The More Things Change    

(Standard Disclaimer) It's Friday, I'm tired, I've got plans, so let's
just say that Ben and Ray don't belong to me, they'll get over this,
nothing is permanent, and actually, the goat *is* kind of growing on me. 

I had the idea for this story after being told one too many times, "Well,
if they were trying to replace Fraser, I wouldn't mind one little bit!"
I'm not attacking anyone, whether on the fic lists or the discussion lists
or even in the Alliance production offices (okay, maybe I'm attacking
*them* just a little. They're professionals. They can take it.) 

This story is snarky even by my standards, so be warned. Rated G for
general audiences. (Peering into my monitor doubtfully... *is* there a
general audience out there?) 

 THE MORE THINGS CHANGE... 

by Katrina Bowen 

"No! You're not putting that damn thing in the Riv! You have any idea how
much it cost to get the upholstery fixed after the last time?" 

"But, Ray --" 

Ray glared up from his cellphone. "Don't you dare 'But, Ray' me. Just --
just stand there. On the sidewalk. Far away from me. I've tryin' to have a
private conversation here, you mind?" 

"Oh, excuse me, Ray. Not at all. I'll just wait out here." The car door
closed, and Ray was alone in his sanctuary. He closed his eyes as he
resumed his conversation. "Benny, what the hell are you doin' to me here?"


Fraser's voice sounded thin with distance over the phone. "Well,
unfortunately, Ray, this 'month's assignment' to Prince Edward Island has
turned out to be somewhat more complicated than either I or the Inspector
had anticipated. There's no telling when Diefenbaker and I will be back,
and, well, I know how much you dislike being idle --" 

"Since when do I dislike being idle?" Ray demanded. He looked out the
window and distrustfully eyed the figure standing just out of hearing
range. "That's you, Fraser. *You're* the one who dislikes being idle." 

"Ah. Yes, that's right. Well, be that as it may, I thought you might
appreciate a chance to get to know someone from a different culture in my
absence." 

Ray tilted his head back against the seat. "Do you have any idea how
bizarre that notion is, Fraser? You're afraid that I'll be lonely, so you
find someone to follow me around like you do? What, you're some kind of
dating service? A matchmaker? Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted
Yenta." 

"Now, Ray, that was simply uncalled for." 

"No, it wasn't. You don't just pick up a new best friend the minute the
first gets out of the city limits. I mean, you couldn't be expected to
know that, seeing as how you never had one before, but hell, Benny, there
are *protocols* for this kind of thing. What the hell were you
*thinking*?" 

Before Fraser could object further, Ray allowed his rant to blossom into
its full, fearsome beauty. "And why the hell did you have to pick a Swiss
guy for me to hang out with, anyway? Who in their right mind would hang
around with a Swiss guy?" 

Fraser finally started to sound a little defensive. "I met Hans Bern at a
mixer for employees of the various consulates in Chicago. He seemed very
nice...." 

"NICE? Fraser, even I can't believe I'm saying this, but this guy is more
annoying than you are. Geez, he's even more annoying than Turnbull. He's
polite. He's handsome. He's boring me to tears, Fraser. Frannie really
likes him, though. She made him lasagna and bought herself more leather
underwear." 

"Oh, dear." 

"You got that right. So now instead of wandering around Chicago with a
Mountie attached to my hip -- which, though uncommon, is not entirely
unheard of -- you know what I've got? I've got a Swiss Guard. You know how
a Swiss Guard dresses?" 

"I believe I'm familiar with the traditional uniform, but I'm sure Hans
doesn't wear *that*... does he?" 

Ray snorted. "He wears a steel helmet and he carries a seven-foot long
axe." 

Fraser was silent for a few seconds. "I believe the technical term for
that would be a halberd. It's distinguished from an axe by virtue of the
shape of the blade --" 

"Right. The blade. That long, sharp, pointy thing that did five hundred
bucks' worth of damage to the Riv's upholstery. Of course, that's not as
bad as what he wears when he's off-duty. You want to know what he wears
when he's off-duty, Fraser?" Ray asked maliciously. 

"Probably not...." Ray could almost hear Fraser rubbing a thumb along his
eyebrow. Probably the left one. **Good. Let the bastard feel good and
guilty.** 

"Lederhosen." 

"Lederhosen? Oh, now, Ray, you must be making that up. Surely Hans
wouldn't wear lederhosen in the middle of... Ray? Oh, Ray, I'm so sorry." 

Nodding, Ray pinched the bridge of his nose. "And then there's the goat." 

"The goat." 

"Yep." Ray nodded mournfully, even though he knew Fraser couldn't see him.
"He's got a pet goat. Did you know that?" 

"Ray, believe me, if I had known about a goat, I would have 

mentioned it." 

"Yeah. Well. He's got a pet goat. A pet goat named Zwingli. Said he had to
bring it with him to Chicago, he didn't feel right leaving it back in the
Alps, not after it saved his life and all." 

Silence. "The goat... saved his life." 

"Pulled him out of an avalanche. Now Zwingli is blind in one eye." 

"Ray, are you *sure* you're not making this up?" 

"Damn it, Fraser, am I the kind of person who'd be able to think up a pet
goat named Zwingli? And what the hell kind of name is Zwingli, anway?" 

Fraser instantly shifted into lecture mode. "Oh, Huldreich Zwingli was a
16th century Swiss religious figure --" 

"And I'm definitely not the kind of person who would care about *that*, am
I?" 

"No, Ray." 

"No, that's right, I'm not. You know where Hans, his goat and I are going
now?" Ray checked his watch. 

"No, Ray." 

"We're going to pick up his new superior officer's drycleaning. Here's the
good part. Her name is Wilhelmina Tell. She doesn't like Hans. Any of this
sounding familiar?" 

Fraser sighed. "Ray, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am about all
this." 

"Start now. That way when you finally get back, you'll have a head start."


"Yes, Ray." 

Breaking the connection, Ray shoved his phone into his pocket. Taking that
as his cue, Hans walked briskly to the Riv; Zwingli followed him, his
cloven hooves clicking merrily on the sidewalk. 

"All ready, Ray?" Hans asked cheerfully. He hefted his halberd into the
air. "Shall we just tie this to the roof of your automobile again?" 

Ray sighed wearily. "Sure, why not? What's a paint job between friends?"
As Hans set about fastening his weapon to the top of the Riv, Ray slumped
down in his seat. Zwingli hopped up next to him and rested his muzzle
sympathetically on Ray's arm. Without looking, Ray took a doughnut out of
the box on the seat and gave it to the goat. As Zwingli started delicately
nibbling away at the treat, Ray brushed the crumbs from his hand and began
calculating the hours until Fraser's return. 

Katrina Bowen~~~~~kbowen@willowtree.com~~~~~buffy@jumpgate.net~~~~~