Fic: Rest Ye Merry (due South)
An early Christmas present for sdwolfpup, with much love. Hope you enjoy this even a fraction as much as I've enjoyed watching this show with you. :)
Title: Rest Ye Merry
Characters: Fraser, Vecchio
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through "Gift of the Wheelman"
Summary: Ray had never been much on Christmas carols.
Disclaimer: I am but mad north-northwest, and as the wind is southerly, I know characters that are mine from characters that are not mine. These are the latter.
A/N: First fic in this fandom, and I've only seen S1 so far, so bear with me as I'm learning the ropes here, and please forgive any inconsistencies with later canon. I did discover that one of the key elements in this story was actually referenced in a S3 (I think) episode, but by the time I figured that out, it was too late to change it. So. Handwave!
Also: WARNING: MAY CAUSE DIABETIC COMA. Hee.
Anyway…
Rest Ye Merry
Ray had never been much on Christmas carols. Most of them just didn't seem to make much sense, a bunch of yammering about stars and Old Saint Nick and sidewalks-clearly the guy who'd written that last one hadn't seen the sidewalk outside Fraser's building at two in the morning, because it wasn’t exactly the kind of scene that would make you want to burst into song. Of course, part of the problem could have been that his family only knew about a quarter of the words to any given Christmas carol, and that was with a combined effort, so when they got together for the traditional singalong around the piano, there tended to be a lot of fudging (which had resulted in some embarrassment for Ray in the third grade when Sister Mary-Jean had snippily informed him that the first lines of "I'll Be Home For Christmas" were not, in fact, "I'll be home for Christmas, blee bloo blah blah blee").
Anyway, every year, when the singing started was when Ray did his best to make himself scarce. And every year, his ma gave him the big eyes and the "I just want you to be happy on Christmas, Raimundo"-the woman could wield guilt like she'd been born and raised in Canada-and he ended up giving in like the sucker he was. This year, though, was gonna be different. This year, he'd saved a family, booked a bad guy, and brought a Mountie home for dinner. He'd done his good deeds, was what he was saying, and his favorite suit jacket was currently soaked with about ten pounds of gasoline that was pretty much never coming out, so he figured his ma, and the world in general, owed him one, and no one was going to convince him otherwise.
It also helped that she was occupied with Maria and Tony hollering at each other and didn't notice him duck out of sight into the dining room.
Besides, it wasn't just the singing that had him antsy. About half an hour ago, Ray had gotten distracted by one of Maria's girls begging him to hold her new doll while the kid braided her hair, and there had been an unfortunate incident with some red and green taffy, and as a result he hadn't seen Benny in a while and he kind of wanted to make sure his crazy family hadn't driven the Mountie back to his nice quiet cabin up at the northwest corner of nowhere. If that was the case, Ray had inherited the world's laziest wolf; Dief was currently sprawled out underneath the table, stuffed full of scraps snuck from a dozen dinner plates. He had a piece of tinsel dangling from his tail, and Ray's niece Antonia-who was probably avoiding the singing, too, smart girl to start drawing those lines in the sand early-was scratching him behind the ear and cooing.
"Oughta be ashamed, a natural predator like you," Ray told the wolf on his way by, shaking his head. "The caribou are laughing at you right now." Dief just ruffed, unimpressed, and rolled so that Antonia could get at the other ear.
Ray figured the back porch was his best bet; left to himself in a crowd, Benny had a way of drifting toward the nearest patch of open sky. With a last glance over his shoulder to make sure his ma's radar hadn't detected his escape, Ray shrugged into the coat that was hanging by the door and stepped out into the crisp night air.
Sure enough, Fraser was at the far end of the porch, standing at the railing with his feet planted and his posture perfect, and he didn't move despite the fact that his super Mountie senses could probably detect the not-too-subtle sound of a back door badly in need of oil. He just kept staring out into the softly falling snow, unconcerned by the cold in his off-duty blue shirt and leather jacket, his face calm in profile and wreathed with the mist from his breath. Ray stuck his hands in his pockets.
"Hiya, Benny."
Fraser did turn his head then, smiled at him in a soft, welcoming way that made Ray stop breathing for a second. "Hello, Ray."
He ignored the feeling, like he usually did, walked to stand at Fraser's side. "Everything OK?"
"Oh, absolutely," Fraser assured him, an anxious crease appearing between his eyes like Ray was gonna call Miss Manners on him or something. "I'm having a wonderful time, and I'm grateful to you for inviting me. I just thought some fresh air might be bracing." He looked out beyond the railing again. "It's a beautiful night."
Ray let his friend have his delusions for a few seconds, then, "Frannie chased you off, huh?"
Fraser cleared his throat. "She has, it seems, laid in quite a quantity of mistletoe for the occasion. She's very…" Another slight cough. "She's very dexterous, isn't she?"
Ray shook his head. "Y'know, Fraser, if any other guy said that about my sister, I'd knock his block off."
"I appreciate your restraint, Ray."
He smiled, clapped Benny on the shoulder. "No problem."
They watched the snow in silence for a minute, until Fraser said, "Ray, I… I'm a bit embarrassed, as I didn't anticipate the need to shop for the rest of your family, but since we seem to have a moment and there are only a few hours of Christmas left..." He dug in the pocket of his coat and held out a small leather pouch. "Here."
The grin bloomed on Ray's face like lightning, too fast for him to stop it. "You got me a present?"
"Of course." Fraser looked mildly shocked. "The celebration of light and companionship in the dark of winter is an important tradition."
"Yeah, and it makes Toys 'R' Us real happy, too," Ray muttered, but he couldn't get much force behind it, his fingers clumsy on the ties of the pouch and a giddy feeling in his gut like he was six years old again, creeping downstairs with his brothers and sisters in the wee hours of the morning to shake the small pile of boxes under the tree. He sat down on one of the porch chairs to get a better angle and felt Fraser settle into the chair next to him. It took some doing, but when Ray finally managed to untie whatever half-Windsor, three-quarters-Amorak, one-and-a-half-turns Yakamucktock knot Fraser had put in the drawstrings, he tipped the small lump from the pouch out into his palm.
It turned out to be a polished chunk of wood, or actually several chunks, stuck together in a vaguely person-like shape. The wood was smooth and dark, and Ray ran his fingers over it, feeling the irregular bumps. He had no clue what it was supposed to be, but something about it was beautiful.
Fraser waited, and then, like he couldn't keep his mouth shut for another second, "It's an inukshuk."
"An iwhatshuk?"
"An inukshuk," he repeated. Ray raised an eyebrow, and Fraser continued, "An Inuit tradition. They were originally built out of stone, used as markers, to indicate fertile fishing grounds or to guide caribou to where they could be easily hunted. But over time, they've also come to symbolize friendship. Cooperation. Each individual stone is chosen for its fit with the other stones, supporting the stone above it while being supported by the stone below it. They achieve strength together." Fraser shrugged a little. "Of course, this is just a representation, carved from a single piece of wood, but the sentiment remains the same."
"You made this?" Ray asked softly.
"Yes."
"I…" He was pretty used to being speechless around Fraser, but that was usually because he was trying to focus on not strangling him. This, though… No one had ever made him a gift before, at least not a nice one. Well, Maria had done her best a few years back with that scarf, and it wasn't really her fault that the yarn had bled fuschia all over Ma's good couch, and then it definitely wasn't her fault that the neighbor's dog had decided it looked like gravy, and-OK, Vecchio, your stream of consciousness is officially babbling. "I have something for you, too," he blurted out to fill the silence, about half a second before he realized that there was absolutely no way he could give the crumpled wad in his pocket to Fraser, not now.
Fraser grinned like he'd just been given the Most Canadian award or something. "You do?"
Aw, geez. "Yeah, but I, uh…" Ray scrambled for a second before inspiration struck. "I left it at the station."
"Really?"
"Yeah." He shrugged, hoping it wasn't a mortal sin to lie on Christmas. Venial, he could handle-ten Hail Marys and he'd be good as new. "Sorry."
"I see." Fraser nodded solemnly. "So… that lump in your pocket that you've got your hand closed around. That's not my present?"
Ray froze. "What? There's no lump in my pocket."
"Ray, I know what your pockets normally look like, and there's definitely a noticeable lump. Not to mention your hand, though of course the addition of that mass is easily explained."
"Fraser, can we not talk about Mass at a time like this?"
"It's just that you seem to be fingering something in your pocket, Ray, and I don't wish to pry, but if you're having some kind of-"
"Oh, all right, all right, here." Ray shoved the lump in question into his friend's hand. Leave it to Fraser to find something more embarrassing than giving him the world's most pathetic Christmas present. Ray really had to tip his cap to him for that one.
The Mountie actually had the cheek to look surprised. "Oh! Thank you, Ray." He carefully unwrapped the mangled paper bag until a half-dollar-sized piece of plastic fell out into his lap. He picked it up. "A compass?" He blinked a couple of times, then gave his smile a booster shot. "Thank you," he repeated.
"It's stupid," Ray muttered.
Fraser shook his head. "On the contrary, I'm sure I'll find it very useful; I-"
"Benny." Ray seriously considered going and just burying himself in the nearest snowdrift. "Of course you won't find it useful, it's a stupid plastic compass. It probably points south."
"It's a lovely compass, Ray." He turned it over in his hands; the disc inside whirled crazily for a few seconds, then stopped dead with a faint sproinging sound and refused to move again. Ray groaned and scrubbed his hands across his face, his humiliation complete.
"All right, look-I panicked, OK?" He banged a fist against the arm of his chair. "I spent weeks looking for a present for you, Fraser, weeks. But I came up with bupkus." He'd given that excuse before, but in this case, it was true; every time his nieces had made him chaperone them to the mall, every time he'd passed a shop during an investigation, hell, every time he'd stopped at a gas station, he'd had an eye out for a gift for his friend. He'd picked up and rejected a couple dozen different things. He'd even thought about getting Fraser a rape whistle or something so he'd have some way of letting Ray know when someone was trying to play Snow the Mountie, but Fraser'd probably just have given it to some little old lady on his way to get Mr. Mustafi's oven repaired or something. The whole thing had been hopeless. "And then it was Christmas Eve and we were busy saving Santa Claus and making the world safe for teenage punks and petroleum shareholders, and then we were on our way here, and I had to just grab the first thing I could find, so I got you a stupid plastic compass from the five-and-dime down the street. And then you gotta give me this, something that you made, something that's all meaningful and spiritual and that you probably chanted over or something, and I gave you a plastic compass, and I'm supposed to be OK with that?"
"I didn't chant, Ray, I-"
Ray ignored Fraser's wide eyes, turned suddenly in his chair and jabbed a finger in his friend's direction. "This is your fault, y'know. Man, talk about what to get for the guy who's got everything. And you, you don't even like stuff. Do you have any idea how hard it is to shop for a guy who has everything and who doesn't like stuff, Benny?"
"Ray-"
"And why's Christmas have to be about presents, anyway? Can't it just be about, y'know, peace on earth and good will toward men and not having to spend every waking second wondering what you're gonna buy for somebody and whether they're gonna make something for you that makes your present look like you found it in a dumpster?"
"Ray-"
"Then again, maybe you'd like something from a dumpster, on account of you seem to spend so much time there, and seem to like making me spend so much time there, and I'd really just-"
"Ray."
"What?"
"Ray." Fraser was looking at him earnestly. Not that Fraser was ever not earnest. If Ray could've sold stock in Fraser's earnestness, he could have retired a rich man. "Listen to me, please." His friend tilted his head up a bit, his face going thoughtful, and alarms started going off in Ray's head. He knew that look. In fact, he generally did everything he could to avoid inspiring that look. Aw, geez. He already felt lousy enough, and he was convinced that Fraser's stories could make Mother Theresa want to go to confession. But he was out of steam now and he figured he owed the Mountie a free swing, so he just leaned his head against the wall behind him with the air of a condemned man, and waited.
"As you know," Fraser started in that deep, I'm-going-to-use-elephant-seals-to-make-you-return-that-stolen-candy-bar tone of his, "when I was a child, my father was away on cases a great deal. It wasn't unusual for him to be gone for weeks at a time, and he rarely gave us much notice of his return. But somehow, no matter how long he'd been gone or how far, every time he returned home, my mother managed to have a fire burning in the fireplace for him." His lips curved fondly; his eyes were dark and distant in the shadows from the porch light. "It was such a small thing, and they never mentioned it aloud, but I remember it so clearly: my father seated in an armchair, sometimes even still wearing his boots, warming his hands at a fire my mother had built."
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, the compass suspended between his fingers. "I used to think of that often, coming home to a dark cabin after days of chasing a suspect through the snow. No matter how quickly I built the fire, it always seemed to take an eternity for the heat to spread. Diefenbaker did his best to help, naturally, sometimes even running ahead of me to warm my chair, but he was useless with the flint and tinder." Fraser's face remained solemn, but Ray could catch the barest hint of a smile in his eyes, and couldn't help grinning. "When I initially asked to be transferred to Chicago, Gerard-" his voice hardened on the name-"told me I'd be eaten alive here. Of course, as things fell out, he clearly had other reasons for wanting to keep me from the investigation, but even so, when I arrived here, I feared he might be right. And then I met you." Fraser dropped his eyes to his hands; his face looked a little flushed, but it was probably just the cold. "You've given me a gift beyond price, Ray. And-as much as I appreciate the thought-whatever trinkets we may exchange at various occasions in the course of our friendship, it is for that gift that I will always be in your debt."
Well.
Ray had realized pretty early on that most of the time, it didn't matter all that much that Fraser didn't carry a gun, seeing as how he'd mastered the art of the verbal two-by-four. Ray hadn't been on the business end of one of those for a while, though, and this one was a doozy, and it really wasn't helping that even though he'd never had much trouble with allergies, there seemed to be some sort of fierce winter strain going around right at that particular moment, closing his throat and burning his eyes and he was about half a breath from throwing his arms around the Mountie or doing something equally unrecoverable when he was saved by the creak of the back door and the appearance of a large, deaf wolf, tongue lolling and tail waving lazily as he trotted over to them.
"Hello, Diefenbaker," Fraser greeted him mildly, his voice kind of hoarse, which was also probably due to the cold. Ray took the opportunity to swipe a hand across his eyes while his friend was distracted. "Have you finished embarrassing yourself in front of Ray's family?"
Dief grunted.
"Just because you know you've behaved badly, that's no reason to take it out on me. I didn't make you eat all those meatballs."
Dief gave a half-bark that somehow managed to be pleading and defensive at the same time. Either that, or Ray was finally going crazy. Both options seemed equally possible at this point.
"I know it's a special occasion," Fraser agreed, "but that's all the more reason to be on our best behavior."
Dief's tail lowered a little.
Ray couldn't take it. "Aw, go easy on him, Benny, it's the holidays. Ma's not happy unless she's stuffing food down someone's throat. Might as well be his."
Fraser hesitated for a minute, but he finally conceded, "All right. But," he added sternly, "I don't want you making a habit of this, Diefenbaker."
The wolf rolled his head a little, tail wagging again, then curled up between their chairs, his chin on Fraser's foot and the curve of his ribs just touching Ray's toes. "I'm serious, Diefenbaker," Fraser continued, never one to back down from a good flogging. "You're lucky that Ray was here this time to plead your case. Diefenbaker? Are you listening to me? Diefenbaker?" No response from the wolf, and Fraser rolled his eyes toward the heavens, muttering, "You pay, and you pay, and you pay…"
Ray turned his head to hide his chuckle.
It was still snowing, piled a good four inches high along the backyard fence. The chunk of carved wood in his hand was slowly taking on his body heat, and he held it a little tighter. Dief yawned jaw-crackingly, settling his head more comfortably against Fraser's foot with a wolfish sigh. In the quiet, Ray could hear the piano again, his niece Andrina banging away dutifully while the rest of the family caterwauled around her. They were currently butchering "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen," which, translated into Vecchio, went something like:
God rest ye merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
A nah nuah noo nah nuh nuh nah
Uh dum da Christmas day…
Ray grinned, let himself sink a little deeper into his chair. Fraser's shoulder was warm and solid against his. "Merry Christmas, Benny."
"Merry Christmas, Ray."
Inside, they were headed for the big finish:
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy…
Yeah, Ray had never been much on Christmas carols. But at that moment, he was pretty sure he knew exactly what they were talking about.
END
Title: Rest Ye Merry
Characters: Fraser, Vecchio
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through "Gift of the Wheelman"
Summary: Ray had never been much on Christmas carols.
Disclaimer: I am but mad north-northwest, and as the wind is southerly, I know characters that are mine from characters that are not mine. These are the latter.
A/N: First fic in this fandom, and I've only seen S1 so far, so bear with me as I'm learning the ropes here, and please forgive any inconsistencies with later canon. I did discover that one of the key elements in this story was actually referenced in a S3 (I think) episode, but by the time I figured that out, it was too late to change it. So. Handwave!
Also: WARNING: MAY CAUSE DIABETIC COMA. Hee.
Anyway…
Rest Ye Merry
Ray had never been much on Christmas carols. Most of them just didn't seem to make much sense, a bunch of yammering about stars and Old Saint Nick and sidewalks-clearly the guy who'd written that last one hadn't seen the sidewalk outside Fraser's building at two in the morning, because it wasn’t exactly the kind of scene that would make you want to burst into song. Of course, part of the problem could have been that his family only knew about a quarter of the words to any given Christmas carol, and that was with a combined effort, so when they got together for the traditional singalong around the piano, there tended to be a lot of fudging (which had resulted in some embarrassment for Ray in the third grade when Sister Mary-Jean had snippily informed him that the first lines of "I'll Be Home For Christmas" were not, in fact, "I'll be home for Christmas, blee bloo blah blah blee").
Anyway, every year, when the singing started was when Ray did his best to make himself scarce. And every year, his ma gave him the big eyes and the "I just want you to be happy on Christmas, Raimundo"-the woman could wield guilt like she'd been born and raised in Canada-and he ended up giving in like the sucker he was. This year, though, was gonna be different. This year, he'd saved a family, booked a bad guy, and brought a Mountie home for dinner. He'd done his good deeds, was what he was saying, and his favorite suit jacket was currently soaked with about ten pounds of gasoline that was pretty much never coming out, so he figured his ma, and the world in general, owed him one, and no one was going to convince him otherwise.
It also helped that she was occupied with Maria and Tony hollering at each other and didn't notice him duck out of sight into the dining room.
Besides, it wasn't just the singing that had him antsy. About half an hour ago, Ray had gotten distracted by one of Maria's girls begging him to hold her new doll while the kid braided her hair, and there had been an unfortunate incident with some red and green taffy, and as a result he hadn't seen Benny in a while and he kind of wanted to make sure his crazy family hadn't driven the Mountie back to his nice quiet cabin up at the northwest corner of nowhere. If that was the case, Ray had inherited the world's laziest wolf; Dief was currently sprawled out underneath the table, stuffed full of scraps snuck from a dozen dinner plates. He had a piece of tinsel dangling from his tail, and Ray's niece Antonia-who was probably avoiding the singing, too, smart girl to start drawing those lines in the sand early-was scratching him behind the ear and cooing.
"Oughta be ashamed, a natural predator like you," Ray told the wolf on his way by, shaking his head. "The caribou are laughing at you right now." Dief just ruffed, unimpressed, and rolled so that Antonia could get at the other ear.
Ray figured the back porch was his best bet; left to himself in a crowd, Benny had a way of drifting toward the nearest patch of open sky. With a last glance over his shoulder to make sure his ma's radar hadn't detected his escape, Ray shrugged into the coat that was hanging by the door and stepped out into the crisp night air.
Sure enough, Fraser was at the far end of the porch, standing at the railing with his feet planted and his posture perfect, and he didn't move despite the fact that his super Mountie senses could probably detect the not-too-subtle sound of a back door badly in need of oil. He just kept staring out into the softly falling snow, unconcerned by the cold in his off-duty blue shirt and leather jacket, his face calm in profile and wreathed with the mist from his breath. Ray stuck his hands in his pockets.
"Hiya, Benny."
Fraser did turn his head then, smiled at him in a soft, welcoming way that made Ray stop breathing for a second. "Hello, Ray."
He ignored the feeling, like he usually did, walked to stand at Fraser's side. "Everything OK?"
"Oh, absolutely," Fraser assured him, an anxious crease appearing between his eyes like Ray was gonna call Miss Manners on him or something. "I'm having a wonderful time, and I'm grateful to you for inviting me. I just thought some fresh air might be bracing." He looked out beyond the railing again. "It's a beautiful night."
Ray let his friend have his delusions for a few seconds, then, "Frannie chased you off, huh?"
Fraser cleared his throat. "She has, it seems, laid in quite a quantity of mistletoe for the occasion. She's very…" Another slight cough. "She's very dexterous, isn't she?"
Ray shook his head. "Y'know, Fraser, if any other guy said that about my sister, I'd knock his block off."
"I appreciate your restraint, Ray."
He smiled, clapped Benny on the shoulder. "No problem."
They watched the snow in silence for a minute, until Fraser said, "Ray, I… I'm a bit embarrassed, as I didn't anticipate the need to shop for the rest of your family, but since we seem to have a moment and there are only a few hours of Christmas left..." He dug in the pocket of his coat and held out a small leather pouch. "Here."
The grin bloomed on Ray's face like lightning, too fast for him to stop it. "You got me a present?"
"Of course." Fraser looked mildly shocked. "The celebration of light and companionship in the dark of winter is an important tradition."
"Yeah, and it makes Toys 'R' Us real happy, too," Ray muttered, but he couldn't get much force behind it, his fingers clumsy on the ties of the pouch and a giddy feeling in his gut like he was six years old again, creeping downstairs with his brothers and sisters in the wee hours of the morning to shake the small pile of boxes under the tree. He sat down on one of the porch chairs to get a better angle and felt Fraser settle into the chair next to him. It took some doing, but when Ray finally managed to untie whatever half-Windsor, three-quarters-Amorak, one-and-a-half-turns Yakamucktock knot Fraser had put in the drawstrings, he tipped the small lump from the pouch out into his palm.
It turned out to be a polished chunk of wood, or actually several chunks, stuck together in a vaguely person-like shape. The wood was smooth and dark, and Ray ran his fingers over it, feeling the irregular bumps. He had no clue what it was supposed to be, but something about it was beautiful.
Fraser waited, and then, like he couldn't keep his mouth shut for another second, "It's an inukshuk."
"An iwhatshuk?"
"An inukshuk," he repeated. Ray raised an eyebrow, and Fraser continued, "An Inuit tradition. They were originally built out of stone, used as markers, to indicate fertile fishing grounds or to guide caribou to where they could be easily hunted. But over time, they've also come to symbolize friendship. Cooperation. Each individual stone is chosen for its fit with the other stones, supporting the stone above it while being supported by the stone below it. They achieve strength together." Fraser shrugged a little. "Of course, this is just a representation, carved from a single piece of wood, but the sentiment remains the same."
"You made this?" Ray asked softly.
"Yes."
"I…" He was pretty used to being speechless around Fraser, but that was usually because he was trying to focus on not strangling him. This, though… No one had ever made him a gift before, at least not a nice one. Well, Maria had done her best a few years back with that scarf, and it wasn't really her fault that the yarn had bled fuschia all over Ma's good couch, and then it definitely wasn't her fault that the neighbor's dog had decided it looked like gravy, and-OK, Vecchio, your stream of consciousness is officially babbling. "I have something for you, too," he blurted out to fill the silence, about half a second before he realized that there was absolutely no way he could give the crumpled wad in his pocket to Fraser, not now.
Fraser grinned like he'd just been given the Most Canadian award or something. "You do?"
Aw, geez. "Yeah, but I, uh…" Ray scrambled for a second before inspiration struck. "I left it at the station."
"Really?"
"Yeah." He shrugged, hoping it wasn't a mortal sin to lie on Christmas. Venial, he could handle-ten Hail Marys and he'd be good as new. "Sorry."
"I see." Fraser nodded solemnly. "So… that lump in your pocket that you've got your hand closed around. That's not my present?"
Ray froze. "What? There's no lump in my pocket."
"Ray, I know what your pockets normally look like, and there's definitely a noticeable lump. Not to mention your hand, though of course the addition of that mass is easily explained."
"Fraser, can we not talk about Mass at a time like this?"
"It's just that you seem to be fingering something in your pocket, Ray, and I don't wish to pry, but if you're having some kind of-"
"Oh, all right, all right, here." Ray shoved the lump in question into his friend's hand. Leave it to Fraser to find something more embarrassing than giving him the world's most pathetic Christmas present. Ray really had to tip his cap to him for that one.
The Mountie actually had the cheek to look surprised. "Oh! Thank you, Ray." He carefully unwrapped the mangled paper bag until a half-dollar-sized piece of plastic fell out into his lap. He picked it up. "A compass?" He blinked a couple of times, then gave his smile a booster shot. "Thank you," he repeated.
"It's stupid," Ray muttered.
Fraser shook his head. "On the contrary, I'm sure I'll find it very useful; I-"
"Benny." Ray seriously considered going and just burying himself in the nearest snowdrift. "Of course you won't find it useful, it's a stupid plastic compass. It probably points south."
"It's a lovely compass, Ray." He turned it over in his hands; the disc inside whirled crazily for a few seconds, then stopped dead with a faint sproinging sound and refused to move again. Ray groaned and scrubbed his hands across his face, his humiliation complete.
"All right, look-I panicked, OK?" He banged a fist against the arm of his chair. "I spent weeks looking for a present for you, Fraser, weeks. But I came up with bupkus." He'd given that excuse before, but in this case, it was true; every time his nieces had made him chaperone them to the mall, every time he'd passed a shop during an investigation, hell, every time he'd stopped at a gas station, he'd had an eye out for a gift for his friend. He'd picked up and rejected a couple dozen different things. He'd even thought about getting Fraser a rape whistle or something so he'd have some way of letting Ray know when someone was trying to play Snow the Mountie, but Fraser'd probably just have given it to some little old lady on his way to get Mr. Mustafi's oven repaired or something. The whole thing had been hopeless. "And then it was Christmas Eve and we were busy saving Santa Claus and making the world safe for teenage punks and petroleum shareholders, and then we were on our way here, and I had to just grab the first thing I could find, so I got you a stupid plastic compass from the five-and-dime down the street. And then you gotta give me this, something that you made, something that's all meaningful and spiritual and that you probably chanted over or something, and I gave you a plastic compass, and I'm supposed to be OK with that?"
"I didn't chant, Ray, I-"
Ray ignored Fraser's wide eyes, turned suddenly in his chair and jabbed a finger in his friend's direction. "This is your fault, y'know. Man, talk about what to get for the guy who's got everything. And you, you don't even like stuff. Do you have any idea how hard it is to shop for a guy who has everything and who doesn't like stuff, Benny?"
"Ray-"
"And why's Christmas have to be about presents, anyway? Can't it just be about, y'know, peace on earth and good will toward men and not having to spend every waking second wondering what you're gonna buy for somebody and whether they're gonna make something for you that makes your present look like you found it in a dumpster?"
"Ray-"
"Then again, maybe you'd like something from a dumpster, on account of you seem to spend so much time there, and seem to like making me spend so much time there, and I'd really just-"
"Ray."
"What?"
"Ray." Fraser was looking at him earnestly. Not that Fraser was ever not earnest. If Ray could've sold stock in Fraser's earnestness, he could have retired a rich man. "Listen to me, please." His friend tilted his head up a bit, his face going thoughtful, and alarms started going off in Ray's head. He knew that look. In fact, he generally did everything he could to avoid inspiring that look. Aw, geez. He already felt lousy enough, and he was convinced that Fraser's stories could make Mother Theresa want to go to confession. But he was out of steam now and he figured he owed the Mountie a free swing, so he just leaned his head against the wall behind him with the air of a condemned man, and waited.
"As you know," Fraser started in that deep, I'm-going-to-use-elephant-seals-to-make-you-return-that-stolen-candy-bar tone of his, "when I was a child, my father was away on cases a great deal. It wasn't unusual for him to be gone for weeks at a time, and he rarely gave us much notice of his return. But somehow, no matter how long he'd been gone or how far, every time he returned home, my mother managed to have a fire burning in the fireplace for him." His lips curved fondly; his eyes were dark and distant in the shadows from the porch light. "It was such a small thing, and they never mentioned it aloud, but I remember it so clearly: my father seated in an armchair, sometimes even still wearing his boots, warming his hands at a fire my mother had built."
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, the compass suspended between his fingers. "I used to think of that often, coming home to a dark cabin after days of chasing a suspect through the snow. No matter how quickly I built the fire, it always seemed to take an eternity for the heat to spread. Diefenbaker did his best to help, naturally, sometimes even running ahead of me to warm my chair, but he was useless with the flint and tinder." Fraser's face remained solemn, but Ray could catch the barest hint of a smile in his eyes, and couldn't help grinning. "When I initially asked to be transferred to Chicago, Gerard-" his voice hardened on the name-"told me I'd be eaten alive here. Of course, as things fell out, he clearly had other reasons for wanting to keep me from the investigation, but even so, when I arrived here, I feared he might be right. And then I met you." Fraser dropped his eyes to his hands; his face looked a little flushed, but it was probably just the cold. "You've given me a gift beyond price, Ray. And-as much as I appreciate the thought-whatever trinkets we may exchange at various occasions in the course of our friendship, it is for that gift that I will always be in your debt."
Well.
Ray had realized pretty early on that most of the time, it didn't matter all that much that Fraser didn't carry a gun, seeing as how he'd mastered the art of the verbal two-by-four. Ray hadn't been on the business end of one of those for a while, though, and this one was a doozy, and it really wasn't helping that even though he'd never had much trouble with allergies, there seemed to be some sort of fierce winter strain going around right at that particular moment, closing his throat and burning his eyes and he was about half a breath from throwing his arms around the Mountie or doing something equally unrecoverable when he was saved by the creak of the back door and the appearance of a large, deaf wolf, tongue lolling and tail waving lazily as he trotted over to them.
"Hello, Diefenbaker," Fraser greeted him mildly, his voice kind of hoarse, which was also probably due to the cold. Ray took the opportunity to swipe a hand across his eyes while his friend was distracted. "Have you finished embarrassing yourself in front of Ray's family?"
Dief grunted.
"Just because you know you've behaved badly, that's no reason to take it out on me. I didn't make you eat all those meatballs."
Dief gave a half-bark that somehow managed to be pleading and defensive at the same time. Either that, or Ray was finally going crazy. Both options seemed equally possible at this point.
"I know it's a special occasion," Fraser agreed, "but that's all the more reason to be on our best behavior."
Dief's tail lowered a little.
Ray couldn't take it. "Aw, go easy on him, Benny, it's the holidays. Ma's not happy unless she's stuffing food down someone's throat. Might as well be his."
Fraser hesitated for a minute, but he finally conceded, "All right. But," he added sternly, "I don't want you making a habit of this, Diefenbaker."
The wolf rolled his head a little, tail wagging again, then curled up between their chairs, his chin on Fraser's foot and the curve of his ribs just touching Ray's toes. "I'm serious, Diefenbaker," Fraser continued, never one to back down from a good flogging. "You're lucky that Ray was here this time to plead your case. Diefenbaker? Are you listening to me? Diefenbaker?" No response from the wolf, and Fraser rolled his eyes toward the heavens, muttering, "You pay, and you pay, and you pay…"
Ray turned his head to hide his chuckle.
It was still snowing, piled a good four inches high along the backyard fence. The chunk of carved wood in his hand was slowly taking on his body heat, and he held it a little tighter. Dief yawned jaw-crackingly, settling his head more comfortably against Fraser's foot with a wolfish sigh. In the quiet, Ray could hear the piano again, his niece Andrina banging away dutifully while the rest of the family caterwauled around her. They were currently butchering "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen," which, translated into Vecchio, went something like:
God rest ye merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
A nah nuah noo nah nuh nuh nah
Uh dum da Christmas day…
Ray grinned, let himself sink a little deeper into his chair. Fraser's shoulder was warm and solid against his. "Merry Christmas, Benny."
"Merry Christmas, Ray."
Inside, they were headed for the big finish:
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy…
Yeah, Ray had never been much on Christmas carols. But at that moment, he was pretty sure he knew exactly what they were talking about.
END