This is just a very short oneshot that takes place sometime around mid-first season of Due South (just because that's as far as I've gotten in watching). I've got a ways to go in the series, but this little thing is so simple and substance-void that I don't think it runs the risk of contradicting anything yet to come.
Consider this a tribute to everyone's favourite (part-) wolf, and to the unique bond between Diefenbaker and Fraser that adds so much to this great show.
Disclaimer: I don't own Due South. There are few prices I wouldn't pay to have a Diefenbaker of my own, though...
Last Line of Defence
It was the sounds of distress that would have woken anyone else, but Diefenbaker was brought out of his slumber by something less material but far more conclusive – a sense of wrongness, a familiar and well-honed instinct telling him that his partner was in trouble. The feeling was easily as reliable as any physical sense; deafness was no excuse for failing to look after his human, so Diefenbaker had had to adapt.
Instantly alert, the half-wolf pattered quickly and quietly over to Constable Benton Fraser's place of rest, nose immediately assaulted with telltale scents. Pain, fear, quickly escalating into agony, terror. Not things Diefenbaker smelled especially often on the brave, emotionally controlled Mountie, but they never failed to send his primal protective urges soaring. Even now, when he could tell that whatever enemy Fraser was fighting was not one that he could take down with a lunge and sink his teeth into.
Fraser was tossing under his blankets, his working throat and faintly moving lips indicating that he was making noises, not that Diefenbaker could hear them. There were beads of sweat on his face, muscles twitching and clenching as his head bobbed restlessly on the pillow. The animal let out an almost involuntary low, quiet whine of sympathy, Fraser's emotions washing over him.
With careful grace, Diefenbaker padded onto the covers tangled around the man, curling his warm weight into Fraser, muzzle resting right next to the human's shoulder. Fraser jolted suddenly in his sleep, butting his hip into the wolf, and flailed frantically for a moment before his hand met soft resistance in the form of thick white fur. He struggled in the grip of his invisible foe for a few moments longer, first closing tightly around a tuft of Diefenbaker's coat. The wolf lay calmly, blinking his dark intelligent eyes, panting evenly as Fraser's fingers scrabbled roughly on his back. Those strong fingers were familiar, their unusual lack of gentleness notwithstanding, and Diefenbaker knew his partner and he knew this was panic, not aggression; comfort-seeking, not cruelty. Never cruelty.
Finally Fraser rolled over completely, his other hand joining the first in its grip on the wolf's fur, hanging on for dear life. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, his breath coming out in sharp gusts, but Diefenbaker could feel the thrum of his steady human heartbeat, and he could feel the mad pounding fade, could feel the rhythm slow, the tremors stop. He turned his head slightly and gave Fraser quick, reassuring lick on the cheek.
I am here. You are not alone. Your last line of defence is intact. Sleep in peace.
And the wolf felt Fraser's fingers relax, their gentleness returning, warm air brushing across his nose as the Mountie sighed in his sleep. Diefenbaker rose, as lightly as he had arrived, disengaging Fraser's loose grip with a tiny shake. He padded back over to his bed, keeping a watchful eye on the now tranquil human. He had done what needed to be done tonight, but his job, his purpose, was far from complete. Seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day, as long as Fraser needed him.
That was what partners were for.