Chapter Text
Fraser was mobilizing fast, 'cause the hotshot surgeon had put rods and shit inside his leg to hold it all together, which was stronger than just a cast. He was sitting out in a sunny corner of the patients' lounge with his leg up on a footstool when Ray arrived, having bribed his favorite afternoon nurse, Nancy, with a box of doughnuts, to let Dief in for a visit. It was a small hospital, so they had the lounge to themselves.
When Fraser and Dief had gotten the yipping and face-licking out of their systems—and Ray was talking about Fraser as well there, not just Dief—Ray settled into an adjoining armchair. "So, another failed expedition to find Franklin's hand, eh, Frase?"
Fraser shot him a smile. "I'm afraid so, Ray. But as you know, that was never my goal for the expedition."
"Yeah," Ray said, smirking. "You just wanted to get me into your sleeping bag an' have your way with me."
"Guilty as charged, Ray," Fraser said, not looking at all penitent.
"But, you know what, Fraser? I reckon we did find old Franklin's hand, after all."
"How so, Ray?" Fraser raised an eyebrow, then winced. The cuts were healing, but they weren't all gone yet.
Ray pulled out the map. It was the same detailed one he'd marked their route on, day after day, until close to the end. He'd taken some time the previous night in the motel, drawing in the final stretches, and the path of the rescue helicopter's flight. "I wrote in some of the camps, y'know. Some of the things that happened." He gave the map to Fraser, who tilted his head at it.
"Hmm. The hand appears to be pointing, not reaching."
"Nah, it's 'tracing one warm line', Frase, that's what it's doing. That's what we did."
The unbruised side of Fraser's mouth lifted in a smile. "We did indeed, Ray." He looked back at the map, then at Ray, the smile fading. "Humpty Dumpty?"
Ray bit his lip. "I can't . . . I'm still too freaked out by what happened, Frase. Only way I can handle almost losin' you is by joking about it."
Fraser nodded. "I felt the same way after," he glanced at the map and got a look on his face like he wanted to roll his eyes but was restraining himself, "you got . . . shafted."
"Okay, pact," Ray said. He spat in his right hand and held it out. "I won't get shafted again if you quit falling off mountains." Fraser solemnly spat in his own hand, and they shook.
There was a slightly awkward pause. "I kinda want to wipe my hand, but is that gonna break the pact?" Ray asked, feeling sheepish.
"Oh thank God," Fraser said. "Let's just agree that it won't." He wiped his hand on his hospital scrubs top. Ray leaned over and wiped his hand off on Fraser's scrubs as well. "Charming," Fraser said, giving Ray a long-suffering glare.
"What?" Ray put a look of injured innocence on his face. "Hey, the hospital's got its own laundry for bodily fluids and stuff. These are my good jeans."
Dief nudged Fraser's knee and yipped. "Oh very well, but without the saliva," Fraser said. He reached down and took Dief's upraised paw. "No misadventures for you either, Diefenbaker."
Ray put his hand on Dief's paw as well. "Ditto." Dief huffed in satisfaction, then he nosed at Ray's pocket, where Ray'd kept back a doughnut from the box for the nurses. "Yeah, yeah." Dief took his snack and hunkered down to enjoy it.
"You spoil him," Fraser said, eyeing Ray fondly.
Ray shrugged. "What you gonna do? The furface kind of grows on you." He took Fraser's hand. "Like someone else I could mention."
When Nancy came back to shoo them out, Ray and Fraser were kissing, there in a patch of sunlight in the patients' lounge of the Fort McPherson hospital. "I believe I'll take a coffee break," she announced with a grin as she turned on her heel. "Rumor has it there may be doughnuts."
– the end –
