Long Journey Home 1/?      Long Journey Home 1/?

 by X-Tricks

  

 

 Disclaimer: The characters and the concepts belong to AA. No profit made,
no copyright infringement intended.

 Author's Notes: New to the Fandom. A Ray K/Fraser story but no Rays are
bashed. 

 Story Notes: Set after the series, so no spoilers. Explicit violence,
injury and medical stuff, m/m sex later in the series.

 

 

 Fraser had had every intention of waiting for Lieutenant Bly to return
with backup, all he had to do was settle in, half buried under a snowbank,
and watch that the poachers didn't leave before the rest of the squad
arrived. With Dief to keep him warm and entertained, it was almost
comfortable, despite the sub-zero weather. Ray, of course, would have been
screaming his frustration, between chattering teeth. 

 Ray, of course, was not here. 

 Fraser pulled his facewarmer off and turned his head from side to side,
trying to catch what he'd thought he'd heard a moment ago. The next sounds
were far from subtle, as someone began to scream. The high pitch of terror
made Fraser jerk sharply; snow slid down his neck as he pulled himself to
his knees and scowled at the cluster of cabins and lean-to's down the
slope from his position. From the sounds, someone was suffering under the
most horrific of indignities. 

 Fraser glanced uncertainly at Dief who huffed encouragingly. Foolhardy or
not, Dief was behind him. 

 "Well," Fraser pulled his uniform mitten back to free his fingers and
checked his rifle to make sure it hadn't frozen up in the cold. He simply
couldn't wait for his superior to return--it would be several days and
Fraser couldn't remain out here and let the innocent suffer. "You distract
them, I'll get the hostages out." 

 When Bly and Fraser had finally--after several very frustrating
weeks--tracked the bear poachers to this remote little cabin; they had
assumed the original inhabitants were dead. Bly had stationed Fraser here
until he could return with a full compliment, which involved him hiking
back to the outpost since cell phones were non-functional this far out. A
simple, and not-unfamiliar task, rather like a Chicago stake out except
Fraser would be watching the cabin alone for three days while sitting in a
snowbank. 

 Dief whined softly and Fraser shot him a firm glance. 

 "Next time I'll be the distraction and you'll be the rescuer, but not
now," he said. The wolf padded off, circling the cabin and heading towards
the stacked crates full of bear tails, spleens and testicles. "Be careful
Dief." 

 Fraser made his own slithering approach to the cabin, aiming for the
lean-to, which might provide him with an alternative entry to the front
door. Halfway down, there was a crash from the other side and the cabin
door slammed open a few moments later. 

 *"Wolf!"* Two of the poachers barreled out, rifles in hand yelling in
Cantonese, as Dief raced off, dragging a good portion of raw bear parts
after himself. Shots rang out and Fraser loped through the deep snow, not
thinking about Dief or the fact that he was facing six men alone.
 Fraser lost the surprise he was depending on as soon as he stepped into
the dim lean-to. The screams had been coming from here and he was
immediately fighting the man who had been attacking the young woman curled
in a corner whimpering. 

 There was no room to shoot and Fraser used his rifle like a club,
slamming the stock into the snarling face before the man had a chance to
pull up his pants. Fraser didn't dare stop to help the young woman, he
slammed the connecting door open. "RCMP! Drop your--!" 

 A gun went off and he yelled, loosing track of the room, the
poachers--breath, sight, everything--crashing to the floor in a welter of
his own blood. There was screaming, yelling in Cantonese, Fraser shot the
first armed person he saw; the dark room was lit mostly by muzzle flares
and now the pain hit him like a hammer. His hands shook so hard he
couldn't aim reliably, he had to concentrate he had to fight. They had
guns, he had his rifle and his knife. There were too many--there were
hostages and he hurt, he hurt--oh, he hurt very much indeed.  

 Thank you kindly, Ray 

 Ray jerked awake, bolting up and nearly braining himself on the floor
when he tripped over his sheets. "Frase!" 

 Sitting on the edge of his bed, he tugged at his hair and listened to his
heart galloping along. Fuck. Why remembering Fraser's voice sent him for a
loop, Ray didn't know. He went to take a leak. Squinting in the light, he
stared at his shocky face; looked like he'd seen a ghost. Splashing his
face with cold water made him think of snow and cold and Fraser again.
Damn, he had to get it together. The Mountie was back in Northwest
not-around-here, just like he wanted. Vecchio was back safe, Ray out on
his ass as usual. Game over. 

 It wasn't light out but there wasn't any more sleep left in him. Ray went
and turned on his music; something to pace to. Damn, he thought. Frase had
sounded--regretful in his dream. Sad? Ray two-stepped it across the floor
fidgeting with the elastic on his boxers when he got tired of yanking at
his hair. Fraser wasn't sad. Fraser was off doing what he wanted, where he
wanted. Ray was playing mind games on himself. 

 Ray paced until the sky went from black to purple, then went out to find
a place for coffee. It was still cold enough to see his breath and still
dark enough to see a few stars. The early morning didn't make much sense
without Fraser along to tell Ray how to navigate to Tibet by the light of
the stars and Dief whining for a donut. The morning chill crept down the
neck of his shirt and it was like Fraser was there, like he'd bought a
little of that Canada cool back with him. Ray shook himself because that
'ship had sailed on and there was no partnership like one that wasn't. It
hurt. There was still that Fraser shaped hole in his gut; they'd really
clicked, good on the streets, good at each others back and Ray wasn't sure
he could stretch himself into a new shape again when the next undercover
assignment rolled around. 

 "Coffee, Denise," Ray slung himself onto a stool at the counter and swung
idly back and forth, eyeing the early morning joes in the diner with him.
Maybe he needed a new assignment, something to let him shake off the last
of Vecchio. Maybe they'd assign him someplace warm--alcopolco. Someplace
with pretty girls and no wool anywhere to be seen. He watched the sky go
pale silver, then yellow and the streets get busy. Maybe he'd put some
more mileage in his long distance service and try calling the Mountie
station in far-away-from-everything again. Fraser had told him he could
call whenever he wanted but Ray hadn't been able to get through for a week
now; just the oh, so polite 'I'm sorry but Officer Fraser is unavailable'.
It was pissing him off. He remembered his dream and the hair on his neck
prickled. Ray dropped some bills and headed home. Yeah, he'd go bother the
nice Canadians again.  

 "Son." 

 Fraser tried to shut out the voice but it seemed to be everywhere,
rumbling under his fingers, soft and sad in his ears. There was wool under
his fingertips and he recognized the serge by touch; a beating heart, slow
and soothing and if he kept his eyes closed it was quiet and dark
and--nothing hurt. 

 "Son, son." A gentle rocking motion and Fraser felt small and safe.
"Shutting it out won't help." 

 "I can't," his voice sounded small too, muffled against the wool and
Fraser gathered that he was in his father's arms, held close. That was
strange enough to make him wonder for a moment and the bright, cold thing
he couldn't bear moved closer. He squeezed his eyes shut and burrowed in
against his father's body. It felt warm, alive. All he had to do was keep
his eyes closed. 

 A long sigh, a squeeze and Fraser had fuzzy memories of this from when he
was small, very small. When his father was alive, on those rare times when
he was home. The wool serge under his face, the being held, the being
safe. But his father's words weren't safe and Fraser didn't want to hear
them. 

 "Benton, if you shut yourself away much longer, there will be nothing to
go back to." 

 "I don't want to go back," Fraser heard his own petulance with
embarrassment. Not to--not to what he couldn't remember and didn't want to
remember. He just wanted this, this safe place. "I can't go back, Dad.
I'm--I'm tired." 

 Surely he'd done enough. Surely he could rest now. 

 "Son, there's people who will miss you." 

 "Like I missed you?" Fraser hadn't meant for it to come out so sharp. 

 "Yes." 

 That stirred him from his stubborn resistance. He had follow his father's
example in many things but--leaving someone to feel abandoned and unloved
was not a Fraser tradition he wanted to pass on. That worry opened the
door to everything Fraser had been trying to escape. 

End Long Journey Home 1/? by X-Tricks: x_tricks2000@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.