Doing the Deed

The air over the open waters was sharp and crisp and full of the sounds of purposeful activity and subdued celebration. If there was one thing Mounties most decidedly did not know how to do, it was party their collective asses off.

After their initial exhaltations, the red clad pseudo-sailors limited themselves to the occasional war story or congratulatory clap on the shoulder. Ray and Fraser, having just won an equally important but far more personal battle, surveyed the scene from an emotional distance.

Ray squinted his ever-changing eyes as though contemplating some universal truth or simply trying to see exactly what it was Turnbull was doing with that thin young-looking Mountie and approximately thirty feet of nylon cording.

Without sparing a glance toward his partner -- he knew without looking that his every word would be as closely attended as his every action -- Ray spoke.

"Heya, Fraze? Eat me."

Fraser responded without hesitation or change in his own enigmatic expression.

"It would be my pleasure."

"Prove it."

And he proceeded to do just that.

The End