Author's Note: SPECIAL THANKS for all those who contributed a 'dream' - Marie-Andrée Crothers, Carrie Byrd, Celtic Air, Alison Bodie, and my sister Keri - TYK Guys. Without you, this would never be here. All the stories I read were wonderful, funny, hilarious, comical, serious, touching, sad, angst, scary . . . in short, Due South in a nutshell. : )

TIWHWDSLGTAWSASRKD - (This Is What Happens When Due South Listers Get Together And Write Stories About Stanley Raymond Kowalski's Dreams)

by Jackie

pixie7@gte.net

"How could you let him eat that?"

"How was I supposed to know it was expired?"

"Read the expiration date on the side of the package, Ray. That's what they're there for."

"No need to go biting my head off, Lynda." Ray folded his arms across his chest, frowning. "And just when is it my responsibility to watch what your father eats?"

"You've been over here enough times to know that Dad keeps toxic waste in that refrigerator of his instead of food." She sighed. "Look, you could have at least told him not to eat the chicken burrito. Especially since he thawed it, decided he didn't want it, and re-froze it. Now, look at him."

Ray looked at the man who lay in bed. Stanley was not a pretty sight. His usual spiky hair was damp with sweat. He was stripped down to a pair of boxers and a tank top, his bed sheet up to his chin. He was groaning in his sleep, mumbling. Never had he seen anyone suffer so much. "You sure it's food poisoning, Lynda?" His voice was a bare whisper.

"Yeah," Lynda nodded. "Nausea, vomiting, low-grade fever, abdominal pain. And the hospital ruled out gallbladder and appendix problems."

Ray shuddered. "So, how long are we looking till he recovers?"

"About a day," Lynda answered. She patted her father's forehead with a damp sponge, trying to keep him comfortable. Suddenly, Stanley's eyes started fluttering as he went into REM sleep. He started moving around and mumbling. Lynda appeared concerned. "I wonder what he's dreaming about."

by Marie-Andree

Something was wrong with this picture. Why was Fraser sitting at Stan's desk wearing an untucked tee-shirt, jeans, and sloppy running shoes? Why was his hair standing on end? Wait a minute, what the heck was Fraser doing with a *gun*?

"Detective Vecchio!" Welsh called and Fraser stood up. Uh? Stan looked down. Why am I wearing black pants with a yellow stripe going down the side? Geez, this tunic's itchy! I bet the stupid hat is going to flatten my hair.

"Fraser!" What a minute? Why is Fraser calling himself? He came out of Welsh's office, looking pretty ticked off. "Pitter, patter, Fraser, let's get at her!" he exclaimed. "Come on, Fraser! I ain't got all day!"

"Wait a minute! *You're* Fraser!"

"Geez, Fraser, how hard did that rock hit you?"

"You're Benton Fraser!"

Fraser pulled out a badge. "See? Detective Raymond Vecchio, Detective First Grade, Chicago P. D."

"That means that I'm..."

"Very good, Fraser! Come on, we've got some bad guys to catch!"

"Where's my gun?"

"You don't have a gun, Fraser. Sometimes I wonder what you Mounties shoot people with!"

"I am *not* a Mountie!" Stanley exclaimed in his sleep. "*I'm* Ray Vecchio, not you."

Lynda looked at Ray, who merely shrugged. "What is this all about?"

"Who knows?" Ray asked.

"You're Benton Fraser," Stanley continued. "You first came to Chicago on the trail of the killer of your father, and you stayed at the Canadian Consulate."

"He's lost it," Ray said bluntly.

"Can it," Lynda gave him a frown. "He's sick, okay?"

"Sorry," Ray held up his hands. Stanley managed to calm down, then go back into a deep sleep. He was fine, for a few minutes. Then he began mumbling in his sleep again.

By Carrie E. Byrd

Lynda was talking quietly to Fraser when Stan and Ray walked in. "Hey guys." Stan walked up to his daughter and smiled.

"Hi, Dad. Hey, Ray. What's up?"

"Not much. I was wondering if you two wanted to go get something to eat after we get out of here."

"Umm, I don't think so, Dad, I'm going out tonight."

"Yeah? With who? Anyone I know?" Stan immediately shifted into protective dad mode.

"Yes, you know him, and it doesn't matter who it is." Lynda sighed in frustration. "You don't need to keep tabs on me every time I go out."

"Fine, I'm sorry I asked." Stan turned to Fraser. "What about you, you want to come?"

"I don't think so, Stan. I'm in the middle of a fascinating book on Currency Watermarks." Fraser's eyes were their normal guileless blue, but he seemed extremely interested in his hands.

"Really?"

"No." The Mountie sighed. He was an awful liar. "I'd simply rather not say what my plans are."

"Okay. Fine. Whatever." Stan sighed explosively.

Ray was studying Fraser and Lynda intently, and caught them in a shared glance. "Looks like it's just you and me, then, Stan." Ray clapped his friend on the shoulder. "And it's time to get out of here. See you two tomorrow." Ray practically dragged Stan from the Squad Room.

"You think he noticed anything?"

"No. I don't believe so, Lynda."

"Good. If he knew" Lynda shuttered.

Stan shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't believe he let Vecchio talk him into this. Staked out in the darkest corner of his daughter's hallway, he turned to glare at the slim Italian man. "You're out of your mind. They are *not* together."

"I'm telling you, Lynda and Benny are together right now." The elevator doors chimed open. "Shhhh. Someone's here."

Stan heard laughter, and recognized Lynda's voice and then Fraser's. His eyes widened in horror as the two walked into view. Fraser had a strong arm around Lynda's waist and she leaned her head on his broad chest.

"Dad would kill you if he knew about this," she said.

"I believe you might be correct about that, Lynda, but nevertheless I do not think we should deceive him."

"We can worry about that later. Right now" She moved closer to the Mountie and kissed him softly. Fraser drew her closer to him, returning the kiss warmly.

"Get your hands off my daughter!"

"Get your hands off my daughter!" Ray and Lynda heard Stanley shout. They hurried over to his bed, seeing him struggle. It looked like he was punching something. "I'll kill you!" Or someone, by the tone of his voice.

"Dad," Lynda said soothingly. "It's okay. I'm right here. No one's got me."

Stanley ignored her as he continued to struggle in his sleep. "That'll teach you to touch my daughter."

"Dad, can you hear me?" Lynda said softly.

"And you!" Stanley shouted loudly, startling Lynda so much she fell backwards onto the floor. "You're grounded until you're forty, young lady!"

"What in the world is he talking about?" Ray asked as he helped Lynda to her feet.

"Obviously about me," Lynda answered. "Although, he's never called me 'young lady' before."

"Well, you must've done something bad."

"In his dream, anyway. Although what, I haven't the foggiest."

Stanley calmed down, and started sleeping soundly. Lynda sighed as she tucked the sheets around her father, then went back outside to the living room with Ray. While Lynda went into the kitchen, Ray seated himself on the couch, just as there was a knock on the door.

Ray went to answer it. He smiled as he opened the door to see Fraser standing on the other side. "Hey, Benny."

"Good morning, Ray," Fraser replied as he came into the apartment. He was dressed in jeans, blue plaid shirt, and hiking boots. "How's Stanley?" Ray had called Fraser before coming over to Stanley's place, so Fraser knew everything. The wolves were both at his side.

"He's got food poisoning, Fraser," Ray said as he shut the door behind his friend. "He looks like hell."

"He's resting,"" Lynda came out of the kitchen with a glass of water. "For now anyway. Hi, Fraser."

"Hello, Lynda." Fraser noticed Lynda looked quite concerned. "He'll be fine."

Lynda smiled gratefully. "I know he will. He just needs to get some rest, but he hasn't been getting much of that since we got back from the hospital, what with his fever and . . . whatnot. And now . . ."

"What?" Fraser asked.

"Stan just dreamt about that he was a Mountie," Ray explained. "Then, he dreamt he got mad at Lynda and some other person for touching her, but that's all we know. Maybe a boyfriend or something."

"Ray, I haven't dated anyone since I broke up with Derek."

"Well, maybe your father's dreaming about you and Derek."

Lynda looked at her partner like he had three heads. "Yeah right. I'm sure Dad's having a dream about Derek and I going out, especially since he wants to kill Derek for what he did to me."

"Well, it is common for people to have unusual dreams while under the effects of food poisoning," Fraser said. "The patient's dreams are usually associated with events in his or her life, and can sometimes be quite out of the ordinary and choppy at times, but it will pass. It doesn't mean anything." He noticed Lynda looked tired. Her clothes - jeans and a T-shirt - were sort of wrinkly. Her tennis shoes were over near the couch. "Lynda, how long have you been here?"

"Ever since four," Lynda answered. "But I've been up since two. That's when Dad called me saying he was sick. I came over, took him to the hospital, then came back around four. He's been trying to sleep ever since, and I've been trying to keep him comfortable. At this point, we're both failing miserably."

She smiled as the wolves made themselves comfortable on the floor near the couch. "Thanks again for getting Regan and Dief for me. I was so worried about Dad I forgot about them." Regan growled softly. Lynda gave a small roll of her eyes. "Look, Regan, I'm sorry, okay, but you two could have managed for a few hours alone." Regan snorted, then turned away, refusing to look at his master. Lynda grumbled under her breath.

"And I've been over here since eight," Ray said. He looked at his wristwatch. "That was an hour ago."

"Ray and I can keep an eye on him," Fraser suggested to Lynda. "Why don't you stay out here and try to get some rest?"

Lynda nodded and went over to the couch, while Ray and Fraser went into Stanley's bedroom to watch over their friend. They saw Stanley shift under his covers as his eyes twitched rapidly.

"He's dreaming again," Fraser whispered.

By Celtic Air

Kowalski looked around himself and saw nothing but blackness. He was standing in the middle of a darkness that stretched forever. Suddenly a door appeared out of no where. He opened the door and found himself at Harry's Bar and Grill. He walked inside.

Kowalski turned to look at one of the tables in the darkness of the bar. Fraser was talking to his deaf wolf, Diefenbaker, in some foreign language. Diefenbaker woofed a hello to the detective, as Fraser waved across the room to him. Kowalski waved back but continued on.

He noticed his ex-wife was standing in the room, alive. Diana saw him coming, and she smiled to her ex-husband. "Do you think you're ready, Stanley?" She questioned him.

"What?" He was confused.

Diane questioned him again. "Do you really think you're ready to be a father?" She didn't wait for his reply as she turned and walked slowly away. Kowalski watched her go, wanting to follow her but his feet were firmly stuck to the ground for that instant.

He moved towards the stage, wondering if Lynda was singing that night; but the stage was empty. He sighed and turned around and saw Lynda leaning against a far wall. She noticed him and started to walk towards him, smiling.

James without warning appeared behind Lynda. He stabbed a knife into her back and laughed. As Lynda cried in pain he pulled out the knife and looked at Kowalski.

"LYNDA!" her father screamed in horror.

"Sweet Dreams, Detective." said James, still smiling.

"LYNDA!"

Ray and Fraser were at Stanley's bedside immediately, just as Lynda burst in. She saw her father struggling. Beads of sweat were pouring down his face, which was as white a sheet. "What happened?"

"He's dreaming again," Ray said.

"About what?" Lynda knelt beside Ray and stared at her father.

"Oh, Lynda," Stanley murmured tearfully in his sleep. "It's all my fault. I'm so sorry."

"Something's happened to me," Lynda said softly. "He's dreaming something happened to me." She took her father's hand and held it tight. "Dad, it's okay, I'm right here. I'm fine. It's okay." Stanley's breathing returned to normal. Lynda pulled the sheets up to his chin, then patted his forehead with the damp sponge. She stood up and sighed wearily.

"You okay?" Ray asked.

"Yeah," Lynda replied as she tried to smile. "I just wish I knew how long he was going to be like this. I hate seeing him like this."

Ray patted her shoulder. "He'll be fine, Lynda." He noticed her eye lids were drooping. "Go get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay," Lynda yawned as she walked slowly out of the bedroom. She walked over to the couch (not littered with dirty clothes for a chance), where she collapsed on it. She nestled a pillow under her head as she closed her eyes and drifted into a deep slumber.

Ray watched her for a few minutes before turning to the Mountie. "You know, Benny, I don't think I've ever seen someone care for their father more than Lynda does."

"Well, Ray, Lynda already lost her mother. She doesn't want to lose her father as well. In a way, it's like she's almost as protective of him as he is of her."

"What was she like?"

"Diane?" Ray nodded. "She was really nice, Ray. In the short time I knew her, I see everything that I do know about her in Lynda. I know you would have liked her."

"I'm sure I would have." Ray watched the blond Detective. His eyes began twitching involuntarily. Dreaming again, he thought as he looked at his watch. Almost noon. Ray sighed. He only hoped that whatever his partner was dreaming was not going to get himself agitated or worry Lynda. They both needed rest.

by Jackie

Stanley was panting, running hard. His booted feet suddenly started stomping on rubbery, squeaky things. He stopped as he looked down, then picked up one of the things. It was a rubber ducky. The only time that Stanley had a rubber ducky was when he was a kid . . . well, he did have one now, but he only took it out when he took a relaxing hot bath. Most of the time it was stuffed underneath his sink, so no one would see it. If anyone else knew he owned a rubber duck, even Lynda, he would never hear the end of it.

Stanley looked around, finally realizing where he was. He was on the dock where he and Fraser drove Ray's Buick Riviera into the lake after it exploded into flames . . . after they had crashed into those crates of rubber ducks. It was also where he was shot by Greta Garbo. Luckily, he had been wearing a bulletproof vest.

"But why the hell am I here?" he asked aloud.

"You killed me, Stanley," a voice thundered.

Stanley dropped the duck as he looked around. He was the only person on that dock. He reached into his jacket and pulled his gun out. He took off the safety, read to fire if necessary. "Who are you? Show yourself!"

"Very well," the voice thundered. To Stanley's amazement, the water near the dock began to bubble. Slowly, something began to rise from the waters. Stanley squinted his eyes in the dark until he could see what it was. Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror as he dropped his gun and backed away. Sitting on the dock at the edge was Ray's Buick Riviera, it's paint and upholstery burnt from the fire.

"No, this can't be happening," Stanley said. "You're not supposed to be in the lake. Lynda fished you out and got you rebuilt before Ray came back."

"Are you sure?" the Riv asked, sounding similar to Ray.

"You can talk?" Stanley whispered. He chuckled nervously. "Great, I'm losing it."

"Of course I can talk, you idiot," the Riv snorted. "You just never took the time to listen. At least Ray cared about me."

"Why are you coming after me?"

"Because you drove me into the lake," Riv answered. "You abandoned me along with the Mountie."

"So, go after him," Stanley said. "It was his idea to drive you into Lake Michigan in the first place."

"But you drove me into it," Riv snarled. "I spent nine months underwater, with pollutants and who-knows-what-else constantly touching me." The Riv's headlights suddenly turned on, but instead of a bright white, they were blood red. "And now it's time for some payback. How would you like to be set on fire and put underwater for nine months, Stanley?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," Stanley slowly backed away. "Look, I'm sorry that -"

"Save it," the Riv's motor growled to life. "It's too late." Tires squealed as the car shot forward after the Detective.

Stanley turned to run, but stopped short when he saw that all the rubber ducks from the crate had lined up in an army-like fashion. They all glared up at him. "Attack!" one of the ducks quacked.

The entire hoard of yellow toys jumped onto Stanley. He tried fighting them off. "Leave me alone! Get off of me!" He hit some off, but more took their places. "HELP!"

"There's no one to help you, Stanley."

Stanley turned around to see Fraser, Ray, and Lynda sitting on the hood of the Riv. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Guys, you think you can help me out here?"

"Why should we?" Ray snarled, his eyes burning with hatred. "You never helped us."

"Wha - what are you talking about?" Stanley looked thoroughly confused.

"You drove my car into the lake," Ray said, patting the Riv carefully.

"You hit me in the face," Fraser frowned, "and you constantly insulted me."

"And you weren't around when I was growing up," Lynda finished. "Negligent parenting, that's what that is."

"But . . . I didn't know about you, Lynda," Stanley protested. "And Fraser told me to drive the car into the lake, Ray."

"You didn't have to listen to me," Fraser said. "You hardly ever do anyway."

"Guys, look, please, I'm begging you. Help me."

"Oh, we'll help, Father," Lynda said as she reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out the lighter her father had given her. She handed it to Ray, who jumped down from the car and walked over to Stanley.

Stanley shook his head. "Oh, come on, guys, this isn't funny. This isn't -" He was interrupted as the rubber ducks started exploding, splashing a liquid all over him. He knew what it was by the smell: gasoline. His eyes widened in horror as Ray flicked the lighter on and knelt beside him. The flame edged closer and closer.

"No!" Stanley shouted in his sleep. "Don't set me on fire. I'm sorry!" He struggled and struggled, his eyes closed, beads of sweat on his forehead. "Please!"

"Stanley, calm down," Fraser said as he firmly grabbed the Detective by his arm. "You're dreaming again." Ray held his other arm. They waited as Stanley slowly calmed down and was sleeping soundly once again.

"What now?" Lynda whispered as she came into the bedroom with a fresh glass of water. She put it on his night stand, then knelt beside her father's bed and smoothed away the damp hair from his forehead.

"Another dream," Ray whispered as he stood up and sighed. "Something about him getting set on fire."

Lynda watched as her father's chest slowly rose and fell. She sighed. "Oh, Dad, I wish I knew what you were going through." She turned to her friends. "We need to give him some water."

"What do you have there?" Ray eyed the cloudy water.

"One half teaspoon of salt, two teaspoons sugar, and one quarter teaspoon of baking soda to one pint of boiling water," Lynda explained. "Well, only eight ounces of the one pint, anyway."

"Eww," Ray wrinkled his nose. "Why do you need to give him that?"

"So he doesn't get dehydrated," Fraser said. He gently lifted Stanley's head, while Lynda put the glass to her father's lips. The blond detective slowly drank a few sips of the liquid before going back to sleep. Lynda wiped his mouth, then took the glass out to the kitchen. Ray and Fraser remained behind, watching as Stanley's eyelids fluttered, the sign that he was dreaming again.

By Marie-Andree Crothers

The last image slowly faded and was replaced by a field of brilliant whiteness. The sun was shining, reflecting off the snow, blinding Stan. Slowly, things came into focus. There was a church. Lynda... what was she doing in a white gown? There was Fraser! Oh, *no*! Not Fraser and Lynda, again! No... wait a minute, another woman, with blond hair too. She...

(we interrupt this dream for a brief announcement)

*cue in little dancing m&m's diving into a cup of steaming coffee*

"Hey, a whirlpool!"

*cue in giant hand stirring said coffee with handle of a wooden spoon*

(now back to our regular dreaming)

and Fraser were kissing. Who is she? He's wearing a tux. Lynda catches a bouquet of flowers. Fraser's getting married? He steps aside and Stan sees who it is.

"*STELLA*!!!"

"*STELLA*!!!"

Ray sighed wearily. Stanley was starting to get on his nerves, what with all this dreaming. It wasn't like he didn't care. No, the fact that he didn't know what was going on, that's what was bothering him. He looked out of the bedroom to where Lynda was laying on the couch. She was sleeping, or at least trying to. He leaned back in the chair he had brought into the bedroom, and sighed again as he looked at his watch. Three o'clock.

Fraser, who had opted for sitting on the floor, fingered his Stetson. His attention was drawn to Stanley shifting positions in his sleep. He began mumbling something the Mountie couldn't understand as he slipped into another dream. Unlike last times, though, Stanley was smiling.

By Celtic Air

It was a perfectly sunny day by the shore. Stanley was relaxing in a chair looking out the big window that overlooked the beach. He fingered the wedding ring that symbolized Diane and his wedding day. He was content with life.

Eight months ago they had a child together and named her Lynda. Lynda was a beautiful bundle of joy. She looked like her parents. Lynda was trying to crawl over to her father as Diane watched.

"I was thinking of going down to the water with Lynda, you want to come?" Diane asked her husband.

"Sure." He stood up and scooped Lynda up in his arms.

Diane and Stanley started walking out their grand beach house down to the beach. Stanley was carrying Lynda with a smile on his face.

Lynda came in the room just in time to see her father smiling. Ray and Fraser were both just watching him. "Well, he seems to be having a peaceful sleep for a chance," she whispered, slightly tired.

" . . . diapers," Stanley mumbled. "You're turn, honey."

"'Diapers'?" Ray asked, his eyebrows raised. "What could he be dreaming that has diapers in it." He shook his head. "Forget it. I don't want to know."

Lynda knelt beside her father and watched as his lips moved. She could hear a few words, but they were jumbled up. Nevertheless, she was happy he was finally getting some much needed rest. She kissed his forehead and got up. Stanley started mumbling and frowning.

"Great," Lynda whispered. "Here we go again."

by Marie-Andree

"You lied to us, Stanley!!!" Stan recoiled as his parents loomed up on him, pointing accusing fingers at him. "You lied to us, Stanley! The car was stolen!!! You broke the vase!!! You took the station wagon!!! You lied about Lynda!!! How often have you lied to us, Stanley?"

"That's it, that's all the lying I did!!!"

"You're lying again, Stanley!!! You're a liar . . . liar . . . liar . . ."

"I'm not a liar!" Stanley shouted, struggling. "Please, believe me! Mom!"

Lynda looked at her wristwatch. Almost five thirty. She gave a long, deep sigh. "This is getting ridiculous," she said wearily. She touched her father's arm. "Dad, listen, if you can hear me, please wake up. This is starting to get out of hand."

"Like he's going to listen to that," Ray answered.

"I have to agree with Ray," Fraser replied. "Regardless of what's going on with your father, Lynda, we have to let this illness take its course."

"I can at least try," Lynda snapped. She stopped, her anger softening. "Sorry, guys. I didn't mean to snap."

"It's okay," Fraser replied. He left the room after hearing a knock on the door. He went to answer it. Ray and Lynda left the bedroom and went into the living room where Fraser was talking with Welsh, Dewey and Huey, and Francesca. The young brunette was carrying a large pot of something.

"What's in the pot?" Ray asked.

"Chicken soup," Francesca replied proudly. "After Ray told us that Stanley was sick, I went home and whipped up a batch."

"Frannie, he can't have any," Ray said bluntly. "He'll puke it all up."

Francesca glared at her brother. "I make good chicken soup, Ray."

"That's not what he means," Lynda explained. "Dad has food poisoning and can't keep anything in his stomach besides water. Everything else he barfs up." She smiled at Francesca. "It's the thought that counts, Frannie. Why don't we go to the kitchen and deposit the soup?" She led Francesca to the kitchen.

"So, how did you know it was food poisoning, Detective?" Welsh asked Lynda.

"What I want to know is how she figured out what made him sick in the first place," Dewey remarked.

"Simple," Lynda explained as she and Francesca came back. The group gathered in the living room, sitting on the furniture. "Dad, Ray, and Fraser got together to watch some movies last night. I know this because they asked if I wanted to come over, but I had other things planned, so I didn't. Anyway, all three of them ate a variety of different foods: pizza, popcorn, chips, and sodas. I know, cause I asked Ray after he came over this morning what all they ate."

"If that was the case, then all three of them would have gotten sick," Welsh said. "Since they did eat the same stuff."

"True, Sir, but there was one thing Dad ate that Ray and Fraser didn't. A chicken burrito."

"You think that's what made him sick?" Francesca asked.

Lynda nodded. "I knew long before we got the diagnosis from the doctor that Dad had food poisoning. Salmonella poisoning is commonly transmitted through poultry. The only thing that Dad had which could have made him sick was the chicken burrito that he ate last night. From what I was told by Ray, he let it thaw from his freezer, decided he didn't want it, re-froze it, then ate it later. It didn't help the burrito was expired."

Welsh sighed. "That man is a complete idiot." He noticed Lynda frowning at him. "I know he's your father, but he doesn't think half the time. Makes me really glad he has someone like you to keep an eye on him."

"Thank you, Sir," Lynda smiled.

"Well," Welsh stood up, "I think it's time we leave." The others stood up. "Keep me posted. I want to know when he gets better."

"Will do," Ray replied.

"Hey, Ray, you coming?" Francesca asked.

"I think I'll stay," Ray answered. "He is my partner after all."

"Okay," Francesca nodded. "Just make sure to get something on your stomach - the soup, since it seems Stanley can't have any. Ma would kill me if she knew I left you without food."

"Okay," Ray smiled. The group left, leaving Fraser, Ray, Lynda, and the wolves alone again. "Anyone up for some soup? It smells good."

"Sure," Fraser nodded.

"Lynda?" Ray and Fraser looked to the couch where Lynda was. She was laying down, fast asleep. Ray smiled. "Maybe later." The two men went into the kitchen to eat, leaving the wolves to guard Lynda. Back in his room, Stanley began thrashing around in his sleep.

by Alison Bodie

There was a scurrying noise, a thump, and a yelp and suddenly, Stan was awake. He shot strait up on his couch, reaching for his gun before remembering that he had put it away in the drawer. He looked around for whomever or whatever had made the noises in his apartment but

saw no one. Then, in his peripheral vision, there it was. He couldn't tell what it was or what it looked like because he didn't have his glasses on and it was pretty far away. Still, he could tell that it was green. At least he thought it was. Stan sat still for as long as he could, then jumped in the general direction of the...thing, whatever it was. Unfortunately for him, it scurried towards the open window, jumped out, and was gone.

He ran to the window and stuck his head out, trying to find the...whatever it was in the warm Chicago night. All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door, startling his so much, that he hit his head on the window sill.

"Damn it all to heck...I'm gonna kick whoever this guy is in the head...why I oughtta..." Mumbling to himself, he opened the door and was shocked at what he saw. Standing in the doorway was Lynda, his daughter, and Fraser.

Only not.

Lynda's hair had been drastically cut short and dyed red, which Stan thought looked putrid, although he'd never say anything to his kid. She was also wearing a brown skirt suit that was a little too loose for her and made her look more than a little dowdy. Standing next to her was Fraser. At least he looked like Fraser. The face was the same, although it held a slightly bored look and it appeared that he was chewing on something. His hair had that tousled look and he was wearing quite a nice Armani suit. All except for the tie, which had a plethora of little Mounties on horseback with lances.

"What the hell . . .," was all Stan could get out before Lynda spoke.

"Hello. My name is Lynda Scully, FBI. And this is my partner, Caribou Fraser. May we come in?" With that, the two 'Agents' pushed their way into the small apartment. Looking around, 'Caribou' spit out the sunflower seed husk that had been in his mouth onto the floor, which shocked Stan to no end.

"Did you just experience a close encounter with an extraterrestrial biological entity, Mr. Kowalski?" Lynda raised one eyebrow as she asked the question, making her look very unLynda-like.

"Uh, did I have a what with a what?" Stan was slightly confused at the line of questioning, having only woke up from a nap and hitting his head and all. Another knock on the door gave him a moment to compose himself. Opening the door, he found himself face to face with what looked like Ray Vecchio, in a black leather jacket and his hair slicked with way too much hair goo. Which wasn't all that unusual, but the tight black jeans and tee shirt made him look slightly...well, odd.

"Hey there. I'm looking for Fraser and Scully. I'm their partner, Ray Krychek. They're here aren't they?" He, like the other agents before him, failed to wait for an answer and pushed his way into the room. "Hey, guys, you left me in Washington AGAIN."

"You guys left him in Washington DC?" Stan whispered the question to Lynda.

"No," answered Fraser. "Washington State." He left it at that and Stan looked at him as if he had grown another head.

"You, the nicest guy in the universe, left someone in another state?"

"So, you're admitting that you know beings from other planets?" Fraser now looked very interested in what Stan had to say.

"No, I'm just making a statement, er..."

"So you're denying knowledge of beings from other planets?" Now it was Krychek who was asking the questions.

"I'm not denying anything, I'm just...um...What the hell are you guys doing here, anyway?" Stan decided to turn the tide of questions back on his uninvited guests.

"The information as to why we're here is on a need-to-know basis and you don't need to know," Fraser answered his question and spit another sunflower seed husk onto the floor.

"Hey, if you're gonna keep doin' that, you're gonna need to sweep in here. If you can find the vacuum, that is..."

"Was your vacuum cleaner abducted sir?" Fraser's interest had perked once again, and both Scully and Krychek were paying attention to him.

"What? Have you all gone loopy or somthin'? I just meant that I can't find the damn thing in all this mess here. I think.." The disappointment on the trio's faces almost made Stan wish that his vacuum HAD been abducted.

"Sorry." Lynda leaned into him, as if to impart some great secret. "Sorry about those two. They're a bit nutty. I just come along on these little missions to make them feel as if they're actually useful. They think that they're actually going to discover little green men." She winked at Stan and straitened up. "I think that we've discovered all that we ever could here. Which was nothing. I told you guys that, but NOOO, do you ever listen to me? No." She grabbed the hands of both of her partners, although she held Krychek's with more than a little disdain, and pulled them out into the hall.

"Little green men? Now that you mention it, I did see something little and green. Not sure if it was a man though. Coulda been a chick. Or somthin'..." He trailed off, lost in thought, but his statement was enough to set Fraser off.

"Grey! They're grey, damnit! And I'm beginning to wonder what they'd be doing in a swill pit such as this!" Fraser was yelling all the while being dragged to the elevator by Lynda. His voice was drowned out by the sound of the elevator opening and then closing, taking the strange trio back to whatever weird place they had come from.

Stan closed to door and shook his head, trying to make sense of the strange encounter. He caught a quick movement out of the corner of his eye and he spun around to see where it came from. A small, green little man, much reminiscent of Gizmo, from the Flintstones, stood on his

living room rug. "So you ARE green. Huh." He was surprised at his lack of surprise to see a little green man standing in his apartment.

"Agent Fraser has always been a little loopy, but there was always a little bit of truth in what he was saying. Except for the grey part. Must be because he's red/green color blind. Anywho, just wanted to apologize for bothering you this evening. One of the youngin's got away from the group and tried to hide in your apartment while you were asleep. Didn't want to wake you, so we tried to sneak in and out. Feeble, that idiot, tripped on the way out and woke you up. Sorry, again, for the inconvenience."

Stan was throughly perplexed but it had been such an odd evening that he was beginning to think nothing of it. He never noticed, although as a trained police officer, he should have,

the alien pulling something out of the pouch attached to his belt. "Sure...no problem. Just one thing..." He had a question already to ask the alien but before he could get it out, the little man

fired on the poor, unsuspecting Stan, sending him into darkness.

"Man, this is not good," Stanley mumbled, his eyes tightly shut. "Why does everything bad happen to me?" Fraser looked at Ray, who merely shrugged. They had recently just returned to the bedroom after getting their fill of soup. Lynda was still trying to get some shut eye. "Why the hell does my daughter have red hair? And why the hell are you shooting at me? You break into my castle and shoot me? That does it! I don't care if you are a little green man! Where's my gun? If it's an alien those three want, I'll give 'em one! A dead one!"

"Okay," Fraser said slowly. "This is intriguing."

"Lynda with red hair," Ray smiled amusingly. "Maybe."

"Actually, Ray, I was referring to Stanley's reference to aliens."

"Fraser, he's dreaming. What significance could that have? It's just a weird dream. Like you said."

"Maybe, but the interesting fact is that Stanley was abducted by a UFO when he was ten."

"You're joking."

"No, I'm not, Ray."

"So, this could be like reliving some past life experience?"

"Possibly, but I doubt it. Lynda is in the dream, and it's very unlikely that Stanley knew her when he was ten."

"Well, duh! Of course he didn't know her. She didn't even exist."

"Which leads me to believe there's another explanation for this strange dream."

"Which is what?"

"If I remember correctly, didn't we catch part of an episode of that science fiction show last night when we were over here? The one with the aliens and the red-haired woman?"

"Oh, you mean the X-Files?"

"Yes, Ray."

"That would explain a lot, Benny. Scully had red hair." Ray fought back an irresistible urge to laugh. "Oh, he thinks Lynda is Scully?" He chuckled uncontrollably. "That is too funny."

"Ray, you're not being very nice."

"Oh, come on, Fraser. This is fun."

"Well, I don't think so," Lynda mumbled as she came back into the bedroom. Her hair

was slightly frizzy. "Man, what time is it?"

"It's about eight," Ray looked at his watch.

"Cool," Lynda muttered before sitting on one side of the bed.

"Lynda, you don't look so good," Fraser said. "You look a little pale. You need to get some sleep."

"No way," Lynda yawned. "I'm not resting until he's better." She sat and watched her father, his chest rising and falling. He wasn't thrashing about or mumbling, talking in his sleep, or even appeared to be dreaming. He looked calm and rested.

"Lynda, you're not doing yourself any good if you don't get some rest," Fraser gently told her.

"Don't lecture me now, Fraser. I'm fine." With that, she closed her eyes and toppled forward onto the floor. Ray and Fraser were kneeling beside her in a flash.

"Is she okay?" Ray asked.

Fraser peered closely at his sleeping friend. "She's sleeping. And snoring."

"She is so stubborn," Ray said as Fraser gently picked her up.

"I wouldn't say she's stubborn, Ray," Fraser replied as he carried her back to the couch and gently lay her down. "She just worries too much." They watched Lynda sleep soundly for a few minutes.

"So, what now?" Ray asked. "Both Kowalskis are out of it."

"I'll continue to keep watch over Stanley," Fraser said. "Keep an eye on Lynda; make sure she gets some rest." He quickly went back into the bedroom, leaving Ray with Lynda. Fraser watched as Stanley's eyes fluttered as he slipped into another dream.

By Marie-Andree Crothers

Stan stepped into Fraser's office. It was dark and Fraser was standing by the window.

"Fraser?" Fraser didn't move. "Hey, Fraser, you okay?" Stan put a hand on his shoulder and gently spun the Mountie around.

He screamed.

"No!" Lifeless eyes stared back at him.

"I'm dead, Ray."

"No!!! You're not dead!!!"

"That time on the Henry Allan. Your keys were all mixed up. If you had kept your things neat, I wouldn't have drowned trying to save you."

"I'll be neater from now on, but stop playing games!"

"I'm not playing games, Ray. You killed me with your sloppiness. You killed me Ray . . . You killed me . . ."

"I didn't mean to!!!"

"Just like you didn't mean to kill me either."

Stan whirled around. "Beth? I saved you . . ."

"Eight years in prison, Officer Kowalski! You killed me too!"

"No!!! You're both alive!"

"No they're not, Dad, and neither am I."

"*Lynda*?!"

"While you and Ray were so mad at me, I had to solve a case by myself. If you'd been there to give me cover . . ."

A glass-shattering scream resonated through the Consulate.

Stanley's scream shattered through the apartment. "No, you're all alive! I didn't mean to." Ray rushed in as Stanley started sounding hysterical. "No, you're alive, Fraser. And you, too, Beth. And even you, Lynda. You're all alive. I didn't kill you! I didn't."

"What now?" Ray asked. "Who's Beth?"

"It's a long story, Ray," Fraser explained. "And it's rather painful for Stanley."

"So, what happened? Old girlfriend?"

"No, first big case." Fraser waited until Stanley stopped thrashing about and his breathing was normal. "Beth Botrelle was arrested by Stanley over eight years ago. It was his first case, he was a rookie. Beth was accused of murdering her husband, a Chicago Police detective. At the murder scene, Stanley had picked up a blood-soaked piece of paper and put it in his pocket, corrupting the chain of evidence; he never read it. After the arrest, he turned it over to a senior officer, who said he'd take care of it. It was put in a numbered evidence bag. When it didn't come up in court, Stanley assumed it was unimportant.

"Beth was about to be executed recently, when Stanley began having doubts about the arrest. After some investigating, it was discovered that the note, which had been tampered with in the past eight years, was a suicide note. Beth hadn't killed her husband and was released from prison, but Stanley felt so guilty about her having to spend that time in jail for something she didn't do."

"Wow, the guy's got a conscience?" Ray asked. Fraser gave him a look. "What? Look, I know he's a nice guy, but . . . he just doesn't seem the type to feel guilt, that's all."

"Ray, that's a pretty mean thing to say about your partner. Besides, Stanley does feel guilt." The Mountie sighed. "You know that Stanley seems over-protective of Lynda, right?"

"Of course he's over-protective of her. Lynda's his daughter. Hell, I'm protective of her as well. What's the point?"

"My point, Ray, is that Stanley told me one time he feels responsible for Diane getting killed."

"That's ridiculous."

"I know, but that's how he feels. He thinks he made a mistake, and that's why Diane got shot."

"Did he?"

"No," Fraser answered without hesitation. "Stanley did everything in his power to make sure Diane and Lynda stayed safe. What happened was a tragic accident that no one could have prevented." Fraser shot a quick look at the sleeping Detective. "That's why he always questions Lynda's actions; he doesn't want anything to happen to her."

Ray sighed and smiled. "You know, Benny, I've never told anyone this, but I envy those two."

"How so?"

"Well, Lynda and Stanley care about each other so much. I mean, they argue and tease each other, but when it comes down to it, they want to be a part of each other's life." Ray's smiled faded. "When my father and I argued, it was for real. There was no love from him at all. At least when Stanley makes a comment to Lynda, you know it's a joke."

"I know what you mean, Ray," Fraser smiled slightly. "When I was Lynda's age, I would

have loved to have had the kind the kind of relationship with my father that she shares with Stanley."

Ray sighed, then smiled. "Well, I'll go watch Lynda." He walked out to the living room, then flopped into a chair beside the couch. For a few moments, he watched Lynda sleep soundly. He yawned, then glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. He sighed as he closed his eyes. Maybe just a few moments of rest.

Back in the bedroom, Fraser leaned up against the wall and watched his friend sleep. He fingered his Stetson, then sighed. He closed his eyes and drifted into a very light sleep.

"I can't believe you said that."

Fraser opened his eyes and found himself staring into the blue eyes that belonged only to one person. "What are you talking about, Dad?"

"About what you told the Yank." Robert Fraser frowned. "We had a relationship."

"We did not," Fraser answered, frustrated. "The only time when I was Lynda's age that I saw you was at my birthday. Then, I went off to the Academy in Depot. I didn't see you again until after I was sent to my first posting."

Robert snorted, then turned away. He knew his son was right, but he wasn't going to let Fraser know that. Time to change the subject. He looked at Stanley. "So, how's the Yank holding up?"

"Fairly well," Fraser answered. "For food poisoning, anyway."

"He's weak. Why, I remember I was sick with malaria when I was his age. I looked

better then than the Yank does now. If you ask me, he dug his own grave for this one."

"What do you mean?" Fraser looked at the ghost in disbelief.

"I mean, that he gave himself food poisoning, remember? Yanks can be so dense."

"I admit that what Stanley did was on the verge of idiotic," Fraser said, "but he's still my friend. He'd do the same thing for me if I was in his shoes."

"You would never make that mistake, Son. You know better. Americans, on the other hand . . ."

"Dad, do you ever listen to yourself? You're insulting my friends."

"I'm just telling you the truth, Son. But if you don't want to hear it, then fine." With that, Robert vanished from his son's sight. Fraser barely had time to sigh before Ray came back in. He yawned as he pulled his chair beside Fraser and sat down.

"Still talking to yourself, Benny? Or did Stan wake up?"

Before Fraser could think of an excuse, Stanley lapsed into another dream.

by Keri and Jackie

Stanley opened his eyes and looked around. It was dark. He couldn't tell where he was, but he knew he needed to get out of there. Frantically, he felt around until his hands finally settled onto a doorknob. He turned the knob and opened the door, the darkness replaced with light. He had been standing in the storage closet of the 27^th.

Not knowing exactly why he had been in there, Stanley left and walked over to the bullpen. That's when he smelled it. Something awful. Something putrid. "Ew, gross," he said as he wrinkled his nose. "Why does it smell like a zoo in here?"

He opened the doors to the Squad Room and looked around. He did a double take as his eyes widened in shock. There were animals everywhere! At desks, walking around with files in their mouths, and birds flying. There were ducks, some rats, and other animals.

One of the ducks, a white one, looked up from its position at Dewey's desk. "Where have you been?" it quacked. "Welsh is not happy."

Stanley couldn't believe it. The duck talked to him. And it sounded very familiar. "D-D-Dewey?"

"Yeah?" the duck asked.

"What happened to you?"

"What?" Dewey looked at himself. "Are some of my feathers out of place?"

"You look fine," another duck - a brown one - said as he waddled up to the desk.

"Jack?"

Jack peered closely at Stanley. "What's with you?"

"You're a duck," Stanley protested.

"So am I," another white duck quacked as he waddled up. "Care to make something out of it, Pinky?"

"Who are you?"

"It's Louis," Jack frowned. He shook his head. "Man, you're acting pretty weird today, Pinky. Even for you."

"He's supposed to be dead," Stanley protested. "And why are you calling me Pinky?"

The ducks ignored him. Stanley sighed and turned around, just in time to see a large moose in red serge and a Stetson walk out of Welsh's office. Behind him was a penguin with a badge hanging around it's neck.

"Good morning, Stanley," the moose smiled. "Glad you finally came in. We were starting to get a little worried."

Stanley stared with bug eyes. Fraser, a moose? This was getting weird. He was at a loss of words, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. "I'm going to be sick."

"Hey, you okay?" the penguin asked. It sounded just like Ray.

Stanley went over to his desk and sat down. "I don't know."

"What's wrong?" Fraser asked.

"Take a look around, Fraser," Stanley frowned. "Anything look different to you?"

The moose looked around, then looked back at his friend. "No."

"Everyone's a freakin' animal!" Stanley shouted.

"You're point?" Ray asked, putting his flippers on his waist.

Stanley pointed at Ray. "Last time I checked, I -" he stopped short when he saw his finger wasn't a finger. It was a bunch of pink feathers. He looked at himself. He was completely covered in pink feathers. His legs were long and thin, and he had a large beak. His badge was handing around his neck. "Oh . . . no. I'm a flamingo."

Fraser peered closely at his friend. "Stanley, you look sick."

"I feel sick, Fraser," Stanley retorted, his head buried in his wings. "That's why they

called me Pinky." He sighed and looked up as a bulldog came out of Welsh's office, a file in it's jaws. He dropped it on Stanley's desk.

"About time you showed up, Detective," the dog said gruffly.

"Lieutenant?" Stanley squeaked. "Is that you?"

"Of course it's me, you moron," Welsh barked. "Who else would it be?" He peered closely at Stanley. "Anything bothering you, Detective?"

"I . . . just don't seem to be myself, Sir." That was true.

"Well, get to work on this case," Welsh said before walking away.

"Where's Lynda?" Stanley asked suddenly.

"Right here, Dad." Stanley looked up as a scarlet macaw landed on his desk. It had a badge around its neck. Stanley was at a loss for words as the bird smiled at him. "Good morning."

"Lynda? You're a bird."

"So are you, Dad," Lynda replied bluntly. "We've both been birds since the day we were hatched." She leaned over to Fraser. "What's with him?"

"I have no idea," Fraser answered.

"Probably added too many Smarties to his coffee," Ray replied wryly.

"I haven't had any coffee," Stanley answered. "I'm just . . ."

"Losing it?" Ray suggested.

"Probably," Stanley answered. He took in a deep breath. "So . . . listen, I guess we'd better get to work on this case, huh?"

"Welsh would like that," Lynda said. "He's been really barking orders this morning." She flipped open the file. She began reading it, stroking her beak with her wing. "Hmm, pretty straightforward: homicide. Body's down with Mort. Let's go, shall we?"

"Ugh, I hate dead bodies," Stanley grumbled as the four walked down to the morgue. Actually, Stanley, Ray, and Fraser walked down there while Lynda flew. By the time they reached the morgue, Lynda was already talking with Mort. It sounded like Mort, but it didn't look like Mort.

There, examining what appeared to be a dead giraffe, was a hippo. A singing hippo that had a very deep accent. It looked up and smiled. "Oh, good morning, fellas. How are ve zis morning?"

"We're fine," Ray answered. "Well, except for Stanley. He's not entirely here at the moment."

Mort smiled at Stanley, showing off big teeth. "Vat seems to be zee trouble, Stanley?"

Stanley opened his beak to speak. He wanted to ask 'what the hell is going on here', but his mouth formed other words. "Uh, nothing . . . Mort. So, what killed the . . . giraffe?"

"Vell, I'm still in my preliminary, but I zee cause of death vas a sinlge gunshot to zee heart."

Stanley couldn't imagine exactly how Mort knew that, seeing how he couldn't even find the heart of a giraffe if his life depended on it. He ran a wing through his head feathers. "So, any suspects?"

"Jack, Tom, and Louis were questioning some witnesses before they came here," Lynda explained. "They learned that Mr. Jones - the deceased's husband - was heard shouting a few hours beforehand. He's yet to be found."

"Well, let's go find him," Ray said. The four left Mort to his work, and nearly ran into a light brown weasel, a white and black pot-bellied pig, and a baby elephant.

"Aah!" Stanley shouted before ducking behind Fraser. "Who the hell is that?!"

"Very funny, Stan," the weasel frowned. It sounded like Francesca. She turned to Fraser and Lynda, who was perched on Fraser's antlers. "Look, you'd better keep Dief and Regan away from the doughnuts. They already stole two, and Welsh isn't happy." Francesca left.

"Dief," Fraser warned. To the amazement of Stanley, the elephant gave a small trumpet sound before rolling on its back. "I'm ashamed. You are a glutton."

"You too, Regan," Lynda reprimanded the pig. "I feed you both. What more do you want?" The pig grunted. "You're not getting anymore doughnuts."

"Well, let's go, shall we?" Ray asked. The group left and walked out to the parking lot. Stanley straggled about ten feet behind, trying to figure out what was going on.

* * * *

Ten minutes later, the six had arrived in front of the Consulate. Stanley, Lynda, Regan and Dief got out of the Chevy, while Fraser and Ray got out of the Riv. Stanley didn't even bother asking how a moose could fit into a car driven by a penguin, or how a his daughter could handle her car as a macaw. He didn't want to know. The six walked into the front of the building.

"Welcome to Canada," Turnbull's voice cheerfully greeted the group.

Stanley looked around, but couldn't find out where the other Mountie was. Then, he stole a quick glance at Turnbull's desk and saw it. A mole in red serge was glancing into a Rolodex. His eyes widened. "Turnbull?"

"Yes?" the mole squinted up at Stanley.

"Uh . . . never mind," the Detective answered slowly. He quickly turned away, so as not to scream.

"Son, the Yank's lost his mind."

Stanley turned to see a raccoon on Fraser's antlers. He had never heard that voice before. "Uh, who are you?"

"See," the raccoon answered. "The Yank is crazy, delusional."

"Dad, leave him alone," Fraser answered.

"'Dad'?" Stanley looked confused. "But, Fraser, your father's dead."

"Dead, but not gone," the raccoon smiled.

"Dad, that's Robert, remember?" Lynda looked at her father. "Fraser introduced us a couple of weeks ago."

"But if he's dead, then that means -"

"Yeah, he's a ghost," Ray finished, sounding extremely frustrated. "Duh!"

"This is weird," Stanley answered weakly as he sat in a nearby bench. His head was spinning.

"What's going on out here?" Everyone looked to see a large red dragon emerge from Thatcher's office. Smoke puffed from it's nostrils and it's green eyes glared at Fraser and Turnbull. Her claws tapped impatiently on the floor as her long tail swished slightly. "This is not a social gathering, Constables. Get to work."

"Oh, that does it," Stanley jumped to his feet and ran screaming from the Consulate. "GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!"

Stanley shouted loudly as he bolted upright in bed. He was sweating profusely, and gasping for breath. He looked around. That's when he saw Fraser and Ray looking back at him. "Oh, man, you're both human again!" He touched his head, then looked at his hands. "And I'm not a flamingo."

"What?" Ray asked, knitting his eyebrows.

"You were a penguin, Ray. And, Fraser, you were a moose."

"And you were dreaming, Stanley," Fraser replied gently.

"I was?"

"Yeah, some very weird dreams," Ray replied. He smirked. "Man, you are a strange person."

Stanley got out from underneath his covers, then got up. He looked at his clock. It read 3:35 AM. "How long have I been sleeping? The last thing I remember is going to the hospital with Lynda." He looked around. "Where's Lynda?"

"She's sleeping on the couch," Ray jerked his thumb.

"Not anymore," Lynda mumbled as she came into the room. She smiled at him. "Hey, welcome back," she whispered. "How you feeling?"

Stanley breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, now . . . what happened?"

"You had food poisoning," Fraser explained. "We've spent the past day keeping an eye on you while you slept it off. Remember, you dreamt a lot of weird things?"

"I did?"

"You talk in your sleep," Fraser said. "Or shout, depending on the circumstances."

"Uh . . . yeah," Stanley scratched the back of his neck. "Man, you wouldn't believe some of the things I dreamt."

"Care to elucidate?"

"Yeah, especially about the one where you were shouting for someone not to set you on fire," Ray smirked.

"It was you," Stanley said.

"Me?"

"Yeah, Ray. You were pretty ticked off that I drove your burning Riv into the lake." As soon as he said those words, he knew he was in big trouble. A quick glance at Lynda and Fraser showed them looking about as green as he felt.

"You burned my car?!" Ray looked mad. "Do you hate me?"

"Ray, calm down," Fraser said. "It was just a dream."

"Yeah, remember what Fraser said?" Lynda jumped in. "People dream weird things." That seemed to satisfy Ray. Lynda gave a quick glance to her father, clearly saying she would talk to him later. The burnt Riv had been destined to remain hidden from Ray forever. Lynda had made sure that her father and Fraser were never to talk about it to Ray, for the sake of all their lives.

"Yeah, Ray," Stanley sais slowly. "It was just a dream."

"So, what about the other dreams?" Ray asked. "Why were you mad at Lynda?"

Stanley thought for a moment, then glared at Fraser. "Because Fraser was going out with her."

"Me and Fraser?" Lynda asked, completely shocked.

"Actually, it's 'Fraser and me'," the Mountie corrected her.

"Whatever," Lynda said. She turned back to her father. "Dad, come on. That seems a bit weird, even for a weird dream."

Ray started howling with laughter. "Lynda and Benny? Oh, man, I wish I could have seen that."

Stanley looked up at Fraser, then Lynda. "It *was * just a dream, right?"

"Trust me, Dad," Lynda said. "Fraser may be cute, and he may be nice, but I have no interest in him beyond that of a close friend." She turned to Fraser. "No offense."

"None taken," Fraser replied.

"Good," Stanley looked relieved. "And, you have no interest in Stella either, do you?"

"None, Stnaley."

"Good."

"Why did you muttered 'little green man'?" Fraser looked amused.

Stanley thought about it. "Oh . . . yeah. You and Lynda were Scully and Mulder on the X-Files."

"I knew it," Ray.

"And you were Krycheck, Ray," Stanley finished.

"You dreamt I was Ratboy?" Ray looked insulted. "Man, why couldn't I have been Mulder?"

"Hey, sorry, I can't control my dreams," Stanley frowned.

"What else did you dream, Dad?"

Stanley sighed and sat back on his bed. "Well, I dreamt that Fraser and I were each other." He shook his head. "Fraser, your tunic was itchy. And the hat was flattening my hair."

"Sorry, Stanley."

"Fraser, it was a dream," Ray said. "You don't have to apologize."

"ANYWAY," Stanley said loudly. "I also dreamt that James killed Lynda." He paused, then sighed.

"He can never hurt me, Dad," Lynda said gently as she sat next to him.

"I hope not," Stanley replied before putting his arm around his daughter. "I also had a dream about your mother."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it was pretty cool," Stnaley smiled. "We were still married, living in a beach house. You were eight months old, in little diapers. Pretty adorable."

"Dad," Lynda blushed, looking embarrassed.

"That's why you mumbled diapers," Ray snapped his fingers. He exhaled.

"I had one dream with Beth in it," Stanley said quietly. "You and Lynda were also in it, Fraser. All three of you were dead . . . and it was my fault."

Lynda looked at Fraser, who shook his head. Lynda nodded, understanding. She turned back to her father. "Any other dreams?"

"I also dreamt all of us were animals," Stanley said. "I was a flamingo, Ray was a penguin, Fraser a moose, you a parrot."

"Lemme guess," Ray chuckled. "Jack and Tom were ducks."

"Yeah," Stanley nodded. "So was Louis Gardino, although he was supposed to be dead."

"Who's Louis Gardino?" Lynda asked.

"He was Jack's partner before he got killed when the Riv exploded," Ray explained.

"Oh. What else, Dad?"

"Dief was an elephant, Regan was a pig -"

"Not much difference there," Ray muttered.

"- Welsh was a bulldog, Frannie a weasel, Turnbull was a mole, and Thatcher was a dragon."

"I knew her true colors would come through," Ray smirked. He ignored the look Fraser gave him.

"And Fraser, I dreamt that your father came back as a ghost, only he was a raccoon."

"Well, that's just silly, Stan," Fraser said. He looked at his watch, then yawned. "Well, I have to get back to the Consulate."

"I gotta get going myself," Ray asked. "I need to get some rest." He eyed Lynda. "You gonna come, Lynda?"

"I'll stay with Dad," Lynda said. "Just to make sure he's completely recovered."

"Okay," Ray said as he and Fraser left, taking the wolves with them. Right before leaving, father and daughter heard Ray giggling. "Oh, man, I can't wait to tell this to everyone."

"Remind me when I get back to work to kill him," Stanley said.

Lynda smiled. "You okay?"

"Well, I feel funky, but other than that I'm okay."

"How about I run you a hot bath? I know it's a little early, but it'll make you feel better." She wrinkled her nose. "It'll certainly make you smell better."

"Har, har," Stanley said. "Thanks." Lynda got up and went into the bathroom while Stanley got out of bed and stretched, yawning. He heard the water running as he went into the living room. He looked around, happy that everything was back to normal . . . well, normal for him anyway.

"Hey, Dad, I found this under your sink," Lynda came out holding his rubber duck. "You want it in your bath?"

Stanley looked at the duck, then shrieked as if he was looking at a big hairy spider instead of a rubber toy. He shuddered. "Lynda, if you care at all about me, get rid of that thing."

"Oh, come on, Dad, I won't tell anyone that you have a rubber duck."

"I'm serious, Lynda. I don't want to see that or any other rubber duck as long as I live."

"Okay, okay," Lynda replied. "I'll take it. I'm sure it'll make a good chew toy for the wolves." She tossed it on the couch. "Your bath's ready . . . Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Just out of curiosity, what would possess you to dream all that weird stuff?"

"I don't know. I mean, a lot of stuff was from my life, but it was all jumbled up and choppy." He turned to her. "Do you think I'm a liar?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, I also had a dream that my parents were punishing me for all the times I've lied to them. With the lamp, the station wagon, the car . . . you."

Lynda didn't know what her father was talking about, but smiled. "No, I don't think you're a liar, Dad. Not a pathological liar, anyway. I mean, we all lie, so don't worry about . . . can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Would you really have killed Fraser if we were going out?"

"Speaking as your father, of course. In fact, I beat him to a pulp in my dream, then grounded you."

Lynda chuckled. "And what about Ray's car? Feeling a little guilty about sending it into the lake?" she teased.

"Yeah, I guess. And I remembered watching Animal Kingdom on the Discovery Channel."

"That would explain the animal dream," Lynda replied wryly. She sighed. "Well, why don't you go relax and get cleaned up?"

"And what will you be doing?"

"Cleaning out that refrigerator of yours," Lynda said as she headed to the kitchen. "There's no way I want to go through this again."

"Trust me, Lynda, neither do I."

THE END