Fraser is currently nursing a cup of said beverage with a dubious expression on his face as he stares into it. "I don't think you want to drink this coffee, Ray."
He's still staring at it as though it's evidence of some kind of crime. "Black coffee is something of a fallacy, Ray. All coffee is brown, it's simply a matter of density that it appears--"
"Yes, it does," he concedes. The two walk in silence for a while. "My grandmother was a woman of many talents. Cooking was not among them. I can still smell the burning bannock in the oven, even now." He offers his partner a reserved smile, and hopes he can catch his friend's gaze. "Tasted like a hockey puck."
A cop's attention should never drop to the pavement. It does for a split second though as he smiles in response. "You haven't tried Frankie's interpretation of a hamburger."
The smile widens just a little. "An experience I'll do my utmost to avoid, in that case." His gaze then shifts back to the street ahead of them, taking in the ostentatious Christmas displays lingering in the street and in the shop windows as they pass. "I didn't have Christmas lights, or a tree, growing up in the Territories. We made do with signal flares, and hanging pine cones covered with peanut butter on the trees outside." His brow creases slightly at the recollection. "Though we had to stop using the flares after an ice plane landed almost on top of the cabin."
Fraser pauses at the door to the small diner. "Well, not strictly, no. Traditionally the flares are used to signal for help, and they were attempting a flyby to determine if that was the case. Unfortunately, at that moment, the pilot suffered a mild stroke and lost control of the plane. Nobody was ultimately hurt, unless you count several Norwegian spruces and an old barn as casualties." He pushes open the door for his friend, gesturing for him to step inside.
Ray stops outside the door and stares at his partner incredulously. "Not to mention, I'm sure, a handful of squirrels, birds, and other small, cute animals."
The Mountie glances down at the table for a moment, rubbing some warmth back into coldbitten fingers. He makes that trademark facial shrug, his mouth flattening into a thin line, along with an almost imperceptible shake of his head; though he doesn't yet look back at him. "It's all right, Ray. I know you wouldn't hurt him intentionally."
Fraser clasps his hands on the formica tabletop, staring at his thumbs. "I found him as a pup in an abandoned strip mine. It was the height of winter and he was almost frozen from exposure. There was no sign of his mother, or his pack." His gaze drifts out the plate glass window to look at the white wolf, who's sitting patiently on the sidewalk, watching people go by. "A couple of years ago, he dove into the frigid waters of Prince Rupert Sound to save my life. He burst his eardrums in the process of doing so." Diefenbaker's deafness is his responsibility. But that's not what he says.
It doesn't quite come out as a question. He needs food and coffee. Not necessarily in that order. If he doesn't get them soon, he's likely to let his mouth walk off without his brain.
Again, that shake of his head, as he leans forward to rest an elbow on the table. "He's free to leave at any time, Ray. He has no undue obligation to me, other than his breed's inherent sense of loyalty."
Fraser takes the briefest sip from his mug, then glances out at the street, where Diefenbaker is busy suckering a local vagrant with his affections. His shoulders drop slightly, as he looks back at his friend. "Ray, you really shouldn't indul-- " He then cuts himself off, setting the mug back down. "All right, Ray. Just this once." He reaches for his Stetson. "But I don't want to hear you complain when he starts shredding your car's upholstery because he's got the jitters."
It's obvious he's thinking twice about this whole treat thing. He studies Fraser expression for a second. Scrutinizes it, in fact. "You're bullshittin' me."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-12-31 09:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-01 06:56 am (UTC)"Is it black?"
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Date: 2008-01-01 07:00 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2008-01-01 07:13 am (UTC)"As long as it doesn't look like used motor oil that's been sittin' out in the snow, I'm ready for it."
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Date: 2008-01-01 07:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2008-01-01 09:26 am (UTC)No, that's not a touch of sarcasm. Not at all.
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Date: 2008-01-02 04:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 04:47 am (UTC)Lame, Ray. Lame. Way to apologize.
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Date: 2008-01-02 04:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 05:04 am (UTC)It doesn't quite come out as a question. He needs food and coffee. Not necessarily in that order. If he doesn't get them soon, he's likely to let his mouth walk off without his brain.
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Date: 2008-01-02 05:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 05:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2008-01-05 05:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-05 06:50 am (UTC)He pauses, considering the intended treat. "Unless of course you wanna get him something yourself. Then I wouldn't have to."
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Date: 2008-01-05 06:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-08 04:32 am (UTC)It's obvious he's thinking twice about this whole treat thing. He studies Fraser expression for a second. Scrutinizes it, in fact. "You're bullshittin' me."
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Date: 2008-01-08 04:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-08 05:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
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