Here is an extract from a story I've been working on sporadically for the last couple of years. One of the UK cable channels was repeating Due South from the very beginning and I got totally sucked back into it, and then discovered the immense fandom following it had. I'm a definite Fraser/Ray K fangirl.
Fandom: Due South
Pairing: Ray K/Fraser
Rating: Shockingly, this is utterly PG
"It's a common misconception, Ray," Fraser says, standing at parade rest, looking earnestly at me. "The Inuit simply do not have hundreds of words for snow. I mean, really... snow is, well, snow."
"There's no smoke without fire, Fraser, old buddy."
"Smoke? Why would there be smoke, Ray? The snow would simply melt..."
"I swear to God, Fraser. Stop being so fucking obtuse."
The Inuit may not have a hundred words for snow, but Ray know that snow isn't just, well, snow. As far as he was concerned, there were all different kinds of snow.
There are days when it don't pay to get out of bed. Or, days when it pays even less than usual to get out of bed. And those days, when it is especially sucky to be dragged out of a perfectly good (warm) bed--
"Tea smugglers, Ray!" Fraser had said, eyes all a-gleam in the moonlight, before he swung a leg over his snowmobile and took off in a burst of powder. Ray muttered unflattering obscenities under his breath and followed.
---are just made even more perfectly shitty by sneaky snow. The sort of snow that just drifts, as casual as you please, covering up all sorts of things that civilized people might like to know about. Like, maybe... a lake. A lake with shockingly thin ice--was Mother Nature slacking off, or did Ray just have really shitty luck?
One hop, skip and really wild jump later Ray reflected bitterly that even if he could snap the cuffs on, the snow was so fucking sneaky that it'd drift out of the holding pen or just fucking melt before he could charge it with obstructing justice and withholding evidence. From the (hopeful) safety of the shore he looked at the jagged hole in the ice where his snowmobile had last been seen.
Ray could really do with a cup of tea, and said as much when Fraser pulled up, politely escorting the tea smugglers (only in Canada would people even think about the merits of tea smuggling) on their snowmobile.
"We can't drink it, Ray!" Fraser looked shocked to his core, like his very bones were offended. "It's evidence."
The snow sidled nonchalantly towards the runners of Fraser's snowmobile then sneak-sneak-sneaked over them. Ray glared at it.