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      	  The Passage of Time 
 by Luzula  

 Author's Notes: Warning for some angst. I am grateful to my betas,
nos4a2no9 and keerawa, for their insightful comments and suggestions. 

 

 The Inuvik Centennial Library was wrapped in afternoon quiet. Fraser
could hear only two middle-aged women, talking in the hushed tones that
libraries seemed to inspire in most visitors. Or perhaps, he thought as he
inadvertently overheard snatches of what they said, it was in their
particular case due to the nature of their conversation, which seemed to
concern the latest gossip in town. The only other sound was the soft
clatter of the keyboard as Fraser cataloged the latest books acquired by
the library. It was routine work, but it was, at least, not required to be
done in triplicate.

 Sometimes, shelving books in some corner of the library, he felt (or
imagined) the ghost of his grandmother looking over his shoulder. He
imagined that she would not be displeased with how his life had led him
back here, to perform the same service to the community that she and
George had made their lives' work. Their traveling library had been
integrated into the main library in Inuvik when they retired, and Fraser
had found their old card system in the file cabinets standing in the back
room. It was still meticulously in order, and reading the entries in
Martha's bold handwriting and George's even, slanting one gave him an
oddly satisfying sense of continuity.

 Fraser hadn't seen his father's ghost since the mine shaft where Muldoon
had been captured, but he rather thought his father would not have been as
pleased with him. Well, it was his life, not his father's, and Fraser had
made his peace with what had happened, even if it had taken him years.

 "Hi, Uncle Ben!" Fraser looked up to see the freckled face of Sam,
Maggie's eldest girl, and he smiled at her.

 "Okay, I'm finished with these," she said, unloading a pile of books from
her backpack onto the counter.

 "How did you enjoy the Jules Verne book?" Fraser asked while scanning the
books and placing them in the shelf for returned books.

 "It was cool. Especially the fight with the giant squid. Um, do you have
Lord of the Rings in? Because I want to reread it."

 Fraser checked the entry in the library database. "It should be in; just
check the shelf."

 "Thanks!" Sam went jogging off toward the "T" shelf. She knew her way
around the library like the back of her hand, and although Maggie
complained about her obsessive reading habits, Fraser secretly encouraged
her. Not that she needed it.

 Mike Kailek had come out from the back office, the laugh lines fanning
out from the corners of his dark brown eyes as he smiled at Sam's
retreating back. "She's really something, isn't she?"

 "Oh yes," Fraser smiled back. "In some ways, she reminds me of myself at
that age."

 "Yeah, I was a bookworm, too. I guess that's why we're librarians." Mike
leaned against the shelf of returned books. He was wearing the old wool
sweater he always kept around the library. It wasn't really cold, so
Fraser assumed he wore it more because it was comfortable than for warmth.

 "I suppose so, yes." Of course, Mike actually had an education as a
librarian, unlike Fraser, who was just using the skills he had picked up
from his grandparents. Although some aspects of library science were
surprisingly like working in the RCMP--administration was the same
everywhere.

 "Weren't you supposed to get off at five?" Mike indicated the clock on
the wall, which was on twenty past five.

 "Well, yes, but I thought I'd finish the cataloging first. There isn't
much left."

 "Oh, you workaholic," Mike said, shaking his head, but he was smiling.

 "I don't mind, really," Fraser said mildly.

 "I'll take over that, and you go on home." Making shooing motions with
his hands, Mike took over the chair at the computer and adjusted it to fit
his somewhat shorter stature. Fraser stretched his back, which had gotten
a little stiff while he sat, and then began to lace his boots.

 "See you on Sunday, then?" Mike asked.

 "Of course." Fraser nodded at Mike, who raised his hand in goodbye, and
then he left the library. Fraser always looked forward to their Sunday
afternoon chess matches, which he invariably won. That was not really the
point, though.

 His cabin was a couple of kilometers easy walk from town, north along the
Dempster highway, where he walked in the grass beside the road, keeping
some distance from the clouds of dust stirred up when a vehicle drove by.
It was the height of the tourist season, such as it was, and occasionally
a station wagon or car would pass by on its way to the shack marking the
end of the road.

 A Jeep pulled up beside him and honked its horn. Marie Latour leaned
over, opening the door. "Hey Fraser, want a ride?"

 "Thank you kindly." He climbed into the passenger seat, and Marie drove
on. There was a whine and a yip from the cage in the back, and he turned
in his seat and let the husky sniff his hand through the wire mesh.

 "I've been to the vet with Isabelle. She's been having problems, and we
finally figured out it was her eyes. She seems to have corneal dystrophy."

 "I'm very sorry to hear that. Have you bred her?"

 "No, luckily we never did. Wouldn't want to pass that on."

 "No, indeed." Fraser frowned. "She's one of your oldest, isn't she?"

 "Yeah, we got her just after we moved up here. I hate the thought of
putting her down. Ah well, that's life." Marie turned right down a gravel
road, navigating around the potholes. "Your Gally is doing fine, though,
she's putting on weight now."

 "She certainly should, the way she's eating. It's really very good of you
to take her on while I work."

 "Ah, it's no chore, really. One more doesn't make much difference.
Besides, it's good for her to be with the other dogs." Marie turned
sharply to park next to her house. By the front door was a neat sign
saying "Inuvik Sledding Adventures". A clamor of sharp barks and yips
greeted them from the fenced-in yard, and Jean-Louis' dark curly head
stuck out through the open window. "Ah, Marie, le diner est bientot pret."

 "J'arrive tout de suite!" Marie opened the back door for Isabelle, and
Fraser tipped his hat to her. "Merci de m'avoir conduit. Au revoir,
Marie."

 "Au revoir, Fraser."

 When he opened the gate to the fence, Gally came bounding up to him,
enthusiastically jumping up to plant her muddy forepaws on his shirt in
what was undoubtedly intended as a display of affection. She had been a
gift from the Latours and Maggie, who felt that he shouldn't live alone,
and they hadn't taken no for an answer.

 "Down, Gally. That's terrible manners, you know." Her tail briefly
lowered, before she forgot his reproach with the irrepressible good cheer
of youth. He shook his head. Perhaps he was too lenient with her.

 The last kilometer of the road to his cabin was neglected, the grass
growing high between the wheel ruts and small birches taking root among
the gravel. He had no car of his own, and his visitors weren't frequent
enough to keep the road clear. Mike thought he ought to buy a car, but
Fraser didn't see the need. The town was within walking distance, after
all.

 Fraser only went into his cabin to pack a small backpack with supplies,
then closed the door behind him again and set off, Gally beside him. There
was a path down to the creek; he had worn it himself over the years. He
crossed the slow, green waters on a plank, then looked back to see Gally
balking at the narrow crossing. Fraser went back and picked her up in his
arms with a grunt of effort, and set her down on the other side.

 The sky was clear and his feet felt light. This was a good day--there was
only a twinge in his bad leg, and he knew it would wear off as he warmed
up. He might be too old now for jumping off rooftops, even if he hadn't
lost the heart for it years ago, but he could still walk far into the
sunlit summer night. Sparse clumps of birch and black spruce dotted the
landscape as he climbed up the gentle slope of the land to the northeast
of town. This land had been mauled by ice sheets once, scraped down to the
bone and reshaped, but that was long ago now, and the shrubs and trees
remembered nothing of it.

 The trees grew fewer and more stunted as he reached higher ground. His
cellphone rang, and he startled slightly at the unexpected sound. Maggie
insisted he carry one when he was out on his own. He pulled the small flat
phone from his pocket and activated it with his thumbprint. "Benton Fraser
speaking."

 "Hi, Ben," said Maggie's somewhat crackly voice.

 "Hi, Maggie."

 "...ould...inne...ight?"

 "Come again? The signal seems to be weak." Through the static, she
managed to convey a dinner invitation for tomorrow night, and Fraser
accepted.

 He soon reached the measurement site that was his first goal. Fraser
fitted a small open-ended box to the ground. After ten minutes had passed,
he took out a small battery-powered pump from his backpack and used it to
fill bottles with the air from the box. He carefully noted the date and
site on the bottle. The permafrost had always been partial this close to
the warming influence of the Mackenzie River, but lately it had been
melting further, probably due to the greenhouse effect. The station
belonged to a research project that tried to determine the amount of
methane released by the melting permafrost. They'd needed volunteers, and
Fraser had been happy to help.

 He hiked towards the second measurement site, over springy crowberry
brush. Gally shied back with a yelp as she flushed out a duck from a pond.
The bird flew off with an aggrieved squawk, and Fraser smiled.

 "Yes, you were," he said softly to the half-wolf who was not there. "We
have all been that young."

 There was no reply, of course, except the wind in the bushes and a
remembered nose nudging his hand.

 He walked on, Gally running ahead. Perhaps it was time for a break
soon--he was beginning to feel hungry. He'd brought some food along for
Gally as well; she was still growing and it was important that she eat
regularly.

 "Gally, come here!" She was ranging on the far side of a patch of boggy
ground, probably investigating some scent.

 "Gally!" He shouted again, then: "Galadriel!"

 Such were the hazards of letting your niece name a puppy.

 Gally came loping up at the prospect of food, and they found a little
knoll raised above the wet ground. Fraser ate pemmican, dried apples and a
piece of bread, and Gally quickly wolfed down her kibble and then followed
his every movement. He sighed and relented, giving her a piece of
pemmican, then scratched her soft, pointed ears. She leaned into his hand.

 There was a small bird flitting in and out of the nearest willow shrub,
probably a Lapland longspur, with its black face and chest. Fraser watched
it, and its chirps and whistles mingled with the wind in the leaves, in a
mesh of sound that was comforting and familiar. There had been times when
he envied the birds and animals. He had wanted nothing more than to lie
down on the ground and be part of the little lives, be filled with their
mindlessness, simply living without thought of past or future.

 Gally licked at his hand. Yes, he knew that he was human and had
responsibilities. "All right, let's go."

 He stopped by the second measurement site, then headed home. The sun was
nearly in the north, indicating midnight. Ray had thought...Fraser tamped
down the thought out of habit, but then finished it deliberately. Ray had
thought there ought to be something special about the midnight sun, some
mystical quality that wasn't present during the hours of the day, but that
wasn't so, and he'd been disappointed during his first summer here. It was
simply sunlight, for days and days on end.

 He walked without thinking about it, over dry heath, then through boggy
sedge-covered wetlands, the mosquitoes staying away as long as he kept
moving. Gally stayed close to him, no longer ranging ahead, and when he
carried her over the creek she was a dead weight in his arms. In the
cabin, she curled into an exhausted ball of fur, the still too-large paws
tucked beneath her. Perhaps the hike had been too much--he ought to be
more careful of her.

 Fraser sat down in the armchair with a book, making little notes in the
margin. It was not cold enough for a fire, but he drew a quilt around his
legs, as much for comfort as for warmth. As he grew older, he found that
he needed less and less sleep, even more so during the summer.

 It was 2:30 am before he slept. He lay on his side, as if curled around
the shape of a man who was no longer there, who had, in fact, left many
years ago.

 ***

 "Oh, Ben, there you are!" Maggie looked up from tending the grill out on
the lawn, and gave him a quick hug.

 "Hello, Maggie."

 On the grass, her husband David was playing ball with Susan, their
youngest, but she abandoned the game as soon as she saw Gally, and they
were soon involved in a tugging match over a piece of rope. Dusting off
his hands, David left them to it and nodded a greeting to Fraser.

 "Can I help you with anything?" Fraser asked.

 Maggie put slabs of meat on the grill, dripping with marinade. "Well, it
would be great if you could coax Sam out of hiding. I wish she'd spend
more time with actual people and not just imaginary ones."

 "Well, I can try, although I don't know why you're sending a librarian to
convince someone to stop reading."

 Maggie grinned. "We've had this argument before, I know."

 Fraser found Sam on the second floor, where she was deeply engrossed in
The Fellowship of the Ring. She looked up when he approached. "Oh, hi. Mom
sent you, right?"

 "Indeed, she did. She wants you to come down for dinner."

 "She just doesn't understand. I mean, those are her friends coming over
for dinner. They're grown-ups, why would I want to sit and talk with
them?" She looked remorseful as she realized what she'd said. "Sorry, I
didn't mean to include you in that."

 Fraser laughed. "That's all right. And I think it's in the nature of
parents not to understand."

 "Yeah, well, you grew up with librarians, right? I bet they didn't mind
you reading."

 "They didn't, no. But we found other areas in which to disagree. Tell you
what, let's make a compromise: you come down for the actual dinner, but
after that, I'll make sure you can slip away."

 "Okay, fine. I just need to finish this chapter, and then I promise I'll
come down."

 "All right, that sounds good." She grinned at him and curled up with the
book again.

 When he came down, the other dinner guests had arrived. Sergeant Merrill
shook his hand briefly and awkwardly. Even though it had been years, he
never seemed to know quite what to make of Fraser since he was no longer
in the RCMP, and Fraser was just as happy not to socialize with him. Not
that he'd been particularly comfortable with having Fraser under his
command, either, although there had never been any discrimination that
Fraser was aware of.

 If the sergeant was taciturn, his wife Dorothy Merrill made up for it in
spades. She had her hand in most of the happenings in town, and after
inquiring after his and Gally's health, the conversation turned to her
daughter's art class, and whether it would be possible to arrange an
exhibition of the students' works at the library.

 "All right, everybody! The food is done," Maggie announced, lifting the
last pieces of meat off the grill. Taking advantage of the summer season,
there was also a salad, along with bread and cheese. Susan and Gally
abandoned the lawn, both grubby and with remarkably similar expressions of
hunger on their faces.

 "Hey you, this is human food." Maggie smacked Gally away. Fraser heaped
his plate with food and sat down at the table.

 "Mind if I sit down?" asked a young woman with straight brown hair in a
ponytail. She was the latest addition to the RCMP detachment; Fraser had
seen her around town. She seemed very young to him, and even out of
uniform she had the kind of posture that only military drills seemed to
instill.

 "Please do." Fraser moved over on the bench, and held out his hand. "I'm
Benton Fraser."

 "Yeah, I know. I'm Holly Andersen." He wondered what she'd heard about
him--Fraser had no illusions about what some of the townspeople thought
about him. But her handshake was firm, and she met his eyes squarely.

 They started eating, and made conversation in between mouthfuls. "Is
Inuvik your first posting?"

 She looked a little rueful. "Is it that obvious?"

 "No, not at all. I merely...you seem young, that's all. Or perhaps that's
my own age showing."

 "Well, I am young, I guess. I graduated from Depot this spring, and I was
youngest in my troop." Fraser felt abruptly nostalgic--he had been the
youngest member of his troop, as well--but then mentally shook his head.
Good Lord, feeling nostalgic over his time at Depot. His younger self
would have been incredulous.

 "Was this your choice of posting, or were you stationed here?" he asked,
curious.

 "I was stationed here, though I didn't mind it. I'm from Whitehorse--not
as far north as here, but not exactly Toronto, either. I'm just
adventurous and like to see different parts of the country, I guess.
Always been." She grinned.

 "And how do you like Inuvik, then?"

 "Oh, fine. It's such a small place, and that takes some getting used to.
But the landscape--it's gorgeous." She gestured down towards the river
delta.

 "Yes, it is."

 "Actually, can I..." She trailed off and took a drink of water, then
began again. "I've heard a lot about your time on the force, and I know
you worked this area for a long time. I thought maybe you had some
experience to share?"

 "Well, I'd be glad to, of course," Fraser said, feeling unexpectedly
touched at her request. "Although I suspect some of my methods are
considered old-fashioned. People don't usually patrol using dogsleds
nowadays."

 "Hey, that's all right. Go on." She had put her cutlery down and was
listening avidly.

 "I think the most important thing I've learned over the years is the
importance of working with a partner." He fought down the vulnerable
feeling that she would somehow see through him, would see the history
behind those words, and continued. "When I was young, I often went out
alone, and while I did get results, it was often by sheer luck, or through
danger to myself or others. You need someone at your back, someone you can
trust."

 She nodded, although he suspected that she didn't truly understand, not
yet. Like most young people, she thought herself invulnerable, and most
likely, that was the quality she had admired in the stories she had heard
about him. Fraser smiled inwardly, and wondered how much the stories had
grown in the telling. Perhaps the nuclear submarine was now a full-fledged
Russian invasion force.

 "Secondly, I believe the use of smell and taste as an investigative
method is sadly underrated," he continued, deadpan. She looked at him
sharply, and then laughed when he let the corners of his mouth twitch up.

 "On a more serious note, I want to emphasize the importance of
communication and understanding among different cultural groups. I had the
advantage of growing up among Inuit children, but I don't think that's
necessary in order to work with these issues. There are deep-seated
conflicts here, and the RCMP is rightly criticized for the role they have
played historically. But I do believe that much good can be done by
talking to people and actually listening to what they have to say." Fraser
realized that he had slipped into his lecturing mode. "I'm sorry, I didn't
mean to preach. No doubt they teach you these things at Depot nowadays."

 "Not as much as you'd think. And I don't know this area well--could you
tell me more about the situation here?"

 "Of course." They launched into an interesting comparison of the
Whitehorse and Inuvik areas, until Maggie called out that there was ice
cream for dessert. They rose, taking their plates into the kitchen for
washing. "Maggie is an experienced officer as well, you know. I think you
can learn a lot from her."

 "Oh yeah. She's a great colleague, and she's really helped me a lot."

 Fraser saw Sam sneaking up the stairs with a bowl of ice cream, and she
grinned at him like a co-conspirator. He gave her a thumbs-up.

 They went out again into the summer evening. Holly went to get some
dessert, but Fraser hung back, leaning against the wall of the house and
looking at the people seated around the tables, talking and eating. The
next-door neighbors had come over as well, and he listened to the soft
chatter of conversation and the clink of knife and fork against porcelain.
He looked down towards the river, at the generous green of summer.

 "Hey." Maggie nudged him in the side with her elbow, a cup of tea in
either hand. "You all right, Ben?"

 He took the tea with a nod of thanks and blew on it, then sipped
gingerly. "Yes, I'm fine. Really."

 She nodded. "Good. What did you think of Constable Andersen?"

 "Well, she's young, of course. But I think she'll make a fine officer."

 "Yes, she will. Are you staying for dessert?"

 "Perhaps."

 Maggie frowned at him, and he smiled fondly at her. "I know what you're
thinking, but you don't have to worry so much about me."

 She smiled back and bumped their shoulders together. "Ben, worrying is
what you do when you're family."

 They stood in comfortable silence for a while. At the table, there was a
crash and the neighbors' boy raised his voice in indignant surprise, and
Susan laughed, then broke off with a yelp. Maggie frowned. "I'd better go
see what she's up to now."

 Fraser drank his tea, cooler now, and thought about sitting down at the
table again. He could make small talk, exchange pleasantries with the
neighbors. It was the kind of thing he was good at, if he wanted to. But
he didn't want to. Quietly, he fetched Gally, who was dozing on the lawn,
and slipped away. Maggie would understand.

 ***

 The light streamed in through the western window of the cabin. Fraser was
sweeping the floor, and the dust motes stirred up by his broom leapt and
danced in the slanting light. The simple, recurring household tasks were
like an anchor--this place, this cabin was his home, and he had swept this
floor countless times. His hands on the broom handle had worn it smooth.

 Living alone was not effortless, it was true; no longer simply the
natural state of being, but he had made his peace with it.

 Fraser opened the door and dumped the floor sweepings to the side. He
glanced at the angle of the light. It looked to be around six; Mike would
soon be by and it was time to get dinner ready. Fraser took down the pail
he'd placed on a high shelf, out of reach of greedy young huskies, and
gutted the trout he'd caught that afternoon by the river. He set the
slippery innards aside for Gally, and put rice on to cook. As he took out
the frying pan to fry the fish, he heard the rumble of Mike's old Ford
coming down the road. The butter was just turning the right shade of
golden brown when Fraser heard his knock on the door.

 "Come in," he said, putting the first two fillets in the pan. Mike opened
the door and stepped inside, taking his boots off and setting them neatly
by the door. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt that actually looked
new.

 "I brought some tomatoes from the greenhouse." Mike held up a bag full of
round, red fruits.

 "Thank you, that's perfect. I had run out of greens."

 Mike moved closer to the frying pan, sniffing appreciatively at the air.
"That smells delicious. Have you been fishing?"

 "Yes, I was down by the river earlier today." Fraser turned the fillets.

 "I'll set the table, all right?"

 "Please, do." Fraser had only four plates, and he could hardly remember
the last time they were all used at the same time. Mike knew where they
were kept, and he took two plates out of the cupboard, along with cutlery
and two glasses, which he filled with water, while Fraser finished up with
the fish.

 "Did you hear that the town council is planning to cut down on the
funding for the library?" Mike said as they sat down to eat.

 "They are?" Fraser frowned. "We're short on money as it is. Hmm. Perhaps
we could organize a petition, and ask library visitors to sign."

 "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. We can get on it tomorrow." They
fell silent for a while, enjoying the food. The tomatoes were sweet and
ripe, a luxury Fraser savored. After dinner, they cleared the table and
Fraser brought out the chess set that he had carved a couple of years ago.

 Mike made the first move, moving a white pawn forward two steps. "I
really can't remember when I went fishing last. I hardly know how, I
think." He looked thoughtful.

 "Really? I'll take you sometime, if you want." Fraser likewise moved a
pawn forward. It was more of a russet brown than black, carved from the
heartwood of a tamarack, while the white pieces were made of light-colored
birch wood.

 "Hey, don't smile like that. I know I don't exactly fit the Inuit
stereotype. Really, you're more of an Inuit than I am." He certainly
looked Inuit where he sat at the table, his hair black where it hadn't yet
turned grey, and eyes slightly tilted, although Fraser guessed there were
qallunaaq in his ancestry, too.

 "Yes, I know you grew up further south." Mike had never volunteered much
information about his background, and Fraser hadn't asked. Of course, it
wasn't as if Fraser had talked much about his background, either.

 Fraser had still been in a bad way when Mike had offered him a job at the
library. But Mike didn't ask, just said, when he came to return his loans,
that they were looking for someone to work a part-time job, and he'd
noticed how much he loved books. Town gossip being what it was, there was
no way he didn't know Fraser's circumstances, but he never said a word.

 "Yeah." Mike moved another pawn with his solid brown hand, and hesitated.
"I was born up here, but my father wanted to move south, so we did." He
took a deep breath and continued in a low voice. "He drank a lot, and I
think he beat my mother, though she never spoke of it. My mother always
wanted us kids to have a better life, and she worked hard so that we could
go to school."

 There was an unaccustomed note of bitterness in his voice, usually
easygoing and full of good humor. Fraser reached across the table to
briefly clasp his hand. "I'm sorry."

 Mike smiled ruefully. "I guess that's not an uncommon story, is it?
Alcohol is a curse."

 "Yes, it is," Fraser said softly, looking down at the table.

 It had been remarkably easy for him to slip, afterwards. Fraser had never
cared much for alcohol, either the taste of it or its intoxicating
effects, but he hadn't really known what it could do before. Whole
stretches of time, hours, days even, could be rendered mercifully blank
and free of pain. The bodily discomfort had been a small price to pay.

 Finally, he had chosen not to forget any longer, and it was a choice he
still made every day, even if time had made it easier.

 "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to remind you..." Mike trailed off, looking as
if he regretted bringing it up.

 "No, it's all right. Thank you for telling me about your family."

 "Well, I guess I wanted you to know." Mike shrugged his shoulders a
little and smiled tentatively.

 "Would you like a cup of tea?" Fraser offered, to break the slight
awkwardness of the moment.

 "Yes, thanks." Fraser got up and made them both some tea, steeping birch
leaves in two cups. They hadn't touched the game in some time, and Fraser
looked at the board. "We don't have to finish the game if you'd rather
not."

 "Oh, don't worry, it's an old pain. We can go on. If you feel like it?"
He waited for Fraser's answering nod, then moved a rook and took out one
of Fraser's knights. "Not that I think I'll win this time either. Although
I live in hope."

 "You're an optimist, Mike. I think it's a good quality." Fraser moved,
taking his rook in turn. "What made you move back north? If you don't want
to talk about it, I understand."

 "Well, I never felt entirely at home there, and I guess I thought I would
in the north. But I don't quite fit in here, either. I've been to
university, and that made me different." Mike sipped at his tea.

 "Yes, I recognize that feeling." Fraser moved his bishop, threatening
Mike's king. "Check."

 Mike frowned, rubbing his fingers through his graying hair. He made an
evasive maneuver with his king. "Anyway. Now that I've been here a while,
I've found that I actually like the small town life. People gossip, of
course, but there's no real maliciousness behind it. At least, not most of
the time."

 "I suppose not." Although gossip could still hurt, regardless of intent.
He moved again, this time definitely cornering Mike. "Checkmate."

 "Ah, I don't know why I come back for this," Mike complained, but his
voice was warm, in contrast with his words.

 "You're getting better. One of these days you're going to beat me."
Fraser looked at the chessboard and their cups of half-finished tea.

 "You're just saying that to cheer me up." Mike clasped his sturdy hands
on the table, fingers interwoven, and looked down at them, seeming to
hesitate. "Do you never get lonely living this isolated? Miss having other
people living around you, I mean?"

 "No," Fraser said slowly. "Not in that way, at least," he amended.

 Mike nodded. "But in other ways?"

 Fraser met his brown eyes. "Sometimes. Yes." he admitted.

 He gathered up the pieces of the chess set, to occupy his hands with
something. Mike must have taken it to mean that the evening was over,
because he glanced at his watch. "Well, maybe I should get on home. It's
getting late."

 "If you want to, yes." There was a silence, as of a breath held back.
Fraser looked away, aware that his words could be taken as a question, or
an offer. He hadn't planned it that way.

 "Unless...I could stay. If you wanted me to." Mike said softly, and
reached out to touch Fraser's hand.

 The touch was brief, but his meaning was clear. Fraser hesitated. Mike's
hand had felt warm on his own, and it had been many years since anyone had
touched him with an honest offer of intimacy. The memory of Ray's hands on
his body was like the touch of a ghost, and distant with the passage of
time. He had thought there would never be anyone else.

 Slowly, he reached out for Mike's hand in return.  
  

End The Passage of Time by Luzula 

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