Well, my old ma was over when the pups were born. She said this guy reminded her of one of the old machine politicians they useta have around the neighborhood. So she named him Daley."
Daley perked up his ears at that, and mumbled something in dogtalk. Then he stood up and calmly took the bag from Sam. With an "Are you coming or what?" look at Fraser he started for the door.
"It seems I've acquired a pet," Fraser said, with as good a grace as he could summon.
Fraser opened the door to his apartment and waved Daley in. "Well, we're home. Hope you like it."
Daley didn't seem to think much of the accommodations. He dropped his bag in a corner and pulled out his rug. A few pushes with his nose seemed to arrange it to his satisfaction, and he flopped down with a sigh.
Fraser picked up the bag and reached in. "Let me help you unpack." He pulled out the shoe and the can. One moe item remained, and he examined it with some surprise. The collar was leather with a layer of colorful fabric on the outside. A tag read, "From the Doggio Armani Collection".
Fraser set all the items down in front of Daley. Then he walked slowly to the table and turned the chair so he could sit facing the dog. He sat absolutely still for a half hour. Daley lay without moving anything but his eyes, but those were very expressive, of contempt, boredom, dissatisfaction...
The apartment was very quiet for a long while.
Then Fraser began to slowly inch his chair closer to the dog. He cleared his throat. "Daley?"
The dog looked up at him, and then deliberately looked away.
Fraser shifted the chair into the dog's line of view. He looked the dog over carefully. Thin hair, pointed nose, Armani collar... He shuddered. It couldn't be, could it?
Could it?
(There may be future adventures of Fraser and Daley.....)