COTW:2 - part three
(or: There's Nothing For Nobody and Everyone Wants to Be Someone)
Kowalski trudged forward, his feet numb, his fingers numb, with no sensation in even the tips of his ears. Snow collected on his eyelids for about the fifth time in the past minute, and when he shook his head gently to clear his vision the entire mountainside started to blur. He stumbled without even realizing, and when his knees hit the ground he must have cursed, for Fraser turned quickly, a dark shape against the snow.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine." He pointedly ignored Fraser's offered hand, dusting himself off as best he could, though in effect he only managed to smear the snow across his pants.
Fraser hesitated, and Kowalski recognized the look, the look that said 'I want to tell you you're wrong but I'm not going to, because I know you're not going to listen.' At least that's what he thought it was. But when the Mountie turned, and looked away, avoiding both Kowalski and the sight of the mountain ahead of them, the cop knew something was up.
"What is it?"
"Sorry?"
"What are you being so edgy about?"
"I honestly don't know -"
"Fraser. You can be honest with me." He took a step forward, and his legs felt deadened.
"It's nothing."
"If it's nothing then you can tell me."
"I just have a decision to make."
"What? What decision?"
Fraser suddenly couldn’t bring himself to meet his friend’s eyes. "There is a village about a day's worth of travelling away from here, accessible if we follow the edge of the mountain. We could find shelter there, and food, although in this weather I imagine communications are down."
"And how long is it from this village to the meet?"
"From there the mountain side is impassable; the only other route is another two days journey."
"Three days is way too much. We'd miss the meet. Fraser, if you've dragged us up all this way -"
Fraser looked distinctly uncomfortable. "There is another way. I estimate it would take about fourteen hours to climb the mountain ahead of us, another four to descend, and from there only six or seven hours to the correct coordinates."
Kowalski's eyes narrowed. "You think I can’t handle it. You think I won't make it if we go up the mountain."
"I just think it might be better for both of us, in this weather, if we retreated to the village. I could be wrong, communications could be working and we could contact Chicago."
"You don't' believe that. Fraser, if I wasn't here, you'd be going up that mountain no question. But maybe you're underestimating me."
"Ray, please -"
"No!" He pulled away, ignored the use of the name, folding his arms crossly and squatting in the snow. "You're not changing your plans on me. Either I go up that mountain with you, or else you're gonna have to leave me here sitting on my butt until I freeze to death. And I don't really think carrying me to the village is a viable option."
"You know you're being extremely childish."
"Yeah? Sue me."
He gave a deep, exasperated sigh. "Fine. But I want you to promise me that if you're feeling the least bit . ."
"What? Cold? I'm feeling that already." He shivered, struggling to get to his feet, but again refusing to accept any help from his friend. "So when do we start climbing?"
*
"Are you okay?"
With great reluctance, the two Federal Agents had agreed to hand over leadership to Inspector Thatcher, overridden by the rules of diplomacy and the need for good, neighbourly relations. Welsh remained at the station house, acting as relay between the FBI and the team sent after Muldoon. Ray was uncertain just how Francesca managed to pull off her ridealong, but he suspected that Welsh had a soft spot for her. Thatcher was still a mystery, but the two women did seem to be getting along marginally better than he remember, seemed to share something he didn't understand.
"Ray? You okay?"
"Hmm?" He looked up from checking his seatbelt, caught his sister giving him an odd look.
"You just seem, I dunno, quiet. You're feeling okay?"
He nodded, although he wasn't sure it was entirely the truth. "I'm fine, Franny. I guess I have a thing about planes, that's all."
"You never used to." She stopped, wishing she could take the words back, seeing hurt in her brother's eyes she wished she could take back. "I mean, all those times in Florida -"
"I know. It's just . . ." He hesitated. What was he supposed to say? "Last time I was on a plane going to Canada, it crashed, remember? I don't want to spend the next two weeks eating grubs in the Canadian wilderness again."
She stared at him, one hand reaching across the aisle to touch his armrest. "That's not it, though. I mean, it might be part of it, but . . . you don't have to tell me."
"I . . ." *Last time I got on a plane I died.* "That's it. Honestly."
"Okay." But she didn't sound so convinced.
*
Fraser closed his eyes.
Kowalski had been sleeping for the past few hours. He was still shivering, and his fingers were white, clutched tight around his coat. Even his hair, normally of experimental spikes, was flat, dampened by snow.
Even as a native of the North, Fraser couldn't understand how his friend found it so easy to sleep. Several hundred metres up a mountain cliff, the air lung-bitingly cold, it wasn't exactly the most inducive environment for rest. Maybe that was what had him so worried.
"The Yank doesn't look so good."
He didn't answer, staring up at the rest of the mountain that still faced them the next day. Its peak disappeared into a flurry of dark clouds and shadows. "I made the wrong choice," he said, eventually.
"We all make mistakes."
"Muldoon isn't worth this. Stan shouldn't be here."
Fraser Snr. sat on a small outcrop of rock barely a meter away from his son's shoulder, apparently unaware of the cold. Arms folded, he asked:
"Are you sure that you should be?"
Silence as Fraser looked away. The ghost looked down and studied the semiconscious American.
"You mother and I were once trapped in a terrible blizzard on our way to Rosebute to pick up some supplies. I thought I was done for, your mother too." He frowned beneath his hat. "But we still looked a lot better than the Yank does now."
Fraser sighed, silently wishing that his father, having chosen to apparently haunt him, could at least offer some constructive advice. "Well, what did you do?"
"We kept on going, through the cold and the pain . . ."
He closed his eyes again, letting out a deep breath. "Because that's what partnership is all about."
A sleepy voice disturbed the crisp night air. "Fraser, you got this hypothermia thingy 'cos you seem to be talking to yourself."
Fraser couldn't help but smile. "Possibly."
Kowalski waved his hand vaguely, disturbing a handful of snowflakes that drifted down into the darkness below him. "Just listen to me, you gotta push through the cold and the pain and keep moving, cos that's what partnership is all about. There's red ships and green ships but there's no ships like partnerships."
"You're starting to blither." He looked across at him, hiding his concern from his eyes.
"Can we start climbing again? I'm ready, Frase, up and at 'em . . ." Kowalski started to struggle in his temporary hammock, in danger of falling out. Fraser looked across at him, tried to hide the concern from his eyes.
"Not yet," he soothed. "Try and get some more sleep."
The blonde stopped his wriggling, settling back into the folds of cloth. "'Kay. But I'm not tired."
There was a small pause. Fraser watched him for several minutes more, then ventured, softly: "Stan?"
Silence.
*
It was dark by the time they arrived at their destination.
Ray had been greeted with a warm handshake from Sergeant Frobisher, and shown around the small encampment that served as an RCMP cadet outpost. He found himself wondering if Fraser had ever been as fresh faced as the men serving under Frobisher, but found it hard to believe that his friend could ever have been as naive and wide eyed as Turnbull. He smiled, remembering the sight of a small, fluffy toy Huskie that Francesca had taken to, forcing Turnbull to share. And then stopped.
It was cold. The outpost was situated on the sloping hillside of a mountain valley, several miles from the nearest town. Franklin Bay, they had been assured, was only three hours dog sled away, and they would set out early the following morning. But whilst the cadets busied themselves in packing, and Thatcher conversed deeply with Frobisher, for the first time Ray found himself alone with his thoughts.
Clearing a small patch of ground with the side of his shoe, he sat down on the frozen earth, pulling his arms around his chest and looking up at the sky. Somewhere, maybe only a few miles away, his best friend was under the same sky and he couldn't even speak to him, and it felt horribly like the same feeling of frustration he'd had for the past two years, undercover.
A small whine broke the silence. Dief rubbed up against Ray's chest gently, nuzzling his elbow, silently thanking him for the foresight to bring him along. Thatcher had not even mentioned the wolf's arrival, apparently taking it as read that Fraser's longest serving companion would join them.
Suddenly tired, Ray shifted slightly and allowed the wolf to lie down on his legs, head against his shirt, wrapped one arm around him, buried one hand into his fur.
"I know, Dief. We'll find him, I promise."
The snow crunched behind him. He turned, a little too quickly, forgetting the wolf in his lap, and almost snapping his neck in the process.
"Franny."
"Hey." She sat down beside him, started tickling Dief's ears. "What are you doing? It's freezing out here."
"Thinking."
"You can think inside," she told him. "Where it's warm. And there's a fire. And coffee."
"It was just getting crowded in there, that's all."
A small pause. She studied her hands for a moment, then looked up at him, concerned.
"I'd have thought after all that time in Vegas you'd want to be with people."
"You'd have thought so."
"Ray . . ." She nudged him, teasingly. "I missed you."
A small smile. "Missed you too Franny."
"We're going to find Fraser and Kowalski, you know."
Hi turn to look at her. "You sound sure of yourself."
"Completely. Don't you?"
He didn't answer. Asked, after a moment: "Why?"
"I . . ." Considered her words. "There was this one case, several months ago. Fraser and Kowalski disappeared after investigating this ghost ship, only it wasn't a ghost ship, it was just some buried treasure, kinda, only there were these pirates and -"
"Franny," he interrupted, gently, "is there a point to this story?"
"Um . . . yes." She took a deep breath. "I knew they would be okay. I mean, I guess I panicked, a little, but all the same, I knew. And I can't explain it. It's just a feeling. Maybe it's because I . . ." She cut off, wasn't sure whether now was the right time.
"You what?"
"Doesn't matter." She looked at him seriously. "I just know they're gonna be okay."
He smiled at her, looked down at Dief. "I think you've made him feel better."
"Good." Gave him a concerned look. "Are you sure you're okay? You've been running around all day like nothing's wrong . . ."
"I just got hot in there, that's all. Needed to sit down."
She squeezed his arm gently. "Just don't over do it, okay?"
"Promise."
"Good."
*
Kowalski was having a nightmare.
Fraser had been woken from an uneasy sleep by the sound of a soft whimper. He raised his head and disturbed a small dusting of snow, blinked in the light of early morning.
"Ray?"
He stopped himself before he could repeat the name, but Kowalski was too caught up in his dream to notice. The blonde was even paler than he had been earlier, his eyes underlined by two dark smudges, his lips tinted with a hint of blue. His blue eyes moved quickly beneath closed lids, and he started to struggle, fighting his way out of his hammock.
Fraser reached out to grab a handful of blankets before his friend could topple himself completely. The movement finally roused Kowalski, and his eyes snapped open, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Fraser? You still here?"
"Try and relax," Fraser soothed, to no avail. Now fully awake, though still disorientated and distinctly pale, Kowalski sat up, grabbing hold of a rocky outcrop to steady himself.
"I'm okay."
"You, ah, seemed to be having a dream. Do you want to talk about it?"
A firm shake of his head. "No." He tilted his head back to peer up at the mountain that lay ahead. "It's day."
"Well, it's still night, technically, but yes, I believe there's enough light to continue. Are you ready?"
He received a dishevelled grin in response. "Up and at 'em, Frase."
*
Francesca was worried.
Okay, she wasn't going to admit that to Ray, or to anyone else for that matter, but at least she could admit it to herself. She was worried, and afraid, for both her brother, the man she had come to call brother, and the Mountie she had come to love. After making sure Ray returned inside, and feeling more like his mother than his sister every moment longer she spent here, she came back outside, watching Dief sniff the surrounding area vainly for empty crisp wrappers some unsuspecting Mountie might have left.
"Miss Vecchio?"
She turned, was slightly astonished to see Thatcher walking from the cabin towards her.
"May I have a word with you?"
"Sure," she said, trying to hide some of her incredulity from her voice, and failing. "And you can call me Francesca if you want. I mean, that's my name, and Miss Vecchio, well, the only person who calls me that is the owner of the coffee bar near work and I think he only says that because he has a crush on me -"
"Francesca," Thatcher interrupted, smoothly. "I was hoping to talk to you about what you said earlier. About Fraser."
"Oh." Immediate guilt in her voice.
"I understand that you and I have never . . . well, that you might hold some feelings of, shall we say, animosity towards me . . ."
"I don't hate you." Francesca sounded surprised, possibly because she'd surprised herself.
"Sorry?"
"I don't hate you. Okay, I don’t' like you all that much either, but I don't hate you."
"Oh." Thatcher stopped for a moment, taken aback. "Well, that's, that's good to know." She took a step forward, closer to Francesca, lowering her head slightly. "Actually, your . . . feelings towards me and towards Constable Fraser are really what I'm here to ask you about."
"Yeah?" She felt her cheeks flush red, was suddenly glad the morning light was so shallow. "Shoot."
"About what you said earlier . . . I'm wondering . . . did you really mean that?"
"What?"
"About Fraser being unable to survive if I took him to Toronto?"
"Oh." Francesca appeared to consider this, seriously, for a long while. "I . . . yes. I mean, I guess I know what you're saying . . ."
"I don't mean this as an insult, Miss, um, Francesca, but if what you said was actually in response to, well, understandable, if inaccurate feelings of jealousy towards myself . . ."
"No. Well, I don't think so." She hesitated. "Perhaps I was being a bit selfish. I mean, I know, Fraser's Canadian, and you're, well, you're Canadian, and you're both Mounties, and Toronto might not be the Territories but at least it's actually in the same country, if you know what you mean -"
"No." Thatcher sighed, turned away. "You're right. But you weren't the one being selfish. I was."
"No!" She shook her head automatically. "I mean, I guess catching Muldoon means a lot, a big career advancement, plus Chicago isn't the nicest city in the world and Canada is your home too -"
"But I never thought." She took a deep breath, watching the distant mountains. "I assumed that because I was so eager to leave for Toronto, or anywhere similar, that Fraser would be as well. But what you said, I should have thought. I should have realized how wrong I was."
"I didn't mean to be right," Francesca said, wistfully. "At least, I wish I wasn't. But Chicago isn't his home either -"
"But at least he has friends here. Detective Kowalski, Detective Vecchio, yourself . . ." Her voice trailed off on the last word.
"I'm sorry." Francesca wasn't sure just what she was apologizing for, but felt the need to say it anyway. "Fraser needs space. Maybe what I said, some of it was out of, well, out of what I wanted. You wanted to leave because that's what you want to do, and there's nothing wrong with that. But this . . ." She gestured vaguely at the valley before her. "This is his home. I know that."
"And I didn't." She turned, keeping her face neutral. "Thank you, Francesca. I'm glad we had this, well, this talk." And she started to walk back to the cabin, without giving Francesca the chance to say anything more.
*
In the end, Fraser wasn't sure whether to be even more worried at their actual arrival at the mountain's summit. After an initially groggy and slow start the blonde cop had experienced a remarkable adrenaline burst and had bounded enthusiastically up the remaining slope, like a mountain goat on a death wish. Kowalski, of course, saw it as a sign of full recovery and Fraser wasn't about to argue with him, keeping his own desperately worried thoughts to himself.
I made the wrong choice.
"Hey! Hey, Frase!" Kowalski's voice echoed dimly through the thin air. "You think this is the top, huh?"
Fraser watched him clamber up a small mound of rocks a few feet high. "I imagine so."
The blonde grinned, holding out his arms, coat flapping wildly in the wind. Screamed, as loud as he could: "I'm top of the world, ma! Top of the world!"
Fraser walked up behind him, afraid his friend would overreach himself and fall back down the mountain he had just so enthusiastically climbed. "That was a wonderful movie. Jimmy Cagney -"
"Shut up Fraser, I need a moment to triumph." He continued to hold his arms out for another full minute, then dropped them tiredly, coming down from the adrenaline rush. Almost stumbled as he climbed down from the rocky outcrop, Fraser reaching out to snatch at the folds of his coat.
"You should be more careful," he chided, gently, worried when his friend didn't snap back with a huffy retort.
A soft mumble: "Sorry." He shivered, violently, tried to tug the coat closer around himself. "I feel kinda woozy, Fraser. Y'think its the hippy, hyper thingy?"
"It's probably the air up here," Fraser assured him, and wasn't sure whether he was lying.
"But we made it." The cop tried to crane his neck round, ended up with his head tilted back with his eyes rolled backwards and up. "We conquered the mountain, buddy! We did it!"
Fraser allowed himself a small smile, whilst slipping one arm under his friend's waist and guiding him, with no resistance, to the sled. "Yes we did."
He frowned deeply, as though struggling to concentrate. "How do we get down? Do we have to, um, do the abseiling thing? I don't think I could do anymore climbing, Frase."
"I know. And we won't have to do too much." He knelt in the snow and started untying the small bundle of blankets and snowshoes from the sled. Kowalski stood over him, frowning, swaying gently.
"Watcha doing?"
"We will need the sled for the trip down the mountain side, and it will be better if we travel light. I'm going to leave certain things behind, and move the rest to one side."
"Oh." He watched him for a moment, silently, then asked: "You really know your stuff, huh?"
"Hmm?"
"Out here." He gestured vaguely. "It's like . . . like you're home.
"I suppose I am, at least as near as I can be at present." But the words seemed strange, an odd feeling he couldn't put his finger on.
"Yeah." Kowalski's voice was flat, almost monotone, a low mumble. "I guess you are."
Abruptly: "Ready?"
He'd cleared a space on the sled, removing a blanket and tying the rest to the back. He had also tied, securely, a rope to the front of the sled, and looked up at his partner expectantly.
"Get on."
Blue eyes widened. "Huh?"
"For the trip down."
A violent shake of his head that made the world spin. "No. No, no, no, no . . . not gonna happen. I can get down on my own."
Fraser gave a small, exasperated sigh. "Please -"
"No!" Voice raised, an unsteady finger pointed in his direction. "I'm not being a burden, Fraser! I'm not gonna hold you back so you have to drag me along cos you feel you have to -"
"You're being irrational. You're not a burden, you're sick, and I want to help you -"
"No, Fraser! Not in your lifetime!"
"Stan, please!" Pleading.
The blonde raised his head sharply, stared at him with an odd look. After several long, tense seconds, his shoulders slumped, and he submissively took his seat on the sled. It was only when Fraser started to tuck the blanket around him that he put out a hand, grabbed his wrist with surprising strength. Raised his head and looked him in the eyes.
"Thanks."
Fraser frowned, suddenly confused. "I -"
"Doesn't matter." He pulled the blanket closer to his chin, hat pulled well over his ears, the tip of his nose pink. At least that was something, Fraser thought. "We getting this show on the road?"
A nod. With the rope over his right shoulder, Fraser hauled, found the combined weight of the sled and his friend surprisingly light.
"You know, your imitation of Titanic seems an odd choice."
"What would you rather? The hills are alive?"
"Well, it would seem more appropriate . . ."
"Do I look like Heidi?"
"Um, no, but actually you're thinking of Julie Andrews . . ."
*
Ray awoke feeling very, very cold. His limbs felt stiff and his chest ached, and he experienced an uncomfortable tightness every time he took a breath. Told himself it was the unnatural weather, and roused himself out of bed.
Everyone else seemed to be up already. All the Mountie cadets were dressed, and busy preparing the dogsleds for the trip down into the valley's heart. Frobisher was stood over the stove, cooking something suspiciously black and fatty in an ancient frying pan, Thatcher was nowhere to be seen, and Franny -
"You okay?"
His sister, for once, was covered up to the tip of her nose. A deep, thick duffle coat encased several layers, her pants looked suspiciously like a cadet's cast offs, and she wore a ludicrously large pair of walking boots on her petite feet.
"You look like hell, Ray."
"I feel fine," he lied, still watching the various activities of the cadets. "You know, when Inspector Thatcher said Canada had their own forces, I was expecting something better than this."
"Sergeant Frobisher seems to be pretty proud of them. He's been training them for the past year."
"I suppose that's a good thing." But he still couldn't help but sound doubtful.
Francesca wrapped her arms around herself, burying her hands into her sleeves. "They'll find them. Mounties always get their man, right?"
"Actually," he found himself replying, "that's a misnomer. Their motto actually is . . ." He stopped, his sister's pale face and dark eyes looking up at him. "Yeah . . . they always get their man."
"Then everything will be okay." She smiled, looking back at the door. "I think we'll be leaving soon. Do you want some breakfast?"
He shook his head, already feeling queasy. "I'm okay."
Reaching out, Francesca took her brother's hand, entwined warm fingers around his cold ones. "Sure?"
"Sure," he breezed, trying to brush off the comment lightly. "Jeez, Franny, you sound like Ma."
"Well someone has to." She pulled his arm, just a little. "Come on. I'll see if Turnbull can find you some warmer clothes."
*
Kowalski had perked up since the beginning of the trip down the mountain.
"Fraser! Can we go any faster?"
His words were caught by the wind, whipped away too fast to be caught by any ears. The blonde gripped the side of the sled tight, his nose and cheek bones almost frozen by the force of the cold air rushing past them, blinded by snow, his bones jarred by every bump in the ground, and he was loving every minute.
Fraser, on the other hand, was too busy concentrating.
Initial going had been difficult, and there had been points when the sled was useless and they were forced to scramble backwards over rocks and ice. At those times he was most afraid of losing his hyperactive friend over a crevasse. But eventually the mountain had evened out into a steep, but manageable, slope, and now all he had to do was avoid the trees and any big rocks.
The fact that everything was covered in a foot of snow wasn't helping.
Below them the trees started to thin out, giving way to a small valley and an incline that banked away from them. It took several seconds for Fraser to decide just how they were going to stop, and by then it was too late
to change his mind.
"We're heading for that mound of snow, I want you to roll -"
It was then that the sled hit a rock.
Fraser felt his entire body jarr with the impact. Suddenly the sky was beneath him and the ground above, there was a flurry of snow and a rush of wind and then, with a heavy and painful thud, he was face down in frozen darkness.
Slowly, his limbs stiff and protesting angrily, Fraser turned over, and sat up. He experienced a momentary head rush, but after the world stopped spinning he could assess the damage to both himself and his friend.
Nothing but some ugly bruises, he decided, almost standing, and then thinking better of it. He sat in the snow for another moment, watching his friend. Kowalski was lying on his back against a snowy incline, staring up at the sky with a dazed expression. After another moment he stirred, shaking his head and disturbing a small snowfall.
"Woah. Can we do it again?"
"Hopefully not." Fraser put his hand out onto the cold ground to push himself up, then started to brush down his trousers. "Are you alright?"
"Yup. Just dandy." Kowalski wriggled, blinking, assessing the scene. "Where'd the sled go?"
Fraser picked up several shattered pieces of wood from another mound of snow.
"Oh."
"It doesn't matter. We're less than half a mile from the site of the meet." He crossed to his friend, held out a hand to help him up. Kowalski took it, and Fraser felt cold skin even beneath gloves.
"So what happens now? We jump them?"
"I . . ." Fraser hesitated. It was true, he hadn't begun to plan this far, hoping for inspiration. "I suggest we take them one by one. With the element of surprise on our side we might -"
He cut off abruptly. Kowalski stared at him. "Wh -"
Fraser held up one finger, shushed his friend. There, again, the sound of a twig breaking, feet against snow. He turned, too late, as two men came out from behind the snowy outcrop, both armed with guns.
"Oh dear."
*
These characters are not mine, I only borrowed them and promise to put them back when I'm done! Comments appreciated.