1947Chicago, Fraser on guard duty
Fraser, thinking, while on guard duty
Ray Kowalski had the most beautiful hands he'd ever seen on a man.
Fraser shifted a fraction of an inch, and froze again at his post outside the Consulate door. Some thoughts were better left unthought during guard duty, and that had been one of them.
He would think about that later. . . perhaps while. . . well, back home there was no end of manual labor to be performed that would give his body a chance to act while his mind was otherwise occupied. But here there was no dog team or horse to exercise, no wood to chop, no circuit to patrol. . . for all that Chicago was a big and (he had to admit) a beautiful city, it was a desert utterly lacking in proper activities for a Mountie. Perhaps he could convince the janitor to allow him to stoke the furnace.
But even that wasn't as strenuous and continuous an activity as he suspected he'd need to face the thoughts at the back of his mind. Perhaps he should just face it now, and damn the discomfort. He was, after all, a Mountie, and therefore one of the toughest and most competent men in this part of the world. Surely he could --
No. No, he couldn't.
His father had taught him a great many lessons -- a surprising number of things, given the paucity of their time together -- but this was one lesson Fraser wished that he hadn't learned: he had to face his thoughts as well as his actions. He could not repress a train of thought indefinitely.
Although some thoughts died when repressed, which was exactly what he wanted. But others were tougher, and repressing them took more effort over time. Like the wolves in the United States. In the Artic, the wolves co-existed with the few humans they ran into. Down here, however, the wolves had learned to fear humans and had become crafty, secretive, almost like Resistance Fighters in Germany. No -- rather like Soviet spies -- well except that that analogy didn't fit any better, since Fraser couldn't imagine wolves caring for any politics larger than that of the pack. And speaking of which (or, more properly: thinking of whom), where was Diefenbaker?
Just at the edge of Fraser's vision, the half-wolf sat motionless, in the alley next to the Consulate. Fraser had explained the concept of ceremonial guard duty to Diefenbaker, but the wolf had believed he was joking. His companion had since taken his position and stayed likewise still, waiting to see what sort of prey Fraser intended to catch by waiting motionless in this seemingly innocuous location.
Fraser was perfectly aware that he was babbling in mind, but since his thoughts seemed to have (finally!) taken a tangent from Ray Kowalski's hands, he was perfectly willing to let his mind wander.
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