Author's website: http://www.trickster.org/kass/

Disclaimer: Boys are theirs, words are mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks to Sihaya Black for beta.

Story Notes: Written in response to the "movies" challenge at livejournal community ds_flashfiction.

"Wait, wait, wait a second." Welsh was waving one hand like that would get Ray to shut up faster. "Lemme get this straight. They got him to do what?"

"They said they were making a movie," Ray explained, again. Trying to be patient instead of giving in to the impulse to tell Welsh to go fuck himself. Fraser needed him! He wanted to be halfway there already, not twiddling his thumbs like a kid hauled to the principal's office one too many times.

"A movie of a toy store robbery?"

"I don't know what kind of damn movie they said it was!" Okay, okay, staying calm, he wouldn't be doing Fraser any favors if he got himself stuck here listening to a lecture about courtesy to one's superiors. Courtesy was Fraser's strong suite, not his, but at least he was trying. "They said he was just right for the part. Probably said he had a career waiting for him in Hollywood or something."

"Hollywood? Fraser?"

He had to admit Welsh had a point; Fraser wouldn't last five seconds in LA. "But they wouldn't've known he was a freak," Ray pointed out. "The guy just said 'you oughtta be in pictures,' and he bought it."

Not for the first time since the call came in, Ray stifled the mental reels of what kind of pictures he personally thought Fraser belonged in. With that mouth...

"Detective?"

"Uh. Sorry." Ray cleared his throat. "Anyway. I didn't get the details exactly. Something about a supersoaker and some paint, a couple of Hula hoops, and one of those Spiderman nets-in-a-can."

As if on cue, Dewey walked past Welsh's office window with two handcuffed perps, spattered blue with tempera paint and trailing torn webbing.

Welsh wasn't saying anything. Time to make the, how'd Fraser put it?, gravity of the situation known.

"He's still in the men's room at the scene. I gotta get his spare uniform and get it over there, like, half an hour ago. The Ice Qu--I mean, his boss'll have his head if he shows up at the Consulate like that."

The Lieu put his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands.

Ray waited.

After a minute he noticed Welsh was shaking. Like maybe something was really wrong. He was half out of the chair to reach out to the guy -- it had to be hard to be in charge, maybe the Lieu had problems none of them knew about -- when he realized Welsh was laughing. The kind of silent hysterics that made your stomach hurt.

"Aw, jeez." Disgusted. "Can I go?"

Welsh waved him off with a hand, still snickering. "Go see to your partner, detective."

Ray bolted for the door and ran down the hall, skittering around the corner to avoid hitting Frannie who was carrying four cups of fancy coffee in one of those cardboard Starbucks things.

As he started the car and slapped the police light on, Ray wondered whether Fraser would go for making movies. The...less-dressed kind.

Hell, they'd have to go back to the apartment to retrieve his second uniform anyway. Ray wouldn't be missed at the station until at least lunchtime.

Fraser'd said he was all paint-covered; he'd have to shower. He'd be naked anyway. Plus they had those handcuffs. And Ray was pretty sure he still had the old videocamera somebody gave him and Stella when they got married; probably still worked, too.

Fraser in pictures. Heh.

Hell: couldn't hurt to ask...

(584 words)

End In Pictures by Kass: kass@trickster.org

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