Disclaimer: Alliance Atlantis owns them, I own the ideas.

Author's Notes: This story came out of the weirdest word association game I ever played with myself, ever. Then it took 10 minutes to write.

Story Notes: Spoilers for Call of the Wild and Heaven and Earth.

Francesca smiled. Turnbull had shown up at the station, hat in hand, to search her out. Now he stood silent, like a wooden Indian, waiting for her to finish her discussion on the finer points of acrylic nails, not moving a muscle.

"Okay, constable, what can I do for you?"

"I have been charged with a message for you from your faux brother, the current Ray Kowalski."

Frannie swallowed. She knew Ray wasn't coming back. Not right away.

"He said it was an honor to be your sister, and that he never had a better one."

Frannie snorted. "He never had a sister."

"I'm sure he meant it in the spirit it was intended."

Rolling her eyes, she said, "I'm sure." She looked up at the big dolt for reassurance. She was going to miss Kowalski - he wasn't so bad a brother. For a blond. "He really say that?"

Turnbull swallowed, his ears turning red. "I paraphrased."

"I figured." There was something she had to know. "And Fraser?"

His eyes softened as he looked down at her. "He told me to tell you that he hoped you'd understand."

And there it was: the final, ultimate truth. The one that she should have faced years ago, but couldn't. Fraser wasn't the man for her. And she wasn't the man for Fraser.

Ray (her brother, Ray) told her not to dream so big, that men like him didn't go after girls like her. He'd been right, but funny how things turn out. Ray (her not-brother, Ray) wasn't society either. But he'd married Gold Coast, he had more experience with the better bred types than she did.

Aw, cripes, she was crying. She'd have to lose Turnbull and hit the lav for some toilet paper.

"May I?" Big Red had snapped out a snowy white hanky and was pressing it into her hand. She grabbed it from him, half of her mad was from embarrassment. "You know, once you get mascara on this, it won't ever come out."

"It would be an honor to carry your stains on my handkerchief." Both their eyebrows came together as they tried to figure out what he'd just said.

"If I may be so bold," Turnbull began. He paused, waiting for her permission to continue. She nodded when she realized he wouldn't continue unless she did. "Miss Vecchio - Francesca - would it be amiss if I were to approach your brother, the actual Ray Vecchio, for permission to court you?"

"Court me?"

He nodded, worrying the brim of his Stetson.

"Court me, like dating?"

Another hopeful nod.

"You want to ask my brother's permission to date me?"

"Is that acceptable? If I'm too forward--. If the very idea fills you with disgust--."

"Disgust?" She stopped, hating the shrillness in her voice. She took a deep, cleansing breath, closing her eyes to let a heartfelt smile blossom on her face. "No," she sighed as her eyes opened, "doesn't fill me with disgust at all. Fills me with," she didn't have a word for it, "something good."

Slipping her small hand into the crook of Constable Turnbull's arm, she let him beam down on her, his smile warming her. Together they set off to find her idiot brother. Probably in the supply closet with Asst. State's Atty. Kowalski.

The end.

End Who Knew? by Bridget Cochran: BJCochran@aol.com

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