Opposite, But Alike (Sort Of)

by Jackie

pixie7@gte.net

"I just wish you would learn to be a bit more cleaner, that's all."

"Would you quit nagging me? And leave those clothes there. I'll get to them later."

"When later? Later tonight, or later never?"

"Later, when I feel like it."

Lynda sighed in frustration, then dropped the pile of dirty clothes right in the middle of the floor of the living room. "Fine. You deal with them. But don't complain to me when you don't have any clean clothes, Dad."

"I won't," Stanley rolled his eyes from the kitchen. Acting completely out of character, he put his plate in the sink to get it soaking, just so his daughter wouldn't get on his case. If he had been alone, he would have left the plate on the coffee table. But he invited Lynda over for a Bulls game, hoping to spend some quality father-daughter time with her. So, now, he was stuck putting dishes in the sink.

Stanley sighed. Sometimes he wondered if he and Lynda were really related. Aside from their looks, impatient attitudes, jobs, and some of their hobbies, they had nothing in common. Stanley's GPA from high school was sixty-two percent; Lynda was Valedictorian. Lynda replaced her glasses with contacts; Stanley kept his glasses. He also liked to box, while Lynda took up Taekwondo and was currently a second-degree black belt. She knew ten languages, while his knowledge of English vocabulary was somewhat limited. He had a tattoo on his right upper arm; was pretty sure Lynda didn't have one, considering. Even their habits were different.

Stanley dressed in clothes only because it was against the law to walk around naked, so his attire leaned more toward the grunge style: jeans, boots, T-shirts. Occasionally, he would have on a sports jacket, but most of the time, it was a leather one. Lynda was more conservative in her appearance: jeans or slacks, running shoes, blouses or T-shirts, and a blazer, Armani, leather, or suede jacket. She was casual, but always appeared snazzy.

Their styles of investigating were different. Stanley's MO was more toward 'shoot now, ask questions later', or 'kick 'em in the head'. Lynda's MO - or how she would say, 'modus operandi' - was more . . . calmer. Like Fraser, her mentor, she would always analyze things and make sure everything was in order before making a judgement. Of course, there were a few exceptions, like the time when Lynda had to find her partners after they were kidnaped by Xavier. Stanley had learned that Lynda kept a level head, but also nearly kicked the crud out of a suspect when she wanted answers.

Another indication of just how different they really were - their apartments. Stanley lived in a bachelor's pad: neon clock, bike on the wall, turtle with terrarium, and clothes and dishes everywhere. Lynda lived alone as well, but her place was neat. No dishes or clothes scattered in her place, no dust on the furniture or streaks on the windows. Everything was always organized and neatly put away. Even her carpet, which was stark white, was never soiled or dirty, despite the fact she had Dief and Regan living with her.

Still, despite those differences, Stanley and Lynda were very close and still shared a lot of the same hobbies. They always looked forward to each other's company, loved their cars, loved to dance, and were very protective of each other. Of course, even those two got at each other's throats every once in awhile, just like now.

Stanley came back into the living room to find his daughter straightening up stuff on the coffee table. "Lynda, give it a rest, okay? I invited you over to watch a basketball game, not clean my apartment."

"Yeah, well, somebody's got to, seeing how you don't." Stanley's answer to that was a snort before he flopped onto the couch and put his booted feet on the coffee table. Lynda threw her hands up in defeat, sighing loudly. "Why do I even bother?"

Stanley grinned as he grabbed the remote and turned on his television set. He loved annoying his daughter at times, especially when she got into one of her cleaning moods - or as he would call it, one of her obsessive moods. He flicked the remote, trying to find the game.

Lynda ventured over to a window and looked out. Snow was swirling with the harsh winds of a late winter snowstorm. It had started snowing gently about thirty minutes ago. Already, everything, including Lynda's car, was covered in powdery white. "It's getting pretty thick out there."

"Lynda, the weatherman said it wasn't going to get bad, okay? Now, are we going to watch the game or not?"

"Like the weatherman can actually get a forecast right," Lynda replied wryly. Nevertheless, she went back to the couch and sat near her father. Soon, both were totally immersed in the game.

* * * *

"Man, that was so cool!" Stanley grinned. "I mean, Jordan looked like he was flying before slam-dunking the ball." It was after nine when the game finally ended. Now, Stanley was walking Lynda out to her car. She was already suited up in her winter clothes.

Lynda smiled. She had enjoyed herself, just like she always did when she was with her father. "It was a good game, wasn't it?" She sighed. "I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," Stanley replied. "Just call me when you get home." He pushed on the apartment entrance. The door didn't budge. He pushed harder. Nothing. "What the . . .?"

"Here, let me help," Lynda said before pushing hard with her father. Even their combined strength wasn't enough.

"What is the deal?" Stanley asked, frowning.

Lynda pointed. "Look." Snow was piled halfway up the outside of the door.

"Great, now what?" Stanley replied sarcastically.

"I guess I'm stuck here for a while," Lynda answered. She sighed as she checked her watch. Nine oh five. "Better call Fraser and let him know."

The duo returned to the apartment, where Lynda dialed the number to Fraser's office at the Consulate. It rang . . . and rang . . . and rang . . . and - "You've reached the Canadian Consulate. My name is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Normal office hours are -"

"Fraser, it's me," Lynda interrupted.

"Oh, hello, Lynda," Fraser answered.

"Look, Fraser, um, it's snowing pretty hard and the apartment door is completely blocked with snow, as is probably my car. Basically, I'm stuck here, which means Dief and Regan are going to be with you for a little longer."

"You're stuck at your father's place?" Fraser asked, slightly alarmed.

Lynda smiled. She knew the reason Fraser sounded so upset was because he knew that father and daughter really couldn't survive in such close conditions together for very long periods of time without driving each other crazy. They had tried it for a week while Lynda had been apartment hunting, but it was not a pretty sight. "We'll be fine, Fraser. It should clear up in no time, then I'll run by and pick up the wolves, okay?"

"Okay," Fraser answered. "I appreciate you calling me."

"No problem."

"And good luck."

"Thanks," Lynda chuckled before hanging up. She turned to her father. "Well, Fraser doesn't mind keeping the wolves for a wee bit longer."

"Okay," Stanley nodded. "So . . . now what?"

"Wanna watch a movie?" Lynda asked. No sooner than she said that, the entire room was flooded in darkness.

"What happened?" Stanley asked.

"Well, it appears the electricity went out," Lynda answered as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. "You have any flashlights?"

"Um . . . I think there's a couple in the kitchen," Stanley answered. Lynda could hear him start walking in the direction of kitchen. Then - BANG! CRASH! "You stupid son of a -"

"What happened?" Lynda quickly asked before her father could let loose with a string of expletives.

"I hit my knee on the freakin' end table," Stanley replied angrily. "Hurts like hell. And I think I broke some dishes and the lamp."

"See, if you had taken them in like I asked," Lynda answered as she made her way over to her father, "then you would have only broken the lamp. But do you ever listen to me? Nooo, you just -"

"Lynda, don't make me shoot you," Stanley warned. He rubbed his knee. "Man, I'll feel that in the morning."

"You okay?" Lynda asked.

"Yeah, I guess. Let's go get those flashlights before anything else happens . . . as soon as I figure out where we are."

"Just follow me, Dad. I know my way around this place and I can see better in the dark."

"How can I follow you when I can't even see you?"

"Hold your arm out." Stanley thrust his arm out, hitting Lynda in the face. "Ouch! My nose."

"Sorry," Stanley quickly apologized. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Lynda gingerly rubbed her nose. "Let's get this show on the road." She grabbed her father's hand and put it on her shoulder. "Just keep your arm on my shoulder, and I'll lead us to the kitchen." The two made it quickly to the kitchen. "Okay, so which drawer is it, Dad?"

"Let me think," Stanley racked his brain. "It's, uh, in the . . . left drawer near the fridge. Top one, if I remember right."

"Okay, stay here. I'll be right back." She left Stanley, then shuffled around the kitchen until she located the refrigerator. She felt along the left side until her hands brushed against the drawer her father was talking about. She pulled it open, the began rummaging around. She smiled as her hands came upon a flashlight. "Okay, here's one." She flicked it on. Nothing happened. She tried it again. Nothing. "Uh, Dad, does this thing have batteries in it?"

"Should. I mean, I checked it recently."

"How recently?"

"About a year ago recently."

"Dad!"

"What?"

"A flashlight doesn't work if there aren't working batteries in it. Duh!"

"Do you want me to throw you out my window?"

"Oh, I feel the love in this place," Lynda answered sarcastically. "My own father threatens to throw me out his apartment window."

"Relax, okay? Geez, I was being sarcastic. I bought some batteries a couple days ago. They should be in the drawer."

"They'd better be." Lynda felt in the drawer until she came upon a package of batteries. She quickly replaced the two old ones in the flashlight with two new ones, then flicked the switch. A bright beam shone from it.

"Told you so," Stanley replied as he walked over to his daughter. "Now what?"

"Catch." Lynda tossed the flashlight to her father, who caught it.

Stanley shone the light right into Lynda's face. "Where were you on the night of January the seventeenth?" he asked jokingly.

"If I remember correctly, I was taking care of you, since you had that bout of food poisoning." Lynda found a second flashlight and put some fresh batteries in it.

"Oh yeah," Stanley replied as his daughter turned on the light. "I had all those funky dreams."

Lynda went back into the living room and over to the window she looked out of earlier. Stanley followed. They both looked out and saw nothing but darkness and swirling snow. The wind howled and whistled loudly.

"Hey, Dad, do you have a radio that doesn't require electricity? Maybe we can find something about this snowstorm."

"I'll tell you about this snowstorm, Lynda. It's cold, it's windy, it's piling snow up everywhere. It knocked out the electricity - and probably the heater - and caused my daughter to be stranded at my apartment for who knows how long."

"Well, I bet the phones still work," Lynda said as she went over to Stanley's phone on the coffee table. She picked it up and listened. The dial tone hummed loudly in her ear. She sighed. "See, I told you. Still in working order." Click. The phone went dead on her. Her eyes widened as she hung up. "You know, Dad, I think the whole phone thing is overrated. I mean, settlers didn't have the luxury of picking up a phone and dialing another person."

"And let me guess," Stanley said wearily, "we don't as well."

"Yeah," Lynda replied meekly.

Stanley sighed explosively. "What else could go wrong? Man, this is the worst night of my life."

"Thanks a lot, Dad," Lynda frowned. "You know, you've been complaining that we don't spend enough time together, and now that we do, you get angry."

"That's not the same, Lynda. When I meant 'spend time together', I meant as in watching a game, going to a movie, going to dinner. Not being stuck in my apartment while a blizzard rages on outside."

"Well, we're here and we might as well make the most of it."

"Like how?" Stanley asked.

"Well, we can tidy up a bit."

"Lynda," Stanley warned.

"So we don't stumble into anything," Lynda answered angrily. "Sheesh." She walked over to the end table and put her flashlight on it. Then she went to where she dropped the dirty pile of laundry earlier and picked it up. She carried it to her father's bedroom and deposited the pile in a laundry basket that was gathering dust.

Almost an hour had passed since the two began cleaning up. They managed to get clothes off the floor, clean the dishes, clear up the broken lamp and dishes where Stanley had knocked them down, and even sweep. It wasn't easy in the dark, but they managed. Finally, they collapsed onto the sofa.

"Whew!" Lynda said. "Man, I didn't realize just how messy this place was."

"And it's not messy anymore," Stanley said. He shone his flashlight on his watch. "Well, it's after ten. You ready to turn in?"

"Nope, I'm wide awake."

"So, what do you wanna do?"

"Got any board games or puzzles?"

"A few." Stanley went to where he kept his puzzles and games and retrieved some: Monopoly, Checkers, a one of those 3-D puzzles. They started on the puzzle first, after rigging up the flashlights so they could see better..

"So, you want to talk?" Lynda asked as she placed a piece on the frame.

"About what?"

"Well, how about you and Fraser?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Well, when I was with Ray during that one month he told me about when he first met Fraser, and how they worked together for the next two years. What was it like for you, Dad? I mean going undercover for another guy who had a Mountie for a partner."

Stanley sighed, thinking for a minute. "It wasn't what I was expecting. When they first offered me the job, they made it sound kinda normal. They said 'Hey, Ray, here's a chance to start over, ditch the past'. I say, 'what's the catch?' 'Oh, your partner's Canadian'. But at no time did they say, 'You'll be working with a Mountie who's got a wolf that's a florist'."

"Huh?" Lynda asked.

"Just a private joke, Lynda. Fraser and I were in a cemetery and Dief was putting all these flowers in front of a dog statue."

"Oh." She chuckled. "But you and Fraser got along most of the time, right?"

"Yeah, although there was that one time . . ."

"What? When?"

"Oh, over a year ago. We were working together, but I thought we were getting stale. You know, lack of communication, that sorta stuff. And I got mad at him because he was always arguing with me and using that logic of his. Really getting on my nerves."

"So, what happened?"

"I punched him in the face."

"What?! You punched Fraser? Dad, I can't believe you."

"Well, he punched me back later."

"Good."

"'Good'? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't go punching our friends. How would you feel if I punched you because I was angry at you?"

"You wouldn't."

"I might," Lynda smiled. "You've gotten me angry enough before." She put the last piece of the puzzle on top. "There." The two stood back and admired their work, the Empire State Building.

"Not bad," Stanley nodded. "It only took two Kowalskis an hour and a half to do what took a bunch of construction workers a lot longer time to complete."

"One year and forty-five days, to be exact," Lynda corrected. "At its peak, there were three thousand men at work at one time, working seven million hours. Among them, two hundred and fifty-five carpenters, two hundred and-"

"Thank you, Lynda," Stanley interrupted. "You know you didn't have to correct me."

"I wasn't trying to. I thought you just might like to know some stuff about the building."

"Well, if I wanted to know, I would have asked."

"Fine, I'll shut up," Lynda said angrily as she started to put the puzzle away.

"Lynda, look," Stanley knelt down beside her. "You're smart, okay? I know that, Ray knows that, Fraser knows that, everyone who's met you knows you're smart. You don't have to tell us by spitting stuff out like a computer. That's Fraser's job."

Lynda chuckled. "I'm sorry. It's just . . . I've been 'programmed', I guess you'd say, when I was in school to recite facts and give answers to everything I know. I've tried to break that habit, but it's really hard."

"Just keep trying," Stanley smiled. "But don't completely shut up, okay? I like hearing what you know sometimes."

"Okay," Lynda smiled back. They put the puzzle up, then Lynda set up Monopoly while Stanley went to go get some snacks. He returned to find Lynda looking at his feet - the feet he taped to his floor to practice dancing with occasionally.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I didn't know you had these."

"Yeah, well, it's easier to practice by yourself with them." Suddenly, he got an idea. He pout the snacks on his table, then went into his room, where he got an old radio that knew had batteries in it. He switched it on, then turned the dial. Finally, he found some soft music. He walked over to a clear spot on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Lynda asked, smiling.

"May I have this dance?" Stanley asked.

"Sure." Lynda walked over to him and took his offered hand. She put her other hand on his shoulder as they glided across the floor in time with the music. It was easy in the dark, seeing how they cleaned up earlier.

"Not bad," Stanley said.

"Well, Mom was a good teacher. You know, this is the first time we've ever danced together." Stanley twirled her around.

"We're gonna have to fix that, then, huh?" He smiled. "Watch this." He dipped her back just as the song ended. Lynda laughed as he helped her upright.

"That was fun," she said as she went over to the couch and sat down. Stanley soon joined her with the snacks. "You know, I'm glad this blizzard came. I don't remember having so much fun."

"I agree." He dug into a bag of chips, while Lynda went after the carton of ice cream. "How can you eat ice cream now?"

"I'm not cold," she answered around a mouthful of chocolate. She sat for a minute. "Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you and Mom first meet?"

"We met in Physics class, remember?"

"I know, but how exactly did you ask her out?"

Stanley sighed. "Well, actually I didn't ask her out. It just sorta happened. It was a few days after I broke up with Stella. I was really down in the dumps, and you mother noticed. I mean, we were partners, after all. Besides, she noticed everything. So, I tell her Stella and I had a fight and broke up. She was sympathetic, and asked if I wanted to talk about it.

"We went to this diner after school, and I poured my heart out to her. I've never done that with anyone, even Stella. She listened to every word I was saying. After we said goodbye, I just couldn't stop thinking about her. The rest, as they say, is history."

Lynda sighed dreamily. "Oh, that's so romantic." She dug into the carton with her spoon, only to discover she devoured the entire thing. "Uh . . . guess I'm done with this." She yawned. "Hohh. Oh, I think it's time to turn in."

"I think so, too." He saw Lynda pick up the snacks and trash. "Lynda, what are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning up."

"No, leave it."

"What?"

"Lynda, it can wait, okay? You don't always have to clean up something right away, do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Why? Are you going to die if you don't?"

"No, but -"

"'But' nothing. Just for once, leave it."

"But what about -"

"I'll take of it later, okay?"

Lynda sighed. "Okay, I'll leave it." She stood up. "So, what are the sleeping arrangements?"

"You get the bed."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'll take the couch. Just hand me the extra blanket that I keep on my bed, okay?"

"Okay." Lynda took her flashlight and walked into the bedroom. She returned a few moments later with a blanket. She handed it to Stanley, then kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight, Lynda." Lynda disappeared back into the bedroom and shut the door. Stanley went over to the couch and lay down, throwing the blanket over himself. He put a pillow under his head, then turned off his flashlight. As he closed his eyes, he smiled.

"Dad?" Stanley heard the voice and mumbled a response. His eyes were shut tight. "Dad?"

"Mmm." Silence. Then - POW! Something hard landed on him, knocking the wind out of him. Stanley shot his eyes open, only to find Lynda had tackled him.

"Lynda, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he gasped.

"Waking you up, silly," she grinned.

"Why?"

"Because I can't sleep."

Stanley looked outside. Light was beginning to peek into the night. He buried his head back under his pillow. "Go back to sleep."

Lynda jumped up from the couch and began jumping around, talking fast. "Oh-I-can't-go-back-to-sleep-because-it's-morning-and-we-get-to-do-more-fun-stuff-like-play-a-game-or- maybe-dance-some-more-or-watch-a-movie-oh-we-can't-watch-a-movie-because-we-have-no- electricity-oh-well-maybe-we-can-go-outside-and-play-in-the-snow-maybe-have-a-snowball-fight or-build-a-snowman-huh-Dad-huh-can-we-huh?"

Stanley sat up, trying to figure out how she said all of that in one breath. "Uh . . . Lynda, are you okay?"

"Never-better-Dad-why?"

"Well, you appear . . . high strung."

"Oh-well-that's-because-I-ate-all-that-chocolate-ice-cream-if-I-have-too-much-it-makes- me-hyper-because-of-all-that-sugar."

"Great," Stanley muttered, trying to rub his eyes. He yawned. "Lynda, do me a favor, okay? If you're going to be up, make other use for it." He slowly turned over, covered himself and closed his eyes. All was quite for a few minutes . . . then

POW! Stanley felt something hit him, hard. He opened his eyes to see Lynda staring down at him, a pillow in her hands.

"PILLOW FIGHT!" She hit him again.

"Okay, that does it." Stanley jumped from the couch, pillow in hand. He swung it at her, managing to get her. "Bulls-eye!" He ran after Lynda, who shrieked and swung her pillow at him. "You want a piece of me, Lynda? Come on! Hit me with your best shot."

Lynda swung her pillow like it was a baseball bat. She hit Stanley square in the jaw, sending him reeling backward. Stanley stood still for a second, rubbing his jaw. Then he smiled.

"Now you're asking for it," he swung his pillow at her. Feathers starting flying as father and daughter engaged in battle, laughing and shouting, but they didn't care. They were having too much fun.

Neither of them noticed the front door as it opened. Standing there, watching the two go at it, were Ray and Fraser. Dief and Regan peeked their heads in. All four of them were perplexed by the sight of Lynda and Stanley having a pillow fight in Stanley's apartment.

"Well, at least they're not killing each other," Fraser remarked. "In fact, they look like they're enjoying themselves."

"Hey, guys!" Ray shouted. Stanley and Lynda stopped in mid-swing. They looked at their visitors. "Are we having fun?"

"Loads," Stanley grinned.

"Yeah," Lynda smiled as the four came in and closed the door.

"Don't you think you two are a bit old to be doing this? Why aren't you killing each other?"

"Why would we?" Lynda asked.

Ray sighed angrily. "Benny, next time you tell me to come and get you as soon as the streets are cleared so we can go prevent Lynda and Stan from killing each other, they had better be slitting each other's throats, not pillow fighting." He looked at his watch. "Six o'clock. Well, I'm going home to get some more sleep."

"Wait," Lynda stopped him.

"What?" Ray asked.

"You want to stick around for a while?"

"What would we do? There's no electricity." Lynda and Stanley shared a smile, then grinned devilishly at their friends. Ray and Fraser's eyes widened as the two Kowalskis raised their pillows and edged closer to them.

"N-n-now, Lynda, St-st-stanley, wait," Fraser stammered.

"Guys, I'm wearing Armani."

But their pleas fell on deaf ears. Lynda and Stanley pummeled their friends repeatedly with their pillows, while Regan and Dief barked and jumped around happily. Humans were good for entertainment.

It was almost eight o'clock by the time the four friends picked up all the feathers. Afterwards, they all collapsed into chairs and the couch. The wolves lounged out together underneath the coffee table.

"So, you two survived the night together?" Ray asked.

"Yeah, we learned a lot from each other," Stanley said. "I even managed to get Lynda to leave a mess alone." Ray pretended to have a heart attack from the shock.

"And I got Dad to help clean up his place."

"Sounds to me like you both benefitted from this blizzard," Fraser remarked.

"We had so much fun," Lynda smiled. "We cleaned a little, played some games, danced, talked, and had the pillow fight."

"Sounds like you guys could actually live together again," Ray smiled.

"No," Stanley shook his head. "I need my space."

"And I need mine," Lynda added. "But we learned that, even though we have our differences, we still have a lot in common. And that's what counts." She stood up. "So, since the streets are cleared, you guys want to help me with my car? I'd like to get back home and take a nice not shower." She put on her winter wear.

"Lynda, there's no electricity," Stanley said. "How you gonna get to your apartment?" Suddenly, the lights came back on. "Never mind." He stood up and threw his jacket over his clothes. "Let's get going." The four humans and two wolves walked out of Stanley's apartment.

THE END