ds_flashfiction | DS Holiday Party: for dogwoodblossom, by izzybeth (Reply)

52. Some sort of interaction (or non-interaction) between Bob and Thatcher. "I may be dead, but I'm not blind."

untitled, G, 444 words.

"Yes sir."

"And furthermore, Constable, your most recent two-sixty-five-oblique-stroke-three-B form was... how shall I put this..." Thatcher brushed her hair away from her ear distractedly. "Illegible."

"I apologize, sir, I was obliged to fill it out while involved in a high speed automobile chase through the downtown area, and you know how the one-way streets can--" Fraser ran his thumb over his eyebrow and blinked when Thatcher mirrored his gesture.

"I don't want to hear any excuses, Fraser."

"No sir."

"And you will put yourself on report for this." Fraser kept his face perfectly still as Thatcher’s nose twitched violently.

"Yes sir."

"Good." Thatcher interrupted herself with a loud sneeze. "Excuse me. Carry on." She spun on her heel and closed her office door in Fraser's face.

He turned on his father, who was absently stroking a feather Fraser recognized as coming from an arctic tern.

"Must you do that? Inspector Thatcher is my commanding officer, as you well know."

"She's just your type, son."

"My type?"

"Oh, yes. She's obviously very clean, those clothes, her hair... authoritarian, you know what I'm talking about, son. I may be blind, but I'm not dead."

"Don't you mean that the other way, dad?" Fraser breathed slowly in and out in an attempt to control his temper.

"That's what I said, son. I may be dead, but I'm not blind. You, on the other hand, might be going deaf. That wolf of yours is a bad influence."

"Deafness is not contagious, dad. And what would you know about my 'type' anyway, it isn't as if you were--"

"Hey, Fraser!" Ray's voice echoed slightly from the lower floor. "Let's go, it's lasagna night at home!"

Fraser jumped on the opportunity to abandon his father and meet Ray at the bottom of the stairs. "Hello, Ray."

Ray smiled. "Hi, Benny." He pushed his way out of the consulate. "Uh. Who were you talking to just now?"

Fraser caught himself before he could rub his eyebrow again. "Er. Inspector Thatcher."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

"About your type?"

"Er. No."

"No."

"No, Ray, that was directed toward Diefenbaker."

"You were talking to the wolf about your type."

"He’s surprisingly understanding when it comes to that topic. Wolves tend to be pragmatic yet deeply romantic at heart."

"Right, Benny. If you don’t want to tell me about your type, that’s fine." Ray got in his car and leaned over to unlock the passenger door. "Isn’t the mutt coming tonight, anyway? He’s invited."

"Ah. I believe he has a prior engagement."

Ray nodded and grinned. Fraser slid into the passenger seat of the Riviera and wondered just how much Ray knew about his type.