Disclaimer: Not Mine!

This was the weirdest case Ray had ever worked.

The should-be- cadaver stared up at him impatiently, his hands still full of the most disproportionate BLT sandwich ever made. "Is this going to be long? I don't want my bacon going cold."

"You got shot- in the heart- and you're still breathing. What do you think?" Ray shot back, "Now, what's your name?"

"You didn't think to ask that at the desk?"

"The nurse didn't really give me a chance- she was probably looking forward to pushing you off onto someone else. Name."

The man sniffed haughtily before replying, "Doctor Rodney McKay- that's physics not medicine- and you, detectives?"

Ray glared back, "Detective Ray Vecchio and this," he pointed to the broad 6'2" Mountie beside him, "is Constable Benton Fraser RCMP, came here on the trail of the killers of his father, didn't go home. The End"

"Is this meant to be some kind of amalgamation of brawn and brains?" McKay sneered, "Because he definitely fills the quota but you? Not so much."

Somehow Ray quelled the urge to break McKay's very-not-dead face. He looked towards his partner for some kind of support but Fraser just seemed to find it all extremely amusing.

"Sorry to disappoint," Ray replied scathingly instead, "and isn't it such a shame that you'll have to accompany us to the station for your statement.

Ray got an almost unbelievable amount of pleasure from the shock that spread across McKay's expressive face.

"What?"

"Well you're obviously fit and healthy Mr McKay- no need to stay here," Ray replied sweetly. "It's Doctor McKay and I am not fit and healthy! I just underwent surgery to remove a bullet from my heart!"

"And yet you're spry enough to hold an argument, eat a BLT sandwich which has seen about as much lettuce and tomato as carnivorous dinosaur and insult the officers working your case."

McKay spluttered for a second before his features settled into a scowl, "Working my case? What case? They found the guy who shot me gibbering in the garbage like the madman he is!"

"And you don't want to know why he decided it would be a great idea to shoot you?" Secretly Ray had his suspicions.

"He's mad- he doesn't need a reason- he just needs to be locked up." Ray wasn't exactly massive on political correctness but he wanted so badly to slap cuffs on the guy that even discrimination seemed a bad enough crime. "Now if you don't mind, I was enjoying my sandwich."

"Either you can come with us Mr McKay or I'm letting the press pack in; your choice." McKay froze then, slowly, his eyes narrowed at Ray.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, but I would." Ray curved his lips into his nastiest, smuggest smile and crooked a finger at the man, "So, coming Dr McKay?"

"You," he pointed, "are a bastard."

***

"How do I always end up with these cases? Last week it was the `cursed' kettle; then the amazing vanishing dog which managed to ravage the entire duck population of Hyde Park- "

"I believe witnesses called it a wolf Ray," Fraser interrupted between his idle sips of scalding coffee.

"How could have been a wolf Fraser? We don't exactly have a native population down here in wilderness of London and there were no reported break outs from a single zoo across the country."

"It was a full moon."

"Oh yes, why didn't I think of that? Must have been a werewolf."

"It would explain the naked man we found."

Ray shot him a deprecating glare, "Don't make me go non-PC on your witchdoctor behind. He told us at the time- it just was a night out gone wrong, we've all been there." Fraser opened his mouth to argue but Ray smacked a hand across his mouth, "No, I don't care that he was covered in blood, there was exactly a lack of that, he just slipped."

Fraser shrugged and, taking that to mean he wouldn't continue arguing, Ray grudgingly returned the use of his mouth. "I'm not a witchdoctor; just a witch."

Of course he would continue; what had Ray been thinking? "Freak."

"So you've said," Fraser gave him a lupine grin which, after two years, still freaked him out. "Figured out what to do with the doctor guy yet?"

"No," Ray replied miserably, "He should be dead; he should be deader than dead; he should be so dead that... that..." Ray floundered for a suitable metaphor but came up blank, "he should be dead... Why is this my life?"

"Was that one of your rhetorical questions Ray?"

"Yes, at last, you're learning. Is the perp still gibbering?"

"No, apparently someone found him some crayons and paper. He's been happily drawing pictures of gunshot victims with the caption `how it should have happened' for the last two hours. The psychiatrist left his report on your desk."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure."

The thing was, everyone knew Ray's desk, it was the first thing you saw when you entered the bullpen. Partly this was because it was close to the door; mostly it was because it was no longer visible. It was smothered by paperwork; take-out cartons and styrofoam coffee cups probably old enough to celebrate a birthday; stationery that was perfectly visible and within reach until you actually needed it; a little more paperwork; spare clothes that spilled out of drawers and over the chair; mail he'd forward to work because he spent more time there than at home; his trusty camp bed, neatly folded; a paper glacier- a paper avalanche still in the process of falling off the desk but was so thick it was taking a very long time; a phone (at least there should be phone, you couldn't see it but Ray was happy to take its existence on faith) and a lot more paperwork.

As far as Ray was concerned the state of his desk was superfluous because everyone knew if they wanted him then he'd be in the break room, living on bad coffee and chocolate bars from the vending machine. Unfortunately `everyone' included Welsh.

"Vecchio, Fraser! There's been another one. Some woman just fell out of a five storey window, broke her neck, stood up and rang an ambulance. Get the hell down there and find out why she's still alive."

"Yes sir." Ray saluted as Welsh stormed out of the break room then sighed as he turned to his partner, "It's zombies isn't it?"

"Yes, Ray, sorry."

"And that guy, he really was a werewolf wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"And you really are a witch aren't you?"

"The spoon I use to stir my coffee has always been hands-free, Ray."

"Yeah I know. I tried my hardest to ignore it."

"I know."

"And that kettle - that was really cursed wasn't it, I bet you knew right away with all that... hocus pocus stuff."

"Ah, no, that was actually just a coincidence."

"Oh... well, that's good. At least if the rest of the world is going to hell we don't have to worry about being murdered by our kettles while we're trying to make a cuppa."