ds_flashfiction | No Power Challenge by Giulietta

mondschein1.livejournal.com posting in

Heh. This is funny. My first challenge here was about Fraser's socks -- now this one's about Fraser's hat. Maybe I'll get through his whole wardrobe someday.

2841 words, gen. Humor, for a change.

[Disclaimer: Fraser's hat, himself, his wolf, and Ray belong to Alliance Atlantis. I just bought the action figures.]
The Hat

Fraser frowns at his office, ascertaining that he has everything he needs for the day -- boots, tunic, lanyard, half-wolf -- half-wolf. Ah.

"Diefenbaker! Diefenbaker! Would you kindly come out of the kitchen and let Renfield alone?" Dief makes a noise, which can be interpreted as neither cooperative nor obliging. "Yes, I did notice that he's preparing steaks for the guests tomorrow, but I fail to see how you're helping him." Dief whimpers expressively. "Ah. Taste-tester. Very good. We wouldn't want him to poison our guests by accident, would we?" Diefenbaker looks up at him hopefully. "Not a chance. Come on, out you get." Dief trots in the parlor, grumbling at a level he thinks only wolves can hear -- unfortunately, the years of deafness have rather thrown off his sense of volume.

Fraser shakes his head, but lets the subject drop. Where was he, then? Ah, yes. Half-wolf, musk ox ointment, hat -- hat? "Oh dear," he says to himself worriedly, then spies it on his chair.

He's about to pick it up when there's an alarmed yell from the doorway, followed by a shriek: "Oh my God, there's a wolf in here! A real live wolf! Oh my god oh my god oh my god get it away!"

Fraser throws the door open and charges into the hallway, suspecting the worst. "Diefenbaker, get -- oh." Dief is sitting on the front desk, looking quite content. As Fraser moves forward and into his peripheral vision, he swivels his head around to look at him, his ears plainly asking what precisely he's done to elicit this particular reaction. Fraser can't answer him; there are no hot dogs or doughnuts in plain sight, so he can't imagine what Dief might have done. "It might help," Fraser mutters to him, out of the corner of his mouth, "if you sat on the floor instead of the desk." Dief promptly leaps down and cocks his head quizzically at the young woman hiding ineffectually in the corner.

She doesn't seem to find that any less alarming. "Please don't eat me," she whispers threadily.

Fraser takes a step toward her, but before he can do more than that the Inspector comes clattering irritably down the stairs. "What's all the commotion about, Constable?"

"Ah -- well, Dief gave this young lady a fright. Quite unintended, I assure you -- "

Inspector Thatcher's eyes narrow. This is not a good day for Dief to be frightening anyone. "Did I not tell you," she says dangerously, "to stay out of this Consulate today?"

"Ah. Yes, in fact I -- "

"Then what, may I ask, are you still doing here?"

"I was just -- "

"Do you have anything in particular against floor varnish, Constable Fraser?"

"No, sir. Not as such. Not -- "

"'Not as such'? What do you mean, 'not as such'?"

"Nothing, sir. Just that I -- "

"I see." Thatcher folds her arms. "I think you'd better leave. And take your wolf. I won't have him scaring off the few visitors we do receive."

"Yes, sir. Only I -- "

"Would you mind, Constable?"

"Well, the fact of the matter is -- " Inspector Thatcher gives Fraser the meaningful look which can only, normally, be replicated by fly swatter looking at a fly with intent. "Right then," Fraser says heartily. "I'll just be -- "

"Constable Fraser!" Turnbull shouts, scurrying into the hallway. He has oven mitts and a frilly white apron on. "I've just remembered -- Detective Vecchio called for you this morning."

"Oh? What did he say?"

"He said that his -- well his -- phone, that's it. His phone's -- well, he dropped it on the sidewalk, you see, so there's something wrong with it. It must be rather slippery."

"Er -- yes," Fraser says, watching the Inspector's tapping toe worriedly. "Very. Did he say where I might reach him?"

Turnbull has to consider this for a minute. "I think you should be able to find him right outside," he says finally. "He said he'd come to pick you up at ten o'clock."

"Ten -- but that was forty-five minutes ago!"

"So it was," Thatcher says, glaring at him.

Fraser smiles at her nervously. "Right. Yes. I'll be off, then. Come, Dief," he says, waving at him to follow. Fraser holds the heavy door open for him and scans the road for Ray's car -- ah. Oh dear.

Fraser jogs up to it and pokes his head through Ray's rolled down window. Hello, Ray."

Oh dear. Rays mood seems to be hardly better than the Inspector's. "Nyagh! -- What the hell is wrong with you, Fraser? I told you I be here at ten. I was here at ten. Now it's eleven -- "

"Actually, it's ten forty-five."

"Yeah, sure, in Canada, I bet it is. Go on, get in."

Fraser obliges; once he's let Dief in and shut the door, he asks, "Are you implying that our clocks are slow? Because I assure you, we synchronize -- "

"Shut up, okay?" Ray pulls away from the curb at what must be more than the advisable speed in this area. "What took you so long, anyway?"

"Well, I'm afraid there's a fault in your story."

"What? What'd I say? Oh, I know, I left out the part where you had to walk every kid in Chicago to school this morning before you could go to work. Right -- "

"No, Ray. You simply delivered the message to Turnbull instead of speaking directly with me."

Ray grumbles a bit. "Yeah, okay. You're just saying that 'cause the poor guy can't defend himself. Hey -- " Ray gives Fraser a double-take. "Hey, where's your hat?"

Fraser jumps, then gropes around on the top of his head fruitlessly. "Oh dear."

"Fraser, do not give me that shit. We've been trying to catch this guy at it for months -- now we get a reliable source tellin' us where he's gonna be tonight, and you say you can't go?"

Fraser looks all wrong -- his back's not so straight, for one thing, and he looks shorter, and he don't look none too happy with Ray's stakeout plans, where normally he'd be in on it and trying his best to make the whole thing more dangerous than it's gotta be. "Well, I'm afraid I -- "

"Because you can't find your hat?" Ray takes a minute to avoid a giant truck that's edging into the wrong side of the road and yell at it. When he starts paying attention to Fraser again, he's saying a lot of stuf that -- big surprise -- is completely besides the point.

"Well, no. That's not strictly true. I know exactly where it is; it's just not accessible at the moment, as Inspector Thatcher is having the floors re-varnished."

"Okay, okay, fine. So you can't get at it. What I don't get is why it matters. I mean, you're a Mountie. Even if you don't have your hat. That's just part of the uniform, right?" Fraser's looking more miserable by the minute. "Look at me. I never wear a uniform, and I turn out okay." Fraser looks more unhappy. Oh, come on, he's not that bad! "Hey, I do most of the time! It's not like hats help it, anyway. It's hard to see around 'em." This is perfectly true. Ray tried wearing his hat once -- hey, he said he'd try anything once, didn't he? That includes wearing hats. Even though they give him hat head.

"Well," Fraser explains patiently, "they do provide a sense of balance, you know."

"Uh-huh."

"Keeps your back straight."

"Was wondering how you did it."

"Posture helps running, you know."

"Right. Yeah." Ray pulls into the precinct, shifts the car into firstand shuts off the engine. "So what're we gonna do?"

"Well, I should think it's perfectly obvious, Ray."

Suddenly, Ray gets an idea. "Yeah, it is," he says. "Come on, I know what we're gonna do."

Fraser doesn't think Ray quite understands his predicament. "Ah, Ray -- "

Ray frowns at a rack studiously, then hauls out a red monstrosity with a feather on top. "Here, try this on. It matches your suit."

"Ah -- thank you, Ray, but I -- "

"Hey, come on, Frannie went to all that trouble to get the address for you. Least you can do is buy something."

"But I -- "

"How about this?" Ray interrupts, abandoning the red hat and pushing a brown one onto Fraser head. The brim falls past his eyes and comes to rest on the bridge of his nose. "Okay, no. How about -- "

"Ray, please. I don't want -- "

"But Fraser," Ray says, sounding equally exasperated, if not more so, "you gotta come for this stakeout. We're gonna bust 'em tonight! What'm I gonna do when they start shooting?"

"You might hide," Fraser offers tentatively. "And then shoot back," he adds, because Ray's looking ready to explode.

"Yeah, well -- you're not allowed to not go just 'cause you lost -- "

" -- am unable to access -- "

" -- your hat, whatever, like I care. You're coming anyway. Hat or no hat. You gonna get a hat from here?"

"Er -- "

"Thought so. So you go without a hat."

"But Ray -- "

"You're making a mistake, Ray."

Ray shuts the Chevy's engine off and settles back for a long night of arguing. "I am not." Christ, this Mountie's annoying.

"I'll be no use to you like this."

"Uh-huh. Sure. You know, if I didn't know better I'd say you had a hot date tonight that you didn't wanna tell me about. -- You don't, do you?"

"Of course I don't. I told you, I just -- "

Right, like he expects him to believe that. "Well, then, why're you bein' so picky about the hats? If it's a hat you want, that is." Suddenly, Ray thinks he knows what's going on. "There's a curling match today, isn't there? That is just -- "

"Ray, no." Big, gusty sigh from the other side of the car. "The -- the truth is, I'm afraid I'm rather like Samson, Ray."

Ray's already started skimming through the case files in his head when something in the back of his head gives the rest of his head a punch in the kisser. "What, that guy in the Bible?"

"Yes." Fraser fidgets. Ray wants to tie him down so he'll stop, because it's distracting him, but he doesn't.

Instead, he yells. Yelling always works. "How the hell do you expect me to get Biblical references at -- " he checks his watch -- "eleven thirty? Huh?" He slouches into his seat again. "'Sides, you never got a beard, anyway."

"Nonetheless, I do have hair, Ray. Besides which, I meant it as an analogy."

Okay. Analogy. Something to do with the SATs. Here, Ray's gonna give up easy. "Huh?"

"An analogy. Samson's hair is to him as my -- well, my hat is to me."

Ray takes a minute to parse this new freakishness. "So you mean you aren't Super Mountie without your hat?" He glances at Fraser.

Fraser looks pretty happy that Ray's caught on so quick. "Essentially, yes. So I'm afraid, you see, that if I attempt any of my usual stunts -- "

Hey, wait a minute. "Hey -- you admit they're stunts?"

Fraser looks confused. "Well -- yes."

"Ha!"

"What?"

"Nothing."

Fraser gives Ray an unreadable look. "I'm afraid something might go very wrong."

Ray snorts. "Hey, Fraser. that's okay. With you, somethin's always goin' wrong."

"No," Fraser says urgently, "no, I mean very very wrong. I might get us both killed."

"Which is what you always say. Least, you should. Don't sweat it."

Wow, he's frustrated Fraser into shutting up. Greatness. Now all he's gotta do is direct his good luck thataway, at those three guys who're smuggling suspicious somethings into the back of a truck -- hey, wait, they're actually there? When did that happen? "Fraser, come on, let's go."

"I'm not going."

Stupid stubborn Mountie. Did he mention really stupid, really stubborn Mountie? "What're you, scared?"

"Yes." Okay, Ray wasn't expecting that. "Rather. As I believe I've been saying for -- "

-- and then the windshield cracks into a million pieces. It doesn't actually come down, because they've got that special glass with plastic in it. That's good, only it means they've been seen, which is like Not Good Times Three Hundred. "Move, move, move!" Ray shouts, shoving his own door open. Something white and furry lunges past Ray's face; he leaps out of the car and rolls into the underbrush.

He really, really hopes Fraser didn't really mean it about The Hat being lucky. He'd always known the Hat was special, but it's not really that special. He hopes not, anyway. "Fraser!" he shouts over the gunshots that are rattling the car. "Goddammit! Fraser! Talk to me!"

Something wet and warm sticks itself in his ear, and he jumps and lets off a stray shot, which smacks the car in one of its back tires. "Not now, wolf," Ray says, pushing Dief's face away and watching the tire deflate itself. Damn. How're they gonna get out of here now?

"Fra -- " Ray starts, and then shuts up abruptly when the gunfire stops.

He listens. He hopes Fraser didn't leave his bat-ears in his hat.

Crunch, crunch -- those're boots. Coming this way. Okay, okay, trick's to lie low and shoot fast. Right? Right. Ray pulls his glasses out of his jacket pocket stealthily. Three...two...one...

-- and he shoots once, and Dief leaps over his shouder, his head, over something, maybe the moon, and latches onto some guy's neck. And Fraser --

-- Fraser's tackled another guy, has him pinned to the ground. As Ray watches, he disarms him with a quick blow to the wrist. But wait -- where's the last one? The third guy? Where'd he --

"Oomph," Ray says as his chest hits the ground -- hey, face, look, there's your old buddy ground. He starts to struggle to get his gun arm out from under him -- he does not even want to think about what's gonna happen if that guy makes him pull the trigger right now. "Get the -- fuck -- off of -- "

"Ray!" Fraser says, from someplace far away. Ray works an elbow free and jabs up --

-- and the guy yells, lets Ray go, and curls up into a ball. Ray pushes himself up, surprised -- hey, no wonder. He got the guy right where he'd hit him before, when he'd shot. He pulls out his cuffs, slaps them on the guy -- good, done, let's go home.

"Ah -- Ray? If you would -- " Ray turns around. sees Fraser struggling to hold his guy down, and tosses him a pair of cuffs. After squinting around at the dark a little bit, he finds Dief -- he's still got his teeth sunk into his perp's neck, and doesn't look to be having any trouble keeping him where he is. Ray cuffs him anyway -- Dief prefers hot dogs to human flesh, last time Ray checked.

Fraser doesn't say anything much until they've dropped the troop off at the station and started towards the Consulate. "Ray," he says, "I'm sorry for -- "

"What?" Ray makes a left turn and blinks at the road tiredly. "What're you talkin' about?"

"Well, I needlessly endangered your -- "

"Yeah, so?" Ray gives Fraser a bewildered look. "So what? I'm used to it."

"I -- you are?"

"Whaddayou expect? You do it at least once a week. I think I'm addicted to the adrenaline, if you really wanna know."

"I -- oh." Fraser frowns. "You mean I -- "

"You weren't any different than usual." The car jolts over a bump in the road. "Wait, I take that back. You noticed me brawling with that guy -- so yeah. Different."

"Is that all?"

"Is that all? Hell, Frase, that's front-page news. Gonna have to call the presses. And," Ray adds, "I'm gonna have to steal your hat and hide it somewhere. I like this."

"Ray, you can't be serious -- "

"Sure I am. You watch me. I'm gonna sneak into the Consulate and steal it."

Fraser sighs, and decides there's no convincing Ray that the hat makes any particular difference. If he hadn't noticed -- well, it's just as well. "I have others."

"I'll steal them all. Because you're just so much more fun to be around without the hat. Also you're shorter -- you have no idea how much your height took out of my self-esteem, Fraser -- "

"Oh dear. I'm so -- " Fraser starts to say, and then feels immensely foolish when he realizes Ray's laughing at him.

Dief woofs good-naturedly. "Oh, honestly," Fraser retorts. "I do not need the hat to keep Ray from making fun of me."

--fin