Notes and Disclaimer: Due South and its characters do not belong to me; I'm just playing with them for a little while. This story was inspired by a news report I heard, the week before Christmas, that the temperature in the Yukon had soared to an unheard-of 16 degrees (Celsius) above zero!

Rated PG for mild m/m interaction.

A Warm Day in Whitehorse

by Sylvie Grenon

Stanley Raymond Kowalski stared at the water dripping down past the window of the small cabin he shared with Benton Fraser, Constable, RCMP, his partner in -almost- all things. The water was coming from the snow which had accumulated on the roof, but which was now melting rapidly due to the warm spell that was currently gripping the Yukon. A warm spell which was wreaking havoc with Ray's thoughts.

By the end of the Muldoon case, Ray had been in a state of turmoil. The life he had built up for himself over the previous two years - a life revolving heavily around a certain overly polite Mountie - had come crashing down around him in one fell swoop, leaving him frantically searching for some sort of identity.

He had no life left in Chicago, he knew that much. With his parents back in Arizona and his ex-wife in Florida with Vecchio, probably blowing moonbeams out their... well, Ray hadn't been too surprised when he realized that somewhere along the line all his pent-up frustrated longing for what-might-have-beens with Stella had faded away. Only to be replaced, of course, with all new what-might-have-beens which were even more impossible for him to reach.

So when he found himself in the Northwest Areas with Fraser, he discovered he was quite reluctant to go home. Home had lost its definition of a place; for Ray, the concept of 'home' was now tied to a single person. And when Fraser suggested actually going on that adventure, the great Quest for the Hand of Franklin, he had jumped at the chance. It meant doing something he'd always wanted to do; it meant not having to face the emptiness and loneliness of Chicago right away; it meant being with Fraser just that much longer.

Their adventure had been all he had hoped for: long weeks of endless travel by dog sled and snowshoe, of bitter cold, of battling the elements and wild animals for their very survival, of strengthening partnership and cementing friendship. It didn't matter that, several months later, when two rugged explorers and their deaf wolf presented themselves to the local RCMP detachment, the elusive Hand of Franklin still remained unfound. What mattered was that somewhere along the way, perhaps during a long night spent huddled in his sleeping bag, watching the Northern Lights with uncommonly silent awe, or the first time Fraser had let him drive the sled, or when he had finally figured out the use of the sextant and had successfully plotted their course all by himself, earning a "well done, Ray" from Fraser which had warmed his soul for days afterwards, sometime during all that a certain something had awakened deep inside Ray's soul. A certain warmth, beginning in a point somewhere in Ray's belly and radiating further out with his every achievement, with every proud look from Fraser, with every friendly lick from Dief. A warmth which, for the first time in his life, reached his soul, and illuminated it enough so that even without his glasses he could see it clearly. He wasn't Ray Vecchio any more; he was no longer the ex-Mr-Assistant-States-AttorneyStella; he was Stanley Raymond Kowalski, cop, friend, partner. And, for the first time in his life, that was exactly who he wanted to be.

Sergeant Frobisher had greeted them with open arms, a position for Fraser, who was back in the good graces of his peers, and an interesting offer for Ray himself. Should Ray decide to stay in Canada, he would be hired by the RCMP as a sort of cross-cultural consultant, to be partnered, of course, with Constable Fraser. He had glanced at his friend, who was steadfastly looking anywhere but back at him. They had never spoken about Ray's plans, and he supposed Fraser was trying not to influence him one way or another, though Ray would have welcomed some sort of indication of whether or not Fraser actually wanted him to stay. He knew his answer already, though, and, hoping against hope that this was what Fraser wanted too, he gravely told Frobisher that he would be happy to work with the RCMP.

The sudden smile of surprise and delight on Fraser's face nearly took his breath away.

Fraser had taken care of the living arrangements. They couldn't stay at his father's cabin, of course; even if it hadn't been burned to the ground, it was too far away to be a practical residence. But Fraser had found a nice cabin just a few miles away from the RCMP detachment, a little small but perfect for the needs of two cops. It even had indoor plumbing, for which Ray was profoundly grateful, and he had a niggling suspicion that Fraser was, too.

Ray had taken one quick trip back to Chicago to settle all his affairs there, and was surprised to find just how little he missed the place. Welsh was still around, of course, being Welsh as only Welsh could be, congratulating him on his new job. And Francesca was going to be taking over the lease on his apartment - her budding relationship with Turnbull left her needing a bit more privacy than she could get in the crowded Vecchio household. He had packed up most of his stuff - not that he had a lot of it left over from what Stella had taken in the first place, but left his turtle with Frannie, as much for his own peace of mind as for Dief's. Natural enemies, and all that. On his last night in the city, Ray had even wandered over to the One Liner to catch the duck brother's comedy act, which would be enough to make anyone eager to rush off to frozen wastelands, thought Ray, as the plane carried him home to Fraser.

Home to Fraser. The words had sent warm shivers down his spine, a reaction that was getting more and more frequent, around the Mountie. Frequent, but unwelcome. He had long since stopped telling himself that what he felt for his partner was nothing more that brotherly affection... not unless you had the kind of brotherly affection that landed you on the Jerry Springer show. No, at some point during the past few years he had fallen in love with his best friend. His very male, very straight, best friend. The one he would be working with every day. The one who he would spend every night sleeping with...well, all right, with a wall between them, but a very thin one. He had spent the entire flight home staring sightlessly out the plane's window, trying to figure out just how to deal with that particular problem, and had come to the decision that Fraser's friendship meant everything to him, and that it would be a cold day in hell before he ever did anything to mess that up. Or rather, a warm day in Whitehorse.

And now, that warm day had come. On Christmas Eve, of all days, with the cabin all nicely decorated and visions of sugar plums dancing in little wolves' heads, some freak heat wave had taken over the Yukon, sending the temperature soaring up to whatever the Canadian version of too-damn-warm-for-December was. Someone up there had heard his promise, and seemed to be holding him to it. Someone up there had a real sadistic sense of humour. Well, if Nature insisted on seeing him make an ass of himself with Fraser, far be it for Ray to disappoint her.

Movement caught his eye as Diefenbaker trotted into his field of vision, with Fraser close behind him, slogging through the wet snow on his way to the cabin. Ray put the kettle on for tea and went to help Fraser out of his sodden coat and boots. When Fraser had made himself a cup of strong bark tea, the two sat in companionable silence in front of the roaring fire. Ray watched the reflection of the flames in the glass bulbs on the tree, shimmering reds, greens and golds, trying to muster up enough courage to do what he knew had to be done. He was somewhat startled by Fraser's sudden words.

"Ray, are you happy here?"

Ray shot his friend a surprised look. "Huh? What're ya' talkin' about, Frase? Why wouldn't I be happy?"

"Well, Ray, this is a far cry from Chicago."

"Yeah , well, you're right about that, Frase. I mean, geez, the dirt, the slimeballs, the pollution, I dunno how anyone can give all that up."

Fraser gave him a small smile. "And yet here, you face isolation and bitter cold. Is that truly any better?"

Ray couldn't have asked for a better opening. "Yeah, ya know, Frase, it is better. A lot better."

"But why, Ray?"

Ray braced himself. "'Cause you're here, Frase. 'Cause we're here together. I ain't isolated from anythin', 'cause I got all I could ever want, right here." He gazed intently into his friend's eyes. "Cause I love ya, Frase."

Fraser said nothing, staring at him with an unreadable expression, and something deep within Ray, some small yet essential part of his soul, cried out in anguish. He felt a stinging in his eyes, and stood up quickly, determined that Fraser would never again see him cry. Once had been enough.

He was about to bolt for his room when a strong, gentle hand grasped his wrist, sending a shock of -something- shooting through him. Whatever it was, he sure couldn't deal with it right now. "Look, Frase, I'm sorry. Just let me go!"

One word stopped him short. One small syllable, whispered so softly, so sweetly that his tears nearly spilled over anyway.

"Ray."

He lifted his eyes warily to his partner's, afraid of what he might see there, and was nearly overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of that blue gaze. It was the same mixture of love, hope, uncertainty and fear that had been tearing him apart, and to see it reflected back at him so openly made him gasp in shock.

The hand at his wrist loosened its grip, but did not let go, as he felt Fraser's other hand move up to gently cup the side of his face. Something warm - Fraser's thumb - brushed briefly across his lips and Ray moved his eyes down to his own partner's mouth, just in time to see them part as that voice repeated itself.

"Ray..."

This time, though, there was a whispered answer. "Frase... oh, God, Ben..."

Then that hand was pulling him forward, and he closed his eyes, anticipating the sweet press of Fraser's lips against his own.

He was not disappointed.

Some time later, a rumpled Mountie and an equally scruffy-looking cop lay snuggled together on the fur rug in front of the roaring fire. Ray lifted his head long enough to press a soft kiss against his partner's lips - partner in all things, now!, before laying it back down on Fraser's shoulder.

"Hey, Ben, about that bitter cold thing you mentioned?"

"Yes, love?" came the murmured reply.

Ray paused a moment to savour the endearment. "Doesn't seem that cold out to me."

The body under him shook slightly as Fraser chuckled. "No, it doesn't, does it?"

Ray's arms tightened around his lover as he attempted to burrow into the warmth of the body beneath him. At last, comfortable and, after the last few hours, quite sated, he sighed sleepily. Then the clock chimed twelve times, and he smiled.

"Merry Christmas, Ben."

"Merry Christmas, Ray."

The End

Feedback greatly appreciated: < khristaz@yahoo.com>