[ What was it Ray had said on that cliffside, delirious with cold? There's red ships and there's green ships, but there's no ship like partnership. He felt as close to that now as it was possible to do, fleeing his best friend's wedding with the only man whose company still made sense. And that was strange for Fraser; Fraser who had so much in common with wolves in that he could - and had - survived for the better part of his life entirely alone. His mother had died too young, his friendships were with children who lived too far away to see too often, and his father had simply never been home. Until he'd met Diefenbaker, he'd spent his entire life living that way and known no better; wanted nothing else. Now he couldn't imagine going back to it.
At 39, it was occurring to him at last that the wilderness was no place to be alone. The Inuit knew it; they lived in groups to keep safe, and a man alone was as good as dead. Fraser had seen it happen time and again, dead men frozen alone in the middle of nowhere--and where were their partners? Their wives? He couldn't go back to the Arctic without one or the other.
But two together. Two together was something. Two together could survive in the wilderness or the city, and Fraser found himself thinking that if that was what Ray wanted, as a city boy through and through, he'd endeavor to remain in Chicago, or anywhere else Ray chose to go, if it meant staying by his side. That was what partners did.
It wasn't as if he'd ever needed a badge to feel useful--to do good things. And yes, being away from his home would probably kill him eventually, but for Ray he would do it; because who would make that sacrifice if not him?
The thoughts didn't dampen his mood; instead they were back in the hotel minutes later, and Benton was letting them both back into their hotel room, dragging his Henley over his head before the door had even shut. The only change of clothes he had was the outfit he'd worn down in the car, but anything that wasn't starched red serge would be an improvement. He wanted to feel like himself, like he was free to do stupid things, and his uniform precluded foolish, childish shenanigans. At least most of the time.
He felt buoyant, dragging back on his t-shirt and looking back over toward Ray as he unbuttoned and unhooked the intricate clasps of his fly and slipped out of the yellow-striped pumpkin pants. ]
Three quarters of an hour. It's going to take them that long at least to take all the photos and get everyone into the hall, longer still to settle everyone down with a drink and stop Maria Vecchio from crying.
[ Fraser was uniquely animated, his hair mussed by the quick change, something wilder and glossy in his eyes now that he was on the other side of tears. He had no idea what he was feeling, but it was exhilarating, and he'd learned that feelings like this were usually one time only things, sensations that you had to grab at lest they slip through your fingers, like running after Victoria as she sped away to a new life without him. Run they said. Grab hold. Don't let go. Come with me. ]
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At 39, it was occurring to him at last that the wilderness was no place to be alone. The Inuit knew it; they lived in groups to keep safe, and a man alone was as good as dead. Fraser had seen it happen time and again, dead men frozen alone in the middle of nowhere--and where were their partners? Their wives? He couldn't go back to the Arctic without one or the other.
But two together. Two together was something. Two together could survive in the wilderness or the city, and Fraser found himself thinking that if that was what Ray wanted, as a city boy through and through, he'd endeavor to remain in Chicago, or anywhere else Ray chose to go, if it meant staying by his side. That was what partners did.
It wasn't as if he'd ever needed a badge to feel useful--to do good things. And yes, being away from his home would probably kill him eventually, but for Ray he would do it; because who would make that sacrifice if not him?
The thoughts didn't dampen his mood; instead they were back in the hotel minutes later, and Benton was letting them both back into their hotel room, dragging his Henley over his head before the door had even shut. The only change of clothes he had was the outfit he'd worn down in the car, but anything that wasn't starched red serge would be an improvement. He wanted to feel like himself, like he was free to do stupid things, and his uniform precluded foolish, childish shenanigans. At least most of the time.
He felt buoyant, dragging back on his t-shirt and looking back over toward Ray as he unbuttoned and unhooked the intricate clasps of his fly and slipped out of the yellow-striped pumpkin pants. ]
Three quarters of an hour. It's going to take them that long at least to take all the photos and get everyone into the hall, longer still to settle everyone down with a drink and stop Maria Vecchio from crying.
[ Fraser was uniquely animated, his hair mussed by the quick change, something wilder and glossy in his eyes now that he was on the other side of tears. He had no idea what he was feeling, but it was exhilarating, and he'd learned that feelings like this were usually one time only things, sensations that you had to grab at lest they slip through your fingers, like running after Victoria as she sped away to a new life without him. Run they said. Grab hold. Don't let go. Come with me. ]
What can we do with half an hour, Ray?