Closed RP and a series of owls: An Awful Accident And Ancillary Amnesia
((OOC Note: For various reasons I've decided to basically reset Fraser to his Sorting, so he's going to get some lovely and highly convenient soap opera amnesia as of this RP. I really would prefer that people not go around telling him all the hijinks he's been up to, although you are free to make up as many fake memories as you want. He will get up to much more wacky fun now, I promise!))
Over the past few weeks, Bob Fraser had started to get an Idea. Maybe not even an so much an idea as an inkling that Something was wrong. It took him a little longer to get to the crux of it, but after some time spent thinking he came to a vital and worrisome conclusion: there was an imposter in their midst.
It was little things; things he hadn't picked up on at the time except for a vague sense of unease. Things he would say that wouldn't quite fit. Things he would do. And that plaque in the Popcorn Room...
Yes, he decided, this Ray Kowalski was no more his son's partner than he was Ray Vecchio. The real Ray Kowalski, along with the real Ray Vecchio and whatever other Rays the city of Chicago could throw at them, was probably still back in the States, happily kicking people in the head or whatever it was he did all day, with no idea that he was being viciously impersonated.
Bob decided that first thing in the morning he would let Benton know. He didn't want to hurt him, but he couldn't let it go on any longer.
---
The argument was like a lot of their arguments -- annoying, pointless, and starting on a completely different subject than the one on which it eventually settled. Really, Fraser wasn't even sure how they'd gotten on this one. All he knew was that he'd woken up in a bad mood, and his father had not even tried to help. Almost immediately he'd begun making comments about Ray, babbling, saying the strangest things, like he was trying to hint at something.
Fraser guessed it was about grandchildren. It always was about grandchildren. And as much as he was in no mood to talk about Ray, he was in even less of a mood to talk about them -- but once you got Bob Fraser on the subject of grandchildren, on babies and the making thereof, there was no stopping him.
It wasn't long before he had Fraser acting in a most un-Fraser-like manner, snapping and snarling at the air next to him as he headed to the Great Hall for his breakfast. "You'd think that you would stop trying to dictate my life, Dad, after having been dead for the last four years!"
"Oh, Benton," Bob sighed, shaking his head. "I know it seems unfair, but I just want what's best for you."
"Maybe I don't need help, Dad. Amazingly enough, I've survived this far on my own."
Bob winced. "That's a low blow, son. And the point is that I'm trying to help you. There are things about family that you just don't understa--"
"Oh!" Fraser stopped in his tracks at the top of the stairs and turned around, glaring at his father. "Are there? Then why don't you tell me? Go on, Dad! Tell me what I'm missing out on. Tell me what we should be doing. Tell me, Dad, because I'm having trouble trying to understand!"
Suddenly, Bob remembered why he'd picked this fight in the first place. "Benton, the Yank--"
But Fraser was having none of it. "You know what? I don't care," he said wearily, waving away his father's protests. "Not any more." He turned away, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and began walking down the steps. "I'm sorry I asked. And if you want--" But whatever Bob might or might not have wanted was forgotten as Fraser's foot missed the next step -- the vanishing step, the one he'd forgotten to step over in his distress. Cold realization dawned, but by then it was too late to gain his balance back; he tumbled down the stairs and hit his head at the bottom with a sickening crack.
The blow might have killed a weaker man, or maybe just put him into a coma. Fraser had been knocked around plenty in his life and his system was made of tougher stuff; he woke up again within minutes, to see his father and Diefenbaker peering down at him.
"Dad...?" he murmured muzzily. "Am I still in the Sorting Room?"
Bob exchanged a look with Dief. "Oh, dear." He sighed. "Benton, I think we'd better get you to the Hospital Wing."
---
Some time later Fraser sat in the Hospital Wing, relaxed, slightly sore, and with absolutely no memory of the last eight months. As far as he was concerned he'd just come from his Sorting -- and Bob had decided that he preferred to keep it that way for now. He had a quiet word with Lily, another with Dief (who grudgingly agreed with his decision) and then left his son sitting patiently and sipping on a juice box so he could find a House Elf and send off some owls.
Stephanie,
Hello, dear! I just thought I should tip you off that Benton's in the Hospital Wing at the moment. He's going to be fine, of course -- he's my son, that should go without saying -- but he doesn't remember very much about being here. I'd rather keep it that way, if it's all the same to you. Don't mention the Yank to him.
We should sit down to tea sometime. What do you think?
-Bob Fraser
Mr. Goodfellow,
As I understand it, you used to be friends with my son and that Kowalski fellow. If that's the case, I need to ask you a favor: Benton's lost his memory and it's better for everyone if he doesn't remember the things he's done here. Can I count on you to keep it quiet? Don't talk about the Yank detective, whatever you do.
Sgt. Robert Fraser, RCMP
Constable Turnbull,
You don't know me, and introducing myself in person would be pretty difficult seeings as how you're not dead and never have been, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to just do it this way. I'm Benton's father, Sergeant Bob Fraser. Nice to meet you.
Anyway, I'm writing to let you know that Benton's had a bit of a blow to the head and is currently in the Hospital Wing. He'll be fine, but he's got a bit of memory loss. I'm asking that you not tell him what's been happening since his arrival here, especially with regards to the Yank Detective Kowalski. The reason is classified, but believe me when I say that the truth at this juncture could be very dangerous. Is that all clear, Constable?
I'd say I hope we can meet in person at some point, but I don't think you'd like to go through the necessary process!
Sincerely,
Sgt. Robert Fraser, RCMP
Over the past few weeks, Bob Fraser had started to get an Idea. Maybe not even an so much an idea as an inkling that Something was wrong. It took him a little longer to get to the crux of it, but after some time spent thinking he came to a vital and worrisome conclusion: there was an imposter in their midst.
It was little things; things he hadn't picked up on at the time except for a vague sense of unease. Things he would say that wouldn't quite fit. Things he would do. And that plaque in the Popcorn Room...
Yes, he decided, this Ray Kowalski was no more his son's partner than he was Ray Vecchio. The real Ray Kowalski, along with the real Ray Vecchio and whatever other Rays the city of Chicago could throw at them, was probably still back in the States, happily kicking people in the head or whatever it was he did all day, with no idea that he was being viciously impersonated.
Bob decided that first thing in the morning he would let Benton know. He didn't want to hurt him, but he couldn't let it go on any longer.
---
The argument was like a lot of their arguments -- annoying, pointless, and starting on a completely different subject than the one on which it eventually settled. Really, Fraser wasn't even sure how they'd gotten on this one. All he knew was that he'd woken up in a bad mood, and his father had not even tried to help. Almost immediately he'd begun making comments about Ray, babbling, saying the strangest things, like he was trying to hint at something.
Fraser guessed it was about grandchildren. It always was about grandchildren. And as much as he was in no mood to talk about Ray, he was in even less of a mood to talk about them -- but once you got Bob Fraser on the subject of grandchildren, on babies and the making thereof, there was no stopping him.
It wasn't long before he had Fraser acting in a most un-Fraser-like manner, snapping and snarling at the air next to him as he headed to the Great Hall for his breakfast. "You'd think that you would stop trying to dictate my life, Dad, after having been dead for the last four years!"
"Oh, Benton," Bob sighed, shaking his head. "I know it seems unfair, but I just want what's best for you."
"Maybe I don't need help, Dad. Amazingly enough, I've survived this far on my own."
Bob winced. "That's a low blow, son. And the point is that I'm trying to help you. There are things about family that you just don't understa--"
"Oh!" Fraser stopped in his tracks at the top of the stairs and turned around, glaring at his father. "Are there? Then why don't you tell me? Go on, Dad! Tell me what I'm missing out on. Tell me what we should be doing. Tell me, Dad, because I'm having trouble trying to understand!"
Suddenly, Bob remembered why he'd picked this fight in the first place. "Benton, the Yank--"
But Fraser was having none of it. "You know what? I don't care," he said wearily, waving away his father's protests. "Not any more." He turned away, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and began walking down the steps. "I'm sorry I asked. And if you want--" But whatever Bob might or might not have wanted was forgotten as Fraser's foot missed the next step -- the vanishing step, the one he'd forgotten to step over in his distress. Cold realization dawned, but by then it was too late to gain his balance back; he tumbled down the stairs and hit his head at the bottom with a sickening crack.
The blow might have killed a weaker man, or maybe just put him into a coma. Fraser had been knocked around plenty in his life and his system was made of tougher stuff; he woke up again within minutes, to see his father and Diefenbaker peering down at him.
"Dad...?" he murmured muzzily. "Am I still in the Sorting Room?"
Bob exchanged a look with Dief. "Oh, dear." He sighed. "Benton, I think we'd better get you to the Hospital Wing."
---
Some time later Fraser sat in the Hospital Wing, relaxed, slightly sore, and with absolutely no memory of the last eight months. As far as he was concerned he'd just come from his Sorting -- and Bob had decided that he preferred to keep it that way for now. He had a quiet word with Lily, another with Dief (who grudgingly agreed with his decision) and then left his son sitting patiently and sipping on a juice box so he could find a House Elf and send off some owls.
Stephanie,
Hello, dear! I just thought I should tip you off that Benton's in the Hospital Wing at the moment. He's going to be fine, of course -- he's my son, that should go without saying -- but he doesn't remember very much about being here. I'd rather keep it that way, if it's all the same to you. Don't mention the Yank to him.
We should sit down to tea sometime. What do you think?
-Bob Fraser
Mr. Goodfellow,
As I understand it, you used to be friends with my son and that Kowalski fellow. If that's the case, I need to ask you a favor: Benton's lost his memory and it's better for everyone if he doesn't remember the things he's done here. Can I count on you to keep it quiet? Don't talk about the Yank detective, whatever you do.
Sgt. Robert Fraser, RCMP
Constable Turnbull,
You don't know me, and introducing myself in person would be pretty difficult seeings as how you're not dead and never have been, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to just do it this way. I'm Benton's father, Sergeant Bob Fraser. Nice to meet you.
Anyway, I'm writing to let you know that Benton's had a bit of a blow to the head and is currently in the Hospital Wing. He'll be fine, but he's got a bit of memory loss. I'm asking that you not tell him what's been happening since his arrival here, especially with regards to the Yank Detective Kowalski. The reason is classified, but believe me when I say that the truth at this juncture could be very dangerous. Is that all clear, Constable?
I'd say I hope we can meet in person at some point, but I don't think you'd like to go through the necessary process!
Sincerely,
Sgt. Robert Fraser, RCMP