Author's website: http://unhinged.0catch.com

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be, but it seems a shame to let all that potential go to waste.

Author's Notes: Inspired largely by a random link that proved it's virtually impossible to destroy a marshmallow peep. I've always known this, but it's nice to have scientific confirmation.

Story Notes:

I'll tell ya; as much as I love Fraser, the guy can make you nuts sometimes.

Take last Friday. I had the weekend off, so we were gonna pack up the tent and drive out into the country to go camping. The idea that you can go camping in Illinois seemed to surprise Fraser; I guess for him, the only legitimate way to camp is on the frozen tundra with a foot and a half of snow and 50 mph winds. Been there, managed to survive, and that's why we came back to civilization.

So I was fixing us supper, which involved reheating the leftovers mom gave me, and he was sitting on the couch...driving me crazy, okay? The guy can't even sit on a couch like a normal person. No he's gotta sit at attention, like any minute now Buck Frobisher's gonna pop outta the closet and tell him it's time to go catch fur trappers. Even without his uniform he still manages to look like he's on duty.

"Will you relax?" I'm fiddling with the microwave, trying to figure out how much time it takes to reheat bigos. I wasn't looking at him, but I didn't have to be looking at him; I could tell he was sitting on my couch like a little tin soldier. Which is actually pretty funny, considering we've done things on that couch that are positive proof he's not a tin soldier or little.

"I am relaxed, Ray." Oh God, he's using the "Benton Fraser being logical" voice. And I want to spend the weekend in the middle of some farm field with this guy?

I look at him outta the corner of my eye. Fraser dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt looks better than any one man has a right to. And given the remoteness of the place we're camping, there's a good possibility neither him nor I will be wearing much, if you catch my meaning.

"You are not relaxed," I turn around and almost trip over Dief, who's sitting at my feet with his tongue lolling. "You are the most unrelaxed I think I've ever seen you. I thought you wanted to go camping."

"I do, Ray," Oops, the thumbs rubbing the eyebrow. All is not well in Fraserland. "It's just I'm afraid I'm feeling slightly ill at the moment."

"Slightly ill?" I step over Dief and go into the living room. "Like a headache?"

"Actually more of an upset stomach."

Up close he does look sorta green around the gills. I lay my hand against his forehead. "Jesus, Frase, I think you're running a fever. Let me get the thermometer." I head for the bathroom.

"It's not that high, Ray." He calls after me. "Probably no more than a degree or two."

I come out of the bathroom with the thermometer. "Is that regular or Canadian degrees?" When he opens his mouth to tell me, I pop it in. "Now keep your mouth closed a couple minutes, okay?"

I sit down next to him, and when the thermometer beeps I pull it out. "Whoa, not good, Frase. 101.5. Normal's 98.6, so that's..."

"2.9 degrees, Ray." He's sweating, actually I think he's been sweating all along, I just didn't notice when I was in the kitchen.

"So you're sick to your stomach?" He nods, looking distinctly miserable. "How sick? We talkin' puking?"

I swear, the word's barely outta my mouth and he's running for the bathroom.

"I'll take that as a yes."

An hour and a half later I'm really worried. He's puked till he's got the dry-heaves, and his temperature's gone up another half a degree.

He's stretched out on the couch with a washrag over his eyes. I'm sitting on the coffee table. "Okay, how long you been sick like this?"

"It started around 3."

I check my watch; it's 6:30 now. "What'd you eat today?"

"Just the usual. Oatmeal and bacon for breakfast," he swallows and pales a little. He's at the point where even thinking about food makes him sick. "I was rather hurried over lunch, so all I had was a sandwich."

"Anything different from what you usually have?"

He removes the washcloth and looks at me. "Ray, you know I always eat the same thing on my sandwiches."

"Yeah I know; ham and mayonnaise on white bread. So did the ham taste off? Or maybe the mayo'd been left sitting out?"

"The sandwich tasted fine. Mr. Pulaski's sandwiches are always delicious." Yeah, and Mr. Pulaski likes to have a cow every time Frase comes in and orders ham and mayo on white bread too.

"Nothing else?"

"Not that I...oh dear," he looks at me with a pained expression. "I'd forgotten about the peeps."

"Peeps?" It takes me a minute to figure out what he means. "You mean marshmallow peeps? Like at Easter?"

"Yes. The sandwich wasn't very filling, and I found a box of marshmallow peeps in my bottom drawer."

"Wait a minute. Are we talking bout the peeps my mom gave you Easter Sunday?" He nods. "Jesus Christ, Fraser, that was," I count on my fingers, "almost six months ago."

"Oh I'm sure they weren't spoiled, Ray. Though it was rather odd that they were green, as I'm fairly sure rest of the ones your mother gave me were yellow."

It took that statement a minute to sink in. "The peeps were green?" He nods. "Fraser, I've been eating peeps at Easter all of my life, and they don't come in green. Yellow and pink and lavender, yes; green, no."

We sit there a minute looking at each other, and then I can't help it, I start to crack up.

"I fail to see," Fraser says, in his best "I've been grievously wounded" voice, "what is so amusing about me eating spoiled peeps."

"I've just never seen anyone suffering from peeps poisoning before!"

Needless to say we never did manage to make it out of Chicago that weekend. Most of Friday night was spent sitting in the ER, with Fraser dry-heaving into a bucket. When the doctor finally saw him and found out what'd happened, I thought for a minute he was gonna start laughing too. He might've, if Fraser hadn' looked so awful.

They ended up pumpin' his stomach (NOT a fun thing to have done, or watch), and then kept him overnight just to make sure they'd gotten all the stuff out. So I spent the night asleep in a chair in the ER, while he slept on the gurney.

Saturday, around noon they decided to let him go home, since he wasn't throwing up anymore. We drove back to my place, with a short stop at the store to get some Jell-O and freezer pops, cause he wasn' supposed to have anything but liquids for 48 hours. By the time Saturday afternoon rolled around, he and I were in bed trying to make-up on lost sleep.

Just as I was startin' to drift off, he says, "Ray?"

"What, Frase?"

"I'm sorry for ruining the weekend."

I pulled myself up on one elbow and looked at him. He was still sorta pale, but he sure's hell looked a whole lot better than he had last night. "Ya didn't ruin it. Not on purpose, anyway. But no more peeps for you, mister."

He gave me his big-eyed Mountie look. "Not even at Easter?"

I pretended to consider it a minute. "Okay, maybe at Easter. But no green ones."

"Believe me Ray, I will never even look at a green peep again never mind eat it." He grins a little, so he must be feeling better. "Did I ever tell you I had a particularly erotic dream that involved eating multicolored peeps off your naked body?"

I leaned down and kissed him. "Yer a freak, Benton Fraser."

"Understood. But I'm your freak, Ray."

"You better believe it."

End The Peeps Revenge by MR: psykaos42@yahoo.com

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