icon challenge response

[shokabuku.livejournal.com]

Okay, here it stands corrected...many thanks and sprinkles on top to Speranza for babying me into the fascinating upload process of livejournal...you rock! Icon belongs to byob-kenobi, made for her by daughtershade. No theft intended...just taking it out for a bit of a spin...thanks for the loan. It apparently nested on my hat until now, and this is the result. Hope you like it...let me know. And, thanks for reading.

NICE STATUE by shokabuku

She looked up, frowning slightly, as the door banged open hard enough to smack the plaster wall behind it. Her frown grew when she realized why it had done so.

“Detective Vecchio, I don’t have time for your…”

“Just shut up,” he barked.

Thatcher’s eyebrows shot towards her hairline, only complying with his command out of sheer surprise. Slowly, her eyes began to narrow again at him.

Ray Kowalski came forward and leaned menacingly over her desk, putting his face right up in front of hers, leaning heavily on his hands.

Inspector Thatcher cleared her throat and said, “What now, then? Come to give me more attitude about the care and keeping of the officers in my command?”

Ray’s eyes narrowed, and in a blur, he grabbed around the desk, yanked her out of her chair and dragged her to the window. There, he pushed her up against it, standing behind her, all but quivering with anger.

His voice, when it came, was not angry as she expected it to be. Instead, it was rough, and quiet, and sad. “Nice statue you got there, Inspector.”

Thatcher gazed out the window at Constable Fraser. He stood ramrod straight, eyes forward, completely at attention. As well he should, she thought. Then, she noticed the pigeon sitting atop his Stetson, picking half-heartedly at the hatband. The rain had not abated, but had calmed to a steady drizzle.

“How can you call that caring for the officers in your command?” Ray demanded quietly. “How is putting your best man out in the rain to be a birdfeeder caring?”

Angered, she pushed backwards at him, but he held her pressed to the window. “Constable Fraser knows that standing guard is part of his official duties here at the Consulate. He does not complain about it, because he is a Mountie,” she hissed at him.

"Yeah, he’s a Mountie. Which means he’s a cop. And he’s a damn good cop… do you even know that, lady? Do you know that his father’s murder probably wouldn’t have been solved at all if he hadn’t come to Chicago?”

Thatcher drew in a breath, as if to reply, but was halted by the words Ray continued to quietly lash at her with…forcing her to listen. And, forcing her to watch as her drenched officer barely tilted his head, using his hat brim to keep the rain from his face.

Unfortunately, the pigeon stayed put.

"Out of respect for you, he does not complain. Out of respect for the RCMP, he does not complain, even though everyone knows they exiled him down here. You know it, I know it, and you can bet your little high heels, he knows it. But, you will never hear him complain. Not once, not one word. He does all the bullshit paperwork you require of him, and doesn’t complain. He rushes around town, dragging your dry cleaning with him, while he saves puppies and stops muggers and helps little old blind ladies across the street…and he doesn’t complain. He holds his head high and doesn’t complain.”

The tension in the body behind her suddenly dissipated, leaving her free to push back and away from him if she chose to. But, she continued to gaze outside at Fraser.

"Why doesn’t he request a transfer home?” she asked Ray.

"He did, before I came…after the…uh, after Vecchio shot him,” he replied. "It was denied. Apparently, there are no openings way up in the Northwest Areas…” he snorted, “or in the Yukon…or anywhere else remote and cold and snowy. Lots of Mounties had apparently applied for those swanky jobs and had ‘em, so the RCMP sent him a big no letter.” Ray stepped back a few feet, leaning his hips on her desk, crossing his arms across his damp body. “Thought you would know that,” he added, with a frown at her.

Thatcher stood stunned. How could she not have known? And then I told him he was fired, she thought, face flaming. And over a uniform choice no less. She turned to look at Ray. He looked tired, using one hand to rub over his face before dropping it.

His eyes met hers, and they matched his voice…rough, quiet, and sad. “In fact, he’d probably be mad at me for talking to you this way. That’s how much respect he has for you.” He dropped his gaze to his shoes, “I just wish you had the same for him."

Abruptly, he turned and left the room, leaving her to again gaze at her junior officer through the window. She watched as Ray emerged from the building and went to lean against his sleek black car. She saw him check his watch, then could see him settle in to wait for Fraser’s shift to be over. She smiled as she saw him do a little countdown, three…two…one…

Fraser came to life, carefully removing his Stetson. He walked over to the brick retaining wall, and gently pushed the pigeon off his hat and onto the brick surface. Then he turned to Ray with a smile, rolling his neck and shrugging his shoulders to stretch them back into movement. Placing his hat again on his head, he motioned for his wolf to come out from under the Consulate stairs. Then, all three of them turned as one to climb into Ray’s car and drive away…off to solve another crime…because they were good cops.