Talking to the Dog IV: Lending Aid and Comfort.	 Talking to the
Dog IV: Lending Aid and Comfort.

 by Blue Champagne

  

 Author's website: http://www.mindspring.com/~bluecham/

 Disclaimer: I had nothing to do with it. 

 Author's Notes: Thanks to the folks who have sent me notes on this silly
thing. It's nice to know my brain farts are appreciated. I think. <g>

 Story Notes: Bleah, seat-of-the-pants, no beta, no hands, no eyes, no
nothing. Except a spellcheck, which I'm hoping was successful. 

 This story is a sequel to: Talking to the Dog III: Patience is a Virtue
Which Must be Cultivated 

 

 Talking to the Dog IV: Lending Aid and Comfort... 

 "Constable Fraser," Thatcher sighed. Ray privately thought she must have
to practice to make her voice that deep. He also thought she looked like a
stiff breeze would blow her over, and her little black dress had a broken
strap. She didn't appear to notice. She continued "I just got out of the
exam room. Constable Turnbull called you?" 

 "Yes, sir, and I was concerned, as he seemed quite distraught. I was on a
stakeout with detective Vecchio. Fortunately detectives Henshaw and Craig
were available to relieve us." Fraser was gently taking the cold pack she
was holding against her face and examining whatever damage lurked beneath.
"I hope neither of you are badly hurt." 

 "Bumps, bruises," she said dismissively, taking the cold pack back as he
handed it to her. "On me, at least. Turnbull's fine, unless he bruised one
of those massive hams on their skulls or something. Someone's supposed to
be bringing me a prescription in a few moments." 

 "Where is constable Turnbull?" 

 "He's with the investigating officers, where our assailants are still
being treated." 

 "I can just imagine," Ray said, watching as Diefenbaker came up to sniff
at Thatcher's hand where it rested on the chair arm. She tolerated it,
even deigning to give him a scratch under the chin. 

 "You look like shit," Dief said. "What the hell happened?" 

 Ray had to cover his mouth with one hand, faking a cough, when she went
on blithely, right on cue with Dief's query, "Turnbull and I had the less
than unadulterated pleasure of attending the theater this evening, on the
invitation of our current liaison with Immigration and Nationalization.
His daughter is starring in a run of..." she sighed. "...'Oklahoma', at
the Auditorium Theater." 

 "What a waste of the Auditorium Theater," Ray muttered, not worrying much
about being overheard, as Thatcher was looking a bit disgusted and Fraser
was looking sympathetic. 

 "Ah. I take it our current liaison with I and N is...a personage worth
cultivating," Fraser said. 

 "A friend of mine has a niece who's trying to immigrate," Thatcher
explained. "She--the niece-- wants to be with her...affianced, who is an
American citizen. She's pregnant, time is of the essence, and..." 

 "And for some reason she won't qualify in time," Ray finished. "Why
doesn't she just go ahead and marry the guy? They waiting for the right
alignment of the planets or something?" 

 Thatcher shook her head. "Her, ahm, partner is a woman." 

 Rays brows went up. "Oh-ho. Yeah, that's a problem. Who's the kid's
father? Can he help, or is he wanting custody or some unhelpful thing like
that?" 

 Thatcher shook her head again. "Anonymous sperm donation. Hannah and
her..." 

 "...intended," Fraser put in helpfully. 

 "...want to raise the child together. And they've chosen to be completely
open about their relationship with respect to Hannah's reason for wanting
to immigrate." 

 "I see," Fraser said, looking concerned. "So you would definitely
need..." 

 "I need to kiss up to this guy," Thatcher said, with a resigned
expression, rescuing Fraser from having to find some diplomatic way of
saying exactly that. "Hannah doesn't intend to be working in any capacity
recognized by I and N--her partner would be supporting her. As you know,
that's not an acceptable arrangement unless the immigrant actually marries
the citizen in question. Since they don't want to consider Virginia except
as a last resort--and the life-partner rights law there could not easily
be made to apply to naturalization cases in any event, as it's a state law
and naturalization is a Federal matter--their headstrong handling of this
situation necessitates friends in I and N, whether they like it or not,
and I'm the only one she or her uncle know who's in a position to
cultivate any for her." 

 "Well, into each life a few chicks and ducks must fall," Ray opined,
grinning around his toothpick. "I'm willing to bet Turnbull had fun, at
least." 

 "He was ecstatic. He practically threw himself to the floor at my feet in
gratitude when I asked him if he'd be free this evening. I thought perhaps
his genuine enthusiasm might..." 

 "...take a little pressure off you 'cause you wouldn't have to work so
hard to hide the fact you were the human wince from beginning to end of
the damn play," Ray said helpfully. Fraser gave him a quelling glance and
Thatcher favored him with a sour look. Dief, panting, grinned up at him.
Ray went on "So did you get run over during the shivaree or what?" 

 "It being such a pleasant evening, Constable Turnbull and I decided to
forgo a cab. I realized we were being followed, and I managed to get
Turnbull to shut up and come with me into an alley, where we could wait in
the shadows to see if..." 

 "...to see whether perhaps someone was merely on the same way you were,"
Fraser helped out again. 

 "To see if she could take 'em out before they even saw her, just for
fun," Ray mumbled. "Smack, smack, one-two-three, never know what hit 'em."
Dief lay down and put a paw over his face. Ray wondered if Diefenbaker
said things to crack him and Fraser up in other people's hearing as
revenge for having to not die laughing in sight of God and everybody when
humans said things that were desperately amusing in front of him. If so,
Ray'd just earned himself some serious payback. 

 "Where we could wait and see if they would perhaps simply pass us," she
said, giving Ray a quelling look of her own. "Unfortunately they must have
seen us do so. There were three of them. I told Constable Turnbull to stay
behind me--" 

 "Wait a second. You told man-mountain T to stay behind you?" Ray asked.
"Wouldn't he have been a little more intimidating, if you were tryin' to
avoid a fight?" 

 Thatcher gave him a withering look. "He's big, but he's not that big,
Detective." She looked to Fraser for support. 

 Fraser cleared his throat and looked at Ray. "You have firsthand
experience of constable Turnbull's physical threats. How intimidated were
you?" 

 "Oh. Uh, yeah. And he was even royally pissed at me, and I doubt these
guys had just slammed his favorite sport." 

 "The man couldn't intimidate the Easter Seals poster child," Thatcher
concurred. 

 "I think I know how this comes out," Dief said, getting up. "I'm gonna
finish my interrupted snooze." He hopped up on a couch next to the chair
Thatcher was sitting in and curled up, resting his nose on his paws. Ray
smiled and gave him the "I got you" thumb-to-the-nose signal. 

 "Also, Ray, the Inspector has the element of surprise on her side, under
most circumstances," Fraser reminded him, "provided she isn't in uniform.
The footpads would--" 

 "Footpads?" Ray said softly, but Fraser just talked over him. 

 "--move incautiously with her, whereas they might be expected to at least
take Turnbull's obvious size and strength into account--ahm, peaceable of
demeanor though he might be." 

 "And they did," Thatcher said boredly. "One of them grabbed my arm while
the other two moved to flank Turnbull. I dispatched the one who'd grabbed
me and turned at once to deal with the other two, but, well..." she sighed
and straightened one knee, extending the leg, showing a colorful smear of
something toxic-looking along the side of her shoe. "It was a downtown
Chicago alley, and it's been too long, obviously, since I practiced
close-quarters moves in awkward shoes..." 

 "Yeah, high-heeled sandals don't exactly give you a solid grounding, do
they?" Ray said. 

 "They don't, of a certainty," Fraser concurred, in obvious fellow-feeling
with Thatcher's predicament, and squatted to probe gently at her ankle.
"There's just a bit of swelling here..." 

 "Um..." Thatcher started to get purry-looking. Ray didn't blame her.
Stinky mucous goop aside, Fraser's hands could make a wolf dog purr, so
why not humans? "...yes, but just a bit. A very minor sprain." 

 "So you did one'a them spin-on-a-dime moves like I've seen you do, and
the shoe didn't make it all the way with you?" 

 "No, Ray, the shoe make it farther than she did," Fraser said, turning
her foot very carefully to show Ray a particular scuff mark that didn't
look any different from the other scuff marks as far as Ray could tell. 

 "So that's when they clocked you?" 

 "To my extreme embarrassment," Thatcher mumbled, "it was not one of our
assailants who did this to me." She waved the ice pack in illustration of
"this" and put it back against her face as she finished "I was 'clocked',
as you put it, by one of the dumpsters we had hidden between." 

 "Oo," Ray said, trying not to grin too obviously. If she'd been badly
hurt, or even particularly upset, that would be one thing, but she looked
more annoyed by the whole affair than anything else. At the moment she was
looking at her shoe with a disgusted expression. He added "That must've
been one hell of a wipe-out when you hit that...whatever that gunk is,"
Ray said with a broad tone of fellow feeling--way too broad. 

 "It was," she said, after impaling him on a high-beam glare. She then
leaned down and hooked a finger under the sandal's ankle strap, pulling it
off (without removing her ankle from the ministrations of Fraser's
fingers) and then reaching down to remove the other one. "I won't be
wearing these back into my apartment. Detective, do me a favor and throw
them out in that trash bin over there?" She thrust the shoes in his
direction. 

 He eyed them for a moment, then reached out and took them gingerly by the
buckles. "Sure thing." 

 When he came back, a tall, well-built man in a nicely cut, dark wool
suit, walking with a uniformed officer, was joining them from the opposite
direction. He had one large hand held over the lower portion of his face.
It took Ray an astonished moment to identify the good-looking cuss as
Turnbull. Though if he'd only been using his ears, it wouldn't have been
at all difficult. Turnbull was making little sounds like Beaker from the
Muppet Show, obviously maintaining what little of his composure he was
still hanging on to only with difficulty. The uniform had a comforting
hand on his shoulder. He had to reach up a little bit high to keep it
there. 

 "Hey, big T," Ray said quietly, as Dief jumped down from the couch and
went straight to Turnbull. "How you makin' it there? You hurt?" 

 Turnbull made slightly faster Beaker noises as he shook his head rapidly.


 "Good, good job there, buddy," Ray said, once again trying not to grin
too big. Turnbull was the only guy he knew (including a fragile little
femme of his acquaintance), and most particularly the only cop he knew,
who'd get this upset over beating up a few muggers. 

 "Inspector, I don't know how to apologize for letting those--those awful
men--" 

 "Turnbull, calm down, for God's sake," Thatcher sighed, looking on
wistfully as Fraser finally set her foot gently back on the floor. She
flexed her ankle experimentally. "Oh. Much better. Thank you, Fraser.
Turnbull, our assailants didn't do this to me. I lost my footing and fell
against a dumpster. It was my own fault." 

 "But--but--you're my superior officer--it was my duty--" 

 "Hey, Martinez," Ray said, talking to the uniform. "How goes it? So
what's the story on this one?" 

 "Detective," Martinez said by way of greeting. "I've gotta tell you, man,
I have never seen anything like this one. Well, the one guy, he just has a
black eye, cracked nose, wind knocked out of him, probably some bruised
ribs. He's the one this lady took out." Martinez nodded at Thatcher. 

 "Inspector," Thatcher sniped softly, getting up and leaning a little on
Fraser, but her heart wasn't really in the snipe. Dief was sitting on
Turnbull's feet, imparting comfort. 

 "She's a cop," Ray said to Martinez. 

 "Yes, the, uh, constable here said she was his CO. Anyway, the other
two...judging by the injuries, um...what it looks like is our friend here
picked up the one guy by the ankles and tried to bludgeon the other guy to
death with him. Damn near did, too." 

 Turnbull sobbed softly. 

 "Hey, hey." Ray put an arm around Turnbull's shoulders. "Chin up, there,
buddy. You did your civic duty and protected your, uh, your superior,
here, right?" 

 "I shouldn't have let her get hurt," Turnbull whimpered. "Those awful
men..." 

 "You oughtta see 'em, Detective," Martinez was saying. "I saw a guy got
pushed out of a helicopter, bounced off a bridge and smashed onto the hood
of a car, and he didn't look all THAT much worse than those two guys do.
One of 'em was just about to go into surgery when we came out here." 

 Turnbull sobbed again. "When I saw the inspector lying on the ground in
that filthy alley...I don't know, I...I lost my temper." He sniffed. "I'm
so ashamed." 

 "Jesus." If Ray had had the vaguest idea the kind of trouble he could
have gotten in ragging on curling like he had, he would never have opened
his mouth. 

 A piece of soft cloth appeared in Ray's free hand, obviously courtesy of
Fraser. Ray held it up to Turnbull's face. "There y'go, big T. Here, blow.
You don't wanna get that nice suit all snotty." 

 Turnbull hoooooooonked into the handkerchief, then reached up and took it
from Ray's hand with a little whimper of gratitude, and mopped at his
face. 

 "Hey, it's okay. Who knows what they woulda done to the--to the inspector
here if you hadn't taken 'em out. And no matter how messed up they are,
they can't get you for brutality. You're not actually a cop here. So
technically they attacked private citizens, legal forgeign nationals at
that--" 

 "I'm a common street brawler!" Turnbull wailed, crouched down and hugged
Dief, hiding his face in Dief's ruff. Ray groaned internally at his own
word choice. 

 "Hoo, boy," said Dief, with a low whistle. "This looks like a baddie. I
think I better stay with our conflicted friend here. You two take Thatcher
home." 

 Ray squatted too, muttering softly to Dief as Fraser and Thatcher
conversed with Martinez, completing the necessaries before they could
leave. Turnbull paid no more attention to Ray and Dief's conversation than
ever. Ray suggested "Maybe one of us oughtta go with you two." 

 "It'll have to be Fraser. He makes it a policy not to get anywhere near
Thatcher's apartment, at least alone with her, unless he absolutely can't
get out of it." 

 Ray smirked a little. "Doesn't trust her on her home turf?" 

 "I don't think he trusts either one of them. They have one of those, you
know, physical things. Just a chemistry--stand too close and boom, they've
both got hot pants. But they know better than to let it get anywhere worth
discussing. Couldn't handle a real, y'know, thing with each other, even if
she wasn't his report at the moment." 

 "Yeah, I gotcha." Ray sighed. "Okay, I'll take the Ice Queen home. You
two stay with Turnbull." 

 "Sounds like a plan."	

 They had left Turnbull, Diefenbaker and Fraser at Turnbull's apartment;
Fraser would call Ray when he thought Turnbull had calmed down
sufficiently to be left. 

 "Well, one good thing about this," Ray said, as Thatcher slumped in the
passenger seat next to him. "Your guy at Immigration might feel bad enough
about it to send your friend's niece right through the preliminaries and
get her citizenship." 

 "That's what I'm hoping. I've never been one to look a gift horse in the
mouth, but this was a lot farther than I was planning on going for
friendship. Ouch." She moved the cold pack and seemed to be wriggling her
tongue around in her mouth. 

 "Tooth?" 

 "Possibly." 

 "Got some good pain stuff there?" He reached over and rustled the little
pale-blue paper bag someone had brought her from the hospital pharmacy
while Ray and Dief were comforting Turnbull. 

 "I doubt I'll need it." 

 "Oh, schist. The Iron John routine is enough of a damn pain in the ass
when men do it." 

 To his surprise, she was only quiet for a moment, then smiled with the
side of her face that wasn't swelling up. "An excellent point." 

 "Not counting Fraser, of course." When Fraser did it, he really didn't
need whatever-the-heck. The guy wasn't human. 

 She gave kind of a "no argument" sideways nod, but didn't bother to say
anything this time. 

 "You got knocked out for a minute. They sure your head's okay?" 

 "They told me I should do the usual, have someone wake me every couple of
hours and such, but I'm sure that won't be--" she stopped when he made a
rude noise. 

 She looked at him, still with a dry half-smile. "Really." 

 "Head wounds ain't anything to fuck around with, y'know. I got hit on the
head once, blacked out, didn't have anybody check on me and I woke up in
the bathroom, lying in the tub. Got no idea what the hell I was doing in
there." 

 She half-smiled again, but didn't answer. 

 Oooookay, Ray thought, whatever. "Turnbull was lookin' sharp. Woulda
thought it'd be the dress uniform all the way--didn't know he even owned a
suit." 

 "He doesn't. The suit he was wearing is mine." 

 Ray blinked. "Oh. Uh, looked kinda not the right size and everything." 

 "It belonged to my brother. Our parents being dead, I was the only one
left to...take charge of his worldly goods when he was killed in the line
of duty." 

 Major shouting silence for about five seconds, and then Ray managed "Oh.
Um...I'm sorry." 

 "It's been quite a number of years, Detective." 

 "Yeah. Um...and you gave the suit to Turnbull?" 

 "I loaned it to him, detective Vecchio. And he'd better have that wolf
hair dry-cleaned off it before he gives it back to me." 

 They were quiet the rest of the drive. Thatcher let her head fall back on
the rest and closed her eyes at some point. When Ray turned off the
engine, she seemed to be out. 

 "Hey. Home again, home again. C'mon, Inspector, pitter patter...uh, oh."
He reached over to touch her shoulder, but just as he got close, she
blinked groggily. 

 "Huh?" 

 "We're home. Well, you are." 

 "Oh. Uh, thank you...um, for the ride, Detective." She blinked a few more
times and started trying to get the door open. She found the handle on the
third pass, but started tugging it in the wrong direction. 

 "O-kay," Ray said, opening his own door. "You just bought yourself an
escort right to your front door." And into bed, if he could get her to let
him in. Poor T would shit twice and die if he heard she'd taken a header
and brained herself again in her own apartment as a result of this bang on
the head. 

 "Nonsense, Detective, I...um..." 

 He leaned back into the car just before closing the door. "You pull up on
the handle," he said. "But don't bother, I'm comin' around and get you
out." He locked his own door and slammed it. He hoped the concussion of
sound didn't kill her or anything. She was still alive, at least, when he
opened her door and started to hand her out. "Hang on tight, there..." her
grip was a little flabby, though, so he used both hands, taking her arm
instead. 

 "Really, Detective, this isn't...um..." 

 "Isn't what?" He got an arm around her waist. 

 "Um...something...right on the tip of my tongue..." 

 "Keys in your bag here?" Ray shut her door and managed to get his off
hand between them and into her drawstring evening bag, where it hung from
her elbow by its ties. He'd gotten them both up onto the sidewalk by this
time. He held the keychain up--the fob was a maple leaf, surprise
surprise--and waved the jangling metal in front of her eyes. "Which one
opens the front door?" 

 "Uh...the blue one." 

 Ray found the key and inserted it in the lock, got her inside, and shut
the door after them. Glancing around the lobby, he guided her to the
elevators. "Which floor you on?" 

 "Ff...uh, fourth." 

 "Fourth floor coming up. Or we are." There was a pause while Thatcher
swayed, Ray watched the indicator lights, and the doorman looked
concerned. Ray noticed this and said "You, ahm, door guy. You know which
apartment's hers?" 

 "Number twelve. Is Ms. Thatcher all right?" 

 "She had a little run-in with a dumpster. It won, but they let her out of
the hospital, so she can't be too bad off. And here we go, Inspector..." 

 On the elevator, Ray had to make a fast grab for Thatcher with both arms
when her sudden eye bug-out made it clear that the g-forces were trying to
suck her through the floor. "Damn good thing Fraser and me didn't do the
handoff the other way around," Ray muttered. 

 "Huh?" 

 "Nothing. Judging by lookin' at you right now I guess it wouldn'ta
mattered that much anyway." 

 The beep sounded and the doors slid open. By this time, Thatcher seemed
more than willing to let him do the navigating. "I think I might be just a
little nauseated," she admitted, and swallowed hard. 

 "I think your brain got bounced harder than anybody realized, including
you," Ray said, trying to get the other blue key on the chain into the
deadbolt lock. "Problem with havin' such a hard head, I guess." He got the
door open and let them in, shut it quickly and said "Which way to your
bedroom?" 

 "Huh?" 

 The apartment wasn't as small as Ray's, but still nowhere near big enough
to get lost in. There were two bedrooms, and one was clearly the spare. He
got her in to the larger room and sat her down on the bed. She swayed. He
caught her. "Need some help, uh, with anything, there?" 

 "I, um." 

 "Whyn't you hold up your arms. Yeah, like that, kinda lift up--there we
go." The dress, not terribly substantial to begin with and now
considerably the worse for wear, wasn't hard to pull over her head. "You
want out of any of the rest of this?" 

 She started trying to get her bra off, but wasn't having a lot of
success, despite the fact it was strapless, or, for all Ray knew, because
of that. "Okay, okay, I been getting these things open since I was
fourteen--no, don't try to turn, here, I'll reach around. I don't think
I'd know how to do it from in back. There's this wrist flick that--well,
never mind, there you go, let's get you a nightgown or something..." he
turned around and began opening dresser drawers at random. The second one
contained what seemed to be nightshirts, not that he knew a lot about it,
since Stella had generally slept nude. 

 There was a thump behind him. He turned back around; apparently she'd
lost her balance while trying to get out of her pantyhose. She was sitting
on the rug, looking dazed. He said quickly "Don't move," got the
nightshirt over her head, and started working the waistband of the trashed
pair of Hanes the rest of the way down her legs and then off. "I know what
it's like trying to get my pants off when my head ain't right," he
muttered in sympathy, "I can't even imagine what it's like trying to get
out of something that hangs onto you like a bad habit. Okay, back
up...there we go." He'd gotten the bedclothes pulled down with one hand
and maneuvered the wobbly inspector under them with the other. 

 Then he pulled out his cellphone. "Yeah, Frase, it's me. I'm at the
Ice--inspector's place. She's not doing so hot. I just had to help her get
changed...no, I still got all my body parts." He chuckled. "She's not in
shape to rip anything off. In fact I think I better stay here. They told
her to have somebody wake her every couple hours, like you do when you get
your head knocked, but she was gonna blow it off. I think she's more
concussed than they thought, though--gettin' banged on the head is weird,
I've seen guys who were fine for hours after gettin' hit and then suddenly
they had little cartoon birdies twittering all around their--uh, I dunno,
hold on." He glanced around. There was a small Halogen flashlight on the
bedside table; he picked it up and turned it on. "Hey, there, Inspector.
Thatcher. Fraser, what the hell is her first name again? I mean, I know
it's Margaret, but does she go by that? Oh. Meg? Meg, c'mon." Finally she
looked up at him. "Good, just keep looking at me for a second." 

 He shone the light in her eyes, one at a time, and she flinched. "Hey!" 

 "Sorry, but Fraser wants to know if your pupils are di...if your eyes are
okay. Fraser, yeah, they're both the same size and doing the
shrink-in-the-light thing...yeah, about the same. Hey Meg, you still feel
sick?" 

 She started trying to lie down; he put the flashlight down to help her
scoot. She seemed to consider the question a moment, then shook her head. 

 "Fraser, she felt a little sick a few minutes ago, but she says she
doesn't now...um, yeah, she's goin' out like a light here...yeah, okay. I
can do that. So how's Turnbull...? Yeah...well, hell, I guess it's just as
well, then. I knew Dief'd wanna stay, probably hoping to con some
eats...he is?" Ray laughed. "I'm not surprised. I guess I'll see you in
the morning. Unless I can't get your boss here awake sometime during the
night, in which case I'll see you at the hospital whenever you get
there...yeah. Um, yeah...wasn't planning on this for tonight...well, I
know, but a stakeout with you is a lot more fun. Yeah, kinda...okay. Take
care of Turnbull. Right." Ray clicked off. 

 Thatcher was out. "Here we go," Ray sighed, took her shoulders and
pulled, getting her more-or-less upright. He used one hand to keep her
head from lolling. "Hey, Meg. Meg!" 

 She opened one eye just a crack--the one that wasn't swollen and purpling
up--and glowered at him through it. 

 Ray just grinned. "Yeah, I know, sorry, but Fraser said before I let you
sleep I should make sure you were sleeping, not passed out." 

 She made a harrumphing sound and the eye closed again, and he let her
back down. 

 He sighed. "Guess we're in for a fun night, you and me, Meg." He set his
watch to go off in an hour, then went around the bed and lay down on top
of the covers. If he had to wake her up fifty times--well, maybe eight,
Fraser had said he should do it every hour--which meant he wasn't gonna be
getting all that great a sleep himself, he wasn't gonna subject his back
to any damn couch. Hauling his ass in here from the spare room was a
little much hassle, too. She was so out of it she'd never realize he was
here, anyway.  

 Long about oh-buttdrag-hundred, he felt watched, and sleepily blinked his
eyes open. The bedside lamp was on, over to Thatcher's other side. "Hm?
Uh, hi." 

 "Detective," she wondered softly, "what exactly...ahm..." 

 He didn't bother to sit up; he just smirked. "If you're tryin' to ask if
we committed an indiscretion, no, we didn't." 

 "Oh, ah--I wasn't thinking that, precisely, I mean--" she waved her hand
at him vaguely, evidently to indicate his
fully-dressed-and-on-top-of-the-covers condition. "I just..." 

 "You got memory loss happening?" 

 "Apparently. I don't remember getting home." 

 "But you're otherwise cool at the moment?" 

 "I wouldn't go that far." 

 "Uh, yeah, you're pretty banged up. Well, I drove you here--I mean, we
dropped Dief, Fraser and Turnbull at Turnbull's place, and then I drove
you here. I was gonna just drop you off, too, but you started getting
spacey and I thought I better hang around. So brought you up and helped
you get changed. I been waking you up every freaking hour for the last..."
he looked at his watch. "Six hours." 

 "Yes, that much I remember. A few of those times, at least. You helped me
get changed?" 

 "You couldn't quite find the way out of your clothes. Nearly beaned
yourself again on the nighttable trying to get your pantyhose off." 

 She grimaced, then sighed in resignation. "Good lord. Does anyone know
about that part? The, ah, assistance with my clothes in general, not just
the pantyhose." 

 "Fraser. Nobody else, unless he told anyone, which he would not do." With
the possible exception of Diefenbaker. 

 "True, there's that. Mm--" she stopped, looking like she wanted to put
her hand up to the lumpy side of her face, but was afraid to touch it. He
sympathized. 

 "I guess you could have some pain meds now. Since you're trackin' okay
and all. Fraser said I should watch you for a while first, something about
head knocks and pain meds being a bad combo." 

 "Yes, I would seem to be fairly clearheaded. Well...considering the
circumstances." 

 "I'll get 'em for you." Ray peeled himself up and toddled groggily out
into the front room, where he'd dropped the bag of prescription on their
way in. 

 When he brought them back, with a glass of water, she was up, to a
degree; she had a robe on and was sitting on the edge of the bed. She took
the pills he handed her, and the glass, knocked the capsules back and
gulped. She winced. 

 "You want another ice pack?" 

 "I can...erf." She'd tried to stand up, but she didn't make it. 

 "Will you please sit? You want I should call your dentist about that
tooth?" 

 She managed to look up at him. "Really, Detective, you've been very
helpful...ah, more than I would have had any reason to expect, but..." 

 "Jut think of me as filling in for Turnbull. Though if he's got his shit
together I'd imagine he's gonna come over here and take over. Here's
hopin' it doesn't kill you both." 

 She shook her head, and said, slowly and laboriously, "If I'm going to be
absent from the Consulate today--and apparently I am," she asided in a
mutter, probing at her face, "Fraser's going to have to take over my
duties, and he'll need Turnbull's help. We have maintenance and clerical
staff and such, but no one but the three of us can handle official RCMP
functions." 

 Ray curled a forefinger around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away
from her face. "No poking. If you do have a tooth tryin' to come out, you
might be making it worse." 

 She slumped disconsolately. "This is humiliating." 

 "Come on! It's not like you even got hammered or something, for which you
could righteously be getting your butt kicked for bein' messed up after.
You got jumped in an alley and clobbered. Superman would be lyin' around
the ice palace makin' little groany noises. Well, okay, maybe not
Superman, but Batman though, definitely. I'm gonna call Fraser. You, uh,
lie down." He wandered back out of the room, tapping his cellphone keys.
"Fraser, it's me. Thatcher's out of the mainstream today; she says you're
gonna haveta take over for her at the Consulate, so how's--he is? Well,
that's good. Nah, I think I'm stuck here for a while, I gotta think of
something to tell Welsh. I know, but...you and Turnbull gotta do the
Consulate thing...um, I dunno. I just want to, I guess. 'Cause
she's...well, yours, sorta, and his. No, I am not comparing looking out
for her to pet sitting, I just--yeah, okay, whatever. Could you bring me
some stuff from my place? You know where I keep the travel shaving kit and
like that...I'm not sure, I might be able to leave her alone tonight
unless she's gonna need a ride to the doc--she might be losing a tooth.
But I could use a shower anyway...yeah, I've seen a lotta people take a
lotta different kinds of blows to the head, and the one currently sitting
in the bedroom in there's not one I would've walked away from, back when I
was boxing...yeah. Oh, cool. No, don't tell me until after, I don't wanna
kn--oh, shit, she's in the bathroom, I gotta go, she'll be eating
porcelain if she--yeah, bye." 

 The bathroom door was open, saving everyone involved what could have been
an embarrassing scene. Thatcher was leaning on the sink, staring moodily
into the mirror. The only light was a dim dawn glimmer through the window.
"Lord God almighty," she was muttering as he hurried up, except it came
out without any L's. 

 "Uh, yeah, I wouldn't turn the light on if I were you. Looks worse'n it
likely is. So I should call the dentist? You might have a hard time with
the phone." 

 She tried to look sideways at him, but he was on the bad side, so she had
to totter around in place to where she could look at him with her good
eye. "You seem very knowledgeable about injuries of this nature,
Detective." 

 "I useta box. And before that I got beat up a couple times. And beat
other guys up. Do you know how many times I've been walloped in the head?
C'mon and--" he started to reach for her, but she pointed wordlessly at
the toilet and he hastily backed off. "Uh, yeah. I'll be right out here,
listening." 

 She glowered. 

 "I don't mean for that! Anyway I've heard a whiz before, for God's sake.
And worse than that, too. I just mean I'll be listening for if you fall.
Or if you yell for help or something. If you need me, don't try to say
anything in particular 'cause I likely won't be able to understand it
anyway; just yell." 

 She sighed and shut the door. Ray sighed too.	

 "Hello, Ray. How is the inspector?" 

 "Uh, same, I guess. She's in there trying to talk to her dentist, but I'm
not sure how much luck she's having." Fraser looked puzzled as he and
Diefenbaker came in, Fraser carrying Ray's overnight bag. 

 "She can't say 'L', along with a couple of other letters," Ray explained,
returning to the kitchen to complete his oatmeal preparation. Fortunately,
Thatcher's kitchen wasn't the dangerous and unpredictable gauntlet his own
usually was. Finding standard mushy food to feed her hadn't been
difficult. 

 Dief sniffed the air, apparently decided Ray wasn't cooking anything
worth trying to shmooze, and said "I'll go check on her." He started for
the hallway that led to the bedrooms. 

 "Um...can he do that?" Ray wondered. 

 "Ah...inspector Thatcher has tolerated his presence here before," Fraser
said, which sounded like he wasn't exactly sure if the answer was yes or
no. 

 "Uh-huh," Ray said, in a "whatever you say" tone. He noticed Fraser still
had the bag and went to take it from him; he peered into it. "Coolness.
Thanks, Frase." 

 "You're quite welcome." As Ray set the bag down on the counter, Fraser
stopped him with a light touch on the shoulder, then leaned forward and
pressed a soft little kiss against his mouth. 

 Various of Ray's internal organs started dancing happily around inside
his body, doing what felt like a polka. Fraser was just looking at him,
smiling a little, and all Ray could do was try not to blush and stammer
and generally make an ass out of himself. After about two seconds of this,
he burst into giggles and reached for Fraser, pulling him close and hiding
his face in the velcroed collar. Fraser hugged him back, making some kind
of quiet happy noises himself, though Ray probably wouldn't have called it
giggling. 

 "You turn me into a dork." 

 "Well, I hardly think it's appropriate to blame me for that..." 

 "Asshole." He managed to control himself a little and backed away, but he
couldn't return Fraser's smile for more than about a second and a half
without the giggles trying to break out again, so he ducked his goofily
smirking face and turned back to the oatmeal. 

 "You two are pathetic," Dief opined, coming back in. "And Thatcher's off
the phone. She told her dentist she'd be coming in today." 

 "That's probably a good idea. The longer before someone looks at that
tooth, the bigger the chance it won't grab back on to the jawbone.
Sometimes loose teeth just get better, but personally I never took the
chance if I could actually feel the things moving. I'd be short some teeth
now if I had. Oh, shit--" Ray suddenly bolted for the hallway. "Meg! Turn
that goddamned shower off! You're punch drunk and on pain meds, you won't
have any teeth left if you--" Thatcher responded in a garbled fashion
through the bathroom door. Ray said "I don't care. You got that way short
hair, just get it wet, it'll be fine. Take a bath, okay? NOT a shower. And
leave the door ajar. I'm sending Dief in there to sit with you; if you
pass out in the tub--well I guess I could do it, hey, I'm easy...that's
what I thought." Ray came back in to the kitchen, where Fraser was
standing with his right hand supporting the opposite elbow and the left
one covering the lower part of his face, muttering something involving the
words "frustrated paternal instincts". Diefenbaker was just grinning
hugely right at him. "Ray likes Me-eg," he singsonged. 

 "Shut up, you mangy furbag. Go in there and keep an eye on her. If she
goes under or anything, yell for me." 

 "Whatever you say, Romeo." As he got up and trotted for the hall again,
he began to sing, in a smarmy voice, "'Young LOOOOOOOVE, first LOOOOOOVE,
FILLED with TRUUUUUE deVOtion..." 

 "You sonofa--" Ray turned from the oatmeal and only barely caught himself
in time to not run Dief down and rip him a new one right in front of
Thatcher. God, payback city. Fraser couldn't take it any more and was
dissolving slowly in silent laughter, bending a little at the waist as he
kept his muffling hand in place and sank helplessly into a kitchen chair. 

 "Actually, Ray," he managed to get out, "Diefenbaker is a son of a--" 

 "Don't you start too." Ray glowered, adding a little water to the
oatmeal, and turned the flame down low to keep it from being a rock by the
time Thatcher got out of the tub. "Guy tries to help out, what's he get?
Crap. Did you talk to Welsh?" 

 "Yes, I did." 

 "What'd you tell him?" 

 "I said that inspector Thatcher was experiencing some additional
deleterious effects from her experience last night, and that you had
volunteered to help her." 

 Ray turned and stared at him in mid-reach for a bottle of apple juice in
the door of the fridge. "He bought that?" 

 "You would have been working a half-day today anyway, considering the
stakeout last night. Also, I've noticed that the inspector and lieutenant
Welsh seem to be getting along quite famously these days. Besides, it's
true. Though it's only the fact that he knows I never lie--exactly--that
made him believe me. " 

 "Yeah, yeah, mountie no lie." Ray smiled. "Okay, whatever, long as it
worked. How's Turnbull?" 

 "Subdued, but in better spirits." 

 "Well, he couldn't really be in worse spirits." 

 "I suppose not." 

 "You know how Thatcher likes her oatmeal?" 

 "Like I do. Butter and salt." 

 "Bleah." Ray gave an overdone shudder. "You people are strange." 

 "That's a compliment coming from you." 

 Ray grinned sidelong at him. "Asshole," he reiterated. 

 Fraser smiled and gave a "Yeah, what are you gonna do about it" shrug.
"Want me to take over?" he said. "I've got a little time before I need to
leave for the consulate." 

 "The oatmeal? Yeah, go ahead, I don't wanna be responsible for ruining
perfectly good oatmeal. I'll just get the coffee. Least she likes
coffee..."  

 Thatcher came out of the dentist's back office, did paper things with the
receptionist, and turned her green-and-purple face to Ray. There was a
small wad of cotton packing in her cheek distorting things even further,
and her eye, while he'd certainly seen worse swelling, had decided to just
dispense with trying to open. She looked like she'd gone six rounds with
Widowmaker O'Cudahy, who had regularly left Ray looking even worse than
that. 

 "All done?" Not stupid enough to wait for a reply, he put down his
antique Field and Stream and touched her shoulder a little to turn her
toward the door. "Your chariot awaits." She gave him a funny look for
that, but still said nothing. He didn't blame her. He knew talking had to
be a pretty major pain in the ass with a swollen mouth, a packed
recemented tooth, and about half a faceful of Lidocaine. 

 As they were driving back to her place, he said "I hear from Fraser
everything's quiet at the consulate." She nodded tiredly in response. 

 "Turnbull finished his little paint-the-trim-in-the-guest-bathrooms
project." 

 She nodded again, both her eyes still closed. 

 "While singing arias from Carmen." 

 Another nod. 

 "In the nude." 

 Nod. 

 "Fraser got Polaroids. We could stop and pick 'em up if you want." 

 The good eye finally opened. Her face looked weird--well, weirder--for a
moment, and she suddenly rifled around in her purse, pulled out a pad, and
scribbled rapidly. She ripped the little sheet off and held it up to him. 

 He read aloud "Dont make me laf u jerk," and broke up himself. "Sorry.
Just trying to cheer you up." 

 She gave him a yeah-right look. 

 "Okay, entertain myself a little too, maybe," he admitted. "You need to
stop anywhere on the way home?" 

 She shook her head, stuffing the note back in her purse. Then she looked
alarmed and groped at her face. 

 "Don't worry. Even if it feels like it, you're not drooling." 

 Relieved, she sank back and let her head down to the rest, and sighed.  

 "Hello," Fraser said softly. He, Diefenbaker and Turnbull came in,
Turnbull looking a little trepidatious. 

 "Hi, Frase, hey, T. Furface." 

 "Hairless ape." 

 "C'mon in. She's napping--" 

 "I'm awake," came a slurred voice from the hallway, and Thatcher came in,
in a bathrobe again. Her being awake and available, Fraser zeroed in on
her injuries and went with her to the couch, where she sat down so he
could take a look at things. The packing was gone, and she could talk
again, at least. 

 Turnbull, who hadn't seen her since before she'd puffed up into full
technicolor glory, looked striken, and Ray hastened to reassure him before
they ended up with Big Weepy Mountie again. "She's doing great, really.
She was kinda messed up for a while, but she's better. The dentist fixed
her right up with the tooth thing; she says she's going to work tomorrow.
Her face's puffed up again a little, but that's partly just from lying
down." 

 "I anticipate that the swelling will largely abate by morning," Fraser
opined, turning her head a little. 

 "Not as much as I do," she muttered, then raised her voice a little and
added "I'm fine, Turnbull." Ray glanced over. Under Fraser's hands, she
was beginning to melt into the couch like a sandwich cookie in the sun.
Fraser was looking intent, his touches just a little bit too close to
being caresses to miss it. Ray and Dief exchanged a smirk. Yeah, there was
chemistry happening over there, all right. Ray'd had that problem as a
rookie; he'd had to switch partners because of it. Too bad for Fraser and
Thatcher; they were stuck with each other for the time being. 

 "Still," Ray said, "I was gonna head out--maybe Turnbull could take over
here. Just to be safe, you know." 

 "That's really not--" 

 "Oh, certainly," Turnbull said happily. "I'd be more than pleased, sir." 

 "Just as a precaution?" Fraser asked her, raising his eyebrows
significantly, in the universal expression for "Go along here, you idiot."


 She sighed, eyes closing. "Of course, Turnbull. That will be fine." 

 Turnbull actually gave a little hop, which nearly caused Ray and Dief to
part company with the floor, too when his size sixteens hit the carpet
again. "Wonderful! You can just relax, sir, and I'll take care of
everything--oh, dear, Detective Vecchio hasn't been able to keep up with
the kitchen," he said, peering through the doorway to the right, where
various breakfast and lunch implements could indeed be seen lying
scattered around. "Occupied with his vigilant nursing, no doubt. I'll
just..." he was already fading in that direction, like a steel filing
being drawn to a superconducting magnet. He began unfastening his uniform
tunic. 

 "Well, at least he's happy again," Dief said quietly. "Poor guy." 

 "Ah, he just needed something to clean," Ray said, smiling in the
direction of the kitchen. "Hey, Frase. You just about done there? Frase?
Oh, Fray-zur!" 

 Fraser jumped a little, then cleared his throat and said "Ahm, yes, Ray,
I was just--ahm, as I said, the swelling is receding nicely. I would
imagine even the discoloration will be gone in a week or so, and you'll
look entirely yourself again. There may be some soreness for a few more
days, though." 

 She looked like she was trying to wake up and look alert, then like she
was dumping the idea as a bad job. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Fraser." 

 "We'll just be on our way, then." 

 "Right. I'll see you tomorrow morning." 

 "Bright and early." 

 "As always." 

 "I'm gonna puke," said Dief.  

 Heading for the GTO, Ray, swinging his overnight bag casually, wondered
"So, what's up for you tonight, Fraser? 

 "Actually, I didn't have plans." 

 Ray took a deep breath and asked "Wanna come over and show me how you do
that petting-the-swelling-down thing?" 

 "Okay, now that's more like it," Dief said. 

 "Shaddup!" Ray and Fraser chorused at him. Fraser was pink, though, and
Ray was getting there. They hadn't done anything yet besides kiss. 

 "Maybe we better leave the dog at the consulate," Ray offered. 

 "That sounds like an excellent plan," Fraser concurred, with a dark look
at Dief. 

 "Hey. C'mon. I'm just joking around," Dief said, trying to use his large
brown puppy eyes to good effect. "I'm bushed. I'll go right to sleep.
Especially if you feed me something." 

 "You better, or your ass is gonna be out on the fire escape," Ray
promised, unlocking the passenger door. 

 "Not a word out of little me," Diefenbaker promised. "And I haven't got
fingers to cross." 

 In the car, heading for Ray's, Fraser and Ray kept sneaking little
sideways peeks at each other, then smirking and looking away fast if they
got caught. Ray was glad Dief couldn't see it (he was lying down in the
back seat) because Ray felt like enough of a damn teenager without the
wolf commenting. What the hell was it about Fraser that could make him do
this? And what the hell was it about him that could make Fraser, whom Ray
would be willing to bet had never had a goofy puke-cute crushy phase, do
this? It was...silly. 

 Who cared.  

End Talking to the Dog IV: Lending Aid and Comfort. by Blue Champagne:
bluecham@mindspring.com

Author and story notes above.