Swords of Desire
by Lady Mondegreen
Disclaimer: I don't own them; I just like looking at 'em.
Author's Notes: First published in the zine Body Heat 2.
Francesca Vecchio stared at her mother in horror. "What do you mean, you're going to Florida?"
"Yes, Cara," her mother replied absently. She spared her youngest daughter a distracted smile before continuing her packing. "Your Aunt Isabella's sick; I told her I'd go down and help her out. I'll only be gone for a week."
"A week? But, Ma, who's going to watch the kids?"
Mrs. Vecchio reached over and patted Frannie's cheek fondly. "You're a good girl," she said, then left the room to go phone for a taxi. She was back in a moment, jotting something quickly onto a sheet of paper. "Here's Isabella's number. There's lasagna in the oven, and the freezer's full, so you don't have to worry about cooking. The bambini are at their friend's house; they'll be back in about an hour."
Before Frannie had a chance to say a word they heard the insistent sound of a car horn.
"Dio mio!" Mrs. Vecchio exclaimed. "The taxi's here already!" She quickly grabbed her bags, gave Frannie's cheek a resounding kiss, and was out the door, leaving Frannie alone in the house.
Frannie sat heavily at the kitchen table, cursing her mother, cursing her Aunt Isabella, cursing her sister for having gone on vacation with her stupid husband, cursing her life for making her the unmarried, stay-at-home daughter who couldn't even enjoy her first holiday in what seemed like forever without having to take care of a household of hyperactive children.
Not, of course, that she'd been planning to do much on her week off. Just kick back with a few good romance novels, a couple of quarts of ice cream, and try not to think about Fraser too much.
She sighed. Fraser and romance. Two words that definitely did not go together. She'd tried. God, how she'd tried. For over three years now she'd done everything she could think of to get his attention, short of showing up half-naked on his doorstep and shouting 'Take me!' Well, okay, she'd done that too, not that it'd had any effect on him.
Luckily, she thought to herself a few hours later, babysitting her sister's kids was more like crowd control than anything else. As long as she made sure they didn't kill each other, or destroy the house, she could leave them pretty much to their own devices.
Which was why there was no one around when she growled with frustration and tossed yet another book across the room, where it slammed against the wall and dropped onto a growing pile of abused texts. She didn't know what the hell was wrong with romance writers these days... or perhaps with herself, for believing, even for a second, that the sickeningly sweet lovers within their pages were anything resembling reality. She knew reality. Reality was a drop-dead gorgeous man who was completely clueless about everything except his sense of duty. Reality was a drunken, dark-eyed man who had slammed her repeatedly into a wall until she had seen the light and divorced his scrawny ass. Reality wasn't named Lance, or Raoul, and he wasn't a pool boy, or a stable hand, or a distant, mysterious millionaire with too much time on his hands and a penchant for weak yet strong-minded women.
Hell, she thought, I could write a better romance novel than this crap.
The thought brought her up short. She could. She could write a real romance novel, with real characters, in real situations, with real problems.
Suddenly her week off was looking to be a lot more interesting.
Well, Frannie thought as she stared down at the blank paper in front of her, maybe this writing thing was harder than she'd imagined. The tabletop around her was littered with crumpled scraps of paper, each one scribbled with rejected ideas. With a sigh, she pushed the pad of paper away from her, nibbling on the end of her pen as she wracked her brain for something - anything - that might help her get started. Nothing was coming to mind.
From the other room came the rising sounds of an impending battle. Grateful for the interruption, she left the kitchen and entered the living room where her older nephews were discussing whose turn it was to play on the family's new computer. Putting on her most stern `Aunt Frannie' face, she stood looming over the children until they quieted down, then pointed to the door. "Out," she said.
"But Aunt Frannie..."
One thing she'd learned living with this many children was not to back down an inch. "If you can't share the computer nicely, then no one's going to be playing on it."
With sullen pouts and glares, the children made their way out of the room and, thankfully, out to the back yard, where she could hear the beginnings of an argument over who would get the best swing. Deciding to ignore them for the moment - one intervention an hour was enough for her - she went to turn off the computer, then paused as an idea struck her. The computer. Which she could use to get onto the Internet. Where she was sure she could at least find pointers on how to write a romance novel.
It was worth a shot. She sat in front of the monitor, thankful for the few impromptu lessons Fraser had given her that had at least left her capable of surfing the `net with few problems.
Calling up a search engine, she typed in `romance', and went to work.
She spent the rest of the afternoon avidly going from site to site. She'd stopped briefly to get the children their supper, then to supervise bed-and-bathroom preparations, reading the smaller ones their bedtime stories and seeing them off to sleep, placating the older ones with some videotapes and a large bowl of popcorn, and had headed straight back to the computer to continue her research.
Not that she'd found much on romance novel writing per se, and some of the sites she had found had strengthen her resolve to add some sort of Net-Nanny program to the browser - some of the things she had found on the `net even she didn't want to see pictures of; the thought of any of her nieces or nephews stumbling across them made her shudder.
She had enough of an idea, though, to get back to her writing. She just wanted to check one or two more sites. During her research, she'd come across a couple of phrases that had piqued her curiosity; several sites where she could find stories which, while they weren't romance novels, seemed to be of a romantic nature anyway. Who knew, maybe she could pick up some pointers from them, too.
What was weird, though, was that these authors seemed to be writing about television shows or movies. Her eyes scanned the list - X-Files, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Star Trek... She frowned. Some of these she could understand; there seemed to be a lot of stories devoted to a romance between Mulder and Scully, which was pretty evident to her from what she'd seen of the show. But some of these TV shows - Starsky and Hutch, for crying out loud! - didn't even have major female characters in them. How could there possibly be romance stories written about them?
Here eyes fell on a familiar word, one she'd seen in a couple of her searches, though she had no idea what it might mean. Slash. Sounded kind of gruesome. Picking a link at random, she clicked it, and found the answer to her question.
Starsky and Hutch. Starsky and Hutch.
Oh, my God!
Her eyes widened as she read the summaries of the stories. Then she called one of them up, started to read it, and her eyes widened even more. Her cheeks flushed. Her pulse sped up. This was wrong. This was sinful.
She read long into the night.
The following Monday morning found her at her desk, blinking blearily at the report on the computer screen in front of her. She'd spend the past week in just such a position, though with much more interesting reading material than old reports. She'd discovered endless possibilities of stories and pairings, and even though her plans of writing the ultimate romance novel had fallen by the wayside, she didn't mind; she had other plans, now. Better plans.
She was going to write slash.
Even the thought gave her a thrill. It was so illicit, so forbidden, so exciting. What would her mother say if she knew? Or her priest? Or even her brother? She'd always considered that homosexuality was wrong. She'd been taught that it was a sin, that it was unnatural, disgusting.
Over the past week she'd discovered that it could also be loving, beautiful, exciting. And hot. Very hot.
She turned her thoughts back to her work, though in the back of her mind she was still fixated on her new hobby. Forget the pool boys and millionaires: she desperately wanted to write about... well, pool boys and millionaires, but without any simpering passive-aggressive damsels in distress to muck up the story.
But who to write about? She didn't really watch a lot of TV, or even movies, these days, and even those movies she did watch ... well, slashing Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise would just be too easy.
She finished the report she was working on and printed it. It was fairly quiet in the bullpen, and, finding herself with nothing more to do at the moment, she gazed idly around her. The Lieu was out in a meeting somewhere, and Ray's desk was empty - he was probably off doing something or other with Fraser, lucky dog... her gaze landed on Huey, who was talking on the phone, jotting something down on the notepad in front of him as he spoke.
Frannie's eyes narrowed as she eyed him speculatively. He was handsome enough, tall, smart, funny when he wanted to be. He was a good cop, very dedicated. Interesting enough to make a good character in a TV show... or in a story. Next, her eyes drifted to his partner, Tom Dewey, who was bending a paperclip into some bizarre shape. Hmm... Shorter, stockier, arrogant and about as subtle as a slap in the face sometimes, but he and Huey seemed to get along anyway. And, she admitted, he was kind of cute, in his own way.
She tried to picture them together, like in the stories she'd read. Their lips touching, hands roaming over hard, naked flesh, moans of passion erupting as they... No, she shuddered. She just couldn't do this, at least not with those two.
Frannie jumped suddenly as a cold, wet nose touched her hand. Looking down, she smiled and greeted the wolf with a vigorous rub behind the ears. "Hey, Dief, didja miss me?"
"Diefenbaker!" A harried voice called across the room, and Fraser made his way to them, glaring sternly at the animal. "You certainly have better manners than that."
"Aw, knock it off, Frase," Ray said mildly as he came up behind the Mountie. "He's just happy to see her."
"Well, that may be so," Fraser replied, "but that doesn't mean he can just accost her."
"Darn," said Ray with a grin. "I'm happy to see you too, Frannie, but I guess Mr. Politeness here won't let me accost you, either."
"I'll try to hold back my tears," she said dryly, then laughed and stood to give her `brother' a hug.
"How was your holiday, Francesca?" Fraser asked politely.
"Just peachy, Frase - Ma left me to watch the kids all week."
"Aw, that sucks," Ray said sympathetically.
"Yeah, well," she replied off-handedly. "I found stuff to do to keep myself busy."
Just then Welsh entered the bullpen, motioning at Ray and Fraser to follow him into his office. "Duty growls," Ray muttered. "See ya, Frannie."
"Francesca," Fraser nodded to her, and followed Ray into the Lieutenant's office. Dief, she noted smugly, didn't abandon his place at her feet.
She turned back to her desk, feeling oddly happy, as she often did when she was around those two. Sure, they drove her nuts sometimes, but there was something about them, some easiness between them that seemed to rub off on her whenever she was around them. Something like...
With a gasp, she turned her head to stare into the Lieutenant's office. The blinds hadn't been drawn, and she could see Ray and Fraser standing there, nodding at something Welsh was saying. Standing together. Close together. There was something about their body language, something subtle, something... intimate.
Her mind flashed her a new image of straining bodies, of heady kisses, of ecstatic moans, and this time her shudder was definitely not caused by disgust.
Ray and Fraser. Oh yeah.
She turned back to her computer, looking around to make sure that no one was paying attention to her, called up a blank document, and began to write.
A few minutes later, when Ray and Fraser emerged from Welsh's office, Frannie was busy typing away, unaware of anything around her. Fraser, his mind on the case he and Ray were working on, noted absent-mindedly that her cheeks were strangely flushed, as if she were feverish, but he put the thought out of his mind as he called for Dief and followed Ray out of the bullpen.
Frannie focused on the screen in front of her. She was going to do this. She was going to write a slash story. About Ray and Fraser.
First, she needed a title. Something cool... Something creative... Something like 'Sword of Desire'... She snorted. With two guys, that should be 'Swords'. Hmm...
She typed in Swords of Desire, adding, with a touch of pride, by Francesca Vecchio.
Well, that was a start, she thought happily.
Benton Fraser walked into the bullpen.
Benton, what a name! Who the hell was going to believe that her character's name was Benton? How about Ben?
Ben Fraser walked into the bullpen.
God, no! That sounded too... intimate. Nobody called him Ben.
Fraser walked into the bullpen of the 27th precinct. His gorgeous eyes instinctively fell on the stunning and extremely intelligent Civilian Aide, Miss Vecchio, who smiled at him and gave him a demure wave.
Yeah, that was it. Oh, but she couldn't forget Dief!
At his heels trotted his faithful companion, Deefin
At his heels trotted his faithful companion, Diefenbay
At his heels trotted his faithful companion, Dief, who immediately went to see Miss Vecchio, one of his favorite humans, who gave the best treats and the best ear scratches around.
She swore that sometimes the wolf appreciated her more than his master did.
Despite the fact that Miss Vecchio was a good friend of his, always ready to listen to him and give him excellent advice, the hunky Mountie walked past her desk, in search of the true object of his desires, his partner, Detective Ray Vecchio.
Shit. That sounded like she was talking about her brother, and that was just... ewww!
...his partner, Detective Ray Kow
Shit. She couldn't write that, either - no one was supposed to know that he wasn't really Ray Vecchio.
... his partner, the blond, spiky-haired, weird as hell but still kind of cute in a spastic way Detective Ray Vecchio. Who wasn't nearly as alluring and attractive as his sister, but Fraser had the hots for him anyway.
Yeah, right. Like Fraser'd have the "hots" for anyone.
But Fraser was attracted to him anyway, for some strange reason that probably had a lot to do with growing up in some isolated igloo in the cold, icy wastelands of Canada.
Ooh, the cold, icy wastelands of Canada. That was good, sort of poetic.
The frozen north, where you turned to anyone available for warmth and comfort during the cold, dark nights.
That was a bit of a problem, though, in the inner-city jungles of Chicago, where, no matter how cold it got, it was never cold enough that two guys, especially two cops, could get together at night without getting insulted or beaten up for it.
Jerks. Even before discovering her passion for slash, she'd thought that the idiots who beat up on gays were the ones committing the worse of the two sins.
So, despite his feelings for his partner, Fraser hadn't admitted to Ray how he felt. He was happy just being with Ray, solving cases, and doing 'guy' things like watching sports and drinking milk from the carton and belching.
So what if, every once in awhile, he felt the overwhelming urge to jump his best friend's bones? He had learned a long time ago how to ignore impulses like that.
Frannie shook her head sadly. God, everyone needed to act on their impulses every once in awhile, even Fraser. Especially Fraser!
But, right now, looking at Ray, he found it hard to remember all the reasons why he shouldn't just take the man in his arms and kiss him passionately.
Just then, Ray looked up, his eyes meeting Fraser's, and he said, in a husky voice, "You gonna have that Miller file ready for me anytime soon, Miss Vecchio?"
Huh? Frannie blinked in confusion, then looked up at Welsh, who was looming over her expectantly.
"I... Oh, yeah," she said, her mind snapping back to the present. "I got it right here."
Welsh took the folder from her, eyeing her suspiciously for a moment. Frannie busied herself with some of the papers on her desk, shuffling them around and trying to look like she was doing something useful with them until, with a long-suffering grumble, Welsh headed back to his office.
Feeling more relieved at not having been caught writing slash at work than guilty at having done so in the first place, Frannie quickly saved her document and closed it. She was kept busy for the next few hours with actual work-related duties as Welsh found more and more things to occupy her.
As was her habit, she glared and grumbled right back at him, though the truth was that she didn't dislike her work - or her boss - nearly as much as she pretended to. Welsh might be gruff and impatient, but she'd known him long enough to see the kind-hearted teddy-bear interior he kept well hidden from the rest of the world. The thought gave her an idea...
When lunch finally rolled around she dropped gratefully into her chair, checked to make sure she was - relatively - alone, and brought her story back up onto the screen.
Ray looked up, his eyes meeting Fraser's, but just as he was about to speak he was interrupted by a holler from Welsh's office.
"Vecchio, get in here."
Ray shrugged apologetically at Fraser and headed into the Lieutenant's office. Welsh waited for Ray to sit before making sure the door was closed and taking a seat across from the younger man. He didn't speak, watching Ray until the Detective shifted nervously in his seat.
"There a problem, Lieu?"
"That all depends, Detective. Were you planning on telling me any time soon?"
Ray frowned. "Telling you what?"
"About you and the Mountie."
Ray looked clueless. "What are you talking about?"
Welsh sighed. "Vecchio, you know that my policy is to ignore what my officers do on their own time, as long as it's legal and they keep it out of my bullpen."
Still not getting where the Lieutenant was going with this Ray said, "Okaaaay..."
"And I especially don't care what my officers do in the privacy of their own bedrooms, as long as it doesn't involve kids... and they keep it out of my bullpen."
"Lieu, what the hell does this have to do with Fraser and..." Ray's eyes widened as the realization struck him. "You think that we..."
"Now, normally," Welsh continued, "I wouldn't give a damn, but since you're both guys, and you're both cops, I need to make sure you don't run into any of the bullshit that tends to get around the PD when this sort of thing happens, and -"
"Lieutenant," Ray interrupted, something like panic in his voice. "I'm not doing Fraser!"
Welsh stared at him. "What?"
Ray's face had turned bright red, but he calmly stated, "Fraser and I are not sleeping together. We're not doing the nasty. We're not doing the horizontal tango."
"You're telling me you and Fraser aren't lovers?"
"Got it in one, sir."
"Well, why the hell not?" Welsh exclaimed.
Ray blinked. "What?"
"You two have been dancing around each other like dogs in heat practically from the first day you two met!"
"Dogs in heat, sir?"
"Fraser spends half his time shooting you lovesick looks, and you're telling me you haven't even noticed?"
"Well..."
"You're telling me you haven't been all over that huge hunk of Mountie meat since day one?"
Well, okay, maybe Welsh wouldn't be quite that sympathetic.
Ray took a seat in the Lieutenant's office. "You wanted to see me, Lieu?"
Welsh looked sternly at his Detective. "You know you can come to me with any problems, right, Vecchio?"
"Uh, yes sir."
"But if they're really... personal... you should probably keep them to yourself."
"All righty."
"Okay, so tell me what you've got on Miller."
Yeah, that was probably more like it. Guys. Frannie rolled her eyes in disgust at the lack of communication skills in the male of the species, then kept rolling them as she caught sight of a well-dressed, high-heeled blonde fury quickly approaching her desk.
"Assistant States Attorney Kowalski," she said as sweetly as possible when the other woman had arrived.
"Miss Vecchio," Stella replied shortly. "I don't suppose you have the Miller file?"
"It's waiting for you with the Lieutenant."
Stella nodded her thanks and, without knocking, walked into the Lieutenant's office, shutting the door firmly behind her. Now, there was a woman who needed a bit of Mountie meat in her life . How in God's name could Ray have stayed married to her for so long without killing her, or himself?
With one last glare at the closed door, Frannie turned back to her computer.
After finishing his meeting with Welsh, Ray went back to his desk. While he'd been busy, Fraser had gone over to help Miss Vecchio with something, and was seated beside her at her desk. Plopping down on his own chair, Ray took the opportunity to do some Fraser-watching.
He'd never admit it to anyone, even under torture, but he had... feelings for his Canadian partner. Strong feelings. Like lust. Attraction. Longing.
Ooh, a thesaurus button.
Yearning. Craving. Desire. Hankering.
He wanted his partner. His male partner, who never seemed to be attracted to anyone, even when they threw themselves at him.
Ray had never really thought about guys before; he'd always been happy with Stella - though now he realized the error of his ways and was glad he'd gotten rid of her, since Fraser was soooo much better for him, and nicer, and cuter, and...
Anyway, here he was, madly in love with his partner, and he didn't know what he was going to do about it.
Frannie stopped writing with a sudden burst of confusion. What could Ray do about it? Every point she had made in her story was true. It was almost impossible for two male cops to be lovers in this city without some very negative reactions. Would they be able to do it? Put aside the opinions of their friends, family, co-workers, strangers on the street? Would their love for each other be enough to see them through?
Who was she kidding? If someone like Fraser was in love with her, she wouldn't let anything stand in her way!
Ray waited until Fraser had finished with Miss Vecchio before suggesting that they pack it in for the day. Fraser agreed, and before long they were in Ray's car (the Great Testosterone Overload), on their way to the Consulate. When they got there, though, Ray stopped Fraser from getting out of the car.
"Frase, hold on a second."
Fraser looked at him curiously. "Yes, Ray?"
"I wanna ask you something."
"All right."
"Do you find me attractive?"
Yeah, right, like Ray would ever ask Fraser that.
"I wanna tell you something."
"All right."
"Do you... I mean, I... Oh, for crying out loud!" Deciding to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, Ray leaned over and kissed Fraser.
"Ray!" Fraser gasped, when he had control of his own tongue again.
Ray blushed and looked away. "God, Frase, I'm sorry! I just..."
Fraser was still staring at him, his expression unreadable. Ray had no idea what was going on in that Mountie head of his.
And that was the problem right there. Frannie had no clue how Fraser would react, either. Would he be happy? Angry? Confused? Disgusted? Would he kiss Ray back, or just sit there with that deer-in-the-headlights look of his?
With a groan of frustration, Frannie shut her story down again, remembering just in time to save it before turning off her machine. It had been three years, and she still hadn't figured Fraser out... she probably wouldn't be doing it in the next day or two. Besides, it was time to go home.
Oh, well, maybe inspiration would strike her overnight.
Much later, in the now-silent bullpen, Ray was wishing fervently that Fraser wasn't sitting next to him so that he could blow his computer to bits without anyone lecturing him about excessive violence. Instead, he just cursed under his breath and tapped uselessly at the frozen keyboard.
"Fraser?"
"Yes, Ray?" Good. The Mountie was sounding as tired and peeved as Ray felt.
"Can I kick the computer?"
"No, Ray."
"Damn."
With a sigh, he shut his computer down, then looked over at Frannie's cluttered desk. "Maybe I'll have better luck with hers."
Fraser merely grunted, and to Ray's amusement he realized that his partner had nodded off. Still chuckling, Ray turned Frannie's computer on, waited impatiently for the programs to come up, and went looking for the file he wanted to print.
"John Swords," he murmured, looking through the file directory for the name in question. "Swords... Swords... aha!" He opened up the likely-looking document and was surprised to find... well, not the report he'd been looking for, that was for sure.
"What the hell?" Frannie had been writing something called 'Swords of Desire'? At work?
Imagining the possibilities for teasing his 'sister', Ray took a quick peek back at Fraser to make sure his partner was, in fact, still soundly asleep, then turned back to read Frannie's attempt at writing a cheesy romance novel.
Fraser woke with a start as a hand gently shook his shoulder. To his chagrin he realized that he was still in the bullpen, and that he'd rudely fallen asleep while Ray was struggling with his computer.
"Did you get your report printed?" he asked Ray sleepily.
"Yeah." Something in Ray's voice sounded strange and, suddenly alert, Fraser looked up at his partner anxiously.
"Ray? Is something wrong?"
Ray stared back at him thoughtfully for a long moment, then shook his head. "Nah, just tired. C'mon, I'll drive you home."
Still a little hesitant, Fraser collected his hat and his wolf and followed Ray out of the room.
Wednesday morning was rainy and cold, and Frannie shuddered at the thought of another day like the previous one. She had been swamped all day, not having time to even think about working on her story. To make matters worse, Ray had called in sick, so she hadn't even had Fraser around to provide a much-needed distraction.
In a foul mood, she stalked into the bullpen, only to be brought up short by the sight of her desk. Or, rather, by the sight of the dozen red, long-stemmed roses sitting on it. Looking in vain for a card or some sort of clue as to who had sent her the flowers, she found instead a manila envelope beneath the roses, with her name scrawled across it in Ray's scratchy handwriting.
With a small, pleased smile she opened the envelope, wondering what in the world could be in it. She found a few pages filled with a mixture of both Ray and Fraser's writing, and gasped in shock as she read the first few words. Her cheeks ablaze with embarrassment, she sank down into her chair and started to read.
"I wanna tell you something."
"All right."
"Do you... I mean, I... Oh, for crying out loud!" Deciding to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, Ray leaned over and kissed Fraser.
"Ray!" Fraser gasped, when he had control of his own tongue again.
Ray blushed and looked away. "God, Frase, I'm sorry! I just..."
Fraser was still staring at him, his expression unreadable. Ray had no idea what was going on in that Mountie head of his, but he was suddenly afraid that he'd made a terrible mistake. He was all set to just let Fraser out, go home, get drunk, and hope they both ended up forgetting this whole night when Fraser reached over turned Ray's face back to look at him.
"You kissed me, Ray." Fraser always was the king of the obvious.
"Yeah, Frase. I'm sorry."
"I'm not."
Fraser didn't just say that. Did he?
"No?"
"In fact, Ray, I was kind of hoping you'd do it again."
Well, that explained it. Somewhere between the 27th and the Consulate he'd died and gone to heaven. Or at least had gotten doped up on some incredible mind-blowing shit. But even if this was a dream, he'd be damned if he'd let the opportunity pass.
"Well, I hate to disappoint you," he said, and pulled Fraser back to him. After a brain-numbing, toe-curling kiss, Ray suddenly realized that, as awesome as it was, they were making out in his car, right out on the street, with an impatient wolf taking up the back seat.
Fraser seemed to have the same thought. Pulling himself regretfully away from his partner's embrace, he said breathlessly, "Maybe we should go inside, Ray."
"Inside?" To his relief, Ray seemed just as dazed as Fraser felt.
"Yes. Where we have a bit more privacy... And a bed."
He couldn't believe those words had come out of his mouth, but apparently Ray found them enticing, if the sudden gleam in his eyes was anything to go by. Almost before he knew it, he found himself in his bedroom/office, locked again in a passionate embrace with Ray.
As their clothes hit the floor, and they hit the bed, the last rational thought in Ray's head before it was blown clean off was...
Ray! You can't write that!
Okay, okay. The last thought in his head before they moved on to other things that Frannie's not gonna hear about from me was that they definitely needed to thank her when they got back to the 2-7.
Most certainly. Now, if Ray has finished writing, we have some... pressing business to take care of.
Ohhhhhh, yeah. See ya in a couple of days, Frannie!
The end (for now)
Frannie read and re-read the story, then smiled broadly. That was the way to write a romance story, she thought as she leaned in to sniff her roses.
"Miss Vecchio!" Welsh's voice called from his office door. "Are you a Civilian Aide or a florist?"
"I'll be right there, Lieu," she called back. As she slipped the papers back into their envelope, she had a sudden thought. If there was anyone who needed some help in the romance department, it was Harding Welsh.
And Turnbull was looking kind of lonely these days...
End Swords of Desire by Lady Mondegreen
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