not_that_ray | (no subject)

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."

No, that's not a touch of sarcasm. Not at all.

It sails completely over the Mountie's head. "Actually, no ... the Norwegian spruce makes a poor hibernating location for squirrels due to the small diameter of the trunk, and the screaming of the passenger alerted the other animals to the danger well before it impacted."

There's an extended pause. "Of course. That makes perfect sense."

Something in his voice says otherwise.

The wolf makes a low subvocalization that could be interpreted as skepticism, then tries to get inside. He's met by the Mountie's Strathcona boot and a stern look. "Diefenbaker. You know the rules."

"Rrrrrf." He wheels around, chuffing indignantly before sitting. He gestures to his friend once more. "After you, Ray."

"Don't sweat it, Dief. I'll bring ya back a double latte."

Diefenbaker barks his approval, his tongue lolling from his mouth in the lupine equivalent of a triumphant grin. Fraser shakes his head and follows Ray inside. "You really should stop encouraging him."

"Every wolf's gotta his coffee, Fraser. Law of nature."

A small, self-satisfied smirk forms on his face. Sometimes the holidays aren't so bad after all.

Fraser gives him a somewhat skeptical look as they take a seat at a table. He removes his Stetson, setting it carefully beside him. "There's nothing natural about a wolf ingesting caffeinated beverages, Ray."

"It's Chicago."

As if that's supposed to explain everything.

Fraser's eyebrows lift slightly. "Wolves are not native to Chicago." Pause. "And neither is coffee."

He stares at his partner from across the table. "You know if you treated him more often, I wouldn't have to buy him a latte. He likes chocolate, by the way."

Fraser actually returns the look, which is tinged with some concern. "Ray, chocolate is poisonous to canines. The lethal dosage of theobromine in dogs is--"

"He's not a dog. Well, at least he's not all dog."

A hand comes up, his fingers running over his eyebrow. "Centuries of genetic drift doesn't make him immune." He looks back up at his friend. "No chocolate, Ray." It's a request that more or less demands agreement.

He didn't realize the possible danger and it shows on his face. His affection for Dief is genuine. "Yeah, sure. No problem. I didn't mean-"