bad!fic challenge by Geekwriter
Title: Mutants! Part 1 of 97
Author: geekwriter143
Rating: Mature, OK? So don't read if you're not a grown up
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski, Thatcher/Ugandan Ambassador, Turnbull/Donald Trump
Summary: Lives are turned upside-down when Fraser, Ray, Thatcher, Frannie and Welsh are in the right place at the wrong time; a massive toxic explosion ensues, leaving the crew with strange superpowers! Meanwhile, Turnbull disappears on a journey of self-discovery, returning days later on the arm of a wealthy businessman. Ray discovers a new species of sea turtle, which makes him famous. slash; fem-slash; angst.
Summary written by the totally awesome defaultlyric who totally r0x0rs!
Dief jumped behind a wooden crate just in time. BOOOM! (a/n: that's the sound of an explosion) The toxic waste dump exploded hard, spewing toxic waste everywhere.
"I can't believe I'm covered in toxic waste!" Frannie cried loudly, clutching her hands to her heaving bosoms. "Fraser, can you believe we're covered in toxic waste?" She clutched his hands to her heaving bosoms.
"Well, Francesca, since we are covered in toxic waste I have absolutely no trouble believing it. While I do, I admit, tend to pride myself on logic, I am no stranger to empirical evidence and generally do not dismiss it, especially when said empirical evidence is oozing its way into my undergarments."
At the very mention of Fraser's undergarments, Frannie swooned, though it could have been all the toxic waste that was splattered over her from the top of her oddly-shaped head to the tips of her pointy high heels that made her dizzy.
"Fraser!" Thatcher shouted shrilly, the timbre of her voice making Dief whine from behind the wooden crate, even though he was deaf. "Fraser, I expect you to clean up this entire mess!''
"I...yes, well, that is to say that perhaps a HAZMAT team would be better suited--"
"I don't have time for your opinions," she snapped. "I have to meet the Ugandan ambassador for drinks and dancing in less than two hours, and you know how she hates to be kept waiting."
Fraser knew no such thing, but he did know well enough to just nod and pretend like he did.
"I expect this to be ship shape by morning, Fraser," Thatcher said before turning on her heel and stalking away. Somehow, the driver of her limosine knew that she was heading back to the consulate, and pulled out of the foggy night air like a wraith, a black, highly polished wraith with leather seats and a minibar.
"Jesus jumping on a pogo stick," Welsh grumbled grumpily as he pulled himself to his feet. "Did that whole toxic waste dump just explode?"
"Yes," Fraser said, nodding. He was still holding Francesca in his arms. She'd woken up from her swoon but was pretending that she hadn't (a/n: Frannie has a huge crush on Fraser so she's just pretending to be still passed out because she wants him to keep on holding her). "The entire toxic waste dump did explode rather explosively over all of us. Only Diefenbaker escaped its putrid toxic wrath, I'm afraid. You, Francesca, Inspector Thatcher, Ray, and myself were all...oh, dear!" Fraser dropped Frannie suddenly.
"Hey!" Frannie complained. She put one hand to her head, hoping that she wouldn't have a goose egg that made her head even more oddly shaped than usual. Her inability to wear hats was her secret shame.
"Ray!" Fraser shouted frantically. "Ray! Ray! Ray! Ray! Ray! Ray! Raaaaaaaaaaaaaayyy!"
"What?" Ray asked from behind him.
Fraser spun on his heel and rushed forward, stopping himself from pulling Ray into a really tight bear hug at the last second. "Ray, are you all right?"
"What?" Ray cleaned some toxic waste out of his ear by using his pinky finger.
"Are you all right?" Fraser's heart was pounding in his chest like an overly enthusiastic high school percussionist.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just calling for a HAZMAT team is all."
"Ah. Well, Inspector Thatcher specifically stated that I was to--"
"You don't got any jurisdiction, Frase. Neither does she. We'll let the guys in the funny suits do all the cleaning." Ray wrinkled his nose and squirmed lithely, like a dancer would squirm. "This gunk's starting to seep into my shorts, Fraser."
"Indeed." Fraser nodded gravely as the wail of the HAZMAT team's sirens could be heard in the distance, a siren song promising salvation and decontamination.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
After a thorough cleansing in a HAZMAT tent that involved Ray having to see way more of Lieutenant Welsh than he ever wanted to (except for that one time, but it didn't count because he was drunk and sometimes his drunken fantasies were really perverse), Ray finally got back to the station where he sorted through his notes on the Brontë sisters--Tiffunnie, Jenifur, and Louise-Marie. He'd known that they'd been involved in some shady business deals but he never expected them to store hundreds of barrels of toxic waste in the cavernous basement of their bikini-waxing emporium. He never expected them to set charges and blow the place up, either.
He and Fraser had just been after them for being unsanitary by reusing old wax on new customers. It had been one of Fraser's things--Ray couldn't care less about the sanitation of bikini waxers, figured it was a matter for the health department, but Fraser had started in about truth and justice and the right of all free people to have stubble-free bikini areas and, like always, Ray had gotten sucked in to yet another one of Fraser's normal-turned-wacky cases.
Ray wasn't quite sure how Fraser found out about the bikini waxers or why he thought stubble-free bikini areas were such a big deal. He was almost curious enough to ask, but if he asked then Fraser would tell him, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to know.
He was looking up the addresses of the Brontë sisters' known associates when a team of men in black suits, black hats, and black sunglasses strode into the bullpen. Ray looked up and sighed. He fucking hated the Feds.
After conferring with a newly-decontaminated Frannie, the Feds marched in synch (a/n: that means all at the same time) over to Ray's desk. "Raymond Vecchio, Detective First Grade, Chicago Police Department?" one of the suits asked.
"That's Raimondo Vecchio to you," Ray said with a jut of his pointed dancer's chin, daring them to call him on it.
"Detective Vecchio, we're--"
"The Blues Brothers," Ray said. "I know. Hey, could you play Sweet Home Chicago? I love that song."
The lead Fed frowned.
"No?" Ray asked. "Well, OK. What about She Caught the Katy?"
"Detective Vecchio, I'm special agent Taylor, this is my partner special agent Fitzgerald."
"Yeah?" Ray asked, propping his feet up on his desk. "You're partners? That's great. Some cops, they got a problem with stuff like that but me? I say live and let live, you know? How long you guys been together?" (a/n: Ray's pretending he thinks the FBI agents are dating--get it?)
The Fed didn't even seem to register Ray's words. "Detective Vecchio, we've been following the toxic exploits of the Brontë sisters for some time now and we're here to relieve you of all your files concerning Tiffunnie, Jenifur, and the particularly malevolent eldest sister, Louise-Marie."
Ray sniffed nonchalantly as he flipped through a file. The Feds could talk until they were blue in the face, there was no way he was giving up his information.
"Detective Vecchio, I appreciate your reluctance to help us, however--"
"Get bent," said Ray.
Welsh cleared his throat. "Vecchio," he said, "hand over your files."
"What?" Ray demanded. He looked up at Welsh, then quickly looked away. He wasn't too sure on the rules of making eye contact with your superior officer after you'd just seen him stark naked, getting hosed off by some guy in an astronaut suit. He made a mental note to ask Welsh where'd he gotten his tattoos done. Who knew it was possible to perfectly recreate Raphael's Madonna on the surprisingly firm buttocks of a middle-aged police lieutenant?
"This comes from high up, Vecchio. Hand over your files."
Ray leapt lithely to his dancer's feet and pointed his forefinger and pinky in the head Fed's direction. "No way," he said. "No way you are getting this. These crazy women exploded toxic waste all over me, not you. Taking my files isn't buddies, buddy."
"Detective Vecchio," the Fed said blandly, "we appreciate your concern, however--"
"NO!" Ray shouted desperately, jabbing his fingers for emphasis. "No way are you getting my case! This is going to be my collar, you Federal freaks! And when I say freaks, I mean it in the bad way, not in the loving way that I say it to Fraser, not that I love Fraser or anything, I just...um..." Ray stopped speaking as he realized that the Fed wasn't moving. He knew those guys had discipline, but the guy wasn't even breathing or blinking. He turned to see if Welsh had noticed it, and then he saw that Welsh wasn't moving, either. Across the bullpen, Frannie was pouring diet soda into a glass, and neither she nor the stream of soda were moving. Huey was leaning back in his chair, frozen with one hand reaching for the phone that had been ringing just a few moments earlier. Everything was eerily silent. Ray looked at the clock--even the second hand had stopped. He raked his lithe dancer's hands through his hair and sighed. "Well, fuck," he said.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
At the same moment that Ray froze time in the 2-7 bullpen, Fraser was filling out his final 197-oblique stroke-4a form. It was in response to the note Turnbull had left on his desk requesting time off to find himself. Fraser knew that Turnbull was scatterbrained, but the fact that the man had entirely misplaced his own personage was nearly unbelievable.
He was just about to place his pen down on the table when Ray suddenly appeared on the edge of his desk. "Goodness!" Fraser cried, jumping back in his chair. "Ray, you startled me. I didn't hear you come in."
"Fraser?" Ray asked weakly. His skin was darker than Fraser remembered, tan and weathered. His lithe dancer's hair was long, hanging down past his chin. He was not the man Fraser had seen quite a bit of in the decontamination tent just an hour earlier, but he was unmistakeably Ray Kowalski. "Fraser, you can see me? You're moving? Fraser, are you moving?"
"Moving where, Ray?" Fraser asked, completely unprepared for Ray to lithely throw his graceful body into Fraser's lap and hug him tightly.
"Fraser, buddy, buddy, I love you, you're moving and I love you!"
"And I you, Ray. I...is that saltwater I smell in your hair?"
"Just got back from Aruba. Always wanted to go, you know, but turns out it's not so great when nothing's moving, not even the breeze. I always wanted to watch the waves roll up on the beach but..." He shrugged. His graceful eyes looked wild. He was still sitting in Fraser's lap, his arms around Fraser's shoulders.
Fraser blinked several times. He wondered if perhaps he'd been hitting the Lapacho bark tea a bit too hard. "Ray, how did you get to Aruba?"
"Flew. I always wanted to learn to fly a helicopter, you know? That part was kind of fun, even if it did take me a while to get the hang of it."
Fraser was completely flustered, only partly because of how Ray was lithely squirming in his lap.
Ray launched into a story that took exactly three hours and seventeen minutes to tell. Fraser found it hard to believe that Ray had accidentally frozen time, been unable to un-freeze it, and decided to then use the frozen time he had to learn to play the guitar and fly a helicopter, go to Aruba, learn how to scuba dive, discover an entirely new species of sea turtle, and write up several academic articles concerning the sea turtles. He found it difficult to believe, but staring into Ray's eyes he knew it was the truth, just as much as he knew that he loved Ray deep in his soul.
"I got bored after the fourteenth article," Ray said, "so I just left all my notes in the hotel room there on the beach and flew back. I hoped time had changed but it hadn't. I got back to Chicago, came here, and you were still in the same pose I'd left you in years ago. I think it was years, Fraser. I think I froze time for years and there was nobody to talk to, just people like statues everywhere. I was the last man on Earth, Fraser, and let me tell you, it wasn't fun. I came back here and thought I'd die here, you know? I'd live the rest of my life with everybody frozen and then I'd die and you'd find me old and wrinkly on your floor once I died and time went back to normal."
Fraser rubbed Ray's back gently. He realized it was odd to still be holding his partner in lap, but Ray had just been through an extremely traumatizing experience. "Ray, I believe you effected some sort of temporal stasis."
"That's what I said. Weren't you listening these past three hours and seventeen minutes?"
"Yes, yes of course I was, I just..." Fraser knew he had some physics textbooks in his closet, if only he could...
"Holy shit!" Ray shouted as Fraser's arm stretched more than a meter to reach his closet door. He jumped out of Fraser's lap. "Fraser, you just went all stretchy!"
Fraser looked at his arm. It did seem quite a bit longer than usual, stretching out towards the closet like a very long arm-shaped rubber band.
"Fraser, you're Mister Fantastic!"
Fraser blushed. "Yes, well, Ray, be that as it may..."
"No, like in the comics, right? The Fantastic Four? You and me, Fraser, we got superpowers!" (a/n: I don't read comics, but I saw the movie and Ioan Gruffudd is sooooo hot!!)
With just a bit of focus, Fraser pulled his arm back into it's proper position. "Superpowers, Ray?"
"I had a lot of time to think about this, Fraser, and the one really weird thing that happened before I froze time was the toxic waste explosion."
"Ah, and we have been mutated," Fraser said musingly as he mused over the possibility. He stretched his arm out again, then the other arm, then his head.
"Fraser, you're kind of freaking me out here."
"I'm sorry, Ray, I was just, well, testing out your theory." Fraser pulled all his limbs back into position. "Goodness! If you and I are mutated, then certainly Lieutenant Welsh, Francesca, and Inspector Thatcher are also at risk. We must warn them!"
He jumped to his feet and was about to reach for his hat when he noticed that the entire world had gone silent. "Ray?" he asked softly.
Ray was lounging against his desk, grinning a lithe, feral grin. "I, uh, I think I got a handle on this time freezing thing now, Fraser. We don't gotta hurry. I was just wondering, you know, if uh, any other parts of your body stretch like that."
"Any other parts of my..." Fraser flushed as he realized just what it was that Ray meant (a/n: Ray means Fraser's penis). "Well, Ray, while I'm not sure whether or not my male sexual organ will stretch in the same way as my arms, I must tell you that it may not need to. I've never gotten any complaints in that department. You can check for yourself if you don't believe me."
Ray grinned and dropped lithely to his dancer's knees, intending to check Fraser's male sexual organ out for a long, long time. As he unfastened Fraser's puffy pants and tugged them down past Fraser's knees, he realized why, exactly, Fraser was so interested in bikini waxing, and he kind of liked it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
END OF PART ONE!!1! Please, please review, and stay tuned for part 2 of 97, where we find out that Welsh can control water with his mind, Thatcher becomes telekinetic (a/n: that means she can move stuff with her mind), and Frannie has the power to re-form her head! And also turn invisible--but she doesn't tell anyone that for a long time--how do Fraser and Ray find out that she's been spying on them? You'll have to wait until part 82, but it's soooo worth it, I promise!
Author: geekwriter143
Rating: Mature, OK? So don't read if you're not a grown up
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski, Thatcher/Ugandan Ambassador, Turnbull/Donald Trump
Summary: Lives are turned upside-down when Fraser, Ray, Thatcher, Frannie and Welsh are in the right place at the wrong time; a massive toxic explosion ensues, leaving the crew with strange superpowers! Meanwhile, Turnbull disappears on a journey of self-discovery, returning days later on the arm of a wealthy businessman. Ray discovers a new species of sea turtle, which makes him famous. slash; fem-slash; angst.
Summary written by the totally awesome defaultlyric who totally r0x0rs!
Dief jumped behind a wooden crate just in time. BOOOM! (a/n: that's the sound of an explosion) The toxic waste dump exploded hard, spewing toxic waste everywhere.
"I can't believe I'm covered in toxic waste!" Frannie cried loudly, clutching her hands to her heaving bosoms. "Fraser, can you believe we're covered in toxic waste?" She clutched his hands to her heaving bosoms.
"Well, Francesca, since we are covered in toxic waste I have absolutely no trouble believing it. While I do, I admit, tend to pride myself on logic, I am no stranger to empirical evidence and generally do not dismiss it, especially when said empirical evidence is oozing its way into my undergarments."
At the very mention of Fraser's undergarments, Frannie swooned, though it could have been all the toxic waste that was splattered over her from the top of her oddly-shaped head to the tips of her pointy high heels that made her dizzy.
"Fraser!" Thatcher shouted shrilly, the timbre of her voice making Dief whine from behind the wooden crate, even though he was deaf. "Fraser, I expect you to clean up this entire mess!''
"I...yes, well, that is to say that perhaps a HAZMAT team would be better suited--"
"I don't have time for your opinions," she snapped. "I have to meet the Ugandan ambassador for drinks and dancing in less than two hours, and you know how she hates to be kept waiting."
Fraser knew no such thing, but he did know well enough to just nod and pretend like he did.
"I expect this to be ship shape by morning, Fraser," Thatcher said before turning on her heel and stalking away. Somehow, the driver of her limosine knew that she was heading back to the consulate, and pulled out of the foggy night air like a wraith, a black, highly polished wraith with leather seats and a minibar.
"Jesus jumping on a pogo stick," Welsh grumbled grumpily as he pulled himself to his feet. "Did that whole toxic waste dump just explode?"
"Yes," Fraser said, nodding. He was still holding Francesca in his arms. She'd woken up from her swoon but was pretending that she hadn't (a/n: Frannie has a huge crush on Fraser so she's just pretending to be still passed out because she wants him to keep on holding her). "The entire toxic waste dump did explode rather explosively over all of us. Only Diefenbaker escaped its putrid toxic wrath, I'm afraid. You, Francesca, Inspector Thatcher, Ray, and myself were all...oh, dear!" Fraser dropped Frannie suddenly.
"Hey!" Frannie complained. She put one hand to her head, hoping that she wouldn't have a goose egg that made her head even more oddly shaped than usual. Her inability to wear hats was her secret shame.
"Ray!" Fraser shouted frantically. "Ray! Ray! Ray! Ray! Ray! Ray! Raaaaaaaaaaaaaayyy!"
"What?" Ray asked from behind him.
Fraser spun on his heel and rushed forward, stopping himself from pulling Ray into a really tight bear hug at the last second. "Ray, are you all right?"
"What?" Ray cleaned some toxic waste out of his ear by using his pinky finger.
"Are you all right?" Fraser's heart was pounding in his chest like an overly enthusiastic high school percussionist.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just calling for a HAZMAT team is all."
"Ah. Well, Inspector Thatcher specifically stated that I was to--"
"You don't got any jurisdiction, Frase. Neither does she. We'll let the guys in the funny suits do all the cleaning." Ray wrinkled his nose and squirmed lithely, like a dancer would squirm. "This gunk's starting to seep into my shorts, Fraser."
"Indeed." Fraser nodded gravely as the wail of the HAZMAT team's sirens could be heard in the distance, a siren song promising salvation and decontamination.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
After a thorough cleansing in a HAZMAT tent that involved Ray having to see way more of Lieutenant Welsh than he ever wanted to (except for that one time, but it didn't count because he was drunk and sometimes his drunken fantasies were really perverse), Ray finally got back to the station where he sorted through his notes on the Brontë sisters--Tiffunnie, Jenifur, and Louise-Marie. He'd known that they'd been involved in some shady business deals but he never expected them to store hundreds of barrels of toxic waste in the cavernous basement of their bikini-waxing emporium. He never expected them to set charges and blow the place up, either.
He and Fraser had just been after them for being unsanitary by reusing old wax on new customers. It had been one of Fraser's things--Ray couldn't care less about the sanitation of bikini waxers, figured it was a matter for the health department, but Fraser had started in about truth and justice and the right of all free people to have stubble-free bikini areas and, like always, Ray had gotten sucked in to yet another one of Fraser's normal-turned-wacky cases.
Ray wasn't quite sure how Fraser found out about the bikini waxers or why he thought stubble-free bikini areas were such a big deal. He was almost curious enough to ask, but if he asked then Fraser would tell him, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to know.
He was looking up the addresses of the Brontë sisters' known associates when a team of men in black suits, black hats, and black sunglasses strode into the bullpen. Ray looked up and sighed. He fucking hated the Feds.
After conferring with a newly-decontaminated Frannie, the Feds marched in synch (a/n: that means all at the same time) over to Ray's desk. "Raymond Vecchio, Detective First Grade, Chicago Police Department?" one of the suits asked.
"That's Raimondo Vecchio to you," Ray said with a jut of his pointed dancer's chin, daring them to call him on it.
"Detective Vecchio, we're--"
"The Blues Brothers," Ray said. "I know. Hey, could you play Sweet Home Chicago? I love that song."
The lead Fed frowned.
"No?" Ray asked. "Well, OK. What about She Caught the Katy?"
"Detective Vecchio, I'm special agent Taylor, this is my partner special agent Fitzgerald."
"Yeah?" Ray asked, propping his feet up on his desk. "You're partners? That's great. Some cops, they got a problem with stuff like that but me? I say live and let live, you know? How long you guys been together?" (a/n: Ray's pretending he thinks the FBI agents are dating--get it?)
The Fed didn't even seem to register Ray's words. "Detective Vecchio, we've been following the toxic exploits of the Brontë sisters for some time now and we're here to relieve you of all your files concerning Tiffunnie, Jenifur, and the particularly malevolent eldest sister, Louise-Marie."
Ray sniffed nonchalantly as he flipped through a file. The Feds could talk until they were blue in the face, there was no way he was giving up his information.
"Detective Vecchio, I appreciate your reluctance to help us, however--"
"Get bent," said Ray.
Welsh cleared his throat. "Vecchio," he said, "hand over your files."
"What?" Ray demanded. He looked up at Welsh, then quickly looked away. He wasn't too sure on the rules of making eye contact with your superior officer after you'd just seen him stark naked, getting hosed off by some guy in an astronaut suit. He made a mental note to ask Welsh where'd he gotten his tattoos done. Who knew it was possible to perfectly recreate Raphael's Madonna on the surprisingly firm buttocks of a middle-aged police lieutenant?
"This comes from high up, Vecchio. Hand over your files."
Ray leapt lithely to his dancer's feet and pointed his forefinger and pinky in the head Fed's direction. "No way," he said. "No way you are getting this. These crazy women exploded toxic waste all over me, not you. Taking my files isn't buddies, buddy."
"Detective Vecchio," the Fed said blandly, "we appreciate your concern, however--"
"NO!" Ray shouted desperately, jabbing his fingers for emphasis. "No way are you getting my case! This is going to be my collar, you Federal freaks! And when I say freaks, I mean it in the bad way, not in the loving way that I say it to Fraser, not that I love Fraser or anything, I just...um..." Ray stopped speaking as he realized that the Fed wasn't moving. He knew those guys had discipline, but the guy wasn't even breathing or blinking. He turned to see if Welsh had noticed it, and then he saw that Welsh wasn't moving, either. Across the bullpen, Frannie was pouring diet soda into a glass, and neither she nor the stream of soda were moving. Huey was leaning back in his chair, frozen with one hand reaching for the phone that had been ringing just a few moments earlier. Everything was eerily silent. Ray looked at the clock--even the second hand had stopped. He raked his lithe dancer's hands through his hair and sighed. "Well, fuck," he said.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
At the same moment that Ray froze time in the 2-7 bullpen, Fraser was filling out his final 197-oblique stroke-4a form. It was in response to the note Turnbull had left on his desk requesting time off to find himself. Fraser knew that Turnbull was scatterbrained, but the fact that the man had entirely misplaced his own personage was nearly unbelievable.
He was just about to place his pen down on the table when Ray suddenly appeared on the edge of his desk. "Goodness!" Fraser cried, jumping back in his chair. "Ray, you startled me. I didn't hear you come in."
"Fraser?" Ray asked weakly. His skin was darker than Fraser remembered, tan and weathered. His lithe dancer's hair was long, hanging down past his chin. He was not the man Fraser had seen quite a bit of in the decontamination tent just an hour earlier, but he was unmistakeably Ray Kowalski. "Fraser, you can see me? You're moving? Fraser, are you moving?"
"Moving where, Ray?" Fraser asked, completely unprepared for Ray to lithely throw his graceful body into Fraser's lap and hug him tightly.
"Fraser, buddy, buddy, I love you, you're moving and I love you!"
"And I you, Ray. I...is that saltwater I smell in your hair?"
"Just got back from Aruba. Always wanted to go, you know, but turns out it's not so great when nothing's moving, not even the breeze. I always wanted to watch the waves roll up on the beach but..." He shrugged. His graceful eyes looked wild. He was still sitting in Fraser's lap, his arms around Fraser's shoulders.
Fraser blinked several times. He wondered if perhaps he'd been hitting the Lapacho bark tea a bit too hard. "Ray, how did you get to Aruba?"
"Flew. I always wanted to learn to fly a helicopter, you know? That part was kind of fun, even if it did take me a while to get the hang of it."
Fraser was completely flustered, only partly because of how Ray was lithely squirming in his lap.
Ray launched into a story that took exactly three hours and seventeen minutes to tell. Fraser found it hard to believe that Ray had accidentally frozen time, been unable to un-freeze it, and decided to then use the frozen time he had to learn to play the guitar and fly a helicopter, go to Aruba, learn how to scuba dive, discover an entirely new species of sea turtle, and write up several academic articles concerning the sea turtles. He found it difficult to believe, but staring into Ray's eyes he knew it was the truth, just as much as he knew that he loved Ray deep in his soul.
"I got bored after the fourteenth article," Ray said, "so I just left all my notes in the hotel room there on the beach and flew back. I hoped time had changed but it hadn't. I got back to Chicago, came here, and you were still in the same pose I'd left you in years ago. I think it was years, Fraser. I think I froze time for years and there was nobody to talk to, just people like statues everywhere. I was the last man on Earth, Fraser, and let me tell you, it wasn't fun. I came back here and thought I'd die here, you know? I'd live the rest of my life with everybody frozen and then I'd die and you'd find me old and wrinkly on your floor once I died and time went back to normal."
Fraser rubbed Ray's back gently. He realized it was odd to still be holding his partner in lap, but Ray had just been through an extremely traumatizing experience. "Ray, I believe you effected some sort of temporal stasis."
"That's what I said. Weren't you listening these past three hours and seventeen minutes?"
"Yes, yes of course I was, I just..." Fraser knew he had some physics textbooks in his closet, if only he could...
"Holy shit!" Ray shouted as Fraser's arm stretched more than a meter to reach his closet door. He jumped out of Fraser's lap. "Fraser, you just went all stretchy!"
Fraser looked at his arm. It did seem quite a bit longer than usual, stretching out towards the closet like a very long arm-shaped rubber band.
"Fraser, you're Mister Fantastic!"
Fraser blushed. "Yes, well, Ray, be that as it may..."
"No, like in the comics, right? The Fantastic Four? You and me, Fraser, we got superpowers!" (a/n: I don't read comics, but I saw the movie and Ioan Gruffudd is sooooo hot!!)
With just a bit of focus, Fraser pulled his arm back into it's proper position. "Superpowers, Ray?"
"I had a lot of time to think about this, Fraser, and the one really weird thing that happened before I froze time was the toxic waste explosion."
"Ah, and we have been mutated," Fraser said musingly as he mused over the possibility. He stretched his arm out again, then the other arm, then his head.
"Fraser, you're kind of freaking me out here."
"I'm sorry, Ray, I was just, well, testing out your theory." Fraser pulled all his limbs back into position. "Goodness! If you and I are mutated, then certainly Lieutenant Welsh, Francesca, and Inspector Thatcher are also at risk. We must warn them!"
He jumped to his feet and was about to reach for his hat when he noticed that the entire world had gone silent. "Ray?" he asked softly.
Ray was lounging against his desk, grinning a lithe, feral grin. "I, uh, I think I got a handle on this time freezing thing now, Fraser. We don't gotta hurry. I was just wondering, you know, if uh, any other parts of your body stretch like that."
"Any other parts of my..." Fraser flushed as he realized just what it was that Ray meant (a/n: Ray means Fraser's penis). "Well, Ray, while I'm not sure whether or not my male sexual organ will stretch in the same way as my arms, I must tell you that it may not need to. I've never gotten any complaints in that department. You can check for yourself if you don't believe me."
Ray grinned and dropped lithely to his dancer's knees, intending to check Fraser's male sexual organ out for a long, long time. As he unfastened Fraser's puffy pants and tugged them down past Fraser's knees, he realized why, exactly, Fraser was so interested in bikini waxing, and he kind of liked it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
END OF PART ONE!!1! Please, please review, and stay tuned for part 2 of 97, where we find out that Welsh can control water with his mind, Thatcher becomes telekinetic (a/n: that means she can move stuff with her mind), and Frannie has the power to re-form her head! And also turn invisible--but she doesn't tell anyone that for a long time--how do Fraser and Ray find out that she's been spying on them? You'll have to wait until part 82, but it's soooo worth it, I promise!