TEAM WHIMSY: Day 14, "I can see the stars from a million miles"
Title: I can see the stars from a million miles
Author: green_grrl
Team: Whimsy
Prompt: "Well, it would be rather entertaining... under different circumstances."
Pairing(s): Fraser/Kowalski
Length: 7300 words
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for Starman and Mountie Sings the Blues
Summary: You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. Or in some cases, sort of gone.
Author's notes: Title thanks to catwalksalone from the song used in the pilot, "From a Million Miles" by Single Gun Theory. Thank you to dessert_first, torra, spuffyduds and lamentables for betaing, and all my Whimsy teammates for being so awesome!
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**
Three months ago
Mrfpztztt accessed the database to interpret what he was getting via the sensor. He was thrilled to be part of the first Frptznfti expedition to this planet, even if many other species had been here before. Fortunately they had intelligence from the Baleptitrons to work with, and they had decided tracking the Baleptitrons' subjects would be a good starting point.
Up in his ship, Mrfpztztt maneuvered the remote sensor.
The room he was scanning had many beings in it, some bent onto small supports ("chairs"), next to large rectangular shapes ("desks"), some upright and moving about. Many were speaking loudly.
A being with a tufted topping reached out and touched one in a bright coating. "Hey, you up for lunch?" Ah! The database pinged. This was subject Stanley Raymond Kowalski. Mrfpztztt paid close attention.
Stanley Raymond Kowalski's companion said, "If I don't get back and finish that stack of HR three oblique stroke thirty-sevens, I'm afraid the Inspector will have my hide."
"Yeah, okay, buddy. I'll give you a ride, we'll pick you up something to go on the way."
The two exited the room while Mrfpztztt was still trying to translate "HR three oblique stroke thirty-sevens."
A short being that smelled strongly of food spoke to a tall one. "Jeez. You could replace that guy with a robot, and no one could tell the difference."
"If the robot knew Inuit stories."
"Yeah, you'd have to program it with Inuit stories. And an encyclopedia."
"And the RCMP Manual."
"True."
"Dief would know the difference."
"Nah, the robot could buy the wolf off with doughnuts, and he'd never tell."
"Hmm, you have a point."
Mrfpztztt accessed the meaning of "robot," then breeped quietly to himself in excitement. This could be exactly what they had been looking for.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Friday
11:03 p.m.
Fraser awoke suddenly, still lying down, clad in his red union suit, but most assuredly not in his bed. "Oh, dear. What on--?"
The cool, hard floor, sleek and black, was what probably awoke him. Or the diffuse, but brighter-than-moonlight illumination. He raised himself carefully to his feet. He was in a large, domed room, with framed images of starscapes spaced along the one round wall, alternating with panels of blinking lights.
As he rotated around, he jumped in surprise at seeing three large creatures standing quietly in a group. Each was a good foot taller than himself, and they looked somewhat like tall, furred domes, or perhaps the shape of thin haystacks, with arms.
"Benton Fraser, welcome," said the most ... yellow of the three. "I am Mrfpztztt."
"I am Bbrnztzpft," said the greenish one.
"I am Rrrntztft." He--it? she?--was definitely pink.
Oh dear. Upon further consideration, those were very likely not framed pictures of starscapes.
"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police," he replied by instinct. "Er," he paused for a moment, reaching up to scratch one eyebrow with his thumb, "What, exactly--"
"We are the first Frptznfti to travel to your planet," Mrfpztztt said. "We have great need."
"Baleptitrons have visited many times, and provided Frptznfti with a database of Earth knowledge," added Rrrntztft.
"You have been chosen," finished up Bbrnztzpft.
Need? Chosen? Perhaps ... But no, the chill of the floor against the soles of his feet proved to Fraser that he was not, as he might have hoped, having a dream.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Monday
Ray pulled up to the Consulate and groaned. Fraser was on statue duty, which meant no talking about the Fenwitzer case for who knew how long. They hadn't seen each other over the weekend, and now Fraser was tied up all morning, too.
He threw his "Police" placard on the dashboard and loped up the steps with a quick "heya, Frase" as he passed.
Turnbull was at the reception desk. "Welcome to Canada, Detective Vecchio!" Real original, that guy.
"Yeah, hey Turnbull. So, what, did Fraser piss off the Ice Queen or something?"
"Not to my knowledge. Their relations seemed most cordial this morning." And Turnbull looked like he was telling the truth, which it was pretty easy to tell when he wasn't, so maybe it wasn't some sort of punishment. Maybe there was just a minimum quota of statue duty Fraser had to do. Still, hard to believe Fraser would be cordial about it. Unfortunately there wasn't an actual emergency, so the only thing Ray could do about it was find out what time Fraser would be done.
"I'll be back at eleven," he told Fraser, as he jogged down the steps.
But when Ray came back, Fraser shook his head instead of following him to the car. "I apologize, Ray, but I cannot leave with you immediately. I have promised Inspector Thatcher that I would take her reception invitation order to the stationer's."
"Yeah, okay, hurry it up. We'll drop it off on the way to the station," he said, following Fraser to his office.
Fraser got the order form from his desk. "I hope it is not an imposition. I do not mean to inconvenience you."
Ray frowned. There was something kinda ... off with Fraser. "No, no. It's fine." He caught sight of Dief stretched out on the floor. "Hey, the Diefster coming with us?" Dief looked up at Ray, then over at Fraser. They stared at each other for a minute, then Dief dropped his head back down, looking bored.
"He says he will not be joining us today, Ray."
"Will not. Will not? What is that, Frase? You sound like a robot or an alien or something."
Fraser got strangely stiff. "I assure you, I am fully human, Ray."
"What? I know! Jeez. I just mean it sounds so weird. 'I am fully human, Ray.' What about 'I'm human'? What about 'I'm a big ol' Mountie freak, and my wolf won't be joining us today'? You know, that thing with the little lines that hang in the air between letters?"
Fraser just stood there for a minute, like he was going through some mental Rolodex or something, then said, "Ah. Contractions. Of course. Forgive me, Ray, if I sounded a bit odd. I will endeavor ... I'll endeavor to do better in the future."
Big. Ol'. Mountie. Freak. "Sure, Fraser, whatever."
Tuesday
Ray saw Fraser come into the bullpen, but then he stopped at Frannie's desk. Damn. Better get over there and drag him out of her clutches.
Of course Frannie hung up on whoever was on the phone so she could drool all over Fraser. "Hi, Frase."
"Francesca, good morning." He leaned over with a smile that practically gave her a seizure. "I was wondering if you could tell me, does Diefenbaker favor this bakery?" He nudged the squadroom's box of doughnuts.
"Sure, Frase. He's always trying to mooch these." She leaned even closer to him. "I think the jelly-filled are his favorite."
"Ah. Where are they from?"
"Dinkel's." She was lit up like a Christmas tree, not even noticing that, hey, Fraser was talking about doughnuts for Dief.
And now Fraser had that weird blank look on his face again. Then he said, "3329 North Lincoln Avenue. 281-7300. I'll have to stop by. Thank you kindly, Francesca."
Ray snapped. "Whadja do, memorize the phone book? C'mon, Frase. I can't believe you're even thinking about feeding junk food to the wolf." He pulled Fraser away, and Frannie gave him her usual pissy little sister glare for taking away her favorite toy. Like if she'd gotten another minute with Fraser he would have proposed to her or something.
Dream on.
Wednesday
Man, Ray loved getting these big cases off his desk. He picked up the big box of files and jerked his chin at the packed-full accordion folder. "Frase, can you grab that?"
"Certainly, Ray."
Ray turned for Welsh's office when he heard a pained "Ah!" behind him. Fraser was standing there, staring at his thumb like he'd never seen it before. Ray sighed and dropped the box on his visitor's chair.
"What's going on, buddy?"
Fraser held out his thumb, and Ray could see the slice running across it, a single drop of blood welling out.
"Oo, papercut. That's gotta sting. Hang on a sec, I've got a band-aid around here somewhere ..." Ray pulled open his bottom drawer and fished one out the box he kept handy. When he got it all unwrapped, Fraser was still standing there, looking like a giant kid trying not to cry.
What the hell? This was the guy who'd been stabbed, shot in the back, and ... and whacked with an otter. He was acting like it was the first time he'd seen blood. "Hey, it's all right. We'll get this on it, and it'll heal right up."
Ray wrapped the band-aid over the cut and gave Fraser a pat on the shoulder. "C'mon, the Lieu's waiting. Think you can pick that up without losing a limb?"
Fraser looked up, still a little wide-eyed. "Of course, Ray. Thank you."
"No problem-o." Weird, weird, weird.
- - - - - - - - - - -
11:08 p.m.
"We have great need of you," trilled Rrrntztft.
The three Frptznfti moved gently apart in an odd undulating motion. They didn't appear to have feet. Instead, they collapsed their bodies downward to a spherical shape and rolled, then bobbed head-up and expanded again.
"Of course, as an RCMP officer it is my duty to help anyone in need, though," Fraser paused, a quick flick of his tongue to his lower lip, "though admittedly, this is further out of my jurisdiction than I'm accustomed to--"
"You are just."
"Fair."
"Impartial."
Fraser scratched an eyebrow, "Er, yes, well, I do try."
The creatures were bouncing in place, alternating between their full height and their shorter, rounder shape--perhaps as a sign of excitement?
"You are needed to give judgment, Benton Fraser!"
If he were needed in a matter of justice, it was his duty after all, but he wondered ... "Why do you need me? Surely you have judges on your own planet."
"Dispute is with Zaglanians. Judge cannot be Frptznfti or Zaglanian. Must be from disinterested species."
Oh dear, yet another race of aliens. Fraser wondered what sort of interplanetary minefield he might be wandering into. Not that he was sure he had much choice in the matter. "Without influencing my impartiality, can you give me an idea as to the nature of your dispute?"
- - - - - - - - - - -
Thursday
Ray was still trying to puzzle out what was going on with Fraser when they entered the station. And chalk up one more weird thing, Fraser didn't even seem to notice that Ray wasn't talking. Usually if Ray's mouth wasn't going a mile a minute Fraser was asking what was wrong.
No surprise, they got within smelling range of the bullpen, and Frannie intercepted them, squeezing herself right up between them to get at Fraser.
"Fraser, do you think you could reach a ream of paper from the high shelf for me?"
"Of course, Francesca, I'd be delighted to help." Which, okay Fraser was polite, but he wasn't leaning backwards, like usual. He wasn't leaning forwards, either, but he wasn't turning red or tugging on his collar, or any of that stuff--just following Frannie into the supply closet like he wasn't about to get mauled.
Ray stood there in the hallway and argued with himself. Fraser's a big boy; he can take care of himself. But Fraser's never been able to handle Frannie, and right now he's acting like he's got ... diminished capacity, or something. But maybe he's changed his mind about Frannie. Maybe he's in there in the closet enjoying ... Ray whipped the door open.
Just like he expected, Fraser was helpfully reaching up to the top shelf, and completely ignoring that Frannie was glued, head to toe, to his back, while pretending to point out the perfectly obvious paper. Ray fumed.
"Frannie, out." He hooked a thumb at the door.
"Raaay," she gritted out, trying to give him the sibling growl without scaring away her prey.
"Francesca, your paper," Fraser said. He turned in the tight space to hand it to her, and she got a full-body slide that made her look like she was going to faint.
"Okay, you got your paper. Scram," Ray repeated, and waited until she squeezed past him through the doorway. He ignored the glare she gave him on account of she probably would have burned his eyeballs right out of his skull if he'd looked at her.
"Okay, that's it, Fraser. What the hell is going on with you? Frannie was climbing you like a ladder, there, and you didn't even blink."
"On the contrary, Ray, it was Francesca's lack of a ladder that caused her to seek out my assistance."
And it was like he meant it. For real. Like he didn't even know what just happened, not just pretending he didn't. He was going to make Ray crazy.
"Fraser, you're not nice to Frannie. I mean, you're nice, but you're not nice."
Fraser looked puzzled. "Whyever not, Ray? All women are our sisters."
"I ... what? You said that before. Is that from some book or something?"
"Why yes, Shifting the Dominance Hegemony: A Guide for the Post-Patriarchal Male, by Phineas Battleboro, Ph.D. Second shelf of my bookcase, seventeenth book from the left."
That was so Fraser-weird, not to mention just plain weird-weird, Ray just shook his head. "So, c'mon, are you going to help me type this report?"
"Of course. But then I'll have to return to the Consulate, as the Inspector has some dry cleaning she wishes me to take in." But there was no ... no hint that he was a little ticked that Thatcher wasn't respecting his abilities. There was just nothing else there, and it was really starting to freak Ray out.
Ray tapped on the door, then slipped into the office. "Look, Lieu ..." He kept his voice down, even though Fraser wasn't in the office. You never knew when he'd silently slip up behind you, with those bat ears of his. "There's something weird about Fraser."
Welsh gestured him closer, so Ray approached the desk. Welsh gestured him in again, so Ray leaned over the desk.
Welsh enounced ... enun ... spoke real clearly into his ear, "The Mountie is weird."
Ray backed away and looked at Welsh.
Welsh tapped his finger aside his nose and gave him a serious nod.
Crap. "No, sir, I mean he's acting weird for him. He's being polite to Frannie."
Welsh raised his eyebrows.
"No! I mean, not polite and then running away. I mean polite and not running away." He stabbed the desk with his finger in emphasis.
Welsh did that thing where he leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his face. "Vecchio ... if Fraser decides to recognize the charms of an attractive young woman, it would behoove you to accept the situation, and try to overcome any jealousy you might feel."
"What? I'm not-- What?" Ray was thrown off by Welsh's direction. He wasn't jealous of Fraser and Frannie. The Frannie thing was just strange, that's all. But he couldn't figure out how to explain what he meant.
Welsh just raised his eyebrows again, in that way that said conversation over, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.
Friday
Fraser was getting under Ray's skin like an itch. He'd been doing that super polite thing all morning long, and Ray just couldn't nail down what it was that was off. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get his holster to lie more comfortably.
"Ray? Are you ready to go interview the Moliari brothers?"
"If I were ready, I'd be on my way, wouldn't I?" he snapped. "Maybe I won't be ready 'til you get that stick out of your ass."
And see? No glare. No snippy comeback. Just a puzzled, "Thank you kindly for your concern, but there's nothing in my anal cavity."
"Dammit, Fraser! What he hell is going on with you? You are getting on my last nerve, here!"
"I apologize, Ray. I'll endeavor to not do so in the future."
"I'll endeavor to not do so in the future," Ray mimicked. "One more 'thank you kindly' and I'll kick you in the fucking head!"
Fraser just made his stupid little frowny face. "You could attempt to do so, but I don't understand why you would wish to assault me for being courteous."
Ray bared his teeth and mimed drawing his fist back for a punch. But he turned and banged his head against the wall, instead. There was nothing to fight against. Fraser would just be all innocent and confused and he wouldn't fight back.
And that was it.
Ray got angry and frustrated sometimes, but Fraser did too. And that helped. It helped that even somebody perfect like Fraser turned snippy and stubborn and grouchy when it all got to be too much. And that he got it when Ray was that way.
Except Fraser was too perfect for that anymore. And he didn't get Ray. And Ray didn't know what the hell happened, except somehow he'd lost his partner, and his best friend.
A six-pack into Friday night, Ray was still brooding over the situation. He'd been getting nowhere with everyone else. Huey and Dewey had been the same as Welsh, Frannie was over the moon that Fraser wasn't running the other way, and Thatcher had the happy Stepford Mountie she'd always wanted. Ray was just going to have to figure out what was going on by himself.
Of course six beers meant cabbing over, and getting dropped off a block away from the Consulate. But Ray could still wield a mean credit card, buzzed or not.
He snuck down the corridor and slipped Fraser's door open.
In the moonlit office, Ray saw Dief lift his head from his snooze on the floor and look over at him curiously. That seemed to be all it took to wake Fraser, too.
"Ray. How very nice to see you."
Damn. Ray hadn't really gotten as far as a plan for how to investigate once he got in.
Meanwhile, Fraser got gracefully up off the cot and headed over to the bookcase, like it was perfectly normal for Ray to break in in the middle of the night. And, well, okay, but it was just the once before.
"I suppose you've come to borrow Dr. Battleboro's book." He pulled it off the shelf without even turning on the light. "I hope you find it useful."
See? Weird. And Fraser hadn't suggested getting together over the weekend to watch hockey, either. Which was probably for the best, the way Ray was feeling, but still.
Ray gave a peek at Dief, who actually looked a teeny bit guilty. So maybe Ray wasn't the only one, but Dief wasn't doing anything about it, just letting Fraser be a freak. More of a freak than normal. Damn, he wished he could talk wolf.
- - - - - - - - - - -
11:13 p.m.
The Frptznfti bounced contemplatively as they tried to describe the dispute they needed him for, apparently mulling over their database of dictionaries.
"Athletics."
"Sports."
"Tournament."
Fraser gaped in disbelief. "You took me from my bed because you need a referee? Where exactly is this tournament?"
"Akladak Stadium, Tennanian Quadrant," answered Bbrnztzpft.
This was preposterous. "No, I won't go." He folded his arms across his chest.
"You are going." Mrfpztztt waved an arm towards the windows, where Fraser could see the stars shifting as they moved.
Good God, what a nightmare--kidnapped by aliens for a sports tournament.
"You are fan of hockey!" Rrrntztft tried to wheedle.
"Akladak very exciting!"
"You will be entertained!"
"Well it would be rather entertaining ... under different circumstances. Unfortunately these circumstances are unacceptable."
"But you are just!"
"Service!"
"Duty!" The creatures were practically wailing, but Fraser was unmoved.
"Apparently you don't understand that my duty is as an officer is to the RCMP, and when kidnapped, my duty is to escape, if at all possible. It is certainly not to cooperate with my kidnappers and desert my post at the Consulate!"
- - - - - - - - - - -
Monday
After having the weekend to cool off, Ray hoped he could keep it together in front of Fraser, while still working out what was going on, stealth-style. Driving back from the Consulate with Fraser--still Dief-less, and why was the wolf so mopey these days?--he thought he was doing okay.
"Ray?"
"Yeah, Frase?"
"Why does my penis become erect when I'm near you? I noticed it particularly when you came to my room Friday night."
Ray stomped on the brake. Tires squealed and horns blared behind him. He turned and gaped at Fraser.
Fraser peered through the windshield and got that little line on his forehead. "Did you see something in the road, Ray?"
Ray groaned and dropped his head to the steering wheel, then sat up and pulled the Goat over to the side of the road.
Okay, there was definitely something queer--ha, ha--here. Because no way was Fraser that naive, no matter what the guys in the bullpen liked to joke. He chose to act like some sort of old-fashioned gentleman, like it was a comfort zone or something. But lately he was accidentally leading Frannie on, and now this?
"Frase, buddy--did you get hit in the head recently?"
"No."
"You running a fever?"
"No."
"Sick at all?"
"No."
"Lick anything dangerous?"
"No."
"Hypnotise yourself?"
"No."
Ray drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then turned back to Fraser. "Look, do you know of any reason at all why you might be acting different lately?"
Fraser hemmed his throat and looked straight out the windshield. "Why, I don't know what you mean, Ray."
Bingo! Ray slammed his hand on the dashboard and pointed. "There is something queer! You are genetically incapable of lying."
"Oh dear," said Fraser. "That may very well be true."
"What is it, Frase? What's going on? 'Cause I swear, I'm about this close to popping you one!"
Fraser looked around nervously. "Perhaps we should go somewhere more private?"
Ray noticed the news vendor by his sidewalk stand, keeping an eye on him with his fist raised to Fraser. "Yeah, okay, okay. We'll go to my place."
He pulled away from the curb.
- - - - - - - - - - -
11:18 p.m.
The beings bounced in place, in an alarming show of what appeared to be excitement.
"No effect on Consulate!"
"Not missed!"
"We have created Benton Fraser clone!"
"Deoxyribonucleic acid from toenail clippings in waste receptacle!"
"Knowledge input from dictionary, encyclopedia, Royal Canadian Mounted Police manual!"
"RCMP personnel files, Chicago Police Department records!"
"James Houston's Treasury of Inuit Legends, journals of Robert Fraser!"
"Verisimilitude is perfect!"
Fraser gaped at the extent of the violation, both personal and institutional. Replaced by a clone! "People ... people are not interchangeable!" he sputtered. "We can't be swapped out like ... like a carburetor on a 1967 Pontiac Gran Turismo Omologato!" he added, feeling a touch of grief.
Not missed? Surely several thousand pages of paper couldn't replicate his personality. Could it? And since they'd gone to the trouble ... "Couldn't you have had the clone you made of me be the referee? He's human."
The Frptznfti began a smaller, more agitated bounce.
"Clone made by Frptznfti. Could be tampered with to favor Frptznfti in judgment. Must have impartial arbiter."
Ah, of course.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Tuesday
Ray really had lost his best friend. Kidnapped by aliens and halfway across the galaxy. And he was never coming back in this lifetime. Ray felt helpless. Ray was pretty sure he was on the verge of a full-scale meltdown over it, but he had too many cases to juggle to give in. Plus looking out for the clone, who actually seemed nice enough--he just wasn't Fraser. And really was as innocent as he'd been acting. Ray'd had to turn down a very polite offer for "sexual relations."
"Fraser, good morning." Here was Frannie, tucking her hair behind her ear and cozying up to ... the clone? clone-Fraser? the constable currently known as Fraser?... with a smile.
"Ah, Francesca. Good morning." He smiled down at her, and she went all melty. Ray rolled his eyes and hauled clone-Fraser down to the supply closet.
"Uh, Frase. Are you getting that erect penis thing around Frannie?"
"No, Ray, just you." The clone smiled at him, and shifted in the tight space so that they were a little closer.
And, wow, in the glare of the overhead bulb, maybe the clone didn't look entirely innocent. Ray swallowed hard and stepped back. "Yeah, okay, look, here's the thing. You're not Fraser. You're basically a stranger to me. A hot stranger, sure, but, well, not Fraser."
"Oh." The guy looked pretty broken up. "I think I understand, Ray."
"And another thing? The way you feel about me? That's pretty much the way Frannie feels about you. Or Fraser. Well, except minus the penis, which she doesn't have. But if you don't feel the same way back, you probably shouldn't stand so close to her."
"I see, Ray." Damn. Ray hated seeing Fraser, any Fraser, looking sad.
"Yeah, I know. Life's tough, here on Earth." He put a hand on his back and led him out. "C'mon, buddy, let's get some coffee."
Wednesday
When clone-Fraser only had ten minutes left on statue duty--God, poor bastard; Ray was going to have to school him on that, too--Ray came by and told Turnbull he'd just wait in Fraser's office.
Yeah, he'd wait, but he had something to do in the meantime.
"I oughta kick you out of the pack!" he told Dief. "Fraser got replaced by a clone, and you couldn't give me a high sign, let me know what's up? 'Cause he paid you off with doughnuts? That is not buddies. Not buddies. Let me tell you, you better enjoy the doughnuts he gives you, because you are never getting a treat from me again. Ever."
Dief whined and buried his face under his front paws.
"Yeah, you better feel bad."
"Is everything all right, Detective Vecchio?"
Holy shit! That Turnbull could really sneak up, for a big guy.
"Yeah, fine. I was just wondering why Dief hadn't warned me aliens came and replaced Fraser."
"Ha ha! Very amusing, Detective."
"Seriously, Turnbull, you don't think Fraser's been a little odd?"
Turnbull scrunched his forehead for a minute, but then returned to his usual sunny self. "Indeed, no. Constable Fraser is, as always, an exemplary officer." He gave Ray a broad wink. "Alien or not." As he went back down the hall, Ray heard him giggle, and shivered. Disturbing.
Dief was still moping on the floor, so Ray gave him a scratch behind the ears. "Look, that was not cool, but we're still good. The new guy's okay, but he's going to need a lot of help. You coming back to work?"
Dief shoved his muzzle into Ray's hand and whined softly.
"Yeah, I miss him, too."
- - - - - - - - - - -
11:23 p.m.
"Well, son, you've managed to get yourself into quite a pickle this time."
Wonderful. All he needed was a lecture from his father. "Funny," he snapped under his breath, "it seems to me you're in a worse one, seeing as how you're dead."
"I suppose you have a point. But I never left the planet while I was still on it, so to speak." His image flickered, and nearly went out.
"Dad? Are you okay?"
"Hmm? Oh, sorry, son. It was hard enough figuring out how to get from the beyond to normal space-time. This is even trickier. I'm sure I'll get the hang of it soon enough, though, don't you worry."
"Normal space-time ... Oh dear!" He rounded on the aliens. "We must be traveling at near-light speeds, yes?"
"Yes, yes," they bobbled.
"Near-light speed to Agathinian wormhole, through the wormhole, then near-light speed in the Tennanian Quadrant to the Akladak Stadium," Bbrnztzpft clarified.
"And how long does the journey from Earth to Akladak Stadium take?"
Rrrntztft breeped quietly a moment, then stated, "Approximately one quarter of your planetary revolutions. Ninety-nine Earth rotations."
"Three months," Mrfpztztt translated.
"I see," Fraser bit out. "And if you take me directly to the tournament, I judge it, and you bring me directly back, how long will have passed on Earth since I left?"
"One hundred twenty revolutions."
Fraser felt faint. A hundred and twenty years. Everyone he knew, dead. Society changed beyond recognition, and himself a hopeless anachronism.
Ray.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Thursday
Ray tossed and turned all night after a full day working with clone-Fraser. Including squeezing into a shallow doorway together to avoid getting made by some guys they were tailing.
Damn.
It's not like he didn't notice he and Fraser had chemistry before. At least he thought so. And this Fraser was telling him he felt it back. Which, if he was an exact clone of Fraser, did that mean original-Fraser felt chemistry with him, too?
And original-Fraser was the one Ray lo-- Original-Fraser was the one Ray was close to. The one he really clicked with in all ways. Clone-Fraser was a nice enough guy, but a little too nice. Besides, he was almost like a kid--naive--the way he didn't have any real world experience.
Virgin, a very, very bad part of Ray whispered. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow.
It would be like taking candy from a baby. A cherry lollipop.
Bad brain. Ray whimpered.
But really, the clone wasn't the same. It was Fraser who got him all fired up. They challenged each other and fought each other and understood each other and supported each other and ... and the clone looked like that guy, but he wasn't him.
It's just that the clone was here and actively trying to get into his pants, and real Fraser was millions of miles away.
Ray punched the mattress and flipped over again.
- - - - - - - - - - -
11:28 p.m.
Fraser couldn't stay another moment--he'd already been accelerating away from Earth for half an hour.
"No. I refuse." He folded his arms and glared at his kidnappers. "You might as well turn around and take me back now, because I won't referee your match."
The Frptznfti rolled about in agitation.
"You must!"
"We need judgment!"
Fraser shook his head. "It was unconscionable for you to steal my life away from me and deceive my friends and coworkers." He gave them his full, righteous glare. "If you persist in this course, I will be unfair."
The aliens gasped.
"I will be partial!"
"That's telling 'em, son!" His father was blinking in and out behind him like a radio signal during a solar flare.
"If you do not return me to Earth this instant, I will decide the contest against you."
The aliens huddled and breeped among themselves frantically. Finally they turned to Fraser.
"Akladak Tournament is peaceful means of solving boundary disputes."
"No tournament, we return to war."
"Where can we find a judge?"
Fraser faltered for just a moment, but the thought of Ray partnered with his clone strengthened his resolve. "There are people who would welcome the opportunity to travel to another planet." He had met a bus full. In fact ... "Do you have the"--what was it?--"the Baleptitron database?"
"Yes, yes, of course." Rrrntztft rolled over to the wall and hovered a paw over a panel of blinking lights.
"Is there a record of a Major Alan Whistler?" Fraser asked.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Friday
Working on no sleep sucked. Having to arrest a good kid who'd gotten caught up in a gang sucked even more.
Ray let the clone talk him into coming back to the Consulate after work.
"Just relax here with the TV for a bit, and I'll call you when the tea is ready." Ray slumped onto the loveseat in the drawing room and tried to ignore the prickly brocade and lacy pillows. Sports News helped.
He'd managed to get into a zone when Fraser called for him from down the hall. He switched off the TV and shuffled down to Fraser's office.
Where Fraser--the clone--was standing in his red longjohns.
"I can't help but notice you seem stressed. I thought perhaps sexual release would assist you in relaxing."
Aw, crap. "I thought you were making tea."
"Of course." The clone looked a little disappointed, but picked up the pot on the desk and poured a cup.
"Look, Fraser, it's not that you're not a nice guy, but I'm in love with Fraser. The real one. I'm sorry."
"You knew?" The voice came from behind him. Ray spun around.
"You knew he wasn't me?" There was another Fraser in red longjohns ...
"Fraser?"
"Ray!"
"But what ... How ...?" the clone sputtered, and Fraser turned to him, fierce and intense.
"How dare you steal my life, make a mockery of my duty, and try to seduce my Ray!" Oh, God, yeah! Ray went from zero to hard immediately. There were wild places inside of Fraser, wild places from up there in the Arctic that couldn't be copied. Wild places that spoke to the ones inside of Ray.
But Fraser's wild places were stalking towards the clone now, and looking murderous.
"Whoa, Frase, hang on." Ray grabbed an arm. "He didn't asked to be made. He's just been trying to make the best of the hand he was dealt, you know?"
Luckily that turned Fraser's attention to him. "Are you all right? He didn't ...?"
Ray snorted. "Ah, no. He didn't. And now that you're back? I'm fine." He knew he was grinning like an idiot, and he couldn't let go of Fraser's arm--yeah, he was just fan-freaking-tastic.
They spent the next hour catching up.
Ray didn't get the thing about Fraser only being gone an hour--that didn't make any sense. The two Frasers kept scribbling out more and more equations to explain it until he gave up and shouted, "I don't care! So you weren't gone two weeks. Fine."
The clone didn't get how Fraser convinced the aliens to bring him back, but then he'd never been on the other end of Fraser on his high horse. Plus, Fraser had found somebody to take his place. "You remember 'that case we were on'?"--with the tone that meant him and Vecchio--"The one in Rosewell, Illinois?"
"Oh, the one where 'we' almost spent thirty years in a military prison? Yeah, I remember."
"Well, Jane and Norman Whistler, from the UFO tour, had a son who was an Air Force pilot. He was declared KIA, but Jane believed he had, in fact, been taken by aliens. I had the Frptznfti check the Baleptitron database, and he is, indeed, currently living on the Baleptitron homeworld. The Whistlers were far more interested in seeing Alan again than remaining at the Sunset Retirement Home, so they are headed to pick him up and Norman will judge the Akladak tournament."
Ray nudged up against Fraser. "And you were more interested in seeing me again than traveling across the galaxy to watch alien hockey?"
"I was." Fraser's voice had gone husky.
The clone looked even more miserable.
"Hey, look," said Ray, "maybe we should all get some sleep, and get together tomorrow to figure out this thing." He waved between the two Frasers. "Fraser--uh, clone-Fraser--you're used to staying here, so I'll let Fraser crash on my couch tonight and we'll sort it all out tomorrow." It was paper-thin, but maybe the clone was innocent enough that it would keep him from feeling too bad. Besides, Dief would probably be all over him, trying to get his last doughnut fixes in.
It was kind frustrating to watch Fraser put on more layers of clothes, especially since Ray could see pretty damn clearly the bulge in Fraser's longjohns, though at least he kept his back to the clone. But Ray had to admit that pulling on jeans and a shirt was a good idea for going out. A quick slide of feet into a pair of moccasins and they were ready to go.
Fraser didn't speak on the ride back to Ray's, not even when Ray drove too fast and sped through lights that had been yellow for half a block. The air inside the car was thick and intense, both of them focused on getting home and horizontal.
Finally there, Ray screeched the car to a halt, and they both scrambled for the stairs. Key into ... key into ... dammit! ... key into lock, door open, and Fraser was in behind him, slamming the door shut and shoving Ray against it like Fraser was going to explode if he didn't have his tongue in Ray's mouth right the fuck now. Which Ray was all over--grabbing Fraser's head and pulling him tight in, because he could. Because Fraser was here, with him, and not out past Pluto somewhere, thank God.
Fraser grabbed Ray's wrists and pinned them together overhead, against the door, in one strong fist, while his other hand worked Ray's shirt up. The feel of that warm, broad hand sweeping up his belly to tweak a nipple made Ray's knees want to give out.
His T-shirt rucked up across his shoulders, pushing against where their mouths met, Ray said, "Fraser." Or more like he breathed heavily into Fraser's mouth, "Fraser." Whichever, Fraser backed off, panting, just far enough for Ray to say, "Bed." Ray watched Fraser's eyes go completely black before he turned and pulled Ray behind him towards the bedroom. And not for sleep.
In fact, they didn't sleep much the whole night.
Saturday
The next morning, Ray felt ridiculously happy, and Fraser was freaking glowing, but they knew they had to figure out what to do with the clone.
They came by the Consulate with coffee and breakfast, including a healthy Eggbeaters burrito for Dief. Ray didn't tell Fraser about that betrayal--he figured the guy could only take so much--but man, the wolf owed him.
"So, uh, clone--you're going to need another name. What do you want to be called?"
The guy looked totally confused. "I've only ever been Benton Fraser."
"Yes, well, as have I, but for considerably longer." Oh, yeah. Snippy Mountie was back.
"Frase, c'mon. You've named sled dogs and stuff. How did you do it?"
Fraser frowned. "Well, sometimes I named them after geographic locations. Other times, obviously, political figures." He waved at Dief.
"Ah. Perhaps Lester Pearson?" the clone said.
"Excellent," said Fraser, looking pleasantly surprised, but Ray protested, "You can't go around being called Lester! That's a total dork name!"
"Ray!" And for the first time Fraser took the clone's side, which was a good sign he'd get over taking out his kidnapping on the clone. Ray was going to have to find out who this Lester Pearson was.
But in the meantime, "I mean it, Fraser. He's going to have a tough enough time of it. He needs a 'guy' name, like Mac, or Al. Yeah," Ray snickered, "Albert Benton Pearson."
"That's a fine name, Ray. Why do you find it funny?" the clone asked. Fraser wasn't asking, but Ray could see he was just as clueless.
Ray grabbed a piece of paper and wrote the two names. Then he pointed at each man in turn. "Al B. Pearson. You B. Fraser." He cracked himself up again.
Fraser groaned. "I think someone's a little punchy from lack of sleep. The pun is the lowest form of humor, you know." But the edges of his mouth were turned up.
"Ah! Aha! You think it's funny!" Ray crowed.
"I admit nothing," said Fraser, lips still quirking.
Ray turned to the clone, and saw he was wearing a look of sad realization. Ray felt a little bad, but hey, it was the first step to growing up, realizing the difference between attraction and a real relationship. "What do you think, really?"
"Well," the clone said, "some friends of the original Lester Pearson felt the same as you. They called him Mike."
"Mike. Mike's cool," said Ray, and good--now he didn't have to call him "the clone" anymore, or "Fraser." "Okay. I know somebody who knows somebody--we'll get your paperwork made up." Fraser twitched at him talking about forgery, but kept quiet. "Next question is, what do you want to do?"
"I don't know." Mike looked down at his hands in his lap, kinda helpless. "I only ever thought about being an RCMP officer."
Fraser got that really kind, understanding face of his, the one that drove Ray nuts when he used on dirtbags like Denny Scarpa. But this time he was glad Fraser had some sympathy for the clone.
"You know, there's something that I always wanted to do, but never could."
Mike looked up, and yeah, Ray saw that Fraser totally understood. Fraser got the RCMP and the CPD ... and Ray. But if there was something Mike could have that Fraser couldn't? Mike was all over that.
"Can you sing?" Fraser asked.
Three months later
Turnbull came racing into Fraser's office. "Package for you, sir!" He was dancing up and down like a child putting off going to the restroom. Honestly, it was embarrassing sometimes.
But Fraser had a pretty good idea why he was excited. It was easy to feel the CD-shaped contents inside the cushioned packaging. Fraser invited Turnbull to take up a chair with a nod, while he opened the package. It was indeed the new Tracy Jenkins CD. "Would you please call Detective Vecchio, and ask him to meet us here?" he asked. Turnbull jumped like a jackrabbit.
Mike had taken a crash course in voice, piano and guitar lessons. He'd been downloaded with extensive theoretical knowledge of music, and worked hard on developing the muscle memory to match it. Fraser had had no reservations about contacting Tracy to recommend his newly found, wrong-side-of-the-sheets cousin. Well, other than a mental apology to his Uncle Tiberius for slandering his reputation posthumously.
Reports from both Tracy and Mike were glowing, so Fraser was satisfied.
Ten minutes later, the front door of the Consulate flew open, and Fraser heard, "It's here? It's really here?" Fraser stepped into the hallway, waving the case at Ray, and Ray's face lit up. "All right! All right!" He clapped his hands together. "Let's go!"
They stepped into the drawing room, and Turnbull and Ray both looked on impatiently as Fraser slipped the CD into the player. The sound of a guitar, slow and plaintive, started the song off.
When you said you loved another
I had nothing left at all
Nothing left to live for
My future a blank wall
But since I've learned much more
Was hidden inside me
So now I have to thank you
For setting my life free
Fraser checked the liner notes. Lyrics: Mike Pearson.
He and Ray shared a smile. It sounded like Mike was really developing his own identity, and finding his own path.
Fraser was past his jealousy of his clone's attraction to Ray, and his anger at the clone's part in his near-exile. For the most part, anyway. And he had to admit, as he watched Ray nod to the beat of the music, he was thankful his clone--Mike--had brought out emotions both Fraser and Ray had been hiding beneath the surface. Perhaps it was easier to feel kindly towards Mike while he was far away, recording and touring with Tracy.
As long as Fraser could be here with Ray, could sweep him up, laughing, in the waltz that was the next track on the CD, he was content.
END
**
Poll Vote for this story
Author: green_grrl
Team: Whimsy
Prompt: "Well, it would be rather entertaining... under different circumstances."
Pairing(s): Fraser/Kowalski
Length: 7300 words
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for Starman and Mountie Sings the Blues
Summary: You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. Or in some cases, sort of gone.
Author's notes: Title thanks to catwalksalone from the song used in the pilot, "From a Million Miles" by Single Gun Theory. Thank you to dessert_first, torra, spuffyduds and lamentables for betaing, and all my Whimsy teammates for being so awesome!
Once you've read the story, please take a moment to vote in the poll below. Ratings go from 1 (low) to 9 (high), so all you need to do is enter a single number in that range into each text entry box. You'll be able to see the Genre information in the header above.
More details about the voting procedure can be found here.
**
Three months ago
Mrfpztztt accessed the database to interpret what he was getting via the sensor. He was thrilled to be part of the first Frptznfti expedition to this planet, even if many other species had been here before. Fortunately they had intelligence from the Baleptitrons to work with, and they had decided tracking the Baleptitrons' subjects would be a good starting point.
Up in his ship, Mrfpztztt maneuvered the remote sensor.
The room he was scanning had many beings in it, some bent onto small supports ("chairs"), next to large rectangular shapes ("desks"), some upright and moving about. Many were speaking loudly.
A being with a tufted topping reached out and touched one in a bright coating. "Hey, you up for lunch?" Ah! The database pinged. This was subject Stanley Raymond Kowalski. Mrfpztztt paid close attention.
Stanley Raymond Kowalski's companion said, "If I don't get back and finish that stack of HR three oblique stroke thirty-sevens, I'm afraid the Inspector will have my hide."
"Yeah, okay, buddy. I'll give you a ride, we'll pick you up something to go on the way."
The two exited the room while Mrfpztztt was still trying to translate "HR three oblique stroke thirty-sevens."
A short being that smelled strongly of food spoke to a tall one. "Jeez. You could replace that guy with a robot, and no one could tell the difference."
"If the robot knew Inuit stories."
"Yeah, you'd have to program it with Inuit stories. And an encyclopedia."
"And the RCMP Manual."
"True."
"Dief would know the difference."
"Nah, the robot could buy the wolf off with doughnuts, and he'd never tell."
"Hmm, you have a point."
Mrfpztztt accessed the meaning of "robot," then breeped quietly to himself in excitement. This could be exactly what they had been looking for.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Friday
11:03 p.m.
Fraser awoke suddenly, still lying down, clad in his red union suit, but most assuredly not in his bed. "Oh, dear. What on--?"
The cool, hard floor, sleek and black, was what probably awoke him. Or the diffuse, but brighter-than-moonlight illumination. He raised himself carefully to his feet. He was in a large, domed room, with framed images of starscapes spaced along the one round wall, alternating with panels of blinking lights.
As he rotated around, he jumped in surprise at seeing three large creatures standing quietly in a group. Each was a good foot taller than himself, and they looked somewhat like tall, furred domes, or perhaps the shape of thin haystacks, with arms.
"Benton Fraser, welcome," said the most ... yellow of the three. "I am Mrfpztztt."
"I am Bbrnztzpft," said the greenish one.
"I am Rrrntztft." He--it? she?--was definitely pink.
Oh dear. Upon further consideration, those were very likely not framed pictures of starscapes.
"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police," he replied by instinct. "Er," he paused for a moment, reaching up to scratch one eyebrow with his thumb, "What, exactly--"
"We are the first Frptznfti to travel to your planet," Mrfpztztt said. "We have great need."
"Baleptitrons have visited many times, and provided Frptznfti with a database of Earth knowledge," added Rrrntztft.
"You have been chosen," finished up Bbrnztzpft.
Need? Chosen? Perhaps ... But no, the chill of the floor against the soles of his feet proved to Fraser that he was not, as he might have hoped, having a dream.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Monday
Ray pulled up to the Consulate and groaned. Fraser was on statue duty, which meant no talking about the Fenwitzer case for who knew how long. They hadn't seen each other over the weekend, and now Fraser was tied up all morning, too.
He threw his "Police" placard on the dashboard and loped up the steps with a quick "heya, Frase" as he passed.
Turnbull was at the reception desk. "Welcome to Canada, Detective Vecchio!" Real original, that guy.
"Yeah, hey Turnbull. So, what, did Fraser piss off the Ice Queen or something?"
"Not to my knowledge. Their relations seemed most cordial this morning." And Turnbull looked like he was telling the truth, which it was pretty easy to tell when he wasn't, so maybe it wasn't some sort of punishment. Maybe there was just a minimum quota of statue duty Fraser had to do. Still, hard to believe Fraser would be cordial about it. Unfortunately there wasn't an actual emergency, so the only thing Ray could do about it was find out what time Fraser would be done.
"I'll be back at eleven," he told Fraser, as he jogged down the steps.
But when Ray came back, Fraser shook his head instead of following him to the car. "I apologize, Ray, but I cannot leave with you immediately. I have promised Inspector Thatcher that I would take her reception invitation order to the stationer's."
"Yeah, okay, hurry it up. We'll drop it off on the way to the station," he said, following Fraser to his office.
Fraser got the order form from his desk. "I hope it is not an imposition. I do not mean to inconvenience you."
Ray frowned. There was something kinda ... off with Fraser. "No, no. It's fine." He caught sight of Dief stretched out on the floor. "Hey, the Diefster coming with us?" Dief looked up at Ray, then over at Fraser. They stared at each other for a minute, then Dief dropped his head back down, looking bored.
"He says he will not be joining us today, Ray."
"Will not. Will not? What is that, Frase? You sound like a robot or an alien or something."
Fraser got strangely stiff. "I assure you, I am fully human, Ray."
"What? I know! Jeez. I just mean it sounds so weird. 'I am fully human, Ray.' What about 'I'm human'? What about 'I'm a big ol' Mountie freak, and my wolf won't be joining us today'? You know, that thing with the little lines that hang in the air between letters?"
Fraser just stood there for a minute, like he was going through some mental Rolodex or something, then said, "Ah. Contractions. Of course. Forgive me, Ray, if I sounded a bit odd. I will endeavor ... I'll endeavor to do better in the future."
Big. Ol'. Mountie. Freak. "Sure, Fraser, whatever."
Tuesday
Ray saw Fraser come into the bullpen, but then he stopped at Frannie's desk. Damn. Better get over there and drag him out of her clutches.
Of course Frannie hung up on whoever was on the phone so she could drool all over Fraser. "Hi, Frase."
"Francesca, good morning." He leaned over with a smile that practically gave her a seizure. "I was wondering if you could tell me, does Diefenbaker favor this bakery?" He nudged the squadroom's box of doughnuts.
"Sure, Frase. He's always trying to mooch these." She leaned even closer to him. "I think the jelly-filled are his favorite."
"Ah. Where are they from?"
"Dinkel's." She was lit up like a Christmas tree, not even noticing that, hey, Fraser was talking about doughnuts for Dief.
And now Fraser had that weird blank look on his face again. Then he said, "3329 North Lincoln Avenue. 281-7300. I'll have to stop by. Thank you kindly, Francesca."
Ray snapped. "Whadja do, memorize the phone book? C'mon, Frase. I can't believe you're even thinking about feeding junk food to the wolf." He pulled Fraser away, and Frannie gave him her usual pissy little sister glare for taking away her favorite toy. Like if she'd gotten another minute with Fraser he would have proposed to her or something.
Dream on.
Wednesday
Man, Ray loved getting these big cases off his desk. He picked up the big box of files and jerked his chin at the packed-full accordion folder. "Frase, can you grab that?"
"Certainly, Ray."
Ray turned for Welsh's office when he heard a pained "Ah!" behind him. Fraser was standing there, staring at his thumb like he'd never seen it before. Ray sighed and dropped the box on his visitor's chair.
"What's going on, buddy?"
Fraser held out his thumb, and Ray could see the slice running across it, a single drop of blood welling out.
"Oo, papercut. That's gotta sting. Hang on a sec, I've got a band-aid around here somewhere ..." Ray pulled open his bottom drawer and fished one out the box he kept handy. When he got it all unwrapped, Fraser was still standing there, looking like a giant kid trying not to cry.
What the hell? This was the guy who'd been stabbed, shot in the back, and ... and whacked with an otter. He was acting like it was the first time he'd seen blood. "Hey, it's all right. We'll get this on it, and it'll heal right up."
Ray wrapped the band-aid over the cut and gave Fraser a pat on the shoulder. "C'mon, the Lieu's waiting. Think you can pick that up without losing a limb?"
Fraser looked up, still a little wide-eyed. "Of course, Ray. Thank you."
"No problem-o." Weird, weird, weird.
- - - - - - - - - - -
11:08 p.m.
"We have great need of you," trilled Rrrntztft.
The three Frptznfti moved gently apart in an odd undulating motion. They didn't appear to have feet. Instead, they collapsed their bodies downward to a spherical shape and rolled, then bobbed head-up and expanded again.
"Of course, as an RCMP officer it is my duty to help anyone in need, though," Fraser paused, a quick flick of his tongue to his lower lip, "though admittedly, this is further out of my jurisdiction than I'm accustomed to--"
"You are just."
"Fair."
"Impartial."
Fraser scratched an eyebrow, "Er, yes, well, I do try."
The creatures were bouncing in place, alternating between their full height and their shorter, rounder shape--perhaps as a sign of excitement?
"You are needed to give judgment, Benton Fraser!"
If he were needed in a matter of justice, it was his duty after all, but he wondered ... "Why do you need me? Surely you have judges on your own planet."
"Dispute is with Zaglanians. Judge cannot be Frptznfti or Zaglanian. Must be from disinterested species."
Oh dear, yet another race of aliens. Fraser wondered what sort of interplanetary minefield he might be wandering into. Not that he was sure he had much choice in the matter. "Without influencing my impartiality, can you give me an idea as to the nature of your dispute?"
- - - - - - - - - - -
Thursday
Ray was still trying to puzzle out what was going on with Fraser when they entered the station. And chalk up one more weird thing, Fraser didn't even seem to notice that Ray wasn't talking. Usually if Ray's mouth wasn't going a mile a minute Fraser was asking what was wrong.
No surprise, they got within smelling range of the bullpen, and Frannie intercepted them, squeezing herself right up between them to get at Fraser.
"Fraser, do you think you could reach a ream of paper from the high shelf for me?"
"Of course, Francesca, I'd be delighted to help." Which, okay Fraser was polite, but he wasn't leaning backwards, like usual. He wasn't leaning forwards, either, but he wasn't turning red or tugging on his collar, or any of that stuff--just following Frannie into the supply closet like he wasn't about to get mauled.
Ray stood there in the hallway and argued with himself. Fraser's a big boy; he can take care of himself. But Fraser's never been able to handle Frannie, and right now he's acting like he's got ... diminished capacity, or something. But maybe he's changed his mind about Frannie. Maybe he's in there in the closet enjoying ... Ray whipped the door open.
Just like he expected, Fraser was helpfully reaching up to the top shelf, and completely ignoring that Frannie was glued, head to toe, to his back, while pretending to point out the perfectly obvious paper. Ray fumed.
"Frannie, out." He hooked a thumb at the door.
"Raaay," she gritted out, trying to give him the sibling growl without scaring away her prey.
"Francesca, your paper," Fraser said. He turned in the tight space to hand it to her, and she got a full-body slide that made her look like she was going to faint.
"Okay, you got your paper. Scram," Ray repeated, and waited until she squeezed past him through the doorway. He ignored the glare she gave him on account of she probably would have burned his eyeballs right out of his skull if he'd looked at her.
"Okay, that's it, Fraser. What the hell is going on with you? Frannie was climbing you like a ladder, there, and you didn't even blink."
"On the contrary, Ray, it was Francesca's lack of a ladder that caused her to seek out my assistance."
And it was like he meant it. For real. Like he didn't even know what just happened, not just pretending he didn't. He was going to make Ray crazy.
"Fraser, you're not nice to Frannie. I mean, you're nice, but you're not nice."
Fraser looked puzzled. "Whyever not, Ray? All women are our sisters."
"I ... what? You said that before. Is that from some book or something?"
"Why yes, Shifting the Dominance Hegemony: A Guide for the Post-Patriarchal Male, by Phineas Battleboro, Ph.D. Second shelf of my bookcase, seventeenth book from the left."
That was so Fraser-weird, not to mention just plain weird-weird, Ray just shook his head. "So, c'mon, are you going to help me type this report?"
"Of course. But then I'll have to return to the Consulate, as the Inspector has some dry cleaning she wishes me to take in." But there was no ... no hint that he was a little ticked that Thatcher wasn't respecting his abilities. There was just nothing else there, and it was really starting to freak Ray out.
Ray tapped on the door, then slipped into the office. "Look, Lieu ..." He kept his voice down, even though Fraser wasn't in the office. You never knew when he'd silently slip up behind you, with those bat ears of his. "There's something weird about Fraser."
Welsh gestured him closer, so Ray approached the desk. Welsh gestured him in again, so Ray leaned over the desk.
Welsh enounced ... enun ... spoke real clearly into his ear, "The Mountie is weird."
Ray backed away and looked at Welsh.
Welsh tapped his finger aside his nose and gave him a serious nod.
Crap. "No, sir, I mean he's acting weird for him. He's being polite to Frannie."
Welsh raised his eyebrows.
"No! I mean, not polite and then running away. I mean polite and not running away." He stabbed the desk with his finger in emphasis.
Welsh did that thing where he leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his face. "Vecchio ... if Fraser decides to recognize the charms of an attractive young woman, it would behoove you to accept the situation, and try to overcome any jealousy you might feel."
"What? I'm not-- What?" Ray was thrown off by Welsh's direction. He wasn't jealous of Fraser and Frannie. The Frannie thing was just strange, that's all. But he couldn't figure out how to explain what he meant.
Welsh just raised his eyebrows again, in that way that said conversation over, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.
Friday
Fraser was getting under Ray's skin like an itch. He'd been doing that super polite thing all morning long, and Ray just couldn't nail down what it was that was off. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get his holster to lie more comfortably.
"Ray? Are you ready to go interview the Moliari brothers?"
"If I were ready, I'd be on my way, wouldn't I?" he snapped. "Maybe I won't be ready 'til you get that stick out of your ass."
And see? No glare. No snippy comeback. Just a puzzled, "Thank you kindly for your concern, but there's nothing in my anal cavity."
"Dammit, Fraser! What he hell is going on with you? You are getting on my last nerve, here!"
"I apologize, Ray. I'll endeavor to not do so in the future."
"I'll endeavor to not do so in the future," Ray mimicked. "One more 'thank you kindly' and I'll kick you in the fucking head!"
Fraser just made his stupid little frowny face. "You could attempt to do so, but I don't understand why you would wish to assault me for being courteous."
Ray bared his teeth and mimed drawing his fist back for a punch. But he turned and banged his head against the wall, instead. There was nothing to fight against. Fraser would just be all innocent and confused and he wouldn't fight back.
And that was it.
Ray got angry and frustrated sometimes, but Fraser did too. And that helped. It helped that even somebody perfect like Fraser turned snippy and stubborn and grouchy when it all got to be too much. And that he got it when Ray was that way.
Except Fraser was too perfect for that anymore. And he didn't get Ray. And Ray didn't know what the hell happened, except somehow he'd lost his partner, and his best friend.
A six-pack into Friday night, Ray was still brooding over the situation. He'd been getting nowhere with everyone else. Huey and Dewey had been the same as Welsh, Frannie was over the moon that Fraser wasn't running the other way, and Thatcher had the happy Stepford Mountie she'd always wanted. Ray was just going to have to figure out what was going on by himself.
Of course six beers meant cabbing over, and getting dropped off a block away from the Consulate. But Ray could still wield a mean credit card, buzzed or not.
He snuck down the corridor and slipped Fraser's door open.
In the moonlit office, Ray saw Dief lift his head from his snooze on the floor and look over at him curiously. That seemed to be all it took to wake Fraser, too.
"Ray. How very nice to see you."
Damn. Ray hadn't really gotten as far as a plan for how to investigate once he got in.
Meanwhile, Fraser got gracefully up off the cot and headed over to the bookcase, like it was perfectly normal for Ray to break in in the middle of the night. And, well, okay, but it was just the once before.
"I suppose you've come to borrow Dr. Battleboro's book." He pulled it off the shelf without even turning on the light. "I hope you find it useful."
See? Weird. And Fraser hadn't suggested getting together over the weekend to watch hockey, either. Which was probably for the best, the way Ray was feeling, but still.
Ray gave a peek at Dief, who actually looked a teeny bit guilty. So maybe Ray wasn't the only one, but Dief wasn't doing anything about it, just letting Fraser be a freak. More of a freak than normal. Damn, he wished he could talk wolf.
- - - - - - - - - - -
11:13 p.m.
The Frptznfti bounced contemplatively as they tried to describe the dispute they needed him for, apparently mulling over their database of dictionaries.
"Athletics."
"Sports."
"Tournament."
Fraser gaped in disbelief. "You took me from my bed because you need a referee? Where exactly is this tournament?"
"Akladak Stadium, Tennanian Quadrant," answered Bbrnztzpft.
This was preposterous. "No, I won't go." He folded his arms across his chest.
"You are going." Mrfpztztt waved an arm towards the windows, where Fraser could see the stars shifting as they moved.
Good God, what a nightmare--kidnapped by aliens for a sports tournament.
"You are fan of hockey!" Rrrntztft tried to wheedle.
"Akladak very exciting!"
"You will be entertained!"
"Well it would be rather entertaining ... under different circumstances. Unfortunately these circumstances are unacceptable."
"But you are just!"
"Service!"
"Duty!" The creatures were practically wailing, but Fraser was unmoved.
"Apparently you don't understand that my duty is as an officer is to the RCMP, and when kidnapped, my duty is to escape, if at all possible. It is certainly not to cooperate with my kidnappers and desert my post at the Consulate!"
- - - - - - - - - - -
Monday
After having the weekend to cool off, Ray hoped he could keep it together in front of Fraser, while still working out what was going on, stealth-style. Driving back from the Consulate with Fraser--still Dief-less, and why was the wolf so mopey these days?--he thought he was doing okay.
"Ray?"
"Yeah, Frase?"
"Why does my penis become erect when I'm near you? I noticed it particularly when you came to my room Friday night."
Ray stomped on the brake. Tires squealed and horns blared behind him. He turned and gaped at Fraser.
Fraser peered through the windshield and got that little line on his forehead. "Did you see something in the road, Ray?"
Ray groaned and dropped his head to the steering wheel, then sat up and pulled the Goat over to the side of the road.
Okay, there was definitely something queer--ha, ha--here. Because no way was Fraser that naive, no matter what the guys in the bullpen liked to joke. He chose to act like some sort of old-fashioned gentleman, like it was a comfort zone or something. But lately he was accidentally leading Frannie on, and now this?
"Frase, buddy--did you get hit in the head recently?"
"No."
"You running a fever?"
"No."
"Sick at all?"
"No."
"Lick anything dangerous?"
"No."
"Hypnotise yourself?"
"No."
Ray drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then turned back to Fraser. "Look, do you know of any reason at all why you might be acting different lately?"
Fraser hemmed his throat and looked straight out the windshield. "Why, I don't know what you mean, Ray."
Bingo! Ray slammed his hand on the dashboard and pointed. "There is something queer! You are genetically incapable of lying."
"Oh dear," said Fraser. "That may very well be true."
"What is it, Frase? What's going on? 'Cause I swear, I'm about this close to popping you one!"
Fraser looked around nervously. "Perhaps we should go somewhere more private?"
Ray noticed the news vendor by his sidewalk stand, keeping an eye on him with his fist raised to Fraser. "Yeah, okay, okay. We'll go to my place."
He pulled away from the curb.
- - - - - - - - - - -
11:18 p.m.
The beings bounced in place, in an alarming show of what appeared to be excitement.
"No effect on Consulate!"
"Not missed!"
"We have created Benton Fraser clone!"
"Deoxyribonucleic acid from toenail clippings in waste receptacle!"
"Knowledge input from dictionary, encyclopedia, Royal Canadian Mounted Police manual!"
"RCMP personnel files, Chicago Police Department records!"
"James Houston's Treasury of Inuit Legends, journals of Robert Fraser!"
"Verisimilitude is perfect!"
Fraser gaped at the extent of the violation, both personal and institutional. Replaced by a clone! "People ... people are not interchangeable!" he sputtered. "We can't be swapped out like ... like a carburetor on a 1967 Pontiac Gran Turismo Omologato!" he added, feeling a touch of grief.
Not missed? Surely several thousand pages of paper couldn't replicate his personality. Could it? And since they'd gone to the trouble ... "Couldn't you have had the clone you made of me be the referee? He's human."
The Frptznfti began a smaller, more agitated bounce.
"Clone made by Frptznfti. Could be tampered with to favor Frptznfti in judgment. Must have impartial arbiter."
Ah, of course.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Tuesday
Ray really had lost his best friend. Kidnapped by aliens and halfway across the galaxy. And he was never coming back in this lifetime. Ray felt helpless. Ray was pretty sure he was on the verge of a full-scale meltdown over it, but he had too many cases to juggle to give in. Plus looking out for the clone, who actually seemed nice enough--he just wasn't Fraser. And really was as innocent as he'd been acting. Ray'd had to turn down a very polite offer for "sexual relations."
"Fraser, good morning." Here was Frannie, tucking her hair behind her ear and cozying up to ... the clone? clone-Fraser? the constable currently known as Fraser?... with a smile.
"Ah, Francesca. Good morning." He smiled down at her, and she went all melty. Ray rolled his eyes and hauled clone-Fraser down to the supply closet.
"Uh, Frase. Are you getting that erect penis thing around Frannie?"
"No, Ray, just you." The clone smiled at him, and shifted in the tight space so that they were a little closer.
And, wow, in the glare of the overhead bulb, maybe the clone didn't look entirely innocent. Ray swallowed hard and stepped back. "Yeah, okay, look, here's the thing. You're not Fraser. You're basically a stranger to me. A hot stranger, sure, but, well, not Fraser."
"Oh." The guy looked pretty broken up. "I think I understand, Ray."
"And another thing? The way you feel about me? That's pretty much the way Frannie feels about you. Or Fraser. Well, except minus the penis, which she doesn't have. But if you don't feel the same way back, you probably shouldn't stand so close to her."
"I see, Ray." Damn. Ray hated seeing Fraser, any Fraser, looking sad.
"Yeah, I know. Life's tough, here on Earth." He put a hand on his back and led him out. "C'mon, buddy, let's get some coffee."
Wednesday
When clone-Fraser only had ten minutes left on statue duty--God, poor bastard; Ray was going to have to school him on that, too--Ray came by and told Turnbull he'd just wait in Fraser's office.
Yeah, he'd wait, but he had something to do in the meantime.
"I oughta kick you out of the pack!" he told Dief. "Fraser got replaced by a clone, and you couldn't give me a high sign, let me know what's up? 'Cause he paid you off with doughnuts? That is not buddies. Not buddies. Let me tell you, you better enjoy the doughnuts he gives you, because you are never getting a treat from me again. Ever."
Dief whined and buried his face under his front paws.
"Yeah, you better feel bad."
"Is everything all right, Detective Vecchio?"
Holy shit! That Turnbull could really sneak up, for a big guy.
"Yeah, fine. I was just wondering why Dief hadn't warned me aliens came and replaced Fraser."
"Ha ha! Very amusing, Detective."
"Seriously, Turnbull, you don't think Fraser's been a little odd?"
Turnbull scrunched his forehead for a minute, but then returned to his usual sunny self. "Indeed, no. Constable Fraser is, as always, an exemplary officer." He gave Ray a broad wink. "Alien or not." As he went back down the hall, Ray heard him giggle, and shivered. Disturbing.
Dief was still moping on the floor, so Ray gave him a scratch behind the ears. "Look, that was not cool, but we're still good. The new guy's okay, but he's going to need a lot of help. You coming back to work?"
Dief shoved his muzzle into Ray's hand and whined softly.
"Yeah, I miss him, too."
- - - - - - - - - - -
11:23 p.m.
"Well, son, you've managed to get yourself into quite a pickle this time."
Wonderful. All he needed was a lecture from his father. "Funny," he snapped under his breath, "it seems to me you're in a worse one, seeing as how you're dead."
"I suppose you have a point. But I never left the planet while I was still on it, so to speak." His image flickered, and nearly went out.
"Dad? Are you okay?"
"Hmm? Oh, sorry, son. It was hard enough figuring out how to get from the beyond to normal space-time. This is even trickier. I'm sure I'll get the hang of it soon enough, though, don't you worry."
"Normal space-time ... Oh dear!" He rounded on the aliens. "We must be traveling at near-light speeds, yes?"
"Yes, yes," they bobbled.
"Near-light speed to Agathinian wormhole, through the wormhole, then near-light speed in the Tennanian Quadrant to the Akladak Stadium," Bbrnztzpft clarified.
"And how long does the journey from Earth to Akladak Stadium take?"
Rrrntztft breeped quietly a moment, then stated, "Approximately one quarter of your planetary revolutions. Ninety-nine Earth rotations."
"Three months," Mrfpztztt translated.
"I see," Fraser bit out. "And if you take me directly to the tournament, I judge it, and you bring me directly back, how long will have passed on Earth since I left?"
"One hundred twenty revolutions."
Fraser felt faint. A hundred and twenty years. Everyone he knew, dead. Society changed beyond recognition, and himself a hopeless anachronism.
Ray.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Thursday
Ray tossed and turned all night after a full day working with clone-Fraser. Including squeezing into a shallow doorway together to avoid getting made by some guys they were tailing.
Damn.
It's not like he didn't notice he and Fraser had chemistry before. At least he thought so. And this Fraser was telling him he felt it back. Which, if he was an exact clone of Fraser, did that mean original-Fraser felt chemistry with him, too?
And original-Fraser was the one Ray lo-- Original-Fraser was the one Ray was close to. The one he really clicked with in all ways. Clone-Fraser was a nice enough guy, but a little too nice. Besides, he was almost like a kid--naive--the way he didn't have any real world experience.
Virgin, a very, very bad part of Ray whispered. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow.
It would be like taking candy from a baby. A cherry lollipop.
Bad brain. Ray whimpered.
But really, the clone wasn't the same. It was Fraser who got him all fired up. They challenged each other and fought each other and understood each other and supported each other and ... and the clone looked like that guy, but he wasn't him.
It's just that the clone was here and actively trying to get into his pants, and real Fraser was millions of miles away.
Ray punched the mattress and flipped over again.
- - - - - - - - - - -
11:28 p.m.
Fraser couldn't stay another moment--he'd already been accelerating away from Earth for half an hour.
"No. I refuse." He folded his arms and glared at his kidnappers. "You might as well turn around and take me back now, because I won't referee your match."
The Frptznfti rolled about in agitation.
"You must!"
"We need judgment!"
Fraser shook his head. "It was unconscionable for you to steal my life away from me and deceive my friends and coworkers." He gave them his full, righteous glare. "If you persist in this course, I will be unfair."
The aliens gasped.
"I will be partial!"
"That's telling 'em, son!" His father was blinking in and out behind him like a radio signal during a solar flare.
"If you do not return me to Earth this instant, I will decide the contest against you."
The aliens huddled and breeped among themselves frantically. Finally they turned to Fraser.
"Akladak Tournament is peaceful means of solving boundary disputes."
"No tournament, we return to war."
"Where can we find a judge?"
Fraser faltered for just a moment, but the thought of Ray partnered with his clone strengthened his resolve. "There are people who would welcome the opportunity to travel to another planet." He had met a bus full. In fact ... "Do you have the"--what was it?--"the Baleptitron database?"
"Yes, yes, of course." Rrrntztft rolled over to the wall and hovered a paw over a panel of blinking lights.
"Is there a record of a Major Alan Whistler?" Fraser asked.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Friday
Working on no sleep sucked. Having to arrest a good kid who'd gotten caught up in a gang sucked even more.
Ray let the clone talk him into coming back to the Consulate after work.
"Just relax here with the TV for a bit, and I'll call you when the tea is ready." Ray slumped onto the loveseat in the drawing room and tried to ignore the prickly brocade and lacy pillows. Sports News helped.
He'd managed to get into a zone when Fraser called for him from down the hall. He switched off the TV and shuffled down to Fraser's office.
Where Fraser--the clone--was standing in his red longjohns.
"I can't help but notice you seem stressed. I thought perhaps sexual release would assist you in relaxing."
Aw, crap. "I thought you were making tea."
"Of course." The clone looked a little disappointed, but picked up the pot on the desk and poured a cup.
"Look, Fraser, it's not that you're not a nice guy, but I'm in love with Fraser. The real one. I'm sorry."
"You knew?" The voice came from behind him. Ray spun around.
"You knew he wasn't me?" There was another Fraser in red longjohns ...
"Fraser?"
"Ray!"
"But what ... How ...?" the clone sputtered, and Fraser turned to him, fierce and intense.
"How dare you steal my life, make a mockery of my duty, and try to seduce my Ray!" Oh, God, yeah! Ray went from zero to hard immediately. There were wild places inside of Fraser, wild places from up there in the Arctic that couldn't be copied. Wild places that spoke to the ones inside of Ray.
But Fraser's wild places were stalking towards the clone now, and looking murderous.
"Whoa, Frase, hang on." Ray grabbed an arm. "He didn't asked to be made. He's just been trying to make the best of the hand he was dealt, you know?"
Luckily that turned Fraser's attention to him. "Are you all right? He didn't ...?"
Ray snorted. "Ah, no. He didn't. And now that you're back? I'm fine." He knew he was grinning like an idiot, and he couldn't let go of Fraser's arm--yeah, he was just fan-freaking-tastic.
They spent the next hour catching up.
Ray didn't get the thing about Fraser only being gone an hour--that didn't make any sense. The two Frasers kept scribbling out more and more equations to explain it until he gave up and shouted, "I don't care! So you weren't gone two weeks. Fine."
The clone didn't get how Fraser convinced the aliens to bring him back, but then he'd never been on the other end of Fraser on his high horse. Plus, Fraser had found somebody to take his place. "You remember 'that case we were on'?"--with the tone that meant him and Vecchio--"The one in Rosewell, Illinois?"
"Oh, the one where 'we' almost spent thirty years in a military prison? Yeah, I remember."
"Well, Jane and Norman Whistler, from the UFO tour, had a son who was an Air Force pilot. He was declared KIA, but Jane believed he had, in fact, been taken by aliens. I had the Frptznfti check the Baleptitron database, and he is, indeed, currently living on the Baleptitron homeworld. The Whistlers were far more interested in seeing Alan again than remaining at the Sunset Retirement Home, so they are headed to pick him up and Norman will judge the Akladak tournament."
Ray nudged up against Fraser. "And you were more interested in seeing me again than traveling across the galaxy to watch alien hockey?"
"I was." Fraser's voice had gone husky.
The clone looked even more miserable.
"Hey, look," said Ray, "maybe we should all get some sleep, and get together tomorrow to figure out this thing." He waved between the two Frasers. "Fraser--uh, clone-Fraser--you're used to staying here, so I'll let Fraser crash on my couch tonight and we'll sort it all out tomorrow." It was paper-thin, but maybe the clone was innocent enough that it would keep him from feeling too bad. Besides, Dief would probably be all over him, trying to get his last doughnut fixes in.
It was kind frustrating to watch Fraser put on more layers of clothes, especially since Ray could see pretty damn clearly the bulge in Fraser's longjohns, though at least he kept his back to the clone. But Ray had to admit that pulling on jeans and a shirt was a good idea for going out. A quick slide of feet into a pair of moccasins and they were ready to go.
Fraser didn't speak on the ride back to Ray's, not even when Ray drove too fast and sped through lights that had been yellow for half a block. The air inside the car was thick and intense, both of them focused on getting home and horizontal.
Finally there, Ray screeched the car to a halt, and they both scrambled for the stairs. Key into ... key into ... dammit! ... key into lock, door open, and Fraser was in behind him, slamming the door shut and shoving Ray against it like Fraser was going to explode if he didn't have his tongue in Ray's mouth right the fuck now. Which Ray was all over--grabbing Fraser's head and pulling him tight in, because he could. Because Fraser was here, with him, and not out past Pluto somewhere, thank God.
Fraser grabbed Ray's wrists and pinned them together overhead, against the door, in one strong fist, while his other hand worked Ray's shirt up. The feel of that warm, broad hand sweeping up his belly to tweak a nipple made Ray's knees want to give out.
His T-shirt rucked up across his shoulders, pushing against where their mouths met, Ray said, "Fraser." Or more like he breathed heavily into Fraser's mouth, "Fraser." Whichever, Fraser backed off, panting, just far enough for Ray to say, "Bed." Ray watched Fraser's eyes go completely black before he turned and pulled Ray behind him towards the bedroom. And not for sleep.
In fact, they didn't sleep much the whole night.
Saturday
The next morning, Ray felt ridiculously happy, and Fraser was freaking glowing, but they knew they had to figure out what to do with the clone.
They came by the Consulate with coffee and breakfast, including a healthy Eggbeaters burrito for Dief. Ray didn't tell Fraser about that betrayal--he figured the guy could only take so much--but man, the wolf owed him.
"So, uh, clone--you're going to need another name. What do you want to be called?"
The guy looked totally confused. "I've only ever been Benton Fraser."
"Yes, well, as have I, but for considerably longer." Oh, yeah. Snippy Mountie was back.
"Frase, c'mon. You've named sled dogs and stuff. How did you do it?"
Fraser frowned. "Well, sometimes I named them after geographic locations. Other times, obviously, political figures." He waved at Dief.
"Ah. Perhaps Lester Pearson?" the clone said.
"Excellent," said Fraser, looking pleasantly surprised, but Ray protested, "You can't go around being called Lester! That's a total dork name!"
"Ray!" And for the first time Fraser took the clone's side, which was a good sign he'd get over taking out his kidnapping on the clone. Ray was going to have to find out who this Lester Pearson was.
But in the meantime, "I mean it, Fraser. He's going to have a tough enough time of it. He needs a 'guy' name, like Mac, or Al. Yeah," Ray snickered, "Albert Benton Pearson."
"That's a fine name, Ray. Why do you find it funny?" the clone asked. Fraser wasn't asking, but Ray could see he was just as clueless.
Ray grabbed a piece of paper and wrote the two names. Then he pointed at each man in turn. "Al B. Pearson. You B. Fraser." He cracked himself up again.
Fraser groaned. "I think someone's a little punchy from lack of sleep. The pun is the lowest form of humor, you know." But the edges of his mouth were turned up.
"Ah! Aha! You think it's funny!" Ray crowed.
"I admit nothing," said Fraser, lips still quirking.
Ray turned to the clone, and saw he was wearing a look of sad realization. Ray felt a little bad, but hey, it was the first step to growing up, realizing the difference between attraction and a real relationship. "What do you think, really?"
"Well," the clone said, "some friends of the original Lester Pearson felt the same as you. They called him Mike."
"Mike. Mike's cool," said Ray, and good--now he didn't have to call him "the clone" anymore, or "Fraser." "Okay. I know somebody who knows somebody--we'll get your paperwork made up." Fraser twitched at him talking about forgery, but kept quiet. "Next question is, what do you want to do?"
"I don't know." Mike looked down at his hands in his lap, kinda helpless. "I only ever thought about being an RCMP officer."
Fraser got that really kind, understanding face of his, the one that drove Ray nuts when he used on dirtbags like Denny Scarpa. But this time he was glad Fraser had some sympathy for the clone.
"You know, there's something that I always wanted to do, but never could."
Mike looked up, and yeah, Ray saw that Fraser totally understood. Fraser got the RCMP and the CPD ... and Ray. But if there was something Mike could have that Fraser couldn't? Mike was all over that.
"Can you sing?" Fraser asked.
Three months later
Turnbull came racing into Fraser's office. "Package for you, sir!" He was dancing up and down like a child putting off going to the restroom. Honestly, it was embarrassing sometimes.
But Fraser had a pretty good idea why he was excited. It was easy to feel the CD-shaped contents inside the cushioned packaging. Fraser invited Turnbull to take up a chair with a nod, while he opened the package. It was indeed the new Tracy Jenkins CD. "Would you please call Detective Vecchio, and ask him to meet us here?" he asked. Turnbull jumped like a jackrabbit.
Mike had taken a crash course in voice, piano and guitar lessons. He'd been downloaded with extensive theoretical knowledge of music, and worked hard on developing the muscle memory to match it. Fraser had had no reservations about contacting Tracy to recommend his newly found, wrong-side-of-the-sheets cousin. Well, other than a mental apology to his Uncle Tiberius for slandering his reputation posthumously.
Reports from both Tracy and Mike were glowing, so Fraser was satisfied.
Ten minutes later, the front door of the Consulate flew open, and Fraser heard, "It's here? It's really here?" Fraser stepped into the hallway, waving the case at Ray, and Ray's face lit up. "All right! All right!" He clapped his hands together. "Let's go!"
They stepped into the drawing room, and Turnbull and Ray both looked on impatiently as Fraser slipped the CD into the player. The sound of a guitar, slow and plaintive, started the song off.
When you said you loved another
I had nothing left at all
Nothing left to live for
My future a blank wall
But since I've learned much more
Was hidden inside me
So now I have to thank you
For setting my life free
Fraser checked the liner notes. Lyrics: Mike Pearson.
He and Ray shared a smile. It sounded like Mike was really developing his own identity, and finding his own path.
Fraser was past his jealousy of his clone's attraction to Ray, and his anger at the clone's part in his near-exile. For the most part, anyway. And he had to admit, as he watched Ray nod to the beat of the music, he was thankful his clone--Mike--had brought out emotions both Fraser and Ray had been hiding beneath the surface. Perhaps it was easier to feel kindly towards Mike while he was far away, recording and touring with Tracy.
As long as Fraser could be here with Ray, could sweep him up, laughing, in the waltz that was the next track on the CD, he was content.
END
**
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