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due South: The Reaching Out One: 2B


See 1A for notes, warnings, etc. 



Considered leaving Diefenbaker in the Nidziika Kogolaa cemetery, but ultimately brought him back to camp. Tending graves is somewhat comforting. Perhaps should bury D. behind cabin after spring thaw.

Ray suggested that we be buried together. He’s very dear to me. I hope his plan to retire here comes to fruition, but am trying not to count chickens before hatched.

Caught 12 whitefish and one trout. Smoking the whitefish; trout for lunch. Perhaps we should stay here another day.

Fraser looked up from his journal when Ray began shuffling a deck of cards loudly and clumsily, with his thin inner gloves on. “C’mon, finish up. I want to win back some of that air I owe you.”


“I’m almost finished.” The only times it was easy to write in the journal were those when Ray was completely exhausted and happy enough to doze in the bedroll while Fraser wrote. On in-camp days like this one, Fraser could get in about fifteen minutes of writing before Ray’s attempts to get his attention grew truly distracting. “Why don’t you make some fire starters?” Sometimes giving Ray a chore to do bought him a few more minutes.

Making fire starters, or “fuzz sticks” involved taking a stick and shaving strips from it, leaving them attached at one end. The finished product looked a bit like a large pine cone, and lit easily. Making them

was good practice of woodworking techniques; unfortunately, Ray’s skills didn’t seem to have advanced beyond the fuzz sticks stage. But he was able to make them fairly quickly, and he piled up several of them while Fraser finished writing up the last few days in the journal.

When they reached Sliding Hill, a few days later, Ray was eager to experience the tradition of sliding down the hill on a spruce branch to predict the future. Evidently Linda at the Co-Op had told him about the custom.

“We aren’t Dene,” Fraser pointed out. “It might not work for us.”

Ray shrugged. “We might as well try it. C’mon.” Ray started up the hill, but Fraser hung back. Once Ray realized Fraser wasn’t keeping up with him, he turned. “What’s the problem?”

Fraser didn’t answer, and Ray tramped back through the snow to his side. “You okay? Hey, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.” The portion of his face sticking out between his scarf and his knit cap wore an expression of concern. “You think it’s, you know, disrespectful or something?”

Fraser considered letting Ray believe that. “Well, no. Perhaps it is a bit, well, culturally imperialistic of us to co-opt this tradition, but I’m afraid my objection is more…emotional.”

“You have a morbid fear of hills or something?”

“If you’re not going to live to see your gray hairs, I’m afraid I don’t…well, I’d rather not know,” he admitted.

As he’d expected, Ray shook his head and smiled. “You’re goofy, Fraser. Look.” He pulled off his cap. “I’ve got gray hairs already.” He bent his head so that Fraser could examine his scalp. As he’d said, there were several strands with gray roots where the dye had grown out. “So I think we’re good.” He tugged the hat back on.

“If we already know the outcome, why perform the ritual?”

“For fun.”


Ray cut a large branch. “Here, you sit behind me.”

“I’m fairly sure the tradition requires that we sled down one at a time,” Fraser objected.

“Yeah, well, we’re going together,” Ray answered.


Ray gave him a look. “You don’t make it down, I don’t want to either. We go together.”

Ah. Fraser say down behind Ray without further complaint.

“I’ll steer,” Ray said. “You lean the way I lean.”

“I don’t know if you’re supposed to steer,” Fraser pointed out.

“Do you know that we’re not?”


“There you go, then.”

When they made it to the bottom of the hill without spinning, Ray bounced up and said, “Think we should go for best two out of three?”

“I’d rather not tempt fate, if you don’t mind.”



A few days after the sledding place, they got to Gameti, the only non-abandoned village on their route. As they got near it, Fraser did his tour-guide routine. “Like the abandoned villages on the trail, Gameti began as a seasonal settlement and trading outpost. It became a permanent village in the 70’s with the construction of an airstrip and school.”

Ray blinked. “The nineteen seventies?”

“Yes. The era of regular seasonal migration has ended now, but most of the inhabitants of Gameti still make their living through subsistence hunting and fishing--supplemented by tourism and related industries--selling traditional handicrafts and the like--and some government assistance. I hope we make it there before the community centre closes--I should check my email.”

Ray shook his head. “They have the internet? They don’t have roads, the people live off hunting and fishing, and they have the internet?”

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser said patiently. “Satellite internet service has connected our more remote communities to the outside world in a way never before known. It’s very exciting.”


Gameti turned out to be a lot like Deline, only even smaller, and with more log cabins than trailers. And they must’ve gotten even fewer visitors than Deline; lots of people came out to look at them as they sledded into town. And, judging from all the barking that started up, it wasn’t the novelty of seeing two guys on a dogsled that brought them out, but the novelty of seeing anybody that didn’t live there. Once, Ray would have been astonished that people actually chose to live in a place like that, but years of people asking him why in hell he left Chicago in winter just to go to the one place on Earth that was even colder, instead of going somewhere warm like a sane person, had made him more tolerant. People lived here because it was home, nothing more complicated than that.

By the time they stopped outside the general store, a bunch of kids were following them, and the grownups were watching from doorways like it was a parade. Fraser picked out a couple of the tallest kids and paid them off in candy bars to watch the dogs while they went inside.

It was a weird thing, stepping into a building lit by fluorescent bulbs, when for a week he hadn’t seen any artificial light brighter than an open fire. And the selection of stuff to buy--four whole aisles, everything packaged in colors not found in nature--was almost dizzying. Ray wandered around picking stuff up and looking at it while Fraser talked to the shopkeeper. He had to remind himself that in two weeks he’d be back in the world of 24-hour superstores, just to keep himself from buying one of everything. Eventually he settled on a bag of chips, a Coke, and some replacements for the candy bars Fraser had given away.

“--capable young officer, but not especially familiar with the community,” Fraser was saying to the store owner.

“Seems like we get a different Constable every time,” the man complained. “How are they ever going to get familiar with the community?”

“Ottawa likes to rotate young officers through the detachment,” Fraser explained. “It does tend to put them at a disadvantage.”

“I guess they have to learn somewhere,” the man agreed grudgingly. “Who’s this? Not another new one.”

“No, this is Ray.”

“Ah! Chicago!” He leaned over the counter to shake Ray’s hand. “Sergeant Fraser’s told us a lot about you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ray said dutifully.

“We’re on vacation, actually, but of course if there’s been a crime wave….” Fraser and the store guy both laughed at that.

“Why’s that funny?” Ray asked.

“Gameti hasn’t reported a single crime in the last ten years,” Fraser explained.

“Okay, that’s…weird.”

“It’s a very small community, Ray. Only about three hundred people.”

“Yeah, but I bet there isn’t an apartment building that size in Chicago that hasn’t had a crime in ten years.”

“Well, unlike an apartment building, everyone here has permanent ties to the community, which acts to inhibit criminal behavior, as well as allows minor matters to be handled by the families of those involved.”

“Huh. I guess.”

“Your supplies are in the back,” the store owner said. “Do you want to load up now?”

Fraser checked his watch. “I’d like to stop at the hall first. You’ll be here for a bit, won’t you?”

“Yeah, till six. Why don’t you come around for supper? Denny’s making--well, I don’t know what she’s making, but I bet you could use a break from your own cooking.”

“Ray’s been doing most of the cooking, actually. But--” He glanced at Ray, who nodded. “--we’d be glad to, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

“Always room for one more--or two.” He rang up Ray’s purchases and the toilet paper and dental floss Fraser had picked out. “Come back for your supplies whenever you’re ready, and you can put the dogs up in the shed behind the house.”

“Thank you kindly.” Outside, Fraser told one of the girls watching the dogs, “You might want to let your mother know your Uncle Charlie asked us to dinner. If it’s any trouble, have someone let us know--we’ll be at the hall.”

The community hall was one of the few buildings that wasn’t made out of logs. There was a gym, where some teenagers were playing basketball, a couple of empty classrooms, a little library with six computers and some small kids listening to a grown-up read a story. All of the computers were being used, mostly by kids, and Fraser pulled off his gloves to sign a clipboard with “Computer Use Sign-In” on it.

They’d only been there a minute or two before the woman reading the story gave the book to an older kid and came over. “Sergeant Fraser, how nice to see you. I hope there hasn’t been any trouble?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m on vacation.” He introduced Ray.

“You probably want to check your email. Let me free up a computer for you.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“No, no, they all know the rules--if they aren’t doing homework, they have to give up the computer if someone else wants it and they’ve been on for more than thirty minutes. Let’s see. Sarah, that doesn’t look like homework.”

A teenage girl who was on MySpace said, “Bea has been on longer.”

“Bea is doing research for a school assignment.”

The girl complained a little more, but signed off and let Fraser on the computer.

While he was getting his Mountie on, Ray wandered over to where the little kids were and listened to the story. It was Dr. Seuss--Yertle the Turtle. Ray liked that one. When the lady got to, “All the turtles are free, as turtles, and maybe, all creatures, should be,” all the kids clapped, and he did too.

One small boy tugged on the bottom of his parka. “Tell us one of your stories.”

“Uh, I don’t really know any stories,” Ray said.

Without looking away from the computer screen, Fraser said, “Tell them the one about the turtle.”

After that, it was clear that the kids weren’t going let them out of there alive without hearing the stranger’s turtle story. One thing palling around with Fraser had taught Ray was how to give in gracefully, so he told the story, hamming it up with extra details about how sad and scared the little hippo was when his whole family got washed out to sea, and how, a few hundred miles away, the old turtle, the only one of his kind in the park, felt like something was missing but didn’t know what. The kids watched him with wide dark eyes, clutching each other’s hands for comfort at the scary parts, and laughing with relief when he described the baby hippo curling up with the old turtle, finally feeling like he was home.

When he finished, the woman sent the group of kids over to a cabinet to get out materials for a craft, and thanked him for helping. “The children here don’t see many strangers.”

“Oh, no problem. I like kids. Never had any, but my sister has six of ‘em.” With the real Ray Vecchio thousands of miles away in Florida, Frannie had seemed to take it for granted that he’d keep playing the role of Uncle Ray when her first was born, and by now it seemed like half the time the Vecchios forgot he wasn’t really one of them.

“Is the story about the hippo and the turtle traditional in your culture?”

“Uh, no, it’s a thing that happened a couple of years ago. I just, uh, I like turtles.”

The kids’ craft turned out to be making turtles out of egg cartons. Ray shed his coat and gloves to help with gluing on the wiggly eyes.

He was helping a kid decorate her turtle’s shell in the pattern of a soccer ball when he noticed Fraser was finished on the computer. “Oh, hey. I guess you’re ready to head out,” Ray said, handing the black marker back to the kid. “Here, just fill those in, you’ll be golden.”

“We do have some flexibility in our schedule,” Fraser said.

“Nah, we’d better get back to the dogs.” One thing he knew about traveling by dog sled was that you couldn’t just park the dogs like a snowmobile.

They got back into their cold-weather gear--parkas, hats, mittens over two pairs of gloves--and went back outside. “Charlie Parker might invite us to stay the night,” Fraser said. “He usually does. Do we want to?”

Ray considered. “Do they have hot showers here? And--that guy’s name is Charlie Parker?”

“Yes, and yes, it is, Stanley Kowalski.”



Going through the crate of new supplies in Charlie’s storeroom was like Christmas morning. As far as dried food went, they were down to a few packets labeled as pad thai; Ray had reconstituted one packet and pronounced it inedible based on smell alone. Fraser’d insisted on giving it a fair chance, which equaled out to taking one bite and spitting it out. The sled dogs had eaten the rest of the pot, but without much enthusiasm. Since they didn’t pack a lot of extra food, it was a good thing they’d been lucky with the fishing, or they’d have had to eat the nasty pad thai.

Now they had plenty of dinners to choose from--chicken parmesan, turkey chili, beef stroganoff--and some extra treats, including two cans of mandarin oranges and one of pineapple. Canned food was a real luxury on the trail, considering how much it weighed compared to dried. Fraser would probably want to eat the fruit as soon as possible, to get rid of the weight--a sacrifice Ray was more than willing to make.

They re-packed the sled with the new supplies, and took advantage of the opportunity to get rid of the food packages and other trash left over from the first leg of the trip--anything they couldn’t burn, they had to carry out with them, so as the food supplies went down, the trash pile built up. Ray was just glad Fraser wasn’t quite fanatical enough to insist that they carry out what went in the latrine instead of burying it.

The shed where Charlie told them to put the dogs looked like it had been a kennel in a previous life--there were two chicken-wire pens, one for dogs and one for bitches, with attached outside runs, still in pretty good shape. A shiny new snowmobile in the corner showed why Charlie didn’t need it for his own dogs anymore. It was kind of ironic--Fraser’s sled dog team marked him out as a well-off kind of guy, compared to everyone else around here. Even with gas prices as high as they were, a snow machine was cheaper to keep up than a team of sled dogs, which had to be fed whether there was snow on the ground or not. Back in Deline, the only people who kept dogs teams either had some money to spare, were heavily into competitive racing, or used them to take tourists on dogsled tours--or some combination of those things. Even though this town was a little more remote, it probably wasn’t much different.

They got everybody settled and waited while the team ate--since the dogs weren’t staked out as they were on the trail, they had to keep an eye out in case one of the dogs tried to steal someone else’s share. Fortunately, sled dogs were fast eaters.

The Parker home had a sort of mud porch that adjoined to the kitchen. It didn’t take a crack detective to figure out that’s where people left their boots and coats and things, so they hung their stuff up with everyone else’s before going into the house.

“Sergeant Fraser, you’re looking well,” a woman standing by the stove said. “Unpack your things and I’ll put them in the laundry machine for you. And where’s that house dog of yours?”

Fraser passed his hand over his face. “Ah, thank you. Diefenbaker has passed away, I’m afraid.” His voice was steady as he said it, but Ray gave his elbow a squeeze anyway. “I brought my old partner Ray instead.”

“Woof,” Ray said obediently.

“I’m Denny Parker,” she said. “You’ve met my brother Charlie, of course, and most of the kids running around here are mine.” She gestured vaguely at the rest of the house. “Sergeant, maybe you’ll take a look at Etseh’s new GPS--he can’t get it to work right. Would you like tea? Edie! Come put the kettle on for the visitors.”

A girl of about twelve left her homework on the table to come over to the stove and carry a big enamel kettle to the sink, and Fraser went over to where an old guy was sitting by the windows. The girl looked at him with frank curiosity. “You’re not a Mountie,” she said. “And you can’t be a tourist. What are you?”

“Don’t be rude,” Denny said, smacking her shoulder with a wooden spoon.

“It’s okay,” Ray said. “How do you know I’m not a tourist?”

“Your boots and parka aren’t new.”

“Good eye. I’m a detective, from Chicago. But I come up here every year, to hang out with Fraser.”

“How come?”

“He’s my best friend. D’you have a best friend?”

The girl scowled. “I did.” She climbed up on the counter to get down a teapot and some cups. “Mama, should we use the good ones?”

“Yes, be careful.”

Edie put a blue and white teapot and some matching cups on the counter and jumped back down. “I did, until she went to stupid Yellowknife.”

Ray remembered something Fraser had said when he was doing his tour-guide bit. “She went away for school or something?” The Gameti school only went up to Grade Nine, so if the local kids wanted to graduate, they had to go to a bigger town--Deline, Norman Wells, Yellowknife, wherever they had relatives they could stay with.

Yes. She promised she’d write, but she never does.”

“Edie, you know that’s not true,” Denny interrupted. “She sent you a long letter last week.”

“Yeah, and it was all about how much fun she’s having with her city friends. I bet when she gets back in summer she’ll be all, ooh la la, I’m too good for you.”

Ray felt like he ought to be able to say something helpful--he and Fraser proved that you could stay best friends even if you lived hundreds of miles apart--but it was different with kids. He and Fraser were adults, so they weren’t going to grow apart. Fraser was practically the poster boy for loyal, and he wasn’t in touch with his best friend from when he was Edie’s age.

On the other hand, he did know what he and Fraser had that made the long-distance best friends thing work. “It’s hard to find stuff to talk about when you’re apart most of the time. Me and Fraser, we have this Quest thing that we do--looking for Franklin’s hand? Maybe you and your friend should come up with some kind of project you can do over the summer. You can write back and forth to plan it out, and that way you guys’ll have something special that her city friends aren’t a part of.”

“Like what?” Edie asked skeptically.

Ray shrugged. His insight into the preteen girl mind didn’t stretch that far. “You have to figure that out; it’s part of the fun.” That sounded lame even to him.

“Hmph.” Edie’s expression let him know what she thought of that piece of adult wisdom. She scooped tea leaves into the pot and added some water from the kettle. “Milk and sugar?”

“Just sugar. Fraser takes his straight.”

She gave him one of the cups, and took the others over to Fraser and the old guy, then ran upstairs. Ray sipped at his tea--it was plain old Tetley, which made a nice change from spruce bark, as far as he was concerned. “Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

“No, you’re a guest. And you’ve helped already, with Edie.”

“She didn’t seem too impressed.”

“That’s the age. You never know what’s sinking in.” She reached into the cupboard next to the stove. “It’s unusual for someone from down south to come up here every year. You don’t hunt, do you?”

“No.” He didn’t, but he wondered how Denny knew--it couldn’t be that he didn’t look rugged and manly enough, could it?

“I didn’t think so. Sergeant Fraser doesn’t much like sport hunters.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” He shrugged. “I like it up here. And Fraser’s not exactly a lay-out-on-the-beach kind of guy, so if we’re going to take our vacations together….”

“You must be very close.”

“He’s the best.”

Dinner turned out to be Hamburger Helper made with ground caribou. It was surprisingly good--Ray had two helpings. The adults had a dried-fruit cobbler for dessert--the kids got packaged snack cakes, which was pitched as a special treat in honor of the guests, but Ray noticed there was no way the cobbler would stretch to feed everybody.

As they were finishing up, Charlie and Denny exchanged a look and Denny said, “You’ll spend the night, of course.”

“We have the tent,” Fraser demurred. “We could pitch it outside.”

“You can have the boys’ room,” Charlie answered, and that was that.

The boys--ages ten, eight, and five--put up a good argument that since Ray and Fraser were using their room, they ought to be allowed to sleep out in the tent. Ray, with visions of going outside in the morning to find two frozen-solid kids, was relieved when their mom vetoed the idea.

Once it was decided that they were staying, things got festive. With occasional interruptions for chores--washing up the dishes, doing his and Fraser’s laundry, a last check on the dog team out in the shed--they told stories and played a Dene game that involved passing a rock from hand to hand and guessing who had it. Ray tried not to mind that even the five-year-old was kicking his ass at it. Ray managed to drag up just enough cultural sensitivity not to point out that it would make a great drinking game.

It was a surprising amount of fun, considering the complete absence of alcohol and car chases, but after a couple of hours Ray started feeling a little overwhelmed--after a week on the trail, he just wasn’t used to such a big crowd. They wound up turning in not long after the smallest kids.

The room that was theirs for the night had bunk beds, with matching comforters that had rocket ships on them. Ray immediately said, “I call top bunk.”

Fraser gave him a funny look. “You call it what?”

“I call dibs on it.”

Fraser smoothed an eyebrow. “Certainly, if you like.”

“I do like. And I dibs the first shower, too.”

Being able to take a hot shower before bed, instead of changing into underwear that by now had already been worn three or four times, felt like the height of luxury. Since the village’s winter water supply had to be trucked in--just like in Deline--the Parkers had rigged their shower to shut off automatically after five minutes. Ray managed to get everything washed with thirty seconds left to just wallow.

It felt pretty strange to be going to bed in just his boxer shorts. After getting under the covers, he felt around on top of the blanket for his hat before remembering that he didn’t need one to sleep indoors. His last thought before falling asleep was that he ought to tell Fraser about that when he got back from the shower.

Some time later, Ray woke suddenly, unsure of where he was and off-balance from a creepy dream he only half remembered. The Parker boys’ bedroom was darker than anywhere he was used to sleeping--in Chicago he had a streetlight right outside his window, and the tent was thin enough that plenty of light came in from the moon and stars reflecting off the snow. It was disorienting, too, not having Fraser right next to him.


“Yes, Ray?” Fraser said from the bunk below him.

“Are you awake?”

“I am now.” Fraser sounded just a little bit peeved.

“Oh. Sorry.”

He sighed. “Is something wrong?”

“I had a bad dream.” It sounded stupid out loud, like something only a little kid would be bothered by. My brain made pictures that scared me.

“’bout what?”

“I don’t really remember. I was back in Chicago.” Maybe it he could piece together what the dream was about, it would be less unsettling than the few scattered images that were floating around in his mind. “I think it was my first day back or something. I was sitting at my desk and the phone was ringing and ringing, and everybody was yelling at me to pick it up, but I couldn’t. For some reason.”

“Mm. Terrifying.”

“There was more.” He tried to remember. “Lieutenant Welsh called me in and tried to give me a case, but when he handed me the file, I dropped it.” That sounded even stupider than the phone thing, but just picturing the file scattering across the office floor made his heart beat faster. “No, I didn’t drop it, I never took it. I didn’t have any arms in the dream. Man, that’s weird. I was walking around with no arms and nobody noticed. What do you suppose that means?”

“Well, from a Freudian perspective, dreams about dismemberment are thought to reflect a fear of castration.”

“That’s real funny, Fraser.”

“Then again, from a Freudian perspective, many things are thought to reflect castration anxiety. The phallus looms large in psychoanalytic theory.”

Which was Fraser’s idea of a dick joke. “Yeah, well, I got no problems in that department.”

“So I’ve noticed. Well, perhaps there’s some problem that you feel is being ignored by your colleagues back home.”

That was better than the castration thing, anyway. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, Ray. It’s your dream. Do you feel that there’s something missing from your life in Chicago?”

Of course there was something missing from Chicago: Fraser. Every time he got on the plane to go back, it felt like he was leaving part of himself behind. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks, Fraser.”

“Glad to help.” 

On to part 3A.



( 11 comments — Leave a comment )
Apr. 17th, 2008 08:21 am (UTC)
Great story. Loved the part about the Quest flag and the orange juice lake.
Apr. 17th, 2008 01:17 pm (UTC)
“Then again, from a Freudian perspective, many things are thought to reflect castration anxiety. The phallus looms large in psychoanalytic theory.”
ROFL! Indeed.

There's another great one I read somewhere (Either dS or SGA):
"Freud sucks."
"He might as well have, although I doubt it."

Loved the orange juice reference.
Apr. 17th, 2008 02:09 pm (UTC)
I liked this part even better than the others. There's so much detail and it's terrific that Ray is able to take story telling hints from Fraser to make a hit with his turtle/hippo tale. Well done.

I also loved the part at the end, that Ray is leaving part of himself behind every time he leaves Fraser. It's so true. I'm looking forward to the rest.
Apr. 17th, 2008 02:14 pm (UTC)
This is all so good, I can't pull just a bit here or there. Part of what makes it rock for me is that you're giving a lot of detail about what's going on, but it doesn't feel like it. Does that make sense? Good pacing, I guess, is what I'm trying to say. And I like the way Fraser and Ray have aged - still themselves, but not unrealistically the same as back in the day.
Apr. 17th, 2008 04:36 pm (UTC)
Thank you so much for this wonderful, great, long, brilliant new update. And I'm really glad about the fact Fraser had noticed about some of Ray's "dpartments", especially that one. Alex, you are great!
Apr. 17th, 2008 05:55 pm (UTC)
Oh, I love this! :)
Apr. 18th, 2008 01:50 am (UTC)
Enjoying this very much, more please.
May. 17th, 2008 11:41 pm (UTC)
Excellent - I've misread the introduction and thought there were 4 LJ sections, not 4 parts total. So just as much still to go - fantastic.

Wonderful attention to detail and research and great interactin between them - I especially get a sense of Ray being older and more settled in himself in this.
May. 18th, 2008 11:33 am (UTC)
Yup, the four parts are thematically divided, and LJ made me break them up more. (Mean LJ!) The parts are...let me see if I remember...One Warm Line, A Land So Wild and Savage, The Roaring Fraser (which is the section with the sexy bits in), and The Road Back Home Again.

I think that Ray being older and, as you say, more settled in himself is a major reason he had such an easy time accepting the slow slide from macho camping stuff to vaguely homoerotic physical affection to overtly homoerotic physical affection. Not that I disbelieve in canon-timeline slash, but I do think Ray ought to have a Big Gay Freakout in it. Here it's more like, "Oh. This is my life now. Huh. **shrugs** **glomps Fraser**."

The research on this was really fun. I strongly recommend looking at the Research Notes page (link in part 1A). I found some great sites (including a picture of the Deline RCMP detachment! Where Fraser works!).
Jul. 28th, 2008 10:32 pm (UTC)
“I brought my old partner Ray instead.”
“Woof,” Ray said obediently.

Way to mix together the humor and the angst! I liked the details of life up north (the Internet, the water shipped in) and Ray helping a little kid decorate her tutle egg-crate was adorable.
Mar. 1st, 2009 03:50 am (UTC)
Oh! Poor Ray, leaving part of himself behind!

Great writing.
( 11 comments — Leave a comment )