hsavinien

Title: Cold
Author: H. Savinien
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: a little objectionable language
Disclaimer: due South and the characters named herein are the creative and intellectual property of the Pauls and CK. No infringement is intended by this fanwork.
Wordcount: 375

A.N.: Written for the ds_noticeboard dS/C6D tag game. Prompt from wihluta was “heat.” Set in season 3-4 before “Call of the Wild”.

***

“This is all your fault,” Ray tells Fraser. He is cold. He is sofuckingcold that he wouldn't be surprised if a penguin stuck its head in the tent looking for frozen fish sticks because it is cold enough to keep them rock solid. Fraser does that...patient thing, complete with the little sigh that says that Ray is being useless. Ray glowers at Fraser. His teeth are chattering like maracas at a taquería. Fraser's aren't. “Don't do that. You're judging me. I can hear you judging me over there. Do not do that. Just because not all of us grew up in the freezing North... Chicago kids do not go camping in subarctic climates!”

“It's really not that cold, Ray. Just get into the sleeping bag and you'll be fine.”

“No, fine is what I'll be when I check into a motel with a TV, hot showers, and an actual bed. It's November. This is not a camping time of year. This is not me being a wimp, Fraser, this is me being a sane person who doesn't want to wake up a Raysicle.”

Fraser looks likes he wants to argue, but glances to Ray's side for a flicker and just sighs again instead. “Ray, will you at least get in the sleeping bag and give it a chance? If you're still cold in thirty minutes, I'll say nothing more on the subject and you can spend the week in a motel while your building is fumigated.”

Ray considers the offer, then shrugs. He's really cold and he's getting sleepy, which vaguely triggers some memory as a bad sign. “Fine, okay.” He squirms himself down into the puffy sleeping bag until only the top half of his head is sticking out of the cocoon. “Fine,” he adds. “But if I wake up with hypothingy, it's on you.”

Fraser agrees and starts on a story about a logger who had “A truly unusual gift for animal calls, his impression of a bull moose in heat was astonishingly accurate, Ray,” and Ray just lets the words wash over him.

Before he knows it, the only things left are the heartbeat hum of Chicago outside the tent, Fraser's voice, and warmth.