Disclaimer: Not mine. No money made.

Story Notes: The story is inspired by the 200. episode of SG 1 - you may say I stole it from them.

Due South - The Movie By sam80853

When Detective Ray Vecchio and his friend and partner Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police finally arrive at the 27th police station this morning - after a small incident involving a hungry half-wolf and a poor tempered pedestrian with a bag of donuts - a small red-haired guy is sitting in Fraser's chair which strikes Ray all kinds of wrong. But before he can even voice his displeasure the small guy jumps out of his chair, excitement written all over his face.

"You must be Detective Vecchio," he squeaks, his hands grabbing for Ray who steps back from the guy, bumping into Fraser who's standing right behind him, steadying his partner. "The Mountie," the guy whispers awestruck.

"Constable Benton Fraser," Fraser greets but before he can even think about explaining his unusual presence in an American police station the door to Lieutenant Welsh's office opens and the man growls for his Detective's attention.

"Detective, Constable - my office!"

"Understood," Fraser says, nodding apologetically at the red-haired guy and enters Welsh's office, closing the door behind him and Ray.

Welsh is already sitting behind his desk again, displeasure written on his face and Ray's thinking about what he might have done now when Welsh sighs and kind of relaxes - relaxes as much as a Lieutenant with a Mountie and a wolf in his precinct can relax that is.

"I assume you haven't missed the little guy sitting at your desk, Detective."

"No," Ray answers, turning to look in the direction of his desk, "I mean, yes."

"I think Detective Vecchio means to affirm that we indeed met Mr..."

"Haggis," Welsh says.

"What's he complaining about?" Ray wants to know, still looking outside at the guy who's again sitting in Fraser's chair.

"Ray," Fraser shakes his head disapprovingly, "as officers of the law we certainly ..."

"Yeah, yeah, Fraser," Ray interrupts, turning to Welsh. "What does he want?"

"Your cooperation, Detective."

"Which he will certainly has, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Constable," Welsh looks at Vecchio who certainly wants more details about the whole deal before offering something like his cooperation.

"Mr. Haggis is a screenwriter from Los Angeles, Detective." Ray frowns at Welsh. He doesn't really want to know what this is about anymore. "He's basing his next movie on you and Constable Fraser."

"No," Ray's hands are up. "No way I'm not gonna sit around and talk to some guy from Hollywood."

"Ray, this could be a great opportunity to gain the respect of the people in this city by showing them what exactly you do to keep them safe, to ..."

"Don't start the `tuck their kids in at night' speech, Fraser."

"Understood."

"Detective ..."

"I'm not gonna do it!"

"This is not a democracy," Welsh growls at his Detective. "As I understand it, I assign a case to you and you solve it."

"This is not a case," Ray argues. "It's some guy from freakin' Hollywood who wants to make us look bad on screen."

"Ray! Ray! Ray!"

"Fraser!"

"I'm terribly sorry, Ray," Fraser tugs at his collar but resents to let go of his argument. "We have an opportunity, a responsibility even, to draw a realistic portrait of our daily police work. It could be very exciting."

"Hollywood is not about reality, Fraser," Ray objects, glaring at his partner. "It's about making the bad guys look smart and us looking stupid."

"Enough," Welsh hollers. "Detective, you're giving Mr. Haggis your full cooperation and attention ..."

"But my cases ..."

"Did you understand me, Detective?"

"I ...," Ray starts but Fraser's grabbing his arm, guiding him to the door persistently.

"Understood, Lieutenant."

"Let go of me," Ray yanks his arm free as soon as they are out of Welsh's office, and glares at his friend angrily.

"Ray, please calm down," Fraser's voice is kind of soothing but it's lost on his furious partner.

"Don't wanna. Why do I always have to deal with crap like that?"

"Ray, please," Fraser's trying to keep his voice even; his friend certainly is a passionate man but ill-behaved at times.

"Chair," Ray growls at Haggis when he reaches his desk and Haggis jumps up like the chair is suddenly on fire.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..."

"It's perfectly all right," Fraser smiles one of his polite smiles. "Please, take a seat, Mr. Haggis."

"It's your chair, Fraser!" Ray complains, still glaring at Haggis who doesn't dare to sit down again.

"It's certainly not, Ray," Fraser objects. "You see when I first came to the station house ..."

"It's your chair, Fraser! No one but you sits on that chair!"

Fraser finally accepts that there is no point in arguing and takes one of the vacant stools standing in front of Detective Huey's desk, offering Mr. Haggis to take a seat there.

Haggis seems to be fascinated by everything that's going on around him, which makes Ray mad because the little guy should be scared of him and just leave them the hell alone. But no, the guy just scribbles down on his notebook in his hand, head nodding.

"How can we be of assistance, Mr. Haggis?" Fraser asks politely, sitting down opposite of Ray who's still looking angry, "You wouldn't be related to ...? No, of course you would not."

"Constable, right?"

Fraser suddenly stands again, rubbing his eyebrow in embarrassment - where are his manners?

"I'm truly sorry," he says. "As I said before, my name is Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture I have remained, attached as liaison with the Canadian Consulate." Haggis nods like he has heard this story before. "This is my partner and friend Detective Raymond Vecchio." At this Haggis leans forward, whispering: "Stanley Raymond Kowalski," which brings Ray out of his seat. "Don't you ever say that name again," he hisses and finally he gets a reaction of fear from Haggis.

"I have to advise you," Fraser wills Ray to keep calm but he can't allow a breach in secrecy like this that could endanger his former partner's life, "to keep that information secret. More than one life depends on your discretion, Mr. Haggis," and Haggis nods, catching on immediately on the Mountie's seriousness.

"Yeah, right, Fraser," Ray snorts. "As if someone like him would not run gossiping about it." He smiles evilly then. "Maybe we should consider ..."

"Ray!"

"I won't say a word, ever," Haggis assures, his face pale.

"Please, Mr. Haggis, Detective Vecchio wasn't suggesting to ..."

"I was."

"Ray!"

"Okay," Ray gives in. "But ..."

"I understand," Haggis nods, hands slightly shaking.

"Good."

"Mr. Haggis," Fraser tries to get their conversation back on solid ground, "what is it exactly we can do for you?"

Haggis reaches for a black case under the table then, getting out three identical looking scripts.

"It's just my first draft," he smiles proudly, handing a copy to Ray and Fraser. "We can make some changes if you want to."

Ray looks sceptically at the sheets in his hands but starts reading nonetheless.

Detective Harrison Carter McWhite - a good-looking sunny boy with bleached spiky hair - of the Los Angeles Police Department leaves his houseboat on Long Beach, only seen off by his iguana Elvis.

The sun hasn't set yet as Detective McWhite fires up his white 1986 Ferrari Testarossa, driving ...

"No!" Ray throws the script on his desk, looking insulted. "I am not Sunny Crockett," he exclaims, hovering over Haggis threateningly. "A Ferrari Testarossa? You have to be kidding me!"

"Ray!"

"California, Frase?" Ray looks at his friend now. "What does a Mountie even do in California?"

"Ray, you could argue the same point ..."

"Do not start with me, Fraser!"

"Understood!"

"We ... we can make some minor changes, Detective Vecchio," Haggis whispers in uncertainty.

"We better," Ray says, sitting down again.

Captain Raymond Hilts leaves his apartment building near Lake Michigan to start an early day at the 27th police department.

His turtle Ben once again has a day to its own with his owner occupied in fighting crimes and making Chicago's street safer ...

"You named your turtle Ben, Ray?" Fraser asks sceptically and Ray turns slightly red, hiding behind the script in his hand.

"We could set the story in Chicago, Detective," Haggis interrupts, making some notes.

"Great!"

Captain Raymond Hilts steers his Ferrari Testarossa ...

"It's a 1967 GTO, Haggis," Ray glares. "A Pontiac Grant To ... To..."

"Grand Turiso Omologato, Ray," Fraser assists smiling.

,,Thanks!"

,,You're welcome, Ray."

Captain Raymond Hilts steers his 1967 GTO through the Street of Chicago to get his friend and partner, Lieutenant Ben Fraser of the RCMP ...

"Actually it's Constable Benton Fraser," Fraser objects. "The RCMP's rank system illustrates their origin as a paramilitary force. Therefore there is no rank of Lieutenant. Furthermore a Captain of the Chicago PD wouldn't liaise with ..."

"We get your point Fraser," Ray interrupts, not really being interested in the RCMP rank system or if a captain would liaise with ... a Mountie. He certainly would and that's what counts here.

"Understood, Ray."

"How," Haggis looks at Fraser in question, "how would you begin the story then?"

Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police stands in the middle of the kitchen in his cabin, pouring a cup of hot black coffee for his friend and partner Ray Kowalski who has followed him to the Territories ...

"I would live with you in the Territories?" Ray looks up from the script.

"You certainly could Ray," Fraser clears his throat in embarrassment. "I mean, it would be economical to share quarters. As for company - the Territories are mostly unpopulated and ..."

"You're blithering."

"I certainly am."

"Maybe I could sell the script to the Canadians then," Haggis muses, scratching his head.

"I doubt there is a market for your script in Canada, Mr. Haggis," Fraser explains patiently. "You see, the Canadian Film industry is in poor financial shape and our market is constantly flooded with American mainstream movies, I just don't see any director or actor taking on such a project, I'm truly sorry."

"Can't you just admit that Canadians love our movies just like everyone else in the world, Fraser?"

"I wouldn't say love as such, Ray," Fraser objects, looking apologetically. "Canadian movies are quite well but poorly advertised and therefore most people don't even know that their own country has to offer good entertainment."

"You mean like that `Picture Claire' thing I had to sit through with the girl talking French all the time?"

"Picture, what?" Haggis asks in confusion, he certainly had never heard of that movie. Not to mention that a movie in which a character speaks in a foreign language always is a bad choice. Subtitles are just unpractical and distracting.

"'Picture Claire', Mr. Haggis and I have to admit, Ray, that movie was kind of disturbing."

"Kind of, yeah," Ray agrees, suddenly hearing fast clicking footsteps on the floor, followed by the high shrieking voice of his so called sister.

"Oh my God," Frannie Vecchio comes running from wherever she was before, "are you the star from Hollywood?"

"Just a writer, Frannie," Ray groans, eyes rolling.

"Actually a screenwriter, Ray," Fraser corrects. "Good afternoon, Francesca."

"Hey, Frase," she purrs, stepping closer to Fraser who has risen from his chair to greet her properly.

"He's from Hollywood?" Frannie's usually loud voice has alerted the attention of Detective Huey and Dewey who gather around Ray's desk as well.

"Francesca," Fraser offers his chair and she takes a seat, looking admiringly at Fraser who rubs his eyebrow nervously.

"I'm working on a script based on Detective Vecchio and Constable Fraser's crime fighting adventures," Haggis explains smugly.

"Really," Frannie whispers, impressed, one hand over her heart.

"Why them?" Huey complains, his partner Dewey by his side.

Captain Jack Huey, dressed in a deep black tuxedo is about to step onto the podium to receive his citation for his heroic commitment in the Truman case, rescuing 35 school kids, when out of the corner of his eyes he notices a man standing behind a plant, gun in hand, pointed at the commissioner.

In a split-second Huey decides to risk his life once more because that's what he does and ...

"There is a love story, is there?" Frannie ask innocently, not paying any attention to Huey and what he has to contribute to the storyline.

"Of course," Haggis smiles and Ray frowns suspiciously while Fraser steps back from Frannie who has a dead grip on his forearm.

"Who is it?" Frannie wants to know, not letting go of her Mountie.

"The Detective, of course," Haggis stated like it should be obvious. "I was going with his ex-wife whose heart he's winning back ..."

"No!" Ray is out of his chair, looking furious once more but ducks his head when everybody looks suspiciously at him. "I mean," he says, "that's such an old line. It's just ... lame."

"He's right," Frannie agrees eagerly while the man attached to the forearm she's still holding tight looks at his friend, head slightly cocked.

Francesca Vecchio-Fraser in her long white wedding dress - no, she doesn't want a long wedding dress, she's a modern woman, she has great legs, so why not show them? - is sitting on a black horse in front of her newly-wed husband Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in his shiny red uniform, his strong arms holding her tight against his warm body, keeping her safe and secure, whispering sweet words of love into her ear ...

Frannie sighs, deeply moved by her own fantasy that made her let go of Fraser who hastily steps away from her, his face deeply red at being the centre of such an intimate dream.

"It's been done a million times," Haggis shakes his head in disagreement and Frannie gets out of her chair, sulking, glaring around before she leaves without another word. It wasn't her fault that men do know nothing about a woman's heart desire.

"Oh dear," Fraser whispers, it really wasn't his intention to insult Francesca even if her fantasies about his person really are inappropriate and ill-advised. There really is just one person with whom he would like to be on a horse or at all for that matter.

"It would really like to see the Consulate now," Haggis states, not paying any attention to Frannie's abrupt leaving.

"Certainly," Fraser agrees, suddenly glad to have a reason to leave the station.

"I'll give you guys a lift," Ray offers with a smile on his face.

"I really don't think it's necessary, Ray," Fraser says, "I don't mind walking ..."

"I do," Haggis stands up, looking expectantly at Ray.

"Let's go then."

"Diefenbaker," Fraser calls for his half-wolf companion who's lying under Ray's table, sleeping off his large sugar consumption this morning, no doubt.

"Diefenbaker!"

"What's wrong with him?" Ray asks when Dief finally opens one eye to look at them.

"I think he might be insulted by Mr. Haggis referring to him as a husky-shepherd breed, Ray."

"Aw, c'mon, fur-face," Ray leans down to be on eye level with the half-wolf. "I'm sure he will make it up to you by buying you a jelly donut."

Diefenbaker eyes Haggis doubtfully but gets up anyway and trots after them out of the station house.

"Look," Ray says as soon as they all get to his car, "this is a car. A Ferrari," he snorts in disgust and Haggis has to admit that this really is one beautiful vehicle.

Inside with Haggis and Diefenbaker - who doesn't let Haggis out of his sight - in the backseat they ride in silence until Ray once more crosses a stop sign without actually stopping the car.

"Ray, that was a stop sign."

"No real cop stops at a stop sign," Haggis says from the backseat.

"See?"

"No, Ray, I do not see! Being an officer of the law means to set a good example."

"Maybe in Canada, Frase."

Fraser keeps silent at that, knowing very well that arguing the point will get him nowhere. They have almost arrived at the Consulate anyway.

"Welcome to Canada," Constable Turnbull greets them smilingly as soon as they reach the door.

"Turnbull," Fraser says. "This is Mr. Haggis from Los Angeles. He's a screenwriter doing research for his newest project which is based on Detective Vecchio's and my experience in law enforcement."

"Excellent," Turnbull's smile gets even brighter. "Perhaps I could make some suggestions." He puts an arm around Haggis' shoulder, steering him inside the building. "I was thinking along the line of ..."

Renfield Turnbull was about to prepare his master a delicious breakfast - cheese based, of course - on this beautiful morning in Toronto when the call came in. A breaking-and-entering situation which requires Constable Fraser's and his loyal companion's, Detective Kowalski, immediate attendance.

So, from Turnbull's point of view his hastily prepared breakfast - just being ordinary cheese sandwiches - leaves much to be desired. But his cuisine is usually lost on Detective Kowalski anyway who just gulps down his meal. Americans really have no taste. Or manners.

"Loyal companion," Ray frowns at Turnbull.

"You are a loyal friend to me, Ray," Fraser tries to pour oil on troubled water, seeing how Ray's posture changes to a fighting position against Constable Turnbull.

"He makes it sound like I'm your puppy, like I'm some Robin to your Batman."

"I'm certain Constable Turnbull would never indicate such a thing, Ray."

"But, Detective," Turnbull gets excited and therefore argumentative, "you have to see the implication. Two brave men fighting for justice like ..."

"Do not say it, Turnbull," Ray warns, one finger pointed at the tall man which stops Turnbull dead.

"Understood."

"What is going on here?" The voice of Inspector Margaret Thatcher reverberates through the hall. "This is the Canadian Consulate not a meeting place for group sessions on silly movies."

"I'm terribly sorry, Sir," Fraser apologizes immediately. "Constable Turnbull was just sharing some thoughts on Mr. Haggis film."

"Who's Haggis?"

"I am," Haggis steps forward, finally seen by Inspector Thatcher when not surrounded by two tall Canadians and one angry Detective.

"Oh," Thatcher says, immediately getting back into her role of a superior officer. "Welcome to Canada, Mr. Haggis."

"Thank you!"

"What is this movie you're planning about?"

"It's based on Constable Fraser's and ..."

Mrs. Thatcher has gained information about the whereabouts of one Charlie Brown who has tried to assassinate the Prime Minister of Canada and is now preparing - with her beloved husband, Mr. Thatcher, at her side, of course - to make an arrest and to serve justice.

The pistol is heavy in her small but strong hands when ...

"God," Ray groans, his eyes closed in disbelief while Fraser at his side just turns as red as his uniform.

Why is it that people - especially women - see Fraser just as some trophy you have to win and store when he's a hot-breathing person looking for companionship, closeness? Love even?

Ray has had enough of it, enough of people trying to turn their life into a movie, enough of people using Fraser when Fraser's too polite to defend himself. It's Ray's job after all and he's about to just do his job.

"Your office, Frase," Ray says and steers Haggis and Fraser into Fraser's tiny office.

There isn't much room for three grown men but Ray doesn't need much to stand in front of Fraser, backing Fraser against his desk really.

"What about this?" Ray asks, his eyes never leaving Fraser's while talking to Haggis.

It's a beautiful day in the North-West Territories when former police detective Stanley Raymond Kowalski steps into their small kitchen to prepare breakfast for himself and his friend and partner, Constable Benton Fraser.

The door opens - ice-cold air is flooding the cabin - just as Ray has Fraser's tea ready, a cup of hot strong coffee for himself in his other hand.

The Mountie steps into their cabin, warming his cold hands on Ray's warm skin just before he places ...

Fraser's office door swings shut just behind Haggis but neither Fraser nor Ray really care about the writer or anyone else right now.

"Before I do what, Ray?" Fraser whispers, his eyes still locked with his friend's.

"You ..., you ...," Ray starts to stutter uncertainly, he really hasn't planed to go this far. "Before you take your cup of tea, of course."

"My hands are on your waist, Ray, I can't possibly take my cup of tea just then," Fraser smiles mildly, putting his hands just where he said they would be in the scene.

"I didn't say waist," Ray objects, his eyes fixed on Fraser's lips now.

"Shall I put them elsewhere, Ray?"

"No," Ray starts to grin now, before he leans in to place a kiss on Fraser's soft lips.

The End