Well, look them. Compare the two. Laurier and Turnbull. Same person! Just remember, Dean McDermott is cool.. not that I've seen him in anything but dueSOUTH. Spoilers for: "The Man Who Knew Too Little" It's just a harmless PWP. Please don't hate me. Rated: PG. I've got a naughty word, nah nah nah-nah nah. Disclaimer: They are not mine, unfortunately. They belong to Alliance. I wish they were mine, I always wanted a Mountie of my very own. I would squeeze him and hug him and I would name him George. Now I Know I Know too Little a story by ShrinkingViolet "Benny?" Detective Ray Vecchio asked his friend carefully, walking into the small, cramped consulate office. "Are you all right? Something's been bothering you. I haven't seen you eat in days, and you don't look like you've been sleeping." Constable Benton Fraser turned desperate eyes toward the man sitting across the desk from him. "Please, Ray, I think I'm going insane!" "What's wrong, Fraser?" Ray asked urgently. He hadn't seen Fraser looking this bad since... Well, he didn't know when. The Mountie's arms started to wave wildly in the air, punctuating each word. "It began when Turnbull first came to Chicago, you see, I thought he looked familiar, I just couldn't figure it out, though! I just pushed it to the back of my brain. I-" "Get to the point, Benny." Ray interrupted his friend's rambling, but not unkindly. Fraser took a deep breath, handed the Chicago detective a photograph and looked at his friend expectantly. "Well?" He asked eagerly. "What?" Ray asked, confused and bristling. He recognized the man in the picture, all right. Fraser sighed. "You remember when we were escorting Ian MacDonald to Canada, and we were set upon by members of the Canadian Mafia? This man was one of them." He said. Ray growled. "And you made me blow up my baby." He finished, crossing his arms. Fraser rolled his eyes, handing the other man another photo. This one of Constable Renfield Turnbull. Ray studied the two pictures and his eyes widened. "Shit." He said with his usual eloquence. "They're the same... Just take off Laurier's goatee and..." "I'm glad you've figured it out." A cold voice came from the doorway. "Just killing you without you knowing would take all the fun out of it." The man they knew as Constable Renfield Turnbull, stupid but lovable Mountie, stepped into the room, gun in hand. He pointed it casually in the Detective's direction. "You see," he continued, "I knew I had to get close to you. Take you both from surprise. I figured," he motioned toward his red serge uniform, "what better way than this?" "You're mad." The real Constable observed. The fake laughed. "In more ways than one." He countered. "So... you've been Laurier, all this time." Ray said. It was not said as a question. "Yes, Detective Vecchio." The criminal answered needlessly. "Why?" Asked Fraser, his brow wrinkled. "Revenge, moron." "Oh." The three men sat, and stood, in awkward silence for a few moments, then Laurier shrugged. "Okay, enough of this jabbering. Time to meet your makers." He raised the gun. *BONK* Detective and Constable flinched, then sat up straighter. "Um, thank you, Sir." Fraser said, extremely flustered. His commanding officer, Inspector Margaret Thatcher, was standing over the prone body, the remains of a potted plant in hand. The gun lay a few feet away. She nodded imperiously. "Don't let it happen again, Constable." She said firmly, a proud tilt to her head. "Understood, Sir." ~Fin~ This story was brought to you from the mind of ShrinkingViolet, queen of the run-on sentence people.