He had to know    

This was inspired not only by LaT's plea for for the fill in the blank
CotW conversation on Serge but by an uncanny email she sent me on the
subject in a later discussion. I apologise for the length: in my usual
quest for resolution, what started as a three page quickie turned into
pages and pages of sappy ends-tying-up. 

Standard disclaimers: All characters belong to Alliance and possibly Paul
Haggis. If they were mine I'd set them free. 

Thanks to Kellie for encouragement and minute by minute beta and endless
patience; and to LaT, for the email that got this whole mess started. And
of course thanks to the entire No More RayK Apologia Testosterone Brigade
for the hand-holding and general silliness they always provide. 

NC-17; M/M (duh!); F/K (double duh!); US (Unadulterated Sap) 

	 

Belong 

© 1999 AuKestrel  

  

I gotta know. This isn't the kind of thing you pretend isn't there,
that'll go away if you ignore it or if you pretend hard enough. This is my
life. Which is kinda funny, really, because I'm not sure now what my life
is, haven't been sure since the twenty-fourth floor, since that hotel
room. Since I had to ask if I still had a partner. 

	And got a typical Fraser answer. "If you'll have me." 

	Well, who the hell else would I have? Who the hell else would I
jump on and off a plane for? And who the hell else would carry me up the
side of a fucking mountain? Yeah. Who else would have me? Maybe that
should have been the second question, the second answer. 

	And the third question, yeah, okay, this is starting to go
somewhere . . . who else do I have? And who else does Fraser have? Okay,
besides the incredibly weird Frobisher and the incredibly opportune
Delmar. 

	And what else does Fraser have? He's been kinda remote since he
turned the bad guy over to the RCMP. That light in his eyes, the one that
kindled that smile on his face in the middle of a goddamn ice field, is
still there, but it's tempered now by sadness. Sadness at going back to
Chicago? Sadness at losing the Ice Queen? Although, frankly, I never
thought Fraser'd had the Ice Queen anyhow; but that was some kiss. If we
hadn't spent most of our free time together I might've thought there was a
relationship there, one they'd just been really low-key about; but Fraser
didn't have time.  

	And really I don't care, right now, about the Ice Queen. We'd
finally gotten a few minutes alone when she had to butt in and waltz him
off and kiss him under those big fucking Canadian stars. When Fraser came
back, looking more than dazed, he hadn't seemed too inclined to continue
the conversation we'd started, which was okay by me, because it seemed to
be heading in that "see you in Chicago, maybe, have a nice life, we'll
always be friends" direction. So yeah, I was pissed at the Ice Queen but
kind of relieved, too. Relieved at the time. But the not knowing . . . the
not knowing where I belong, if I belong . . . the not knowing is getting
to me. So, yeah. I gotta know. It has to be faced. I've faced divorce. I
too have known loss and, on occasion, loneliness. Not for a long time,
though. Not since . . . well, not since I gave up my life and took over
someone else's.  

	And I wouldn't trade it. Wouldn't trade this time with the Mountie
for anything in the whole world, not even for Stella. I hoped . . . I used
to think, anyhow . . . that Fraser wouldn't trade it either. I'd thought
that up until the moment I saw the smile on Fraser's face when the door
opened and the real Ray Vecchio was standing on the other side.  

	Vecchio. Yeah, that was my mistake, right there. I could've said
no to the assignment. And even after that I could've said no to the
Mountie. In what universe? Can anyone say no to Benton Fraser? I've never
been able to and the hell of it is that I know Vecchio can't, or couldn't,
either, which makes his decision to go undercover in the first place even
more confusing to a flatfoot of little brain like me. But anyhow, I
could've just been professional, you know, liaised in the daytime, brooded
and danced in solitary at night. Instead I said yes. Yes to 'a bite to
eat.' Yes to friends. Yes to partners. Yes to pretty much anything he
asked of me, eventually, even a fucking suicide mission to a ghost ship.
Stupid, yeah. No argument there. That stupidity was only exceeded, on my
part, by jumping onto Muldoon's goddamn plane with the Mountie, all on
that vague, "If you'll have me." 

	Yeah, that stupidity got me tossed in thirty feet of snow,
ratcheted up the side of a mountain where I know, even if Fraser sounds
reassuring, that I almost bought the farm (the snow, ice, and rock farm,
Canada style) and would have if he hadn't hauled me up and whaled the both
of us down the other side, and then ended up facing down a nuclear sub. In
spite of that, I'm still here. Why the hell am I still here? Almost
everyone else has taken off already. Muldoon's on his way to jail along
with the 62nd Parallel Airborne for escort; Thatcher's long since gone;
even Frobisher is making tent-taking-down noises. But Fraser hasn't
mentioned leaving. He's not going to. I know that. I mean, he's not
leaving. He's in like Flynn with the RCMP now. But soon enough he'll start
making tent-taking-down noises in my direction; he's just too damn polite
to be premature about it. 

	And so why am I still here? Wasn't this enough of an adventure? It
was. Yeah. Wow. I guess. Trouble was, I was so fucking cold or scared to
death or worried about keeping up with Fraser I didn't really have time to
enjoy having my life risked in a myriad of wildly bizarre ways, as only
Fraser can. And I'm still here because . . . because I'm here . . .
because I . . . because every damn time he risks my life, he risks his
own, and more, to save me. I'm still here because he's my partner. My
friend. I'm still here . . . why? Because I'm stupid. Because I got no
life. And I gotta get me one of those, immediately if not sooner.  

	"You're very quiet tonight," Fraser says, poking the fire. "I'm
sorry." 

	Huh? Wha - ? "Huh? Sorry about what?"  

	"About Stella." 

	"Stella? Stella who? Assistant State's Attorney Stella? Gee,
Fraser, I left my Canadian dictionary in Chicago, stupid, you say, but
see, I didn't know I was gonna get dragged up to the Great White - " 

	"Ray, I assumed that you'd heard about Stella." He's not kidding.
Now I'm worried. 

	"No. What happened? Was she hurt? Jesus, Fraser!" 

	He leans forward and puts a mittened hand on mine. "Ray, no, of
course not. She's fine. It would simply appear that she and Ray, er, Ray
Vecchio have a great deal in common. Quite a bit, in fact. I . . . I
understand they're engaged." 

	"Wow." 

	"Quite so." 

	"Wow. Stella? And Vecchio? Already?" I just stare. I can't do
anything else. He gets worried after a minute and puts his other hand over
mine.  

	"I thought you'd heard. I wouldn't have broken it to you in quite
that fashion if I'd known " 

	I can't hold back the laughter for another second, and he watches
me for a moment in disbelief before sitting back, an answering smile
coming to his lips.  

	"Evidently my fears were unfounded." 

	"Been over her for a while, Frase. Vecchio. Gold Coast girl. Oh,
God." Almost as funny as me and Stella. The image sets me off again and
Fraser watches me indulgently. After I settle a little, we exchange a few
comments on Stella's probable reaction to Ma Vecchio, vice versa, and how
soon Frannie'll move out, assuming, that is, that Stella agrees to move
in. 

God, I'm gonna miss this. This talking stuff. This not talking stuff.
Gonna miss him. This friendship we got, it's a once in a life time thing,
I think. I mean, I could see us being friends for ever, thick and thin,
richer and poorer, sickness and health . . . it's kinda funny that it's
those words I think of right now, that they're so right for what we've
got, that they fit us better than they ever fit me and Stella.	

At least, they used to. Or I thought they did. But hey, I'm good at that
self delusion thing. I do that good. Because, you know, since Vecchio got
back the only hint I've gotten from Fraser about this friendship deal is
the "If you'll have me." Although I do kinda remember him, or me, talking
about partnerships on the side of that mountain. Or someone else was
talking about 'em. I was hallucinating, whatever. And, Fraser, you know,
actions speak louder than words, and he did drag me up that mountain, even
though I slowed us way the hell down. Still can't help wondering who he'd
rather have had on that plane with him, though, because Fraser could've
just dragged me up that mountain and back down again because he's a
Mountie and not because it was me at all; Vecchio was laid up so I
could've been second choice, replacement Ray, as usual. 

	"Red ships," I say out loud. 

	Fraser looks up quick at that. "Ah. You remember that?" 

	"Was that it? Not really. I remember someone talking about
partnerships." 

	"That was . . . you." 

	"Yeah." I hesitate a minute. "You know, Frase, I'm, uh, sorry
about all that." 

	"About what, Ray?" 

	"About the mountain. About slowing you down. I don't know how you
did it." 

	A rustle and a thud and he's sitting next to me on top of the
groundsheet, kinda unexpected because Fraser's not what you'd call
demonstrative. In fact, he's kinda the textbook definition of the
opposite. And then he blows my mind completely when he puts an arm around
me and fucking squeezes my shoulders.  

	"I was overjoyed to have you with me, Ray. I will never forget
standing on top of that peak with you." 

	Okay, snow plus cold plus Canada equals demonstrative,
communicative Mountie. Where the heck do I sign? Green card? Can I get
one? Do I need one? Good time to risk this conversation, then, and enjoy
the warmth, the strength, the feel of the arm around my shoulders. Feel
connected. Feel hopeful, again. He was overjoyed to be with me. The real
me. I mean, the me that's here, not that not-me that's in Chicago with
Stella. Stella and Ma Vecchio. No, don't go there. You got Fraser talkin'
now, don't start laughin' your fool head off at irrelevant mental images. 

	"Partnership? You, uh, started to say somethin' about that the
other night." 

	"Ah. Yes. Buck Frobisher and my father. You know " he pauses a
minute, swallows, then says, "they had a falling out." 

	"And this has to do with us how?" 

	"But they, ah, they made the leap. And they were partners even
when they weren't together." 

	Yeah. There goes the hope. But not the arm, not yet, anyhow. What
the hell. Stick my arm around his waist. He tenses a little, glances
sidewise at me fast, then relaxes again. 

	"So you and Vecchio . . ." 

	He looks at me like I've lost my mind.
	"Ray, what does Ray Vecchio have to do with this? Aside from the
fact that he is in Chicago and we are here?" 

	"You know. Partners. Even when you're apart." 

	"I've always thought the point of partners is being together, Ray,
and I know my father felt the same way about Buck Frobisher."	      

	I sigh. 

	He gives me a little shake. 

	"I was referring to our partnership, Ray." 

	"I got that, now." Sigh again. "Gonna miss you, Frase." 

	"Ah." 

	"I'm not gonna miss those monosyllables, annoying Mountie." 

	He chuckles. After a few more minutes, he asks, "Are you warm
enough, Ray?" 

	"I don't think my body remembers warm. Half frozen, yeah, I'm
good." 

	He reaches over and pulls a sleeping bag around both of us. We
stare a while into the fire in silence, each of us still with an arm
around the other. Feel like crying, almost. Partners. Us. I don't want to
leave. I got nothin' to go back to. Even if I did, I wouldn't want to
leave, because I want, I think I need, to be where Fraser is. Damn. At
least this is a nice good bye, a campfire, Fraser solid against me,
finally getting a little warmer under the sleeping bag with the Mountie's
body heat working on it. He probably has excess body heat just like he has
excess lung capacity. But it's best not to think about that either, about
the moment when our partnership crystallised, for me anyhow. 

	He sighs, this time. 

	"Somethin' wrong, Fraser?" 

	"Not at all, Ray. Almost everything is right." 

	"You been kinda sad since we nailed Muldoon." 

	"Ah, well, that was simply . . . well, missing my father. It felt
. . . it felt . . . I felt as if I were losing him again." 

	My turn to squeeze. Can't think of anything happy to say so I
state the obvious. "You're back in Canada, though." 

	"Very true, Ray." 

	"You can stay, now." 

	Utter silence. Big dumb Mountie, it hasn't filtered through that
brain yet that he done good. Very good. Welcomed back to the fold with
open arms prodigal son type good. Saved the Northwest Areas, Territories,
whatever, good. I knew before he did. Knew he was staying. That makes me
feel good for a minute, before I remember the separation part, which makes
me feel bad again, so I make more conversation. 

	 "Where do you think you can get assigned?" 

	"I . . . I'm not quite sure. I haven't . . . it hasn't quite sunk
in yet. That I'm home to stay. Yes. Well. There are choices. The
Territories aren't always a popular assignment." 

	"You know what'd be fun, Frase, is if you got assigned somewhere
up there near that place you were telling me about. The Franklin place." 

	"There's not a place, per se, Ray; that's the point. No one's
found the Hand " 

	"I know, I know. But, you know, someplace that'd be a base, so you
could check stuff out in yer off time." 

	"That's rather a deserted area of " 

	"And this isn't? Aw, come on, Frase, where's your sense of
adventure?" 

	He turns his head and looks at me with just about the funniest
expression I've ever seen on his face, a combination of exasperation,
pride, and disbelief. "The nuclear submarine wasn't exciting enough?" 

	"Exciting, yeah, but I was too scared to remember most of it. I
told you. Someday I'll have an adventure." 

	"Ray . . ." 

	"Yeah?" 

	"When is someday?" His arm tightens around me, and I stop thinking
that it's a guy who's got me in a clinch, because there's no one around
but Dief and Frobisher, and I start thinking instead that it feels damn
good. I like bein' held. I like bein' held by Fraser. And I like what I
think he's saying. 

	"Uh, someday. Someday soon? Fraser . . . really?" 

	"I . . . I will miss you. More than I thought possible." 

	"Wait a minute, are you askin' me or not?" 

	"Ray, it is completely and utterly selfish of me to think of such
a thing. You have a career, friends, family in Chicago. A whole life. " 

	"Yeah." And I'll just slow him down. He belongs here. I don't. Say
it out loud. "You belong here." 

	"I . . . I wish you felt that you did." 

	Whip my head around so fast he doesn't have time to draw back and
we're eyeball to eyeball, I can see the lines around his eyes, the crack
in the middle of his lower lip from the cold dry air that matches the one
on mine, and I can smell him, kerosene, leather, dogs, and plain old
Fraser. He stares back. Canadian standoff. I can see him exhale, white
fog, from his nose, mingling with mine from my mouth. 

	"I don't know where I belong any more," I say, quiet, two inches
from his mouth, watching my breath mist into his parted lips. 

	He watches me steadily. 

	"I don't have a division any more. A job. Hell, a life. I don't
know . . . " I have to look down finally, but I look right back up. "I
didn't expect this. I expected it, but not like this, not now. The fact of
the deal is, Fraser, I didn't think past tomorrow. I was having too much
fun." 

	He quirks a smile at that. Doesn't move his head. "Fun? I don't
think you've ever called it that before." 

	"Yeah, well, cards on the table, Fraser. Bein' yer partner is
fun." 

	"Is that why you're here?" 

	Those words hang in the air, too warm to be frozen, for a long
time. A long scary time. A long enough, scary enough time for me to think
about life, here, and life, there. Here, with Fraser. There, without
Fraser. Here, with snow and ice. There, with Vecchio and Stella. Not . . .
not a whole lotta difference, after all, climate wise. 

	He's still watching me, and it's pretty hard to read his face.
He's steady, unblinking even. He says again, "Is that why you're here,
Ray?" And, fast, drops his eyes for a second, twitches that thumb across
that eyebrow. That tells me everything I need to know. Gives me the
courage to open my mouth. 

"I'm here because my life is here. And it pretty much revolves around you.
About how I feel about me, when I'm with you. About how I'm someone
different when I'm around you. Well, okay, not someone different, I'm
still me, I'm just more me, a me I didn't know about, a me I like." 

	"I . . . like you too." 

	"I know." 

	"All those things you don't have, Ray . . ." 

	"Yeah?" 

	"Would time be one of the things you do have?" 

	"Sure. How much time?"	

	"As much as it takes." 

	"Can you be a little more specific? Is that Canadian for, you
know, two days or two months or something?" 

	"Forever." And I'm losing what little mind I have left because
Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, is leaning closer to me, his
lips parting, his eyes closing and I'm leaning forward too, right in there
with him, on the same page as always. Which is why I wanna smack my own
smart mouth about three nanoseconds later. 

	"You about to kiss me, Frase?" 

	"Ah, yes. Evidently." 

	He still hasn't moved his head and our lips are almost touching. I
can feel the heat from his mouth. 

	"Why?" 

	"Because . . . oh dear."  

	Yeah, that did it. Nice going, Kowalski. He backs off a little,
looking faintly embarrassed. 

	"Oh dear what? Did I say no?" 

	"Ray, I'm afraid that my motives are not of the pure variety." 

	See, now I get that. That's Canadian for I wanna jump yer bones.
"I'm not exactly pure, so that's a match, there, Frase." 

	He blushes and snatches his arm away from me. I leave mine around
his waist and squeeze again, watching him steadily, the tables turned now.


	"That's not what I meant. I simply meant that I realised that . .
. that I was possibly trying to influence you through physical means." 

	"Influence me to what?" 

	"To stay. To go with me on an adventure." 

	"Fraser, I already said I would. Jesus. I should, I should do it
now. Especially while I'm in shape from chasing you all over Chicago, not
to mention Canada. I want to do it now. And if I get an unhinged Mountie
in my bedroll, that's an added bonus." 

	He gulps at that and cracks his neck, fast. That's me, both
barrels blazing, maybe he didn't mean to, like, kiss me, maybe he just
wanted to, um, kiss me. And then I catch his eyes on my mouth and I watch
his tongue curl from one side of his lower lip to the other. Somehow I
manage to make my own mouth move. 

	"God, Fraser. Why didn't you tell me before?" 

	"Tell you what, Ray?" 

	"Oh, come on, Fraser. Come on. Don't play dumb, not now. Come on,
level with me. This is us, this is you, this is me, this is us. My future,
your future. Because, if you mean it, I can do the Hand of Franklin thing.
And I can so do the forever thing. And, frankly, Fraser, I am all over the
sex thing." 

	Bright red flush, deep breath, unexpectedly steady voice. "And
what about the . . . er . . . love thing, Ray?" 

	Uh, whoa. Love. He's levelling, all right. 

Yeah. 

"L love. Yeah. Oh, yeah, Fraser. That's what it is, isn't it?" And
suddenly everything falls into place, all the confusion, all the doubt,
all the wretched yeah, wretched is the only word for them feelings of
fear, separation, loss.  

	"Yes." Only one word, says so much, sounds so sure. 

	"Okay, so now are you gonna kiss me?" 

	"Yes." And matches words to actions. I've been waiting for this.
Been waiting for this for days. For weeks. For fucking months, haven't I?
Yeah. Years, feels like. Even though his lips are chapped, they're still
soft, still tender, and his mouth is so warm, so sweet, I'm lost in it.
And cold Canada around us beats all hell outta Lake Michigan around us
because I can smell him and taste him and feel him. Feel his heart beat
pound, feel his shaky breathing. He was more scared than me. Yeah. This is
a huge leap for him, this love thing. This asking thing. But he did ask.
And he asked me. Me. New Ray. Ray Kowalski. Fraser's Ray. 

	"Fraser?" 

	"Yes, Ray?" Sounds a little scared, still. Grab his face in my
mittened hands and look him in the eye again. 

	"Love you." 

	"Oh, God, Ray!" Relief, passion, and heat, oh the heat in that
voice, in that mouth as it covers mine again, his tongue less tentative
this time, more demanding . . . almost too demanding, Jesus, we're kissing
in the middle of ice and snow with fucking mittens on. I love the taste
and feel of his mouth but I want more, want to lick his chin, his neck,
wherever, without leaving little Ray icicles when I'm done, and I don't
plan to be done for a while. 

	"Wanna take this discussion into the tent?" 

	"The tent, Ray?" 

	"The tent with the nice warm snow. I mean, stove." 

	"Ray, you're babbling." 

	"Ain't never been kissed by a guy Mountie before. Mmmmyeah." 

	"Is it . . . satisfactory?" The blush. I was waiting for it. Gonna
see a lot more of those tonight, I hope.  

	"Nah, Frase, you need lots more practice. In the tent." 

	"Ah." 

	"Benton!" 

	Holy shit. Forgot all about Frobisher. He's poking his head out of
his tent flap. He's gonna freak. Fraser's gonna freak. 

	"Yes, sir?" 

	"Take it inside, Benton."  

This Frobisher guy's definitely growing on me. 

	"Right you are, sir." 

	"You need to get an early start tomorrow." 

	I look at Fraser. "Start for where?" 

	"Town. Supplies." 

	"Phone. Welsh." It's catching. I shake myself. "How long we gonna
be gone?" 

	"Forever, Ray." 

	"Oh-kay. Yeah. Well, I'll just tell Welsh to, uh, not worry about
putting my transfer papers in any time soon, then." 

	"Or he can simply deposit them in the nearest circular file." 

	"Fraser " 

	"I've got you now and I will never let you go." He pushes me
backwards down onto the sleeping bag, covering me with his body, and my
body doesn't know what to do, to protest the cold driving up my back or to
thrust up into the heat covering my front. 

	"Oh, God, Fraser. Damn it! You couldn't decide to do this in
Chicago, in a nice warm apartment or even a nice warm car? You gotta wait
until it's eighty below and I'm freezing my nuts off in the middle of
North Bufu, Canada and we got at least thirty layers in between us?" 

	He shuts me up with another kiss. Yeah. Good call, Frase. Tent's
an even better call. I push at him until he gets the hint and rolls off
me, finally, reluctantly. Yeah, there we go, Mountie. Up on yer feet. One
foot in front of the other. Tent's nice and warm and not exactly private
with the stove going but so what? I bet Buck Frobisher's seen it all and
then some. ~~~~~~~~ 

	You always think, in the wilds of Canada and stuff, that it'll
take forever to get connected to the States and that you'll have to go
through Opie's next-door neighbour's great-aunt at the exchange, so I'm
kinda surprised when my calling card not only gets through but Welsh picks
up his own phone on the second ring. 

	"Hey," I say. 

	"Kowalski!" he bellows. "It's about time! You through fooling
around in Canada? Because you left a lot of cases here on Vecchio's desk
and all over the floor, for that matter." 

	"Uh, no. Yeah. I mean . . ." 

	"When are you coming back?" 

	"Well, sir, that's why I called. I, uh, I need some time off." 

	"What? You think just because you save a few walruses and polar
bears and catch a few terrorists that you're entitled to some time off?
How long have you worked for me, Detective?" 

	"Uh, almost " 

	"That was a rhetorical question." 

	"Oh." 

	In a more normal voice, he says, "So, what, the Mountie's got
another harebrained case to drag you on?" 

	"In a way. We're going to go look for the Hand of Franklin." 

	"This Franklin. Is it a homicide?" 

	"Not as far as we know, sir." 

	"Did he cross international boundaries?" 

	"Uh, not recently, sir." 

	"And why just his hand? Where's the rest of him?" 

	"It's a Canadian thing, sir." 

	"Exactly, Detective. Which is why I want you on the next flight to
Chicago, and Constable Fraser too." 

	"Well, sir . . ." 

	"You drilling for oil, Kowalski?" 

	"No, sir. Okay. The thing of it is, I didn't know I wasn't sure
where I was going to be assigned. Now that Vecchio's back and all." 

	"You're staying right here, Kowalski. You think I'd inflict you
and the Mountie on some other poor unsuspecting division lieutenant?
They'd have a contract out on me so fast I probably wouldn't even make it
to my car." 

	And in spite of the fact that Fraser loves me, and I love him, and
we're going on this quest together, and I just had one of the best nights
of sex in my life, and that was in a tent in the middle of the Arctic
circle and I can't wait to see what Fraser can do in a normal bed with
real heat and running water, I get a warm feeling inside all the way up
from my toes. The lieutenant likes me. Me me. Wants me back.  

	"You still there, Kowalski?" 

	"Yes, sir. So, in spite of, uh, making the world safe for polar
bears and all, I can't swing a leave of absence?" 

	"How long a leave, Kowalski?" 

	Fraser, from a few feet away, glances at me then, and somehow
sparkles his eyes at me. Chokes me up and makes me wanna laugh at the same
time. 

	"Constable Fraser wasn't very clear on that point, sir." 

	"Well, how much time did he ask for?" 

	At that, Fraser gives up any pretence of not listening and takes
the phone out of my hand. "Good morning, Lieutenant," he says, in
Canadian, of course. I lean in to listen. 

	"Ah, Constable, so it's not enough that you dragged one of my best
detectives way out of his jurisdiction, again, and risked his life, again,
to save a few rocks and some frozen water, now you're taking him to look
for someone's hand?" 

	"Precisely, sir." 

	"I assume the RCMP is aware of your intended leave of absence?" 

	"Yes, sir." 

	"And how long are you planning to be gone?" 

	"For as long as it takes, sir." 

	"Constable." 

	"Yes, sir." 

	"Levity is most unbecoming in a junior officer." 

	"Understood, sir." 

	"How long are you planning on keeping Kowalski away from his
duties, Constable?" 

	"Forever, sir." 

	Crazy Mountie! I try to grab the phone out of Fraser's hand but he
puts one hand on my chest and turns away, still holding the phone to his
ear, out of my reach. 

	"Yes, sir, you heard that correctly." 

	"You're not? I am surprised to hear that." 

	"No, I don't know either." 

	His voice softens abruptly. "I yes, Lieutenant. Your friendship
was one of the things that made Chicago bearable for me." 

	He straightens and smiles, his voice back to normal. "No, sir." 

	"Absolutely, sir. Just let me know. The fishing is best in ah, I
see. Quite so. Thank you, sir." 

	He turns back and holds the phone out to me. I frown hard at him
and shake my head. Damn it, I don't know what to say.  

	"Kowalski? I'll be up for fishing next summer," Welsh says, his
voice a little off. 

	"Uh, I'll look forward to it, sir." 

	"I'll put you on a temporary leave of absence starting today." 

	"I appreciate that." 

	"You're a good cop, Kowalski." 

	"Thank you, Lieutenant." 

	"You got a good friend and partner." 

	"I know." 

	"Godspeed." And he hangs up, fast, before, he thinks, I hear the
break in his voice. I look at Fraser, blinking my eyes fast and hard a few
times. Fraser's got his hand up to the bridge of his nose.  

	"You could go " 

	"Oh, not this again, Mountie." I hesitate a second and then touch
his hand, fast, while the store clerk is pretending to look out the
window. "It's . . . it was nice to feel wanted, after all. But I feel more
wanted here, so, you know?" 

	"Trust me, you are. Wanted here, I mean." 

	"Yeah, I kinda . . . you kinda made that clear, there, Frase."
Grin, wicked as I can, at him, just to see him blush. He turns his hand
over, fast, and grabs my hand and squeezes it.	

	"Do you want to call your parents? Larry and I are going to load
up the sled." 

	"My parents?" 

	He looks steadily at me. 

	"Yeah. Wow. Um, yeah. Okay. Jeez, Fraser, I think I think that's a
kind of in person thing." 

	"I imagine so, yes." 

	"I'll just, um, tell them about the quest for now. Tell my dad to
pick up the GTO and get my bills for a while. Good thing I put him on my
accounts, huh?" 

	"Forethought and planning, Ray. You'll be quite an asset to this
expedition." And he smiles, warm and sweet, before picking up a couple of
bundles and heading out the door. 

	Thank God my parents are home. My mom answers.	

	"Stanley!" 

	I've long since given up the Ray thing with her. "Hi, Mom." 

	"How are you? Are you warm enough? Are you getting enough to eat?"


	"Great, Mom. Just great. Yeah, these Canadians really know how to
stuff the calories. Except for this pemmican stuff." Fraser, coming
through the door for another bundle, grins at that. 

	"When are you coming home? Lieutenant Welsh called us and told us
what was happening but he wasn't very sure about your plans." 

	"Yeah, Mom, listen, put Dad on too, okay?" 

	"Of course, dear." I hear her calling Dad and then hear a click. 

	"Son." 

	"Dad." 

	"You done good." 

	"Uh, thanks. Yeah, we, uh, we got them." 

	"Your lieutenant seemed pretty happy." 

	"Yeah, he likes those bad guys going away and stuff, he just hates
all the cross country paperwork." 

	Mom interrupts. "You didn't say when you were coming home,
Stanley." 

	"It's Ray, Barbara." Dad never gives up. It's a thing they do. 

	"Damian, do you think I don't know my own son's name?" 

	"Yeah, Mom, you do. Listen, Fraser's got some stuff he wants to do
here. Some stuff I want to do. An expedition, a quest thing. So I'm not
coming back any time soon." 

	"What kind of quest?" 

	"Are you sure you'll be warm enough?" 

	"Mom, Fraser knows what he's doing, don't worry about me being
warm." Shit. Even my mom's not that clueless. "Cold weather gear, Arctic
stove, the whole nine yards, okay?" 

	"And food, Stanley. You'd better let me talk to him. He must make
sure you eat properly." 

	"Quest?" Dad prompts. 

	Deep breath. "Yeah. A quest. An adventure. I . . . uh, I . . ." 

	"The terrorists weren't enough of an adventure?" 

	"Yeah. Yeah, they were, but this is a real one, an expedition,
just like those books you used to read me." 

	Mom laughs. "I still have those."  

"Fraser and I want to look for the Hand of Franklin. The Northwest Passage
guy." 

Mom sighs. 

	Dad's quiet a while longer. Finally he says, "What's it like up
there, son?" 

	"Pretty much just like the books, Dad, only more so." 

	"How's it smell?" 

	"Great, Dad. It smells great. Clean and fresh and cold." 

	"I'll go get the GTO." 

	"Thanks, Dad. And, uh, my bills? Lieutenant Welsh has me on leave
of absence for a while. Just take what you need out of savings if the
checking runs out." 

	"Don't worry, son. We'll take care of it. Do you just pay your
landlady the rent?" 

	"Yeah. Yeah, she's the apartment right under me. And, you know,
you guys are welcome to, uh, stay over if you want some time in the big
city." 

	"Oh, Stanley, that's a wonderful idea." 

	"Thanks, Mom."	

	"I think it's a good idea, Ray." I know he's talking about more
than the apartment. Feel choked up again for the second time in less than
ten minutes. 

	"Thanks, Dad. I'll . . . I'll, um, send a carrier pigeon or
something. I guess." 

	"Let me talk to Benton," Mom says. Knew she wouldn't let that
rest. 

	"Fraser! My mom wants you." 

	Fraser drops the bundle he just picked up and takes the phone from
me. 

	"Good morning, Mrs. Kowalski. Ah, Mr. Kowalski, good morning to
you too." 

	"Er, quite. Yes. Normally we try to eat at least four thousand
calories, preferably six thousand, and a good portion of those are derived
from fat. Yes, ma'am." 

	"Oh, of course. I will see to it." 

	"No, ma'am, I'm well aware of that. We have been partners for some
time, and I agree that his dietary habits could use some improvement." 

	"Really? Ah. Well, then I will certainly ask him to make a
sample." 

	He listens intently for a few more seconds. "Yes, sir.
Extraordinarily clear. Extraordinarily beautiful." 

	"I certainly will. Thank you kindly." 

	I get the phone back in time to hear Mom say with a satisfied
sigh, "Such a dependable boy." 

	Shake my head, grinning. "Okay, Mom? Dad?"
	"Enjoy yourself," Dad says. 

	"And take care of yourself," Mom says. 

	 "Fraser won't let anything happen to us," I say. "Have fun in
Chicago." 

	Hang up, look at Fraser, who's grinning ear to ear. "They like me,
Ray." 

	"You just keep on thinking that, Mountie." 

"I understand you make a respectable bigos, Ray." 

"Damn. It's genetic, you know?"  

"I think we could muster most of the ingredients your mother mentioned." 

"It's gotta sit for two or three days, Fraser." 

"I didn't know you could cook." 

"I told you, it's genetic. Some things you're just born knowing. Like you.
You were born knowing which way is north all the time, right?" 

"Something like that, yes. I'd rather have the inborn capacity to make
incredibly delicious and warming Polish stews." 

"Well, you had the sense to latch on to the next best thing, a Chicago
flatfoot of Polish extraction who can do that, if he's not teased too much
about it." 

"I think you'll find Diefenbaker, Sergeant Frobisher, and myself to be a
most respectful and appreciative audience." 

"It's gotta beat mooseburger." 

"Ah, precisely my point. And be thankful, Ray, so thankful, that Sergeant
Frobisher has given up the gorgonzola." 

I eye him. "You're a freak." 

"Duly noted. Would you care to acquaint Larry with a basic list of bigos
ingredients?" 

On the way back, Fraser stops to give the dogs a rest, us a drink, he
claims, but I'm pretty sure it's just to enjoy the view. Vast expanse of
ice and snow, punctuated by barren rocky peaks. Oh yeah. Warms the cockles
of his little Mountie heart, I know.  

"Do you like it here?" he asks after a few minutes. 

"Yeah." 

"What books were those, Ray?" 

"What books do you think?" 

Quirks that Mountie smirk at me. "Undoubtedly the same I read, when I
could sneak them past my grandmother. Jack London?" 

"Yeah. And my dad's always had a thing about expeditions anyhow. I
remember him tearing apart the Chicago public library when I was a kid
trying to find a copy of Nansen's book that he was actually allowed to
open and read. He finally found one in the rare books collection. He had
to read it there. I went with him and he read it to me. Took us a month of
Sundays. It was worth it though." 

"Oh, my. The Fram. Oh, my. Yes." He's got the biggest fucking grin on his
face that I've ever seen, even bigger than the one after we dug ourselves
out of the snow and he just stood there looking around. "I read that as
well as a book by one of Nansen's crew. Innusiq and I used to pretend our
boat was frozen in the ice . . . well, actually, we didn't have to pretend
very hard." 

"I can guarantee Dad's on his way to the library right now to find out all
he can about the Hand of Franklin." 

"I hope he runs across Mackenzie's book as well." 

"We'll drop him a postcard. You can write it down for him. He loved the
Shackleton expedition, the Antarctic one." 

"Ah, yes. At least that had a somewhat happy ending." 

"Yeah. Now that I think about it, Shackleton reminds me of you, Frase.
Never say die. He got 'em all outta there. Wow." 

"He was an exceptional personality, Ray. Have you kept up with recent
expeditions?" 

"Nah, not really. I read about Steger's Antarctic expedition but I don't
think I ever got around to his Arctic expedition." 

"It was fascinating, of course. I think he established that it was quite
possible for Admiral Perry to have reached the Pole when and how he said
he did. The Antarctic expedition . . . the katabatic . . . well, Ray, all
I have to say is that even I felt cold, reading it." 

"Yeah, that was some pretty goddamn intense weather, there. I felt sorry
for the dogs. Not even enough snow to keep 'em warm. 

He shakes his head, like he's coming out of a dream, and looks at me,
hard. "Good God, Ray. I knew . . . I knew I loved you. I knew that you
were my soul mate. But I never dreamt . . . I never . . ." Runs out of
words, pulls me against him, still staring at me. A way embarrassed me. 

"Jesus, Frase. Enough. Dogs're getting cold." 

"Fuck the dogs, Ray." 

"Benton Fraser! That is it, soap in your mouth back at camp. I've never
been so shocked - " Aaaaand get a Mountie tongue, sans soap, in my mouth
in the next half-second. Which is good, because the soul mate stuff, while
true, is even more intense than hearing that word come out of those lips,
and while I'm kissing my higher brain functions are on holiday, as Fraser
would say, and I don't gotta process this stuff for a few more seconds. 

"You know about this." He's still got a dazed look in his eyes. 

"No, Fraser, I just read about it, okay? That's all. And I know nothing
about sled dogs or anything else." 

"You're a leg up on the learning, though, Ray. Pay attention as we head
back. You need to learn the ropes." 

"Huh?" 

"I think next year we're going to run the Iditarod." 

"Fraser." 

"Yes, Ray." 

"You are unhinged." 

He leans in to kiss me once more. "I know. And I am happier than I have
ever been in my life." 

I settle back and look up at him behind me. "The Iditarod, huh?" 

"If we can find the dogs and train them in time. Maggie may be able to
help us." 

"If you think I can . . ." 

"Ray, I know you can." 

Jeez. Man has a handle on keepin' me warm, all right. 

Back at camp, I go to work on the bigos slicing onions with mittens on is
. . . impossible while Frobisher and Fraser sort and pack and talk. I
catch snatches of conversation now and then, when the wind is right;
Frobisher talks more than Fraser, and he has lots of stories about
Fraser's dad. After a while, they take off north, fast, on snowshoes, with
Dief. When they come back, they've got more stuff, Fraser dragging a big
bundle of wood for the fire on a travois. Frobisher knew a cache, I guess.


Fraser ditches the wood near the fire and gives my hand a quick squeeze
while he looks into the pot and sniffs. I put the kettle on for some tea.
Need coffee. Get tea. Life in Canada. Frobisher dropped his bundle by the
other pile and now comes over, unfolding a map. A military map, by the
look of it. They both settle down to pore over it, not talking much now,
looking, and thinking. 

It's a kind of Mountie shorthand or something, because Fraser'll mention
just a coordinate or place name and Frobisher will shake his head or nod
and point. I get the feeling that the Mounties probably talk about
Franklin a lot, maybe on those long cold nights, because Fraser and
Frobisher give the impression of having had this conversation, if you can
call it that, before. 

After a while they don't even talk, just study the map, grunt, point, nod,
point. 

And a while after that Fraser starts humming under his breath. Frobisher
joins in. Still checking out the map, they start singing snatches of song.
That Northwest Passage song, the one Fraser sung in the crevasse. I sit by
the fire and smell the bigos and listen to Fraser and Frobisher and I feel
a little bubble of happiness inside me. It's a cold bubble, for sure, but
it's happiness. 

It swells a whole lot bigger when Fraser and Frobisher forget themselves
and start actually singing. I could sit here forever, smelling, stirring,
watching, listening. As their voices die out after the last chorus, Fraser
meets my eyes across the fire and smiles, slightly. I smile back. 

Frobisher clears his throat. "Your main difficulty is going to be packing
in dog food, son," he says. "You really need two sleds." 

"We're not going to the Pole," Fraser says. "There will be game and
settlements. In a month or two, we'll split the team and add a sled.
They're good freight dogs, Inuit dogs. We'll manage." 

"True, true, true. Ah, I envy you. If only I were a few years younger . .
. you might do it, young Fraser. You just might." 

"If determination has anything to say about it," I mutter. 

Mr. Bat Ears hears that and grins big. "Luck and planning, and more luck,
I think, Ray. Let's feed the dogs." 

"Bigos'll be ready soon. Not that it's actually ready. It's supposed to,
you know, age a couple of days. And I'm pretty sure that caribou was not
one of the original ingredients." 

"It smells wonderful," Fraser says. 

"Better than moose hock wrapped in boar tongue," Frobisher adds. "Too bad
we don't have any gorgonzola." 

I stare at him a second and Fraser grins at me, shakes his head quick.
"Come on, Ray, dogs." 

I'm hoping that's a Fraser excuse for sneaking a couple kisses and after
we dump the last food for the last dog, I'm not disappointed. It's not
like Frobisher can't see us if he wants to, but he can't hear us, anyhow,
and he can maybe pretend that Fraser's checking me out for frostbite.
Which isn't too far off, as Fraser pulls out a tube from inside his coat.
Vaseline. Starts rubbing it on my cheeks and lips. 

"Is that the secret to that Mountie-like complexion?" I say. 

"It smells better than tallow, Ray. Or whale blubber." 

"Oh, God. True." 

"I should have thought of this sooner but I forgot. You're not too badly
chapped, though." 

"Hope you got more." 

"Well, of course, Ray." 

"Because I got plans for that. At least until we can scare up somethin'
water-based." 

He stares at me and then looks at the tube and then looks back at me, his
fingers slowing on his own face. He gets it after a few seconds and his
eyes darken and he says, just like last night, thickly, "Oh, God, Ray,"
right before he pulls me into a real kiss, a melt-the-snow kiss. 

When we finally come up for air, he holds me tight, rocking a little,
trying to get his composure back. I'm so bad. I wait until his breathing
settles down a little and then I add, "Tonight." 

At that he actually moans into my ear and then into my mouth as I kiss
him, harder than before, thrusting my tongue in and out for a few seconds
before his tongue meets the thrusts, passes mine, and slicks right into my
mouth, oh, God, can that man kiss. 

" . . . Fraser . . ." 

"Mmmm?" 

"We could, uh, skip dinner." 

He pulls back and breathes, smiles. "Dear me, no. Aside from the promise I
made to your mother, and aside from the fact that you know you must
maintain a certain caloric intake, I have been looking forward to your
stew all afternoon." 

	"Want you." 

	His hands tighten on my arms as he swallows, hard. "And I, you,
Ray." And he turns and practically dashes for the fire. Follow him at a
distance, smiling to myself. It's gonna be a wonderful night.  

  

Last night Fraser was kinda single minded, in between the blushing. A
little tentative, like me, but single minded. I liked it. Liked that
concentration. Tonight he's got something on his mind. I finally give up,
know he's gotta get it off his chest. 

	"Okay, Frase, what's the deal?" 

	"Deal, Ray?" 

	"C'mon, Fraser, something's bothering you. Talk. Spill. Then we
can, uh, kiss some more . . . and stuff . . ." 

	"Ah. Quite." 

	He's quiet though for a few more minutes. I occupy myself with
tracing his muscles on his chest, circling his small, tight, nipples with
a finger, at least until he grabs my hand with a choked gasp. "All right.
I . . ." 

	"C'mon, Fraser, we're seriously naked here, how can there be
anything else for you to get embarrassed about, especially after last
night?" 

He looks very relieved. "Oh, yes, Ray. That's it. That's it exactly. You
seem rather, er, comfortable with this. I . . . I was . . . surprised.
Pleasantly! Pleasantly, of course, Ray." 

"Yeah. Um, I know. Well, shit, Frase, I'm on the shady side of thirty,
that's for sure, and I been a cop a while. I know stuff. Just never, uh,
thought about it, until lately. Until you." I look straight at him,
finally, daring him to look away. "And yeah, for you, I'll try anything.
Wanna try anything. But you . . . once in a while I thought, yeah, you,
uh, you might want . . . well, this. But most of the time you seemed
pretty oblivious to everyone, male and female. So can you blame me for not
knowing which way your road curved?" 

"Oh. Oh, dear. Well, no, Ray, but it's not so much the fact that you're
male or female as it is the fact that you're you. Although I do admit that
your, er, maleness does, ah, appeal to me."  

I feel my mouth flash a big grin at those words, both at the words and the
memory of how appealing he found my, er, maleness last night, and the
memory of that warm, no, hot mouth on me . . . Have to clear my throat.
"Yeah. Yeah, I kinda got that, Frase. Appealing, Christ, but yeah, that's
a good word. A Mountie-type word, but a good one. Your maleness is goddamn
fucking appealing to me, too." Move my hand down to his cock as I say
that, can't resist touching, stroking. Really can't resist his moans and
his face, I already love to wring those noises and expressions out of him,
God yes. 

	He moans and bucks and I back it off a little. "'S okay, Frase, we
got all night. The long nights are definitely a good thing." 

	He manages a grin as he pulls me against him, on top of him,
spreading his legs under me, encouraging me to thrust against him like he
did last night. Yeah, he likes this, what's not to like, and I enjoy it
for a few, not just the physical side of it, but watching his face,
abandoned, open, so happy, just so . . . here . . . and with me . . . 

	His thrusting's turned purposeful now, moaning louder, hands
pushing me against him, hard. 

	"Whoa, Ben, whoa - " 

	"Ray. Ray, please - " He brings one hand up to the back of my
head, pulling me down for a kiss. "I . . . love . . . ah, yes, Ray . . ." 

	Long hard hungry kiss and then I feel him tense under me. "Wanna
taste you, Ben," I whisper, and fast slide down his body in time to
capture his pulsing cock in my mouth. Drink him, drink it all, Fraser,
yeah, giving it all to me, fingers clenched in my hair, perfectly still
except for the convulsive jerks of his cock, and a soft, incredibly
arousing groan as he goes boneless under me. 

	"God, Ben, want you, you are fucking amazing," I whisper, hoarse
words almost caught in my throat, sliding back up to kiss him, hold him,
rub my cock against his thigh. 

	"So . . . so are . . . you." 

	"You taste so good . . ." 

	"You feel so good . . ." 

	"Not to mention the, uh, nutritional value, huh." 

That gets a laugh, a little breathless still. "I . . . I'm not sure we
should depend on that as a dietary supplement. . ." 

	"It seems reliable to me, Frase." Grab his mouth again, love to
moan against it and feel his reaction, a shudder, arms tightening. "Want
you, Frase, please . . . you wanna . . . wanna try?" 

	His arms tighten around me. "Dear God, yes, Ray. Please." The
unabashed heart in his voice makes me shudder, gotta get control of
myself. I know what to do, in theory, yeah. Lube, relaxation, and in the
back of my head the questions, circling; can we do it, can I do it, does
he really want it, will he like it, will I like it, what's it all mean,
anyhow, and am I pushing too fast, too hard, too much, too soon, for two
guys who hadn't even kissed less than forty-eight hours ago? Why do I want
this, so much, when I already got him?	

	" . . . Ray. Ray." Gentle shake. 

	 "Sorry. Sorry, Fraser." There's a big hard knot in my throat. "I,
uh, I'm kinda railroadin' you into this . . ." 

	"Ray, you're not. You're so much more . . . I want to . . . I want
it . . . I just didn't know how to say it." 

	 I stare at him, he stares back. Then he smiles. Then he twists
the cap off the tube and grins, wicked grin, never thought I'd see that or
that it would look so damn sexy on the Mountie. "Come on, Ray. Show me."
Soft. Urgent.  

	I'm still staring. Can't move. Can't think. Can't believe Fraser
trusts me like this, well, yeah, okay, I can believe that part, trust is a
big thing we got going for us. He unfolds my hand, squeezes the tube,
works the goop around a little on my fingers with his own, then raises his
eyes to mine again. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me. And then
turns one side of his mouth up in that smile, the one that puts the dimple
in his right cheek. I take a deep breath, a shaky breath, lean in to kiss
that dimple, and the world starts moving again. 

	Rub my fingers with my thumb and find his mouth with mine, wanting
to feel the gasp, the moan, that I know is coming when I feel for that
opening behind his balls, start slicking my fingers around and around, and
I'm not disappointed. He inhales, sharp, and then moans, better than I
imagined. The feel of his soft skin is better than I ever imagined, too,
and the soft heat that surrounds a fingertip as I push inside a little is
way more intense than anything my brain could have come up with on its
own. He grabs at my back, deepening the kiss as I push in and out,
shallow, twisting, then a little deeper, getting bolder because he isn't
holding back, really seems to like this, to want this. 

	He moans again, breaking our kiss, arching his head back as I
press further inside. God. I want him. Oh, God. Yes. He's easy around my
finger now, starting to push back against it in rhythm, hard not to
overload from the sensation of him around my finger, can't imagine that
slick, tight, heat around my cock. Fuck, yeah, I can imagine it all right,
hear myself moan right back at him before my mouth goes down on autopilot
to a nipple. Suck, thrust, feel Ben shake a little, moan a lot, inspires
me to add another finger. He sighs, deep sigh, as the second one slips in,
around, and I reach up to kiss him again, look him in the eye. Kill me to
stop, now, but I still ask him, "Okay?" 

	He closes his eyes briefly, takes another breath, and then somehow
loosens himself around my fingers, pushes himself down on them . . .
"Jesus, Ben!" 

	"Want you . . ." Hardly a sound, more of a sigh, his jaw clenched.


	"Kinda . . . kinda got that," I say, my voice raspier by the
second. "Want you too." 

	"Keep . . . keep doing that . . ." he whispers, then opens his
eyes, sees me, blushes fiery red, I'm sure he has no idea how much that
particular blood flow turns me on. 

	"No problem, Ben," I whisper back, gentler kiss this time, gentle
thrusts now, but each one deeper, exploring. Shift, change the angle a
little, and he bucks unexpectedly, the hand on my shoulder pushing down
hard.  

	"Ray!" 

	Shit. What'd I do? Fuck! 

	"Ray, do that again!" 

	I respond instinctively to the demand, try to duplicate what I
just did, and he bucks, again, twisting himself onto my fingers, sends a
jolt right to my cock. Try it again, look down to see his cock, half hard,
rapidly hardening. Oh, yeah. He does want this. Does like it. Close my
eyes, can't take any more visual input right now. 

	We're in a faster rhythm now, twist, thrust, buck, and with my
eyes closed I can concentrate on my fingers. Seems to be a soft-hard nub
of something there, that's what makes him wild, and he's so relaxed now
it's easy to just rub against it, easy and fucking perfect, to watch him
react like this, know that it's me who's doing it, that it's me he wants .
. . 

	"Long . . . long fingers, Ray," Fraser gasps, and my eyes fly open
to see him trying for a grin behind the clenched jaw. 

	"Hot, perfect ass, Ben," I say, voice so raspy it almost hurts to
talk.  

	"I want . . . more," he whispers, and blushes again, deep flush. 

	He means it. Christ Jesus. Trusts me, wants me . . . loves me . .
. don't know . . . 

	"Ray?" 

	Sigh, my fingers stilling, rest my forehead against his chest,
trying to catch my breath. 

	"Okay. Okay. Frase . . . uh, maybe turn over?" 

	I slide my fingers out all the way, fast, as he turns over, almost
faster.  

	I pull at his hips a little. "Might be . . . easier . . . if y'get
yer knees underneath . . ." And close my eyes, shaky breath, as he
complies. Instantly. My mouth finds its way to his back, and I lick, suck,
kiss for a minute, trying to get myself together. 

	"Fraser." 

	"Ray?" 

	"Okay. It's just . . . I just don't wanna hurt you . . . you know
it hurts a little, no, of course you don't, me either, but -"  

	He sits up on his knees, twists around, enfolds me in a hug, a
passionate kiss. "I love you. I want you. Is that clear enough?" 

	"Yeah. Oh, God, love you, Ben." 

	He drops back down to his hands and knees, looks at me, smiles,
unexpectedly sweet and intimate.  

	I shift backwards, between his legs, his ass at the perfect height
for my cock, and I close my eyes again as I hold myself at the opening
with one hand, push forward slightly, because I know the visual sensory
array is about to go on overload at the sight of Ben's beautiful ass
closing around me. 

	Of course, the tactile sensory array is in a whole lot of danger
too. Tight, tight opening and me trying so hard to go slow, give us both
time to adjust, but my dick wants inside, all the way and fast, my body
remembering that tight heat around my fingers. I feel his back muscles
tense under my hand and I stop completely, frozen. After a few seconds he
nods, feel him relax a little, I can push a little more. 

	He pushes too, backwards, and we're pushing together, still slow,
feels so good, and then something seems to give, he relaxes or maybe the
lube's kicking in but one long slide and I'm there. 

	He groans, a loud, deep, animal groan and I lean forward, clap my
hand over his mouth fast, feel him shake underneath me. 

	"Jeez, Frase, wake the neighbours -" 

	"Sergeant Frobisher can sleep through anything," he says through a
gasp and the remains of the laughter. 

	"I sure as hell hope so." And then I remember what we're doing,
and what, actually, I'm doing, the panic kinda drove all thoughts outta my
head for a second, so I'm almost surprised to feel him around me, warmer
than warm, tighter than tight, and wow now what?  

	Fraser backs up against me more, like I could be any further
inside him, and says, throaty-voiced, "Ray . . . I'm fairly certain that .
. . that moving would be . . . nice . . ." 

	Move. Yeah. That might work. Good call, Frase. Try a couple short,
tentative thrusts. Oh, he likes that. Me too. Oh yeah, me too. Try a
longer withdraw, a harder thrust, and he moans again, not so loud this
time, shifts his weight to one hand and with the other reaches between his
legs. Soon as I realise what he wants, my hand's right there too, takes me
a stroke or two to get the rhythm right as his hand covers mine on his
cock, stroking together, feeling it harden, lengthen, as I thrust, harder,
faster.  

	"That's it . . ." he moans. "That's . . . it . . ." 

	His cock jerks in our hands, thickens, and then he's coming again,
and the amazing thing is I can feel his cock pulsing in my fingers and
feel the exact same pulses in his ass around my cock, simultaneous. My
spasms start, not quite on the same beat as his, syncopated, as I
straighten, my wet hand smearing warm thick fluid all over his hip as I
hold him, come with my own damn loud groan, now I know why I needed this.
Needed to be a part of him. That was all. That was everything. And it was
. . . perfect. 

	He's gone down on his elbows, quivering, and I fold myself across
his back. He tucks a knee and rolls us both sideways onto the sleeping
bag, suddenly I'm freezing and I'm shaky and God I hope it was okay for
him. He reaches down, carefully, and slips me out, turns around fast and
we're hugging, both still breathless. Reaches over, pulls a coat on top of
me, enfolds me in his arms and legs. 

	"God, Fraser." 

	"Are you all right?" 

	"That's my line." 

	He kisses me, soft. "I didn't think any reassurance on that front
was necessary." 

	"Well, ditto, there." I shiver again. "Shit, I was hot a minute
ago and now I can't can't " 

	"Undoubtedly the evaporation of the rapid accumulation and
subsequent condensation " 

	"You come with an off switch?" 

	Grins, hugs me tighter. "No." Reaches behind us, fumbles with one
hand, pulls out a pair of his red underwear. "Here, Ray." 

	"Oh, right." 

	"They're quite warm." 

	"They're quite ridiculous. Except on you." 

	He kisses me again, quick tongue flick across mine. "And, I
imagine, on you." 

	Can't hold back a snort. 

	He says, quiet, "I've imagined . . . from time to time . . . you
'swimming' in my . . . underwear." 

	There ya go. That's a Mountie fantasy for you. And the thought of
the warmth is tempting, but not as tempting as fulfilling the damn fantasy
for Fraser, so without a word I drop a kiss on his nose and slide into
'em, fast as I can. 

	He sighs and starts helping me button lots of buttons with a not
quite smile on his face, more a look of quiet satisfaction. More a look
like you get in front of a crackling fire in a fireplace with snow
whirling outside and a popcorn smell in the air and a glass of cold apple
cider. 

	He pulls another pair on himself and has us in the sleeping bag
with his usual mind bending efficiency, not that I'm complaining because
I'm finally stopping with the shivers. 

God, I feel good. Tired, sleepy too, warm, safe, happy. Turn my head and
drop a kiss on Fraser's shoulder. Wasn't sure the red thing would fit me
but it does, although it looks a helluva lot better on Fraser, I'm sure.  

"Mmmm," he says.  

"Yeah." 

"Warm enough?" 

"Oh, yeah." 

"What are you thinking?" 

"I thought guys were supposed to sleep." 

"I'm somewhat . . ."
	"Wired? Me too, a little." 

"So what are you thinking?" 

"Whaddaya think, Mountie?" 

Feel his cheek move on top of my head; he's grinning. "What else?" 

I stop teasing, start thinking. "Um. Wow. How cold it is. How big it is.
How quiet it is." 

"Yes. All of those things. They can be a trifle . . . overwhelming." 

"Yeah. I guess. It's the quiet that's hardest, for me, after the city,
y'know? And the wolves, like to hear 'em, but yeah, they do send shivers
down the spine, don't they? Probably not yers, though." 

Feel him smile again, little bit of wistfulness in his voice. "No. They
sound like home to me." 

"Home. Yeah." 

	"Even if it's too quiet?" 

	"You're worth a little quiet, Frase." 

	And, kinda late for their cue, we hear a distant wolf set up a
howl. The dogs'll join in soon. And I've never seen anything more
beautiful than Dief in the moonlit snow, nose pointed skyward, joining in
the chorus. Well, except Fraser, standing in the middle of a white on
white snow field, grinning all over his face, but then I'm a little
biased. 

	His arm tightens under me as he shifts and then, softly, not quite
in my ear, he starts singing that song again. I'm learning the words. I
know the chorus now. But I'm suddenly too warm and tired and comfortable
to even open my mouth. I just smile and listen to his voice, to the
welcome sound and the wolves actually sound pretty cool now in the
background . . . Bet Franklin heard those exact same wolf sounds, smelled
the exact same snow in the air, ate pretty much the exact same pemmican.
Makes me smile as my eyes close and I let the sound of Fraser and the
wolves wash over me, wash me into sleep. ~~~~~~~~ 

	Fraser's up before dawn, sky's lightening, sticking his head out
the tent flap. Sound of the zipper wakes me. I'm still groggy but he
shakes me. That's so unFraser I come awake fast. He's grinning like a kid.
"It snowed, Ray." 

	"Oh, jeez, Fraser. What's that, dogsleds on a one hour delay?" 

	"I think school's cancelled, Ray, so come watch the sun rise over
the new snow."	

	Romantic, aggravating, and a morning person. Can I pick 'em or
what? 

	"Coffee. I mean, tea. Caffeine. What the hell are you doing?" 

	He's stripped off the red thing and is about to duck out of the
tent. He looks over his shoulder at me in surprise. "Snow shower, Ray." 

	"Frozen extremities, insane Mountie." 

	"No, no, no, Ray, not in this kind of weather. Just a brisk
rubdown and a roll and then back into the warm tent. It's exhilarating.
I've missed it almost more than anything else. Come on. Try it." 

	"Fraser. Let's go over this shower thing. Showers consist of hot
water, okay? You know, when you told me Canada had indoor plumbing I
thought you meant pipes and water heaters, stuff like that. Damn it, I
knew I should've told Mom to send my Canadian dictionary along." 

	"Certainly we can heat some hot water for you if you like." He
manages to look crestfallen and sympathetic at the same time. I groan and
close my eyes. 

	"Damn it, Fraser, you are so . . ." 

	He leans out of the tent and scoops a whole lotta snow into a pot,
puts it on the stove.  

	"You know, Stella had the guilt trips down, Frase. Ain't no way
you can match her." 

	He grins. "That's for coffee, Ray. It should be hot by the time
we're finished. Come on." 

	" . . . coffee?" 

	"Ray, do you think I expect you to look for the Hand of Franklin
without coffee?" 

	"Okay. Okay. I'm awake. Okay. For coffee and for you, Fraser, I
can do this." 

	He drops to his knees, bear hugs me. "It is a necessary adjunct to
our proposed expedition." 

	"Yeah. I know. I do. Just . . . cold . . ." 

	"Come along. The sooner it's done, the sooner it will be over." 

	"Save it until after coffee, 'kay?" 

	"Right you are."  

	He plunges out the door and practically dives into the snow. Jesus
H. Christ. Chicago. Hot water, steamy shower . . . "Shit shit shit, Ben,
you're making me as crazy as you," I mutter, close my eyes, run a few
feet, and drop.  

	"Roll," Fraser suggests, rolling himself, rubbing himself down
with hands full of snow. 

	"I can't fucking move, Fraser." 

	He laughs and rolls towards me, starts grabbing snow and rubbing
me down. This so does not feel good but he's right, the initial body
reaction is to make more heat, so it doesn't feel as cold as it probably
is. 

	"Okay, Ray, that's it, back inside." He pulls me up, plants a
quick kiss, and pushes me in the direction of the tent. 

	"What about you?" 

	"I'll be in in a minute." 

	"Frase - " 

	"I have rather more subcutaneous fat than you, Ray." 

	"Well, that, and you seem to have some kinda internal combustion
thing going on." 

	"Inside, Ray." 

	"Oh. Yeah." Because, yeah, I'm freezing my ass and other parts off
but Fraser, naked, glowing, in the predawn light, is a sight to behold. 

	It doesn't take me as long to warm up as I thought it would. I
shiver for a minute or two but after a rub down with a towel I actually
feel pretty good, feel the blood kind of whooshing in my veins, hate to
admit it but he's right. Almost always is. Look out the tent flap again
and Fraser's just standing in the snow, staring at the mountains, lost in
a reverie. 

	"Frase. Fraser! Fra-SER! Come on!" 

	He comes to with a little startle, turns, smiles a smile of simple
happiness at me. Makes my knees almost go out; good thing I'm not standing
up. He comes back in, shakes himself all over, starts drying off. He
hardly even shivers. It's just not fair. And it takes three layers to make
my pulse rate settle somewhere. Three layers on him, I mean. I sure hope
he's got some time-spent-holed-up-in-a-tent planned for. If he doesn't
he's gonna have to be a little flexible. 

	He sits down next to me as I inhale the steam from my coffee,
steeping his tea. Leans against me a little. Always did love to touch him
and now it's better times ten because he's touching me too.  

	"The sun will be up soon. You won't believe it." 

	"I've, uh, kinda suspended the whole disbelief thing for the past
week or two, Fraser, so, you know, whatever. And I was so hoping you
wouldn't get dressed so fast." 

	He chokes on his tea. "Ray! Try for a little decorum." 

	"That's pretty funny coming from a guy who rolls naked in the
snow." 

	"That's, er, necessary. For physical and mental health." 

	"It's necessary to my physical and mental health to see you
naked." 

	"I refuse to be distracted from the sunrise, Ray. And we have
quite a bit to do today. You need to put some sled time in, and . . ." 

	"Fraser. Put the tea down." 

	"Ray - " 

	"Now." 

	"No." 

	"Okay." I lean in, put my teeth on his neck. He jumps. I lick,
fast. Out of the corner of my eye I see him carefully put the cup down.
"That's better." 

	"I . . . I have a feeling we're . . . not going to . . . oh, Ray,
that's . . . that's wonderful . . . we're not going to get much exploring
done . . ." 

	"We can do both, Fraser." 

	"I'm starting to think perhaps we should head for my father's
cabin instead . . ." 

	"No. No, Fraser. I want it all. I got it all. No backin' out on me
now." 

	"Cabin afterwards?" 

	"Works for me." I stop nibbling, stop teasing, pull back and look
at him, serious again. 

	"What, Ray?" 

	"What about afterwards? I mean, me staying? I meant it. You meant
it. I know that. But, you know, work permits? Work?" 

	"Ray, as long as you are here with me, the rest will work out." 

	"Oh, this is a switch. The Mountie doesn't have a plan?" 

	"The Mountie is far too amazed and grateful and, yes, happy, to
worry about tomorrow or next week, Ray." Get my second bear hug of the
morning. What the hell took us so long? I knew the second I hugged him in
the bullpen that day that I wanted more hugging, more touching. Or if I
didn't, then I been lyin' to myself. Squeeze back, hard, and we both huff
a breath out at the same time. 

	The sky's starting to lighten more outside the tent walls. I kiss
Fraser once more and hand him his tea back. He shakes his head and drains
it in one gulp.  

	"Okay, lead me to the sunrise." 

	"That's part of the beauty, Ray. Out here, it's all around you." 

	"Walking in the sky?" 

	"It can feel like that, yes. To me." 

	"Your dad was . . . was something else." 

	Fraser looks away, fast, gets to his feet, or what passes for
getting to your feet in a smallish tent, fast, and says, "Come on," his
voice husky again, looking the other way. 

	"Sorry, Fraser." 

	"It's quite all right, Ray. He was." 

	"C'mere." 

	"Ray - " 

	"'S okay, Fraser. 'S okay to miss him. 'S okay to be happy too,
you got Muldoon. You got Gerrard, you got Muldoon, you kinda avenged him
and your mom, if you believe in that stuff, you know, you kinda put his
soul at peace." 

	He finally looks at me, see tears in his eyes, oh God, my heart
breaks. "Yes. I know. Sometimes, though, I would rather still have him.
Which is utterly and entirely selfish, because he ought to be happy now." 

	"Fraser . . ." Fucking tears in my own eyes, what the hell is it
with this man? "Come here, damn it!" Tug him down, hug him hard, turn my
head to kiss his ear, whisper, "Love you," in it. He sobs, just once,
almost reflexively, at that. I hold him, one hand in his hair, one on his
back, feel hot wetness on my neck. Realise after a few seconds that I'm
rocking him, shit, way to embarrass the hell outta the Mountie, but he
doesn't seem to mind, just holds me too, hard. 

	"S . . . sorry, Ray." Swallows, gulps. 

	"Ben, it's okay, it's okay. You probably . . . you probably just .
. . maybe you just haven't had a chance to deal with it all in the past
few years. Maybe it's just hitting you now, full circle." 

	He says slowly, "You . . . you may be right, Ray." 

	"No need to sound so surprised, Mountie." 

	"No, I mean it. What with one thing and another, I hadn't really,
er, thought about his being dead. I mean, I knew, intellectually, that he
was dead, but he seemed to still be here, in one peculiar way or another,
and so I didn't . . ." 

	Got no idea what he's talking about, but lots of times I don't
anyhow, so I just hug him again, while he talks on, talks it out, know
that's a good thing. 

	"In some ways, we seemed even closer, and I was able to say things
I'd never been able to say when he was alive. Mind you, he was just as
aggravating if not more so, but those things needed to be said. Well, most
of them. And then . . . here . . . he seemed to be here all the time . . .
in the crevasse and on the mountain . . ." 

	"I always knew you had a rich fantasy life, Fraser." 

	He chokes, laughs, one stray sob coming in on the tail end of it.
"What I have, now, is you, and a future, Ray, that I didn't have before.
After the mine I thought I was meant to be alone." 

	"You're not." 

	"I know." 

	He pulls us both up and out of the tent almost in one motion in
time to see the streaks in the sky lighten from pink into gold and then
yellow-white brightness. He's right. The new snow and the sky are so
bright, together, you can't see where one ends and the other begins,
except for the stray pink shadows on the snow, which is mind bending in
itself. My mouth falls open and I forget to close it again as I turn a
full circle.  

	"Oh, Ben . . ." 

	"Yeah." 

	And then just like in a goddamn nature documentary the sun breaks
over the peak of a mountain, dazzling the snow, touching the peaks and
rocks with almost liquid brightness, setting fire to the ice. 

	"Holy . . ." 

	"Ray. Ray. Ray." 

	" . . . Mother of God . . ." 

	"I love you." 

	I finally look at him, knowing I'm going to see his face almost
golden in the sudden sunlight and I'm not disappointed. "You are so
beautiful." 

	"I wish you could see yourself, Ray." 

	"I love you too." 

	Somehow our arms are around each other and he whispers, right up
against my mouth, "Forever, Ray?" 

	This is so right, so perfect, even if it's so cold. "Forever,
Ben." Simple vow, scary vow, but easy to say, easy to mean, something I've
needed my whole life, something most people never get, but I got it and I
won't let it go. 

	"Forever," he repeats, and I can tell it's a vow for him too. And
we're both so serious we don't even feel like kissing, we just stare into
each other's eyes for a long time. Always thought that love shining out of
'em stuff was just a metaphor but I see it, now, here, on this miraculous
morning, and I'll never be alone again. Neither will he. ~~~~~~~~ 

We've just finished staking the dogs out again when we hear an airplane.
Frobisher and Fraser look at each other and Fraser gets his little pirate
thing out. "Piper Cub." 

They look at each other again and say, "Huh," at the same time. 

Shake my head and make for the fire. The bigos'll taste way better today,
if I get it thawed in time for dinner. And I'm achin' in muscles I didn't
know I had, figure the plane is carrying some more Fraser and/or Frobisher
weirdness in terms of friends which will make itself apparent shortly, so
the fire is definitely my number one destination. 

Fraser hauls the harnesses over to the fire and dumps them on a
groundsheet. Apparently we need to check 'em for signs of wear, grease 'em
up.  

"How are you doing, Ray?" 

"Fine, Fraser." 

"Sore?" 

"Nah." 

He moves behind me, mittens off, strong fingers digging right into that
shoulder muscle that's spazzin' on me. "Ah, Jesus, Fraser, how did you . .
." 

He leans down to whisper confidentially in my ear. "Mine were hurting too
a couple of days ago. Better?" 

"Just don't . . . ah, God . . . don't stop." 

Plane's getting louder and louder and we both turn to watch it land.
Everything about this place is like watchin' some TV documentary where
everything is pristine and mind boggling and perfect and so I love the
plane. Bright orange, dinged up, polar bear painted on the pilot door.
Definitely not photogenic. 

	"Who's that, Fraser?" 

	"I have no idea." Puts his mittens back on and starts walking
toward the plane. Frobisher's already there. I wiggle my shoulders a
little. Better. Definitely need more of that finger action later though.
Wish I'd known about his sore shoulders. Mr. Stoic, there, gotta watch
him. 

	Frobisher's talking to the pilot as they start walking to the
fire. Fraser's talking to the passenger as they walk, slower, to the fire.
He already took her bag.  

	Thatcher. What's she doing back? Gonna try for the Mountie one
last time? 

	"Hello, Detective." 

	"Hey, Inspector." 

	"Would you care for some tea, sir?" 

	"No, thank you, Constable, I don't have much time. I heard about
your proposed expedition. I thought perhaps there was something I could do
to help." 

	"Oh. Ah. Well, that's very kind in you, Inspector - " 

	"Don't interrupt, Constable." 

	"Sorry, sir." 

	She opens the bag and starts pulling things out. Books. Papers. 

	"I knew you'd need a few reference materials. In addition, I took
the liberty of borrowing a few of the RCMP's Geological Survey maps. I
also stopped at the bank for you." An envelope joins the pile of books and
maps on the groundsheet. 

	Fraser starts to smile. I'm a little taken aback myself. Ice
Queen, ruthlessly efficient, turning it in Fraser's direction for once. 

	"Here's a Canon EOS 1N RS, cold weather package. Film, also cold
weather package. Filters, lenses, polarisers. RCMP issue, Constable, so I
don't need to tell you they expect it returned in the same condition it
was issued." 

	"Hand receipts, sir?" 

	"I signed those, Constable." 

	I don't know what that means, but it hits Fraser right where he
lives. He actually starts to stammer. "Sir . . . th-that's . . . y-you . .
." 

	She sighs, but I see her holding back a grin. "I'd hand receipt it
to you, Constable, but I don't have a pen that works in this awful
climate. Now. You have accumulated far more than your annual twenty-five
days of leave. Technically you are not allowed to accumulate more than
three month's worth, but an exception to policy has been made and your
back leave has been reinstated, to encompass a maximum of six months. I
doubt, knowing you, Constable, that you will need that much time." 

	"No, er, undoubtedly, sir. That's very generous - " 

	"Constable." 

	"Understood, sir." 

	She hesitates, though, for just a minute. Frobisher hands her a
cup of tea and she takes it almost absent-mindedly. 

	"I've . . . I've received my requested assignment. I'll be joining
the newly formed Criminal Intelligence section." She hesitates again and
glances at Frobisher and the pilot. 

	They look back at her and then at each other. Frobisher gets up
and slaps the pilot on the back. "Let's check out the engines." 

	Thatcher waits until they're out of earshot. And in a quieter
voice she starts again. 

	"I've . . . I've been talking to . . . people . . . in Ottawa."
She looks at me and I know it's rude but I ain't budging. I sit down, stir
the stew, that's all the privacy she's getting this time.     

	"Oh, all right, Fraser, I admit I've been, er, worried about you.
About your career. Since . . . well, since I'd gotten to know you." 

	"I appreciate that, sir, but I can take care - " 

	"Of yourself, yes, I know, Fraser. However, I owe a duty to the
men and women under my command, and I think even you would admit that
we've forged a bond. A professional bond. Of sorts. A stronger bond than
one normally finds in a posting such as the one we've just, ah, endured
together." 

	"Yes, sir, I think that's a fair assessment - " 

	"Therefore," she gets louder, overriding him, "I've felt it
incumbent upon me to attempt to mitigate some of the negative, as you
might say, reaction to your completely justified action which resulted in
your exile and I use the word advisedly, Benton to Chicago." 

	I feel her eyes on me and look at her, a little challengingly. She
clears her throat, looks back at Fraser. 

	"I had already put some of this in train, Constable, before the
events of the past two weeks. The rest of it is still being organised;
however, the, ah, addition of Detective Kowalski to future plans
necessitated some rearrangement on my part." 

	Holy shit. I look at Fraser, startled outta my wits, but he's
giving nothing away.  

	"I admit I was torn between two or three postings, and the final
decision will, of course, be yours, but I had narrowed it down to Holman,
Aklavik, or Deline, when someone brought Norman Wells to my attention." 

	She's got Fraser's full attention now, eyes narrowed, intent.  

	"I wouldn't necessarily rule out Holman, Constable, but I think
the posting that's opening up in Norman Wells should be given serious
consideration." She bends to pull something else out of the bag at her
feet, opens a folder, hands it to Fraser. "This is an outline of the
detachment, the facilities, and the community." She turns that page over
and says, "And, this, Constable, is your promotion. You would be the NCOIC
at Norman Wells." She digs into her pocket, pulls something out that I
can't see, and presses it into Fraser's hand as he juggles the folder,
which I grab to keep from falling, assignment and promotion and all, into
the fire or the food. He's speechless. He's looking at a little black and
gold line in his hand. 

	She clears her throat again. "I understand that it is, ah,
permitted to rent extra bedrooms, should you so desire, since the rent for
your quarters is deducted from your pay. If, that is, you can find a
roommate." 

	Looks at me again. "Fortunately Constable Turnbull was able to
locate the application for permanent residency that you put in at the
Consulate." 

	"I did?" 

	"Indubitably, Detective. The application has to be submitted from
outside Canada, as you know." 

	"Uh, right. I knew that. Sure." 

	"Since Const - Corporal Fraser sponsored you, the paperwork is
almost through. In light of your recent assistance, they waived the
interview requirement. Here are some temporary papers to tide you over,
although I doubt that you'll need anything of the sort until you get
back." 

	Fraser's beyond speech. It's up to me, I guess, and I'm not as
good at words. So I stand up and grab her and hug her. She hugs me back,
for a few long seconds, before letting me go. Human as I've ever seen her.
Her eyes are a little bright. She looks straight at me. "I don't belong
here. I hope you do." 

	"I do." 

	"You'd better." 

	Fraser finally gets his voicebox open. "He does. And thank you,
sir." 

	She holds a hand up. "Not necessary, Con Corporal. I am doing my
duty. I've had an excellent tutor in that respect." She stands back, looks
at him for a long, long minute, and then slowly salutes him. Fraser turns
bright red, returns the salute with an embarrassed kind of snap. 

	Awkward kind of minute, broken by Frobisher's voice as he and the
pilot start back towards us again. "Let's just fill your thermos for the
return flight," he's saying. "Unless you have time for some stew." 

	Thatcher puts the kibosh on that. "No, I'm afraid not, Sergeant. I
am due at my new posting tomorrow and every moment counts. Corporal, I'm
afraid I need the rest of that bag, if you'd be so kind." 

	"Of course, sir." Fraser picks up the half empty bag and starts
walking to the plane with her. I let 'em go. I figure she's not gonna kiss
him now, and wonder who told her about us. News travels fast. Welsh.
Probably. Yeah. And have to admit that I underestimated the hell out of
her. Generous doesn't even come close. I sure wouldn't be that nice if I
was in her shoes. Lot to be said for this politeness stuff, this kindness
stuff, this duty stuff, this Canadian stuff, after all.  

	Pilot heads off to the plane after a minute with his full thermos
and a quick taste of the bigos. Fraser and Thatcher are still talking.
Talk talking, it looks like, actual interchange of words, and as the pilot
approaches, Fraser salutes her. She grabs him by the arms and, with flair,
kisses him on each cheek. I don't have my glasses so I can't see his grin
but I'm sure it's there. He gives her a leg up into the plane and tosses
the bag in after her, and slowly walks back to Frobisher and me. 

	Frobisher says to me, "Corporal? I knew she'd come through. Did
she mention a posting?" 

	Yeah, why did Thatcher bother sending him away? She should've
known I'd spill as soon as she left. I'm real susceptible to these Mountie
types. "Norman Wells." 

	"Ah! A bit civilised for me, but a good choice for acclimation, as
it were. And close to the Yukon, good dogs there for the Iditarod.
Fraser's cabin isn't too far away. Not close enough to live in, though." 

	Fraser's back by now, joining in. "Certainly within a reasonable
distance for weekends. Perhaps I'll finally get that addition on, not to
mention some indoor facilities." 

	"Congratulations, Frase." 

	"Good work, Benton." 

	Fraser looks from one of us to the other and blushes again. "Is
dinner ready?" ~~~~~~~~~~ 

	We've done the tallow and tack thing and Frobisher's studying some
of the maps Thatcher brought. Fraser's got one too, and every now and then
he points something out to me. I'm trying, without much success because of
the firelight and because of the complex prose, to start in on Franklin's
Narrative. Lytton Strachey had nothing on Franklin. I'll try again in the
daylight. Close the book, lean over to look at the map with Fraser. He
leans, too, so our shoulders are touching. Frobisher scoots his stool
over, still holding his preferred map in one hand, so we can all three
look at both maps.  

	My mind worries at Frobisher and Thatcher for a minute.
Frobisher's got a weird way of looking at things, definitely a little off,
so if Fraser's dad was anything like that, it explains a lot about Fraser.
I didn't expect Frobisher to be so matter of fact about us but I can see
how he's that way.  

Thatcher . . . gotta admit my head's still spinning on that one. Even if
she's, you know, open-minded in general, I didn't expect her to be so
open-minded in specific, about me. She's always been a little, a lot,
dog-in-the-mangerish about Fraser, so her U-turn, and about me, is
completely out of left field. Want to ask Fraser, but I don't know if I
want to hear the answer, or if he knows the answer, or if he even wants to
talk about it. And it's his thing to worry about the future, but he's not,
and I am. How are other people gonna take this? Other Mounties? NCOIC
implies Fraser'll be in charge of someone. How'm I gonna affect that? Am I
gonna mess it up for him? Thatcher didn't seem to think so, but she and I
have never seen eye to eye on much. Well, on anything. 

	"Ray. You're not listening." 

	"Uh, no. Sorry, Frase." 

	"Ray. Don't worry. About anything." 

	How's he do that? How's he know? "I'm not." 

	Fraser shakes his head. "Yes, you are. First things first. The
quest." 

	"Yeah, 'course, Fraser. I'm good to go. Well, not sled wise I'm
gonna slow you down . . ." 

	"For a while, yes, Ray, but we're not on a schedule. Ah,
schedule." He says it the American way second, wrinkling his nose. Why
that turns me on I do not know but it does. Fortunately the temperature
makes that mostly wishful thinking, for now, anyway. "You'll need to get
accustomed to the climate, and your muscles will need to get used to
driving, but there's no hurry. Speaking of climate, have some pemmican." 

	"This public service announcement was brought to you by the
Canadian Pemmican Association, Corporal Benton Fraser, RCMP, spokesman." 

	That gets a snort and then a chuckle from Frobisher. "I wouldn't
be surprised if there was one." 

	"I'm sure there is," I say, and then start chewing. Stuff gets
caught in my teeth but I know it's high fat, high cal, and I can tell
Fraser's gonna fuss ten thousand times more than my mom ever did. He's
usually protective anyhow and I know as well as he does how many calories
you can burn in this kinda weather. That's why he's being so tactful about
the second sled. I gotta seriously up the calorie intake to be able to
handle a day of running with a dog sled. And he's probably gotta ease back
into it too. Chicago doesn't exactly prep you for Arctic expeditions,
physically or mentally. He will and does tough it out, but like he said,
there's no hurry. We got time. Cold, frozen waste type time, but alone
time, so I'll take it how I can get it. 

	Frobisher looks at Fraser and then at me, and then says, "There's
some stew left." 

	Jesus, two of 'em. 

	"I'm not hungry. And I'm not stupid." 

	Fraser reaches for, finds, my hand, holds it tight. No words
needed. Yeah, I get it, Fraser. And he gets it too, turns the conversation
back to the Beaufort Sea. 

	Frobisher packs it in a little while later. "Don't stay up too
late. You ought to get an early start," he says. Without a single note of
double entendre. Amazing.  

	Fraser goes to check the dog line. I walk off in the other
direction a little ways. Digesting. Reflecting. Been up on top of the
mountain; feel like I'm coming down the other side now, everything rushing
by so fast I don't have time to think or even react, but for some reason I
got time to be scared. Terrified. What if I screw this up? What if I screw
up the quest? What if we end up in a crevasse with no Grade Four classmate
to happen by and pull us out? What if I freak Ben out and he stops wanting
me, loving me, needing me like I want, love, need him? Stella and me said
forever too and she couldn't go the distance with me. But she can go the
distance with Vecchio. I shake myself, grin. Yeah, right. Believe that
when I see it.	

	Ben's boots crunch behind me in the snow, pulls me into a hug from
behind. 

	"It's going to be all right, Ray." 

	"I'm glad one of us thinks so." Don't know where that came from.
But I do know that I gotta know, now, just like before. If he can handle
pissy Ray; if he wants to. 

	"So am I." Hear the smile in his voice, the warm breath in my ear.
 

	"You want me?" 

	"Yes." 

	"You sure about that?" 

	"Absolutely." 

	"Why?" 

	He actually laughs, then. "I thought you said you weren't stupid.
I love you. I like you. It's all right to have cold feet, Ray." 

	"It's not just my feet, Fraser." 

	"I know." 

	Holds me some more, sighs into my neck. 

	"If it's reassuring, Ray, I have warm feet." 

	"You probably do, Mountie. Both of 'em. You sure jumped in with
both feet, too, didn't you?" 

	"Mmmm. Yes." 

	"Fraser. Are you tryin' to charm me outta my bad mood?" 

	"Mmmm. Yes." 

	"Okay, I like that humming thing, that humming thing into my neck.
I don't have really cold feet, okay? You understand?" 

	"Absolutely, Ray." 

	"It's just . . . okay, you know, usually you're the one with the
plans. The one in control. The one who's always two steps ahead of
everyone. And I'm the think later one. We kinda switched. It's a little
freaky." 

	"We're in Canada now." 

	"What's that supposed to mean?" 

	"I . . . I'm not sure." 

"So, like, we're in Canada, at the mercy of Mother Nature and the elements
and . . . and polar bears and crevasses, and now you decide to lose the
control freakiness? I figured you'd be even more uptight here than in
Chicago." 

He's quiet for a few moments, can almost hear that brain ticking, but on
second thought it's probably his heartbeat. "Here . . . here I am all I
can control, Ray. Myself and my actions. I can't control those other
things, although I can hopefully predict circumstances and affect
outcomes. It's . . . you're right. It's oddly freeing, compared to
Chicago, and I didn't realise why until just now." 

"You were kinda like a sheep dog in Chicago but you didn't know whether to
go after the sheep or the goats." 

His whole body shakes as he buries his head in my shoulder and lets loose.


"I'm so glad you can laugh at me." 

"I am too," he gasps. Impossible man. Impossible to stay mad at him,
impossible to have hurt feelings. "The, ah, Canadian flock is, indeed,
much more manageable." 

"So . . ." 

He finally sobers, turning me around to look at him, wiping his eyes on
his coat sleeve. 

"So, Ray." 

"So you're cool with it. Cool with the future thing, the posting thing,
the roommate thing?" 

"Absolutely and entirely." 

"You cool with the toothpaste squeezed from the middle of the tube? Is
that one of those elemental things that you just let happen? You cool with
who drank all the milk and forgot to get more?" 

"Actually, Ray, often it's much more cost effective to bulk order
groceries in case lots and have them shipped via the river barge during
the summer." 

"Fraser." 

"Yes, Ray. I am 'cool' with all of that. You and I can have separate tubes
of toothpaste." 

"Separate cartons of milk?" 

"That won't be necessary. As long as you don't mind if I drink out of the
carton." 

"You? You drink out of the carton too?" 

"Upon occasion, yes." 

"Cool. Coolness. Guys are so much cooler than chicks." 

He laughs again, hugs me, but that reminds me of the other problem, the
bigger one. Pull back, look him in the eye.  

"You cool with the homophobia thing?" 

He sobers abruptly. "I should have thought my reactions to you would
obviate the necessity of asking that question." Oooh, got a nerve.
Multisyllabic Mountie. 

"That's not an answer." 

"I love you, I want you - " 

"Neither's that. Sounds good, don't mind hearing it, but it's not an
answer." 

Sighs, tugs his ear, shifts his weight from left foot to right and back
again. "Then perhaps I'm not understanding the question. I want to be with
you. I want to live with you. I'm not particularly concerned with what
other people will think, although I am aware that there may be some
unpleasantness. Not much, I hope, since I think that my country is less
concerned about such things, in many respects, than yours. Specifically,
the beliefs of many of the indigenous populations in the Northwest
Territories are much more accepting of relationships such as ours than one
might think." 

"Sounds too good to be true, Ben." Well, it does. But I feel bad when I
see his face fall. 

"In actuality, then, it's you who are worried about this." He frowns a
little. Drops his eyes to the snow at our feet. I can kinda feel him
pulling back into himself, not so open, not so warm, not so happy. Back to
Fraser, my partner and friend, but not my lover. Barriers, that's it.
Barriers, going up, expecting pain. Expecting hurt. Expecting rejection. 

"Ben . . ." Say it as soft, as warm as I can. He looks back up, but I
can't read his eyes. "We already said it. Forever. But like I said, you
don't seem to be thinking ahead. And I can't help it, I am. Your career's
finally back on track. You got a promotion, a lot of attaboys, probably a
decoration or two in the works, if Thatcher's double sticks around a while
longer. And I don't want to mess that up. Don't want to mess up the
Mountie part of you. I know how much it means to you, bein' a Mountie. I
won't leave you. I've loved you a long time. I'll love you forever. But
you're being so open about this. Is it because you're not thinking? Or is
it because you really, logically, don't think we gotta hide anything?" 

He searches my face for a long, long minute, then puts one hand on each
cheek and holds me, straight eyed. 

"I refuse to hide anything, Ray. I see no need for it. And yes, that is
both my instinct and my logic agreeing, Ray. I hope you appreciate the
rarity of that concord." 

"I hope I learn to speak Canadian, and right speedily." 

"I love you." 

"Okay, that sounds familiar. What's that mean in Canadian?" 

"I want you."	 

"Oh, I like the translation. How do you say I love you in Canadian?" 

"I want you." 

"Wow. I think I got that. That's pretty easy. Is the rest that easy?" 

"That's the most important part, Ray. The only part, really. Forever means
the same, of course, unless you're Quebeçois but we're not so don't worry
about it." 

"Cool. Want you, love you, forever, Ben." 

"You're a quick study, Ray." He pulls back and looks at me, serious again.
"So is this all right? Are your feet any warmer?" 

"They feel like they just got an extra pair of wool socks, Fraser. Looks
like you got a roommate. Tentmate now, I mean, roommate later." 

"Bedrollmate would be more to my liking, Ray. Sleepingbagmate." 

"Sounds good to me because I ain't gonna be able to afford a whole bedroom
until I find a job. I was kinda planning to share yers." 

"We'll worry about that after we find the Hand of Franklin, Ray. Right
now, I think we should concentrate on simply sharing a sleeping bag. Rent
free." 

"We going to find it, Frase?" 

"Who knows? The journey is what matters, Ray." 

"Yeah, wondered how long it would be before you let that philosopher guy
back out." 

"Mmmm." 

Pulls me against him as we start walking, stumbling from time to time
because we can't let go of each other, towards our tent. I'm insane. I
know that. Six months of down time and I'm gonna spend it in the icebox of
the world all because I can't stay away from a crazy Mountie. Icebox,
yeah. Wind's picking up, temperature's dropping fast, even I can tell. But
in spite of that I look around at the stars, amazing stars, stop, gawking,
and Fraser stumbles, pulls me back against him. 

"It's like living in a fucking National Geographic," I say. "You ever get
tired of it? You ever stop to think how amazing it is that the stars
practically light up the snow?" 

"No and yes," he says. "I love seeing it through your eyes, though." 

"You know, Fraser, if I'd known how, uh, communicative ice makes you
I'd've bought a walk-in freezer in Chicago." 

Kinda expected the non-answer of a Mountie mouth on mine, I have to admit.
Hot mouth, cold wind . . . 

"Tent, Frase."	 

"Well, I'm not the one who keeps stopping to look at the stars." 

"No, you just keep stopping to see if you can freeze our lips together." 

"Ray, have I mentioned that you have the most delightful thoughts?" 

Shake my head at him, grin, pull him into the tent behind me, boots off,
learned that first thing. Not boots. Mukluks. The real deal. They work
too, kinda surprised me. I mean, plain old leather and fur? In the Arctic
waste? Who'd've thought? 

Fraser gets his off pretty fast too, even though they're regulation
Mountie type cold weather boots, while I'm shucking my coat. He drops his
coat on top of mine a few seconds later. But instead of settling in for
some kissing, he moves behind me, rubbing his palms over my shoulders
before digging into the selfsame muscle that was bugging me big time
before dinner. 

"Oh, Frase. Oh. Wow. You don't . . . ow . . . you don't have to . . ." 

"I want to." 

"Okay, then. Go for it." 

He leans in to kiss the back of my neck, whispers, "Then relax," against
it. Yeah, gave that away, he knows the back of my neck and his lips got a
real duet thing going there now. Leaves his mouth there, just breathing
warm air, while his fingertips push and move the muscle between my
shoulder blade and spine, workin' the last knots away and incidentally
turning the rest of me into jelly. So after a minute or two, when his
breath is replaced by his tongue, just gently flicking, I hardly react
except to say something real intelligent, something like, "Mmmmm." 

Lips join tongue, sucking, flicking gently, right at my hairline, wow.
Hands smooth across my back and then around my front to hold me while he
puts the mouth to serious work. Talented, so talented lips and tongue and,
oh, perfect, Frase, teeth, gentle scrape, then bite, and I shudder. Can't
believe I'm getting hard just from this. Well, it's Fraser, so okay, I can
believe it. 

Lips, tongue, make their way around to an ear and I jump, jerk back
against solid Fraser. "Oh, Frase . . . nice . . ." He pushes against me in
return, feel his hardness in the small of my back, one hand on my stomach,
encouraging me to rock back against him. The other hand is at my waist,
undoing buttons, zippers, one handed, unsurprisingly efficient. 

Finally I twist around, can't go another second without tasting him,
breathing him, holding him. Oh, yeah, tastes better than I remember even
from five minutes ago, wood smoke, pemmican, and all. Too soon he leaves
my mouth, starts down my chin, seems to like the stubble, although by now
it's almost beard, and then runs teeth down the tendon in my neck.
Goddamn, he's hot. He's good. He's perfect at this . . . I've never been
made love to, not like this, not like I'm the only thing in the universe.
I could get used to it. Seriously used to it . . . and he gets another
moan outta me as he fastens himself to the base of my neck, sucking,
almost too hard, way possessive, but I am all over that, I know I belong
to him and vice versa. I arch my head back, push his head down, squirm
against him, encourage him for all I'm worth, wanting to feel the tongue,
the lips, and yeah, finally, the burn, the sting, as he gives in and marks
me. Involuntary gasp and he raises his head, a little worried, a lot wild.


"Do it . . . do it again, Fraser, you know I'm yours," I say, too
unsteady, rewarded with a flash of more wildness as he lowers his head
again, lips back at work, different place this time, one hand under the
back of my neck, the other slipping inside my pants to cup my ass. Another
burn, another sting, moves his head down onto my chest, does it again, no
way I could come just from his lips on my skin but it's real tempting. 

Raises his head, finally, looks at me long and hard before he kisses me,
long and hard, we're stretched out full length now, still too many fucking
clothes on, as I pull at his pants, his shirt . . . Tent's usually pretty
damn warm, those stoves are efficient at small space heating, so I don't
even notice the loss of my shirts. I know he's not gonna notice the loss
of his. Got his bare chest above me, finally, zero in on his neck just
above that collarbone, leave a mark of my own.	

"God! Ray!" 

"Feels fuckin' fantastic, don't it?" 

Shudders, nods, leans in to kiss me again, harder than before, thrusting
tongue into me, thrusting cock against me. Want the tongue . . . realise
with a shock I want the cock too. Oh God. Grab him, hold him still, trying
to get my head to get with the program, trying to keep my body from
hitting overthrust and overdrive way too soon. 

"Ray?" 

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay, Fraser. Okay. Do that thing with your tongue again.
That thing, the thing with your mouth." 

He's still looking at me, Christ, I killed the mood, come on, Fraser. Look
at him and then down him, then back at his face and grin as I start to
unbutton his pants. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even breathe, as I
push the pants off his hips. Stares at me, wants me, still worried. 

	So I reach up to lick his nipple, practically eye level with me,
scrape it with my teeth. "Like that? I like feelin' your teeth on me too."


	Wildness is back, oh yeah, as he kicks his pants the rest of the
way off, lowers his head to my neck again, licking, biting, sucking my
neck, my chest, my shoulders, didn't know my skin had so many nerve
endings, as we fumble my pants off together. He stops then, looks at me,
looks at my cock, feral grin on his face matching the one on mine as he
whispers, "You like teeth?" and runs his tongue over his teeth. 

	I say, hungry, "Fuck, yeah . . ." 

	Practically swallows me in one swoop, no teeth yet, just strong
hot tongue and mouth, suction, once, twice, and then the mouth is gone
again. He pushes my cock forward and lowers his head again and then I feel
the teeth, gentle nibbles all the way down, and I am losing my mind. He
does it again. Mind's gone. Scrabble at his shoulders, pull him up to look
at him. "Like the teeth. Want more than teeth. Got it?" 

	Understanding dawns. So does a smile. "Was that - ?" 

	"Yeah. Just . . . just, uh, yeah." 

	"Good."  

	Wow. Wow. Guess he . . . wow . . . liked it. I mean, really liked
it. Is more than okay with it. With us. Realise my mouth is hanging open
when he grins and pushes it closed with a finger. For someone who hasn't
gotten around much, he sure as hell knows what he wants and how he wants
it. Mmmmyeah. 

	Words skitter around in my head but all that pops out is a
smart-ass, "Guess it's all aboard for fun time, then, Mountie." 

	He throws his head back and laughs, deep-chested, from his toes,
shakes his head as he reaches over to dig in his pile of shirts. Oh yeah.
Dual duty tube. Chapped lips, unchapped dicks. 

	And he's a fast learner, knew that already. Even with my kinda
fumbling example last night, he's got it down tonight, strong gentle
fingers teasing, twisting, oh God stretching, one, then another. And he's
added the mouth, licking, sucking weird places, my hip bone, my knee, my
ribcage. I want to do the same to him, for him, but all I can do right now
is exist, be here, don't wanna be anywhere else, don't want him to ever
stop and can't wait until he does, until he gives me what I want. That
thought propels my hips right down onto his fingers and he kinda chokes a
little, stops licking, closes his eyes for a second. No, he's not quite as
together as I think he is.  

	"'Kay, Ben. 'Kay."  

	"Oh. God. Ray." Kinda grunts the words out as I roll over, push my
ass up in the air. I grunt right back, wordless sound, close my eyes in
anticipation, relief, dread as I feel his thighs between mine, his hand on
my ass, I know where his other hand is, guiding his cock . . . oh yeah . .
. right there . . . and he starts pushing.	

Feels impossibly huge, I feel too tight, burning, some pain. Pant a few
pants and he stops, leans over me. 

"Okay? Ray?" 

"Better than okay . . . just . . . getting used to it . . . you know . .
." 

He pulls back a little, pushes in just a little, shallow thrusts, that's
it, that's easier, and if I'd just relax it'd be even better. Deep breath,
squeeze my eyes shut, consciously relaxing, loosening, and he pushes in
some more . . . and moans . . . The moan just fucking finishes turning me
on and I push back against him hard, wanting him in me, filling me,
needing all of him. 

"Want me, Fraser?" 

"Yes." 

"Need to . . . need to hear it, Fraser." 

He's all the way in now, deep inside, oh God yeah. 

"Ray, I want you . . . want this . . . and I have you, have this . . ." 

Fuck, he always always always has the right words. Yeah, that's what I
wanted last night, to have him, what I needed, tonight, for him to have
me. To want me, to claim me, needed to know that I was his, completely. 

A little cautiously, he pulls back, thrusts in. Getting easier. Yeah. He
does it again, harder, and again, and hits something inside me that makes
me jerk, makes my cock, only half hard now, twitch.  

"God, Ben. What -" 

He does it again. "Aw, yeah, right there . . ." 

Somehow, somehow, manages to kinda rub his cock right there, right in that
place, I'm hard again just from that, and moaning senseless moans. 

"Is that is that right, Ray?" Voice shaking, iron self control, hell,
can't believe he's lasted this long." 

"You're a natural, Frase. Unnhhhh . . ." Definitely a fast learner, knows
what he likes, as one hand soothes past my hip to curl firmly around my
cock. 

Thrust, withdraw, thrust, stroke . . . oh fuck . . .  

"Ray!" Somehow he remembers not to yell, harsh harsh whisper, raspy with
the effort of not screaming, don't I know it, as he thrusts, hard, deep,
and moves both hands to hold my hips still, spasm after spasm filling me,
so goddamn fucking perfect, so goddamn fucking right . . . 

"Sorry. Sorry," he gasps, pulling us together as he lands, heavily, on his
side, still in me. "Overwhelming . . . sorry . . . I . . . to be part of
you . . . to have you . . ." 

Open my mouth to reassure him and almost yelp instead as his hand finds my
cock again, stroking hard, fast, feel warm wetness trickling out of me as
he softens, still inside me. Hot breath on my neck, hot tongue, and then
teeth, biting, gently but there, right into my shoulder, that's all it
takes, jerk back against his teeth, he bites harder, thrust forward into
his hand, shudder, and come, hard, can't hold back the noise even though I
try to swallow it. 

When I come to my senses a few seconds later, he's still apologising,
still holding me, whispering nonsense words. "Sorry, Ray, I needed you. I
didn't expect . . . I love you. God. Ray." 

"Love you too." Sleepy or something, having trouble forming words, feel
like crying but not because I'm sad. 

"Are you all right?" Feel him get up on an elbow, move over to look down
at my face. I roll onto my back a little, smile at him. I can manage a
smile. Blink back the tears. His face, already worried, gets more worried
as he takes mine in. "I did hurt you. I'm so sorry, Ray." 

"Stop fucking apologising, Ben. I loved it. Love you. It's not that,
okay?" 

"Ah." Back on track now, our thoughts meshing again. He smiles, finally,
tender, sweet, and glances around. I follow his eyes to his hand, to my
mess there.  

	"Need a towel?" 

	"Or . . . something." 

	"We're gonna have to do something about the laundry problem, I
guess." 

	"It's a wonderful problem to have," he says, getting up, sticking
his hand outside the tent flap to wash it in the snow.	

	"Don't you dare put that hand on me . . ." I grin as I say that
and somewhere get the energy to slide inside the sleeping bag and pull it
up around me, my eyes drifting shut. Feel complete, full, loved; know this
is gonna work, the whole thing, not just the sex . . . feels so good . . .


	"Ray. Ray, we can't sleep naked in this weather." 

	"Whatever, Frase." Can't even get my eyes open. 

	"Oh, Ray." Half teasing, half resigned, and my eyes fly open, my
arms fly up, as I feel ice on my neck. His hand. 

	"Shit, Fraser, I told you -" 

	He doesn't look too repentant as he hands me his red underwear.
"I'll warm you right back up. Might I point out that this underwear has an
appropriately placed flap or two?"  

	I stop buttoning for a second, stare at him. "What?" He's
blushing. After all that, he's blushing about underwear. The man will
never bore me, that's for certain. 

	"I was simply pointing out that as we head further north and it
gets colder, it might not be necessary or indeed expedient to remove all
-" 

	"I get it, I get it. This is a Canadian invention, right? I love
how you people think. Come here. I'm still cold." 

	He doesn't waste any time at that, his fingers flying on the last
few buttons, slides down into the bag with me and we wrap our arms and
legs around each other. My own furnace. I doubt Franklin had it so good. 

	My mouth ended up by his ear. "So you liked it? Plan to, uh, do it
some more?" 

	"I loved it. I love you. I love feeling so close to you." 

	"I love you and I love hearing you say stuff like that even if it
does blow my mind." 

	"Thank you." 

	"Oh, jeez, Fraser, don't start that or we'll be thankin' each
other all night and then we'll oversleep on our quest morning." 

	Feel him smile against my cheek as he hugs me, hard, hug him right
back. Right here, this is where I belong, where he belongs. Feel my body
relax. Feel him relax too. No wolves tonight, just the sound of us
breathing in the quiet. Until I feel him take a breath and start singing
again, soft, intimate, warm in my ear. 

	"Ah, for just one time, I would take the Northwest Passage . . ." 

	Whisper the words along with him, for the chorus anyhow. Manage to
stay awake, tonight, for three whole verses, I think. 

  

Always a couple of last minute things, Frobisher suddenly panicking that
we didn't pack enough solid fuel for the stove, so the sun's coming up
between two peaks before I finally get settled into the sled. Dief's
raring to go. So's Fraser. I can tell: can practically feel the adrenaline
coursing through his body. But he doesn't say anything. Probably can't.
Catch a flash of scarlet outta the corner of my eye: Frobisher saluting
Fraser. Quick sidelong glance, Fraser returning the salute, looking
prouder than I've ever seen him. Yeah. Guess he earned that. No, I know he
earned that. Look forward again, it's his moment. Then I feel more than
see him look out the line to the dogs, then to the sun, then down at me.
Taps my shoulder. 

I don't need to look at him. This is him, this is me, this is us, this is
forever; Fraser wiped out all doubts of anything less last night. Let's
get to it already. I'm good to go. Nod a little nod, point forward with
the fingers of both hands towards the sun.   Comments:
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