Away In A Manger    Away In A Manger by Voyagerbabe

 Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Starship/6102/home.html

 Author's disclaimer: 
There once was a company in Toronto, 
Who made the world's best TV show. 
People, wolves, places, and plot, 
All the rights they have got. 
But here I can do what I want to!

 Author's notes: Inspired by the recent birth of my twin cousins.
Thankfully NOT born in a barn. Dedicated as always to the wonderful men
and women of RSY.

  

 He could see the dogsled coming while it was still several kilometers
away, a maelstrom of barking fur, high plumes of snow and a distraught
Mountie in the process of becoming a father. The dogs seemed to be feeding
off of the emotions of their driver, pulling the wooden and rawhide sled
across the tightly packed snow as if it weighed no more than their
shadows. Constable Buck Frobisher watched it approach at a breakneck
speed, praying silently that his friend's exuberance wouldn't lead to a
last minute crash. Caroline would shoot him. 

 As the sled came near the front of the cabin, Buck took a step back to
avoid the spray of ice crystals thrown up as the runners bit into the
tundra and the sled came to a halt. Almost before the vehicle had come to
a stop, the driver was off. He disregarded the dogs completely as he
stumbled over his own feet in his haste to reach his partner. One shaking,
mittened hand lifting the goggles that had protected his eyes from the
blinding snow, Constable Bob Fraser revealed bright blue eyes that were
vivid with anxiety. "Grrmd Mmood, Buuuh!" 

 With a flash of annoyance in his eyes, Bob tore away the thick woolen
scarf covering his mouth. "Great Scott, Buck!" he gasped, "Is she
really....?!" 

 Buck nodded, his own eyes wide as he looked at his anguished friend. The
two men had been partners for just a little more than three years now, and
he considered Bob as close as a brother. His own daughter, Julie, had been
born only six months ago, and he knew well the gut-twisting worry that was
turning his partner into a highly qualified straight-jacket candidate. Bob
had been there for he and Kate, now he was going to be there for Caroline.


 Placing calming hands on the shorter man's shoulders, he looked him
straight in the eyes. "Yes, Bob. Thirteen hours ago." 

 "Thi--" Bob's face took on an alarming shade of pale. Swaying dizzily, he
grabbed onto the handle of the dogsled. Unfortunately, the dogs, freed of
their driver's influence, had taken the liberty of moving a few meters
onward. Constable Robert Fraser, rapidly gaining a reputation as one of
the most promising young officers the RCMP had know, rapidly knew
something else. Snow only looked soft. When one was introduced to it with
one's nose by way of gravity, it wasn't the least bit forgiving. 

 Without saying a word about the undignified descent, Buck reached down
and hooked his arm beneath the thick leather sleeve of the other man's
parka, hauling him to his feet. "Come on now, Bob, let's get you into the
cabin." 

 Grabbing Buck's arm in a vise-like grip, Bob's trembling was detectable
even through the multiple thick layers they both wore. "She...she's in the
cabin?" 

 "No, she's in the barn." 

 He nearly went down again. Thankfully, Buck caught him in time. The
near-faint didn't last long though, as the young Mountie was infused with
a burst of desperate energy. Staggering back, eyes wide and wild, he
looked aghast at his friend. "The BARN?!! For Pete's sake, Buck, what in
hell is she doing in the BARN?!! Is she all right?" A catch of fear
appeared in his voice, and he reached out, grabbing the fur collar of
Frobisher's parka in his fists and drawing him close. "Is she all right?
The baby! Oh dear God, are they all right?!!" 

 Continuing his gentle efforts to steer Bob towards the cabin, Buck
nodded. "Yes, Bob. Caroline's just fine. She went into labour thirteen
hours ago. Your wife - with all due respect, your wife who has more than
her share of your pigheadedness - decided that contractions indicated a
favorable time to feed the dogs. A high likelihood she wouldn't be able to
do it again soon and all. Her water broke." 

 The iron grip on his collar didn't relax. "But she wasn't alone, right?
Caroline...you were with her? Weren't you?" 

 He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "Well...eventually." 

 "What the hell kind of answer is 'eventually'?!!!" Bob's voice had risen
to a near-hysterical pitch. 

 "Well she wasn't due for another week, you know." A hint of annoyance
crept into his tone. "I came by, like I promised. Found her soon enough."
He shook his head. "My God, Bob, Caroline's a pretty little thing, but she
has the mouth of a sailor. And a damned fine arm." 

 "Arm?" 

 Buck nodded his head down, and when his collar was finally released,
reached down to show off a neat slit sliced into the heavy leather of his
parka at the side of his hip. "She thought I was you, Bob. Threw a damned
knife at me! Another half meter to the right, and Julie might well be an
only child! I have a suspicion that was her original intention, however
the contraction likely disrupted her aim." 

 The neat cut in his friend's coat seemed to throw reality into Bob's face
as surely as the snow had impacted him a few moments previously. "Caroline
did that?" 

 "Yes, Bob, Caroline did that. And she has another one." 

 "Another one?" 

 "Another knife. She had two of them. Big, wicked things for cutting the
frozen meat. I wouldn't recommend going in there if I were you." 

 For a moment, the imperiled father seemed swayed, then he changed his
mind as another thought came to mind with considerable volume. "She's
STILL OUT THERE?" 

 Sheepishly, Buck nodded. "She was six hours along by the time I got
there...we couldn't move her. She uh..." he blushed bright crimson,
slipping one gloved finger under his collar. "She sort of had her knickers
around her knees, and it's fifteen below out here. But it's ok, I got a
Doctor, and he's in there with her." 

 "A Doctor?" Bob had begun to pace, three paces briskly in each direction
as he rapidly trod a trench in the snow. "So there's a Doctor with her?" 

 "Yes." 

 "And she's ok." 

 "Yes." 

 "And the baby's ok." 

 "Yes." 

 "And she's...not particularly friendly at the moment?" 

 "No." 

 The wind changed direction at that moment, carrying a cry from the barn.
It sounded like something from another world entirely, as the already
anguished sound had been twisted and spun by the Yukon wind. The closest
correlation either man could come up with was that of a walrus being
slowly eviscerated with a dull and rusty knife while being slow-roasted
over hot coals. That settled things for Bob. "So...we wait in the cabin,
eh?" 

 Clapping a firm hand on his partner's shoulder, Buck turned him firmly
towards the distant log structure. "I've got whiskey in there." 

 "Thank God." 

 *** 

 An hour later, the door to the cabin opened, admitting a frigid gust of
Arctic air that made the fire gutter briefly in protest. A slight dusting
of snow drifted onto the floorboards, and the two Mounties ensconced in
communion with a bottle of whiskey looked up in trepidation. 

 Buck had allowed himself to relax with the fiery brew, and it's effects
were beginning to show. There was a decided laxity to his demeanor, the
deep, peaceful wisdom of the moderately inebriated visible on his face.
Bob, on the other hand, had barely managed a single swallow. His hands
were shaking too badly to even lift the glass to his lips, and he had
stared at it intensely. Perhaps the soothing effects of the alcohol could
be assimilated visually. It was worth a try, anyway. 

 Now, as he saw the figures in the open doorway, the whiskey was struck
entirely from his mind. Leaping to his feet, he upset the glass, spilling
the amber liquid unnoticed across the coarse wooden tabletop. "Caroline!" 

 A huge, hulking creature in leather and furs filled the wide doorway, his
face concealed beneath a hood made from the hide of an elk, the head still
complete with antlers. His broad shoulders nearly brushed the sides of the
door. In his arms, he cradled Caroline, her petite form appearing like a
child beneath the raw fur that protected her from the ravaging Arctic
wind. Looking from his wife's daintily vulnerable frame to the dark, wild
eyes of the man, his face as leathered and creased as his clothing, Bob
felt his heart clutch. "You're the Doctor?" 

 The only reply was a low grunt, then the elk-man took two broad steps
into the cabin, placing her with surprising gentleness on one of the
armchairs by the fire. With the same brusque silence as he had entered, he
left, shutting the door securely behind him. Bob's jaw hung open as he
stared after the stranger, but his thoughts were abruptly snapped back to
reality by a soft voice. 

 "Are you going to stand there, or are you going to come see your son?" 

 Son. His son. He was a father. A father with a son. A son meant a boy.
His boy. "I have a...son." 

 As if in answer, a loud, energetic wail rang out through the cabin. Bob
had never heard a more beautiful sound. The boy certainly had healthy
lungs! 

 Stepping over towards the fire, he looked down at his wife. Her face was
reddened and brightly sheened with sweat, her auburn hair falling in limp
strands across her forehead from beneath her hood. Her eyes were slightly
dulled with exhaustion, but he could still see the strength and fire he so
loved about her. She was a lovely creature, but sturdy, able to care for
herself. She seemed to have forgiven him - or at least didn't seem
particularly inclined to hurl cutlery at him - as she smiled slightly. 

 Nodding her head down slightly, she pulled back a corner of the fur that
was hiding a squalling, squirming something. Bob leaned forward eagerly.
This was his son, his baby boy. 

 It looked like a wrinkly old man. It was bright red, it's face squished
up tightly. It's eyes were closed as though welded, and there seemed to be
a white, waxy substance smeared over it's skin. It's hair was little more
than a few wisps of dark fuzz, and it's toothless mouth gaped like an
angry wound as it wailed. All of Bob's thoughts of a clean, cooing,
bright-eyed Gerber baby came crashing down. In what he would soon realize
to be an exceedingly poor moment of judgment, he said - without bothering
to edit - the first thing that came to his mind. "It's ugly." 

 Were some wordsmith a thousand years hence to look back on history and
attempt to define that quaint twentieth-century expression "put your foot
in it", they would have had to look no farther than that moment in that
cabin. Indeed, Bob Fraser was distinctly tasting thigh. 

 Caroline's eyes blazed hot, and a new flush appeared to her cheeks as she
lowered the fur almost protectively over her son. Her voice had taken on a
quietude that Bob had learned to fear, and he swallowed hard. "Robert
Charles Fraser, that is not an 'it'. That is my son. The son that I just
spent a goddamned lifetime delivering without so much as an aspirin.
Delivering in the barn. Exposing my bare ass to a barn that was barely ten
degrees above zero. Lying on hay that itched like hell. Assisted by your
useless partner and an Inuit with a deer on his head. A gentleman who
saved your life when he made me hand over the knife that I had reserved to
make damned sure that your would never, ever do this to me again. I did
not go through that to deliver an 'it.' That 'it' is your son. Our son.
And *he* is the most beautiful little boy that you ever saw. Either that,
or the next time you deign to burn down a cabin, you, Robert, had better
be in it at the time." 

 Bob nodded almost desperately, well aware of his grievous error and the
mortal peril in which it had placed him. The thought of Buck's sliced
jacket was chillingly prominent in his mind. "Oh, he's beautiful,
Caroline. Gorgeous, in fact. Dazzling, magnificent, marvelous, handsome,
adorable..." 

 His wife's voice was as cold as the wind blowing outside the cabin's warm
walls. "Thank you kindly, Bob, I don't need a thesauruses." 

 Looking again at the tiny being snuggled in Caroline's arms - quiet now,
one tiny thumb having found it's way to his mouth - a sense of wonder
began to overtake the shock. True, he was rather rumpled looking, but that
was to be expected if one thought about it. Yet, need of ironing aside,
that was his son. An entire human being in perfect miniature, one half
his, one half Caroline's, all formed from their love for each other. She
was right. He was beautiful. "Does he have a name?" 

 They'd already agreed upon his first name, and the list of middle names
narrowed to a few. Bob wasn't expecting to be surprised, but when Caroline
made her announcement, he was. "Benton Thomas Fraser." 

 Bob pouted slightly. "I thought we'd agreed on Benjamin." 

 "There are ten thousand Benjamin's out there." Ever so gently, the young
mother caressed her infant's satin cheek. "I wanted him to have something
special, something gentlemanly and proud. And besides, he's still a Ben." 

 Ben's father made a face. "But 'Benton'? Caroline, is that even a first
name?" 

 "Yes it is. I read it in a book somewhere." Her tone was one he knew
well. The 

'I've-made-up-my-mind-and-you'd-have-better-luck-arm-wrestling-a-grizzly-b
ear' tone. "And I liked it." She planted a light kiss on her son's
forehead. "Besides, you forfeited your objection when you called him
ugly." 

 She had a point. "Benton it is then." 

 Carefully, almost as though he were afraid the child would shatter at his
touch, Bob reached down and rested one weathered hand against his son's
head. "May I?" 

 Caroline nodded, and he slipped his hands gently beneath the infant,
lifting him in his swaddling bundle of furs. He was satisfyingly heavy,
and Bob laughed quietly as Ben protested the disruption with another loud
burst of crying. Cradling him in his arms, Bob swayed slowly back and
forth, bouncing slightly. "Shhhh...hello, Benton. Hello, son. Did you know
I'm your father? Yes, I am. Constable Robert Fraser." He smiled, "Maybe
you can be a Mountie too someday?" 

 Hearing this, Caroline laughed. "Over my dead body. My son is not going
to go out chasing criminals while *his* wife has a baby in the barn." 

 Solemnly, Bob nodded, unable to tear his eyes from his new baby boy.
"Yes, ma'am." 

 *** 

 Thirty-eight years later 

 *** 

 He could see the dogsled coming while it was still several kilometers
away, a maelstrom of barking fur, high plumes of snow and a distraught
Mountie in the process of becoming a father. The dogs seemed to be feeding
off of the emotions of their driver, pulling the wooden and rawhide sled
across the tightly packed snow as if it weighed no more than their
shadows. Detective Ray Kowalski watched it approach at a breakneck speed,
praying silently that his friend's exuberance wouldn't lead to a last
minute crash. Meg would shoot him. 

 As the sled came near the front of the cabin, Ray took a step back to
avoid the spray of ice crystals thrown up as the runners bit into the
tundra and the sled came to a halt. Almost before the vehicle had come to
a stop, the driver was off. He disregarded the dogs completely as he
stumbled over his own feet in his haste to reach his partner. One shaking,
mittened hand lifting the goggles that had protected his eyes from the
blinding snow, Constable Benton Fraser revealed bright blue eyes that were
vivid with anxiety. "Grrmd Mmood, Ruuuh!" 

 With a flash of annoyance in his eyes, Ben tore away the thick woolen
scarf covering his mouth. "Great Scott, Ray!" he gasped, "Is she
really....?!" 

 Ray nodded, his own eyes wide as he looked at his anguished friend. The
two men had been partners for just a little more than four years now, and
he considered Ben as close as a brother. His own son, Benny, had been born
only eight months ago, and he knew well the gut-twisting worry that was
turning his partner into a highly qualified straight-jacket candidate. Ben
had been there for he and Maggie, now he was going to be there for Meg. 

 THE END