Author's Website: http://www.sugarfreekelli.com

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, I just like to pretend. I'm not making any money off of this so.yeah. Ok then.

Author's Notes:
This achievement is mine, all mine! But it IS somewhat dedicated to Sylvia, who keeps bugging me that I'm forgetting Due South for The Sentinel. (Can I help it if those Sentinel guys are tasty?)

Story Notes: This story has been relaxing on my hard drive for many moons now. As a result, its stress level has gone way down and it seems to look a little healthier. :)

Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police was hiding. Sure, it was undignified, but there was only so much bickering a mountie could stand before he snapped. Ever since Ray... er...Stanley and himself had returned to Chicago after catching Muldoon things had been going to hell in a handcart. He had thought that his life would return to normal, whatever that was, once Ray Vecchio came back and he had hoped that the two Rays and himself would all become good friends, but that had CLEARLY been a miscalculation on his part. They had all continued to work at the precinct, but the friction between the two Rays had been increasing to the point that Fraser constantly needed to pry the two apart before someone got hurt. That had been a miscalculation too, because he was the main point of argument between the "real" Ray and the "new" Ray, and his intervention only served to heighten their anger. Yes, Ray Vecchio and Stanley Raymond Kowalski were two VERY different people and now Fraser was huddled under his desk at the Consulate praying fervently that whichever Ray came to pick him up first had mercy on the soul of the other.

(Screeeeeeech) Oh God. From his position under his, in Fraser's opinion, very nice oak desk, he heard what sounded like one newly acquired 1971 green Buick Riviera arriving at an extremely high rate of speed in front of the Canadian Consulate. (Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech) Oh no. Fraser was still huddled, but was now also closing his eyes and pretending that he was on an ice floe. It was not working. He had already heard the familiar squeal of the tires of a vintage GTO approaching the Consulate, also at a very high rate of speed. This was not going to be pretty. Fraser groaned, then, remembering that groaning was just as undignified as hiding under one's desk, crawled out of his hidey-hole and decided to face the music. Well, not literally, but still. (clomp, clomp, clomp)
The sound of one angry Italian clomping up the stairs prompted Fraser to dart back under his desk like a rabid gopher. Ok, like a rather large rabid gopher. Ok, ok, like a rather large rabid gopher having a very hard time squeezing between his chair and his file cabinet.

The door to his office opened and Fraser caught a glimpse of fine Italian footwear. "Yo Benny! You here?" Silence, then, "Damned Canadians, always have to make friends with weirdos like Kowalski....what kind of name is that anyway?!" Fraser saw the fine Italian footwear turn to leave, just as another pair of feet, clad in Nikes stopped at the doorway.

This was SO not going to be pretty.

"YOU!" "What are YOU doing here Stanley? Looking to pick up "Frazer"?" Both pairs of shoes stepped closer together. "What if I am?" "Too bad, loser. Benny's riding with me!" "Is that so? Well then where is he, huh?" They stepped apart, obviously surveying the room, then finding nothing, started to speak...uh...fight again. "What did you do with Frazer?! I bet you killed him, you Italian psychopath!" "I did not! Why would I kill my best friend?" "Your best friend? Is that why you abandoned him? No way man! When you left, you left him to ME. I'M his best friend!"

Ouch, thought Fraser. This was going to get worse before it got better.

"Yeah right STAN! He was only pretending to be your friend, because he's really MY friend. The Benny I know does NOT make friends with spiky-haired freaks!"

The fight was quickly escalating. It wouldn't be long now before Fraser had to do something...

"Benny. That's real cute Vecchio! Why don't you propose to the guy?!" "You're just jealous because I've known him longer!" "AM NOT!" "ARE TOO!" "Why don't you give it up Kowalski? The Mountie is mine. Go find you own!" "He's NOT YOURS, HE'S MINE!" "You wanna take this outside, tough guy?" The very expensive oak desk emitted an undignified groan, but neither man noticed. "Why bother taking it outside? I can take you on right here, right now!" "FINE!!!" Fraser peered out over the top of the desk, both men oblivious to his presence.

A suit coat flew past his head, followed by Kowalski's jacket. Fraser regained his vision just in time to see Stan throw the first punch. "Way to go Stanley! Why don't you try aiming for ME now?" Ray taunted. Now, somewhere in his very logical mind, Fraser knew that fighting in his office was NOT GOOD and that his two friends fighting over him was NOT GOOD either, but another more primal part of himself found this to be quite invigorating. In fact, he wished Diefenbaker were here to see it. And really, it was kind of sweet how they fought over him... Fraser watched, entranced, as the two men danced around each other, all anger and empty threats. Just as Fraser was about to yell for more action, Ray made his move. "That's it Kowalski! I've had enough of your prancing!" Ray launched himself at Stan with all the fury of a flying squirrel, well, maybe a rabid flying squirrel but at any rate, it was enough to knock the guy down, and several antique lamps as well. (SMASH) (punch) (Smack) "Stupid, (Smack) Kowalski! (Whap) Idiot(smack) punk ass (whap) name! (Grrrrrrrrrr)" Fraser's eyes widened as he saw his very best friend beat the crap out of his other friend with a lampshade. Then, pure bloodlust taking over, Fraser leapt over the desk and yelled "Go Ray! Kick his ass! Come on Stan! Be a man! GO GO GO GO!" Ray stopped hitting Stanley, and he, in turn, paused in taking his beating to stare, wide eyed at Fraser. "Uh............." Not quite knowing the proper etiquette for situations such as this, Fraser did the only thing to pop into his mind. He stated, quite clearly, "Whoever's alive by the time you're done gets to be my best friend and stay in Chicago, the loser gets Turnbull for a best friend and has to leave the city." Both Rays, quite disturbed at the possibility of having Renfield Turnbull as a best friend, happily continued to kick each others asses. Now this was getting interesting!

Thatcher, up until hearing a large crash, had been blissfully unaware of the deathmatch currently being held in her subordinate's office. She had asked Turnbull if he'd dropped ANOTHER tea tray (his 5th that week alone); he played dumb (as usual) so she had decided that the sound warranted further investigation. Upon arriving at Fraser's door, she took a deep breath and steadied herself. She never knew what she might find; after all, he associated with AMERICANS. She very hesitantly opened the door to find Ray Kowalski and Ray Vecchio strangling each other with her BRAND NEW drapes! With Constable Fraser enjoying every minute! This was the very last straw; she was a MOUNTIE, DAMMIT! She screamed in absolute fury, "NOT THE DRAPES! I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU ALLLLLLLLLLLLLL!" Then, not caring what or who the fight was about, leapt between the two Rays with every intention of committing a double homicide. From that point on, Fraser kind of lost track of the fight. The bodies of the two men blurred together with one body of red serge...They rolled on the floor picking up weapons on their way out the door...A stapler here, a light bulb there, with a golden piece of drapery thrown in for good measure. Now, thought Fraser, THIS IS ENTERTAINMENT! No wonder Americans paid to watch this kind of thing on TV!

Fraser tracked them as they proceeded to fight each other out the door and down the stairs when..."Ouch you spiky haired bastard! You stapled me!" "My eye! My eye!" "I will KILL YOU Vecchio!" Fraser watched in horror and awe, as one might watch a car accident, as the trio effectively tripped each other up and tumbled down the stairs. (Thump thump.....thump thump.......etc.) Fraser raced down the stairs, not so much to check on his friends' health, but to check to see who won the fight. He stopped at the base of the stairs and surveyed the scene. Ouch. Stan had a staple through his eyebrow, Ray appeared to have been strangled with the fabric, and Thatcher had little bits of glass and staples littered in her hair. Hmmmmmm.....

Tentatively Fraser asked.... "Whichever one of you is still alive, would you kindly raise your hand?" Ray lifted his head up (Fraser took that as a hand-raise), Stan feebly lifted his hand, and Thatcher...well... She gave him the finger. (He took that as a hand-raise too.)

"Well, since all of you are alive...Well...I suppose you can ALL be my best friends!" Fraser smiled pleasantly and waited for a reaction. Stan moaned, picked himself off of the floor and yelled "Screw you Frazer! I'm goin' with Turnbull to find the hand of Franklin!" He headed for Turnbull's office, then turned around said "What the hell am I sayin'? Screw all of you! I'm goin to Florida with Stella!" He slammed the door on his way out.

Ok... This was NOT going as planned....

Thatcher took the opportunity to peel herself off of the floor and moan, "I HATE Americans." She then dusted herself off and declared, "Au Revoir, Suckers! I'm going to start my own international smuggling ring! HA!" She stepped toe to toe with Fraser, gave him an icy glare, then punched him in the eye. Fraser fell with a satisfying thud. She stalked off muttering something about know-it-all Americans and their American-loving Mounties. Fraser opened his one good eye and glanced at Ray who was lying next to him, still recovering. Ray. His very best friend in the whole world. It almost gave him the warm fuzzies. He smiled at the ceiling and spoke. "So I guess it's just you and me again, huh Ray?"

"Yeah, Benny, I suppose it is." And with that warm fuzzy vow of friendship, Detective Raymond Vecchio of the Chicago P.D. contemplated the best method of killing oneself with a stapler.