If you could only carry one memory with you into the afterlife, which would you choose?
The capture of Gerrard was Robert Fraser's justice. The capture of Muldoon was Robert Fraser's rest. These are Benton Fraser's best and proudest memories, but they are not his to claim, not in this sense; they were his father's to carry.
There are memories of his friends, his partners -- Diefenbaker, Ray Vecchio, Ray Kowalski -- which he'll prize for the rest of his life. Photographs in his mind, in his heart, in living colour, alive to every sense. The coarse texture of Dief's fur when he pressed his face against it, offering unnumbered unheard apologies, when he realized what his dearest and most faithful companion had sacrificed to pull him from the icy hold of Prince Rupert Sound. The shock it had been to his ears when Ray Vecchio called him "Benny" for the first time, the shock to his sensibilities when he knew this meant he was Ray's friend, and friends, to Ray, were family. The fantastic discordance of their voices when Ray Vecchio sang with him, sang instead of voicing any complaint, as Ray carried him on his back through the northern wilderness, mindful of his injuries, impossibly accepting of his dependence. The promise in Ray Vecchio's voice, which he had not immediately recognized through the scratchy telephone connection, but which presented itself plainly as Fraser replayed the conversation in his mind (which he did, almost every day, for more than a year); Ray had promised with every allowable word that he would return. The embrace with which Ray Kowalski greeted him, the ever-present challenge in his eyes and in his smile. Sunlight fading across the water as he and Ray stood shoulder to shoulder on the replica of the Bounty, when Fraser knew, knew most certainly, that when the opportunity next presented itself, he would make a leap without hesitation, and he wouldn't be alone. The shatter of glass, the roar of a motorcycle. The endless rush of white on all sides as he and Ray sledded towards the sunrise, the swell of contentment in his chest as he looked forward to sharing his home with his good friend, just like Ray, each Ray, had shared his city.
All of these things and so many more will be with him until his end in this world. Fraser has been happy, he has been loved, and countless times he has been rescued.
But only once has he known true salvation.
With the full weight of his experience balanced against it, of course he knows it would be wrong. It would be selfish. It would be unbecoming.
He does know, and in spite of this, in spite of absolutely everything, he would make the choice tomorrow with gratitude in his heart.
Only one thing could lead him past the borderlands without fear, without regret. Only one thing could so effortlessly guide him to whatever rest he's earned.
The sound of her voice.
There are memories of his friends, his partners -- Diefenbaker, Ray Vecchio, Ray Kowalski -- which he'll prize for the rest of his life. Photographs in his mind, in his heart, in living colour, alive to every sense. The coarse texture of Dief's fur when he pressed his face against it, offering unnumbered unheard apologies, when he realized what his dearest and most faithful companion had sacrificed to pull him from the icy hold of Prince Rupert Sound. The shock it had been to his ears when Ray Vecchio called him "Benny" for the first time, the shock to his sensibilities when he knew this meant he was Ray's friend, and friends, to Ray, were family. The fantastic discordance of their voices when Ray Vecchio sang with him, sang instead of voicing any complaint, as Ray carried him on his back through the northern wilderness, mindful of his injuries, impossibly accepting of his dependence. The promise in Ray Vecchio's voice, which he had not immediately recognized through the scratchy telephone connection, but which presented itself plainly as Fraser replayed the conversation in his mind (which he did, almost every day, for more than a year); Ray had promised with every allowable word that he would return. The embrace with which Ray Kowalski greeted him, the ever-present challenge in his eyes and in his smile. Sunlight fading across the water as he and Ray stood shoulder to shoulder on the replica of the Bounty, when Fraser knew, knew most certainly, that when the opportunity next presented itself, he would make a leap without hesitation, and he wouldn't be alone. The shatter of glass, the roar of a motorcycle. The endless rush of white on all sides as he and Ray sledded towards the sunrise, the swell of contentment in his chest as he looked forward to sharing his home with his good friend, just like Ray, each Ray, had shared his city.
All of these things and so many more will be with him until his end in this world. Fraser has been happy, he has been loved, and countless times he has been rescued.
But only once has he known true salvation.
With the full weight of his experience balanced against it, of course he knows it would be wrong. It would be selfish. It would be unbecoming.
He does know, and in spite of this, in spite of absolutely everything, he would make the choice tomorrow with gratitude in his heart.
Only one thing could lead him past the borderlands without fear, without regret. Only one thing could so effortlessly guide him to whatever rest he's earned.
The sound of her voice.