Stakeouts were an introspective time. Although Ray started the shift chatting and playing word games, after a few hours they always ended up in a comfortable silence. Fraser's senses focused outwards for evidence of wrongdoing while his thoughts focused inward.
As a child, Ben had been happy. He and his mother had lived in a cabin half a day's journey from their nearest neighbor. The two of them spent days in cooperative story-telling ventures that drew equally on the wilderness outside the cabin and the wildness within them. His father's occasional visits were pleasant but perplexing. Father didn't talk to the fire when he gave it wood. He knew nothing of the gentle snow-whatsit or the fearsome kamikan, which could take on the form of wolf or man, and preyed upon both.
After Mother's death, Ben went to live with his grandparents and became Benton. It had felt like a punishment. His stories were met with admonishments against telling lies. His fervent prayers to God to let him speak to Mother were blasphemous. His tears made everyone uncomfortable.
Benton had tried so hard to learn the rules of his new existence. There were many languages to speak, but only one at a time, never mixed up together as Mother had enjoyed. There was fiction and non-fiction. There was reality and there were childish dreams.
Benton read and reread a pamphlet in his grandparents' library about Amala and Kamala, the wolf-girls of India. Raised by a she-wolf that was later killed by the local villagers, they had never learned how to live among humans. Amala had grown sick and died. Kamala had mourned and died alone. Only by following the rules could he avoid their fate.
Ray's right hand tapped out a complex beat on his denim-clad thigh as he watched the warehouse. Diefenbaker snored in the back seat.
Benton's year of high school in Norman Wells had been difficult. Full and complete answers to the teachers' questions angered the other students. Girls walked close, smiled and touched him. A few of the boys did the same, if more subtly. It was flirting. Benton knew that much, but he wasn't certain how to respond. Benton kissed a girl behind the community center. She responded enthusiastically at first. When he pressed his erect penis against her thigh, she pulled away, insisting that she was not that kind of girl. It was confusing.
He chose to follow in Father's footsteps and become a Mountie. At the Depot, Cadet Fraser developed a clearer sense of the man he wanted to be. The unwritten rules among cadets said he should turn a blind eye to Steve's cheating. Fraser had thought about it over-night. The next morning, he turned Steve in. The cadets rejected him in turn. It was only to be expected.
Fraser's arrest of his father's killer left him exiled to Chicago. He was alone but for Diefenbaker and Father's spirit – fitting companions for a man with only one foot in reality.
In Chicago even the rules of basic courtesy that he had painstakingly learned were incorrect. However, everyone seemed to assume that Fraser's oddities were a result of his nationality, rather than any personal failing. Both of Fraser's partners expressed clearly when he transgressed some local norm, but they never rejected him when he chose to follow his own path.
Of course, that led to Victoria. He had believed she was his true mate; had chased after love with all that was in him. He had thrown aside caution, common sense, and honor; ignored Ray, Diefenbaker, and his father. He had risked all he had to create a world where he and Victoria could be together. Moderation had never been one of Fraser's strong suits.
Which brought him back to Ray. Ray, passionately pursuing and protecting his ex-wife, still never stepped over the line. He sensed boundaries by instinct and danced along them with grace. Fraser envied him that talent.
Ray, somehow sensing that Fraser was thinking of him, turned and smiled. He reached into his pocket and offered Fraser a stick of spearmint gum. Fraser accepted.
All these years, Fraser had tried so hard to be a good boy, a good Mountie, a good partner. As the gum's sweetness burst across his tongue, Fraser wondered if perhaps it was time he learned to be human.
Unwritten Rules, due South, Fraser, unwritten, PG-13
As a child, Ben had been happy. He and his mother had lived in a cabin half a day's journey from their nearest neighbor. The two of them spent days in cooperative story-telling ventures that drew equally on the wilderness outside the cabin and the wildness within them. His father's occasional visits were pleasant but perplexing. Father didn't talk to the fire when he gave it wood. He knew nothing of the gentle snow-whatsit or the fearsome kamikan, which could take on the form of wolf or man, and preyed upon both.
After Mother's death, Ben went to live with his grandparents and became Benton. It had felt like a punishment. His stories were met with admonishments against telling lies. His fervent prayers to God to let him speak to Mother were blasphemous. His tears made everyone uncomfortable.
Benton had tried so hard to learn the rules of his new existence. There were many languages to speak, but only one at a time, never mixed up together as Mother had enjoyed. There was fiction and non-fiction. There was reality and there were childish dreams.
Benton read and reread a pamphlet in his grandparents' library about Amala and Kamala, the wolf-girls of India. Raised by a she-wolf that was later killed by the local villagers, they had never learned how to live among humans. Amala had grown sick and died. Kamala had mourned and died alone. Only by following the rules could he avoid their fate.
Ray's right hand tapped out a complex beat on his denim-clad thigh as he watched the warehouse. Diefenbaker snored in the back seat.
Benton's year of high school in Norman Wells had been difficult. Full and complete answers to the teachers' questions angered the other students. Girls walked close, smiled and touched him. A few of the boys did the same, if more subtly. It was flirting. Benton knew that much, but he wasn't certain how to respond. Benton kissed a girl behind the community center. She responded enthusiastically at first. When he pressed his erect penis against her thigh, she pulled away, insisting that she was not that kind of girl. It was confusing.
He chose to follow in Father's footsteps and become a Mountie. At the Depot, Cadet Fraser developed a clearer sense of the man he wanted to be. The unwritten rules among cadets said he should turn a blind eye to Steve's cheating. Fraser had thought about it over-night. The next morning, he turned Steve in. The cadets rejected him in turn. It was only to be expected.
Fraser's arrest of his father's killer left him exiled to Chicago. He was alone but for Diefenbaker and Father's spirit – fitting companions for a man with only one foot in reality.
In Chicago even the rules of basic courtesy that he had painstakingly learned were incorrect. However, everyone seemed to assume that Fraser's oddities were a result of his nationality, rather than any personal failing. Both of Fraser's partners expressed clearly when he transgressed some local norm, but they never rejected him when he chose to follow his own path.
Of course, that led to Victoria. He had believed she was his true mate; had chased after love with all that was in him. He had thrown aside caution, common sense, and honor; ignored Ray, Diefenbaker, and his father. He had risked all he had to create a world where he and Victoria could be together. Moderation had never been one of Fraser's strong suits.
Which brought him back to Ray. Ray, passionately pursuing and protecting his ex-wife, still never stepped over the line. He sensed boundaries by instinct and danced along them with grace. Fraser envied him that talent.
Ray, somehow sensing that Fraser was thinking of him, turned and smiled. He reached into his pocket and offered Fraser a stick of spearmint gum. Fraser accepted.
All these years, Fraser had tried so hard to be a good boy, a good Mountie, a good partner. As the gum's sweetness burst across his tongue, Fraser wondered if perhaps it was time he learned to be human.