wip amnesty day! (dS, sga, hp, ww, csi)
Feb. 3rd, 2006 05:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
visionshadows
I heart WIP amnesty day. [airs out closet] Here! Enjoy!
It's not a parade so much as it is Duck walking down the street with Dan by his side, Sandra and Emily a step behind them. So really, it's just the four freaks walking down the street one year after Dan tried to kill himself.
So it's not a parade because Duck doesn't have a rainbow flag and Dan doesn't lace his fingers with Duck's. Sandra and Emily don't carry PFLAG banners. But it is enough for people to look out their windows and watch.
They pass the police station and the door opens. Buddy comes walking out, nods a little. He lights a cigarette and falls into step by Duck.
"Afternoon, Duck. Dan." Buddy turns to look at Sandra and Emily. "Ladies."
"Afternoon, Buddy," Duck says, with a nod. "Nice to see you."
"Didn't realize it was today," Buddy says almost apologetically. "Would have met you at Iggy's otherwise."
"It's not really a parade," says Dan, giving Buddy a quirk of a smile. "Just an afternoon stroll."
Buddy nods a little and adjusts his gun on his side. "Nice afternoon for it."
"We thought so," Emily pipes up from behind him. She's cut her hair recently and Buddy turns as he's walking to take a good look at it.
"I like it," Buddy finally says, a smile on his face. "Makes you look older."
"She is going off to university in the fall," Sandra says proudly. "First Anderson to go to university."
Emily blushes and nudges her mom lightly. "Stop."
"We're all proud of you," Duck says quietly and Emily flushes even more. Dan grins a little, his pride more masked than Duck and Sandra's.
“What are you going to do with your life?” asks Buddy.
Emily thinks for a moment and then shrugs. “Live it, I suppose.”
Gil knew there was a difference between knowing something intellectually and knowing something in practice. As a scientist, he lived with that dichotomy everyday. Sometimes it just happened to be more obvious that other times. Now for example.
Intellectually, Gil knew that Greg had a four year-old daughter named Megan. Greg was inordinately proud of her and would enumerate her many qualities at the drop of a hat. But Gil had only met the little girl once when Greg had been in the hospital after the lab explosion and she’d been half-asleep and five months old at the time.
So in his world, she was still mostly theory until Greg had looked at him pleadingly before leaving his daughter in Gil’s office while he dealt with some new evidence that had been found on his day off.
“How did you break your arm?”
Gil blinked and turned his attention back to the little girl watching him with wide eyes and a curious expression on her face. Previously Megan had been entirely occupied with a coloring book and an impressive array of crayons. Now that focus was apparently on Gil and his broken arm.
“I fell down some steps,” Gil said, editing the truth. Actually he’d been pushed rather violently by Brass out of the way of a bullet a very disgruntled suspect had fired in his direction. The steps had been a surprise for both of them. “It’s not so bad.”
“Can I sign your cast?”
Before Gil could answer, Megan had already crossed the room to where he sat behind his desk, a crayon poised in her hand and a hopeful expression on her face. Gil couldn’t bring himself to say no and instead extended his arm towards her.
“I print real good,” Megan promised as she steadied Gil’s arm and began to slowly print her name – her full name apparently – with bright red crayon. “Can I draw a picture too?”
“I suppose,” Gil said as he looked at the large red letters spelling out Megan Anna Sanders on his previously unmarked cast. “Your printing is very nice.”
“Daddy taught me,” Megan said, beaming up at him with a smile that was exactly like Greg’s. “Sit by my crayons. I can draw a cat.”
Gil sat down on the ground next to her, ignoring the looks he was getting as people walked by his open office door. Megan had his arm settled across her lap as she drew pictures all over his cast, talking the whole time.
When Megan finally set her crayon down, Gil’s cast was completely covered with drawings of cats, random squiggles, and Megan’s name. Megan looked inordinately pleased with herself before bouncing to her feet and going over to look at Gil’s tarantula.
“What’s that?”
Gil got to his feet and walked over to Megan. “That is Arabella. She’s a Grammastola rosea tarantula.”
Megan looked at the tarantula that was slowly making her way up and over a rock. “Gammstola rosy?”
“Chilean Rose,” Gil said easily. “Or you can just call her Arabella.”
“Is she soft?” asked Megan, standing on her tiptoes to try and see better.
Gil paused briefly before putting his good arm around her waist and lifting her up. Megan gave him a beaming smile, her hands on the edge of the terrarium. “Do you want to touch her?”
Megan’s eyes went wide as she looked up at him. “I can touch her?”
“She’s friendly,” Gil assured her, setting her back on the ground. “Sit on the couch and I’ll bring her over.”
Megan scrambled quickly over to the couch, sitting perfectly still even though Gil could see how excited she was. He opened the terrarium and waited patiently for Arabella to climb onto his hand.
Gil sat next to Megan, Arabella slowly making her way up his arm comfortably. He switched her to his leg before reaching for Megan’s hand. “You have to be gentle with her.”
Megan nodded quickly and let Gil just touch one of her fingers to Arabella’s back. “Ooh. She’s fuzzy and soft.”
Gil nodded, letting go of Megan’s hand. “If you put your hand on my leg next to her, she’ll climb onto your hand.”
Megan immediately put her hand on Gil’s leg, giggling as Arabella’s legs tickled her skin. She looked at Gil brightly for a moment before petting Arabella with her other hand.
“Greg is going to freak when he sees this,” Catherine said from the doorway.
“Hi, Miss Catherine!” Megan didn’t even look up from Arabella. “I drawed on Mr. Gil’s cast and now he’s letting me play with Arabella.”
Gil held up the cast for inspection. “I’ve been decorated.”
“I can see that.” Catherine moved into the room to look closer at the cast. “I’m serious though, Gil. Greg hates your spiders.”
“She doesn’t though,” Gil said easily. Arabella was climbing up Megan’s arm now and Megan was entirely fascinated by her. “It’s alright, Catherine. I’ve got it under control.”
Catherine shook her head. “You’re never going to be able to watch Greg’s kid again, Gil.”
“I think I’m doing well so far,” Gil said, reaching up to shift Arabella back down Megan’s arm. “We don’t want her getting to your neck. She might bite.”
Megan’s eyes widened and looked scared. Catherine sighed a little. “She’s not going to bite you, Meg. Don’t listen to Gil.”
“Actually…”
“Shut up, Gil,” Catherine said as she fixed him with a death glare. “You want her to keep liking your disgusting pets, right?”
“She doesn’t bite,” Gil said immediately, giving Megan a warm, hopefully comforting smile.
“Grissom!” Greg’s voice was sharp as he stood in the doorway, staring at his daughter and the tarantula. “Is that thing on my daughter’s arm?”
“Busted.” Catherine said under her breath as she tried not to laugh.
Gil shifted on his feet wondering just how Catherine had talked him into this. He could just apologize to Greg at work tomorrow, but Catherine insisted that a more immediate apology was necessary. So here he was, standing in front of Greg’s door, waiting for someone to answer his knock.
The door opened and Greg looked out at him, confused. “Hi Grissom.”
“Greg,” Gil said, straightening up a little. “Good evening.”
“Is everything okay?” asked Greg warily. “Am I needed at the lab?”
Gil shook his head. “No. This is a personal call.”
Greg stepped back a little. “Come on in then. Ignore the mess. I usually don’t get called into work on my day off.”
“Really?” Gil said as he stepped inside. “I always do.”
“You’re the boss,” Greg said simply. He motioned towards the couch. “Have a seat. You want something to drink?”
“I’m fine, Greg.” Gil sat down on the couch, looking at the assortment of colouring books and forensics magazines on the coffee table. “I actually came to apologize for letting Megan hold my tarantula.”
“I never said she wasn’t allowed to,” Greg said as he sat down as well. “So you had no way of knowing that I really don’t want her near that thing.”
“I know now.”
“You were doing me a favour anyway. Last time this happened, I ended up having to leave her in Ballistics with Bobbie.” Greg shook his head. “He showed her how to fire a gun.”
“That’s worse than the spider,” Gil offered.
“Much.” Greg fell silent for a moment, his eyes on Gil’s cast. “I’m sorry she drew all over your cast.”
Gil looked at his arm. “I’m not. It’s colourful.”
Greg laughed a little, looking at Gil. “Well yes. I hope you like cats.”
Gil smiled at him. “Not really, but I can appreciate them as decoration on a cast.”
“She always asks me for one,” Greg said. “Apparently every little girl on Earth has a cat but her.”
“Why doesn’t she have a cat?”
“That’s an easy one. She’s allergic to them.”
Gil nodded in understanding. “And I assume that is not a good enough reason as far as she is concerned.”
“Not even close. I’m an awful mean father and if her mother was here, she’d be allowed to have a cat,” Greg said a little too bitterly. He sighed, rubbing his neck briefly. “Sorry. It’s just been a really long day.”
“You can always talk to me if you need to, Greg.” Gil looked around the small living room which wasn’t cluttered or messy as far as he was concerned, but he tended to enjoy clutter more than most people.
“I’ve never asked for any special treatment because of her,” Greg said after a moment. “But if there is any way to not call me in on a case on my day off, I’d really appreciate it.”
Gil pressed his lips together briefly. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”
“I don’t expect promises in our line of work,” Greg said tiredly. “But thanks.”
“Where is her mother?”
Greg looked startled. “No one ever told you?”
“I tend not to listen to office gossip,” Gil said with a shrug. “Who would have told me?”
“I assumed Cath or Brass even.” Greg slumped back in the chair. “Her mother is in Seattle with her boyfriend, I think. She was the last time I heard from her. Megan sees her twice a year. So eight times her whole life.”
“I take it Megan was unplanned.”
“Very,” Greg muttered. He looked at Gil. “Why are you asking me these questions all of a sudden?”
“I never saw your daughter. Until today, she was mostly a theory.”
Greg stared at him. “A theory?”
“I knew she existed, but I had no solid evidence of my own.”
“You’re a piece of work, Grissom,” Greg said with a shake of his head. “So do you have enough evidence to prove she exists now?”
Gil looked at his cast with a little half-smile. “More than enough.”
Ten years times two visits a year meant that Harry had seen Severus Snape twenty times since Severus had stepped in front of a curse meant for Harry. Twenty times Harry had sat across from Severus, sipping smoky whiskey and making small talk during painful anniversaries.
He’d never thanked the man for saving his life.
Well, Harry thought ruefully as he stepped out of the thestral-driven carriage in front of Hogwarts. He’d have plenty of chances to say something now.
“Mr. Potter.”
Harry quickly moved his hand away from the carriage, smiling a bit sheepishly. “Headmistress.”
Minerva McGonagall glided over to him, her lips pursed together in what he knew was a pleased way. She put her hands on his shoulders and hugged him briefly, just a quick press to her chest before letting him go.
“It is good to see you, Harry,” Minerva said gently. “Let me be the first to welcome you back to Hogwarts.”
“I never thought I would come back. There’s a lot of … memories here that are hard to face.”
Minerva looked out at the castle spreading before her. “There are for all of us.”
“I have to face them eventually.” Harry smiled. “Now seems as good a time as any.”
Minerva gestured with her hand. “Let me show you to your rooms. I’m sorry to say, but the open rooms are down in the dungeons. Remus is still in the rooms usually assigned to the Defence professor.”
“Has anyone else been in the dungeons since …”
“Since I was relegated to spending the rest of my life in this infernal contraption?” Severus said sharply from the doorway. “No, they haven’t. And if I find out you’re wrecking havoc down there, I shall hex your balls off.”
Harry smiled at Severus, tilting his head a bit. Severus rolled over towards him, a scowl on his face as he looked up at Harry.
“You’re two and a half months early to celebrate Voldemort’s death,” said Severus. “I haven’t the energy to deal with you more than twice a year. Obviously you thought of no one but yourself when you agreed to take this position.”
“Honestly, Severus,” Minerva chided. “Give the boy a break. He’s traveled quite far to be here.”
“I don’t give a shit about that.” Severus’s hands curled around the wheels of his chair before he turned sharply, a move reminiscent of swirling robes of the past and obviously long practiced.
Harry watched him go before looking over at Minerva and shrugging. “Some things never change.”
“If Severus ever changes, I daresay I’d have a heart attack,” said Minerva dryly.
Rodney took a deep breath before exiting the elevator, a very plastic smile on his face. Anyone who knew him would have run in the other direction knowing that a smile like that was definitely *not* good news. Rodney had two smiles he used in public: 1. I am going to enjoy ripping your work to shreds and possibly cap off that with a nice steak dinner with a good dark beer; and 2. I am currently shilling myself for my work and hate all of you with a firey passion and will possibly cap off the evening with a bag of Doritos and a copy of Horny Trails.
This was the latter smile and Rodney kept is plastered on his face as he made his way through the boisterious crowd to the box near the huge glass window overlooking the race track. He tugged uncomfortably at the tie around his neck and cursed Derby Day under his breath closely followed by cursing Dr. Elizabeth Weir and her bizarre love of horse racing and her remarkably large grant that brought Rodney to the Kentucky Derby against his will.
"Oh Dr. McKay!" Dr. Weir waved her hand to him, beckoning him over. "I thrilled to see you made it. Did you have any problem finding the place?"
Rodney looked at her like she'd grown another head. "No. I just followed the crowds, Dr. Weir."
"Please, call me Elizabeth," Elizabeth said as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "Now, let me introduce you around."
Rodney tried to amp up the smile, but failed miserably, managing instead to give off the impression he was constipated. Elizabeth took no notice of that as she held his hand firmly so he couldn't escape.
"This is my dear friend from grad school, Teyla Emmagen," said Elizabeth, pointing to a beautiful woman who looked like she'd be able to break Rodney in two if she felt like it. Rodney shook her hand, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "She has a horse running in the Derby this year so we're all here to support her. And her ... consort, Ronon Dex."
Rodney shook hands with the bored looking man who was quite obviously window dressing and knew it. Though, Rodney had to admitt that Teyla had very good taste in window dressing. Ronon was very attractive in a wild sort of way. Also, he looked just as uncomfortable in his suit as Rodney was so Rodney felt a sort of kinship with him over that fact.
"You know Dr. Zelenka, I believe," Elizabeth said as Radek stood up, his messy hair just as messy as usual. "He is currently heading up my Research and Development department."
"Oh yeah," Rodney said, shaking Radek's hand. Not only were they colleagues, but they shared a very brilliant, very insane ex-wife. Luckily Rodney hadn't spawned with her like Radek had so he didn't have any contact with her aside from the monthly alimony payment. "How is Miko?"
Radek paled a little and shook his head. "She is working on quark theory."
"So she's foraging a brilliant new path in her research," Rodney said dryly.
Radek chuckled a little, reaching for his beer. "Oh yes. It is fascinating."
Rodney laughed as well, knowing the others in the group didn't understand why he and Radek found it so funny. Elizabeth's hand tightened around his own, calling his attention back to her.
"My dear cousin is around here somewhere," Elizabeth said with a shake of her head. "He went off to get some drinks and we seem to have lost him to the crowd."
"You didn't lose me," a voice said from behind Rodney, sounding vagely amused and pissed off at the same time. "Have you seen how many people are at that bar?"
Rodney turned and promptly stopped smiling, his mouth going dry. The man who was apparently Elizabeth's cousin was much better window dressing than Ronon could ever be and bore an uncanny resemblance to a grad student Rodney vaguely remembered from years before.
"So," the man said as he handed Teyla and Elizabeth their drinks. "If it isn't Dr. Rodney McKay."
"Uh, yes," Rodney said, sticking his hand out. "Nice to meet you...?
"John Sheppard," John said, shaking his hand and giving Rodney a lazy smile. "You destroyed my master's thesis."
Elizabeth laughed uncomfortably, inserting herself between the two of them. "My cousin fancied himself a physicist for awhile there. He's since turned his attentions elsewhere with much greater success."
John's jaw tightened slightly. "Yes, because someone has to actually *run* your company while you are off trying to save the world from itself."
"Well," Teyla said loudly. "This is a fantastic drink, John. Thank you so much for getting it for me. Dr. McKay, tell us a little about yourself."
Rodney looked at her, startled. She had a pleading look on her face, one that was matched by Radek's and Ronon's. "Well, I am currently working on advanced string theory as it applies to black holes and space travel. Which I'm sure none of you understand with the possible exception of Dr. Zelenka and sometimes I'm not sure he does either because of his consistent inability to believe that I could just possibly be right."
"Rodney," Radek said with a roll of his eyes. "I'll give Miko your address and tell her you were asking about her. I'm sure she'll be quite happy to see you."
"Now that's just evil," Rodney said. "Fine, Dr. Zelenka understands my work and just likes to present an opposing viewpoint."
Fraser re-read the letter, his hand crushing the edge of the thick white paper with the RCMP letterhead. The words swam in front of his eyes and he carefully set the letter back on his desk, smoothing out the wrinkles. He rubbed his hands against the brown uniform pants and pushed himself to his feet. He grabbed the letter and walked down the hall to Sergeant Dillon’s office.
“Excuse me, sir,” Fraser said, knocking lightly at the doorframe. “May I trouble you for a moment of your time?”
“Come in, Constable,” Sergeant Dillon said, waving his hand a little. “Sit down.”
“Thank you, sir.” Fraser sat down, the letter still in his hand. “I was wondering if perhaps you had heard something from Ottawa regarding my current posting.”
“You got the letter.” Sergeant Dillon sighed heavily. “I am sorry, Benton. Truly.”
“There is no chance of Ottawa changing their mind?”
“I’m afraid not.” Sergeant Dillon gave him a sad smile. “They see this as a great opportunity for you. They want your expertise in Whitehorse.”
“What is the possibility that the position will become permanent?” asked Fraser softly.
“It is my understanding that it is for a term of 12 months,” said Sergeant Dillon. “During which time you will be providing training for recruits that will be posted in the Northwest and Pacific regions.”
Fraser closed his eyes briefly before opening them and nodding. “Understood, sir. I will endeavor to meet their expectations.”
“Fraser,” Sergeant Dillon said quietly. “They will provide for your family to move with you to Whitehorse. If Ray will agree.”
“I doubt he will,” Fraser said to him honestly. “We were promised no more transfers and he took that to heart.”
“Good luck.” Sergeant Dillon folded his hands on the desk. “If you’d like, I can take the blame so Ray has someone else to get angry with.”
“Thank you, sir,” Fraser said, rising to his feet. “I will keep that in mind.”
“Just tell me if I need to prepare myself for some yelling,” Sergeant Dillon said with a bit of a smile. “Also, if you’d like to take the rest of the afternoon off, that is quite understandable.”
“Thank you, sir,” Fraser said again. “But I’d like to put this off as long as possible.”
“Understood, Fraser.”
Fraser walked slowly back down the hall to his office, the letter crushed in his hand again. Naturally the RCMP would believe this to be an honor. It was hard to teach new recruits how to survive in the far North. Very few members of the RCMP would be considered qualified enough to do just that.
Fraser sighed as he sat down at his desk. He looked at the picture of Ray and the kids sitting on his desk. Five years ago, before Emma, this would have been an honor for him. He and Ray would pack up the house and the dogs and head off to Whitehorse for a year. They’d done it enough times to know how to move quickly and efficiently.
When Emma was two though, he’d put in a request to make Inuvik his permanent posting so she could grow up in a community. It was granted so Ray had started to breed the dogs seriously, building a huge kennel on the back of their property. And then they’d adopted Gabriel, certain that they were home for good now.
Ray was not going to move with him this time. It was going to be a very long year.
Fraser undressed slowly, tossing his sweatpants in the hamper. Ray was already in bed, his glasses perched on his nose as he read over his breeding charts. Fraser watched him, imprinting this moment of sheer normalcy so he’d have it when he left.
“You coming to bed?” asked Ray, looking at him over the top of his glasses.
“Of course,” Fraser said, sliding between the covers as well, dressed in only a pair of boxer briefs and an A-line shirt. “Who are you going to breed this year?”
“Depends,” Ray said, moving closer so he was leaning on Fraser’s shoulder. “I gotta talk to Dief. If he’s up for another go, I think I’ll breed him with Molly this fall. They have great pups.”
“Bronco came from that pair,” Fraser said skeptically, sliding his arm around Ray’s shoulder. “Keep that in mind.”
“Yes, but he’s an exception. That same litter produced four dogs that sold for much higher than my other litters,” Ray said with a bit of a sigh. “Including Glinda and Babar. Emma’s so not allowed to name the puppies this year.”
Fraser chuckled. “I’m quite certain their names were changed by their new owners.”
“True,” Ray said, looking at the charts again. “If Dief is done, I’m going with Midnight and Molly. I’d really love to have another litter of Molly’s pups. They’re so well-mannered. Except for Bronco.”
“Yes, but I’m fairly certain that was all Diefenbaker’s doing.”
"Considering Bronco is as talkative as Dief, I'd say yes, it's all his fault." Ray looked over at him. "What's wrong?"
Fraser shrugged a little and pressed his face to Ray's shoulder. "Work."
"And do you want to talk about it?"
Fraser sighed and extricated himself from the bed. He got up and went over to the closet where his tunic was hanging. He took out the letter and padded back over to the bed. Ray had already set aside the charts, his mouth in a thin line.
"That's not what I think it is, right?"
Fraser didn't say anything, handing over the letter to Ray. He sat down on the bed, his shoulders slumped and his hands hanging between his knees. He listened to the crinkle of the paper as Ray unfolded the letter.
"*Whitehorse*?" Ray swore angrily and threw the letter aside. "They promised we wouldn't be transferred again!"
Fraser didn't say anything, just nodded in agreement. He felt the bed lift as Ray climbed out and began to pace around the room, stepping over Mitsy, one of the hares that liked to sleep in Ray's discarded clothing. Fraser watched him, chewing on his lip the whole time.
"Can we fight this?" asked Ray. "We got it in writing somewhere that Inuvik was permanent."
"It is not a permanent transfer,” Fraser said quietly. “So it does not apply.”
“A year is pretty damn permanent to me,” Ray said firmly. He stopped walking and looked at Fraser. “You’re going.”
“I have to.” Fraser looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“Let me guess. It’s a big honor and you’ll get a promotion when it’s all done with, but until then, we’re going to be living a fucking thousand miles apart for the first time in seven years.”
“They will provide for all of us to go,” Fraser said weakly.
“I’m not moving to Whitehorse,” Ray said quietly. “I have the dogs to take care of. Emma’s got her playgroup and she starts school in the fall. Our baby-sitter is here. I can’t move the household. It’s not like the last time, Ben.”
Fraser looked at him sadly, but nodded. He already knew that would be Ray’s answer. The bed dipped again and Ray sat next to him, his shoulders slumped again. Fraser moved slowly, resting his head on Ray’s lap. Ray’s fingers found his hair, stroking through it gently.
“It’s what, a day or two to drive?” Ray asked quietly.
“With the kids, most likely two to three,” Fraser said just as softly, his arm wrapped around Ray’s thigh. “I’m going to miss so much with Gabriel.”
“Jesus,” Ray swore softly. “A one year-old and a five year-old. They’re going to kill me.”
“I am sorry, Ray,” Fraser said, his voice muffled by Ray’s thigh. “This is not what I want.”
“I know,” Ray said quietly. He rubbed the back of Fraser’s neck. “So we got two weeks to get you ready to go to Whitehorse.”
“Two weeks,” Fraser echoed softly. “I think I’ll take some time off until then.”
Prologue
Ray sticks his head out the front door, his hand against the door frame and says, like he always does at ten of six, “Dinner’s on, Frase. Get it while it’s hot.” He follows it with a loud whistle and a cry that Fraser knows is pointless of “Dinnertime, Dief! Get your mangy ass back here or I’m feeding your dinner to the turtle.”
Fraser sets down the axe and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Really, Ray. He’s not going to hear you.”
Ray just grins and chucks a thumb in the direction of the woods where Dief comes charging out of the glen of trees. “Dog’s as deaf as I am.”
Fraser shakes his head and kisses Ray, his tongue dipping inside to taste the familiar sweetness of Smarties and the underlying tang of Ray. Dief woofs out his displeasure at being called for food and then kept waiting.
Ray grins against Fraser’s lips and pulls away to usher Dief to the bowl of kibble with a side of meatloaf. The meatloaf is gone before Fraser can turn on the faucet to wash his hands.
Ray is putting food on their plates, making disparaging comments about canned peas. Fraser knows they taste too metallic for Ray to consider edible, but he’ll eat them anyway by dousing them in ketchup.
Fraser warms at the routine of it all. Himself, Ray, and Dief in a cabin outside of Invuik, eating meatloaf and canned peas. He could stay like this forever and be happy.
It’s too good to be true. They both know that, but until the world comes crashing down around them, they’re more than happy to bury their heads in the sand.
Part One
It starts not with a bang, but with a whimper. Fraser looks up from his uninteresting breakfast of oatmeal and hot tea, his ears tuned to Dief’s odd noise. A moment later, another questioning whimper then Dief is up and at the door, his tail wagging as he woofed.
“Honestly,” Fraser murmurs, his attention returning to his breakfast. “Ray is not going to walk through the door just because you miss him.”
Dief whines again and lies down in front of the door as Fraser tries to pretend he’s really talking about Dief’s feeling but without much success. He puts his dishes in the sink and walks away, feeling oddly defiant leaving them in the sink. He finishes buttoning his tunic as he looks out the window at the snow drifts and the dull grey of the sky.
“More snow today,” Fraser says to no one in particular. Dief whines and lets out a small huff. “Riding on the snowmobile is not embarrassing if no other wolves are around to see you.”
Dief just huffs in response and Fraser looks out the window again. He blinks quickly when he sees Ray clumping up the front steps wearing a parka and snow pants, a duffle thrown over his shoulder. Fraser turns away and rubs his eyes. He must be seeing things, his subconscious desires Ray so much he’s imagining him.
Dief barks loudly and there’s a heavy knock on the door. Fraser really starts to hate his subconscious.
There’s another knock and Fraser moves to the door, opening it slowly. Dief pushes past Fraser and knocks Ray over. Fraser just stares at Ray as Dief licks Ray’s ear and stands on Ray’s chest.
“Off me!” Ray pushes at Dief’s chest, but smiles good-naturedly at the same time. “Little help here?”
“Dief!” Fraser reaches down and pulls Dief off Ray, holds out his hand. Ray grasps and Fraser hauls him to his feet. “Ray.”
“Missed ya, Frase.”
And then Ray’s hand cups the back of Fraser’s head, the duffel bag hits the ground with a thump, and Fraser finds himself being kissed by Ray. There must be something he missed, Fraser thinks, but his hands fall to Ray’s waist and pull him closer.
Ray moans against his mouth and Fraser groans in return, his hands tightening on Ray’s waist as Ray’s hands hold him firmly at the neck and shoulder. Fraser feels stubble rasping against his own cleanly-shaven face, tastes peppermint and warm spit. It’s the greatest moment of his life and he’s got no idea why it’s happening.
“Take me to bed,” Ray whispers in Fraser’s ear before biting lightly at the lobe. “Please, Ben. Take me to bed.”
Fraser reaches for Ray’s duffel with one hand, takes Ray’s hand with the other, and leads him inside.
“So it happened like this,” Ray says into Fraser’s shoulder. “I get back from Canada and I’m Kowalski again. I got my own desk in the 2-7 and a new partner. Dolinski. Go ahead and laugh. Nice to know Welsh has a sense of humor in there somewhere. But yeah. Mike Dolinski. Polish as the day is long. Three kids. Nice wife. We get on okay.
“Nothing’s right though, you know. No crazy shit. Not like with you. Just him and me and normal busts that bring us home at night to our families. Or in my case my turtle. So I start digging myself into shit I shouldn’t be involved in. Shit that reminds me of you. Reminds me of Vecchio.
“And then it fucking happens. A beauty of a case. It’s just greatness. Mob ties. Gang ties. Drugs, guns, money, gambling. Everything you want. No subs or gas or nothing like that, but everything else you could want. Maybe not you. Everything I wanted. So Mike and me, we get to work. We work our asses off and turn up shit you’d be proud to be a part of.
“I took it too far. Got mouthy at the wrong guy and found a gun to my head. I shot ‘em before he could make a move. Got the fuck out of there and back to the station. Heard shit for hours from Welsh and then Mike when he found out what I did. I get home and find it’s been trashed. They’re looking for me. Word on the street is that I’m a dead man. Got a target on me bigger than Canada.
“So Welsh tells me to get the fuck out of dodge for a bit and I figure no better place to hide from crazed mobsters than in Canada with my own Mountie.”
Ray stops talking and just breathes against Fraser’s shoulder. Fraser lifts a hand and touches his back lightly.
“Plus I’m fucking in love with you and I was too shit-scared to say anything.”
And that's it for now. There's a chance some of the dS and SGA fics will actually get finished sometime in the not-so-distant future. Like next year.
It's not a parade so much as it is Duck walking down the street with Dan by his side, Sandra and Emily a step behind them. So really, it's just the four freaks walking down the street one year after Dan tried to kill himself.
So it's not a parade because Duck doesn't have a rainbow flag and Dan doesn't lace his fingers with Duck's. Sandra and Emily don't carry PFLAG banners. But it is enough for people to look out their windows and watch.
They pass the police station and the door opens. Buddy comes walking out, nods a little. He lights a cigarette and falls into step by Duck.
"Afternoon, Duck. Dan." Buddy turns to look at Sandra and Emily. "Ladies."
"Afternoon, Buddy," Duck says, with a nod. "Nice to see you."
"Didn't realize it was today," Buddy says almost apologetically. "Would have met you at Iggy's otherwise."
"It's not really a parade," says Dan, giving Buddy a quirk of a smile. "Just an afternoon stroll."
Buddy nods a little and adjusts his gun on his side. "Nice afternoon for it."
"We thought so," Emily pipes up from behind him. She's cut her hair recently and Buddy turns as he's walking to take a good look at it.
"I like it," Buddy finally says, a smile on his face. "Makes you look older."
"She is going off to university in the fall," Sandra says proudly. "First Anderson to go to university."
Emily blushes and nudges her mom lightly. "Stop."
"We're all proud of you," Duck says quietly and Emily flushes even more. Dan grins a little, his pride more masked than Duck and Sandra's.
“What are you going to do with your life?” asks Buddy.
Emily thinks for a moment and then shrugs. “Live it, I suppose.”
Gil knew there was a difference between knowing something intellectually and knowing something in practice. As a scientist, he lived with that dichotomy everyday. Sometimes it just happened to be more obvious that other times. Now for example.
Intellectually, Gil knew that Greg had a four year-old daughter named Megan. Greg was inordinately proud of her and would enumerate her many qualities at the drop of a hat. But Gil had only met the little girl once when Greg had been in the hospital after the lab explosion and she’d been half-asleep and five months old at the time.
So in his world, she was still mostly theory until Greg had looked at him pleadingly before leaving his daughter in Gil’s office while he dealt with some new evidence that had been found on his day off.
“How did you break your arm?”
Gil blinked and turned his attention back to the little girl watching him with wide eyes and a curious expression on her face. Previously Megan had been entirely occupied with a coloring book and an impressive array of crayons. Now that focus was apparently on Gil and his broken arm.
“I fell down some steps,” Gil said, editing the truth. Actually he’d been pushed rather violently by Brass out of the way of a bullet a very disgruntled suspect had fired in his direction. The steps had been a surprise for both of them. “It’s not so bad.”
“Can I sign your cast?”
Before Gil could answer, Megan had already crossed the room to where he sat behind his desk, a crayon poised in her hand and a hopeful expression on her face. Gil couldn’t bring himself to say no and instead extended his arm towards her.
“I print real good,” Megan promised as she steadied Gil’s arm and began to slowly print her name – her full name apparently – with bright red crayon. “Can I draw a picture too?”
“I suppose,” Gil said as he looked at the large red letters spelling out Megan Anna Sanders on his previously unmarked cast. “Your printing is very nice.”
“Daddy taught me,” Megan said, beaming up at him with a smile that was exactly like Greg’s. “Sit by my crayons. I can draw a cat.”
Gil sat down on the ground next to her, ignoring the looks he was getting as people walked by his open office door. Megan had his arm settled across her lap as she drew pictures all over his cast, talking the whole time.
When Megan finally set her crayon down, Gil’s cast was completely covered with drawings of cats, random squiggles, and Megan’s name. Megan looked inordinately pleased with herself before bouncing to her feet and going over to look at Gil’s tarantula.
“What’s that?”
Gil got to his feet and walked over to Megan. “That is Arabella. She’s a Grammastola rosea tarantula.”
Megan looked at the tarantula that was slowly making her way up and over a rock. “Gammstola rosy?”
“Chilean Rose,” Gil said easily. “Or you can just call her Arabella.”
“Is she soft?” asked Megan, standing on her tiptoes to try and see better.
Gil paused briefly before putting his good arm around her waist and lifting her up. Megan gave him a beaming smile, her hands on the edge of the terrarium. “Do you want to touch her?”
Megan’s eyes went wide as she looked up at him. “I can touch her?”
“She’s friendly,” Gil assured her, setting her back on the ground. “Sit on the couch and I’ll bring her over.”
Megan scrambled quickly over to the couch, sitting perfectly still even though Gil could see how excited she was. He opened the terrarium and waited patiently for Arabella to climb onto his hand.
Gil sat next to Megan, Arabella slowly making her way up his arm comfortably. He switched her to his leg before reaching for Megan’s hand. “You have to be gentle with her.”
Megan nodded quickly and let Gil just touch one of her fingers to Arabella’s back. “Ooh. She’s fuzzy and soft.”
Gil nodded, letting go of Megan’s hand. “If you put your hand on my leg next to her, she’ll climb onto your hand.”
Megan immediately put her hand on Gil’s leg, giggling as Arabella’s legs tickled her skin. She looked at Gil brightly for a moment before petting Arabella with her other hand.
“Greg is going to freak when he sees this,” Catherine said from the doorway.
“Hi, Miss Catherine!” Megan didn’t even look up from Arabella. “I drawed on Mr. Gil’s cast and now he’s letting me play with Arabella.”
Gil held up the cast for inspection. “I’ve been decorated.”
“I can see that.” Catherine moved into the room to look closer at the cast. “I’m serious though, Gil. Greg hates your spiders.”
“She doesn’t though,” Gil said easily. Arabella was climbing up Megan’s arm now and Megan was entirely fascinated by her. “It’s alright, Catherine. I’ve got it under control.”
Catherine shook her head. “You’re never going to be able to watch Greg’s kid again, Gil.”
“I think I’m doing well so far,” Gil said, reaching up to shift Arabella back down Megan’s arm. “We don’t want her getting to your neck. She might bite.”
Megan’s eyes widened and looked scared. Catherine sighed a little. “She’s not going to bite you, Meg. Don’t listen to Gil.”
“Actually…”
“Shut up, Gil,” Catherine said as she fixed him with a death glare. “You want her to keep liking your disgusting pets, right?”
“She doesn’t bite,” Gil said immediately, giving Megan a warm, hopefully comforting smile.
“Grissom!” Greg’s voice was sharp as he stood in the doorway, staring at his daughter and the tarantula. “Is that thing on my daughter’s arm?”
“Busted.” Catherine said under her breath as she tried not to laugh.
Gil shifted on his feet wondering just how Catherine had talked him into this. He could just apologize to Greg at work tomorrow, but Catherine insisted that a more immediate apology was necessary. So here he was, standing in front of Greg’s door, waiting for someone to answer his knock.
The door opened and Greg looked out at him, confused. “Hi Grissom.”
“Greg,” Gil said, straightening up a little. “Good evening.”
“Is everything okay?” asked Greg warily. “Am I needed at the lab?”
Gil shook his head. “No. This is a personal call.”
Greg stepped back a little. “Come on in then. Ignore the mess. I usually don’t get called into work on my day off.”
“Really?” Gil said as he stepped inside. “I always do.”
“You’re the boss,” Greg said simply. He motioned towards the couch. “Have a seat. You want something to drink?”
“I’m fine, Greg.” Gil sat down on the couch, looking at the assortment of colouring books and forensics magazines on the coffee table. “I actually came to apologize for letting Megan hold my tarantula.”
“I never said she wasn’t allowed to,” Greg said as he sat down as well. “So you had no way of knowing that I really don’t want her near that thing.”
“I know now.”
“You were doing me a favour anyway. Last time this happened, I ended up having to leave her in Ballistics with Bobbie.” Greg shook his head. “He showed her how to fire a gun.”
“That’s worse than the spider,” Gil offered.
“Much.” Greg fell silent for a moment, his eyes on Gil’s cast. “I’m sorry she drew all over your cast.”
Gil looked at his arm. “I’m not. It’s colourful.”
Greg laughed a little, looking at Gil. “Well yes. I hope you like cats.”
Gil smiled at him. “Not really, but I can appreciate them as decoration on a cast.”
“She always asks me for one,” Greg said. “Apparently every little girl on Earth has a cat but her.”
“Why doesn’t she have a cat?”
“That’s an easy one. She’s allergic to them.”
Gil nodded in understanding. “And I assume that is not a good enough reason as far as she is concerned.”
“Not even close. I’m an awful mean father and if her mother was here, she’d be allowed to have a cat,” Greg said a little too bitterly. He sighed, rubbing his neck briefly. “Sorry. It’s just been a really long day.”
“You can always talk to me if you need to, Greg.” Gil looked around the small living room which wasn’t cluttered or messy as far as he was concerned, but he tended to enjoy clutter more than most people.
“I’ve never asked for any special treatment because of her,” Greg said after a moment. “But if there is any way to not call me in on a case on my day off, I’d really appreciate it.”
Gil pressed his lips together briefly. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”
“I don’t expect promises in our line of work,” Greg said tiredly. “But thanks.”
“Where is her mother?”
Greg looked startled. “No one ever told you?”
“I tend not to listen to office gossip,” Gil said with a shrug. “Who would have told me?”
“I assumed Cath or Brass even.” Greg slumped back in the chair. “Her mother is in Seattle with her boyfriend, I think. She was the last time I heard from her. Megan sees her twice a year. So eight times her whole life.”
“I take it Megan was unplanned.”
“Very,” Greg muttered. He looked at Gil. “Why are you asking me these questions all of a sudden?”
“I never saw your daughter. Until today, she was mostly a theory.”
Greg stared at him. “A theory?”
“I knew she existed, but I had no solid evidence of my own.”
“You’re a piece of work, Grissom,” Greg said with a shake of his head. “So do you have enough evidence to prove she exists now?”
Gil looked at his cast with a little half-smile. “More than enough.”
Ten years times two visits a year meant that Harry had seen Severus Snape twenty times since Severus had stepped in front of a curse meant for Harry. Twenty times Harry had sat across from Severus, sipping smoky whiskey and making small talk during painful anniversaries.
He’d never thanked the man for saving his life.
Well, Harry thought ruefully as he stepped out of the thestral-driven carriage in front of Hogwarts. He’d have plenty of chances to say something now.
“Mr. Potter.”
Harry quickly moved his hand away from the carriage, smiling a bit sheepishly. “Headmistress.”
Minerva McGonagall glided over to him, her lips pursed together in what he knew was a pleased way. She put her hands on his shoulders and hugged him briefly, just a quick press to her chest before letting him go.
“It is good to see you, Harry,” Minerva said gently. “Let me be the first to welcome you back to Hogwarts.”
“I never thought I would come back. There’s a lot of … memories here that are hard to face.”
Minerva looked out at the castle spreading before her. “There are for all of us.”
“I have to face them eventually.” Harry smiled. “Now seems as good a time as any.”
Minerva gestured with her hand. “Let me show you to your rooms. I’m sorry to say, but the open rooms are down in the dungeons. Remus is still in the rooms usually assigned to the Defence professor.”
“Has anyone else been in the dungeons since …”
“Since I was relegated to spending the rest of my life in this infernal contraption?” Severus said sharply from the doorway. “No, they haven’t. And if I find out you’re wrecking havoc down there, I shall hex your balls off.”
Harry smiled at Severus, tilting his head a bit. Severus rolled over towards him, a scowl on his face as he looked up at Harry.
“You’re two and a half months early to celebrate Voldemort’s death,” said Severus. “I haven’t the energy to deal with you more than twice a year. Obviously you thought of no one but yourself when you agreed to take this position.”
“Honestly, Severus,” Minerva chided. “Give the boy a break. He’s traveled quite far to be here.”
“I don’t give a shit about that.” Severus’s hands curled around the wheels of his chair before he turned sharply, a move reminiscent of swirling robes of the past and obviously long practiced.
Harry watched him go before looking over at Minerva and shrugging. “Some things never change.”
“If Severus ever changes, I daresay I’d have a heart attack,” said Minerva dryly.
Rodney took a deep breath before exiting the elevator, a very plastic smile on his face. Anyone who knew him would have run in the other direction knowing that a smile like that was definitely *not* good news. Rodney had two smiles he used in public: 1. I am going to enjoy ripping your work to shreds and possibly cap off that with a nice steak dinner with a good dark beer; and 2. I am currently shilling myself for my work and hate all of you with a firey passion and will possibly cap off the evening with a bag of Doritos and a copy of Horny Trails.
This was the latter smile and Rodney kept is plastered on his face as he made his way through the boisterious crowd to the box near the huge glass window overlooking the race track. He tugged uncomfortably at the tie around his neck and cursed Derby Day under his breath closely followed by cursing Dr. Elizabeth Weir and her bizarre love of horse racing and her remarkably large grant that brought Rodney to the Kentucky Derby against his will.
"Oh Dr. McKay!" Dr. Weir waved her hand to him, beckoning him over. "I thrilled to see you made it. Did you have any problem finding the place?"
Rodney looked at her like she'd grown another head. "No. I just followed the crowds, Dr. Weir."
"Please, call me Elizabeth," Elizabeth said as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "Now, let me introduce you around."
Rodney tried to amp up the smile, but failed miserably, managing instead to give off the impression he was constipated. Elizabeth took no notice of that as she held his hand firmly so he couldn't escape.
"This is my dear friend from grad school, Teyla Emmagen," said Elizabeth, pointing to a beautiful woman who looked like she'd be able to break Rodney in two if she felt like it. Rodney shook her hand, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "She has a horse running in the Derby this year so we're all here to support her. And her ... consort, Ronon Dex."
Rodney shook hands with the bored looking man who was quite obviously window dressing and knew it. Though, Rodney had to admitt that Teyla had very good taste in window dressing. Ronon was very attractive in a wild sort of way. Also, he looked just as uncomfortable in his suit as Rodney was so Rodney felt a sort of kinship with him over that fact.
"You know Dr. Zelenka, I believe," Elizabeth said as Radek stood up, his messy hair just as messy as usual. "He is currently heading up my Research and Development department."
"Oh yeah," Rodney said, shaking Radek's hand. Not only were they colleagues, but they shared a very brilliant, very insane ex-wife. Luckily Rodney hadn't spawned with her like Radek had so he didn't have any contact with her aside from the monthly alimony payment. "How is Miko?"
Radek paled a little and shook his head. "She is working on quark theory."
"So she's foraging a brilliant new path in her research," Rodney said dryly.
Radek chuckled a little, reaching for his beer. "Oh yes. It is fascinating."
Rodney laughed as well, knowing the others in the group didn't understand why he and Radek found it so funny. Elizabeth's hand tightened around his own, calling his attention back to her.
"My dear cousin is around here somewhere," Elizabeth said with a shake of her head. "He went off to get some drinks and we seem to have lost him to the crowd."
"You didn't lose me," a voice said from behind Rodney, sounding vagely amused and pissed off at the same time. "Have you seen how many people are at that bar?"
Rodney turned and promptly stopped smiling, his mouth going dry. The man who was apparently Elizabeth's cousin was much better window dressing than Ronon could ever be and bore an uncanny resemblance to a grad student Rodney vaguely remembered from years before.
"So," the man said as he handed Teyla and Elizabeth their drinks. "If it isn't Dr. Rodney McKay."
"Uh, yes," Rodney said, sticking his hand out. "Nice to meet you...?
"John Sheppard," John said, shaking his hand and giving Rodney a lazy smile. "You destroyed my master's thesis."
Elizabeth laughed uncomfortably, inserting herself between the two of them. "My cousin fancied himself a physicist for awhile there. He's since turned his attentions elsewhere with much greater success."
John's jaw tightened slightly. "Yes, because someone has to actually *run* your company while you are off trying to save the world from itself."
"Well," Teyla said loudly. "This is a fantastic drink, John. Thank you so much for getting it for me. Dr. McKay, tell us a little about yourself."
Rodney looked at her, startled. She had a pleading look on her face, one that was matched by Radek's and Ronon's. "Well, I am currently working on advanced string theory as it applies to black holes and space travel. Which I'm sure none of you understand with the possible exception of Dr. Zelenka and sometimes I'm not sure he does either because of his consistent inability to believe that I could just possibly be right."
"Rodney," Radek said with a roll of his eyes. "I'll give Miko your address and tell her you were asking about her. I'm sure she'll be quite happy to see you."
"Now that's just evil," Rodney said. "Fine, Dr. Zelenka understands my work and just likes to present an opposing viewpoint."
Fraser re-read the letter, his hand crushing the edge of the thick white paper with the RCMP letterhead. The words swam in front of his eyes and he carefully set the letter back on his desk, smoothing out the wrinkles. He rubbed his hands against the brown uniform pants and pushed himself to his feet. He grabbed the letter and walked down the hall to Sergeant Dillon’s office.
“Excuse me, sir,” Fraser said, knocking lightly at the doorframe. “May I trouble you for a moment of your time?”
“Come in, Constable,” Sergeant Dillon said, waving his hand a little. “Sit down.”
“Thank you, sir.” Fraser sat down, the letter still in his hand. “I was wondering if perhaps you had heard something from Ottawa regarding my current posting.”
“You got the letter.” Sergeant Dillon sighed heavily. “I am sorry, Benton. Truly.”
“There is no chance of Ottawa changing their mind?”
“I’m afraid not.” Sergeant Dillon gave him a sad smile. “They see this as a great opportunity for you. They want your expertise in Whitehorse.”
“What is the possibility that the position will become permanent?” asked Fraser softly.
“It is my understanding that it is for a term of 12 months,” said Sergeant Dillon. “During which time you will be providing training for recruits that will be posted in the Northwest and Pacific regions.”
Fraser closed his eyes briefly before opening them and nodding. “Understood, sir. I will endeavor to meet their expectations.”
“Fraser,” Sergeant Dillon said quietly. “They will provide for your family to move with you to Whitehorse. If Ray will agree.”
“I doubt he will,” Fraser said to him honestly. “We were promised no more transfers and he took that to heart.”
“Good luck.” Sergeant Dillon folded his hands on the desk. “If you’d like, I can take the blame so Ray has someone else to get angry with.”
“Thank you, sir,” Fraser said, rising to his feet. “I will keep that in mind.”
“Just tell me if I need to prepare myself for some yelling,” Sergeant Dillon said with a bit of a smile. “Also, if you’d like to take the rest of the afternoon off, that is quite understandable.”
“Thank you, sir,” Fraser said again. “But I’d like to put this off as long as possible.”
“Understood, Fraser.”
Fraser walked slowly back down the hall to his office, the letter crushed in his hand again. Naturally the RCMP would believe this to be an honor. It was hard to teach new recruits how to survive in the far North. Very few members of the RCMP would be considered qualified enough to do just that.
Fraser sighed as he sat down at his desk. He looked at the picture of Ray and the kids sitting on his desk. Five years ago, before Emma, this would have been an honor for him. He and Ray would pack up the house and the dogs and head off to Whitehorse for a year. They’d done it enough times to know how to move quickly and efficiently.
When Emma was two though, he’d put in a request to make Inuvik his permanent posting so she could grow up in a community. It was granted so Ray had started to breed the dogs seriously, building a huge kennel on the back of their property. And then they’d adopted Gabriel, certain that they were home for good now.
Ray was not going to move with him this time. It was going to be a very long year.
Fraser undressed slowly, tossing his sweatpants in the hamper. Ray was already in bed, his glasses perched on his nose as he read over his breeding charts. Fraser watched him, imprinting this moment of sheer normalcy so he’d have it when he left.
“You coming to bed?” asked Ray, looking at him over the top of his glasses.
“Of course,” Fraser said, sliding between the covers as well, dressed in only a pair of boxer briefs and an A-line shirt. “Who are you going to breed this year?”
“Depends,” Ray said, moving closer so he was leaning on Fraser’s shoulder. “I gotta talk to Dief. If he’s up for another go, I think I’ll breed him with Molly this fall. They have great pups.”
“Bronco came from that pair,” Fraser said skeptically, sliding his arm around Ray’s shoulder. “Keep that in mind.”
“Yes, but he’s an exception. That same litter produced four dogs that sold for much higher than my other litters,” Ray said with a bit of a sigh. “Including Glinda and Babar. Emma’s so not allowed to name the puppies this year.”
Fraser chuckled. “I’m quite certain their names were changed by their new owners.”
“True,” Ray said, looking at the charts again. “If Dief is done, I’m going with Midnight and Molly. I’d really love to have another litter of Molly’s pups. They’re so well-mannered. Except for Bronco.”
“Yes, but I’m fairly certain that was all Diefenbaker’s doing.”
"Considering Bronco is as talkative as Dief, I'd say yes, it's all his fault." Ray looked over at him. "What's wrong?"
Fraser shrugged a little and pressed his face to Ray's shoulder. "Work."
"And do you want to talk about it?"
Fraser sighed and extricated himself from the bed. He got up and went over to the closet where his tunic was hanging. He took out the letter and padded back over to the bed. Ray had already set aside the charts, his mouth in a thin line.
"That's not what I think it is, right?"
Fraser didn't say anything, handing over the letter to Ray. He sat down on the bed, his shoulders slumped and his hands hanging between his knees. He listened to the crinkle of the paper as Ray unfolded the letter.
"*Whitehorse*?" Ray swore angrily and threw the letter aside. "They promised we wouldn't be transferred again!"
Fraser didn't say anything, just nodded in agreement. He felt the bed lift as Ray climbed out and began to pace around the room, stepping over Mitsy, one of the hares that liked to sleep in Ray's discarded clothing. Fraser watched him, chewing on his lip the whole time.
"Can we fight this?" asked Ray. "We got it in writing somewhere that Inuvik was permanent."
"It is not a permanent transfer,” Fraser said quietly. “So it does not apply.”
“A year is pretty damn permanent to me,” Ray said firmly. He stopped walking and looked at Fraser. “You’re going.”
“I have to.” Fraser looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“Let me guess. It’s a big honor and you’ll get a promotion when it’s all done with, but until then, we’re going to be living a fucking thousand miles apart for the first time in seven years.”
“They will provide for all of us to go,” Fraser said weakly.
“I’m not moving to Whitehorse,” Ray said quietly. “I have the dogs to take care of. Emma’s got her playgroup and she starts school in the fall. Our baby-sitter is here. I can’t move the household. It’s not like the last time, Ben.”
Fraser looked at him sadly, but nodded. He already knew that would be Ray’s answer. The bed dipped again and Ray sat next to him, his shoulders slumped again. Fraser moved slowly, resting his head on Ray’s lap. Ray’s fingers found his hair, stroking through it gently.
“It’s what, a day or two to drive?” Ray asked quietly.
“With the kids, most likely two to three,” Fraser said just as softly, his arm wrapped around Ray’s thigh. “I’m going to miss so much with Gabriel.”
“Jesus,” Ray swore softly. “A one year-old and a five year-old. They’re going to kill me.”
“I am sorry, Ray,” Fraser said, his voice muffled by Ray’s thigh. “This is not what I want.”
“I know,” Ray said quietly. He rubbed the back of Fraser’s neck. “So we got two weeks to get you ready to go to Whitehorse.”
“Two weeks,” Fraser echoed softly. “I think I’ll take some time off until then.”
Prologue
Ray sticks his head out the front door, his hand against the door frame and says, like he always does at ten of six, “Dinner’s on, Frase. Get it while it’s hot.” He follows it with a loud whistle and a cry that Fraser knows is pointless of “Dinnertime, Dief! Get your mangy ass back here or I’m feeding your dinner to the turtle.”
Fraser sets down the axe and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Really, Ray. He’s not going to hear you.”
Ray just grins and chucks a thumb in the direction of the woods where Dief comes charging out of the glen of trees. “Dog’s as deaf as I am.”
Fraser shakes his head and kisses Ray, his tongue dipping inside to taste the familiar sweetness of Smarties and the underlying tang of Ray. Dief woofs out his displeasure at being called for food and then kept waiting.
Ray grins against Fraser’s lips and pulls away to usher Dief to the bowl of kibble with a side of meatloaf. The meatloaf is gone before Fraser can turn on the faucet to wash his hands.
Ray is putting food on their plates, making disparaging comments about canned peas. Fraser knows they taste too metallic for Ray to consider edible, but he’ll eat them anyway by dousing them in ketchup.
Fraser warms at the routine of it all. Himself, Ray, and Dief in a cabin outside of Invuik, eating meatloaf and canned peas. He could stay like this forever and be happy.
It’s too good to be true. They both know that, but until the world comes crashing down around them, they’re more than happy to bury their heads in the sand.
Part One
It starts not with a bang, but with a whimper. Fraser looks up from his uninteresting breakfast of oatmeal and hot tea, his ears tuned to Dief’s odd noise. A moment later, another questioning whimper then Dief is up and at the door, his tail wagging as he woofed.
“Honestly,” Fraser murmurs, his attention returning to his breakfast. “Ray is not going to walk through the door just because you miss him.”
Dief whines again and lies down in front of the door as Fraser tries to pretend he’s really talking about Dief’s feeling but without much success. He puts his dishes in the sink and walks away, feeling oddly defiant leaving them in the sink. He finishes buttoning his tunic as he looks out the window at the snow drifts and the dull grey of the sky.
“More snow today,” Fraser says to no one in particular. Dief whines and lets out a small huff. “Riding on the snowmobile is not embarrassing if no other wolves are around to see you.”
Dief just huffs in response and Fraser looks out the window again. He blinks quickly when he sees Ray clumping up the front steps wearing a parka and snow pants, a duffle thrown over his shoulder. Fraser turns away and rubs his eyes. He must be seeing things, his subconscious desires Ray so much he’s imagining him.
Dief barks loudly and there’s a heavy knock on the door. Fraser really starts to hate his subconscious.
There’s another knock and Fraser moves to the door, opening it slowly. Dief pushes past Fraser and knocks Ray over. Fraser just stares at Ray as Dief licks Ray’s ear and stands on Ray’s chest.
“Off me!” Ray pushes at Dief’s chest, but smiles good-naturedly at the same time. “Little help here?”
“Dief!” Fraser reaches down and pulls Dief off Ray, holds out his hand. Ray grasps and Fraser hauls him to his feet. “Ray.”
“Missed ya, Frase.”
And then Ray’s hand cups the back of Fraser’s head, the duffel bag hits the ground with a thump, and Fraser finds himself being kissed by Ray. There must be something he missed, Fraser thinks, but his hands fall to Ray’s waist and pull him closer.
Ray moans against his mouth and Fraser groans in return, his hands tightening on Ray’s waist as Ray’s hands hold him firmly at the neck and shoulder. Fraser feels stubble rasping against his own cleanly-shaven face, tastes peppermint and warm spit. It’s the greatest moment of his life and he’s got no idea why it’s happening.
“Take me to bed,” Ray whispers in Fraser’s ear before biting lightly at the lobe. “Please, Ben. Take me to bed.”
Fraser reaches for Ray’s duffel with one hand, takes Ray’s hand with the other, and leads him inside.
“So it happened like this,” Ray says into Fraser’s shoulder. “I get back from Canada and I’m Kowalski again. I got my own desk in the 2-7 and a new partner. Dolinski. Go ahead and laugh. Nice to know Welsh has a sense of humor in there somewhere. But yeah. Mike Dolinski. Polish as the day is long. Three kids. Nice wife. We get on okay.
“Nothing’s right though, you know. No crazy shit. Not like with you. Just him and me and normal busts that bring us home at night to our families. Or in my case my turtle. So I start digging myself into shit I shouldn’t be involved in. Shit that reminds me of you. Reminds me of Vecchio.
“And then it fucking happens. A beauty of a case. It’s just greatness. Mob ties. Gang ties. Drugs, guns, money, gambling. Everything you want. No subs or gas or nothing like that, but everything else you could want. Maybe not you. Everything I wanted. So Mike and me, we get to work. We work our asses off and turn up shit you’d be proud to be a part of.
“I took it too far. Got mouthy at the wrong guy and found a gun to my head. I shot ‘em before he could make a move. Got the fuck out of there and back to the station. Heard shit for hours from Welsh and then Mike when he found out what I did. I get home and find it’s been trashed. They’re looking for me. Word on the street is that I’m a dead man. Got a target on me bigger than Canada.
“So Welsh tells me to get the fuck out of dodge for a bit and I figure no better place to hide from crazed mobsters than in Canada with my own Mountie.”
Ray stops talking and just breathes against Fraser’s shoulder. Fraser lifts a hand and touches his back lightly.
“Plus I’m fucking in love with you and I was too shit-scared to say anything.”
And that's it for now. There's a chance some of the dS and SGA fics will actually get finished sometime in the not-so-distant future. Like next year.
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Date: 2006-02-04 03:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
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