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      	  Snowblind 
 by Rackem  

 Disclaimer: Alliance Atlantis ownes them. I just borrowed them.

 Author's Notes: With thanks to Herman Mellville

 

 with thanks to Herman Melville

 The thing was, Ray had a thin skin. All day long they would go go go,
which was fine with him. It was not only fine, it was necessary, it was
absolutely fucking greatness, and there were times when the sun was up and
the wind was down and the snow was flying, he was flying, hell, they were
all flying and the dogs were insane with happiness and he felt exactly
like one of the dogs. The sun on the snow made these amazing spark things
everywhere, like millions of them, like a whole field of diamonds that
went on forever and he'd feel his mouth stuck in this huge goofy grin that
wouldn't stop. So he'd touch down the edge of his boot when they cut yet
another perfect curve. The snow would spray up and make oceans of diamonds
until Fraser would tell him he shouldn't look because he would probably go
blind. Which kind of put the kibosh on things. Figured, this being Fraser.
Only now he knew all about Fraser--he'd seen Fraser out here a million
miles from anywhere, laughing and yelling and howling at the moon. That's
when he finally got the cosmic phone message that'd been blinking at him
since they started: they were so far out they could do anything. Anything
they wanted. So he waited until Fraser was busy with the dogs, face all
relaxed and rosy-cheeked and smiling like a kid, and then at the next
curve Ray touched his boot down again. Diamonds.

 The thing about stopping was, every time they would stop Ray's face would
hurt. First his nose, then his ears and cheeks, then his whole face. And
then his eyes which was the worst absolutely, it would keep hurting worse
until he'd start to get scared there was really something wrong. Plus the
sun would still be up which made trying to sleep kind of weird and
pointless. But if they just kept on go go going he would be so into it he
wouldn't notice, he would completely forget to hurt. There was something
profound about that. Ray thought about it briefly, which was about as long
as you could really hold a thought up here that wasn't a dog thought, a
thought about snow or sleds or seal fat, and decided it meant they should
just keep on going forever.

 Ray was proud of the way he'd adjusted to cold. He'd run behind the sled
and on a good day he'd get hot, actually, he'd throw his coat open and
pull off his scarf, and since Fraser had a thing about headgear, on a
really good day he'd end up unbuttoning his shirt some. Fraser would catch
him when they switched off with the sled and make him cover up more, and
he'd remember it was like a million below but he couldn't help it, he was
hot. He was adjusted. Okay, so eating sticks of Crisco was a little weird
at first, but he really had no idea back in Chicago that Crisco tasted so
good. And then they got a seal which was surprisingly fun, like the best
kind of stakeout, and Fraser melted some seal fat in a bowl and they drank
it and that was totally like drugs. His lips felt great afterward, like,
for hours. 

 That's when Fraser started touching his face. He'd touched Ray's cheek
and got this kind of weird look, which Ray thought meant Fraser was going
to touch him and then lick his fingers, which was going to totally freak
him out. But instead Fraser kind of frowned and said, "Come here, Ray," so
Ray leaned over and Fraser dipped his fingers in the seal fat bowl and
then rubbed them all over Ray's face, like it was the most natural thing
in the world. And Ray's face felt great, like for hours. The next day he
got hypothermia.

 The hypothermia was not his fault. They had packed one shirt that looked
like the others but turned out to be made of cotton, which was Wrong.
Fraser usually wore it because rocks would fly to Mars before Fraser threw
anything out, and Fraser had this stupid thing about hygiene which had
ceased to matter to Ray like weeks ago, but it was oh yeah, mandatory
changing clothes day for the dignity of home and empire. Or whatever. And
Ray had to grab the wrong fucking shirt (which was another reason why the
changing clothes thing was stupid and probably dangerous as well as
first-thing-in-the-morning butt-ass cold), and the great weather which had
almost succeeded in making him feel better about running out of coffee had
to suddenly turn to shit. One minute he was sweating buckets and cussing
the runners and the next his teeth were rattling out of his head and he
seriously thought he was going to die, and then dying was impossible or
else maybe a big joke. It was the weirdest thing. Everything went kind of
funny including his knees, and by the time Fraser got him in the tent he
was so tired and the tent was the nicest place he'd ever seen and Fraser
was the best guy ever. And his shirt was kind of frozen to his skin.

 Frase wrapped him up good. He held the furs tight around him for a minute
until he thawed, then stripped him out of his clothes quick which in the
tent was hilarious because they couldn't quite stand up. Ray kind of fell
over Fraser's back and grabbed a thigh but didn't seem to be strong enough
to dump him. Or maybe Frase'd gotten heavier since they were after all on
some kind of other planet and what the hell, maybe gravity was different.
Fraser weighed more on Pluto. Yeah, this would definitely explain Ray
suddenly feeling so heavy. Fraser rolled him onto the furs which was fun,
and toweled him off which was fun except really kind of itchy and painful,
and look, Frase was doing the frowny thing with his face again. Ray
pointed this out to Fraser, who did not seem to be interested. He kept
staring at Ray's chest. So Ray craned his head around and tried staring at
his chest too, just so Frase would not feel lonely and isolated. (Frase
felt lonely and isolated a lot. This was something to which Ray, as his
partner, was not about to contribute.)

 And whoa Nellie. If they were on Ice Planet Zero, Ray had just found an
alien. Only it was him. This discovery made him uncomfortable big time,
plus he did not even get a hat with wings. He told Fraser this was an
injustice. Actually, what he said was, "Fraser, my skin is all funny and I
do not have a hat with wings."

 Actually, his chest and belly were red and white and funny, and Ray knew
from a million billion Fraser lectures that white was bad. He tried to
say, hey Frase, I think maybe I got frostbite of the whole body, only what
came out was, "Aaaaaahhh!!!"

 And some kind of random thrashing around.

 But Fraser knew what he meant. Because Fraser was THE greatest guy in the
world. Fraser said, "It's okay, Ray. You do not have frostbite. You have
snowburn." Which, being Fraser, did not sound any better, and "It looks
like a significant case of eczema as well." Which, whatever it was,
definitely sounded worse.

 Ray was thinking about asking how long he had before his transformation
into Fungus of Terror was complete, when Fraser said, "And your eyelids
are swollen. I'm afraid you have an incipient case of snow blindness."

 Snow blindness was bad. He knew that. And Fraser was still talking.
Jesus, what else could he have? Cooties?

 "...my fault entirely. I should have insisted we stop and make you
some..."

 No more frowny face. Frowny face was bad.

 "Fraser. Fix it."

 "It's going to be all right, Ray. I have a salve."

 Ray wanted to say, of course it's going to be all right. You are the
greatest guy in the world, you fucking moron. Of course you have a salve.
But he was too tired. He whined instead.

 "Close your eyes, Ray."

 Ray burrowed down into the furs and closed his eyes. Better.

 Fraser rubbed salve into his eyelids. It felt weird and wrong. He
wriggled. Fraser made calming noises. He calmed. Fraser rubbed salve on
his chest and belly. It felt great. He fell asleep.

 When he woke up there was an igloo.

 "Look, Fraser! Igloo!" Wow, igloos were painful to look at. Ow ow ow. He
shut his eyes.

 "Yes, Ray. Let's go in the igloo."

 "No, Frase. No going in without asking. The bears might not like it."

 "There are no bears in this igloo, Ray."

 "They are white, Fraser. They blend." And, Ray thought, I cannot see for
shit right now. There could be a whole army of mutant gun-toting polar
bears in there right now and I could not draw a bead and I would not have
a clue.

 "All righty, then," said Fraser. "I'll just go in first and check."

 Ray seized Fraser's ankles and growled. Which, since Fraser was already
crawling into the igloo, meant sliding in after him feet kicking, belly in
the air. Mmm. Dark. Quiet. Fresh igloo. Sometime during the non-night
Fraser had made an igloo. It had an ice window and everything. Man, Fraser
was good at this stuff. He was putting the furs out on a kind of snow
shelf thing. Ooh. Instant bed. Ray launched at it and got dibs. He rolled
around for a while, burying his nose in the furs and snuffing up the good
animal smell. This was great.

 "Ray. Ray, Ray, Ray..."

 "Unhm?"

 "I thought we could rest here for a few days. There's fishing nearby, the
game is good, and we need to give your skin a little time to heal. The dim
lighting of an igloo's interior and the keeping of your skin exposed to
the warm still air between regular applications of emollient are
traditional Inuit remedies for what is actually a quite common..."

 Mmmm. That little piece of fur smelled like salve.

 "...crossing the sound the ice will be much more reliable after the front
moves through the..."

 "Frase?"

 "Yes, Ray?"

 "We're gonna laze around here for a while and you put salve on me until
everything's better."

 "That's about the size of it, Ray."

 "Greatness. Frase?"

 "Yes?"

 "I think there's sand under my eyelids. It is like a death weapon."

 "That's snow blindness, Ray. Just keep your eyes closed until it feels
better."

 But then Fraser made food and there is no way you can keep your eyes
closed when you are trying to cut rubbery seal with a camp knife. So that
was an ow. And then it was salve time, so he had to watch how things were
going with the Fungus of Terror, and he could feel his eyeballs moving
which was all weird and wrong and ow ow ow "Fraser, can you sprain your
eyeballs?"

 "Hold still, Ray. Close your eyes."

 Salve smell. Mmm. Really strong. Wow. Vap-o-rub as a controlled
substance. Something soft and heavy on his eyes. Bandages. No more moving,
eyes. Sleeping now.

 He half woke to feel Fraser's hands stroking salve into him. Mmm. Fraser
made us an igloo. Food later. Don't have to try with the knife. Sleep now.

 Later on it smelled like food. Which was great, he was hungry. Ray ate a
chunk of seal, which tasted even better now he couldn't see that seal was
kind of gray. He chewed ecstatically. Warm grease ran down his chin. Mmm.
Fraser. Fraser rubbing grease across his lips and cheeks.

 "It's all right, Ray. Grease is actually the best thing for your skin
right now." More warm oily feeling over his face and chest. No more tight
itchy feeling. Ray rolled in the warm furs while his partner stroked him.
Wow. A whole thought-free lifestyle.

 Later a warm feeling came by. Lamp. Dark. Snow over the window.

 "Storm?"

 "Yes."

 "Dogs good?"

 "Safe under the snow for the duration. As shall we be. Shall I read a
little?"

 "Uhmn."

 Pages rustled. Fraser's voice droned.

 ...After having my hands in it for only a few minutes, my fingers felt
like eels, and began, as it were, to serpentine and spiralize. As I sat
there at my ease, cross-legged on the deck; after the bitter exertion at
the windlass; under a blue tranquil sky; the ship under indolent sail, and
gliding so serenely along...I declare to you, that for the time I lived as
in a musky meadow; I forgot all about our horrible oath; in that
inexpressible sperm, I washed my hands and my heart of it; I almost began
to credit the old Paracelsan superstition that sperm is of rare virtue in
allaying the heat of anger: while bathing in that bath, I felt divinely
free from all ill-will, or petulence, or malice, of any sort
whatsoever...I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came
over me; and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-laborers'
hands...such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this
avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and
looking up into their eyes sentimentally; as much as to say, -Oh! my dear
fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know
the slightest ill-humor or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round;
nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze
ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness...

 Salve smell. Warm seal. Leaning against Fraser now, warm hands stroking
his ribs. Tight feeling slipping away, good feeling coming. Belly rubbing.
That's the best. Little moaning noises. Pushing up. More more. The hands
slipping lower. Oh. New feeling. Warm. Hot. Push, push. How long
since...Yes. Push. Arch, stretch. More more. Yes. He poured long spouts of
come over Fraser's hands and fell instantly asleep.

 The next time he was lying flat on his back wrapped in furs with Fraser's
hands slipping under to stroke him slowly, salve at first, and then when
he was good and warm and the smell...Oh the smell was great and the furs
were back and the warm oil was like it was him melting in the heat from
the lamp which he could feel over there now, he could feel everything, the
warm oil dribbling down lower, lower until he opened his legs and let
Fraser fill the hollows of his hips with warm seal oil and stroke him and
stroke him and do something else all warm and wet until he came and just
after he felt something new dripping across his thighs and was glad.

 Ray staggered out of the igloo some days later feeling much better. The
sun was dazzlingly bright. He rubbed oily ashes into the hollows of his
eyes and adjusted his new goggles. They were like blinders, letting in
only a narrow field of vision, but somehow he could get used to this. He
could see a lot better if he didn't have to see too much at a time. He
looked around. The world was in focus again. Him and Frase with the dogs
and the sled in the clean empty middle of nowhere, a couple of guys who
worked hard and played hard kicking around having an Arctic adventure. A
thick coat of hard new snow covered over everything, looking like
diamonds.

 They made a good run. The dogs were crazed to run after all the time
cooped up under the snow, and Ray felt just exactly like one of the dogs.
He ran beside the sled and behind the sled and then ahead of the sled with
a pole, testing anything that looked suspicious and dueling occasional
imaginary enemies with the pole straight out in front of him. 

 In the evening that was not an evening they got out to the sound. Ray
wanted to keep going but Fraser said it would be sad to miss this chance
to put out a couple of lines, so they stopped and fed the dogs and set up
a place for ice fishing. Ray knew the whole thing was really Fraser
worrying about thin ice. He fed the dogs anyway. Fraser puttered around
the edge of the ice doing testy things, for fucking ever. Ray tried to
control his impatience. He knew only one sure way of testing thin ice, and
Fraser was heavier than him. At least Fraser had made a hole for
fishing...okay, not really a hole. Calling it a hole would be too
ambitious. It was more of an opening. But enough for a Fraser-style
fishing expedition. 

 "Ray, do you like fish?"

 Master of the freaking obvious. Ray squinted irately at Fraser through
his snow goggles. "Yeah, Fraser, I like fish. You know I like fish. Fish
are great."

 "Well, that's very good, Ray. Because I've hooked quite a large fish,"
said Fraser, and then he pitched forward onto his face and started sliding
across the ice toward the opening.

 Ray grabbed him by reflex while his conscious mind was still working out
a comeback to what must be a joke, because what the hell could you catch
that could hurt you through an opening this small...then Fraser lurched
forward again with a grunt, taking Ray with him, and terror kicked in and
he knotted his arms around Fraser like grim death, dug his feet into the
ice and held on.

 The whole thing took forever, give or take twenty minutes. They slithered
forward. Ray got his feet under him again and leaned back until his joints
cracked. Come on, come on, come on Fraser...and then he could feel Frase
get to his feet finally, fucking finally I could use some help here
asshole before I crash and fail and kill us both and the sudden lurch of
Fraser, solid muscle launching back at him like a freaking tank and
suddenly there was nothing to pull against, nothing holding him up, and
Ray's feet went out from under him and he landed on his ass in the snow.
And the whole fucking thing started over. They were sliding again, toward
the tiny opening that had suddenly become a huge crack in the world, how
the hell did that happen? They were gonna go through, going to drown, and
Ray felt the sudden burst of panic large bodies of water always inspired
in him plus freezing to death, drowning and freezing and being eaten by
some horrible monster all at the same time, oh Jesus God...and suddenly he
had enough. He slammed his boots down with the insane clarity of mind he
sometimes wished he ever had when he was not really, really close to
dying. The momentum propelled him back up onto his feet and halfway past
Fraser. He slung around hard, ducking his head and shoulder-slamming into
Fraser's chest. They both lurched backward away from death in opposite
directions, and something changed. The fish wasn't pulling anymore. Fraser
was still holding on to the line, and the line was still taut. 

 "Let go let go let go let go let go!" Ray screamed. Fraser didn't let go.
Ray lunged toward him, grabbing for the line, and the ground went out from
under him. The ground went out from under him. He was still standing up.
On thin ice. Ray stared at the line in Fraser's hands. It was slackening
fast. The ice tilted again, then Fraser's side dived straight down toward
nothing.

 Ray Kowalski's life did not flash before his eyes. If he could have
thought, he would have thought that was a good thing, because he sure as
hell did not need Stella yelling at him about this right now. But time
slowed down, way way down into absolute leisure time. He saw the sled and
the dogs and the long safe sweep of bank where Dief stood, trembling, next
to a plant Ray had never noticed before in all the time they'd been out
here, a plant just one long step straight down from his left boot, rooted
in the solid ground, with a little tiny flower like a daisy. Just step
off. Easy. But his body was already running for Fraser, faster than he had
ever run in his life. And his brain, left far behind staring downslope at
the top of Fraser's hat, said thinly, hey, hero, if you were really a
smart guy you would have run away from him in the opposite direction.

 With his extra weight on that side the ice went Titanic and Ray took the
altitude and jumped. He hit Fraser with all the force that was in him,
will and gravity and sheer pissed-offness, hoping like hell that it hurt
and that Fraser would grab him because otherwise they would die. Then they
were on solid ice. Not dying. Then something huge and slimy hit Ray hard
in the back, and he was skittering off across the ice like this was a
fucking game, like they were curling or something and Dief and Fraser and
solid ground and when he came to himself he was punching the lights out of
the ugliest fish in the world. 

 It was huge. It was unbelievably big. It had lips. It had an obscene long
thick eel of a body and nasty sharp teeth everywhere and it was staring at
him out of its huge staring eyes, and it was huge, and it was staring, and
its blood was red which was all wrong only maybe that was Ray's blood, and
the worst thing except for the lips and the sheer wrongness of its bigness
was, it was white.. And the line in its mouth connecting it to Fraser. Ray
punched it a couple more times for good measure, then he stood up and
walked off and freaked out.

 He was coming back for another round, this time with kicking, when Fraser
grabbed him.

 "Ray. It's dead. Ray. Ray, Ray, Ray..."

 "WHY DIDN'T YOU LET IT GO?"

 "Once the ice cracked, the weight of the fish was balancing..."

 "WHY DIDN'T YOU LET IT GO?"

 Fraser looked at him with an inscrutable expression. A couple of times it
looked like he was going to say something, but didn't. Then he said, "You
said you liked fish."

 This is how Ray hit Fraser the second time. Later, he would admit to
himself that hitting probably was not a good idea. But by then it was too
late, neither of them knew how to get out of it.  When he came back from
his cooling-off walk Fraser was skinning the fish. The fact that you could
skin a fish made Ray's stomach churn. Hell, pimps and dissolute Middle
Eastern sheiks probably had boots made out of it. 

 "We are not going to eat that."

 Fraser kept his back to him. "Suit yourself, Ray."

 Fraser cut some kind of twisted Porterhouse out of the fish and set it up
on a stick. Ray bet it wouldn't fall off. It was long and thick and pink
and shiny wet. This fucker wasn't fish, it was meat. Ray grabbed the
stick, careful not to touch what was on it.

 "That," said Fraser, "is my lunch." His voice had a dangerous edge.

 "Fraser,"  I want to stop. I'm sorry about the hitting. I do not know how
to stop, tell me you know how to stop this. Fraser, tell me you know how
to take it all back, so nobody loses, so we can be friends. But you cannot
say things like that, so he said, "Look Fraser, just don't eat that, okay?
I think maybe...I think maybe something's wrong with it." 

 Fraser looked at him coldly. "You're worried about the tigusiruq usuk.
It's perfectly all right. Just because you aren't familiar with..."

 "This thing could have killed us." He tried not to look at what was in
his hand. "And it is raw, Fraser. Raw. You cannot even cover it up with
hashbrowns and pretend it is something else. I mean, maybe it is poison or
something. Maybe it has a disease. You ever think of that? Huh?"

 "Did you ever think," said Fraser, and his tone made the hairs at the
back of Ray's neck stand up and pay attention, "that you are speaking of
things you know nothing about?"

 "Yeah, you think." Yeah, you're right. That is what this is all about.
The only things I'm really good at are handguns and intimidation and the
fifty-yard dash. I am fucking useless up here, except for...except for
intimidation.

 Ray looked straight at Fraser and smiled a long easy smile. "Fraser, if
there is one thing I know more about than you, it is fish." 

 Bingo. Fraser's face flushed pink. He turned away again and cut another
one of those meat things and busied himself over it, keeping his back to
Ray. Ray thought this was not exactly the effect he had been going for.

 "Fraser."

 Fraser ignored him.

 "Fraser, I...I am not going to talk to your fucking back." Fine. Ignoring
was fine. He could do that. 

 And he did, too, for hours, until he caught Fraser getting ready to feed
what was left of the monster to the dogs.

 "You can poison yourself all you want. Go right ahead. But you are not
going to corrupt the dogs."

 "Ray, you're being irrational. The dogs need food as much as we do. If
eating this meat caused illness, I would have shown symptoms by now. The
fish is a Tiktaalik, a northern relative of cod, not only perfectly
harmless but considered by almost everyone to be extremely good eating.
Admittedly, its size and color are unusual..."

 "Unusual is not the word. And who the fuck is everyone? Eskimos? What the
hell do they know about us, I mean, we are from Chicago, and that was not
what you called that thing before. You called it usik something. Fraser,
do you even know what it is? Do you even know what we are dealing with
here?"

 "Inuit, Ray. Yes. And I am not from Chicago."

 "Right. But I am."

 For a minute Ray almost thought Fraser had got it, and Ray didn't know
whether to fall apart or punch him or run. But then the dogs smelled fish
ho and started yelling their heads off, and the blinkers came down over
Fraser's eyes.

 "Have to feed the dogs, Ray."

 "You can eat Moby Dick all you want, Fraser, and I cannot stop you. But
the dogs, they can get bones stuck in their throats, they are innocent,
they cannot stop themselves and I..."

 Fraser picked up a chunk of carcass.

 "Fraser. I am telling you. Do Not Do This."

 "Dogs have instincts, Ray, as I am sure you know. They know perfectly
well what they like." Fraser smiled a thin, angry smile. "They know what's
good for them."

 He tossed the obscene fat cone of a fish head, as big as Ray's own, and
Ray caught one last glimpse of its flat accusing eyes as it sailed past
him. The dog chorus reached a howling pitch of ecstasy, then settled to
happy snuffles and growls as they dug in.

 "See?"

 Ray's stomach growled. He stared at Fraser. He wanted pizza. And beer.
Lots of beer. And something else, he didn't know what. Eggrolls, maybe.
Whatever the hell it was he wanted, it sure wasn't fish. Fraser walked
past him as if he wasn't there, cooing quietly as he fed the dogs. 

 Ray felt suddenly exhausted. His eyes hurt. Christ, why couldn't it ever
be easy? He walked slowly across to the sled and started to pack. The dogs
were still crunching and fighting over Fraser's castoff bounty when he
felt a push under his mitten. Dief. The wolf whined. Ray laughed, but it
came out sounding kind of hollow.

 "Thanks, buddy. I'll send you a dozen doughnuts from Izzy's."

 Dief looked at him funny.

 Ray sighed. He dug around for his snow goggles, but he seemed to have
stuck them in some other pocket he couldn't find right now.

 Dief looked at him funny from the other side.

 Ray leaned against the sled.

 Dief waited.

 "Okay, you deserve an explanation. Only I don't have one. Only say you're
thirteen, and you live in Chicago, and all the guys in the neighborhood
are playing with each other over Playboys and Georgie Wallenski is
exposing himself all the time and bragging about his mom's cold cream. And
one day when you are fourteen you are playing ditch 'em with Johnny
Wawryszczuk, he catches you and ties you up and does stuff and you come, I
mean really come, and pretty soon it is happening a lot even though you
don't mean to, it just seems like you and Johnny Wawryszczuk are playing
ditch 'em all the goddamn time, which is fine 'cause all the guys are
doing it and then one day you are fifteen and it is all over the
neighborhood that you are a faggot. And you still don't know what the hell
happened. But you are the skinny kid in the glasses and you are the guy
that has to go around and kick everybody's ass individually, every fucking
kid in the neighborhood. And every fight you lose it is faggot, faggot.
From guys who last week were jerking each other off in the bushes. But it
is you that has got to prove something. Only it is you with the constant
hard-on from being insanely in love with the most beautiful girl in the
world that you think you can never have, except maybe, but if she hears
about this there will be nothing you can do except take the tourist bus to
Lake Michigan and jump off the observation deck. The whole thing sucks
more than anything has ever sucked only there is nothing you can do about
it except keep on fighting and fighting until they have killed you or you
have kicked every last guy in the neighborhood in the head until they say
uncle. You start with your buddy John Wawryszczuk, who is twice your
fucking size for chrissake, and "I will kick your ass you scumbag" is the
last thing you ever say to him. Because your parents are never going to
move, ever. And you are going to have to live in this lousy neighborhood
in Chicago with all of them for the rest of your fucking life. Because by
the time you are sixteen you have quit wearing your glasses and school
doesn't matter and you have stared down every guy you have not kicked in
the head, and you know that is all you are good for."

 Dief whined and licked his hand.

 "So see, I got to go home."

 Dief stayed with him the whole time, while he put together a backpack
with the basics, snowshoes and cookpot for lemmings and boot moss and
pemmican and a bag to melt snow, the spare firestarter and sinew for
snares and extra lashings and some oil which there was really not much of
and a compass and a lampwick and a knife. He could almost convince himself
he could live through this. Without really thinking about it he rigged up
a dog pack. Maybe he'd take one of the dogs. 

 The trouble was the rifle. They only had one. Ray leaned his head against
the sled for a while. Dief whuffed softly, and, since nobody was looking,
he let himself slide down and put his arms around the dog's neck. After a
while he got up, took the rifle and ammunition, and slid it in his pack.
He was sticking with the pretense that he'd live long enough to get back
to Chicago. Fraser could have the tackle, eat all the fish he wanted, work
his way further north or down along the river. Ray would be traveling
inland. He wouldn't last long without a gun, and if he didn't take it,
Fraser would know. 

 "Ray. What are you doing?"

 "Going home, Fraser."

 "Where's home, Ray?"

 Ray stifled an urge to lie down on the dogsled. "Chicago."

 "Chicago is a long way from here."

 "Not really, Frase. Not nearly as far as you'd think." He shouldered the
pack. "Don't think it hasn't been good. Mind if I take one of the dogs?"

 Diefenbaker sat down and howled. Fraser hushed him sharply. The wolf took
no notice. For a moment Ray really thought Fraser was going to hit Dief
and he stepped forward, but then Fraser's hand fell to his side as if he'd
forgotten it was there.

 Still managing to sound soft over the increasing howls, Fraser said,
"Ray, if you leave me, I'll die."

 Diefenbaker stopped howling.

 "Fraser, that is...that is like some kind of bad novel. It is beneath
you. It is emotional freaking blackmail."

 "No, Ray, it is the literal truth. However I might feel emotionally does
not seem to be an admissible part of this discussion." Dief made a sudden
loud noise that managed to split the difference between a yawn and a
scream of despair. Fraser looked sharply at him and went on. "You were
right about the fish. Not literally-it will poison neither you nor me nor
anyone else. It is merely insufficient to sustain my life."

 Ray stared at him.

 "Fish is lean protein. Without oil, in this climate, I can't survive. Our
supply of shortening is used up, as is the seal meat, and the seal oil is
almost gone as well."

 Ray knew why the seal oil hadn't lasted, but he didn't say anything. It
wasn't like Fraser didn't know.

 "You can catch a seal," he said.  You did not tell me. You did not tell
me this stuff was more valuable than gold.

 "I haven't the skill."

 "Do not fuck with me, Fraser. You have caught a seal. I have seen you."

 "No, Ray. We have caught a seal. The two of us, together. I can't do it
alone."

 Ray threw him the rifle.

 Fraser watched him narrowly. "Even if you could snare a caribou, or
hares, there's not enough oil. It would be suicide."

 Ray was tired of talking. His pack was heavy already. He put the box of
ammunition on the sled and started walking. He heard the rifle cock as
Fraser raised it to his shoulder. 

 "Frase, buddy, as far as oil goes I think I'm worse than fish."

 "I can't let you kill yourself, Ray."

 Ray kept on walking. 

 "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray..."

 Christ on a crutch, the guy was annoying. "Fraser. Go. Kill. A. Seal." He
turned around to make his point, and, whoa, staring down a rifle barrel
was intense. He tried keeping a poker face, but he couldn't keep from
talking. "Look, Fraser, there are worse things than death." The weasels in
his head were keeping him from thinking of any at the moment, but he knew
there must be some. "Like having no dignity. Like being some kind of dead
weight local joke who is only around to make the other guy feel like a
man..."

 Fraser put down the rifle and stared at him. 

 "You just saved my life, Ray. Both our lives. I miscalculated the depth
of the ice. It was my fault." 

 "I should of gone the other fucking direction, I should have kept the
balance, I should have run away from you but I didn't Fraser, I ran toward
you because I was not thinking, I was, I was..." but he had no way of
saying what he was and how it made him feel knowing that Fraser had fucked
up and almost killed them and Fraser needed his seal-hunting skills to
survive in the Canadian arctic and the rifle was down. So he charged the
guy and they rolled over and over in the snow. 

 Ray came up on top with no idea what to do and Fraser under him like a
charging bull but Ray's body, ahead of him as usual, decided this must be
make-up sex. Which was all the sense he had any right to expect after a
million times with Stella, when sex made more sense out of love and rage
and need and terror than anything else ever did. So his pants were half
down but this was not his living room, this was the Canadian fucking
arctic, and in the end he yanked down Fraser's pants and shoved himself in
there less from uncontrollable lust than fear of frostbite. But he didn't
go in. In where? Fraser's everything was twice the size his groin
expected, and, ooh, warm, and after a million times with Stella his
not-quite-excited but hard enough dick did not slide into a
not-quite-excited but wet enough hole and turn two complicated people who
maybe hated each other into sex, sex, beautiful and self-perpetuating and
mindless. Instead he bounced off Fraser's ass and a gust of freezing air
hit him and he dug in again in sheer confusion, this time hitting
something soft that felt good but caused Fraser to grunt sharply and
thrash. Balls. Ow. Ray winced in sympathy, and this was about when they
got hit by a frantic, growling Diefenbaker, all of them falling sideways
and as Ray scrabbled frantically to keep the snow out of his privates and
Rescue Wolf off him he realized vaguely something was all the way down
there between Fraser's asscheeks, which were the size of small dogs and
could probably crack walnuts. Nut-cracking action kicked in as Fraser
either panicked or else just tried getting up, and then Fraser grabbed at
himself or maybe him and Ray swung over and felt something definitely firm
and rubbery against the end of his dick, hot and alive and a total dead
end, and in the moment between panic that his dick would end up cartoon
flat and bursting out laughing Ray realized this was totally different
from anything he had ever done with Stella or any other woman to not
resolve anything. Because he and Fraser would both absolutely, totally,
one hundred percent have to want this. All or nothing, no accidents. Ray
got his pants up and Fraser got his pants up and Ray didn't even care
Fraser clocked him, he was laughing so hard. 

 Fraser was over him now, pinning him in the snow and shouting in his ear,
"You cannot do that, Ray, you cannot just decide everything by yourself." 

 Dief shoved his head between them.

 Ray watched Fraser, feeling suddenly, stupidly safe. He nodded. 

 Fraser continued to scream at him. "If we don't act together we'll die
alone, or kill each other."

 "Got it, buddy. Got that."

 "Do not act like me, Ray. Do not act like me!" Fraser stopped short, as
if he'd had no idea what he'd just said. He looked shocked. Ray wanted to
kiss him, but wasn't there yet. He lifted his hand and touched Fraser's
face. "'s okay," he said. "You're good."

 Fraser rolled off him and they sat side by side in the snow, holding each
other by the shoulders while the wolf acted neurotic, running back and
forth, licking their faces. Ray could feel Fraser shake for a while, then
steady down. Ray himself felt like he had just gotten up out of a really
uncomfortable chair he'd been sitting in too long, like twenty years. He
looked over at the lemming pot he had neatly lashed with sinew to his
caribou-skin pack and decided he no longer had any idea who he was and
didn't care. After a while they got up and saw to the rifle and the gear
and the dogs. Fraser checked the snow with an interested expression, and
wordlessly Ray got the bone knife and started cutting igloo blocks. When
they were done Fraser lit the lamp and Ray spread the skins and then there
was a lot of taking each other's clothes off and wrapping up in the furs
and touching each other during which Ray and Fraser both kept their eyes
open. Except right at the end, but that was pretty normal.

 During the night the wind came up. Fraser knew and told Ray this would
probably be the last storm of the season, the last hard freeze, last solid
ice before the thaw. They waited it out for a couple of days, with Dief
coming in to report and staying to sleep while they slept and ate and
touched and sucked and by the time the weather cleared they'd got quite a
long way with all the things they knew and tried some new ones. At some
point it was time and they put their clothes on and dug their way out into
sunshine and clear air. Ray looked at Fraser, and Fraser looked at Ray,
and they tried the kissing thing when their dicks were not hard, in the
daylight. And it was okay, it was more than okay, and their eyes were
open, and the snow looked like diamonds, and the dogs were eager to run
run run and Ray finally mentioned, and Fraser agreed, that they both felt
not quite exactly but somewhat like the dogs.

 "Okay then," Ray said, "This is going to have to last us, because
afterwards we turn south and everything gets different. Right?"

 "Well, Ray, yes and no. We will need to turn south soon. But we'll be
able to carry whatever we achieve at this point with us, and use the
supplies we lay in now for some time forward. They'll be available to us
any time we want them. Even in less congenial climates." 

 "Right," Ray said slowly. "I think I got it." They put on their snow
goggles. Ray grinned at Fraser and kicked up some snow. "Priority one,
let's get us a seal."

 Fraser grinned back and threw him a handful of diamonds. 

 The End

  
  

End Snowblind by Rackem 

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