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Ray cried when Dief died. He wasn't ashamed of it or anything, either, not even a little, because fuck what anyone would say, there was nothing wrong with it, and Dief was a good wolf and a good cop and a good friend and Ray was going to miss him a hell of a lot.

Fraser was the only one who saw him anyway, though, because it was just the two of them burying Dief and setting up the little rocks Fraser'd put together to mark his grave. Fraser was the last guy in the world to judge somebody for crying. He just held Ray's hand and did his little weird ceremony thing he'd put together and didn't say another word about it.

Fraser didn't cry. Ray thought maybe he'd break down later, so he was prepared for Fraser to lose it maybe when they were in bed that night, or the next morning, but Fraser never did at all. He didn't even talk about it. It was just like Dief had just gone out for a couple days for hunting or mating or something, like he did sometimes, only all his stuff was gone now too.

Whatever Ray was feeling, Fraser had to be doing times a thousand, but he hardly showed it at all.

*****

"My grandmother was ten years old when the Spanish flu pandemic occurred," Fraser told Ray. "She lost her mother, her father, her two sisters, and one brother, her entire family but for one two year old brother. You may know that the influenza struck particularly hard among the Inuit. In the village they were living in, two-thirds of the people died in that one year. There was chaos, pandemonium. My grandmother went to live at the orphanage. Her brother died there when he was five. From the stories she used to tell me, it was an awful place. I used to feel very lucky that I hadn't had to go to one after my mother died. Sometimes I worried that my grandparents might get weary of caring for me and send me anyway."

They were sitting on the back porch; Ray's head was in Fraser's lap, and Fraser's hands were combing lightly through Ray's hair. Ray said, "That's not a happy story, Fraser."

"I suppose not," Fraser said distractedly, looking out at the sunset. "But after all, Ray, she had a very long and fulfilling life after that, one to be proud of. And I was very lucky -- I still am very lucky. Sometimes one has to count one's blessings."

Ray let his eyes drift closed. "And Dief?"

Fraser's hand stopped for a second in Ray's hair, then started again. "Dief had quite a long life for a half-wolf, really. I feel grateful that he chose to stay with me for so much of it." Fraser was quiet for a couple seconds. "And, you know, Ray, I think death is much more elastic than most people believe."

"Elastic? What do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't think the boundary is as well-defined as people make it out. The dead don't--" Fraser hesitated. "They don't always really leave us."

Ray opened his eyes. "So you think Dief is still here with us? Just napping and running around and eating junk like always?"

"In a manner of speaking," Fraser said. He wasn't looking at the sunset anymore, but he wasn't looking down at Ray, either; Ray couldn't tell where he was focusing.

Ray thought it over. He said, "That's nice, Fraser. I like that. It's mumbo-jumbo, but it's still nice."

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said quietly, and Ray closed his eyes again and let Fraser play with his head and pretended he could hear Dief howling over the next hill.

Comments

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

Hee. I'm pretty sure you are not alone in this!