(no subject)
Title: Bright Red, And Moving Fast.
Author: boombangbing
Characters: Fraser, RayK
Rating: G
Length: 1477
Notes: Okay, this is my first dS fic that I've been brave enough to post, and I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with it, but they'll be more parts to it if it scores low on crappiness meter. :) This idea has been knocking around my exam-adsled brain for past couple of months. By the way, this is an AU, very very much so.
Ray pushed through the throng of people. First day at work and he was already late. What a fantastic first impression.
“Hey, you Kowalski?”
He spun round to face a young woman in a Civilian Aide's blue t-shirt which rode up to reveal her midriff.
“Uh huh, yeah.”
“Boss wants ta see you,” She pointed towards the office. “He's in there.”
After a pause she flashed him a smile and said, “Good luck.”
“Great,” he muttered, shuffling towards the door.
He rapped his knuckles on the door and waited, occasionally nodding at officers as they passed by.
“Come in!” the Lieutenant yelled after a minute.
“Hey, lieutenant,” Ray started his charm offensive straight away, or tried to. “I-”
“Sit.”
“Right.” He hooked the closest chair with his foot and sat down.
Welsh was an impressive man, not so much because of his largeness (which, in itself, couldn't be ignored) but in his presence. This guy could take you down in an instant, Ray was sure.
“You know who you're replacing, right?”
Ray shifted in his seat, drumming his fingers on his leg. “Yeah. Italian guy. Vecchio.”
Welsh nodded. “He's gone undercover, but as far as anyone outside of this station knows, he's retired to open a bowling alley in Florida. That's the story, and anything else could get him and us in serious trouble.”
“Okay. Is anyone gonna ask about it?”
“No. Well, probably not. There is a guy.” Welsh looked like he didn't want to say anymore.
“Who?”
“That's the big question.”
Ray frowned. He was never good at cryptic crosswords.
“You heard of Red?”
“The - the guy? Yeah, sure, who hasn't?”
The lieutenant looked at him, waiting. Waiting for it to sink in.
“Wait, Vecchio knew Red?”
“Vecchio was assigned to his case. And now it's yours.”
Ray started, “But-”
“You'd better get to work.”
Welsh stood, leaving no doubt that is was now time to leave. Ray stood reluctantly and stepped towards the door.
“Oh, and Kowalski?”
“Yeah?”
“Good luck.”
He grimaced. Why was everyone telling him that? And why did not fill him with lucky feelings?
***
“The thing about Red is that he followers the law to the letter.” Francesca told him, ten folders into the stack of the day. Vecchio had not had any consideration for his replacement. Ray tried not to look at Francesca's cleavage too much.
“And I don't?”
A nearby detective snorted, “Well, from what I heard...”
“Hey, was I talking to you?”
The guy raised his hands defensively, “I didn't mean nothin' by it.”
Francesca shook her head. “I'm not saying you don't. But this guy, he's as concerned about littering as he is about murderers and rapists. I mean, he's nice enough about it, he doesn't like - get violent - he talks things out with people, lets you go, y'know, if he believes in you.”
“You knows a lot about him, huh?”
She blushed and fussed with a strand of her hair, “Well, I... I mean it's just...”
He grinned. “It's okay. You got a thing for him.”
“Something like that,” she answered coyly
***
Ray knew about Red. Of course he did, everyone did. Something that bright, jumping buildings in a single bound was difficult to miss, even with 20/45 vision. He knew what the papers told him, and he also knew to take what the rags said with a whole glassful of salt. Essentially, he knew about as much as anyone else, and the Italian Stallion's case notes were patchy at best and suspiciously lacking at worst.
The facts Ray had were:
1)He wears red.
2)He's about 6 foot in height.
3)He has dark hair.
4)No one knows his real name.
Hide nor hair was seen of him in the week after Ray joined the 2-7, but Welsh continued to ask him if he'd progressed with the case every day to the point where he started to actively avoid his boss. This, however, was not unusual behaviour for him or apparently for his new colleagues. The case itself had to be handled with care. Red was the public's darling. Everyone loved him, and even Ray, though he wasn't going to be admitting it any time soon, felt something approaching admiration for the guy. Being all... brave like that. As far as the Chicago PD were concerned though, he was a public menace, practising vigilantism which could be encouraged and would not be put up with. So they walked a fine line between smiling when the cameras were on, and desperately trying to track him down when the media wasn't looking.
Saturday rolled around, a morning spent sleeping in, an afternoon removing the last of his junk from their boxes and his evening was promised to a jazz record, a wooden floor and a can of black paint.
He'd bought the stencils at a dollar store, while he was out buying things to 'personalise' his apartment. It was this or a plastic flower glued into a plastic pot. It was probably against the lease to paint on the floor, so he had a rug rolled up in the corner to kick out in the case of a surprise landlady attack. He'd be able to dance up a storm in no time at all.
The music was up loud enough for him not to notice the tapping at first, but it continued, polite but insistent. He glanced at up at the door.
“Hello?”
Tap tap tap. It was not the door. He looked around. The... window? He stood up and toed the off button on the record player. Stepping over empty boxes, he pulled the curtains wide open.
“Oh,” he said. There was a guy on his windowsill. On his windowsill on the third floor.
He opened the window crack and said, “Yes?” Like it was most normal thing in the world.
The guy crouched down, “Detective Kowalski?”
“Yeah.”
“Pleased to meet you.” He held his hand out at an awkward angle. Ray snaked his hand out of the open crack and took it.
“I'm - well, people tend to call me 'Red', Detective.”
“Hi.” He stared at Red's masked face. “You gonna stay out there?”
“Oh, I don't like to intrude.”
“Ya not intruding, but I don't know how this is gonna work. I can't open the window with you there.”
“Oh, not a problem,” he said, then disappeared. Ray pushed the window fully open and looked down.
“Wow.”
He was hanging off the windowsill now by his fingertips.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine, fine,” came the answer, but it sounded kind of strained, so Ray leaned down and offered a hand.
“Ah, thank you kindly.”
There was a superhero standing in his lounge. Standing right there as large as life and twice as... pretty. And up close, even with that strip of cloth across his eyes, you could tell he was very pretty - handsome - pretty. Stop, he told himself, stop thinking about it.
Red crossed his hands behind his back. “I just wanted to introduce myself, now that you are 'working my case'.”
“You know about that?”
Red regarded him, his head cocked to side.
“That's a 'yes' then?”
No answer. Boy, he could see why Welsh hadn't given him the details.
He tried again. “You knew that Vecchio left?”
“I did.” Success!
“How? He kinda left in a rush.”
His guest smiled vaguely.
“Right, somethin' you're not gonna answer.”
Red frowned, as if listening to something. “I must go, someone is in trouble.”
“I-” Ray started, but he was alone again. The curtains flapped in the movement of the sudden departure.
He rubbed his eyes. This was going to be interesting.
SPECIAL REPORT
by Mackenzie King.
The dashing young hero known only as 'Red' once again saved the day. After the
large-scale derailment of a train carrying nuclear weapons, he has focused his
attentions more locally, rescuing all of the residents of a West Racine apartment
building.
Cont'd on page 3.
Part 2 - Teething Problems
Author: boombangbing
Characters: Fraser, RayK
Rating: G
Length: 1477
Notes: Okay, this is my first dS fic that I've been brave enough to post, and I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with it, but they'll be more parts to it if it scores low on crappiness meter. :) This idea has been knocking around my exam-adsled brain for past couple of months. By the way, this is an AU, very very much so.
Ray pushed through the throng of people. First day at work and he was already late. What a fantastic first impression.
“Hey, you Kowalski?”
He spun round to face a young woman in a Civilian Aide's blue t-shirt which rode up to reveal her midriff.
“Uh huh, yeah.”
“Boss wants ta see you,” She pointed towards the office. “He's in there.”
After a pause she flashed him a smile and said, “Good luck.”
“Great,” he muttered, shuffling towards the door.
He rapped his knuckles on the door and waited, occasionally nodding at officers as they passed by.
“Come in!” the Lieutenant yelled after a minute.
“Hey, lieutenant,” Ray started his charm offensive straight away, or tried to. “I-”
“Sit.”
“Right.” He hooked the closest chair with his foot and sat down.
Welsh was an impressive man, not so much because of his largeness (which, in itself, couldn't be ignored) but in his presence. This guy could take you down in an instant, Ray was sure.
“You know who you're replacing, right?”
Ray shifted in his seat, drumming his fingers on his leg. “Yeah. Italian guy. Vecchio.”
Welsh nodded. “He's gone undercover, but as far as anyone outside of this station knows, he's retired to open a bowling alley in Florida. That's the story, and anything else could get him and us in serious trouble.”
“Okay. Is anyone gonna ask about it?”
“No. Well, probably not. There is a guy.” Welsh looked like he didn't want to say anymore.
“Who?”
“That's the big question.”
Ray frowned. He was never good at cryptic crosswords.
“You heard of Red?”
“The - the guy? Yeah, sure, who hasn't?”
The lieutenant looked at him, waiting. Waiting for it to sink in.
“Wait, Vecchio knew Red?”
“Vecchio was assigned to his case. And now it's yours.”
Ray started, “But-”
“You'd better get to work.”
Welsh stood, leaving no doubt that is was now time to leave. Ray stood reluctantly and stepped towards the door.
“Oh, and Kowalski?”
“Yeah?”
“Good luck.”
He grimaced. Why was everyone telling him that? And why did not fill him with lucky feelings?
***
“The thing about Red is that he followers the law to the letter.” Francesca told him, ten folders into the stack of the day. Vecchio had not had any consideration for his replacement. Ray tried not to look at Francesca's cleavage too much.
“And I don't?”
A nearby detective snorted, “Well, from what I heard...”
“Hey, was I talking to you?”
The guy raised his hands defensively, “I didn't mean nothin' by it.”
Francesca shook her head. “I'm not saying you don't. But this guy, he's as concerned about littering as he is about murderers and rapists. I mean, he's nice enough about it, he doesn't like - get violent - he talks things out with people, lets you go, y'know, if he believes in you.”
“You knows a lot about him, huh?”
She blushed and fussed with a strand of her hair, “Well, I... I mean it's just...”
He grinned. “It's okay. You got a thing for him.”
“Something like that,” she answered coyly
***
Ray knew about Red. Of course he did, everyone did. Something that bright, jumping buildings in a single bound was difficult to miss, even with 20/45 vision. He knew what the papers told him, and he also knew to take what the rags said with a whole glassful of salt. Essentially, he knew about as much as anyone else, and the Italian Stallion's case notes were patchy at best and suspiciously lacking at worst.
The facts Ray had were:
1)He wears red.
2)He's about 6 foot in height.
3)He has dark hair.
4)No one knows his real name.
Hide nor hair was seen of him in the week after Ray joined the 2-7, but Welsh continued to ask him if he'd progressed with the case every day to the point where he started to actively avoid his boss. This, however, was not unusual behaviour for him or apparently for his new colleagues. The case itself had to be handled with care. Red was the public's darling. Everyone loved him, and even Ray, though he wasn't going to be admitting it any time soon, felt something approaching admiration for the guy. Being all... brave like that. As far as the Chicago PD were concerned though, he was a public menace, practising vigilantism which could be encouraged and would not be put up with. So they walked a fine line between smiling when the cameras were on, and desperately trying to track him down when the media wasn't looking.
Saturday rolled around, a morning spent sleeping in, an afternoon removing the last of his junk from their boxes and his evening was promised to a jazz record, a wooden floor and a can of black paint.
He'd bought the stencils at a dollar store, while he was out buying things to 'personalise' his apartment. It was this or a plastic flower glued into a plastic pot. It was probably against the lease to paint on the floor, so he had a rug rolled up in the corner to kick out in the case of a surprise landlady attack. He'd be able to dance up a storm in no time at all.
The music was up loud enough for him not to notice the tapping at first, but it continued, polite but insistent. He glanced at up at the door.
“Hello?”
Tap tap tap. It was not the door. He looked around. The... window? He stood up and toed the off button on the record player. Stepping over empty boxes, he pulled the curtains wide open.
“Oh,” he said. There was a guy on his windowsill. On his windowsill on the third floor.
He opened the window crack and said, “Yes?” Like it was most normal thing in the world.
The guy crouched down, “Detective Kowalski?”
“Yeah.”
“Pleased to meet you.” He held his hand out at an awkward angle. Ray snaked his hand out of the open crack and took it.
“I'm - well, people tend to call me 'Red', Detective.”
“Hi.” He stared at Red's masked face. “You gonna stay out there?”
“Oh, I don't like to intrude.”
“Ya not intruding, but I don't know how this is gonna work. I can't open the window with you there.”
“Oh, not a problem,” he said, then disappeared. Ray pushed the window fully open and looked down.
“Wow.”
He was hanging off the windowsill now by his fingertips.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine, fine,” came the answer, but it sounded kind of strained, so Ray leaned down and offered a hand.
“Ah, thank you kindly.”
There was a superhero standing in his lounge. Standing right there as large as life and twice as... pretty. And up close, even with that strip of cloth across his eyes, you could tell he was very pretty - handsome - pretty. Stop, he told himself, stop thinking about it.
Red crossed his hands behind his back. “I just wanted to introduce myself, now that you are 'working my case'.”
“You know about that?”
Red regarded him, his head cocked to side.
“That's a 'yes' then?”
No answer. Boy, he could see why Welsh hadn't given him the details.
He tried again. “You knew that Vecchio left?”
“I did.” Success!
“How? He kinda left in a rush.”
His guest smiled vaguely.
“Right, somethin' you're not gonna answer.”
Red frowned, as if listening to something. “I must go, someone is in trouble.”
“I-” Ray started, but he was alone again. The curtains flapped in the movement of the sudden departure.
He rubbed his eyes. This was going to be interesting.
SPECIAL REPORT
by Mackenzie King.
The dashing young hero known only as 'Red' once again saved the day. After the
large-scale derailment of a train carrying nuclear weapons, he has focused his
attentions more locally, rescuing all of the residents of a West Racine apartment
building.
Cont'd on page 3.
Part 2 - Teething Problems