Mind the Plot Bunnies!

This fic is in the process of being written, chunks of it being pasted on Icka!'s Livejournal account as MOrgan and I hash it out. My apologies for the abruptness of chapters, that's just how it sort of worked out. Thanks.

Call of the Wyrd
by Icka! M. Chif and MOrgan Stardancer

They had come back to Fraser's cabin, two weeks ago partly to discuss what happened next, partly to have a reprieve from the past month or so of seeing nothing other than snow, each other, snow, the dogs, snow, the tent, snow and the local wildlife.

Then Fraser had been called to the nearest town for a few days for Mountie stuff. Paperwork and boring stuff. Since Ray intended to do nothing but sleep for the next couple of days, he'd sent Fraser and Dief off with his blessings and looking forward to a couple of days of down time. A couple of days to sleep, stretch out without hitting anything, not worry so much about how many layers he was wearing, tripping over each other and generally be slothful sounded heavenly.

So Fraser had left, leaving him with the sled dogs both for company and to take care of as he and Dief went to town on a snowmobile that had been hidden in the dog shed. A couple of days later, Fraser had called to say that it was going to be a few days longer. That had been a week ago, when a storm had blown in and he'd informed Fraser that he was fine and if showed up before it was safe to travel, he'd kick him in the head. With snowshoes. Fraser was a good guy and all, but sometimes he needed to be reminded that he wasn't Super Mountie. And that dead was dead, no matter how good you were.

But still, he missed Fraser. He'd thought that being willingly thrust into the vast stark coldness of the Northern Wilderness had been a shock, especially after having spent all his life in Chicago with the noise and the bustle that accompanied city life. But the silence and solitude of the empty cabin was even worse than that. Far worse.

Thank goodness for the dogs, even if all he could was stagger out there and feed them once a day. It gave him something to do to break the monotony and silence of the cabin. Even music and dancing couldn't touch the solitude out here.

But hey, he'd thought that was fine. Fraser had called yesterday to say he'd be back. He'd gone out, fed the dogs and started to come back inside, keeping his ears out for Fraser, because that would be the first sign he was back. Sled dogs were not the most stealthy of animals, especially when it came to anything that was even remotely interesting.

He'd heard the buzz of a snowmobile, the rustle of wind against trees, the hiss of falling snowflakes landing on the snow, people talking on the radio, and the buzz of what sounded like town.

He'd been recovering from that when the sunlight reflecting off the snow and ice nearly blinded him. He'd staggered into the house, closing the door behind him. The dim light of the cabin had helped for a moment or two, before the smell of -wood- assaulted him. Wood, polish, leather, wool, the tang of warm metal and what he thought kinda smelled like rodent. It wasn't just smell, it was like he could taste it on the air as well. Distracting him from that was the fact that his clothing began to itch.

Not just itch. It was like being wrapped up in a clingy cactus with barbs piercing his flesh everywhere. With a muffled yell, he's scrabbled out of his parka and boots as fast as he could, leaving them scattered on the floor without a second thought other than to have them -gone- and off him.

That didn't stop the assault on his other senses however. Everything was just Too. Fucking. Much.

He sought sanctuary in the nice soothing muffling darkness in a corner of Fraser's wardrobe. It stunk of wool, leather, mothballs and neat foot oil, but it kept everything else out.

He just had to wait for Fraser. He had to keep it together for Fraser. Fraser was coming. Fraser would know what to do.

"Ray!" Fraser was glad to be back home. He was happy to be back home, in the Northwest Territories, but he felt a lot happier about it with Ray next to him to share it. Leaving him alone in the cabin for over a week had worn on his nerves more he cared to ruminate about too deeply. He was quite aware that Ray could take care of himself, he'd proven that just recently on their Quest for Franklin, but that did not stop him from worrying. This was a dangerous country and for the most part it was still unknown to his friend and partner.

He noticed that the sled dogs seemed happy to see him, but not overly so. They appeared fine, not that he had any questions on Ray's capabilities to take for them. He seemed to have a knack for dealing with canines. However, Diefenbaker whined, already at the doorway and looking at it worriedly. Fraser frowned slightly to himself. Ray should have answered the door as soon as they pulled up. Perhaps he was asleep?

Unbinding a box of supplies from the back of the snowmobile, he carried it up the stairs and to the front door. "Ray!" He called again, hoping that the blond would open the door for them. No answer. He shared a look at Dief, who whined again, anxiety drawn in every lupine line. He juggled the box a bit, freeing a hand to open the door. It was unlocked.

"Ray?" Upon stepping inside, he found himself tripping over first physical evidence of something being amiss. Ray's parka, casually tossed on the floor. He held back a retort about sloppiness when Dief shot past him, nosing what appeared to be a trail of winter clothing leading into the house.

Visions and questions of naked Ray running around the house shot through his mind. He determinedly shoved those thoughts aside, setting the box down and kicking the door shut behind him. The other supplies outside could wait. This took precedence. "Ray?" He followed the trail of clothing and Diefenbaker to the back bedroom, where the half wolf was nosing the wardrobe door and whining. Puzzled as to what Ray was doing in there, and the fact that he had just stepped over Ray's jeans, he opened the door.

Ray was curled into a fetal position in the corner of the closet, a sheet wrapped around him. He wasn't moving, eyes staring blankly ahead. Fraser's heart and brain stuttered, his first thought was that he was dead. "RAY!"

He ripped his gloves off, reaching for his partner. His hands were cold, fortunately colder than Ray's skin, but not by much. Fingers skittered over Ray's neck, before he found what he was looking for. Ray's pulse at the side of his neck, beating steadily for all the lack of response.

He became aware of the chill of the atmosphere in the cabin. The fire had gone down, which was probably part of the reason Ray was so cold, aside from the fact that it was generally not a good idea to wander even indoors unclothed for too long, especially when one was not acclimated.

"Dief." He ordered, aware of the wolf's presence next to him. "Warm Ray." He didn't want to leave Ray's side, but he had to get the temperature up, see if it would help bring Ray around. Dief let out a little yip, scrabbling into the wardrobe and wrapping himself around Ray. "No licking." He warned, pulling off his parka and placing it over both of them as a second blanket.

Diefenbaker did not deign him with an answer as he rose and quickly moved into the fireplace. He quickly stoked the fire, adding more fuel and bringing it back up to a cheerful blaze.

He'd heard of this before, he knew it. Ray said he had an Inuit story for every occasion and while that wasn't precisely correct, it did sound familiar to a story he had heard. The story niggled at him from the depths of his brain, giving him something to focus on and allowing his hands to do their task automatically.

The fire rose quickly and he hurried back to Ray. He shifted his partner forward, sliding in between Ray's stiff body and the wooden wall. Dief moved to accommodate him, leaning on Ray from the front so that he's completely surrounded on all sides. It doesn't seem to do any good, but it's a start. It would be warmer by the fire, but Ray was tense, his body ridged and fixed. He doesn't want to take the chance of hurting him during transport out of such closed quarters. And despite Ray's protests to the contrary, he was a very logical man. So if he was hiding in the wardrobe, there must have been some reason for it.

Ray's reaction is unusual as well. Usually one's body was lax in unconsciousness, not taut like this. It was almost like Ray was caught in rigor mortis, only alive. The thought is a terrifying one.

Not story, -stories-. About two men, not one... a Shaman and a great Hunter... a Hunter who could see a whale rise to the surface of the water on the horizon, track caribou a weeks worth of travel away by scent and sound and could feel tracks on the ground where no footprint could be seen.

A hunter whose gift was offset by its curse. Without the Shaman there to guide him, the Hunter would loose himself in these sensations, these senses, leaving himself vulnerable both to the elements and to attack.

Their stories were a lesson and a warning mixed in one. Great gifts came a price. Even the strongest Hunter could not survive on his own.

He realised belatedly that he was telling these stories out loud to Ray, stroking the now not so spiky blond hair with a hand. Ray's eyes had closed, his head resting against Fraser's shoulder, face pale in the shadows. "Ray?"

"Frase." Ray swallowed, eyes closing briefly. "It hurts, Frase. Everything hurts."

"I know, Ray." He wrapped his arms around his friend, hugging him carefully. Diefenbaker whined in sympathy, but refrained from licking. They needed to get Ray to the doctors, to town, to make sure everything was all right with him. But at the moment he didn't think Ray was any more inclined to move than he was.

Ray's wrists were abruptly grabbed by large hands, preventing him from pushing the palms of his hands into his closed eyes again. He tensed for a minute, ready to fight before he recognised the scent that went with them. Fraser. That was fine. He relaxed again.

"You will cause permanent damage to yourself if you continue on this way." Fraser scolded, but his voice was more laced with concern than anything else. Dief whined from about knee level.

"Why the hell not, Fraser?" He demanded back angrily. It wasn't Fraser's fault and he knew it was wrong to take it out on the Mountie, but he couldn't very well kick himself in the head at the moment. "It's not like they're working currently anyway, other than burning painful holes in my skull."

"Yes, but I am quite certain that blunt force trauma is not contusive to the healing process." Fraser's voice was soothing, in a manner that on anyone else he would have considered condescending, only this was -Fraser-, so it wasn't.

"It's still stupid." He grumbled. They'd been at the hospital for over a day now and no one could find anything wrong with him. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Even with keeping him over night for observation. He violently disliked hospitals with a passion, even polite ones.

Except that his senses would go screaming out of control at random moments. Numb, over sensitised, everywhere in between. Sometimes it was everything pressing in on him, other times it felt like he was dead with no contact with the world at all. Often it was a mix of everything in-between.

With the exception of sight, because evidently he had blown his vision on their way to the hospital via dog sled. He'd opened his eyes a fraction to see where they were and the reflection from the snow burned his eyes so bad that now everything was just a massive grey blur. Snow blind. And he had a low grade fever, due to freezing himself in the wardrobe for however long it had been before Fraser had showed up and warmed him up. Those the doctors had been able to diagnose.

Fraser thought that the blindness was tied in to his senses going nuts and that it was probably temporary. Everyone else just danced politely about it, then when down the hall and talked about CAT-scans, M.R.I., blood work, drugs and mental evaluations. All sorts of stuff that scared the shit of him. Not that he'd say that around Fraser.

Fraser, who was hanging around him at the hospital instead of going home to his nice comfortable cabin because Ray had some how managed to fuck things up. Because every time Fraser left the building, Ray'd loose it and fall into some sort of 'fugue' state. Which Fraser could usually bring him back from, by talking to him and such.

It sucked. Fraser finally got home and here he was, taking care of some Chicago flatfoot with experimental hair who couldn't hack a week by themselves in a -cabin- in the freakin' Northwest Areas. Territories. Whatever.

Dief let out a small yip, rising to his feet and Ray could feel the air from the tail wagging swirl across his legs. There was someone at the door, shuffling their feet nervously. Who ever it was didn't smell like one of the doctors, not unless someone had traded antiseptics for incense.

"Can we help you?" Fraser inquired, releasing one of his arms, but keeping the other one in his grasp.

"Actually, it's the other way around." Friendly voice, touch of nervousness in there, but nothing that made Ray want to introduce this guys face to the wall. The footsteps came closer, gaining confidence as the guy walked into the room.

"My apologies." Fraser stepped forward, partly out of politeness, partly to get between Ray and the curly haired stranger "But I fail to see how an Anthropology professor can help us."

"Because there's nothing wrong with him." The curly haired professor said seriously. The short stocky man's blue eyes flickered at him occasionally, but most of his attention was on Ray, assessing, weighing, calculating. He would have gone on the offensive for that if it weren't for the concern and compassion that was clear on his face. "These tests and examinations aren't going to find anything abnormal."

That and the fact that Dief was making a pest of himself by sitting on Dr. Sandburg's feet, an expression of pure lupine adoration on his face. Say what he would about the half-wolf and donuts, Diefenbaker was an excellent judge of character.

"Uh-huh." Ray's expression clearly read 'Pull the other one'. "And I'm in here because I'm feelin' peachy keen."

Dr. Sandburg shook his head. "No, you're here because your senses just woke up. They're probably spiking all over the place from too much stimuli, then vanishing unexpectedly. And you're probably having black outs in your memory, where everything just fades away-"

He trailed off as Ray flinched, going defensive. The professor had hit the preverbal nail on the head.

"Perhaps I should start at the beginning." Dr. Sandburg's hands were up, posture changing quickly from one of assurance to one ready to flee if the need should arise. Fraser rested a hand on Ray's forearm in an effort to calm his partner down. They did not need to be causing a scene here. Ray grunted in return, relaxing slightly at the contact.

"I'm not just any anthropologist." Sandburg said placating. "My area of expertise is Sentinels. Protectors with the genetic advantage of heightened senses. Sir Richard Burton, the explorer, not the actor, wrote a monograph on it called 'The Sentinels of Paraguay'-"

He shared a look with Ray, which should have been awkward or impossible due to Ray's current blindness, but wasn't. They'd been solving cases together for over two years now, knowing what the other was thinking under pressure wasn't hard. The connection was still there, even if the sight was not.

"You don't belong here." Dr. Sandburg's expression was earnest, coming to the point without any irritation about being interpreted. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"Then... I'd like to help you learn how to use them." The anthropologist seemed to... fall into himself then, crumble slightly as if a support inside if him fell. "I'm not asking to write about you or use you as a guinea pig or a lab rat or anything like that. I'd just like to help. It's kind of my calling in life." The last was said in a sad, deprecating, self-mocking tone. Fraser recognised it as one that Ray had used on a semi-regular basis early in their acquaintance, when referring to Stella. Interesting.

Dief whimpered, nuzzling his new friend. Dr. Sandburg smiled faintly, petting the wolf.

Ray's hand twisted, clasping Fraser's wrist, so they were both holding on to each other's arms. Temper aside, Ray was a highly empathic person. It was one of the things that made him a good officer. "So..." Ray drawled. "Say I agree to the whole thing. Whaddya want in exchange?"

The relief in the anthropologist's face was a near tangible thing. "A place to crash?"

That earned him a chuckle. "It'll be reimbursement enough, thank you." Again, that flash of recent pain. "You can check my resources if you wish. I just got my doctorship from Rainer University, Cascade, Washington. I kind of need the break, get my head back together before I move on from there."

Understatement, there. Definitely a story. From the squeeze Ray was giving his arm, he was much in accord. Dr. Sandburg looked at the two of them, down at their clasped arms, then back up at their faces.

"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police." He introduced himself, dismayed at his lack of good manners. "My partner Detective Kowalski is currently residing with me here in Canada."

"Yeah, see," Ray grinned. "He first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of his father, and for reasons that don't need explaining at this juncture, he has remained a liaison with the Canadian Consulate, occasionally helping us Chicago cops give crime a good boot to the head."

"I'm Ray, by the way." Ray continued on, oblivious. "Make any Brando comments and I'll be forced to order the wolf to eat you."

Dief protested the casual use of his favours. Ray mouthed 'donuts' and Diefenbaker settled back down. The professor watched it all with silent shocked bemusement.

"So." Ray released his arm to rub his hands together. "How do we get outta this fun house?"

Once again, Ray seemed to have blind-sided the anthropologist. "You don't want to turn them off?"

Dr. Sandburg smiled back. "Alright. We just need to-" Shouts and a barrage of noise interrupted the professor in mid word. "What's going on?"

Ray tilted his head slightly, listening. Fraser put his hand on Ray's leg, slightly fearful of another sensory spike that had plagued his friend for the past day since he had returned home. Fortunately, that doesn't seem to be a problem this time. "Something about a... Winnebago attack?"

"Wendigo?" Fraser supplied. An attack by a motor home seemed highly unlikely, especially in this climate.

"A former human who survives by eating his former companions, sometimes considered a harbinger of death-"

"Okay then." Ray interrupted, clapping his hands together. "I think we just found out what happened to that Argentine soccer team Dalmar was talkin' about..."

Dr. Sandburg, once again, was left in confusion. But it was a long ride home and they could fill him in on the way. If there truly was nothing wrong with Ray that a period of adjustment couldn't cure, then they were wasting both doctor's time and bed space.

Fraser had once commented to Ray that his cabin was a four-day hike from Chilcoot Pass. Once you got past the lava springs -which were damn neat- the pole cats and the poisonous tundra beetles. -Which weren't so neat.

What Fraser hadn't said was that it was about a half-day snowmobile ride from Chilcoot Pass. Snowmobiles ROCKED. Even if Ray was stuck holding on to Fraser's belt like some sort of second jacket as they passed through the wilderness at madcap speeds, the vaunted Dr. Sandburg doing a fair job at following him. They'd only had the one snowmobile that they'd arrived at town with, which was barely big enough for the two of them. The Doc had surprised them both by proving that he could not only handle a snowmobile, but he could also do it with finesse. Something about a lot of travelling in his younger, carefree days. Lotta pain there, not all hidden close to the surface.

So they'd rented a second snowmobile, added more provisions to it so that they'd have enough for three people instead of two for a while, and headed out, Dief following at his own pace. Which had been a huge relief off Ray's back. The sounds and smells of the suddenly crowded hospital had pushed his limits to the max and Fraser had to bring him out of one of those fugue states -zone outs, Dr. Sandburg called them- a few times. They sucked, making his head hurt even worse than it did.

But still, it was nice to be out of there, the clear air cleaning out his head. Even if they were taking a leap of faith that this guy knew what he was talking about. Between Fraser's polite act and Dr. Sandburg's smooth talking, they'd been out of there faster than he would have believed, the nurses grateful to have one less thing to worry about.

And if this Sandburg was correct, which Ray had a strong hunch that he was, they wouldn't have found anything anyway. Something kind of clicked into place when the good doctor had started to talk. Sentinels, Watchmen, whatever, he didn't understand it. Fraser probably would and that was the important part. But what he did get was that he wasn't tripping, it wasn't the isolation, he was -supposed- to be like this. It was... reassuring. Like a switch being turned on in the back of his head, the sudden reassurance that he didn't have to fight it.

Which was probably the time he'd stopped freaking out about the fact that he could do things he couldn't before. Hell, Fraser did things most people couldn't all the time and no one thought he was weird for it. Okay, yeah, they thought he was -weird-, but they thought it was some sort of Canadian thing.

Which it was and it wasn't, more of a -Fraser- type of thing, Ray got that. And that put it in a context he could understand. It wasn't a freakish stupid thing, it was more like an extension of the Fraser weirdness thing. Stuff like this didn't happen in Chicago.

But it did happen here. Hell, with his luck it had just been laying in wait for such time as he came to the great white north before it happened.

So, he wasn't going to waste energy denying that his senses were loony and he was probably kind of soft in the head. But he'd know that for years, only he had a very hard head, which was good because he got a lot of knocks to it. And he'd tried the denying thing with Stella and that sure as hell didn't work.

Therefore, he wasn't doing the denying thing. He was doing the Fraser thing, the -accepting- thing.

And hey, it was working. Pretty good at least. And it meant he got to hang with Fraser for a while longer, cause going back to Chicago like this was certainly out of the question. Chicago wasn't anything like this place, it was all noise and scents and crowds and people and everything that came with that. He was having enough trouble here, where even the silences were loud. And it wasn't like he had any rush to go back any time soon, with the whole Vecchio deal.

So therefore the immediate plan was simple. Hang with Fraser and this Sandburg guy. Learn how to keep this senses thing from completely driving him loonier than he already was. Everything else they could handle later.

He liked simple. So did Fraser. The cabin was simple too, just two rooms. The bedroom and the main room... aw, shit.

Well, the Doc would just have to take the sofa with Dief, there was no way he was going to let Fraser sleep on the floor and there was no way he was sharing with Sandburg there. Nothing personal against the other guy, but Fraser was -his- best friend, -his- partner. Hell, they'd dealt with sharing a tent no bigger than a postage stamp for about a month without killing each other, they could do it here.

And he knew his way around the cabin by now, knew his way -blind-, which was greatness, and from what the Doc said, his sight should be returning in a day or two, as long as he didn't stress it. Which was why he was wearing sunglasses, even if he couldn't see and was keeping his eyes shut because he -knew- how Fraser drove snowmobiles. He had no intention of stressing it or anything else for the matter.

"Argh!" Fraser watched as Ray stormed to his feet, shoes stomping against the wooden floors as he waved his hands in the air. "I'm sorry! I just don't get this. You can't just control your senses like the volume control on a stereo!! I-I gotta get outta here before I punch someone."

Dr. Sandburg rose to follow Ray and Fraser held a hand out to stop him, giving a small shake of his head. It had been two days since they had arrived back at his cabin --most of it spent sleeping-- and Ray's vision was almost back, if you counted leaning towards monochrome and fuzzy shapes as 'back'. Ray was also growing increasingly agitated at the restriction of his fluctuating senses and being trapped inside the cabin. A walk would do him good and the area around the cabin was relatively safe.

"Dief, follow." He ordered. The half wolf bounded to his feet, running to Ray, who was putting on his parka. Ray grunted in return.

"Gonna go check on the dogs." Ray muttered, storming outside, Dief happily on his heels. Fraser felt guilty upon their return to realise he'd completely forgotten about the sled dogs in his rush to get Ray to town, but the dogs were no worse for wear for having missed a meal.

Dr. Sandburg still looked concerned, half out of the chair, ready to follow. "He'll be fine." Fraser assured him. "And if it's anything I've learned with my time with Ray, it's not entirely a facade when he says he'll punch someone."

"Of course, he's very contrite afterwards and usually requests that you hit him back in return."

A quick change in topic was probably called for. "You mentioned a book, 'The Sentinels of Paraguay', I believe?"

"Yeah!" Dr. Sandburg relaxed again. "I have it with me if you'd like to see it."

"It would be my pleasure." He smiled as the shorter man practically jumped at the chance. Knowledge was always better when shared, especially to a receptive audience. Which was the hard part to find. It was nice to be around someone who shared a similar passion for knowledge, even if their conversations were eccentric enough to make Ray a little surly.

"It's kind of old and getting worse for wear." Dr. Sandburg apologised, reverently handing him the obviously loved book. It was yellowed and beginning to look like it was ready to fall apart from so much handling and travel.

"Do you mind if I read it?" He queried. He got pleased grin and a wave of the hand in return, giving him the impression that not many had asked that question over the years. Fraser turned the book around in his hands, noting the condition of the pages and spine. "Since books were so precious in the territories where I grew up, one of the things my grandparents taught me was how to maintain and repair books, especially antiquated ones. Would you mind if I did some work on this?"

Dr. Sandburg looked at him for a moment, blue eyes wide, yet shuttered. Finally the curly haired man nodded. "I trust you with it." He made it sound as if Fraser held a piece of the anthropologist's soul in his hands. In many ways, Fraser supposed he was.

"Thank you kindly. I-" He was cut off by the sound of Diefenbaker's barking. Oh, dear. He set the book down on the table and hurried to the door. The half wolf bound in, yowling all the while.

"Ray found -what-?!" He repeated, hurriedly shrugging into his coat. Dr. Sandburg did the same, wrapping a muffler around his head and neck over his jacket. "Of course it's not a bear, it's hibernating season. Really, Diefenbaker, you ought to know better, I don't care what Ray said."

Dief yipped in response, running outside again. They followed, Fraser making sure to latch the door behind them to keep the heat inside. The snow was still rather deep, but he trudged his way through, following both Diefenbaker and Ray's footsteps. He heard the professor stumble a few times, but kept going. Dief had not said that Ray had zoned again, but he did not want to take that chance.

He found Ray not too terribly far away from the cabin, hidden by the trees. He was sitting stiffly on something on the large brown and furry side. "Ray!"

"'Bout time ya got here!" Ray hissed back, a bit of a nervous tremor in his voice. "Think I sat on a bear. Didn't wanna move, in case he attacked. Play dead, right?"

"Playing dead is the correct thing to do when encountering an attacking bear, yes." Fraser agreed. "But as I told Diefenbaker, that would be impossible. It's hibernating season for them, we won't see them until spring."

"It's a MOOSE!" Dr. Sandburg's incredulous voice turned into muffled snorts of laughter as the anthropologist fell once again into the snow.

"I'm sitting on a Moose?!" Ray almost but not quite squeaked, his expression sceptical. "What the -freak- is a moose doing out here?"

"Well," Fraser walked to the front of the large creature, checking the animal over. It was dead, fairly recently as well. No more than a few hours and still untouched by predators. "Off handily, I'd say he's being sat on, Ray."

Peals of laughter came from behind them, Dr. Sandburg had yet to pull himself out of the snow. Diefenbaker also seemed to be snickering in his own lupine way.

"Honestly, Ray. Even if you cannot see properly, the scent of a moose is quite distinctive and not at all like a bear-"

"Normal people do not go around smelling bears and mooses... meeces... large noisy animals with horns just to see what they smell like."

"Understood, Ray." It took some effort not to smile or point out that the plural of moose -was- moose, so he turned his attention back to the animal. He had a knife with him, and with as close as the cabin was, it shouldn't be too much of a hassle to butcher the carcass and store the meat for food for both themselves and the dogs. Actually, there was probably more here than they could use over the winter, they could trade or gift some of it away.

Movement flickered in his periphery vision and he turned to look. A pale wolf, not Diefenbaker, was watching him. It didn't seem hostile, quite the opposite in fact. Something large and tawny moved behind the wolf and for a moment, he wished he had not left his gun behind.

Much to his astonishment, the wolf did not seem to be frightened of the larger predator, in fact, quite the opposite. The wolf butted heads with the large cat, it's tail waving happily. The mountain lion seemed amused by it's... companion?, the course pink tongue slipping out and grooming the top of the wolf's head. The wolf happily nuzzled back, rubbing against the cougar's neck with a pleased sound.

"Frase?" Ray's voice snapped him out of his staring. His eyes flickered on his partner, who was looking at him with concern, then back to where he had spotted the predators.

They were gone. The snow was clean, no sign of anything passing across its pristine surface. "I'm good, Ray." Except for the sensory hallucinations, but he should be used to those by now. After all, he'd been haunted by the ghost of his father for years. What were a couple of animals compared to that? At least they couldn't talk back.

"Perhaps we should, Ray." He gave himself a mental shake, returning to the previous train of thought. "Once we have a better grasp of your abilities, we should go hunting. I could teach you how to track."

"Precisely." Tracking and hunting that did not require threatening to repeatedly beat someone with one's boot or other handy blunt object. "Learn what Moose and Bear actually smell like."

He grinned back. "Understood." From anyone else, that would have been an insult. But Ray always said it with such fondness that it felt more like a complement than anything else.

"Moose!" Dr. Sandburg's helpless giggles started up again. Diefenbaker was sprawled next to the fallen anthropologist, his face scrunched in a very amused grin.

"Ah, button it!" Ray threw a handful of snow in the professor's direction. It hit Dief instead, causing Dr. Sandburg to toss a handful of snow back to avenge the half-wolf's honour.

Fraser shook his head and set about planning on how to butcher the carcass. They truly did not need the full amount, although none of it would go to waste. Perhaps he should leave some of it behind. It was natural windfall and it would be dismissive of him to allow the natural predators to starve because he was greedy.

"You know, a moose once bit my sister." Ray exchanged a fuzzy glance with the Doc at Fraser's comment. They were hauling away the moose remains after Fraser and Dr. Sandburg --showing yet again an endless array of odd talents-- cut it up, a process that Ray was more than happy to be far away from. Dead bodies were dead bodies, human or not and he really didn't want to be around the dead blood smell. Gave him the willies.

Moose. He sat on a dead moose. And thought it was a bear. He was -never- going to be able to live it down if this got back to Chicago.

Fraser was also saying that they had to report the death of the moose --evidently it was unused to the horns it was sprouting, caught them in a tree branch and broke it's neck trying to break free-- to the authorities as soon as possible. Seeing as Fraser was the only official Royal representative in the local vicinity, Fraser reported the death to himself with the intention of then reporting it to his superiors once they reached town.

So as long as Ray thought of it as 1,100 pounds of moose burger, he was somewhat okay with hauling it away. "Yeah, Frase." Ray agreed. "Moose bites can be real nasty."

"They can." Fraser nodded earnestly. "It bit her right on the arm. I'm sure she'd be willing to show you the scar if you asked. Last time she ever tried to feed a moose by hand."

"He's never seen Monty Python, has he?" Dr. Sandburg whispered, his voice sceptical.

"The poor, poor man." The Doc sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "We should remedy this." Dief barked his agreement to this plan.

Fraser eyed them all warily, as if sensing that they were plotting his demise. Ray grinned. For all Fraser knew, they were.

The Doc shook his head, helping to load some more of the bloody meat on to the skin they had stripped off. "Ready?"

Ray made a face. "As I'm ever gonna be." Stupid blood stink. His nose wrinkled as he approached the skin they were going to haul away. They were leaving a lot of the moose behind, but as Fraser pointed out, it wouldn't do to be greedy about what was rightfully the predators.

"The smell too much?" Fraser asked, radiating concern. The Doc's expression mirrored Fraser's.

"Just a bit." Ray shuffled his feet, giving him a defiant look. No one was going to baby Ray Kowalski. Especially because of freakish mutant abilities, natural or not. "Nothing I can't handle."

Fraser continued to look at him with concern. "Have you considered the dials Dr. Sandburg-"

"Yeah, Frase." He resisted the urge to roll his eyes because he knew Fraser was doing this because he did care. "But I keep tellin' ya. Radio dials just don't do it for me. I'm used to a remote. You push a button, the noise gets louder. No control to that at all."

The Doc shrugged, nodding philosophically as he got a hold on the skin. "I suppose telling you to imagine a flower wouldn't work much better then."

"Well then," Fraser said briskly, taking position on Ray's right side. "What we need is a dial that you are used to controlling without the means of a remote control. On three?"

"Heave!" Muscles straining, they began to walk, footsteps crunching and sinking into the knee deep snow, dragging the skin and meat behind them.

"So where... we gonna find... somethin' like that?" Ray panted, staring stiffly at the direction of the cabin, keeping his sights on their goal. One step at a time. Man, they were going to be sore after this.

"Huh? Oh!" Fraser immediately looked contrite. "While you are driving... what do you do?"

"That... is not what I meant, Ray." It was hard to tell if his partner was amused or not and Ray wasn't going to look. "When you drive, you operate... a series of levers and gears that causes... the car to accelerate, decelerate and turn, correct?"

"Correct." He didn't need to look to see Fraser's smug expression. The Doc let out a tiny cackle of glee.

"Fraser, I could kiss you!" The cold bit his cheeks as he grinned. "... In a purely platonic sense, of course."

"Of course." Fraser easily agreed. The Doc snickered quietly, panting as he stumbled slightly in the snow, his smaller size working to his disadvantage. "So, Ray... What speed are you currently at?"

He got a chuckle for the quip, everyone focusing on dragging their haul. Zero being the absence of senses --which was damn freaky when it happened-- and 100 mph being overwhelming. Which was freaky, but in a more painful sort of way.

"It may... work better... to have a speedometer... for each sense..." Doc added helpfully.

More than one speedometer then, huh? Like keeping an eye on the RPMs as well as the speedometer. In fact, he could probably just assign various driving dials to his senses. Radio volume for hearing, Fuel gauge for taste, RPMs for hearing, speedometer for sight... touch, touch... what the hell to do with touch?

"The speedometer idea... may work better than various kinds... of dials, Ray." Fraser's voice quietly advised.

Or he could do that. "Right." Zero nothing, 100 tops... So... about 45, 50 for normal. So his sense of smell would be about... past the speed limit. "Scents a little high." He finally admitted.

"Ease off on the gas." Fraser advised and this time there was -definitely- a smile there.

Ray chuckled, feeling loose limbed and lighter for the humour. Not much topped Buck Frobisher when it came to gas. Doc chuckled as well.

"Yeah." Ray nodded, all of his senses fluctuating slightly before abruptly levelling off, snapping into place. His sight even cleared up, everything becoming in sharper and with more detail than he was used to. Feeling clear-headed for the first time in a while, he grinned at his friends on either side of him.