180 Degrees of Separation

[theodosia.livejournal.com]

You wanted a switch, you get a switch....

Okay, it's 1227 words or thereabout. Considering that I cut it down from nearly 1600 on the first draft, that's pretty reasonable, right?



I hate mornings, but I especially hate mornings that start out bizarre and just keep going, like this one, as I blearily realized I was in Fraser’s office at the consulate, on Fraser’s cot, and had no memory of getting there.

Could be a dream? I laid back down but a wet, warm nose on my neck made me yell, and try to sit up, and I managed to knock the cot over, and me onto Diefenbaker. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I yelled at him, poor wolf. I kicked my way out of the blankets (doesn’t Canada have fabric softener?) and discovered I was wearing Fraser’s big red longjohns.

I was steadily getting more worried. I’ve been knocked for a loop in the ring, but I never had a blackout or hole in my memory until the Volpe case. Missing time is just creepy. “Fraser?” I yelled, hoping that my favorite Mountie would be nearby, and there’d be some un-alarming explanation like… I dunno, but not involving death or dismemberment.

I took stock – no headache, which was good, and I felt my head: no bruises, so I hadn’t been knocked out – and I wasn’t hung over: been there, upchucked that – which left odder and more unpleasant possibilities, like a knockout drug.

“Fraser!” I yelled again. Dief stared with the weirdest look in his wolfy eyes. “What’s up, buddy?” I said, noticing as I did so that my voice sounded funny. My throat wasn’t sore, and it wasn’t that “dozen whiskeys and two packs of cigarettes” hoarseness from a cold… it was just deeper.

Something that had been tugging at the back of my mind like a loose shirt-tail made me look down at my hands… which didn’t seem to be my hands – not bragging here, I have distinctive hands, or so the ladies tell me. I know them… like I’d know the back of my hand, right? Backs or fronts, they were broader and thicker, handsome even, but not mine. Even if they were at the ends of my arms, which on closer inspection also didn’t seem to be my arms….

“Holy Mary, Mother of God!” I said – reverting to Mum-speak under stress, oh yeah. I guess there are no atheists in Mountie holes. I scrambled to my feet and looked around for a mirror. No, of course Fraser didn’t keep one in his office-cum-bedroom, that would be in the bathroom.

Yeah, Benton Fraser RCMP stared back at me, only the expression was pure panic-stricken Ray Kowalski. I said something in Polish, curse words that my Mum would never translate for me. They seemed weirdly appropriate.

I touched Fraser’s – my – face with his — my – hand. This would have to be the best hallucination ever: sight, sound, touch. I picked up a bar of soap and gave it a quick sniff, confirming that smell was there too.

My legs kind of went wobbly, and I sat down hard on the toilet lid. I had been going to give the soap a lick, just to prove that taste was a part of my well-rounded trip, but that was too weird for even me, though strangely enough not for Fraser, if I was him.

Dief was sitting in the doorway, his head cocked. “You think this is strange for you,” I said, and he whimpered. I might have wished to get into Fraser’s pants, but I didn’t mean that I’d also be getting into his boots… or his red union suit. I made a mental note to practice safe wishing in the future.

What I needed now was a plan of action. The first thing I’d do… was go to Fraser for advice and/or help. Except, I was Fraser… so where was he? If I was him, didn’t that mean that he might well be me right now? I sprang up and headed down to Fraser’s office, intending to get dressed and book it over to my apartment where I bet Fraser – in my body – was just waking, and probably was going to freak out just as bad.

Except there was somebody knocking on the Consulate door. Pounding, even. I looked down at me – in Fraser’s red jammies and decided that it could wait until I got him – me – dressed, if I didn’t want Fraser’s rep with the Mounties to go even further downhill. Anyway, it was probably somebody wanting help with a visa problem, so if they were still there by the time I got Fraser dressed, I’d just have to try some impromptu Mountie improv. God save Canada.

It was only then that I heard a voice – a strangely familiar voice, because just like a tape recorder, your voice sounds weird when it’s coming from outside your head – and it was calling, “Ray! Ray! Are you in there?”

There could be only one guy in the world right now who would come to the Canadian Consulate and yell my name. I opened the front door and there was me on the stoop – standing stiffly upright, clothes unnaturally neat, hair combed flat. He’d somehow gotten a Henley, which is a mystery because I don’t think I own any. “Fraser,” I said, “I hope to hell you have a good explanation for all this, because I sure don’t.”

Fraser’s – my – eyes widened. “I’m not entirely sure it’s not an elaborate hallucination,” he said.

“We can’t both be having one,” I said. “Anyway, one of the hallmarks is not doubting whatever you’re seeing, and I’ve been doubting enough for two people – and a wolf!” Next to me, Dief barked. He was looking kind of put out.

Fraser – I was going to call him Fraser, even if he looked just like me, knelt down and spoke slowly so Diefenbaker could read his lips. “I know this is confusing; we’ll just have to make the best of it.” I got a good look at me, and I resolved to try to gain some weight, I looked about two meals away from gaunt.

“You didn’t try to do the hair?” I said. It was down, that made me look like a bum… funny how it’s hard to let go of your appearance, huh?

Fraser stood up – I didn’t think I was capable of standing that straight. “I thought it better to get over to the Consulate quickly once I had assessed the situation. Hair care would rank low against body-switching of unknown origin.”

“If I had any doubt you were Fraser….”

“If I had any doubt you were Ray—” He gave me a brilliant smile that I’d have recognized anywhere, even if it was on a different face.

I grinned back, and honestly I felt my spirits lift some. Fraser and I have gotten into some weird – very weird – situations, but together we’ve always been able to figure a way out. I knew in my heart this wasn’t going to be any different.

“Er, Ray?” Fraser said. “Do you think you should be standing in the open doorway of the Consulate in my underwear?”

I looked down. “At least it’s red?” I said, which earned me an eyebrow rub – which, I have to say, looked damn funny on my face. “Let’s go make some coffee for me and tea for you, and start working on a solution, buddy,” I said, and stood aside with a “come in” gesture. “Oh, and welcome to Canada!”

Comments

Re: Apology...

[akite.livejournal.com]

Oh, no! No apologies allowed. I found it perfectly plausible, I mean this is Due South right? Where Fraser can stick a wire in his ear and pick up binary code and actually interpret it. The story was wonderful. I'd like to see it go further too.