fanfic: "Not a Mollusk" (due South)
I finally tied up the end of this due South fic, so I'm posting it. :3 This is probably safe for the general public, unless they're easily made queasy. (This warning has nothing to do with Fraser licking things he found on the street, I promise. This time.) Kudos to sinfonica, who beta-read this when it was still in a notebook before she left on her trip. All typographical errors are my own.
Also: the land that was all Northwest Territories when the show (and thus this story) took place is now the Northwest Territories and the territory of Nunavut. When talking geography in a fic, always keep in mind the time period! And when learning geography from a fic, always remember to check a current map before trying to apply it in real life. X3
Not a Mollusk
"So, okay, Canada," Ray said abruptly. They were stuck in traffic between the 27th Precinct Station House, which was their destination, and the home of Mrs. Edwina Willford-Higgins, mother of Chester Willford, who was the primary suspect in a jewelry theft case. Due to the nature of the theft and Mrs. Willford-Higgins' evident colour-blindness -- a hereditary condition which would have been passed on to her son -- Fraser thought it likely that Chester Willford was, in fact, innocent. They needed to check the list of missing items for discrepancies, and Fraser had seriously considered suggesting that Ray call ahead so that they could get the information in transit, but had dismissed the notion upon remembering that the document was currently on Ray's desk. The last time Ray had attempted to direct Francesca Vecchio in locating and retrieving something from his desk had resulted in a twenty minute shouting match over the phone, during which Ray had accidentally stepped on a handcuffed criminal not less than three times. Considering Ray's frustration with the traffic delay, Fraser felt it was wiser not to add to the Detective's stress levels.
"Yes, Ray?" he inquired politely. Behind him, Diefenbaker moaned at the shut windows, but they were passing downwind of a donut shop and didn't want to tempt the half-wolf into jumping out of the car.
"Canada has prairies, right?"
"Yes, Ray."
"They're in the middle, right?"
"The middle, Ray?"
"Of Canada."
"Ah. More what you might call the mid-West, actually, Ray."
"Yes, okay, but I mean there's mountains to the West, right?"
"Yes, Ray," Fraser confirmed, watching his partner's gesticulations as Ray released the brake and, nudging the wheel ever so slightly with one knee, allowed the car to crawl forward no more than forty centimeters.
"And to the East of the Canadian prairies is what?"
"Ontario, Ray." The vehicle directly ahead of them moved forward a fifth of a tire rotation, and Ray's eyes flicked to the left before he followed, again nudging the wheel to the side. Fraser scanned the left side of the street and saw the opening of a narrow side street. Ray wasn't wearing his glasses, so it was possible that he had not yet noticed the sign indicating a one-way street with no left turn.
Fraser opened his mouth to point this out.
"Ontario! Right!" Ray exclaimed, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. "Does Ontario touch the ocean, Fraser? I can't remember."
"Yes, Ray," Fraser answered, wondering where this fresh interest in geography was coming from. "Technically it does. Ontario is not considered a coastal province, but it is impinged upon from the North by Hudson Bay."
"Does this bay impinge upon any of other whatchacallit, provinces?" Ray asked, looking at Fraser as the car drifted forward another short distance.
"Yes, Ray: in addition to Ontario, Hudson Bay is bordered by Quebec, Manitoba, and the Northwest Territories, which of course doesn't count as a province but is nonetheless a rather large part of Canada."
"And none of them are prairies?"
"No, Ray."
"They aren't?"
"No, Ray." This time when the car in front of them moved, they did not. "Manitoba is a prairie province."
"So, is that where prairie oysters come from?"
Fraser surprised himself with a chuckle, ducking his head -- and then the car ahead of them moved forward again and Ray -- as Fraser had guessed he would -- spun the wheel and cut through the side street illegally.
"Ray."
"We are in pursuit of a suspect, Fraser."
"No, we aren't."
"Oh yeah?" Ray parallel parked with the sort of speed and precision Fraser could never achieve with a motorized vehicle. He pointed at something past the windshield. "Then what's that?"
Fraser looked.
"It would appear to be Mr. Bryce, the owner of the jewelry store."
"Comin' out of Ricky the Fence's pawn shop, yeah. Why do you suppose that is, Fraser?"
"I don't know for certain, Ray, but I suspect it may have something to do with Chester Willford's inability to distinguish between rubies and emeralds."
"I suspect, too, Fraser," Ray said, hunched over the steering wheel as they watched Miles Bryce cross the street. "I suspect he's our suspect. I say we bring him in on suspicion of giving false statements to officers of the law and attempted fraud."
"Right you are, Ray."
Bryce was soon handcuffed and sharing the backseat with Diefenbaker, over whom he had tripped in his attempt to flee. As Ray drove a circuitous route back to the precinct in order to avoid the worst of the traffic snarls, Fraser took the opportunity to enlighten him as to the true nature of prairie oysters.
"You mean people cut off a cow's junk," Ray demanded with horror at a red light, making expressive digging motions midair, "and deep fry it, and eat it?"
"Just the testicles, Ray, and it has to be a bull, of course."
"That is just so..."
"It's considered a delicacy."
"So are snails!" Ray shot back, in the sort of tone that made clear his low opinion of escargot. He shot Fraser a suspicious look.
"Have you ever eaten 'em?"
"Ah." Fraser looked down, smoothing he eyebrow with a stroke of his thumb. "In actual fact, no. I was once offered the opportunity to try them, but I'm afraid Diefenbaker got to them first."
Bryce was confessing everything before they even got him through the station doors, shooting nervous looks at Diefenbaker the entire time.
Unfortunately, after that normally innocent words took on a tastelessly punny quality. Fraser would almost think Ray was doing it on purpose were it not for his obvious chagrin each time he realised what he'd said. When Fraser caught himself about to say something of the sort as well, he switched gears and instead delivered a long lecture on freshwater pearls.
After that, things returned to their usual approximation of normal, although Detective Huey gave them an odd look, and Ray elected not to have lunch at all, despite Fraser's pointed comments about nutrition. So it was with a stomach empty of all but a Mars bar and several cups of coffee that Ray was faced with Mr. Ackerton, Mr. Bryce's lawyer. It was these same stomach contents which ended up on Mr. Ackerton's shoes after he accused Ray and Fraser of using the threat of feeding certain parts of Mr. Bryce's anatomy to Diefenbaker to gain Mr. Bryce's confession. Mr. Ackerton was understandably displeased, but unwisely chose to express this via yelling some very rude things at the queasy Detective, despite Fraser's attempts at intervention, just as Ray Vecchio's mother entered the room.
The level of volume generated by an irate defense attorney clashing with a protective Italian mother was sufficient to draw Lieutenant Welsh out of his office. He put a stop to the fracas by out-bellowing both of them with threats of charging them both with deliberate interference with a police officer in commission of his duties (meaning himself). Once he had quiet, he demanded to know what was going on.
Ray, meanwhile, had laid his head on his desk and draped his jacket over it. Fraser deliberately interposed his body between his partner and the crowd of people, and tried to explain.
"Sir, I believe Mr. Bryce may have misinterpreted a conversation between myself and Detective Vecchio --"
"They said they were gonna feed his balls to a wolf!" Ackerton interrupted.
Ray grabbed his wastebasket and heaved up more coffee, which prompted Welsh to question why there was still a mess on his floor. As if by magic, one of the cleaning staff appeared to deal with it.
"We did not threaten anything of the kind," Fraser said calmly. "We were merely continuing a conversation begun prior to his arrest about a Midwestern delicacy known as prairie oysters, or, alternatively, Rockie Mountain oysters.
Mr. Ackerton and Lieutenant Welsh made very similar expressions of discomfort which turned to alarm when Mrs. Vecchio inquired, "What's that?"
"The deep-fried testicles of a bull," Fraser told her.
Ray made a sick noise. Out of the corner of his eye, Fraser noted Francesca approaching with a glass of water.
"So you see, I'm afraid Mr. Bryce must have misinterpreted our conversation, if he inferred a threat. While Diefenbaker has, on occasion, bitten human beings in the line of duty, he has never eaten any part of one. In fact, he rarely breaks the skin."
Fraser couldn't help but notice the half-wolf had vanished around the time Ray first vomited. He had probably made a strategic retreat to one of the many women in the precinct who tended to coddle him. Fraser did not look forward to attempting to retrieve him.
By unspoken consensus, Fraser and Lieutenant Welsh guided Mr. Ackerton away from Ray's desk in order to continue talking down the lawyer out of range of the now paired conversational powers of two Vecchio women. The compromise was struck that Mr. Bryce would have no further contact with Diefenbaker, and Mr. Ackerton would not sue the department, the police force, nor Ray himself over his ruined shoes.
With Ackerton departed and Lieutenant Welsh returning to his office, Fraser turned back to his partner. Ray was attempting to argue with Mrs. Vecchio, hampered by her fussing and checking him for signs of fever.
"Fraser, help me out here."
"What seems to be the difficulty?" At his question, both Francesca and her mother smiled upon Fraser with distinctly hopeful expressions.
"No difficulty," Mrs. Vecchio told him, reaching out to try to smooth back Ray's hair. "I just need Raimondo to come to dinner tonight."
"Ma!" Ray squawked, trying to deflect her hand.
As far as Fraser knew, Ray did not actually dine with the Vecchios with any frequency. It was easier for them to explain to neighbours and visitors that he was busy with work than to explain why he was suddenly a different person. None of them wanted to risk blowing the real Ray Vecchio's undercover operation.
Sensing a storm of Vecchio-family-related difficulties brewing on the horizon, Fraser steeled himself.
"May I ask what for, Ma'am?"
Thus ended the high point of his week.
Also: the land that was all Northwest Territories when the show (and thus this story) took place is now the Northwest Territories and the territory of Nunavut. When talking geography in a fic, always keep in mind the time period! And when learning geography from a fic, always remember to check a current map before trying to apply it in real life. X3
Not a Mollusk
"So, okay, Canada," Ray said abruptly. They were stuck in traffic between the 27th Precinct Station House, which was their destination, and the home of Mrs. Edwina Willford-Higgins, mother of Chester Willford, who was the primary suspect in a jewelry theft case. Due to the nature of the theft and Mrs. Willford-Higgins' evident colour-blindness -- a hereditary condition which would have been passed on to her son -- Fraser thought it likely that Chester Willford was, in fact, innocent. They needed to check the list of missing items for discrepancies, and Fraser had seriously considered suggesting that Ray call ahead so that they could get the information in transit, but had dismissed the notion upon remembering that the document was currently on Ray's desk. The last time Ray had attempted to direct Francesca Vecchio in locating and retrieving something from his desk had resulted in a twenty minute shouting match over the phone, during which Ray had accidentally stepped on a handcuffed criminal not less than three times. Considering Ray's frustration with the traffic delay, Fraser felt it was wiser not to add to the Detective's stress levels.
"Yes, Ray?" he inquired politely. Behind him, Diefenbaker moaned at the shut windows, but they were passing downwind of a donut shop and didn't want to tempt the half-wolf into jumping out of the car.
"Canada has prairies, right?"
"Yes, Ray."
"They're in the middle, right?"
"The middle, Ray?"
"Of Canada."
"Ah. More what you might call the mid-West, actually, Ray."
"Yes, okay, but I mean there's mountains to the West, right?"
"Yes, Ray," Fraser confirmed, watching his partner's gesticulations as Ray released the brake and, nudging the wheel ever so slightly with one knee, allowed the car to crawl forward no more than forty centimeters.
"And to the East of the Canadian prairies is what?"
"Ontario, Ray." The vehicle directly ahead of them moved forward a fifth of a tire rotation, and Ray's eyes flicked to the left before he followed, again nudging the wheel to the side. Fraser scanned the left side of the street and saw the opening of a narrow side street. Ray wasn't wearing his glasses, so it was possible that he had not yet noticed the sign indicating a one-way street with no left turn.
Fraser opened his mouth to point this out.
"Ontario! Right!" Ray exclaimed, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. "Does Ontario touch the ocean, Fraser? I can't remember."
"Yes, Ray," Fraser answered, wondering where this fresh interest in geography was coming from. "Technically it does. Ontario is not considered a coastal province, but it is impinged upon from the North by Hudson Bay."
"Does this bay impinge upon any of other whatchacallit, provinces?" Ray asked, looking at Fraser as the car drifted forward another short distance.
"Yes, Ray: in addition to Ontario, Hudson Bay is bordered by Quebec, Manitoba, and the Northwest Territories, which of course doesn't count as a province but is nonetheless a rather large part of Canada."
"And none of them are prairies?"
"No, Ray."
"They aren't?"
"No, Ray." This time when the car in front of them moved, they did not. "Manitoba is a prairie province."
"So, is that where prairie oysters come from?"
Fraser surprised himself with a chuckle, ducking his head -- and then the car ahead of them moved forward again and Ray -- as Fraser had guessed he would -- spun the wheel and cut through the side street illegally.
"Ray."
"We are in pursuit of a suspect, Fraser."
"No, we aren't."
"Oh yeah?" Ray parallel parked with the sort of speed and precision Fraser could never achieve with a motorized vehicle. He pointed at something past the windshield. "Then what's that?"
Fraser looked.
"It would appear to be Mr. Bryce, the owner of the jewelry store."
"Comin' out of Ricky the Fence's pawn shop, yeah. Why do you suppose that is, Fraser?"
"I don't know for certain, Ray, but I suspect it may have something to do with Chester Willford's inability to distinguish between rubies and emeralds."
"I suspect, too, Fraser," Ray said, hunched over the steering wheel as they watched Miles Bryce cross the street. "I suspect he's our suspect. I say we bring him in on suspicion of giving false statements to officers of the law and attempted fraud."
"Right you are, Ray."
Bryce was soon handcuffed and sharing the backseat with Diefenbaker, over whom he had tripped in his attempt to flee. As Ray drove a circuitous route back to the precinct in order to avoid the worst of the traffic snarls, Fraser took the opportunity to enlighten him as to the true nature of prairie oysters.
"You mean people cut off a cow's junk," Ray demanded with horror at a red light, making expressive digging motions midair, "and deep fry it, and eat it?"
"Just the testicles, Ray, and it has to be a bull, of course."
"That is just so..."
"It's considered a delicacy."
"So are snails!" Ray shot back, in the sort of tone that made clear his low opinion of escargot. He shot Fraser a suspicious look.
"Have you ever eaten 'em?"
"Ah." Fraser looked down, smoothing he eyebrow with a stroke of his thumb. "In actual fact, no. I was once offered the opportunity to try them, but I'm afraid Diefenbaker got to them first."
Bryce was confessing everything before they even got him through the station doors, shooting nervous looks at Diefenbaker the entire time.
Unfortunately, after that normally innocent words took on a tastelessly punny quality. Fraser would almost think Ray was doing it on purpose were it not for his obvious chagrin each time he realised what he'd said. When Fraser caught himself about to say something of the sort as well, he switched gears and instead delivered a long lecture on freshwater pearls.
After that, things returned to their usual approximation of normal, although Detective Huey gave them an odd look, and Ray elected not to have lunch at all, despite Fraser's pointed comments about nutrition. So it was with a stomach empty of all but a Mars bar and several cups of coffee that Ray was faced with Mr. Ackerton, Mr. Bryce's lawyer. It was these same stomach contents which ended up on Mr. Ackerton's shoes after he accused Ray and Fraser of using the threat of feeding certain parts of Mr. Bryce's anatomy to Diefenbaker to gain Mr. Bryce's confession. Mr. Ackerton was understandably displeased, but unwisely chose to express this via yelling some very rude things at the queasy Detective, despite Fraser's attempts at intervention, just as Ray Vecchio's mother entered the room.
The level of volume generated by an irate defense attorney clashing with a protective Italian mother was sufficient to draw Lieutenant Welsh out of his office. He put a stop to the fracas by out-bellowing both of them with threats of charging them both with deliberate interference with a police officer in commission of his duties (meaning himself). Once he had quiet, he demanded to know what was going on.
Ray, meanwhile, had laid his head on his desk and draped his jacket over it. Fraser deliberately interposed his body between his partner and the crowd of people, and tried to explain.
"Sir, I believe Mr. Bryce may have misinterpreted a conversation between myself and Detective Vecchio --"
"They said they were gonna feed his balls to a wolf!" Ackerton interrupted.
Ray grabbed his wastebasket and heaved up more coffee, which prompted Welsh to question why there was still a mess on his floor. As if by magic, one of the cleaning staff appeared to deal with it.
"We did not threaten anything of the kind," Fraser said calmly. "We were merely continuing a conversation begun prior to his arrest about a Midwestern delicacy known as prairie oysters, or, alternatively, Rockie Mountain oysters.
Mr. Ackerton and Lieutenant Welsh made very similar expressions of discomfort which turned to alarm when Mrs. Vecchio inquired, "What's that?"
"The deep-fried testicles of a bull," Fraser told her.
Ray made a sick noise. Out of the corner of his eye, Fraser noted Francesca approaching with a glass of water.
"So you see, I'm afraid Mr. Bryce must have misinterpreted our conversation, if he inferred a threat. While Diefenbaker has, on occasion, bitten human beings in the line of duty, he has never eaten any part of one. In fact, he rarely breaks the skin."
Fraser couldn't help but notice the half-wolf had vanished around the time Ray first vomited. He had probably made a strategic retreat to one of the many women in the precinct who tended to coddle him. Fraser did not look forward to attempting to retrieve him.
By unspoken consensus, Fraser and Lieutenant Welsh guided Mr. Ackerton away from Ray's desk in order to continue talking down the lawyer out of range of the now paired conversational powers of two Vecchio women. The compromise was struck that Mr. Bryce would have no further contact with Diefenbaker, and Mr. Ackerton would not sue the department, the police force, nor Ray himself over his ruined shoes.
With Ackerton departed and Lieutenant Welsh returning to his office, Fraser turned back to his partner. Ray was attempting to argue with Mrs. Vecchio, hampered by her fussing and checking him for signs of fever.
"Fraser, help me out here."
"What seems to be the difficulty?" At his question, both Francesca and her mother smiled upon Fraser with distinctly hopeful expressions.
"No difficulty," Mrs. Vecchio told him, reaching out to try to smooth back Ray's hair. "I just need Raimondo to come to dinner tonight."
"Ma!" Ray squawked, trying to deflect her hand.
As far as Fraser knew, Ray did not actually dine with the Vecchios with any frequency. It was easier for them to explain to neighbours and visitors that he was busy with work than to explain why he was suddenly a different person. None of them wanted to risk blowing the real Ray Vecchio's undercover operation.
Sensing a storm of Vecchio-family-related difficulties brewing on the horizon, Fraser steeled himself.
"May I ask what for, Ma'am?"
Thus ended the high point of his week.