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

Disclaimer: Not mine, but it's a shame to let all that potential go to waste.

Author's Notes:

Story Notes: Written for the Serge list St. Patrick's Day Challenge posted by Auoda. I managed to fit in everything for the grocery cart-we'll just have to save that for the next story.

Everyone's Irish on St. Patrick's Day
By MR

It was one of those ideas that seemed reasonable at the time...

"So did the Valentine's Day Massacre, I wager."

"Dad, kindly shut up and let me tell what happened."

"Just thinking out loud, son."

As I was saying, it seemed a reasonable enough idea at the time. There I was, sitting at Ray's desk two days before the 17th listening to him bemoan the fact that the precinct's Saint Patrick's party was going to have to be put on hold this year, as the bar where they'd celebrated it in the past had been raided by the FBI the week before.

"Raided by the FBI?"

Ray nodded. "Just goes to show, you think you know someone; I would've never figured Shaughnessy to be a forger."

"What was he forging?"

"$2 bills."

"And he was trying to pass them off as legitimate?"

"They are legitimate. Well his weren't, but $2 bills are legitimate US currency."

"I've never seen one."

"You're shitting me?" I shook my head. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket and poked through it, finally bringing out what looked like a standard-sized American dollar. "See?"

It was a $2 bill. "Ray, I've been in Chicago going on three years, and I've never seen one of these before."

"That's cause nobody really likes them. Just another thing to get mixed up about."

"Then why did the government issue them?"

He gave me a sideways look. "Cause they're the government. Since when do they need a reason?"

"Which president is this?"

Ray took the bill and stared at it a moment. "Damned if I know. Grover Cleveland, maybe?"

It was later in the day that Ray came up with his 'idea.'

"Fraser, buddy," he turned one of his dazzling smiles on me, and I knew immediately I was doomed. "I talked to the Lieu, and we realized you've got that big banquet room at the Consulate just setting there empty."

"Ray, it's reserved for special occasions."

"The Lieu says we'll pay whatever you'd normally charge to rent it out. I bet the Ice Queen won't kick up a stink if there's money to be made."

"Ray!"

He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Just ask her, okay? The worst she can do is say no."

"The worst she can do is make me stand guard duty every day for a month."

"She does and I'll kick'er in the head."

Frannie and one of the office clerks showed up the afternoon of the 17th lugging boxes of a size that made me fear they'd decided to redecorate the entire Consulate. They immediately recruited Turnbull to help them. I offered my assistance, but Frannie just grinned. "Uh huh. Ray'd have my head."

"Why?"

"Cause you're invited, and he specifically said he didn't want you looking at the decorations till it was time for the party."

A call to Ray affirmed this. "What, you don't want to come?"

"No, Ray, it's just-St. Patrick's Day isn't an actual Canadian holiday. I know why it's celebrated, of course, but I've never actually been to a party."

"First time for everything. Just remember to wear green or you'll have people pinching your butt all evening. You ever had corned beef and cabbage?"

"No."

"You're deprived, you know that?"

"Ray, I have no Irish heritage."

"And you think I do?" He snorted. "On St. Patrick's Day, Frase, everyone's Irish."

I spent the rest of the afternoon in my office, supposedly filing forms, but in reality listening to the hubbub down the hall. There seemed to be a great deal of snickering going on, and I found myself grateful that Inspector Thatcher had taken the day off.

At one point Turnbull appeared in the doorway wearing the most ridiculous hat I'd ever seen. It was made of some sort of bright green paper, with a large shamrock stuck in the crown. "Constable Fraser, with your permission, I'd like to attend the party tonight." His face was roughly the same color as his serge, and I suspected that either Frannie or the office clerk, if not both, had been flirting with him.

"I don't see any problem with that, Turnbull. I'll probably need some help with the cleaning up."

"Oh, they'll clean up after themselves, sir. Francesca assured me of that." He turned to go, then swung back around. "Did you know, sir, that the city dyes the lake green on St. Patrick's Day?" I shook my head. "Francesca and Laurie are going to take me to see it before the party begins. With your permission, of course."

"Permission granted." Turnbull gave me a smile that, combined with the hat, made him look like a ten year old at a birthday party and disappeared back down the hall.

They finished around five and left to go see the lake, though not before Francesca threatened me with certain death if I went into the room before anyone else arrived. "Lt. Welsh will probably be here first, since he's bringing the corned beef and cabbage."

"Lt. Welsh?"

Frannie nodded. "He's Irish on his mom's side. He always brings the corned beef and cabbage." She was rummaging in her purse. "Ray never took you to a St. Paddy's party, did he?"

"I asked him about it the first year I was here, and he mumbled something about the whole thing being stupid. When I tried to get him to explain further, he refused to talk."

"That's my big brother." She shook her head. "He didn't like it because it reminded him of nuns."

"Nuns?"

"We went to a Catholic School. Most of the teachers were nuns, and most of the nuns were Irish. He always said they picked on us because we were Italian."

"Did they?"

"Maybe they picked on him. I never had any trouble with them. You know Ray and authority." She shrugged. "I gotta catch up with Laurie and Ren. Hold the fort till the rest of them get here."

I wanted to tell her I really didn't know much about Ray and authority, except as it involved him being an officer of the law, but she'd already disappeared out the door.

Dief bumped his head against my leg, and whined when I looked down at him. "As a matter of fact, I don't remember Ray inviting you at all." He barked. "You'll have to take it up with him when he arrives. Perhaps if you can behave yourself and not eat too much junk, you'll be allowed to join in the festivities."

As Frannie had predicted, Lt. Welsh showed up at 5:15 with two crock-pots. Dief immediately decided he was his new best friend.

"Constable." He nodded. "I assume there's somewhere I can plug these in?"

I followed him into the banquet room and stopped dead. Bright green streamers were strung from every available surface, including the pair of moose antlers over the fireplace. Someone (I sincerely hoped it was Frannie or her friend, and not Turnbull) had turned the large world globe to show Ireland and plastered it with tiny paper shamrocks.

The Lieutenant sat the crock-pots on the long table (also covered with green paper) and plugged them in. He glanced around the room, and I'm sure I saw him wince slightly. "I see Ms. Vecchio and company were here."

I nodded. "Turnbull helped. She and the other woman, I believe her name was Laurie, took him down to see the Lake they call Michigan."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" He took the lid off one of the crock-pots, pointedly ignoring Dief. "You ever tasted corned beef and cabbage, Constable?"

"No sir, I haven't. I was rather surprised you were in charge of cooking it."

He looks somewhat embarrassed. "After my mother left, Wilson and I spent a lot of time at our Grandmother O'Reilley's house. She'd have preferred granddaughters, I think, but she worked with what she had."

"Reminds me of your Grandmother Fraser. She believed a man should be able to take care of himself in the absence of a woman. Consequently, I not only learned how to hunt, but also to cook what I killed and mend my own socks."

I pointedly ignored my father. "It smells delicious, sir."

"It is. I just hope there's enough of it to go around."

People began to drift in steadily after that, including Huey and Dewey carrying a large keg of beer. I drew the Lieutenant into a corner. "Sir, I don't believe the Inspector was aware there would be alcohol present."

"Constable, I know St. Patrick's Day isn't a national holiday in Canada, but surely you people drink when you have parties?"

"Sometimes. It depends on the occasion."

"We have plenty of non-alcoholic beverages available for those who don't imbibe, Red." He gestured at one end of the table, which contained an enormous punchbowl, as well as bottles of water and various types of soda. "I'll keep them from getting too out of hand, okay?"

"Certainly."

"Hey Fraser." I turned to see Ray standing in the door with a box. He came over to where we were. "You wanna hold this while I take off my coat?"

I accepted it gingerly. "What is it, Ray?"

"Dessert. My mom spent all day yesterday on them."

I opened the lid slightly to peek inside. "You mother made cream horns?"

"Yeah."

"With green filling?"

"It's St. Patrick's Day, Benton buddy." He followed me over to the table. "Nice move by the way, wearing the green flannel shirt."

"I noticed the Lieutenant isn't wearing green."

"Like anyone's gonna pinch Welsh?" He was studying the food, which had grown from the two crock-pots of corned beef to include various casseroles, vegetables and a variety of salads.

"Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"Is salad made with gelatin some sort of American staple?" There were, in fact, at least half-a-dozen bowls of it present, all of them varying shades of green.

"You don't have Jell-O in the Northern areas?"

"It's Territories, Ray, and yes, we have instant gelatin. We just seldom add things to it."

"I think it's a Midwestern thing," Ray said doubtfully. "All I know's that I grew up eating it."

"Ah." I studied him a minute. "You're not wearing green."

He gave a wicked grin. "Matter of fact, I am. Wanna see?" Before I could open my mouth he started unbuttoning his jeans, looked around to be sure no one else was watching, then opened the fly enough for me to see he was wearing boxer shorts decorated with shamrocks. "Pretty cool, huh?"

I could feel my face flaming and simply nodded. "I got my green socks on too," he added, pulling up one pants leg so I could see them. They were neon lime color and set my teeth on edge.

"Ray, those are hideous." He just laughed and went over to where Huey was dispensing beer in clear plastic cups. "You want a beer, Frase?"

"I'm on duty, Ray."

"One." He told Huey, accepting the cup and taking a cautious sip. "Pretty good. Where'd you get it this year?"

Huey shrugged. "Don't know; Tom was in charge."

"Ray, why is the beer green?"

They both looked at me like I'd grown two heads. Perhaps I had.

Later (it seemed much later, but I think that was merely subjective), I took a seat next to Ray, who sat in a corner, half a cup of green beer and an empty plate on the floor beside him. He looked at me and grinned. "Cool, huh?"

That wouldn't have been my assessment, but on the other hand, the numerous cups of green beer Detective Huey had eventually forced on me may've colored my perception. "The corned beef and cabbage was excellent. I'll have to ask the Lieutenant for his recipe."

"He won't give it to you. Say's it's an old family recipe and he's passing it on to his heir."

"Ray, he has no children."

"Maybe he'll wait till he's on his deathbed then pick someone at random."

There was a sudden stir as Frannie, Laurie and several other young women dragged Turnbull to the center of the room. He'd come back from seeing the lake completely astounded, having apparently stopped at his apartment to change, and had been drinking steadily since, without any sign of being inebriated. He was still wearing that ridiculous hat (so were several other people; I admired Ray for refusing to go along with that particular tradition), and was protesting vainly.

"Comeon, Ren." Frannie was fluttering her eyelashes at him in a manner that I recognized only too well. "You did such a good job earlier, at the lake."

"It was beautiful," added Laurie, who'd had at least as many beers as Turnbull and was definitely showing the effects. "It was the most beautiful thing I ever heard."

Turnbull looked distinctly embarrassed, yet strangely pleased, something I'd never seen before. Next to me, Ray chuckled. "Got himself a regular little harem there, Frase."

Which was true. The unattached women had all drifted into his wake the minute he stepped through the door. It took me a minute to place why this seemed so odd, and then it dawned on me they were usually following ME around.

"I think I've lost my touch," I said to Ray.

"Nah. They just know you're already spoken for."

I managed to turn my head and gaze at him blearily. "I am? By whom?"

He gave me a distinctly evil grin and took a sip of his beer.

Frannie cupped her hands around her mouth. "You people wanna pipe down a bit? Turnbull's gonna sing."

The room went immediately silent, all eyes turned towards Constable Turnbull. He cleared his throat self-consciously. "Francesca asked me to sing an appropriate song, and I've decided on "Danny Boy"." This produced sporadic clapping. He glanced over at Frannie and the rest of the harem, all of who nodded encouragingly. He hummed to himself a few minutes, and then began to sing:

"Oh, annyday oybay, ethay ipesay, ethay ipesay allingcay Omfray englay otay englay, crosay ethay ountainmay idesay..."

I stared in speechless horror.

"Oh, annday oybay, oh annyday oybay, Iay ovlay ouyay osay!"

The applause was enthusiastic, accompanied by shouts of "More!"

Welsh came strolling over to stand by Ray and me, still nursing the same cup of beer he'd had all evening. "Impressive. I wonder if he can do "I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen"?"

Events after that became rather jumbled. I'd swear Turnbull managed to sing a pig-Latin version of "McDougall on the Heights," though Ray says that was just a bad dream. I must've dozed off, because the next thing I recall clearly is the sound of Celtic music and the assembled crowd making a tremendous amount of noise. I opened my eyes to find myself confronted with Ray Kowalski, minus his pants, doing an Irish jig. The sight of him in his shamrock underwear and green socks struck me as the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, and I turned to tell Lt. Welsh so, only to discover he'd been replaced by Turnbull.

"Poetry in motion," he breathed, his face flushed,

I managed to stand up and confront him. "Keep your opinions to yourself, Constable. I outrank you, and he's mine."

Turnbull looked at me as if I'd just announced I was declaring the Consulate a sovereign nation, which may've been what caused me to hit him. Unfortunately, Turnbull's quite large and very solid, and I managed to overbalance myself, toppling backwards into the table of food. I was aware of a tremendous crash, then the sound of Lt. Welsh bellowing in a way that made his bullpen outbreaks seem mild. The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness completely was Ray bending over me, still wearing nothing but his shamrock boxer shorts and socks.

"Ray," I said solemnly, "Come live with me and be my love."

I awoke with the unsettling feeling that I was aboard a ship. My mouth felt like it was stuffed full of steel wool, and my first attempt at speaking produced nothing more than a muffled "Urgh."

"I think he's coming round." Ray's voice said, and I felt a hand brush my hair back. "Benton, buddy, can you open your eyes?"

It took me several tries to do so, but I finally managed to, and wished immediately I hadn't. The sense of motion increased, and for a minute I thought I was going to be ill. "Ray." I managed to croak.

"You were expecting someone else?" We were in the back seat of the GTO, me lying down with my head in his lab. I felt a vague twinge of resentment that he'd put his clothes back on.

"Constable, I see you've rejoined the living." The car stopped, and Lt. Welsh was regarding me over the back of the front seat. "You gonna need help getting him inside, Vecchio?"

"Depends on how wobbly he is," Ray pushed the seat forward and climbed out. "Frase, can you get yourself out?"

"Of course I can," I said a trifle snappishly, only to realize that I couldn't. My body seemed to have gone on strike.

Between them Ray and the Lieutenant managed to maneuver me out of the back seat and onto my feet. Only then did I realize we were outside Ray's apartment building. The night air was cold, which helped chase away the remaining cobwebs in my head. I looked at Ray, who was supporting me on the right. "Tell me I didn't do what I think I did."

"Well if you think you got roaring drunk, punched Turnbull because you were jealous, and declared your undying devotion for me, I'd have to say you were right."

I closed my eyes again. "Oh Ray, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you would be." He muttered.

By the time we'd managed the first flight of stairs, I'd regained the feeling in my legs and was able to walk basically unaided, though Ray continued to hold onto my right arm. Outside his door, he rather unceremoniously propped me against the wall and fumbled in his pockets for the key. "You want me to call you a taxi, Lieu?" He asked Welsh.

"I think I'll walk, Vecchio. Night air'll do me good."

My eyes had begun to droop shut, now suddenly they snapped open. "Ray, you've got to take me back to the Consulate."

"No can do, Benton buddy." He finally found the key, unlocking the door and escorting me inside.

"But someone has to clean up before tomorrow," I knew I was babbling, which is another reason I seldom drink to excess.

"Don't worry about it, Red." Lt. Welsh patted my shoulder. "Frannie and Turnbull are on clean-up detail. By the time the Inspector arrives tomorrow morning, she'll never know anything happened."

"Turnbull," I managed to groan, slumping against the wall.

"Don't sweat it, Frase. He doesn't blame you. And he promised me he won't say anything to the Ice Queen."

Welsh looked from one of us to the other, then smiled slightly. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to get going. Vecchio?"

"Yes sir?"

"Take tomorrow off. You've been working too hard."

"Thank you, sir," Ray said fervently, closing the door behind him. He turned to me. "Did you mean what you said?"

I covered my face with my hands. "I can't apologize enough for embarrassing you, Ray."

"So quit apologizing and answer my question: Did you mean what you said?"

He was standing close enough I could smell him, a mixture of beer and corned beef and cabbage and sweat. It was, I decided, a singularly appropriate smell, a definite Ray smell. "Much as I'd like to say it was the beer talking...I meant what I said, Ray."

"There was a moment's silence, and then he grinned. "Greatness."

"Greatness?" I echoed, bewildered.

"Greatness, cause I feel the same way." He laughed as my jaw dropped. "Jesus, Fraser, what do you think I meant when I said Frannie and her friends realized you were taken?"

"You mean, they...everyone...oh dear." I slumped forward into his arms. "Everyone knew but me?"

"Pretty much. I wasn't real clear myself, till you asked me to live with you and be your love."

I groaned. "I can't believe I said that."

"Hey, not every day a guy gets an offer like that." He was rubbing circles on my back. "So. You ready for some shut eye?"

I straightened up so fast my head began to spin again. "Bed?" I squeaked. "Isn't this rather sudden, Ray?"

He gave me the same smile that'd gotten me into this whole mess to start with. "To sleep, you freak. We've both of us had too many beers to do anything else, even if we wanted to. And Turnbull said he'd tell the Inspector you're sick, so you wouldn't have to go into work tomorrow. We get a good night's sleep and see what develops from there, huh?"

I looked at his smile, hopeful, with a definite promise of something more, and managed to smile back. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Ray. Except promise me one thing?"

"What?"

I let myself collapse against him, burying my head in his neck. "Next year, let's skip the St. Patrick's Day party."

FIN

End Everyone's Irish on St. Patrick's Day by MR: psykaos42@yahoo.com

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