Author's disclaimer: My test audience was thinking PG-13, but I couldn't get it in the rating field.

Hi. This is my first due South fanfic, so if it seems a little strange, please bear with me. Please direct any and all comments to Ironhide1@aol.com.

Thanks to Stacy, Jami, and Chris for reading over this story. We all figured it was PG-13.

All character copyrights owned by Alliance Communications. I came up with the idea for this story while watching the first episode of season 3.

First Day
by Rick Fiddock

"Would you just shut up and go back ta Hell, Pop?"

"I ain't in Hell, Ray. I'm in Purgatory, remember?"

"I don't care if you're in Jersey. Just get offa my back", scowled Ray Vecchio as he started his new Caddie. "Fa once wouldja let me help ya? I--"

"Ya never helped me when ya wuz alive! Why'dya care now?"

"Because I'm yer pop, dat's why."

Ray's snort of derision was the only response.

"Fine. If I don't help ya, ya gonna wind up like me."

"I grew up around these people, Pop. Gimme some credit. I ain't gonna wind up dead."
"No, you didn't. Da people you grew up around are dips. Dis'll be da big time. You mess up, dey'll kill ya." "Oh, so now yer happy dat I'm a cop?"

"No, I'm seriously ticked off. If you wasn't a cop, you wouldn't be goin' out on dis assignment. You t'ink Frannie could support ya mother?"

"Better'n you ever could, ya rat."

"You ain't never gonna faget dat, are ya."

Ray pulled up to the intersection stop sign, slammed on the brakes, and glared at his father. "No, Pop, I ain't! You made our lives a livin' HELL!"
Vecchio's father was looking out the window past his obviously angry son at a green '71 Rivera that was coming in their direction. "Uh, Ray......"

"WHAT? WHAT PIECE OF INSIGHT DO YA HAVE FA ME NOW, POP?"

"Isn't dat ya car?"

Ray looked in the opposite direction as the Rivera rolled past, smoke now pouring out of the windows. "What da HELL..." With a roar and a ball of flame, the Rivera exploded, both hood and trunk lid arching in the air, crashing to the ground in flames. Ray hit the accelerator and took off after the Rivera. "I'm gonna kill 'em. Da morons who gave me dis assignment, da morons who dey want me ta get, dat stupid voice coach, and Frasier and dat mook dey got ta replace me!"
"It's not like it never happened before...."

"Shut UP, POP!!!!"

Ray followed the flaming Rivera through the Chicago streets, cursing, with his father chuckling next to him. "I was right, Ray. Wit'out me, ya gonna get killed."
"Yeah, right Pop.... Oh, C'MON, FRASIER! DON'T STOP FA DA STUPID STOP SIGN!"
"I told you he was a idiot."

Ray snarled.

The Rivera started again, tearing through the streets, and roared through a car wash, the spray doing little to stop the flames. "Stop da car an' get OUT, already!"

"Dat's ya problem, Ray. Ya too compassionate."

"Whadaya mean, 'Too Compassionate'..... oh, no.... DON'T!!!"

The Rivera roared into the docks, hit a crate of green apples and splashed down into the water, sinking quickly. Ray hit the brakes and a blue van zoomed past him, sliding to a halt at the end of the pier.
"My car........" He started to beat his head against the steering wheel.

"I mean dis. Followin' ya friends, tryin' ta help. You get outta dis car and go over dere, ya gonna wind up dead, an' probably get dem killed, too. An' you don' wanna know what dey'll do ta Frannie." "But--"

"Ray, you wanna have even a hope a survivin', you gotta be like me."

"A mean, arrogant SOB?"

"If dat's what it takes, yeah. You get killed, who's gonna watch out fa dat idiot Canuck?"
Ray shifted into reverse, turned around, and drove away.

"I hate you, Pop."

"Yeah, yeah."

Later....

"I saw your son follwing Ben today."

"Yeah, Canuck?"

"Yes. And you talked him out of helping, Yank."

"I know."

"It's probably a good thing. He would have only confused the issue more."

"He figured it out yet?"

"Yes. The Leftenant filled him in." Robert Frasier smiled. "Sadly, not before Ben got the dental impression from 'Ray'. Though why he used putty..."
"He gonna spill da beans?"

"No, Yank. You know he won't. If keeping mum will keep his friend alive, he'll keep mum."
Grandma Frasier scowled at her son. "Where are you going to keep me, young man?"
"It's a figure of speech, mother. It means keep quiet."

"Are you telling me to keep quiet?"

"No, mother......"

Ray's father smiled.

"Ray?"

Ray groaned in his sleep. "Go away, Pop."

"Da meet go well?"

"I'm still here, ain't I. Da mustache petes didn't ship me off ta da afterlife. Lemme go back ta sleep." "Just wanted ta let ya know. Da Mountie's fine."

"Good ta know, Pop. And... thanks."

"No problem. Now stop talkin' ta me. Da room's probably bugged. Dey'll t'ink ya a nut or something."
Ray mumbled a reply.

"Yeah, 'night ta you, too."

The End