Author's website: http://www.mindspring.com/~bluecham/

Disclaimer: I had nothing to do with it.

Author's Notes: Thanks to the folks who have sent me notes on this silly thing. It's nice to know my brain farts are appreciated. I think. <g>

Story Notes: Bleah, seat-of-the-pants, no beta, no hands, no eyes, no nothing. Except a spellcheck, which I'm hoping was successful.

This story is a sequel to: Talking to the Dog III: Patience is a Virtue Which Must be Cultivated

Talking to the Dog IV: Lending Aid and Comfort...

"Constable Fraser," Thatcher sighed. Ray privately thought she must have to practice to make her voice that deep. He also thought she looked like a stiff breeze would blow her over, and her little black dress had a broken strap. She didn't appear to notice. She continued "I just got out of the exam room. Constable Turnbull called you?"

"Yes, sir, and I was concerned, as he seemed quite distraught. I was on a stakeout with detective Vecchio. Fortunately detectives Henshaw and Craig were available to relieve us." Fraser was gently taking the cold pack she was holding against her face and examining whatever damage lurked beneath. "I hope neither of you are badly hurt."

"Bumps, bruises," she said dismissively, taking the cold pack back as he handed it to her. "On me, at least. Turnbull's fine, unless he bruised one of those massive hams on their skulls or something. Someone's supposed to be bringing me a prescription in a few moments."

"Where is constable Turnbull?"

"He's with the investigating officers, where our assailants are still being treated."

"I can just imagine," Ray said, watching as Diefenbaker came up to sniff at Thatcher's hand where it rested on the chair arm. She tolerated it, even deigning to give him a scratch under the chin.

"You look like shit," Dief said. "What the hell happened?"

Ray had to cover his mouth with one hand, faking a cough, when she went on blithely, right on cue with Dief's query, "Turnbull and I had the less than unadulterated pleasure of attending the theater this evening, on the invitation of our current liaison with Immigration and Nationalization. His daughter is starring in a run of..." she sighed. "...'Oklahoma', at the Auditorium Theater."

"What a waste of the Auditorium Theater," Ray muttered, not worrying much about being overheard, as Thatcher was looking a bit disgusted and Fraser was looking sympathetic.

"Ah. I take it our current liaison with I and N is...a personage worth cultivating," Fraser said.

"A friend of mine has a niece who's trying to immigrate," Thatcher explained. "She--the niece-- wants to be with her...affianced, who is an American citizen. She's pregnant, time is of the essence, and..."

"And for some reason she won't qualify in time," Ray finished. "Why doesn't she just go ahead and marry the guy? They waiting for the right alignment of the planets or something?"

Thatcher shook her head. "Her, ahm, partner is a woman."

Rays brows went up. "Oh-ho. Yeah, that's a problem. Who's the kid's father? Can he help, or is he wanting custody or some unhelpful thing like that?"

Thatcher shook her head again. "Anonymous sperm donation. Hannah and her..."

"...intended," Fraser put in helpfully.

"...want to raise the child together. And they've chosen to be completely open about their relationship with respect to Hannah's reason for wanting to immigrate."

"I see," Fraser said, looking concerned. "So you would definitely need..."

"I need to kiss up to this guy," Thatcher said, with a resigned expression, rescuing Fraser from having to find some diplomatic way of saying exactly that. "Hannah doesn't intend to be working in any capacity recognized by I and N--her partner would be supporting her. As you know, that's not an acceptable arrangement unless the immigrant actually marries the citizen in question. Since they don't want to consider Virginia except as a last resort--and the life-partner rights law there could not easily be made to apply to naturalization cases in any event, as it's a state law and naturalization is a Federal matter--their headstrong handling of this situation necessitates friends in I and N, whether they like it or not, and I'm the only one she or her uncle know who's in a position to cultivate any for her."

"Well, into each life a few chicks and ducks must fall," Ray opined, grinning around his toothpick. "I'm willing to bet Turnbull had fun, at least."

"He was ecstatic. He practically threw himself to the floor at my feet in gratitude when I asked him if he'd be free this evening. I thought perhaps his genuine enthusiasm might..."

"...take a little pressure off you 'cause you wouldn't have to work so hard to hide the fact you were the human wince from beginning to end of the damn play," Ray said helpfully. Fraser gave him a quelling glance and Thatcher favored him with a sour look. Dief, panting, grinned up at him. Ray went on "So did you get run over during the shivaree or what?"

"It being such a pleasant evening, Constable Turnbull and I decided to forgo a cab. I realized we were being followed, and I managed to get Turnbull to shut up and come with me into an alley, where we could wait in the shadows to see if..."

"...to see whether perhaps someone was merely on the same way you were," Fraser helped out again.

"To see if she could take 'em out before they even saw her, just for fun," Ray mumbled. "Smack, smack, one-two-three, never know what hit 'em." Dief lay down and put a paw over his face. Ray wondered if Diefenbaker said things to crack him and Fraser up in other people's hearing as revenge for having to not die laughing in sight of God and everybody when humans said things that were desperately amusing in front of him. If so, Ray'd just earned himself some serious payback.

"Where we could wait and see if they would perhaps simply pass us," she said, giving Ray a quelling look of her own. "Unfortunately they must have seen us do so. There were three of them. I told Constable Turnbull to stay behind me--"

"Wait a second. You told man-mountain T to stay behind you?" Ray asked. "Wouldn't he have been a little more intimidating, if you were tryin' to avoid a fight?"

Thatcher gave him a withering look. "He's big, but he's not that big, Detective." She looked to Fraser for support.

Fraser cleared his throat and looked at Ray. "You have firsthand experience of constable Turnbull's physical threats. How intimidated were you?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah. And he was even royally pissed at me, and I doubt these guys had just slammed his favorite sport."

"The man couldn't intimidate the Easter Seals poster child," Thatcher concurred.

"I think I know how this comes out," Dief said, getting up. "I'm gonna finish my interrupted snooze." He hopped up on a couch next to the chair Thatcher was sitting in and curled up, resting his nose on his paws. Ray smiled and gave him the "I got you" thumb-to-the-nose signal.

"Also, Ray, the Inspector has the element of surprise on her side, under most circumstances," Fraser reminded him, "provided she isn't in uniform. The footpads would--"

"Footpads?" Ray said softly, but Fraser just talked over him.

"--move incautiously with her, whereas they might be expected to at least take Turnbull's obvious size and strength into account--ahm, peaceable of demeanor though he might be."

"And they did," Thatcher said boredly. "One of them grabbed my arm while the other two moved to flank Turnbull. I dispatched the one who'd grabbed me and turned at once to deal with the other two, but, well..." she sighed and straightened one knee, extending the leg, showing a colorful smear of something toxic-looking along the side of her shoe. "It was a downtown Chicago alley, and it's been too long, obviously, since I practiced close-quarters moves in awkward shoes..."

"Yeah, high-heeled sandals don't exactly give you a solid grounding, do they?" Ray said.

"They don't, of a certainty," Fraser concurred, in obvious fellow-feeling with Thatcher's predicament, and squatted to probe gently at her ankle. "There's just a bit of swelling here..."

"Um..." Thatcher started to get purry-looking. Ray didn't blame her. Stinky mucous goop aside, Fraser's hands could make a wolf dog purr, so why not humans? "...yes, but just a bit. A very minor sprain."

"So you did one'a them spin-on-a-dime moves like I've seen you do, and the shoe didn't make it all the way with you?"

"No, Ray, the shoe make it farther than she did," Fraser said, turning her foot very carefully to show Ray a particular scuff mark that didn't look any different from the other scuff marks as far as Ray could tell.

"So that's when they clocked you?"

"To my extreme embarrassment," Thatcher mumbled, "it was not one of our assailants who did this to me." She waved the ice pack in illustration of "this" and put it back against her face as she finished "I was 'clocked', as you put it, by one of the dumpsters we had hidden between."

"Oo," Ray said, trying not to grin too obviously. If she'd been badly hurt, or even particularly upset, that would be one thing, but she looked more annoyed by the whole affair than anything else. At the moment she was looking at her shoe with a disgusted expression. He added "That must've been one hell of a wipe-out when you hit that...whatever that gunk is," Ray said with a broad tone of fellow feeling--way too broad.

"It was," she said, after impaling him on a high-beam glare. She then leaned down and hooked a finger under the sandal's ankle strap, pulling it off (without removing her ankle from the ministrations of Fraser's fingers) and then reaching down to remove the other one. "I won't be wearing these back into my apartment. Detective, do me a favor and throw them out in that trash bin over there?" She thrust the shoes in his direction.

He eyed them for a moment, then reached out and took them gingerly by the buckles. "Sure thing."

When he came back, a tall, well-built man in a nicely cut, dark wool suit, walking with a uniformed officer, was joining them from the opposite direction. He had one large hand held over the lower portion of his face. It took Ray an astonished moment to identify the good-looking cuss as Turnbull. Though if he'd only been using his ears, it wouldn't have been at all difficult. Turnbull was making little sounds like Beaker from the Muppet Show, obviously maintaining what little of his composure he was still hanging on to only with difficulty. The uniform had a comforting hand on his shoulder. He had to reach up a little bit high to keep it there.

"Hey, big T," Ray said quietly, as Dief jumped down from the couch and went straight to Turnbull. "How you makin' it there? You hurt?"

Turnbull made slightly faster Beaker noises as he shook his head rapidly.

"Good, good job there, buddy," Ray said, once again trying not to grin too big. Turnbull was the only guy he knew (including a fragile little femme of his acquaintance), and most particularly the only cop he knew, who'd get this upset over beating up a few muggers.

"Inspector, I don't know how to apologize for letting those--those awful men--"

"Turnbull, calm down, for God's sake," Thatcher sighed, looking on wistfully as Fraser finally set her foot gently back on the floor. She flexed her ankle experimentally. "Oh. Much better. Thank you, Fraser. Turnbull, our assailants didn't do this to me. I lost my footing and fell against a dumpster. It was my own fault."

"But--but--you're my superior officer--it was my duty--"

"Hey, Martinez," Ray said, talking to the uniform. "How goes it? So what's the story on this one?"

"Detective," Martinez said by way of greeting. "I've gotta tell you, man, I have never seen anything like this one. Well, the one guy, he just has a black eye, cracked nose, wind knocked out of him, probably some bruised ribs. He's the one this lady took out." Martinez nodded at Thatcher.

"Inspector," Thatcher sniped softly, getting up and leaning a little on Fraser, but her heart wasn't really in the snipe. Dief was sitting on Turnbull's feet, imparting comfort.

"She's a cop," Ray said to Martinez.

"Yes, the, uh, constable here said she was his CO. Anyway, the other two...judging by the injuries, um...what it looks like is our friend here picked up the one guy by the ankles and tried to bludgeon the other guy to death with him. Damn near did, too."

Turnbull sobbed softly.

"Hey, hey." Ray put an arm around Turnbull's shoulders. "Chin up, there, buddy. You did your civic duty and protected your, uh, your superior, here, right?"

"I shouldn't have let her get hurt," Turnbull whimpered. "Those awful men..."

"You oughtta see 'em, Detective," Martinez was saying. "I saw a guy got pushed out of a helicopter, bounced off a bridge and smashed onto the hood of a car, and he didn't look all THAT much worse than those two guys do. One of 'em was just about to go into surgery when we came out here."

Turnbull sobbed again. "When I saw the inspector lying on the ground in that filthy alley...I don't know, I...I lost my temper." He sniffed. "I'm so ashamed."

"Jesus." If Ray had had the vaguest idea the kind of trouble he could have gotten in ragging on curling like he had, he would never have opened his mouth.

A piece of soft cloth appeared in Ray's free hand, obviously courtesy of Fraser. Ray held it up to Turnbull's face. "There y'go, big T. Here, blow. You don't wanna get that nice suit all snotty."

Turnbull hoooooooonked into the handkerchief, then reached up and took it from Ray's hand with a little whimper of gratitude, and mopped at his face.

"Hey, it's okay. Who knows what they woulda done to the--to the inspector here if you hadn't taken 'em out. And no matter how messed up they are, they can't get you for brutality. You're not actually a cop here. So technically they attacked private citizens, legal forgeign nationals at that--"

"I'm a common street brawler!" Turnbull wailed, crouched down and hugged Dief, hiding his face in Dief's ruff. Ray groaned internally at his own word choice.

"Hoo, boy," said Dief, with a low whistle. "This looks like a baddie. I think I better stay with our conflicted friend here. You two take Thatcher home."

Ray squatted too, muttering softly to Dief as Fraser and Thatcher conversed with Martinez, completing the necessaries before they could leave. Turnbull paid no more attention to Ray and Dief's conversation than ever. Ray suggested "Maybe one of us oughtta go with you two."

"It'll have to be Fraser. He makes it a policy not to get anywhere near Thatcher's apartment, at least alone with her, unless he absolutely can't get out of it."

Ray smirked a little. "Doesn't trust her on her home turf?"

"I don't think he trusts either one of them. They have one of those, you know, physical things. Just a chemistry--stand too close and boom, they've both got hot pants. But they know better than to let it get anywhere worth discussing. Couldn't handle a real, y'know, thing with each other, even if she wasn't his report at the moment."

"Yeah, I gotcha." Ray sighed. "Okay, I'll take the Ice Queen home. You two stay with Turnbull."

"Sounds like a plan."

They had left Turnbull, Diefenbaker and Fraser at Turnbull's apartment; Fraser would call Ray when he thought Turnbull had calmed down sufficiently to be left.

"Well, one good thing about this," Ray said, as Thatcher slumped in the passenger seat next to him. "Your guy at Immigration might feel bad enough about it to send your friend's niece right through the preliminaries and get her citizenship."

"That's what I'm hoping. I've never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this was a lot farther than I was planning on going for friendship. Ouch." She moved the cold pack and seemed to be wriggling her tongue around in her mouth.

"Tooth?"

"Possibly."

"Got some good pain stuff there?" He reached over and rustled the little pale-blue paper bag someone had brought her from the hospital pharmacy while Ray and Dief were comforting Turnbull.

"I doubt I'll need it."

"Oh, schist. The Iron John routine is enough of a damn pain in the ass when men do it."

To his surprise, she was only quiet for a moment, then smiled with the side of her face that wasn't swelling up. "An excellent point."

"Not counting Fraser, of course." When Fraser did it, he really didn't need whatever-the-heck. The guy wasn't human.

She gave kind of a "no argument" sideways nod, but didn't bother to say anything this time.

"You got knocked out for a minute. They sure your head's okay?"

"They told me I should do the usual, have someone wake me every couple of hours and such, but I'm sure that won't be--" she stopped when he made a rude noise.

She looked at him, still with a dry half-smile. "Really."

"Head wounds ain't anything to fuck around with, y'know. I got hit on the head once, blacked out, didn't have anybody check on me and I woke up in the bathroom, lying in the tub. Got no idea what the hell I was doing in there."

She half-smiled again, but didn't answer.

Oooookay, Ray thought, whatever. "Turnbull was lookin' sharp. Woulda thought it'd be the dress uniform all the way--didn't know he even owned a suit."

"He doesn't. The suit he was wearing is mine."

Ray blinked. "Oh. Uh, looked kinda not the right size and everything."

"It belonged to my brother. Our parents being dead, I was the only one left to...take charge of his worldly goods when he was killed in the line of duty."

Major shouting silence for about five seconds, and then Ray managed "Oh. Um...I'm sorry."

"It's been quite a number of years, Detective."

"Yeah. Um...and you gave the suit to Turnbull?"

"I loaned it to him, detective Vecchio. And he'd better have that wolf hair dry-cleaned off it before he gives it back to me."

They were quiet the rest of the drive. Thatcher let her head fall back on the rest and closed her eyes at some point. When Ray turned off the engine, she seemed to be out.

"Hey. Home again, home again. C'mon, Inspector, pitter patter...uh, oh." He reached over to touch her shoulder, but just as he got close, she blinked groggily.

"Huh?"

"We're home. Well, you are."

"Oh. Uh, thank you...um, for the ride, Detective." She blinked a few more times and started trying to get the door open. She found the handle on the third pass, but started tugging it in the wrong direction.

"O-kay," Ray said, opening his own door. "You just bought yourself an escort right to your front door." And into bed, if he could get her to let him in. Poor T would shit twice and die if he heard she'd taken a header and brained herself again in her own apartment as a result of this bang on the head.

"Nonsense, Detective, I...um..."

He leaned back into the car just before closing the door. "You pull up on the handle," he said. "But don't bother, I'm comin' around and get you out." He locked his own door and slammed it. He hoped the concussion of sound didn't kill her or anything. She was still alive, at least, when he opened her door and started to hand her out. "Hang on tight, there..." her grip was a little flabby, though, so he used both hands, taking her arm instead.

"Really, Detective, this isn't...um..."

"Isn't what?" He got an arm around her waist.

"Um...something...right on the tip of my tongue..."

"Keys in your bag here?" Ray shut her door and managed to get his off hand between them and into her drawstring evening bag, where it hung from her elbow by its ties. He'd gotten them both up onto the sidewalk by this time. He held the keychain up--the fob was a maple leaf, surprise surprise--and waved the jangling metal in front of her eyes. "Which one opens the front door?"

"Uh...the blue one."

Ray found the key and inserted it in the lock, got her inside, and shut the door after them. Glancing around the lobby, he guided her to the elevators. "Which floor you on?"

"Ff...uh, fourth."

"Fourth floor coming up. Or we are." There was a pause while Thatcher swayed, Ray watched the indicator lights, and the doorman looked concerned. Ray noticed this and said "You, ahm, door guy. You know which apartment's hers?"

"Number twelve. Is Ms. Thatcher all right?"

"She had a little run-in with a dumpster. It won, but they let her out of the hospital, so she can't be too bad off. And here we go, Inspector..."

On the elevator, Ray had to make a fast grab for Thatcher with both arms when her sudden eye bug-out made it clear that the g-forces were trying to suck her through the floor. "Damn good thing Fraser and me didn't do the handoff the other way around," Ray muttered.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Judging by lookin' at you right now I guess it wouldn'ta mattered that much anyway."

The beep sounded and the doors slid open. By this time, Thatcher seemed more than willing to let him do the navigating. "I think I might be just a little nauseated," she admitted, and swallowed hard.

"I think your brain got bounced harder than anybody realized, including you," Ray said, trying to get the other blue key on the chain into the deadbolt lock. "Problem with havin' such a hard head, I guess." He got the door open and let them in, shut it quickly and said "Which way to your bedroom?"

"Huh?"

The apartment wasn't as small as Ray's, but still nowhere near big enough to get lost in. There were two bedrooms, and one was clearly the spare. He got her in to the larger room and sat her down on the bed. She swayed. He caught her. "Need some help, uh, with anything, there?"

"I, um."

"Whyn't you hold up your arms. Yeah, like that, kinda lift up--there we go." The dress, not terribly substantial to begin with and now considerably the worse for wear, wasn't hard to pull over her head. "You want out of any of the rest of this?"

She started trying to get her bra off, but wasn't having a lot of success, despite the fact it was strapless, or, for all Ray knew, because of that. "Okay, okay, I been getting these things open since I was fourteen--no, don't try to turn, here, I'll reach around. I don't think I'd know how to do it from in back. There's this wrist flick that--well, never mind, there you go, let's get you a nightgown or something..." he turned around and began opening dresser drawers at random. The second one contained what seemed to be nightshirts, not that he knew a lot about it, since Stella had generally slept nude.

There was a thump behind him. He turned back around; apparently she'd lost her balance while trying to get out of her pantyhose. She was sitting on the rug, looking dazed. He said quickly "Don't move," got the nightshirt over her head, and started working the waistband of the trashed pair of Hanes the rest of the way down her legs and then off. "I know what it's like trying to get my pants off when my head ain't right," he muttered in sympathy, "I can't even imagine what it's like trying to get out of something that hangs onto you like a bad habit. Okay, back up...there we go." He'd gotten the bedclothes pulled down with one hand and maneuvered the wobbly inspector under them with the other.

Then he pulled out his cellphone. "Yeah, Frase, it's me. I'm at the Ice--inspector's place. She's not doing so hot. I just had to help her get changed...no, I still got all my body parts." He chuckled. "She's not in shape to rip anything off. In fact I think I better stay here. They told her to have somebody wake her every couple hours, like you do when you get your head knocked, but she was gonna blow it off. I think she's more concussed than they thought, though--gettin' banged on the head is weird, I've seen guys who were fine for hours after gettin' hit and then suddenly they had little cartoon birdies twittering all around their--uh, I dunno, hold on." He glanced around. There was a small Halogen flashlight on the bedside table; he picked it up and turned it on. "Hey, there, Inspector. Thatcher. Fraser, what the hell is her first name again? I mean, I know it's Margaret, but does she go by that? Oh. Meg? Meg, c'mon." Finally she looked up at him. "Good, just keep looking at me for a second."

He shone the light in her eyes, one at a time, and she flinched. "Hey!"

"Sorry, but Fraser wants to know if your pupils are di...if your eyes are okay. Fraser, yeah, they're both the same size and doing the shrink-in-the-light thing...yeah, about the same. Hey Meg, you still feel sick?"

She started trying to lie down; he put the flashlight down to help her scoot. She seemed to consider the question a moment, then shook her head.

"Fraser, she felt a little sick a few minutes ago, but she says she doesn't now...um, yeah, she's goin' out like a light here...yeah, okay. I can do that. So how's Turnbull...? Yeah...well, hell, I guess it's just as well, then. I knew Dief'd wanna stay, probably hoping to con some eats...he is?" Ray laughed. "I'm not surprised. I guess I'll see you in the morning. Unless I can't get your boss here awake sometime during the night, in which case I'll see you at the hospital whenever you get there...yeah. Um, yeah...wasn't planning on this for tonight...well, I know, but a stakeout with you is a lot more fun. Yeah, kinda...okay. Take care of Turnbull. Right." Ray clicked off.

Thatcher was out. "Here we go," Ray sighed, took her shoulders and pulled, getting her more-or-less upright. He used one hand to keep her head from lolling. "Hey, Meg. Meg!"

She opened one eye just a crack--the one that wasn't swollen and purpling up--and glowered at him through it.

Ray just grinned. "Yeah, I know, sorry, but Fraser said before I let you sleep I should make sure you were sleeping, not passed out."

She made a harrumphing sound and the eye closed again, and he let her back down.

He sighed. "Guess we're in for a fun night, you and me, Meg." He set his watch to go off in an hour, then went around the bed and lay down on top of the covers. If he had to wake her up fifty times--well, maybe eight, Fraser had said he should do it every hour--which meant he wasn't gonna be getting all that great a sleep himself, he wasn't gonna subject his back to any damn couch. Hauling his ass in here from the spare room was a little much hassle, too. She was so out of it she'd never realize he was here, anyway.

Long about oh-buttdrag-hundred, he felt watched, and sleepily blinked his eyes open. The bedside lamp was on, over to Thatcher's other side. "Hm? Uh, hi."

"Detective," she wondered softly, "what exactly...ahm..."

He didn't bother to sit up; he just smirked. "If you're tryin' to ask if we committed an indiscretion, no, we didn't."

"Oh, ah--I wasn't thinking that, precisely, I mean--" she waved her hand at him vaguely, evidently to indicate his fully-dressed-and-on-top-of-the-covers condition. "I just..."

"You got memory loss happening?"

"Apparently. I don't remember getting home."

"But you're otherwise cool at the moment?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Uh, yeah, you're pretty banged up. Well, I drove you here--I mean, we dropped Dief, Fraser and Turnbull at Turnbull's place, and then I drove you here. I was gonna just drop you off, too, but you started getting spacey and I thought I better hang around. So brought you up and helped you get changed. I been waking you up every freaking hour for the last..." he looked at his watch. "Six hours."

"Yes, that much I remember. A few of those times, at least. You helped me get changed?"

"You couldn't quite find the way out of your clothes. Nearly beaned yourself again on the nighttable trying to get your pantyhose off."

She grimaced, then sighed in resignation. "Good lord. Does anyone know about that part? The, ah, assistance with my clothes in general, not just the pantyhose."

"Fraser. Nobody else, unless he told anyone, which he would not do." With the possible exception of Diefenbaker.

"True, there's that. Mm--" she stopped, looking like she wanted to put her hand up to the lumpy side of her face, but was afraid to touch it. He sympathized.

"I guess you could have some pain meds now. Since you're trackin' okay and all. Fraser said I should watch you for a while first, something about head knocks and pain meds being a bad combo."

"Yes, I would seem to be fairly clearheaded. Well...considering the circumstances."

"I'll get 'em for you." Ray peeled himself up and toddled groggily out into the front room, where he'd dropped the bag of prescription on their way in.

When he brought them back, with a glass of water, she was up, to a degree; she had a robe on and was sitting on the edge of the bed. She took the pills he handed her, and the glass, knocked the capsules back and gulped. She winced.

"You want another ice pack?"

"I can...erf." She'd tried to stand up, but she didn't make it.

"Will you please sit? You want I should call your dentist about that tooth?"

She managed to look up at him. "Really, Detective, you've been very helpful...ah, more than I would have had any reason to expect, but..."

"Jut think of me as filling in for Turnbull. Though if he's got his shit together I'd imagine he's gonna come over here and take over. Here's hopin' it doesn't kill you both."

She shook her head, and said, slowly and laboriously, "If I'm going to be absent from the Consulate today--and apparently I am," she asided in a mutter, probing at her face, "Fraser's going to have to take over my duties, and he'll need Turnbull's help. We have maintenance and clerical staff and such, but no one but the three of us can handle official RCMP functions."

Ray curled a forefinger around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her face. "No poking. If you do have a tooth tryin' to come out, you might be making it worse."

She slumped disconsolately. "This is humiliating."

"Come on! It's not like you even got hammered or something, for which you could righteously be getting your butt kicked for bein' messed up after. You got jumped in an alley and clobbered. Superman would be lyin' around the ice palace makin' little groany noises. Well, okay, maybe not Superman, but Batman though, definitely. I'm gonna call Fraser. You, uh, lie down." He wandered back out of the room, tapping his cellphone keys. "Fraser, it's me. Thatcher's out of the mainstream today; she says you're gonna haveta take over for her at the Consulate, so how's--he is? Well, that's good. Nah, I think I'm stuck here for a while, I gotta think of something to tell Welsh. I know, but...you and Turnbull gotta do the Consulate thing...um, I dunno. I just want to, I guess. 'Cause she's...well, yours, sorta, and his. No, I am not comparing looking out for her to pet sitting, I just--yeah, okay, whatever. Could you bring me some stuff from my place? You know where I keep the travel shaving kit and like that...I'm not sure, I might be able to leave her alone tonight unless she's gonna need a ride to the doc--she might be losing a tooth. But I could use a shower anyway...yeah, I've seen a lotta people take a lotta different kinds of blows to the head, and the one currently sitting in the bedroom in there's not one I would've walked away from, back when I was boxing...yeah. Oh, cool. No, don't tell me until after, I don't wanna kn--oh, shit, she's in the bathroom, I gotta go, she'll be eating porcelain if she--yeah, bye."

The bathroom door was open, saving everyone involved what could have been an embarrassing scene. Thatcher was leaning on the sink, staring moodily into the mirror. The only light was a dim dawn glimmer through the window. "Lord God almighty," she was muttering as he hurried up, except it came out without any L's.

"Uh, yeah, I wouldn't turn the light on if I were you. Looks worse'n it likely is. So I should call the dentist? You might have a hard time with the phone."

She tried to look sideways at him, but he was on the bad side, so she had to totter around in place to where she could look at him with her good eye. "You seem very knowledgeable about injuries of this nature, Detective."

"I useta box. And before that I got beat up a couple times. And beat other guys up. Do you know how many times I've been walloped in the head? C'mon and--" he started to reach for her, but she pointed wordlessly at the toilet and he hastily backed off. "Uh, yeah. I'll be right out here, listening."

She glowered.

"I don't mean for that! Anyway I've heard a whiz before, for God's sake. And worse than that, too. I just mean I'll be listening for if you fall. Or if you yell for help or something. If you need me, don't try to say anything in particular 'cause I likely won't be able to understand it anyway; just yell."

She sighed and shut the door. Ray sighed too.

"Hello, Ray. How is the inspector?"

"Uh, same, I guess. She's in there trying to talk to her dentist, but I'm not sure how much luck she's having." Fraser looked puzzled as he and Diefenbaker came in, Fraser carrying Ray's overnight bag.

"She can't say 'L', along with a couple of other letters," Ray explained, returning to the kitchen to complete his oatmeal preparation. Fortunately, Thatcher's kitchen wasn't the dangerous and unpredictable gauntlet his own usually was. Finding standard mushy food to feed her hadn't been difficult.

Dief sniffed the air, apparently decided Ray wasn't cooking anything worth trying to shmooze, and said "I'll go check on her." He started for the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

"Um...can he do that?" Ray wondered.

"Ah...inspector Thatcher has tolerated his presence here before," Fraser said, which sounded like he wasn't exactly sure if the answer was yes or no.

"Uh-huh," Ray said, in a "whatever you say" tone. He noticed Fraser still had the bag and went to take it from him; he peered into it. "Coolness. Thanks, Frase."

"You're quite welcome." As Ray set the bag down on the counter, Fraser stopped him with a light touch on the shoulder, then leaned forward and pressed a soft little kiss against his mouth.

Various of Ray's internal organs started dancing happily around inside his body, doing what felt like a polka. Fraser was just looking at him, smiling a little, and all Ray could do was try not to blush and stammer and generally make an ass out of himself. After about two seconds of this, he burst into giggles and reached for Fraser, pulling him close and hiding his face in the velcroed collar. Fraser hugged him back, making some kind of quiet happy noises himself, though Ray probably wouldn't have called it giggling.

"You turn me into a dork."

"Well, I hardly think it's appropriate to blame me for that..."

"Asshole." He managed to control himself a little and backed away, but he couldn't return Fraser's smile for more than about a second and a half without the giggles trying to break out again, so he ducked his goofily smirking face and turned back to the oatmeal.

"You two are pathetic," Dief opined, coming back in. "And Thatcher's off the phone. She told her dentist she'd be coming in today."

"That's probably a good idea. The longer before someone looks at that tooth, the bigger the chance it won't grab back on to the jawbone. Sometimes loose teeth just get better, but personally I never took the chance if I could actually feel the things moving. I'd be short some teeth now if I had. Oh, shit--" Ray suddenly bolted for the hallway. "Meg! Turn that goddamned shower off! You're punch drunk and on pain meds, you won't have any teeth left if you--" Thatcher responded in a garbled fashion through the bathroom door. Ray said "I don't care. You got that way short hair, just get it wet, it'll be fine. Take a bath, okay? NOT a shower. And leave the door ajar. I'm sending Dief in there to sit with you; if you pass out in the tub--well I guess I could do it, hey, I'm easy...that's what I thought." Ray came back in to the kitchen, where Fraser was standing with his right hand supporting the opposite elbow and the left one covering the lower part of his face, muttering something involving the words "frustrated paternal instincts". Diefenbaker was just grinning hugely right at him. "Ray likes Me-eg," he singsonged.

"Shut up, you mangy furbag. Go in there and keep an eye on her. If she goes under or anything, yell for me."

"Whatever you say, Romeo." As he got up and trotted for the hall again, he began to sing, in a smarmy voice, "'Young LOOOOOOOVE, first LOOOOOOVE, FILLED with TRUUUUUE deVOtion..."

"You sonofa--" Ray turned from the oatmeal and only barely caught himself in time to not run Dief down and rip him a new one right in front of Thatcher. God, payback city. Fraser couldn't take it any more and was dissolving slowly in silent laughter, bending a little at the waist as he kept his muffling hand in place and sank helplessly into a kitchen chair.

"Actually, Ray," he managed to get out, "Diefenbaker is a son of a--"

"Don't you start too." Ray glowered, adding a little water to the oatmeal, and turned the flame down low to keep it from being a rock by the time Thatcher got out of the tub. "Guy tries to help out, what's he get? Crap. Did you talk to Welsh?"

"Yes, I did."

"What'd you tell him?"

"I said that inspector Thatcher was experiencing some additional deleterious effects from her experience last night, and that you had volunteered to help her."

Ray turned and stared at him in mid-reach for a bottle of apple juice in the door of the fridge. "He bought that?"

"You would have been working a half-day today anyway, considering the stakeout last night. Also, I've noticed that the inspector and lieutenant Welsh seem to be getting along quite famously these days. Besides, it's true. Though it's only the fact that he knows I never lie--exactly--that made him believe me. "

"Yeah, yeah, mountie no lie." Ray smiled. "Okay, whatever, long as it worked. How's Turnbull?"

"Subdued, but in better spirits."

"Well, he couldn't really be in worse spirits."

"I suppose not."

"You know how Thatcher likes her oatmeal?"

"Like I do. Butter and salt."

"Bleah." Ray gave an overdone shudder. "You people are strange."

"That's a compliment coming from you."

Ray grinned sidelong at him. "Asshole," he reiterated.

Fraser smiled and gave a "Yeah, what are you gonna do about it" shrug. "Want me to take over?" he said. "I've got a little time before I need to leave for the consulate."

"The oatmeal? Yeah, go ahead, I don't wanna be responsible for ruining perfectly good oatmeal. I'll just get the coffee. Least she likes coffee..."

Thatcher came out of the dentist's back office, did paper things with the receptionist, and turned her green-and-purple face to Ray. There was a small wad of cotton packing in her cheek distorting things even further, and her eye, while he'd certainly seen worse swelling, had decided to just dispense with trying to open. She looked like she'd gone six rounds with Widowmaker O'Cudahy, who had regularly left Ray looking even worse than that.

"All done?" Not stupid enough to wait for a reply, he put down his antique Field and Stream and touched her shoulder a little to turn her toward the door. "Your chariot awaits." She gave him a funny look for that, but still said nothing. He didn't blame her. He knew talking had to be a pretty major pain in the ass with a swollen mouth, a packed recemented tooth, and about half a faceful of Lidocaine.

As they were driving back to her place, he said "I hear from Fraser everything's quiet at the consulate." She nodded tiredly in response.

"Turnbull finished his little paint-the-trim-in-the-guest-bathrooms project."

She nodded again, both her eyes still closed.

"While singing arias from Carmen."

Another nod.

"In the nude."

Nod.

"Fraser got Polaroids. We could stop and pick 'em up if you want."

The good eye finally opened. Her face looked weird--well, weirder--for a moment, and she suddenly rifled around in her purse, pulled out a pad, and scribbled rapidly. She ripped the little sheet off and held it up to him.

He read aloud "Dont make me laf u jerk," and broke up himself. "Sorry. Just trying to cheer you up."

She gave him a yeah-right look.

"Okay, entertain myself a little too, maybe," he admitted. "You need to stop anywhere on the way home?"

She shook her head, stuffing the note back in her purse. Then she looked alarmed and groped at her face.

"Don't worry. Even if it feels like it, you're not drooling."

Relieved, she sank back and let her head down to the rest, and sighed.

"Hello," Fraser said softly. He, Diefenbaker and Turnbull came in, Turnbull looking a little trepidatious.

"Hi, Frase, hey, T. Furface."

"Hairless ape."

"C'mon in. She's napping--"

"I'm awake," came a slurred voice from the hallway, and Thatcher came in, in a bathrobe again. Her being awake and available, Fraser zeroed in on her injuries and went with her to the couch, where she sat down so he could take a look at things. The packing was gone, and she could talk again, at least.

Turnbull, who hadn't seen her since before she'd puffed up into full technicolor glory, looked striken, and Ray hastened to reassure him before they ended up with Big Weepy Mountie again. "She's doing great, really. She was kinda messed up for a while, but she's better. The dentist fixed her right up with the tooth thing; she says she's going to work tomorrow. Her face's puffed up again a little, but that's partly just from lying down."

"I anticipate that the swelling will largely abate by morning," Fraser opined, turning her head a little.

"Not as much as I do," she muttered, then raised her voice a little and added "I'm fine, Turnbull." Ray glanced over. Under Fraser's hands, she was beginning to melt into the couch like a sandwich cookie in the sun. Fraser was looking intent, his touches just a little bit too close to being caresses to miss it. Ray and Dief exchanged a smirk. Yeah, there was chemistry happening over there, all right. Ray'd had that problem as a rookie; he'd had to switch partners because of it. Too bad for Fraser and Thatcher; they were stuck with each other for the time being.

"Still," Ray said, "I was gonna head out--maybe Turnbull could take over here. Just to be safe, you know."

"That's really not--"

"Oh, certainly," Turnbull said happily. "I'd be more than pleased, sir."

"Just as a precaution?" Fraser asked her, raising his eyebrows significantly, in the universal expression for "Go along here, you idiot."

She sighed, eyes closing. "Of course, Turnbull. That will be fine."

Turnbull actually gave a little hop, which nearly caused Ray and Dief to part company with the floor, too when his size sixteens hit the carpet again. "Wonderful! You can just relax, sir, and I'll take care of everything--oh, dear, Detective Vecchio hasn't been able to keep up with the kitchen," he said, peering through the doorway to the right, where various breakfast and lunch implements could indeed be seen lying scattered around. "Occupied with his vigilant nursing, no doubt. I'll just..." he was already fading in that direction, like a steel filing being drawn to a superconducting magnet. He began unfastening his uniform tunic.

"Well, at least he's happy again," Dief said quietly. "Poor guy."

"Ah, he just needed something to clean," Ray said, smiling in the direction of the kitchen. "Hey, Frase. You just about done there? Frase? Oh, Fray-zur!"

Fraser jumped a little, then cleared his throat and said "Ahm, yes, Ray, I was just--ahm, as I said, the swelling is receding nicely. I would imagine even the discoloration will be gone in a week or so, and you'll look entirely yourself again. There may be some soreness for a few more days, though."

She looked like she was trying to wake up and look alert, then like she was dumping the idea as a bad job. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Fraser."

"We'll just be on our way, then."

"Right. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Bright and early."

"As always."

"I'm gonna puke," said Dief.

Heading for the GTO, Ray, swinging his overnight bag casually, wondered "So, what's up for you tonight, Fraser?

"Actually, I didn't have plans."

Ray took a deep breath and asked "Wanna come over and show me how you do that petting-the-swelling-down thing?"

"Okay, now that's more like it," Dief said.

"Shaddup!" Ray and Fraser chorused at him. Fraser was pink, though, and Ray was getting there. They hadn't done anything yet besides kiss.

"Maybe we better leave the dog at the consulate," Ray offered.

"That sounds like an excellent plan," Fraser concurred, with a dark look at Dief.

"Hey. C'mon. I'm just joking around," Dief said, trying to use his large brown puppy eyes to good effect. "I'm bushed. I'll go right to sleep. Especially if you feed me something."

"You better, or your ass is gonna be out on the fire escape," Ray promised, unlocking the passenger door.

"Not a word out of little me," Diefenbaker promised. "And I haven't got fingers to cross."

In the car, heading for Ray's, Fraser and Ray kept sneaking little sideways peeks at each other, then smirking and looking away fast if they got caught. Ray was glad Dief couldn't see it (he was lying down in the back seat) because Ray felt like enough of a damn teenager without the wolf commenting. What the hell was it about Fraser that could make him do this? And what the hell was it about him that could make Fraser, whom Ray would be willing to bet had never had a goofy puke-cute crushy phase, do this? It was...silly.

Who cared.

End Talking to the Dog IV: Lending Aid and Comfort. by Blue Champagne: bluecham@mindspring.com

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