Suddenly	  Suddenly

 by Blue Champagne

  

 

 Disclaimer: I was awake.

 Author's Notes: Why didn't Paul ever do those adorable little snickers
again--the ones he did kinda behind his hands, after he made the dogsled
joke to Ray Vecchio as they were about to cross the bridge in Ray's car
into Canada? Not to mention the perky-eye-face he did just before (which
we also saw in the bloopers just before he tried to bite a chunk out of
Ramona's stomach), which I think the only other time I saw was right after
the sled came to a halt in front of Frobisher's barbecue, where he seemed
to be using it as more of a freaky-eye-face.)

 Story Notes: Fraser has a sense of humor, especially in relation to cute
people that he likes (I'v enoticed several associated with it) and to
cardboard boxes. And maybe he was living in the consulate because he
though pretty much *all* of Chicago bit it. 

 

  Suddenly  

 Suddenly, two guys in tattoos, ripped denim, motorcycle boots that'd
never seen a footpeg, and weighing in at around one-eighty each--some
definite beer fat, but some muscle too, Fraser speculated as they sailed
past--were cursing their way through the air before them. 

 "JeezChrist!" Ray jumped backward into him. Fraser caught him, steadying
him before they could both bang against the streetlamp pole. The
aeronautics had occured at the other end of an alley they were looking
down. 

 "Fraser, isn't that Turnbull's building down that way...?" 

 "The back lot, yes." Fraser resumed walking, strolling, really, down the
alley, as Ray groaned in aggravation and ran forward to find out what was
up. 

 What was up was the building's new flower bed, and Turnbull was calmly
setting it to rights. While Ray held his gun on the two individuals up the
alley and explosively demanded to know the story, which they just as
explosively denied any blame or knowledge of, Fraser squatted next to
Turnbull where the latter was setting a long, flowerbed-fencing cedar
timber back in place. It looked just a tad bit bent right in the middle,
but not enough to comment on with moss and grass piled back about it where
they'd been. 

 "Standing start?" Fraser said. "Quite impressive." 

 "Well, they weren't listening," Turnbull shrugged, seeming a bit
embarassed, but determined all the same. He continued to press the row of
marigolds back into their little sod beds, tucking rootlets here and
there. "I did have to at least try speaking to them first. But there'll be
no bruising. My sensei was quite strict about that." 

 "Let me give you a hand--" 

 "Oh, no, sir, you're in uniform." 

 "Right you are." Knowing Turnbull's feelings on the uniform--well,
knowing Turnbull's feelings in general--Fraser didn't bother to protest
that dirt would rarely have anything to do with him anyway, and just
remained companionably where he was, staring up the alley at Ray from his
position crouching next to Turnbull, waiting for the signal. On call, Ray
turned, throwing an arm in the air in a question. Fraser shook his head,
waving his own arm in a let them go. 

 Ray threw both arms in the air in frustration, then turned and barked at
the two guys, who wasted no time getting up and fucking leaving the area
with a lot more deep-seated need than they'd ever left anyplace in their
life. 

 Ray was now approaching at a trot, panting a little as he called
"Turnbull, what the hell?" 

 "I was attempting to replace this gardening timber, which evidently
they'd stumbled into and dislodged--I'm sure they didn't mean to be
trespassing, though, technically, they were, of course--and they,
well...fell against it rather sharply, I'm afraid. It's all my fault, I'm
sure." 

 "One of 'em stumbled against it at each end." 

 "Yes, detective." 

 "Hard enough to send 'em flyin' all the way to the end of the alley." 

 "Yes, detective. It must've been quite something of a stumble. I even got
a splinter in the hand I was holding the timber with." He displayed the
large pale palm in question. 

 Fraser was smiling behind one hand, making little kitten-snickers.
Turnbull's long, expressive lips were turned up a bit at one corner, but
he certainly wasn't smiling. Oh, no. 

 "I should be afraid of you, Turnbull." 

 "I'm sure I've no idea why, detective," Turnbull managed, but a small
smile escaped. 

 "How they growing?" Ray gave up, finally. 

 "Oh, lovely. I'm sure the children will be pleased with their progress.
I'll have to make a little trip to the garden supply, though; I'm afraid
Billy and Antonia's petunias both met with an unfortunate watering before
I could inform those two gentlemen that they'd mistaken the garden for a
public rest area. I'll just buy some that are of a size to be a few weeks
old--they'll be none the wiser." 

 "You got everything else put back together?" 

 "Yes, I believe so." 

 "Okay, let's leave Fraser here for a few to make sure it stays happy and
you and me can go buy petunias and bring 'em back, how about." 

 Turnbull looked up, his long face lighting in a happy smile. "That'd be
wonderful, detective. Let me just wash my hands--" 

 Fraser calmly held out his handkerchief, and Turnbull smiled at him too
and took it, standing as Fraser did, swabbing at his large hands. "I'll
have it washed and back to you in a jiffy, sir." 

 "Naturally." 

 "C'mon." Ray reached back and nabbed Turnbull's jersey sleeve--Turnbull
was something of a rabid hockey fan, it turned out, and he looked far
bigger in his everyday clothes than in the serge, which for some reason
tended to minimize the breadth of his shoulders--and tugged, more as a
hint than any expectation of getting a mass that large moving that easily.
"Let's go..." they started down the alley to the right, toward Ray's car,
and Ray was shaking his head, muttering. "You guys, livin' in gutters of
Chicago...yeah, Jesus ate with the lepers. And you're gonna end up nailed
to a pole, too. Probably me." 

 "That's more than a bit sacreligeous, detective," Turnbull said
primly--but he broke up laughing on the last syllable of "sacreligeous",
and so did Ray, at Turnbull's first snort. They both stumbled drunkenly
down the alley toward the car, laughing their asses off. 

 Fraser had a seat on one of the other gardening timbers in the
many-tiered garden that had replaced the empty dirt lot in back of
Turnbull's building, and noticed with some satisfaction that the redwood
fence the landlord had been putting in was coming along rather nicely. A
bit haphazardly in some places, as he was paying local youth, male and
female, to do the work that Turnbull supervised, but Sandra Doormin's
corner, her name carven into the crossbeam, looked perfect, and he was
sure young Wilbur Harris's stretch would look more, well, coherent, once
Turnbull explained the use of a plumb bob to the young man.  

End Suddenly by Blue Champagne: bluecham@mindspring.com

Author and story notes above.