COMING TO HIS SENSES aka YEAH RIGHT!  

WARNING: SPOILERS APLENTY FOR SEASON 3	

Dedicated to a) Greate One <G> and b) Grannie 2B <EG>  

by TimBeastie 

email graduc@aol.com  

1. Immaculate Perception: I Think Not!	

"Ray? ..." Frannie gaped at the scrubby haired vision before her.  

"Oh Ray!" she whispered putting one immaculately polished fingernail to
her cherry red lips.  

"Shhhhh"  

It took a few moments but Stanley Ray Kowalski eventually remembered that
breathing was a *good* idea. Not for nothing had his distant, if slimy,
ancestors hauled their butts from shrinking ponds to gulp down a few
lungfuls of mother nature's finest brew.  

"Uh..hi Frannie." The cop who came back from the cold sported a decent
growth of rough brown beard which he rubbed awkwardly.	

"Long time no see eh?" Hardly original but startlingly accurate he
figured.  

"Come in, come in." His erstwhile sister beckoned urgently for it was the
middle of winter and the howling gale that swirled round her frozen
ex-brother, who was by now surely inured to such weather by the way he
simply stood fixed at the threshold, had plans of its own for the rest of
the house.  

"Sure." Ray scratched his nearly beard and stepped forward. In his path
lay all manners of kiddie inspired booby traps.  

"Neat lot of um...stuff." He gestured casually at the array of baby booty
each designed in its own particular way to land mom, pop or unsuspecting
visitor in deep cover plaster of Paris-wise.  

"Yeah well..." Frannie pushed her hair firmly over her ears wondering just
how much he knew about her current situation. She gave a slight shrug
managing to dislodge a slight dusting of flour from her apron. This added
to the hall's festive appearance, though it was difficult to imagine Santa
making a reappearance given the largesse spread around.  

"You know how it is with kids. I guess everyone got uh carried away."  

"Sure looks like it Fran. Does a kid really need six Roger the Dodgers?"  

"Ah well." Francesca took a deep breath and went with the hair tidying
trick again. For this explanation she needed breathing space and plenty of
it. What was Ray going to think? And Fraser...gee Fraser! Come to think of
it...  

She shrugged and retrieved a couple of gun toting desperados. "I guess no
one's told you then?"  

"Told me? Told me what?"  

The interior gloom was beginning to lift revealing a distinct pattern - 6
vivid pink bobble hats, 6 vivid pink cutesy coats, 6 pairs of mitts so
cute even Minnie Mouse would surely barf.  

Ray frowned, the evidence was all there, but surely... 

"Uh Frannie...?"  

"Yeah well, six. I mean you know, stuff happens."  

"Yeah well...congratulations....I guess."  

Unfortunately for Kowalski Francesca's Italian momma radar picked up his
hesitancy at her good fortune. Eyes sparkled, brows furrowed, the two
Rogers the Dogers suffered terribly.  

Ray cottoned on belatedly.  

"Uh no...I mean yes..." He leaned forward and grasped his former sister's
free hand and pumped it furiously.  

"Well done Francesca." These words and the tone they were delivered in
sounded no more nor less to Frannie's ears than a visiting city dignitary
congratulating her on her splendid display of gardenias. All in all
Kowalski was digging himself deeper and deeper into the ole organic plant
food and no mistake.  

"So..." began the proud momma, drawing her fingernail carefully down her
increasingly rosy cheek, "...now I'm like best in show or sumthin'?"  

Ray held his hands up in defeat.  

From behind Kowalski's slumped shoulders came the crisp footsteps of one
whose subsequent lack of tact blew Ray's faux pas out of the water, into
the stratosphere, and then some.  

"Francesca...you're looking exceptionally....well."  

Fraser stepped beside Ray, clad unexpectedly for the time of year in a
bright blue Hawain themed sweatshirt decorated with vividly hued parakeets
and scantily clad hula girls; a heavy woollen kilt of the little known
MacPacamac tartan rose daringly above his knees.  

It was difficult to tell, thought the casual observer at the gate on her
way to San Hose, whether the vapour emanating from the doorway was steam
or smoke.  

Ray Kowalski on the other hand had it figured.	

"Hey Frase" hissed the cop "That is *not*, I repeat *not* the way to go."
On the other hand Fraser could get away with anything Frannie-wise eh?
Hmm.  

"Hmm" Frannie and Fraser hummed the same note.	

"How do you think that will upset Francesca Ray? I realise she has gained
some weight..." whispered Mr Insanely-Stupid.  

"Some weight!" hissed Ray, turning at a stroke into Mr Insanely-Stupid's
dumber twin, "Yeah like 120 lbs!"  

Fraser wrested the crown back from his "sibling" almost immediately.  

"In many cultures, even European culture during the..."  

From here on in Francesca could only make out the more damning parts.  

"....plump....sign of beauty...Rubenesque....dumpling..."  

Ray grinned weakly at his ex-sister and began backing rapidly out into the
driveway. Obviously Fraser's powers of observation needed checking pronto
for he sure as heck was missing the ever reddening skin colour and
steadily narrowing eyes which characterised Frannie in a major, but major,
snit.  

Ray did the only humane action he was capable of. Manoevering himself to
the back of his friend he bent down quickly, took a handful of kilt and
exposed Fraser's dedication to Scottish tradition.  *#*#*#*#*#	

2. Huffin', Puffin' but diefinitely *no* Sniffin' 

 Warning! warning!...gratuitous f*rt inference	 

Later, much much later Fraser began to get some feeling back into his
extremities. It had hardly been Kowalski's fault, for he was surely no
weather guru, but the remnants of Hurricane Georges had taken a most
inopportune and strangely direct route south. 

The atmosphere in the cab was just as icy. 

"I said I was sorry". 

"Humph" wriggle, glare, squirm. 

Sigh. 

"Listen Frase you want me to make it better - say the word". 

"Ack!?" 

"No no, the word is 'please', as in 'please Ray my good friend will you
kindly rub my...' " 

Ray sniggered and grinned widely he was beginning to enjoy himself. Fraser
was doing a perfect job of heating *himself* up - with embarrassment.  

"That's a rosy glow ya got goin' there buddy".	

"Guys?" said their driver, a fat man or possibly a thin man swathed in
impossible layers of warm 

clothing. The parrot by his side said "hi" and winked at Diefenbaker
cramped and cranky down at the front. The half-wolf rolled his eyes and
went back to sleep perchance to dream of sizzling hot donuts or was that
sizzling hot poodles?  

Fraser cleared his throat.  

"Yes sir?"  

"Looks like no-one's home."  

Unnoticed the cab had skidded artistically to a halt outside their
destination. Fraser (for once) leaned over and paid the driver to wait.
The last working cabdriver in the Greater Chicago area tucked his bonus
"tip" into his stripey woollen bobble hat.  

"Muchos tacos".  

Zerbe Floors had once been a short order cook in a Mexican cafe. He had
once been a 80 lb weakling. He closed his eyes, wallowing in nostalgia. He
could almost smell the burritos. A slightly embarrassed Diefenbaker jumped
quickly out of the cab. "You pay and pay and pay", grumped the wolf
fanning his tail vigorously.  

*+*+*+*+*+*+  

Mexican's bobble hat danced rhythmically as the taxi carambaed the hell
outta the joint. Kowalski shrugged and dug his head deeper into his coat.
He coulda told the oh too trusting Mountie he'd be better off tossing his
bucks into the Lake somone or other called Michigan. Huh Michigan
Smichigan. Yeah well let the freak make his own mistakes.  

Fraser meantime hopped athletically from one foot to the next. Like he was
doing the sword dance on acid or sumthin' considered the cop seating
himself crosslegged, going cross-eyed, on a large wooden chest. Ray blew
hard on his rapidly freezing hands and refused to rise to the bait.  

Dief padded to a nearby chest and sank gratefully to rest, ignoring the
spectacle 

altogether. If alpha male wanted to make a complete tit of himself who was
he to argue.  

Moments later a large transit van pulled up outside the building.  

"Gee Fraser that's a great audition. If we weren't closin' you'd be in for
sure." drawled Jack Huey chewing thoughtfully on a toothpick, his dark
eyes sparkling with suppressed, well not *so* suppressed amusement at the
Mountie's antics.  

His partner Dewey concurred wholeheartedly but could not as yet express
his feelings in words as such, but rolling on the slushy sidewalk croaking
with laughter gave the game away sure enough.  

Meanwhile Fraser had ceased his callisthenics and waited for the general
merriment to subside, and waited, and waited. Then, just for a
change....he waited some more.	

"Finished?" He inquired ever so politely of his "friends". Icicles dripped
from every 

syllable; his eyes were ice blue and arctic.  

"Oooh Fraser's in a snit, Fraser's in a snit" echoed the Boobie twins.	

The Mountie ground his teeth imperceptably and tried waiting some more.  

Kowalski began to giggle and even Dief was making really weird wolf
snickery noises.  

"I take you have no desire to find out who's been trying to shut your club
down. I'll 

leave now shall I? Thank you kindly." The Mountie was having a hunch, well
no actually he knew perfectly well who was trying to shut the club down,
he'd read the in depth investigative article in the National Tittletatler
on the last plane back to Chicago. "Huey and Dewey Haunted by Louis?" He'd
found the piece curiously lacking in sense but anything to while away the
time between Ray's moody silences. Could he help it if...well never mind
that now...  

Fraser crunched his way through the hardening slush leaving two ex-cops
aghast in his wake.  

"Hey wait up man whattin the hell d'ya mean by *that*?" cursed Huey racing
after him. His partner hastily joined him and together they sped, gusting
wafts of white air behind them. Ray Kowalski however continued to sit on
the chest drawing his knees up and hugging them. 

He'd let Huey and/or Dewey do all the Mountie hunting they wanted and it
sure looked like Fraser was in season or sumthin' in that get up. All Ray
wanted was a good long soak to wrinklehood in a roiling hot bath. Ah
heat...how he missed the sensation, all those lovely lovely words like
warm, hot, cozy. Nah he had to go an join Mr Freakin' Frosty on his *great
adventure*. Humph some adventure *that* turned out ta be.  

"Eh Dief?" He enquired of the slumbering wolf. No reply. Dief's coat had
grown 

noticeably thicker during their travels in the butt freezing north and he
looked real snug.  

Hmmm Ray considered for a moment the possibilities of a lupine warmer but
gave up 

when he realised Dief would never let him live it down - he'd be that
danged wolf's 

donut slave for life.  

Huey and Dewey returned. Between them protesting voluably, held in vice
like grips that only a true Chicago detective could apply, was Benton
Fraser, Mountie of indeterminate status within the aforementioned city,
and ,considering his recent escapades, unwelcome status within the entire
national boundaries of Canada.	

"Shut yer yap Frase" Kowalski rubbed his hand over bleary eyes.  

Unusually, Fraser obliged.  

"C'mon guys let's get the Canuck to the 27th. I wanna say hi to Lt Welsh.
He is *still* there ain't he?" inquired the cop whose 42 day leave
entitlement expired in all of 45 minutes.  

Aware something was afoot or possibly and most hopefully "avan" Dief
raised his head and belched loudly.  

"Ewww Dief" came a chorus of nose holding detectives. "That's *so* gross!"
 *#*#*#*#*#  

3. Oh what a feelin': "You touch ..."	

"Canuck?!" whimpered Fraser to himself...well no-one else was payin'
attention.  

"What did I due? Oh woe! Wh.where did I go wrong??" He wailed throwing one
arm dramatically over his face.  

Huey, Dewey and Kowalski exchanged glances. Well more like really loud
shouting glances - something along the lines of...  

"What the "farkin' heck" (ahem) is Fraser on?!"  

Huey bent forward, Dewey bent forward, Kowalski joined in.  

"Ouch!"  

Kowalski straightened up immediately rubbing his bruising forehead. Dewey
and Huey did likewise.	

"Hey where's Doolally Dudley?" queried Dewey picking a couple of Kowalski
spikes from his hair.  

A muffled sob or three drew their collective attention to the van. The by
now distraught Mountie sat in the front seat his head in his hands sobbing
politely (well he would, wouldn't he) and giving a fair imitation of a
cast off maiden in true Mills & Boon (Historical Romances TM) tradition.  

Huey and Dewey glanced speculatively at Kowalski. The ex-Vecchio rolled
his eyes and shook his head.  

"Don't do this to me Fraser, not again. Man you are so *pathetic*"  

Huey and Dewey speculated some more.  

"Soooo...?"  

"So nuthin'"  

"Hmm"  

"You two gotta problem with your chins huh?"  

"Hmmmm"  

"OK so two gotta breathing problem....cuz iffin ya don't quit....you
won't" Kowalksi raised his best beating-a suspect-to-a-pulp attitude.  

"Nuthin' nuthin'" Jack shrugged.  

Dewey took his life in his hands and patted Ray's shoulder. Body language
was not really one of his best subjects you could tell.  

"Yeah whatever...you know...like it's cool....you know....uh...cool."  

Kowalski however was giving a master class in 'Do Not Touch 101' and he
was good, very good.  

Dewey backed off quick and slithered behind the shelter of his larger, and
most would say smarter, partner.  *#*#*#*#*#  

4. When I'm Calling You: Listen Up!  

"Wilde called."  

"He called"  

"Yeah he sounded....uh....wild"  

"Wilde called and he sounded wild eh?"	

"Yes sir."  

"And Wilde would be...?"  

"Oh"  

"Yes?"	

"Uh....about his handbag."  

"*His* handbag?"  

"Yes sir"  

"OK I'll bite...what about *his* handbag?"  

"Sorry sir I wasn't listening."  

"I said.....and I shall say this only once more....*what* *about* *his*
*handbag*?"  

"Oh. No I mean I wasn't listening to Wilde. I mean I really would have
liked to listen to Wilde because I am fully aware that as your new
Civilian Aide I need to make a good impression and sometimes, well
sometimes I think..."  

"Yeah well that's debatable."  

"What I mean is I was distracted."  

"Uh huh?"  

"You see sir there was a...a....rodent, well no not actually a rodent as
such...but there was this really really creepy picture of a rodent
and....Did I mention my rodent phobia?"  

Welsh closed his eyes and slumped back in his chair. Why on earth had he
stayed? What had possessed him to turn down his brother's offer of a share
in the lottery win? Why was he being punished like this? What was the
meaning of life, the universe and everything. Was it really 42 or was that
simply Turnbull's IQ.  

Why oh why had he given in to the quivering wreck that had presented to
him a mere 3 weeks ago....or was it a lifetime.  

"They (gulp) won't let me back (gulp, sniffle)."  

"I see. Any reason?"  

"I think...I think they think I betrayed them by running for office in an
American city. (sob) But I didn't. I didn't even want to do it, truly I
didn't. (sniffle) My Uncle Mortimer...he...he pushed me into it, and then
when I had my accident...(gulp)...he abandoned meeeee...." Turnbull pulled
out a very large, very wet pocket hankerchief and sobbed loudly into it.  

"Oh sir, I'll do anything. Please I *need* to be in law enforcement.
Please! Pretty please with sugar candies!!"  

Welsh sat mesmerized by the ex-Mountie and somehow found himself drawing
up the necessary paper which ensured that in a very short space of time
his life would be one living Turnbull hell.  *#*#*#*#*#  

5. All Done in the *Best* Possible Taste: Ewwwww!  

Rapid bursts of gunfire rang out overhead, illuminating the desert sands
briefly. A dark figure ducked and wove between the dunes.  

'Darn it sand gets *everywhere*' she cursed silently as she threw herself
bodily into the best cover she could determine.  

"Ow!" protested the solid lump she rolled into, the protest was soft
however with a strangely familiar twang.  

"A Canadian?" breathed Margaret Thatcher, brand spanking new, straight
from the shell, special agent of the aforementioned nationality.  

"Yeah...so?" Prickly and defensive, not a desert rat so much as a desert
hedgehog.  

"Uh nothing."  

Meg waited till she'd got her breath back and assembled at least part of
her scattered senses. An ally was an ally was an ally after all.  

"Um want a sheep's testicle? In maple syrup of course."  

"Thank you kindly."  

And thus a strange alliance was formed. Let's face it some alliances are a
lot stranger than others and as Margaret was later to record in her
memoirs (Memories of Miss Mountie aka Desert Storm in a C cup, $199 CDN,
pub Benton Free Press 2005), Victoria Metcalf was not *all* bad.  

@~@~@~@~@~  

"So you see Leftenant, Ray let me down....badly..."  

Welsh sighed impatiently and with some difficulty. Fraser and he were the
only ones left in the office. The rest of the precinct, Kowalski and the
wolf, even the janitor had quit exactly 2 hours ago.  

It had taken the Mountie *that* long to blurt out this much. How long, oh
lord, how *gulflarking* long? cursed Welsh. If only Turnbull hadn't
thought to mend his chair with superglue. If only he were within gripping
or even ripping distance of Fraser's throat. If only the demented Canadian
hadn't trashed his phone. If only...  

Welsh glared at the demented Canadian and mumbled imprecations under the
duct tape.  

Fraser's eyes opened wide. Surely the Leftenant didn't really mean he'd
like to...and well surely it was physically impossible...wasn't it?  

"Come and have a go if you think you are hard enough..." slurred a
familiar voice from two inches behind the Mountie.  

Fraser whirled round.  

"Hiya Benny!" hiccuped an exceedingly happy drunken Ray Vecchio (yeah the
*real* one) brandishing a empty bottle of Dom Perignon in one hand, in the
other an extra large bowling ball, *very* sparkly green. A pair of grey
and red striped bowling shoes hung round his neck. Chicago's ex-finest
swayed elegantly and rested against the doorframe.  

"We got stars directing our fate...." he continued singing happily to
himself.  

"So Benny you a prawn? huh?.." Ray shook his head vigorously then thought
better of it and winced.  

"Nah nah...a...a...pawn...yeah man...yeah...yo Benny...." Overcome by
sudden and complete exhaustion Ray slid bonelessly down the wall making an
elegant puddle of Armani on the floor.	

"Oh dear" was all Fraser could find to say, at this juncture. At the next
juncture he said or rather yelled...."Yeouch!!" as the bowling ball rolled
leisurely yet oh so heavily over his sock clad left foot. With his
characteristic thoroughness Fraser had found it necessary to utilise his
boot laces to ensure Lt Welsh's complete co-operation, glue or no glue.  

Vecchio had an excellent view of the rapidly swelling sock.  

"Hmph" he said comfortably.  

"Good" he added with satisfaction and slept the sleep of the fully
justified, and the full on squiffy too.  

Fraser sank to the floor beside his ex-friend cuddling his aching foot.
Ever so slowly and carefully he removed his woolly blue RCMP issue sock
shuddering as he revealed the bruised flesh below.  

"Oh, oh oh" he moaned swaying back and forth over his tenderised tootsies.
 

"Ya big girl's blouse!"  

Ray Kowalski looked in scorn at the scene. His *hero*, supermountie - yeah
right. He bent over Ray's recumbant body and retrieved the not quite empty
bottle of champagne and emptied it in one swig.  

"Hmm.. good stuff Vecchio, yeah deffo a good year." he said appreciatively
and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.	

The Vecchio on the floor rolled over and opened bleary eyes.  

"Hi Kowasaki"  

"That's *Kowalski."  

"Whaddever." Ray rolled back, sighed and started to get up. Kowalski took
his arm and brought him to his feet.  

Ray Vecchio perched on the side of the Lieutenant's desk. Both men ignored
Welsh's frantic struggles. Maybe just a little tacky for the office but
hey his sex life was his own business.	

Kowalski bent down and retrieved the discarded bowling ball, hefting it
easily to shoulder height. Ray glanced at Ray. Both Rays considered the
seated, kilted Mountie and grinned. One Inuit story too many, one pedant
point outta line...  

Ray Vecchio slipped into his bowling shoes. Ray Kowalski bowed and offered
his new buddy his ball back.  

"Striiiiike!!!"  

Diefenbaker paused briefly from his consumption of the excellent turtle
soup his new alpha male had so considerately provided. A curious twinge
travelled through his groin as the spirit plane was shaken by the massed
crossing of innumerable male spirit legs.  

Their work done, Ray and Ray shook hands solemnly. Ray Vecchio took a
quick photo opportunity or two for future reference and promised copies to
any interested parties.  

Fraser's mouth was *still* open.  

Never one to let a friend down Raymondo Armondo Languostini Vecchio
retrieved Lieutenant Welsh's last donut (with sprinkles) and stuffed the
Mountie.  

FIN  

* Big thank you to Robbie Williams for Millenium <G>