Five Things Diefenbaker Shouldn't Have Eaten, And One That Was Worth It Anyway
Cross-posted from rensong
Spoilers: Chinatown; A Cop, A Mountie, and a Baby; and Good for the Soul for sure - general spoilers for the entire series, though.
Warnings: None
Disclaimers: Diefenbaker, the two Rays, Fraser, and everyone else mentioned in the story - barring one small kinda cameo appearance (does it count as “cameo” if the character is only mentioned in passing?) - belong to Paul Haggis and Alliance Atlantis. All I own are the situations.
Authors Note 1: I was going for Laugh Out Loud Funny when I wrote this, so I hope you all get at least a few giggles out of it. Personally, Diefenbaker!Muse took to the idea with enthusiasm he usually saves for delivery pizza, and there were many many times when his suggestions made me start giggling like mad, so that’s good enough for me.
Authors Note 2: In my head, Fraser and Diefenbaker have always had an actual one-on-one dialog using words and/or feelings - expressed mentally on Diefenbaker’s part - rather than Fraser just being really good at reading Dief’s body language. I see it more as super strong empathy than telepathy, but call it what you will - either way, that perception shows up quite a bit in the story.
Authors Note 3: This story is the result of a prompt from the lovely icepixie, who also happens to be a grammar goddess and my betaed for it. Thanks, Becca! All other mistakes you see are mine.
~*~
1 - That Time With The Donut
Fraser was off doing Mountie things, so while he was away, he asked Ray to take me on for a few days. I wanted to stay with Fraser - we were partners, after all - but it was a business trip in Anchorage (something about oil and pipelines going across Canadian soil), and would’ve just been stuck in quarantine for most of it, so we both decided it was best if I just stayed in Chicago for the interim. I didn’t mind much, though; Fraser was due back later tonight, and Ray almost always had some sort of sweet that I could nick when his back is turned. It also helps that Fraser and I are new enough to the city that no one has quite gotten over the novelty of having a deaf, half-wolf wandering freely around the 27th, so there was no shortage of officers - on and off duty - to fawn over and spoil me at the slightest opportunity.
Without Fraser around to find trouble, the station had been pretty quiet the last few days. Until Friday, that is; then things just got weird.
We had only been in the office for three hours. Sprawled like I was next to Ray’s desk, I had a good view of the rest of the bullpen, and already I had seen Gardino receive six prank calls - or at least I assumed they were prank calls, because each one lasted no more than a minute, and every time Louie would make a really funny face - kind of like he was constipated - before slamming the phone down into the cradle again. I had also seen Huey hovering around Elaine’s currently empty desk with a shifty look, doing something to her keyboard. Ray was acting weird, too - when Huey and Gardino left for an early lunch, Ray spent 20 minutes systematically removing everything from the top drawer of Gardino’s desk, flipping it over, and then carefully putting everything back in, one section at a time. Then he did the same thing to the bottom drawer on Huey’s desk.
The weirdest thing, though, happened later in the afternoon. I - enjoying an after-lunch doze - cracked an eye open when I sensed the approach of Gardino’s Testoni knockoffs (being close to ground level, I am rather ashamed to admit I know way more about shoes than is really healthy). I didn’t think much of it at first; I figured the detective was just over to antagonize Ray a bit more.
I was bored, though, and I thought it might be good for some entertainment, especially since Ray gave as good as he got, and I suspected that they didn’t hate each other near as much as they wanted everyone to believe; they argued simply because they enjoyed the verbal thrust and parry. So, I cracked my eyes a bit more to watch, at which point I noticed the donut Louie was carrying, and suddenly both officers had my complete and total attention.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t really at the best angle to see the conversation. Judging from facial expressions and what little I could read, however, I figure the gist of it went something like this:
Gardino: “You know, Ray, I’ve been thinking. We’re both on the same side here, doing our best to take down the bad guys, and it seems kind of counter-productive to always be at each other’s throats, you know? So, I propose a truce, and I offer you this donut as a peace offering.”
Ray: “Why thank you, Louis. I agree; we can accomplish so much more if we work with each other rather than against each other. I accept your offer - Ooo, chocolate cream, my favorite! - and agree that a truce really would be more beneficial for all parties involved.”
With that, Ray took a big bite of the donut and started chewing. Gardino, apparently satisfied, grinned and walked back to his desk.
As if seeing the two detectives being polite, if not downright *friendly* with each other wasn’t weird enough, things only got stranger from there.
While Gardino’s back was turned, Ray spit out what was in his mouth and tossed the rest of the donut into the trash can. Then he opened his desk drawer and pulled out another donut that looked quite similar to the first one, complete with a giant chomp taken out of it. With his eyes intent on paperwork in front of him, Ray took another bite just as Gardino sat back down at his desk and glanced over. The grin on the other officer’s face turn smug before he, also, turned back to his work.
I was, to say the least, quite confused by the strange behavior of my humans. But, never one to let a good donut go to waste, I waited until Ray wandered off in the direction of the Men's room - an act that made Detective Gardino, strangely enough, start to snicker madly - before standing up to retrieve the forgotten pastry from the wastebasket.
Ray returned with a cup of coffee only a minute or so later, just as I was swallowing the last bite and licking my chops. Chocolate cream, tasty though it was, did have a tendency to get everywhere when one didn’t have opposable thumbs at their disposal.
When Ray saw my position next to the wastebasket, and the crumbs on the floor I hadn’t yet had a chance to lick up, it didn’t take him long to reach the proper conclusion. Rather than shouting at me, though, as I was expecting - Ray was, after all, rather possessive of his donuts; perhaps he had simply put that one in the wastebasket to save for an afternoon snack? - Ray crouched down next to me and demanded in a hushed, slightly anxious voice. “Dief, *please* tell me you didn’t just eat that donut I tossed!”
I looked back at him, still trying to lick the sticky cream from my face. Okay, I won’t tell you. Wolves are horrible liars anyway.
Ray groaned, yanking at what little hair he had left. “It’s April Fools day, you stupid mutt! That donut probably had laxatives in it!”
Later that evening, after Fraser had returned and we had to walk home because Ray had refused to let me into his car, Fraser was quick to point out, “I told you this addiction to American junk food was unhealthy. I certainly hope you have learned something from today’s… mishap.”
From my position, sniffing around behind some bushes for the third time in the last two kilometers, I replied distractedly, Yeah - avoid chocolate cream donuts from suspicious persons at all costs.
~*~
2 - The Dish That Keeps On Giving
Jamie was back with *both* his parents, who were well on their way to Fixing Things, and I knew that the human pup would be loved and cared for. The day had ended with one of the best possible outcomes, without anyone getting hurt, and everything going almost right for once had all three of us - cop, Mountie, and wolf alike - in extremely good spirits. Good enough that Ray decided to treat us all to dinner at Lee’s - though “treat” might not be the right word since Mr. Lee had basically offered free meals for life after we helped save his son.
I wasn’t picky, though, especially since Lee had made a special allowance and let me into the restaurant now - provided I stayed out of sight under the table or behind the counter, that is. It was, after all, a dining facility, and health inspectors didn’t exactly approve of canines in the common room. I was okay with it, though, because the last thing I want is for the restaurant - which, paws down, makes the best Mongolian Beef *ever* - to be closed because of some formality.
So, we went to Lee’s. Ray got the Curry Lamb, Fraser got the Orange Glazed Duck, and then he spent ten minutes trying to convince me to choose something other than the Kung Pao Chicken with Sichuan Peppers. Even Mr. Lee warned against it.
I’m a wolf, I told him with as much disdain as possible, a strong, tough wild animal, who has survived the harsh wilds of the North. Ignore the fact that I was all of three months old when Fraser and I partnered up, and had, for the most part, had all of my meals provided for me ever since. I can handle a bit of heat, I finished, and that was that.
It took five bowls of water (and, when David realized the situation and took pity on me, one bowl of milk), but I lapped up the entire plate of Kung Pow Chicken, down to the last pepper seed, and refused to admit that Fraser had been right.
It tells you what kind of person Fraser is, though, that he never gave in to the temptation to give me a well-deserved “I told you so!” a few hours later, when I learned the hard way that something that spicy going in burns just as much when it comes out the other end.
~*~
3 - The Train Wasn’t The Only Thing In Danger Of Exploding
Even though I lived it, I’m still having trouble believing the last few hours.
There was a train, there were singing Mounties, there was a dare-devil, completely computer-illiterate Station Master, and a rather terrifying leap onto a runaway train that had been taken over by a group of terrorists who were led by a nut job - and that’s just to name a few. Even after living with Fraser for years, I don’t believe we’ve ever run across a situation quite that... unreal.
After the excitement of the chase, and the rather spectacular capture, Randall was led away, mounted and cuffed, screaming profanities about the government and conspiracies. He was also surrounded by five Mounties, who glared at him each time he used poor language. When the glares failed to get the terrorist to shut up, though, one of his guards discretely nudged the horse Randall was riding into a ball-busting canter, and pretty soon he was wincing too much to keep up his tirade. Never let it be said that Canadians don’t know how to get their way - “polite” does not mean “push over.”
After that, though, Ray went off to do cop things, and Fraser seemed decidedly distracted (though, thankfully one of the other Mounties loaned him a spare Stetson), so I found myself in the company of one Buck Frobisher. He was rambling on about some case he and Fraser’s father had been involved in, years ago. I actually kind of regretted that I couldn’t hear what he was saying - he may be strange, but the man could tell a story. Besides, strange is relative when one has spent most of his life partnered with Fraser, and this Great Yukon, Douglas Fir, Double-Telescoping Bank Shot Frobisher was talking about actually sounded pretty cool.
Before I knew it, Frobisher had found his pack and had even started a little fire. As cop cars and bomb squad and other emergency vehicles started to arrive, we camped out under a tree out of the way from most of the activity, but not so far removed from the train that we weren’t easily accessible should anyone need us for something. Buck continued with his story, and I kept my eyes on his face, an attentive audience. Ray might complain whenever Fraser or Frobisher started rambling about all their various adventures in the North, but I, personally, thoroughly enjoyed them. They reminded me of home, and as much as I loved Chicago, even arctic wolves - or, perhaps *especially* arctic wolves - can get homesick for snow and ice and endless pine forests.
In hindsight, especially after spending the last hour or so up wind of him, I really should’ve been more suspicious of the plate of food Frobisher placed in front of me. I was hungry, though - it had, after all, been quite an eventful day, and I hadn’t eaten anything since the bowl of potato chips Ray gave me during his card game. Hunger, paired with the fact that I was still quite engrossed in the story I was being told, meant that I only gave the meal a cursory sniff to make sure it was edible before I inhaled it. It was actually quite good, whatever it was.
After I had licked the plate clean, Frobisher smiled at me like a proud chef. “Yeah, I thought you might like that, my boy. It was a specialty the Board introduced me to the other night, full of protein. It keeps well, too.”
Food being something of a hobby of mine, couldn’t help but ask him what it was.
“Night moose hock,” Frobisher said cheerfully, “rolled in wild boar tongue covered with gorgonzola cheese.”
Me and my stupid mouth.
Later, when the train was headed back to Chicago - there was just no other way to transport thirty-two Mounties and their horses - Fraser banished me to the emptiest horse car, and after that, when we had gotten back to the city, he wouldn’t let me back into the apartment for three days. Considering how at that point, *I* didn’t even like being around me, I can’t say as I really blamed him much.
~*~
4 - Ain’t That A Kick In The Stomach
One of the first things I learned about Ray Kowalski was that he loved hotdogs, which was also one of the reasons I liked him right away and was all too happy to lick his ear off when we first met. I still missed Vecchio, of course, and I was just as suspicious as Fraser about this tall, wiry fellow who was trying to convince us that he was our best friend. When it comes to first impressions, though, I am shallow enough (and dog enough, but don’t tell anyone I said that) to admit that a shared love of hotdogs is kind of hard to beat, as far as I’m concerned.
One of the second things I learned about Ray Kowalski was that he thought Fraser was nuts for talking to me like he would anyone else. Being used to this reaction, I didn’t take it personally, and I doubted Fraser did, either. What redeemed Ray, though, even more than our shared love of hotdogs, was how he accepted that little quirk with stride - even quicker than Vecchio did, back when it all started - and it didn’t take long before he was talking to me, too. I don’t know if he actually heard me in those first few weeks, or if he was simply a good enough detective to intuit my feelings and meaning from facial expressions and body language, but a wolf likes to feel appreciated, and his “kick in the head” attitude was also a nice change from Fraser’s - much as I love him - obsessively pressed, polished, and strict adherence to an idealized concept of Justice.
The third thing I learned about Ray Kowalski was that he was way more willing to share his goodies than Vecchio ever was, and he spent a lot more time slipping me treats under the desk when he thought Fraser wasn’t looking.
As fate would have it, all three of these things came into play on a sunny spring afternoon a few months after Ray V was sent deep under cover and Fraser and I came back from our Canadian holiday to find a stranger in his place. Fraser, whipped as he was, was stuck back at the Canadian Consulate doing paperwork, and I, of course, was stuck right there with him.
Usually I don’t mind lying contently next to his desk and dozing, or pestering Turnbull for a taste of his latest cooking experiment. But it was the first nice day in weeks, and there is only so much an arctic wolf can do to entertain himself while cooped up inside, especially an arctic wolf with a serious case of spring fever. (In my defense, the early 18th century Hanoverian vase I knocked over when I was chasing my shadow up and down the hall can’t be *nearly* as priceless as Fraser claimed, and you can barely see the chew marks on the rug in the foyer).
Knowing Ray had the day off, though, Fraser called his apartment and practically begged the detective to come over and take me out for a run. I was all for this idea, and as soon as I felt the slight change in air pressure that occurred when the front door opened a few minutes later, I zipped out of the Consulate like a furry grey bullet, before Ray could even draw breath for a greeting. In the few minutes it took him and Fraser to discussed Human Things - likely involving a general time around which Ray would bring me back, and hopefully a promise to feed me while we were out - I ran around the Consulate two times at full speed, and then took an enthusiastic roll in the small patch of dirty snow that was all that was left from several months of seemingly endless shoveling.
I jumped to my feet as soon as I heard Ray’s muffled shout of “C’mon, Dief, let’s go!”, too excited to realize until later that responding to him while I was facing the opposite direction might’ve just blown my ‘still deaf, really!’ cover. The truth was that my hearing had been returning, little by little, as the years progressed. It still wasn’t great, and I doubted it would ever return completely, but I could hear loud noises and shouts easily enough. I still mostly depended on my other senses, anyway, and whatever weird mental connection that Fraser and I shared that allowed him to hear what I was saying, and myself to occasionally know what he was thinking.
I wasn’t too worried, though, since after a few months of working together I was pretty sure Ray at least suspected I wasn’t as deaf as I pretended to be anyway, content to believe my occasional misunderstanding of something Fraser was trying to tell me was simply a case of selective hearing. Since he had an ex-wife, I was pretty sure Ray was quite expierenced in that particular affliction, too.
After Ray let me into the back of the GTO, we made a bee-line for Lincoln Park over on the lake front, which not surprisingly, was quite crowded with families and joggers taking advantage of the nice weather. After a bit of searching (and a minute or so of hovering like a vulture when Ray noticed a family of four packing their things into grey minivan), we found a good place to park relatively close to the walking/biking trail that winds through the park, right along the lake.
“Right,” he said, opening the back door and grabbing me gently by the ruff before I could make my escape. He also lifted my nose up so I was looking directly at him, so there was no chance of any misunderstanding - intentional or otherwise. “So, here’s the deal - the leash can stay in the car as long as you promise to stay within shouting distance from me, kapish?” I woofed quietly in agreement. He nodded, but didn’t let me go. “No tricky business, right? While I know you aren’t as deaf as Fraser thinks you are” - Damn, so he had noticed - “I also know that for you, ‘shouting distance’ isn’t as far as it is for the average dog. You stay in sight, got it?”
In sight, got it, I agreed, vocalizing it with a sort of rolling-yip.
“Alright, then,” he added before letting me go. Free from restraint, I bolted from the car, running a head a few yards before I stopped to wait patiently as he locked everything up. Lincoln Park might be in one of the better parts of town, but this is still Chicago, after all.
We had been walking an hour or so, me sniffing every tree and shrub to see who had visited it recently, and occasionally leaving a calling card of my own. True to my word, I never wandered more than a few yards from Ray’s side - though, admittedly, this is more of a safety measure than any good nature on my part; the walkway was a bit more crowded than usual, full of joggers and casual strollers, and I was afraid that straying too far might get me trampled or something. Ray may be a skinny bastard, but he was still quite good at throwing his weight around, which wasn’t quite as insignificant as you’d think just by looking at him.
Near the playground, I caught a whiff of a familiar and oh-so-tasty smell. I followed my nose, and Ray followed me, picking it up a bit when he no doubt got a whiff of his own.
“Hotdogs!” he said, grinning. “How about some dinner, Dief?”
That was all the incentive I needed, and in no time we were in front of a hastily constructed stage - like the kind you see the judges sitting on at parades or contests - where the tasty aroma was emanating from.
In fact, it appeared that it *was* for a contest - hotdog eating contest, to be exact. And judging from the collection of humans and canines in all shapes and sizes sitting on the other side of the table, this particular hotdog eating contest also included pets. I guess it was my lucky day.
I looked at Ray and woofed a challenge. Think you can handle it?
Ray’s grin went predatory, and he added to the effect by rubbing his hands together in glee, like the villain always did in all those old movies when he saw his dastardly plans coming to fruition.
“Oh *hell* yeah,” he replied. “Bring it *on*!”
Two hours later, Fraser was still at the Consulate, and Ray and I were crashed on the sofa of his apartment. There was an old episode of Starsky and Hutch on the television, a bottle of Pepto Bismol in Ray’s hand, and a bowl of water with two alka seltzers cheerfully fizzing on the bottom sitting on the table in front of me. Ray looked decidedly green, which is quite an accomplishment since I can only see in black and white. I can’t imagine I looked much better, either.
“Next time, Dief,” he said miserably, taking another swipe from the bottle before continuing, “I vote we let the other guy win.”
I responded with a pathetic moan, in complete agreement.
~*~
5 - While We Tell of Yuletide Treasure Treats
After the whole fiasco with Warfield, Ray refused to let Fraser go back to the Consulate and spend Christmas by himself. When Fraser agreed without even a token protest, Ray and I shared a Look across his back that pretty much covered everything - we screwed up.
Ray’s head was full of, I should’ve backed him up sooner; my mind was a broken record of I shouldn’t have left him in the first place. It was Guilt with a capital G, even though we both knew that Fraser didn’t hold it against us, not really. It didn’t matter much, though - guilt isn’t really the kind of emotion that adheres to logic.
The ride back to Ray’s apartment was quiet, Fraser sitting stiffly in the passenger seat while I methodically listed to myself all of my failures and shortcomings as his partner and, more importantly, as his friend. Judging from the constant muttering I heard in the back of my head, I knew Ray was doing the same - I still can’t hear him as clearly as I can Fraser, but we’ve shared enough life-or-death experiences that I can understand his thoughts occasionally, especially when emotions are running high.
I leaned over the seat and gave him a few sympathetic licks - I knew *exactly* how he was feeling - before shifting sides to give Fraser the same treatment - this time with licks of apology. When even that made him wince slightly, I settled for resting my head on his shoulder and trying to distract him with a story I heard from Mouse, the Tibetan Temple dog who lives on the lowest level of Ray’s apartment building, about the pack of squirrels that had invaded his home a few months ago, and the rather extreme measures he and his family had to take to get them back out again. Fraser smiled at all the right parts, wincing slightly when it pulled the cut on his lip, but I wasn't sure if he was actually paying attention, or just being polite.
Ten minutes later, Ray unlocked his apartment door, with Fraser and me hovering quietly behind him. Ray started digging through the basket of clean but unfolded laundry in the hallway as soon he was through the door. Fraser and I wandered slowly toward the living room.
“Alright,” Ray said when he joined us a few seconds later, carrying a pair of lose sweat pants and a grey t-shirt with a cartoonish reindeer on it, both of which he held up in front of Fraser. “So, here’s the plan. First, you’re going to change out of that stiff, starchy uniform - I know for a fact that those pants itch like mad, and though red is totally festive, for the next thirty-six hours you are officially off duty. In fact, ‘duty’ is forbidden to even cross your mind. You have, like, seven million days of leave owed you, and you are going to damned well take one even if I have to tie you to the sofa.”
“Ray, that’s really not-“
“Ah-ah-ah, no excuses!” Since Fraser still hadn’t accepted the offered clothing, Ray dropped them across Fraser’s outspread hands, which he had raised when he started to protest. “Second, while you are changing, I am going to channel surf until I find some hockey or curling or something else sufficiently Canadian on the tube, which you are going to sit down in front of and watch until I say it’s okay for you to get up.”
“But Ray-“
This time it was Ray who held up a hand, right in Fraser's face. Surprisingly, it actually worked. “Nah-uh, no. You are going to relax.” Fraser opened his mouth again, no doubt to try and argue some more, but Ray stopped him before he even had time to draw a breath. “Don’t make me get the tranquilizers,” he threatened.
Fraser appealed to me, but I was in 100% agreement. I shook my head, backing up a few steps so I stood firmly by Ray’s side. No way, I said, vocalizing it with a rolling whine-growl kind of combination. I’m with Ray. You will sit down, and you will stay down.
“Well,” Fraser responded, attempting to look sulky. “It would seem I’m out voted.”
“Damn right you are,” Ray said, and I huffed in agreement. “Now go change. I’m going to find something on TV for you to zone out to, then I’m going to start cooking up a little holiday spirit. I might not have all the fixings for a Christmas dinner, but my Mom taught me a mean recipe for figgy pudding, and I’m pretty sure I have most of the ingredients.”
“Understood,” Fraser said, then wandered down the hall to the bathroom to change.
It didn't take Ray long to find a hockey game on the television, a rerun of the Nashville-Detroit game that aired a few days ago. He stood up just as Fraser reentered the room, looking far more comfortable, but also quite a bit more drained. Sometimes I wondered if he used the uniform like a mask, a way to cover up and hide all his hurts from the world so they can keep on believing everything is fine. When the uniform is on, maybe he even believes it himself. Either way, it seemed like he’s wearing it a lot more often these days.
“Okay, you,” Ray said, tossing the remote to Fraser, “siddown.” Fraser sat. “You,” this time Ray pointed to me, “make sure he stays seated.” I woofed in acknowledgment, then happily hopped up onto the couch and made like a very large lap dog. Fraser chuckled softly and scratched me behind my ears.
“And me,” Ray finished, pointing to himself with both thumbs, “I’m gonna get cooking.” With that, he headed for the kitchen, where I could hear the occasional slam of a cupboard or crash of a pan onto the stove. Fraser turned on the closed captioning for me as a force of habit, even though he knew my hearing had improved quite a bit over the last year. Considering Fraser has freakishly good hearing, and he usually keeps the volume turned down pretty low on the rare occasions he *does* watch television anyway, I was quite grateful for the consideration.
I made myself comfortable and the two of us settled in for some serious hockey watching. Not as good as curling, but considering the quality of American television, you had to take what you could get.
An hour later, the Redwings had lost, the apartment had filled with the heavenly scent of baking pudding, and Fraser was getting restless. In fact, he was downright twichy, making my job as a furry seatbelt rather uncomfortable. After a particularly painful-albeit-accidental elbow to my ribs, I figured I had accomplished the general terms of my duty - after all, Ray hadn’t given a set time frame for how long I was supposed to lay on top of him - and I climbed off Fraser, grumbling about twitchy seat cushions the entire time. Fraser was off the couch a lot quicker than I would’ve given him credit for, considering the beating he got a few hours ago, and on his way to the kitchen before I could even blink. Feeling kind of restless myself, I followed him there, where we found that Ray not only had a pudding in the oven, but also appeared to be mixing up some caramel sauce, likely intended for the big bowl of popcorn sitting on the counter next to him.
When he noticed Fraser up and about, he sent an accusing glare in my direction. “I thought I told you to keep his butt-cheeks attached to the couch.”
I bristled a bit at the accusation. I did, I told him with an annoyed chuff-whine, for the last hour. You never told me how *long* I had to keep him there, after all. And he’s horribly uncomfortable to lay on top of.
This time it was Fraser giving me the annoyed glare. “Thank you; you’re no treat to have on my lap, either.” He looked back at Ray. “Can I help out with anything?”
Ray brandished the wooden spoon he had been using to stir the caramel sauce. I watched the spoon closely, hoping for a stray drip or two to fall on the floor. “You are hurt, and should be resting,” he replied.
“Please, Ray,” Fraser asked, adding an extremely well done puppy-dog face that he had, of course, learned from me to the mix. “I promise you, I feel fine - I know you spiked my punch with aspirin when we were at the party, and aside from a few minor aches, I am quite well. And if I sit still any longer, I might very well go crazy.”
Ray eyed him a bit longer before relenting, and handed over the spoon reluctantly. “Okay, you can stir, but *only* stir. No lifting or bending or reaching higher than shoulder level.”
Fraser nodded, relieved, taking the spoon and applying it to simmering caramel sauce, while Ray went to the fridge and pulled out some fresh, crisp-looking apples. I hovered around their feet, begging for handouts and ready to clean up anything that happened to drip or fall down to my level.
At some point in the baking process, a bag of powdered sugar got knocked over, some of it spilling out into a pile on the floor. I, of course, started lapping it up as a favor to Ray - wouldn’t want him to get ants, after all. The fact that it was the middle of December didn't really fit into my clever excuse, so I happily disregarded that part of it.
“Hey, hey, ease up on the powdered sugar, Dief,” Ray told me as he righted the bag. “Too much of that stuff will give you a stomachache real fast, and I’m all out of alka seltzer.”
I snorted at him in response. I realized too late, of course, that snorting while your nose is partially buried in a very fine, powdery substance probably isn’t the best idea in the world.
The snort turned into an almighty sneeze as I ended up inhaling what felt like a bathtub’s worth of powdered sugar into my sinuses. I choked, coughed, sneezed again, this one big enough to propel me backwards a foot or two. I shook my head, trying to catch my breath, only to sneeze again for the third time. With my face surrounded by a cloud of powdered sugar, every attempted inhalation brought on another sneezing fit.
What were Fraser and Ray doing as I struggled for my life against a powdery death, you ask? They were, of course, laughing their butts off on the other side of the kitchen, loud enough that I heard them even over the granddaddy of all the other sneezes I had to deal with so far.
Thankfully, painful though it was, that last sneeze cleared the worst of the evil, double-crossing powder from my nose. I coughed once, snorted a bit of sugar-flavored mucus down my throat - which, by the way, is *so* not a good combination - and then I could finally breathe almost normally.
Ray and Fraser hadn’t stopped laughing by the time I managed to open my eyes - which were still watering horribly after my brush with death. In fact, Fraser was leaning against the wall next to the stove, holding his right side as if it hurt to laugh, but not enough to stop him. Ray was bent over with his hands on his knees, butt against the counter, laughing so hard he looked like he might fall over. Hopefully on his face, I muttered to myself as I sat down as regally as possible, trying to gather what dignity I had remaining.
Fraser being Fraser, he recovered first, though he was still smiling wide enough to re-open the cut on his lip, and every time he looked over at me he was struck by another fit of poorly-suppressed giggles. Ray, who was still laughing openly, finally did fall over, but onto his ass instead of his face. I growled sulkily under my breath, complaining about inconsiderate humans.
Finally, after what seemed an entirely inappropriate amount of time considering what I, their loyal lupine companion, had to suffer, both of them managed to control themselves. A few seconds later, Fraser pushed himself off the wall, carefully stepping over Ray where he had pretty much blocked the entire kitchen floor, and squatted down in front of me. “Thanks, Dief,” he said in a quiet voice, scratching me behind my ears and putting his forehead against mine. “I needed that - even if it was entirely unintentional on your part.”
Whatever annoyance I had felt was washed away instantly in a wave of affection. What are friends for? I whined, and then I proceeded to give him a through face wash since he so considerately put it within my reach.
Later, after the food had been dished up (Ray gave me an extra-large piece of figgy pudding, blessedly powdered-sugar free, as his own thank-you/apology) and the three of us were in various states of sprawl across Ray’s too-short couch - and, ultimately, in various states of sprawl across each other as well because of it - with one of the hundred or so different versions of A Christmas Carol on the television, I noticed that Fraser was the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him, and I could no longer hear Ray’s guilt-ridden inner monologue in the back of my head. A split-second later, I realized that I was feeling a lot lighter of spirit, too.
My nose might have been burning, my pride was a bit stung, and everything still tasted like powdered sugar, but I figured it was all worth it. After all, what’s a bit of inflamed nasal tissue and injured pride if it means your best friends can end a tough day with laughter instead of tears? Tissue grows back, and as Fraser can assure you, my pride is quite large enough to take the hit.
~End~
~End~
I think that was the most fun I've ever had writing a story. Diefenbaker also may be the most considerate muse I've ever had - he only kept me awake with his ideas once, and only because I couldn't stop giggling. It was more of a "This one, right here! Funniest thing ever, or what?" scene he had playing instant replay-like in my head rather than a "Write this now! I don't care if it's 3 am!" kinda thing.
.
Spoilers: Chinatown; A Cop, A Mountie, and a Baby; and Good for the Soul for sure - general spoilers for the entire series, though.
Warnings: None
Disclaimers: Diefenbaker, the two Rays, Fraser, and everyone else mentioned in the story - barring one small kinda cameo appearance (does it count as “cameo” if the character is only mentioned in passing?) - belong to Paul Haggis and Alliance Atlantis. All I own are the situations.
Authors Note 1: I was going for Laugh Out Loud Funny when I wrote this, so I hope you all get at least a few giggles out of it. Personally, Diefenbaker!Muse took to the idea with enthusiasm he usually saves for delivery pizza, and there were many many times when his suggestions made me start giggling like mad, so that’s good enough for me.
Authors Note 2: In my head, Fraser and Diefenbaker have always had an actual one-on-one dialog using words and/or feelings - expressed mentally on Diefenbaker’s part - rather than Fraser just being really good at reading Dief’s body language. I see it more as super strong empathy than telepathy, but call it what you will - either way, that perception shows up quite a bit in the story.
Authors Note 3: This story is the result of a prompt from the lovely icepixie, who also happens to be a grammar goddess and my betaed for it. Thanks, Becca! All other mistakes you see are mine.
~*~
1 - That Time With The Donut
Fraser was off doing Mountie things, so while he was away, he asked Ray to take me on for a few days. I wanted to stay with Fraser - we were partners, after all - but it was a business trip in Anchorage (something about oil and pipelines going across Canadian soil), and would’ve just been stuck in quarantine for most of it, so we both decided it was best if I just stayed in Chicago for the interim. I didn’t mind much, though; Fraser was due back later tonight, and Ray almost always had some sort of sweet that I could nick when his back is turned. It also helps that Fraser and I are new enough to the city that no one has quite gotten over the novelty of having a deaf, half-wolf wandering freely around the 27th, so there was no shortage of officers - on and off duty - to fawn over and spoil me at the slightest opportunity.
Without Fraser around to find trouble, the station had been pretty quiet the last few days. Until Friday, that is; then things just got weird.
We had only been in the office for three hours. Sprawled like I was next to Ray’s desk, I had a good view of the rest of the bullpen, and already I had seen Gardino receive six prank calls - or at least I assumed they were prank calls, because each one lasted no more than a minute, and every time Louie would make a really funny face - kind of like he was constipated - before slamming the phone down into the cradle again. I had also seen Huey hovering around Elaine’s currently empty desk with a shifty look, doing something to her keyboard. Ray was acting weird, too - when Huey and Gardino left for an early lunch, Ray spent 20 minutes systematically removing everything from the top drawer of Gardino’s desk, flipping it over, and then carefully putting everything back in, one section at a time. Then he did the same thing to the bottom drawer on Huey’s desk.
The weirdest thing, though, happened later in the afternoon. I - enjoying an after-lunch doze - cracked an eye open when I sensed the approach of Gardino’s Testoni knockoffs (being close to ground level, I am rather ashamed to admit I know way more about shoes than is really healthy). I didn’t think much of it at first; I figured the detective was just over to antagonize Ray a bit more.
I was bored, though, and I thought it might be good for some entertainment, especially since Ray gave as good as he got, and I suspected that they didn’t hate each other near as much as they wanted everyone to believe; they argued simply because they enjoyed the verbal thrust and parry. So, I cracked my eyes a bit more to watch, at which point I noticed the donut Louie was carrying, and suddenly both officers had my complete and total attention.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t really at the best angle to see the conversation. Judging from facial expressions and what little I could read, however, I figure the gist of it went something like this:
Gardino: “You know, Ray, I’ve been thinking. We’re both on the same side here, doing our best to take down the bad guys, and it seems kind of counter-productive to always be at each other’s throats, you know? So, I propose a truce, and I offer you this donut as a peace offering.”
Ray: “Why thank you, Louis. I agree; we can accomplish so much more if we work with each other rather than against each other. I accept your offer - Ooo, chocolate cream, my favorite! - and agree that a truce really would be more beneficial for all parties involved.”
With that, Ray took a big bite of the donut and started chewing. Gardino, apparently satisfied, grinned and walked back to his desk.
As if seeing the two detectives being polite, if not downright *friendly* with each other wasn’t weird enough, things only got stranger from there.
While Gardino’s back was turned, Ray spit out what was in his mouth and tossed the rest of the donut into the trash can. Then he opened his desk drawer and pulled out another donut that looked quite similar to the first one, complete with a giant chomp taken out of it. With his eyes intent on paperwork in front of him, Ray took another bite just as Gardino sat back down at his desk and glanced over. The grin on the other officer’s face turn smug before he, also, turned back to his work.
I was, to say the least, quite confused by the strange behavior of my humans. But, never one to let a good donut go to waste, I waited until Ray wandered off in the direction of the Men's room - an act that made Detective Gardino, strangely enough, start to snicker madly - before standing up to retrieve the forgotten pastry from the wastebasket.
Ray returned with a cup of coffee only a minute or so later, just as I was swallowing the last bite and licking my chops. Chocolate cream, tasty though it was, did have a tendency to get everywhere when one didn’t have opposable thumbs at their disposal.
When Ray saw my position next to the wastebasket, and the crumbs on the floor I hadn’t yet had a chance to lick up, it didn’t take him long to reach the proper conclusion. Rather than shouting at me, though, as I was expecting - Ray was, after all, rather possessive of his donuts; perhaps he had simply put that one in the wastebasket to save for an afternoon snack? - Ray crouched down next to me and demanded in a hushed, slightly anxious voice. “Dief, *please* tell me you didn’t just eat that donut I tossed!”
I looked back at him, still trying to lick the sticky cream from my face. Okay, I won’t tell you. Wolves are horrible liars anyway.
Ray groaned, yanking at what little hair he had left. “It’s April Fools day, you stupid mutt! That donut probably had laxatives in it!”
Later that evening, after Fraser had returned and we had to walk home because Ray had refused to let me into his car, Fraser was quick to point out, “I told you this addiction to American junk food was unhealthy. I certainly hope you have learned something from today’s… mishap.”
From my position, sniffing around behind some bushes for the third time in the last two kilometers, I replied distractedly, Yeah - avoid chocolate cream donuts from suspicious persons at all costs.
~*~
2 - The Dish That Keeps On Giving
Jamie was back with *both* his parents, who were well on their way to Fixing Things, and I knew that the human pup would be loved and cared for. The day had ended with one of the best possible outcomes, without anyone getting hurt, and everything going almost right for once had all three of us - cop, Mountie, and wolf alike - in extremely good spirits. Good enough that Ray decided to treat us all to dinner at Lee’s - though “treat” might not be the right word since Mr. Lee had basically offered free meals for life after we helped save his son.
I wasn’t picky, though, especially since Lee had made a special allowance and let me into the restaurant now - provided I stayed out of sight under the table or behind the counter, that is. It was, after all, a dining facility, and health inspectors didn’t exactly approve of canines in the common room. I was okay with it, though, because the last thing I want is for the restaurant - which, paws down, makes the best Mongolian Beef *ever* - to be closed because of some formality.
So, we went to Lee’s. Ray got the Curry Lamb, Fraser got the Orange Glazed Duck, and then he spent ten minutes trying to convince me to choose something other than the Kung Pao Chicken with Sichuan Peppers. Even Mr. Lee warned against it.
I’m a wolf, I told him with as much disdain as possible, a strong, tough wild animal, who has survived the harsh wilds of the North. Ignore the fact that I was all of three months old when Fraser and I partnered up, and had, for the most part, had all of my meals provided for me ever since. I can handle a bit of heat, I finished, and that was that.
It took five bowls of water (and, when David realized the situation and took pity on me, one bowl of milk), but I lapped up the entire plate of Kung Pow Chicken, down to the last pepper seed, and refused to admit that Fraser had been right.
It tells you what kind of person Fraser is, though, that he never gave in to the temptation to give me a well-deserved “I told you so!” a few hours later, when I learned the hard way that something that spicy going in burns just as much when it comes out the other end.
~*~
3 - The Train Wasn’t The Only Thing In Danger Of Exploding
Even though I lived it, I’m still having trouble believing the last few hours.
There was a train, there were singing Mounties, there was a dare-devil, completely computer-illiterate Station Master, and a rather terrifying leap onto a runaway train that had been taken over by a group of terrorists who were led by a nut job - and that’s just to name a few. Even after living with Fraser for years, I don’t believe we’ve ever run across a situation quite that... unreal.
After the excitement of the chase, and the rather spectacular capture, Randall was led away, mounted and cuffed, screaming profanities about the government and conspiracies. He was also surrounded by five Mounties, who glared at him each time he used poor language. When the glares failed to get the terrorist to shut up, though, one of his guards discretely nudged the horse Randall was riding into a ball-busting canter, and pretty soon he was wincing too much to keep up his tirade. Never let it be said that Canadians don’t know how to get their way - “polite” does not mean “push over.”
After that, though, Ray went off to do cop things, and Fraser seemed decidedly distracted (though, thankfully one of the other Mounties loaned him a spare Stetson), so I found myself in the company of one Buck Frobisher. He was rambling on about some case he and Fraser’s father had been involved in, years ago. I actually kind of regretted that I couldn’t hear what he was saying - he may be strange, but the man could tell a story. Besides, strange is relative when one has spent most of his life partnered with Fraser, and this Great Yukon, Douglas Fir, Double-Telescoping Bank Shot Frobisher was talking about actually sounded pretty cool.
Before I knew it, Frobisher had found his pack and had even started a little fire. As cop cars and bomb squad and other emergency vehicles started to arrive, we camped out under a tree out of the way from most of the activity, but not so far removed from the train that we weren’t easily accessible should anyone need us for something. Buck continued with his story, and I kept my eyes on his face, an attentive audience. Ray might complain whenever Fraser or Frobisher started rambling about all their various adventures in the North, but I, personally, thoroughly enjoyed them. They reminded me of home, and as much as I loved Chicago, even arctic wolves - or, perhaps *especially* arctic wolves - can get homesick for snow and ice and endless pine forests.
In hindsight, especially after spending the last hour or so up wind of him, I really should’ve been more suspicious of the plate of food Frobisher placed in front of me. I was hungry, though - it had, after all, been quite an eventful day, and I hadn’t eaten anything since the bowl of potato chips Ray gave me during his card game. Hunger, paired with the fact that I was still quite engrossed in the story I was being told, meant that I only gave the meal a cursory sniff to make sure it was edible before I inhaled it. It was actually quite good, whatever it was.
After I had licked the plate clean, Frobisher smiled at me like a proud chef. “Yeah, I thought you might like that, my boy. It was a specialty the Board introduced me to the other night, full of protein. It keeps well, too.”
Food being something of a hobby of mine, couldn’t help but ask him what it was.
“Night moose hock,” Frobisher said cheerfully, “rolled in wild boar tongue covered with gorgonzola cheese.”
Me and my stupid mouth.
Later, when the train was headed back to Chicago - there was just no other way to transport thirty-two Mounties and their horses - Fraser banished me to the emptiest horse car, and after that, when we had gotten back to the city, he wouldn’t let me back into the apartment for three days. Considering how at that point, *I* didn’t even like being around me, I can’t say as I really blamed him much.
~*~
4 - Ain’t That A Kick In The Stomach
One of the first things I learned about Ray Kowalski was that he loved hotdogs, which was also one of the reasons I liked him right away and was all too happy to lick his ear off when we first met. I still missed Vecchio, of course, and I was just as suspicious as Fraser about this tall, wiry fellow who was trying to convince us that he was our best friend. When it comes to first impressions, though, I am shallow enough (and dog enough, but don’t tell anyone I said that) to admit that a shared love of hotdogs is kind of hard to beat, as far as I’m concerned.
One of the second things I learned about Ray Kowalski was that he thought Fraser was nuts for talking to me like he would anyone else. Being used to this reaction, I didn’t take it personally, and I doubted Fraser did, either. What redeemed Ray, though, even more than our shared love of hotdogs, was how he accepted that little quirk with stride - even quicker than Vecchio did, back when it all started - and it didn’t take long before he was talking to me, too. I don’t know if he actually heard me in those first few weeks, or if he was simply a good enough detective to intuit my feelings and meaning from facial expressions and body language, but a wolf likes to feel appreciated, and his “kick in the head” attitude was also a nice change from Fraser’s - much as I love him - obsessively pressed, polished, and strict adherence to an idealized concept of Justice.
The third thing I learned about Ray Kowalski was that he was way more willing to share his goodies than Vecchio ever was, and he spent a lot more time slipping me treats under the desk when he thought Fraser wasn’t looking.
As fate would have it, all three of these things came into play on a sunny spring afternoon a few months after Ray V was sent deep under cover and Fraser and I came back from our Canadian holiday to find a stranger in his place. Fraser, whipped as he was, was stuck back at the Canadian Consulate doing paperwork, and I, of course, was stuck right there with him.
Usually I don’t mind lying contently next to his desk and dozing, or pestering Turnbull for a taste of his latest cooking experiment. But it was the first nice day in weeks, and there is only so much an arctic wolf can do to entertain himself while cooped up inside, especially an arctic wolf with a serious case of spring fever. (In my defense, the early 18th century Hanoverian vase I knocked over when I was chasing my shadow up and down the hall can’t be *nearly* as priceless as Fraser claimed, and you can barely see the chew marks on the rug in the foyer).
Knowing Ray had the day off, though, Fraser called his apartment and practically begged the detective to come over and take me out for a run. I was all for this idea, and as soon as I felt the slight change in air pressure that occurred when the front door opened a few minutes later, I zipped out of the Consulate like a furry grey bullet, before Ray could even draw breath for a greeting. In the few minutes it took him and Fraser to discussed Human Things - likely involving a general time around which Ray would bring me back, and hopefully a promise to feed me while we were out - I ran around the Consulate two times at full speed, and then took an enthusiastic roll in the small patch of dirty snow that was all that was left from several months of seemingly endless shoveling.
I jumped to my feet as soon as I heard Ray’s muffled shout of “C’mon, Dief, let’s go!”, too excited to realize until later that responding to him while I was facing the opposite direction might’ve just blown my ‘still deaf, really!’ cover. The truth was that my hearing had been returning, little by little, as the years progressed. It still wasn’t great, and I doubted it would ever return completely, but I could hear loud noises and shouts easily enough. I still mostly depended on my other senses, anyway, and whatever weird mental connection that Fraser and I shared that allowed him to hear what I was saying, and myself to occasionally know what he was thinking.
I wasn’t too worried, though, since after a few months of working together I was pretty sure Ray at least suspected I wasn’t as deaf as I pretended to be anyway, content to believe my occasional misunderstanding of something Fraser was trying to tell me was simply a case of selective hearing. Since he had an ex-wife, I was pretty sure Ray was quite expierenced in that particular affliction, too.
After Ray let me into the back of the GTO, we made a bee-line for Lincoln Park over on the lake front, which not surprisingly, was quite crowded with families and joggers taking advantage of the nice weather. After a bit of searching (and a minute or so of hovering like a vulture when Ray noticed a family of four packing their things into grey minivan), we found a good place to park relatively close to the walking/biking trail that winds through the park, right along the lake.
“Right,” he said, opening the back door and grabbing me gently by the ruff before I could make my escape. He also lifted my nose up so I was looking directly at him, so there was no chance of any misunderstanding - intentional or otherwise. “So, here’s the deal - the leash can stay in the car as long as you promise to stay within shouting distance from me, kapish?” I woofed quietly in agreement. He nodded, but didn’t let me go. “No tricky business, right? While I know you aren’t as deaf as Fraser thinks you are” - Damn, so he had noticed - “I also know that for you, ‘shouting distance’ isn’t as far as it is for the average dog. You stay in sight, got it?”
In sight, got it, I agreed, vocalizing it with a sort of rolling-yip.
“Alright, then,” he added before letting me go. Free from restraint, I bolted from the car, running a head a few yards before I stopped to wait patiently as he locked everything up. Lincoln Park might be in one of the better parts of town, but this is still Chicago, after all.
We had been walking an hour or so, me sniffing every tree and shrub to see who had visited it recently, and occasionally leaving a calling card of my own. True to my word, I never wandered more than a few yards from Ray’s side - though, admittedly, this is more of a safety measure than any good nature on my part; the walkway was a bit more crowded than usual, full of joggers and casual strollers, and I was afraid that straying too far might get me trampled or something. Ray may be a skinny bastard, but he was still quite good at throwing his weight around, which wasn’t quite as insignificant as you’d think just by looking at him.
Near the playground, I caught a whiff of a familiar and oh-so-tasty smell. I followed my nose, and Ray followed me, picking it up a bit when he no doubt got a whiff of his own.
“Hotdogs!” he said, grinning. “How about some dinner, Dief?”
That was all the incentive I needed, and in no time we were in front of a hastily constructed stage - like the kind you see the judges sitting on at parades or contests - where the tasty aroma was emanating from.
In fact, it appeared that it *was* for a contest - hotdog eating contest, to be exact. And judging from the collection of humans and canines in all shapes and sizes sitting on the other side of the table, this particular hotdog eating contest also included pets. I guess it was my lucky day.
I looked at Ray and woofed a challenge. Think you can handle it?
Ray’s grin went predatory, and he added to the effect by rubbing his hands together in glee, like the villain always did in all those old movies when he saw his dastardly plans coming to fruition.
“Oh *hell* yeah,” he replied. “Bring it *on*!”
Two hours later, Fraser was still at the Consulate, and Ray and I were crashed on the sofa of his apartment. There was an old episode of Starsky and Hutch on the television, a bottle of Pepto Bismol in Ray’s hand, and a bowl of water with two alka seltzers cheerfully fizzing on the bottom sitting on the table in front of me. Ray looked decidedly green, which is quite an accomplishment since I can only see in black and white. I can’t imagine I looked much better, either.
“Next time, Dief,” he said miserably, taking another swipe from the bottle before continuing, “I vote we let the other guy win.”
I responded with a pathetic moan, in complete agreement.
~*~
5 - While We Tell of Yuletide Treasure Treats
After the whole fiasco with Warfield, Ray refused to let Fraser go back to the Consulate and spend Christmas by himself. When Fraser agreed without even a token protest, Ray and I shared a Look across his back that pretty much covered everything - we screwed up.
Ray’s head was full of, I should’ve backed him up sooner; my mind was a broken record of I shouldn’t have left him in the first place. It was Guilt with a capital G, even though we both knew that Fraser didn’t hold it against us, not really. It didn’t matter much, though - guilt isn’t really the kind of emotion that adheres to logic.
The ride back to Ray’s apartment was quiet, Fraser sitting stiffly in the passenger seat while I methodically listed to myself all of my failures and shortcomings as his partner and, more importantly, as his friend. Judging from the constant muttering I heard in the back of my head, I knew Ray was doing the same - I still can’t hear him as clearly as I can Fraser, but we’ve shared enough life-or-death experiences that I can understand his thoughts occasionally, especially when emotions are running high.
I leaned over the seat and gave him a few sympathetic licks - I knew *exactly* how he was feeling - before shifting sides to give Fraser the same treatment - this time with licks of apology. When even that made him wince slightly, I settled for resting my head on his shoulder and trying to distract him with a story I heard from Mouse, the Tibetan Temple dog who lives on the lowest level of Ray’s apartment building, about the pack of squirrels that had invaded his home a few months ago, and the rather extreme measures he and his family had to take to get them back out again. Fraser smiled at all the right parts, wincing slightly when it pulled the cut on his lip, but I wasn't sure if he was actually paying attention, or just being polite.
Ten minutes later, Ray unlocked his apartment door, with Fraser and me hovering quietly behind him. Ray started digging through the basket of clean but unfolded laundry in the hallway as soon he was through the door. Fraser and I wandered slowly toward the living room.
“Alright,” Ray said when he joined us a few seconds later, carrying a pair of lose sweat pants and a grey t-shirt with a cartoonish reindeer on it, both of which he held up in front of Fraser. “So, here’s the plan. First, you’re going to change out of that stiff, starchy uniform - I know for a fact that those pants itch like mad, and though red is totally festive, for the next thirty-six hours you are officially off duty. In fact, ‘duty’ is forbidden to even cross your mind. You have, like, seven million days of leave owed you, and you are going to damned well take one even if I have to tie you to the sofa.”
“Ray, that’s really not-“
“Ah-ah-ah, no excuses!” Since Fraser still hadn’t accepted the offered clothing, Ray dropped them across Fraser’s outspread hands, which he had raised when he started to protest. “Second, while you are changing, I am going to channel surf until I find some hockey or curling or something else sufficiently Canadian on the tube, which you are going to sit down in front of and watch until I say it’s okay for you to get up.”
“But Ray-“
This time it was Ray who held up a hand, right in Fraser's face. Surprisingly, it actually worked. “Nah-uh, no. You are going to relax.” Fraser opened his mouth again, no doubt to try and argue some more, but Ray stopped him before he even had time to draw a breath. “Don’t make me get the tranquilizers,” he threatened.
Fraser appealed to me, but I was in 100% agreement. I shook my head, backing up a few steps so I stood firmly by Ray’s side. No way, I said, vocalizing it with a rolling whine-growl kind of combination. I’m with Ray. You will sit down, and you will stay down.
“Well,” Fraser responded, attempting to look sulky. “It would seem I’m out voted.”
“Damn right you are,” Ray said, and I huffed in agreement. “Now go change. I’m going to find something on TV for you to zone out to, then I’m going to start cooking up a little holiday spirit. I might not have all the fixings for a Christmas dinner, but my Mom taught me a mean recipe for figgy pudding, and I’m pretty sure I have most of the ingredients.”
“Understood,” Fraser said, then wandered down the hall to the bathroom to change.
It didn't take Ray long to find a hockey game on the television, a rerun of the Nashville-Detroit game that aired a few days ago. He stood up just as Fraser reentered the room, looking far more comfortable, but also quite a bit more drained. Sometimes I wondered if he used the uniform like a mask, a way to cover up and hide all his hurts from the world so they can keep on believing everything is fine. When the uniform is on, maybe he even believes it himself. Either way, it seemed like he’s wearing it a lot more often these days.
“Okay, you,” Ray said, tossing the remote to Fraser, “siddown.” Fraser sat. “You,” this time Ray pointed to me, “make sure he stays seated.” I woofed in acknowledgment, then happily hopped up onto the couch and made like a very large lap dog. Fraser chuckled softly and scratched me behind my ears.
“And me,” Ray finished, pointing to himself with both thumbs, “I’m gonna get cooking.” With that, he headed for the kitchen, where I could hear the occasional slam of a cupboard or crash of a pan onto the stove. Fraser turned on the closed captioning for me as a force of habit, even though he knew my hearing had improved quite a bit over the last year. Considering Fraser has freakishly good hearing, and he usually keeps the volume turned down pretty low on the rare occasions he *does* watch television anyway, I was quite grateful for the consideration.
I made myself comfortable and the two of us settled in for some serious hockey watching. Not as good as curling, but considering the quality of American television, you had to take what you could get.
An hour later, the Redwings had lost, the apartment had filled with the heavenly scent of baking pudding, and Fraser was getting restless. In fact, he was downright twichy, making my job as a furry seatbelt rather uncomfortable. After a particularly painful-albeit-accidental elbow to my ribs, I figured I had accomplished the general terms of my duty - after all, Ray hadn’t given a set time frame for how long I was supposed to lay on top of him - and I climbed off Fraser, grumbling about twitchy seat cushions the entire time. Fraser was off the couch a lot quicker than I would’ve given him credit for, considering the beating he got a few hours ago, and on his way to the kitchen before I could even blink. Feeling kind of restless myself, I followed him there, where we found that Ray not only had a pudding in the oven, but also appeared to be mixing up some caramel sauce, likely intended for the big bowl of popcorn sitting on the counter next to him.
When he noticed Fraser up and about, he sent an accusing glare in my direction. “I thought I told you to keep his butt-cheeks attached to the couch.”
I bristled a bit at the accusation. I did, I told him with an annoyed chuff-whine, for the last hour. You never told me how *long* I had to keep him there, after all. And he’s horribly uncomfortable to lay on top of.
This time it was Fraser giving me the annoyed glare. “Thank you; you’re no treat to have on my lap, either.” He looked back at Ray. “Can I help out with anything?”
Ray brandished the wooden spoon he had been using to stir the caramel sauce. I watched the spoon closely, hoping for a stray drip or two to fall on the floor. “You are hurt, and should be resting,” he replied.
“Please, Ray,” Fraser asked, adding an extremely well done puppy-dog face that he had, of course, learned from me to the mix. “I promise you, I feel fine - I know you spiked my punch with aspirin when we were at the party, and aside from a few minor aches, I am quite well. And if I sit still any longer, I might very well go crazy.”
Ray eyed him a bit longer before relenting, and handed over the spoon reluctantly. “Okay, you can stir, but *only* stir. No lifting or bending or reaching higher than shoulder level.”
Fraser nodded, relieved, taking the spoon and applying it to simmering caramel sauce, while Ray went to the fridge and pulled out some fresh, crisp-looking apples. I hovered around their feet, begging for handouts and ready to clean up anything that happened to drip or fall down to my level.
At some point in the baking process, a bag of powdered sugar got knocked over, some of it spilling out into a pile on the floor. I, of course, started lapping it up as a favor to Ray - wouldn’t want him to get ants, after all. The fact that it was the middle of December didn't really fit into my clever excuse, so I happily disregarded that part of it.
“Hey, hey, ease up on the powdered sugar, Dief,” Ray told me as he righted the bag. “Too much of that stuff will give you a stomachache real fast, and I’m all out of alka seltzer.”
I snorted at him in response. I realized too late, of course, that snorting while your nose is partially buried in a very fine, powdery substance probably isn’t the best idea in the world.
The snort turned into an almighty sneeze as I ended up inhaling what felt like a bathtub’s worth of powdered sugar into my sinuses. I choked, coughed, sneezed again, this one big enough to propel me backwards a foot or two. I shook my head, trying to catch my breath, only to sneeze again for the third time. With my face surrounded by a cloud of powdered sugar, every attempted inhalation brought on another sneezing fit.
What were Fraser and Ray doing as I struggled for my life against a powdery death, you ask? They were, of course, laughing their butts off on the other side of the kitchen, loud enough that I heard them even over the granddaddy of all the other sneezes I had to deal with so far.
Thankfully, painful though it was, that last sneeze cleared the worst of the evil, double-crossing powder from my nose. I coughed once, snorted a bit of sugar-flavored mucus down my throat - which, by the way, is *so* not a good combination - and then I could finally breathe almost normally.
Ray and Fraser hadn’t stopped laughing by the time I managed to open my eyes - which were still watering horribly after my brush with death. In fact, Fraser was leaning against the wall next to the stove, holding his right side as if it hurt to laugh, but not enough to stop him. Ray was bent over with his hands on his knees, butt against the counter, laughing so hard he looked like he might fall over. Hopefully on his face, I muttered to myself as I sat down as regally as possible, trying to gather what dignity I had remaining.
Fraser being Fraser, he recovered first, though he was still smiling wide enough to re-open the cut on his lip, and every time he looked over at me he was struck by another fit of poorly-suppressed giggles. Ray, who was still laughing openly, finally did fall over, but onto his ass instead of his face. I growled sulkily under my breath, complaining about inconsiderate humans.
Finally, after what seemed an entirely inappropriate amount of time considering what I, their loyal lupine companion, had to suffer, both of them managed to control themselves. A few seconds later, Fraser pushed himself off the wall, carefully stepping over Ray where he had pretty much blocked the entire kitchen floor, and squatted down in front of me. “Thanks, Dief,” he said in a quiet voice, scratching me behind my ears and putting his forehead against mine. “I needed that - even if it was entirely unintentional on your part.”
Whatever annoyance I had felt was washed away instantly in a wave of affection. What are friends for? I whined, and then I proceeded to give him a through face wash since he so considerately put it within my reach.
Later, after the food had been dished up (Ray gave me an extra-large piece of figgy pudding, blessedly powdered-sugar free, as his own thank-you/apology) and the three of us were in various states of sprawl across Ray’s too-short couch - and, ultimately, in various states of sprawl across each other as well because of it - with one of the hundred or so different versions of A Christmas Carol on the television, I noticed that Fraser was the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him, and I could no longer hear Ray’s guilt-ridden inner monologue in the back of my head. A split-second later, I realized that I was feeling a lot lighter of spirit, too.
My nose might have been burning, my pride was a bit stung, and everything still tasted like powdered sugar, but I figured it was all worth it. After all, what’s a bit of inflamed nasal tissue and injured pride if it means your best friends can end a tough day with laughter instead of tears? Tissue grows back, and as Fraser can assure you, my pride is quite large enough to take the hit.
~End~
~End~
I think that was the most fun I've ever had writing a story. Diefenbaker also may be the most considerate muse I've ever had - he only kept me awake with his ideas once, and only because I couldn't stop giggling. It was more of a "This one, right here! Funniest thing ever, or what?" scene he had playing instant replay-like in my head rather than a "Write this now! I don't care if it's 3 am!" kinda thing.
.