Pairing: None (though slashiness is inferred)
Disclaimer: Due South and its universe don't belong to me, sob, sob.
Notes: For M-A, who wanted an explanation as to why Fraser wears
the Serge so danged often in seasons 3/4...
The tedium of morning paperwork is broken by Turnbull, announcing I have a visitor. I glance up, curious, at the man he ushers into my office - nondescript, medium height, medium build, dark suit. He waits in silence until my hapless associate has left, turning to face me only when the door has clicked shut.
His eyes take in the cramped room, the too-large desk and the cot behind me, the prone yet alert wolf curled up on its tightly-made blanket. To my surprise, though, he makes no comment about my living/working quarters.
"Constable Fraser." Not a question, but the acknowledgement of a fact. "I've been authorized to speak with you."
Not an auspicious beginning. "Authorized by whom?"
"No one you need to concern yourself about."
Ah. Of course - he is A Fed. It was a regrettable lapse on my part not to have noticed earlier; however, I had been momentarily fooled by the colour of his suit - dark grey, as opposed to the dark blue I had come to believe was their normal uniform. Also, he lacks a mirror-image partner; either he is high enough placed to warrant working alone, or else his associate is out somewhere, possibly being dry cleaned.
There is only one reason I can think of that would bring an FBI agent to my office. "I assume this has something to do with the recent departure of Detective Ray Vecchio?"
If his sombre expression changes at all, it is too infinitesimal for me to see. "Detective Ray Vecchio has gone nowhere. He is, in fact, at this very moment, at his desk in the major crimes bullpen of the 27th police district. And in the interests of furthering good relations between our countries, you will do your part to ensure he stays there."
"At his desk?"
"At his job, Constable. He is in a very precarious position, as you can probably imagine, as is a certain high-standing member of Las Vegas organized crime."
Oh yes, I can probably imagine it. In fact, I have imagined it, frequently and in graphic, gory detail, over the last few days.
"I will do what I can," I assure him, truthfully. Ray Vecchio is my best friend; his strange blond counterpart is likewise growing on me. I certainly do not wish either man harm.
"Yes, Constable, you will. Under any circumstances that might occur."
Ah. This, then, would be the 'catch'. I raise a questioning eyebrow.
"We have certain bits of knowledge in our possession; snippets that I'm sure both you and Detective Vecchio would appreciate being kept silent, for the time being. We all know how certain communities tend to frown on certain lifestyles, don't we?"
Extortion, then. Clever. It makes me wonder, however, just what they think they know about me that makes them believe they would have to use threats to convince me to save the lives of my friends. If it's anything like what they think they know about my relationship with Ray, the first Ray, the gone Ray, then I really have nothing to worry about. Other than worries that they might one day find out that they really don't know what it is they think they know. At the moment, though, I'll keep the knowledge to myself. It never hurts to have leverage.
His question requires some response. I give my generic 'Mountie' one. "Understood."
"Good." A hint of smugness, now. He thinks he has me over a barrel - or that someone does, at any rate. Let him.
"Now that we have this understanding, there's the certain matter of your uniform."
Now, this surprises me. "My uniform?"
"Quite the attention-getter, that. Like a big red stop sign."
I can't help it; I frown. "If you are suggesting that I stop wearing the Serge..."
"Not at all, Constable; quite the contrary, actually. You've done a lot for this city; people here know you. They know your red coat. They see that, they see the Mountie and his cop."
Of course. "And if they are looking at my uniform, they are paying less attention to just who that cop is... or isn't."
A sharp glint in his eyes now, and I realize that looking intelligent in front of this man is probably not my best course of action. "Exactly," he concedes. "So, it would be in your best interest to wear your full uniform as often as possible."
"In order to further good relations between our countries." His plan actually makes a warped sort of sense to me, which I find somewhat astounding, if rather disturbing. Yes, I will wear the Serge, and wear it with pride; wear it for duty's sake, and in horribly inappropriate situations - I'm sure anyone who notices will think it an eccentricity on my part, though I'm afraid that reputation is already mine. I will wear it for Queen, for country, and for Ray.
"I'm glad we understand each other, Constable," he says and, without preamble, turns and strides from my office, leaving the door ajar. After a polite moment, Turnbull pops his head in.
Guessing at his question, I head him off. "No one was here."
He nods wisely. "Of course." Then frowns. "Sir? Does that mean you aren't here, either?"
I stifle a sigh. It's been a long week. "No, Turnbull, I'm not; I called in sick this morning."
"Ah, yes, certainly; I remember now."
With that, Turnbull heads back to his desk. With a shake of my head, I gather up wolf and Stetson, and head out of the building. Perhaps Ray would like to meet for lunch...
Fin
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