Author's disclaimer: 'due SOUTH' and all related characters and settings are the property of Paul Haggis, the BBC and Alliance. They own all, I own naught but this story - and no-one makes a profit.

Author's notes: This is for Elaine, who grumbled so nicely....:-)

SEX, CONVERSATION, AND DUSTING
by Kym Hamilton (aka ^Q the Immortal or Kay Scott)

Turnbull sighed as he picked up the pot plant in Inspector Thatcher's office and diligently dusted the desk underneath.

TURNBULL: Diligently dusted?

NARRATOR (in defensive tone): Hey! It's a good line!

TURNBULL: It is not. It's melodramatic and asinine. And why am I always dusting in your stories?

As he replaced the plant, he noticed the door to the Inspector's closet was slightly ajar. Curiosity overcoming his Mountie politeness, he-

TURNBULL: I what?

NARRATOR: Well, shut up and let me finish and you'll find out.

TURNBULL: Ten to one says whatever I find will make me blush redder than tomato sauce.

He crept towards the closet, ready to attack any invaders-

TURNBULL: Why would I do that, ma'am? The door is only slightly ajar. Inspector Thatcher might have done that accidentally.

NARRATOR: You heard a noise, okay?

TURNBULL: I did?

NARRATOR: Yes! Now can I get back to the story, please?

TURNBULL: By all means, ma'am.

NARRATOR: And don't call me 'ma'am'!

As he reached the closet door, the sound he had heard separated itself into muffled moans and gasps. Someone was doing something funny in the Inspector's closet.

Well, thought Turnbull, we'll see about that! He wasn't having anybody doing anything in Inspector Thatcher's closet - he'd only just cleaned it up two days ago.

TURNBULL (peevishly): Cleaning again? Why am I always cleaning? I want an answer this time, ma'am!

NARRATOR (defensively): I can't help it! It's what you're always doing in canon! Don't blame me, blame your RL writers. And don't call me 'ma'am'!

TURNBULL: What can I call you then, ma'am?

NARRATOR (gritting teeth in frustration): You can call me ^Q.

TURNBULL (curiously): ^Q?

NARRATOR: Yes. Or, if you don't like ^Q, you could call me Adric. Or Annie Oakley. Or Six. Or Conina. Or Denara. Or Kennie. Or-

TURNBULL (interrupting): I believe I understand, thank you, ^Q.

Turnbull wrenched open the door to the closet, and blushed redder than tomato sauce.

TURNBULL: See?

NARRATOR: Shhh.

There, amongst Inspector Thatcher's coats, were Diefenbaker and a pedigree-looking golden Labrador.

TURNBULL (surprised and a little embarrassed): I'm blushing over two dogs? How silly is that, Miss ^Q? What is going through your mind?

NARRATOR (smiling slightly): It's called the E of S. Good, isn't it?

TURNBULL (grudgingly): Yes. But. I heard moans and gasps. How can two canines moan and gasp?

NARRATOR (waves a hand dismissively): Who cares? This is fiction. Anyway, Diefenbaker never gets any action. He needed a good slashy shagging.

TURNBULL: What about that story "Everyone Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We?" by Buffy? He get some in that one, doesn't he?

NARRATOR: That's a totally different AU!

TURNBULL: Good story, though.

NARRATOR: Yeah, it was......but, back to the story at hand......

Turnbull quickly slammed the closet shut. He grabbed his duster from his pocket and began to clean furiously, trying to ignore what he'd seen. It worked.

After about 10 minutes of steady dusting, he'd forgotten all about the dogs and was contentedly singing "La Luna' under his breath when-

TURNBULL (incredulous): "La Luna"? I'm a Canadian, an RCMP officer - where does Belinda Carlisle fit into this picture, ^Q?

NARRATOR (imperiously): I'm the narrator here, and, as I said before, this is fiction. If I want Belinda in, she's in. Don't argue.

TURNBULL (argumentative tone): Forget it, ^Q. There's no canonical evidence to support Belinda Carlisle. Hit the delete key.

KOWALSKI: Are you arguing with the narrator, Rennie?

NARRATOR (angrily): Bugger off, Kowalski! You aren't in this story yet.

"Oh La Luna, La Luna; the night that we fell under the spell of the moon. Oh La Luna, La Luna; the light that will bring me back to you..."

A hand touched Turnbull's shoulder and he squawked in fright, turning to see who it was. He smiled in relief as he gazed into the mischievous eyes of his love.

KOWALSKI (smugly): I am now.

NARRATOR: Yeah, yeah. Whatever.

Turnbull smiled sexily and wrapped his arms around his lover's waist. Kowalski grinned back and returned the gesture, though Turnbull's Sam Browne belt made him a tad uncomfortable to cuddle with.

TURNBULL (to Kowalski): Are you uncomfortable, Ray?

KOWALSKI (to Turnbull): Not at all, Rennie. Not at all.

NARRATOR (grumbling): Okay, okay, don't listen to me! I'm only the narrator. Forget for a second that I'm the reason why you two are together and just ignore me why don't you?!

TURNBULL (to Kowalski): She has a point.

KOWALSKI (to Turnbull): She does.

KOWALSKI AND TURNBULL (in unison): We're sorry, ^Q!

Turnbull leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Ray's. They kissed softly, sweetly and Turnbull's hand came up to caress Ray's hair.

This kiss deepened and, when Ray's tongue demanded access, it was given freely. Turnbull matched Ray thrust for thrust. Their tongues duelled and every victory was a defeat, every defeat a victory.

KOWALSKI: Isn't that a little too poetic? We're only kissing, after all.

NARRATOR: Shhh! We're just getting to the good part!

TURNBULL: Good part? I thought we were at the good part.

KOWALSKI: Me too.

"Gentlemen?"

Turnbull and Kowalski sprung apart, panting heavily. Standing in the doorway of her office, Inspector Thatcher had her arms crossed and her foot was tapping angrily on the floor in a steady rhythm.

KOWALSKI: Oh, great. The Dragon Lady. What did you bring her into this for?

TURNBULL: Yes. I am curious about that myself.

NARRATOR (squirming a little): Well, um, ah...

TURNBULL (angrily): I knew it! This is another tease, isn't it? ISN'T IT?! You always do this to me! Just when I'm going to get some, we're interrupted! It's not fair!

KOWALSKI (glaring angrily at the Narrator): You're hurting Rennie. You hurt him and I'll kill you.

NARRATOR: Hey! That's Vecchio's line from "Victoria's Secret."

KOWALSKI (shrugging): If it works, use it.

NARRATOR: And that's Harry Kim's line from "Parturition."

KOWALSKI: I don't give a shit!! You hurt Rennie, and I'll put a bullet in your brain. Capische?

NARRATOR: Understood.

Inspector Thatcher suddenly thought of a dozen other more important things she could be doing (#1 being a dirty weekend with Francesca Vecchio) and left.

Turnbull and Kowalski waited for about five minutes before jumping back into each other's arms, whereupon Kowalski proceeded to drill Turnbull like an oil derrick on the back forty.

TURNBULL (outraged): He what?!

NARRATOR: You're getting some, aren't you?

TURNBULL (hesitantly): Yes, but...there's no need to be so crude.

KOWALSKI: I don't know. I kinda like it.

NARRATOR (sighing): Okay, okay.

Turnbull and Kowalski made fierce, passionate love across Inspector Thatcher's desk.

NARRATOR: How's that?

TURNBULL: Much better, thank you.

KOWALSKI: It's good......

NARRATOR: But?

KOWALSKI: I kind of liked that oil derrick thing, that's all.

NARRATOR (sighs and slaps her forehead in despair): That's it! No more! This is the end!

KOWALSKI AND TURNBULL (in unison): But...

THE END

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