Story notes here.
Chicago to Denver.
Three and a half hours at Denver International.
Denver to Edmonton.
Twelve hours at Edmonton International.
Edmonton to Yellowknife.
Stay on the plane.
Yellowknife to Inuvik.
Total duration, twenty-five hours eighteen minutes, and when you get to Inuvik, you get off the plane and either walk or hitch the two and a half miles to the local RCMP depot. Once you get there, you tell the woman at the desk that you're looking for Constable Fraser. She makes you wait a little 'cause of the accent, even though she knows that you're coming and who you're going to ask for before you even board the plane at O'Hare.
And he's busy at the moment, of course, but that's all right. You just ask the nice lady if she'll ask the nice mountie man to meet you at the restaurant down the street, because after flying the friendly skies you've got a jones on for some decent coffee, or at least something to replenish the caffeine level in your blood. And she says, "Of course, Detective", which gives you a little bit of a start, but then she gives you a nice Canadian smile and you remember that you're very much not working and everything's fine again.
You pretty much know when to expect him by now, but it's still the nicest surprise in the world when the bell on the door tinkles and he walks in just as you've finished putting the sugar in your coffee. He's wearing the brown uniform that you secretly think suits him better than the red thing, and he's big and real and smiling, walking towards you, and you can feel the smile breaking out all over your face, and all he says is, "Ray", but you're already up with your arms wrapped around him and he's hugging you back and it feels like home.
When you break apart, there's a fresh cup of tea steaming on the table across from your coffee, and the owner is back behind the counter reading his newspaper. Fraser thanks him kindly. He just nods back and tells Fraser that he's quite welcome, and to let him know if we need anything else.
So the two of you sit across from each other and talk for a while over your drinks. Little things, mostly - what the new boys and girls at the 27th are screwing up now, Huey and Dewey's comedy club, how the poacher causing so much trouble around here turned out to be Kevin MacLeod's oldest boy, things like that. Small talk. There'll be time for the important stuff later.
When you both stand to leave, Fraser offers to carry your bag, you refuse, and he slings it over his shoulder anyway. You'd grouse at him normally, but even with all the extra sugar and caffeine racing through you, you're exhausted, so you just growl a little and throw down some money for the drinks before Fraser can even get a hand in his pocket.
Walking through the open, sun-drenched streets, you look around at the weird pastel houses on platforms and the jeeps with the cutesy polar-bear license plates, and think that it's actually pretty nice here. Old Mrs. Deveraux from two houses down waves at the two of you.
Fraser waves back and calls out a how-are-you, and a light little conversation ensues. She says hello and welcome back to you, and how long will you be staying with us this time, Raymond?
It's wacky as anything, with it's candy colors and temperatures that could sometimes kill you in two minutes flat. But it's still pretty nice, all things considered. Just a week, you tell her, and it would be more but your boss has you in knots trying to give the new detectives some much-needed experience, and you had to threaten to quit to get even this time off.
That's too bad, she says. Her daughter's family is coming to visit next week, and she would have loved for you to have met her grandchildren.
"She likes you," Fraser tells you after you've all said your goodbyes, walking down the street.
"Really?" you ask. You mean for it to come out a little sarcastic, but you're too tired, and it sounds more like an actual question than you planned. You're walking up the steps. Same fresh green door, that doesn't quite go with the faded baby blue of the rest of the house.
Fraser just smiles and puts the key in the lock. "Of course, Ray," he says. You can't help feeling pleased.
That smile has been driving you crazy for the last three months, though, so as soon as you're both inside and the door's closed, you press him up against the wall and do your best to lick it right off his face. When you think you've done as much as you can for the cause, you slump against him and growl, "You like me, Fraser?"
His chest is broader than you remember. Looks as if all this clean living's been doing him good. "Very much so, Ray," he says gravely. He's panting a little.
"Good," you mumble. Your eyes are starting to fall shut, even with you standing up. "Come to bed with me."
His hand is running through your hair, stroking the back of your neck. It almost feels like he's petting you. "I think you need to get some sleep."
God, it feels nice. You've missed this. "Fuck that. I came up here for the scenery, and scenery I will have." He seems confused. You sigh and clarify for him. "Fraser, come with me, lose the shirt, maybe the pants, and I will go to sleep a happy man."
"Ah." His arms tighten around you. You smile. Pressed against him, you think of vacation request forms and flight delays and airplane food, and Inuvik to Norman Wells to Yellowknife to Edmonton to Denver to Chicago, and promise yourself that the next time you make this trip, it's going to be a one-way ticket.
-end-