In Vino Veritas
by Beth H.
November 2003

"I'm tellin' you, Jack . . . he was talking."

Huey looked up at his partner and let out a deep breath. "And I'm telling you that it's the tequila talking. Or the Jack Daniels. Or the Amaretto. Or . . . what else did you have to drink tonight, anyway?"

"It's not . . . ."

"What else did you drink tonight?"

"Just a beer!"

"And?"

"And nothing."

"Dewey."

"Okay, maybe a coupla beers." Dewey looked down at the toy gun in his hand. "And maybe a shot of vodka."

Huey stared at him.

"Fine. Two shots. What are you? My mother? I heard him talkin'."

"What was he talking about? Politics? Religion? Classical music?"

"The wolf?" Dewey wrinkled his brow. "I don't think wolves know about that kinda stuff. Nah, it was something about that poodle. Like, I think he wanted to hump her or something, but the other guy said he had to stick with Fraser tonight. No . . . Benton. He said he had to stick with Benton."

"What other guy? Another wolf was talking to Diefenbaker?"

Dewey shook his head. "There's only one wolf, Jack. Did you see another wolf in here tonight? No, it was that Mountie. The one with the funny hat."

"They all wear funny hats. Or . . . do you mean Turnbull? The wolf was talking to Turnbull?"

"He wasn't wearing . . . oh, yeah . . . he had that Santa hat on, didn't he?. No, not him. The old guy."

"What old . . . ."

"Oh come on," Dewey said, leaning forward. "Now I suppose you're gonna tell me you didn't see the old guy in the hat."

"You're right. That's exactly what I'm going to say. And do you know why I'm going to say it? Because there wasn't an old Mountie in a funny hat, just like there wasn't a talking wolf. Just Fraser and Ray pretending half the squad hadn't seen them necking by the supply closet, and . . . "

"Huh?" Dewey stared blearily at his partner. "Fraser and Vecchio were what?"

"Necking. Kissing. Under the mistletoe. Don't tell me you didn't see that. You were standing right next to me."

"Kissing?"

"Yes."

"Under the mistletoe? In front of the whole squad?"

"Well . . .yeah," Huey answered, although he sounded a little less certain this time.

Dewey shook his head and unscrewed the cap from the wine box on his desk. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think we both need another drink."

Huey thought for a couple of seconds about whether hearing a wolf talking to an imaginary Mountie was really any stranger than seeing Fraser and Vecchio making out in front of all their co-workers, and then he pushed his empty glass across his partner's desk.

"I think you're right."

(Back To The Index)

Small World
by Beth H
(c) October 2003

When the kitchen cabinet doors were slammed shut for the fifth time, Fraser got up from the couch and went into the kitchen.

"Ray, you're going to have to calm down."

Ray spun around and shook his head. "No, Fraser, you do not get to tell me to calm down. And do you know why you don't get to tell me to calm down? You do not get to tell me to calm down because it's my parents we're going to see. If we were going to see your family, then you'd get to freak out. That's how it works."

Fraser leaned back against the counter top and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes, well, in that case, it would appear that I'm no longer going to be allowed any opportunity to . . . 'freak out,' am I?"

Before the words were even out of his mouth, he regretted them. Of course Ray had nothing to do with the sudden departure of his family, and it was unfair of him to give Ray any cause to believe he should assume even a small part of the responsibility for their disappearance. "Ray, I didn't . . . ."

"Sorry, Fraser." Ray draped his arm over Fraser's shoulder and pulled him to his side. "You know I didn't mean it that way, right?"

"Ray, I didn't mean to suggest it's your fault that . . . " He glanced over at the closet door. ". . . that my . . . that they . . . ."

Ray tightened his hold on Fraser. "Hey, you can't be sure they're gone for good, right? Maybe they'll . . . ."

"I'm sure," Fraser said, shaking his head. "I should just be grateful that I was given a second chance to . . . .well . . . ."

"Look, Fraser, I know it's not my fault that . . . I'm just sorry, okay? Sorry they're gone and sorry I've been acting like such an ass today. Just a little on edge, you know?"

"I understand, Ray." Then Fraser frowned. "Although I'm a bit unclear about what has you so anxious today. It's not as if we haven't shared a number of meals with your parents over the course of the past two months, and since they already know we're . . . ."

"Yeah, yeah . . . I know all that, okay? But tonight's different. I know them, Fraser. I know the way they do things. Special occasion. That's what both of them have been saying. Special occasion. They're up to something. I know it. The last time they . . . ."

"Ray."

"What?"

"We're going to be late."

Ray sighed. "Yeah. Time to go."

~*~*~*~

As trailer homes went, the one the Kowalskis bought after they moved back to the midwest was pretty hard to beat. It wasn't new. Even with the money they got for their trade-in, Barbara and Damian couldn't quite manage to swing that. But it was only a year old and had less than a thousand miles on it, thanks to its original owner, a recently retired fireman who'd bought it in Iowa with the intention of visiting every state in the union, but who'd only got as far as Door County, Wisconsin, where he met a waitress by the name of Lorraine who got carsick whenever she spent more than twenty minutes on the road.

The trailer was over thirty feet long. Spacious. It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and came complete with custom-made awnings for all the windows and doors. No basement or attic, of course, but the Kowalskis had put most of their things into storage before making the trip back to Illinois, and they didn't look to be in any rush to fill the trailer with new clutter.

Ray paused before he knocked, raising his eyebrows at the sight of the brass wolf's head knocker that had been attached to the door since the last time he'd been to visit. He looked down at Dief, then glanced over his shoulder at Fraser.

"Redecorating."

"So it would appear."

"Coincidence?"

Fraser smiled and shook his head. "Unlikely, Ray."

"Yeah." Ray grinned, bending down to ruffle Diefenbaker's fur. "I didn't think so."

He stood up and pulled the brass ring back, tapping out "Shave and a haircut . . . " but before he reached " . . . two bits," the door was pulled open by his father, who was wearing a herringbone sports jacket and carrying a shopping bag.

Ray stared at him for a second, then tilted his head to one side. "Um . . . we get the wrong day or something? You look like you're on your way out."

Damian stepped aside to let the two men and one wolf into the trailer. "Don't ask me what's going on; I'm not in charge of the social plans around here. You know that."

Fraser shut the door behind him just as Barbara came out from the back bedroom.

"Oh thank heavens you're all here. I'd feel so bad if we arrived late, although in the circumstances, I don't suppose it would . . . ."

"What do you mean 'late,' Mom? Aren't we eating here?"

Barbara patted her son's arm. "We've all been invited over to . . . well, you know them, of course." She adjusted a blue silk scarf around her neck, then looked at Ray, who'd just re-opened the front door. "Stanley, you're letting leaves blow into the living room."

"Sorry." Ray closed the door again. "I thought you said we . . . "

"Not that door, dear."

Ray turned to Fraser and whispered, "The place only has one door. I think my mom's losin' it, Fraser."

"Damian, do you have the dessert?"

"Right here," he said, lifting the shopping bag.

Barbara smiled at her husband. "Thank you, dear. Let me get the door."

Ray frowned as his mom reached for the door handle of the linen closet, but the moment she opened the door, Diefenbaker dashed across the living room and ran straight into the closet.

"Dief! Get out of there!"

Barbara just smiled. "He must know dinner's almost ready. It smells wonderful, doesn't it?"

And with that, Ray's mother followed Dief through the door of the linen closet and disappeared from view.

"What the hell's going on here?"

Damian shrugged and adjusted his hold on the shopping bag. "Don't ask me. I just do what your mother tells me to do." He chuckled, and then he, too, disappeared into the linen closet.

Ray stared at Fraser. "Do you . . . ?"

Fraser shook his head. "I don't . . . I suppose we should . . . ."

"Come along, Son." Fraser spun around and stared at the closet, where his father stood, holding the door open. "It's not like you to dawdle."

Unable to think of anything to say, the two men followed Bob Fraser through the door and found themselves in . . . utter chaos. People were everywhere, although most of them seemed to have been drafted into helping set the table. Diefenbaker, who was less than useful with table setting at the best of times, was running through the house, being chased by a brown and white terrier.

"Oh man," Ray said. " . . . .Sparky?"

At the sound of the name, the terrier left its pursuit and dashed over to Ray, jumping up on him and barking. Ray knelt down beside the dog and let it lick his face over and over again.

Ray took the dog in his arms and stood up. "Fraser," he said a little unsteadily, "meet Sparky. Sparky, this is Fraser."

"Your . . . old dog, Ray?"

Ray nodded.

Damian came into the dining room with a platter of rare roast beef. "We heard some scratching inside the bedroom closet door the other day, and when I opened the door . . . well, there was Sparky."

"And you didn't think this was weird enough to mention, Dad?"

"To tell the truth, it just slipped my mind."

"Slipped your mind?"

"What with Bob and Caroline moving in and all."

Fraser stared at his father. "You've moved in . . . with the Kowalskis?"

"Well, not exactly with them, Son. But they said they had plenty of room here, and your mother said there was nothing more annoying than interfering in-laws when a couple is just starting out, and . . . " "Hmmph. Don't think I don't know what she really meant," Martha Fraser muttered from the sofa.

Bob sighed. "Mother, for the last time, Caroline wasn't talking about you and Dad. Didn't she invite you to live . . .well, to come stay with us?"

"You don't have to convince me of anything, Son. I'm just an old woman. It's not important what I think."

"Oh, for the love of . . . . We'll talk later, Mother." Bob turned to his son. "Anyway, there was more room over here, and your mother thought a change of scene might be nice, so . . . "

"You didn't think I might want to know you weren't gone for good?"

Bob frowned. "Didn't we say we were just moving? I could have sworn . . . Caroline!" he yelled. "Come on out here!"

Ray turned to Fraser. "You getting the impression that our folks have a hell of a lot more in common than we thought?"

"What is it, Bob? Oh, Benton. You're here!" She embraced her son, then stepped back to look at him. "I swear, you get more handsome every day. As do you, Stanley."

Ray groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"What is it? Did I say something wrong?"

"He goes by 'Ray,' Mom."

Caroline frowned. "But I was sure Barbara said . . . . "

"Ray," Fraser said firmly.

A few minutes later, all the food had been brought out from the kitchen and everyone was seated at the table when a door buzzer sounded.

Caroline stood up. "Everybody should just get started with dinner. I won't be a minute."

Fraser looked after his mother as she went into the kitchen.

"She'll be back in a minute. It'll just be one of the neighbors."

"You have neighbors?"

"Well, of course we do, Son. We're dead; we're not hermits."

Caroline returned to the table, shaking her head. "Bob, do you remember that rather unpleasant man who lived near us before we moved? Apparently he's living right next door now!"

"Good Lord. What did he want?"

"He was complaining about all the noise he's been hearing for the past week right outside his front door. Blamed us for it, if you can imagine. That Mr. Vecchio said no one in his family would have anything to do with a bowling alley."

"Stanley . . . I mean, Ray? Are you all right, dear? Benton, get Ray some water! Oh dear."

(Back To The Index)

Ray laughed when Fraser walked into the living room.

"Chased you out of the kitchen, didn't she? I told you Mom wasn't going to let you help with the washing up."

"Perhaps your father would appreciate . . . ."

"Fraser, you want a little piece of advice? Do not suggest to my dad that he needs help with this. He almost snapped my fingers off when I tried to hand him a screwdriver."

"I hope you know better than to listen to a word that boy says, Benton," Damian Kowalski said from the narrow space in back of the entertainment center. "I just have one more wire to connect and . . . there. All set."

He came out from behind the unit and set the tools down on the coffee table.

"Barbara!" he yelled. "The dishes can wait. Come on out here."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Damian," she said, coming into the room. "Sometimes you're as bad as a kid with a new toy."

"This isn't a toy," he huffed. "State-of-the art equipment."

Ray snorted. "It's just a VCR, Dad, not a prototype for a Russian spy satellite."

Damian shook his head, then patted the top of the television. "We'll see if you're still laughing in a few minutes, boy. Barbara, take a seat on the couch. You too, Benton, on the other side of that smart-mouthed son of mine."

He waited until everyone was seated, then put a tape into the VCR and hit play. For a moment, there was nothing but blue, then the image of a drooling, wide-eyed, bald baby filled the t.v. screen.

"Oh heavens! Just look at that precious face!" Barbara turned toward her red-faced son, then looked back at the screen and beamed. "He still looks the same, Damian. He hasn't changed a bit."

"Mom!"

Fraser looked back and forth between the screen and his partner, then nodded. "You really do seem to have retained a great many of your youthful features, Ray."

"Shut up, Fraser," Ray muttered.

"Although you rarely drool when you're awake these days."

"What did I just say? I'm warning . . . ."

"Quiet, Son. Let everyone hear the . . . here it comes!"

The scene switched to a blond toddler dressed only in an oversized Cubs t-shirt, holding a wooden spoon in his hand as if it were a microphone, and singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."

"Pretty good sound quality, isn't it?" Damian said, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. "Ernie Pandarski's kid, Tom, knows a guy who converts 8mm films to video tape. All those old home movies were just gathering dust in Aunt Sophie's attic, so I figured, what the hell, right?"

Barbara smiled at him. "This was a wonderful idea, Damian. We haven't looked at some of these in . . . oh look! There's Stanley and Matt Esposito in their Cub Scout uniforms. Benton, were you ever in the Scouts?"

Fraser nodded. "For a brief period of time, Mrs. Kowalski. However, most unfortunately, we were never able to acquire official uniforms."

"Yeah," said Ray. "That's because they didn't have any Boy Scout uniforms made for a girl."

Barbara frowned a little. "You had a girl in your troop? I had no idea things were so . . . forward-thinking where you grew up, Benton."

He smiled. "I believe Joon would have preferred to join the Girl Scouts, but the only other children interested in the scouting program were her brother and me. I'm afraid she was outvoted."

"I don't know, Fraser. From what you told me . . . ." Ray groaned as the next scene began. "You couldn't just let that one die a natural death, could you Dad? You know there's no law that says you have to transfer all the movies."

"I didn't transfer everything," Damian said. "Just the ones I know your mother liked the most."

Ray turned to his mom and scowled. "You got a secret thing for guys in drag?"

"Oh hush. You were a wonderful Mary Todd Lincoln in the fifth grade play."

Ray slumped down and half-covered his face with a pillow. "Never let anyone make you go to an all-boys Catholic grade school, Fraser."

Fraser turned to face Ray. "You know . . . in my admittedly limited experience, one's even more likely to find oneself wearing a dress at an all-girl's Catholic school."

"Huh? Oh. Oh yeah." Ray grinned. "Too bad Dad doesn't have film of that somewhere on this tape."

"Look here, Benton" said Damian. "See that lady in the green dress?"

"I'm afraid I don't . . . ."

"The one hiding behind the potted palm."

"Ah. Yes, I believe I can see her now."

"That was Raymond's grandmother. Never did like having her picture taken. She lived just long enough to see Raymond graduate from highschool."

"I'm sure she was a lovely woman, sir."

"Hey! That's the day we first got the Goat running! Check it out, Fraser. It was still baby blue." Ray looked at his younger self mugging for the camera and laughed. "Stella wanted me to keep it that color. She said it went with her eye shadow."

"What made you change the color, then?"

"I was boxing a lot back then. Okay, I was getting punched in the face a lot. Black went with my eye shadow."

Fraser smiled, then turned back to the screen where Ray, wearing a tuxedo, was feeding cake to his new bride.

Ray's eyes darted over to his partner. "We don't have to keep watching this if you're getting tired of it," he whispered.

Fraser shook his head. "It's fine, Ray."

"That's it for the tape. I'll just . . . " Damian frowned. "It looks like there's something else here."

Ray's eyes widened. "Wow! That's cool. How'd you get a copy of my homerun?"

Damian stared at the t.v. screen. "I didn't. Barbara? We haven't seen this, have we?"

"No, dear. We've just heard Stanley talk about it." She reached over and took her son's hand. "That was very good, sweetheart."

"Oh heavens!" she gasped, squeezing Ray's hand tightly. "That looks dangerous, jumping off a roof into . . . is that Lake Michigan?"

Ray stared, open-mouthed, at the screen."What the hell? Fraser? Did you see anyone with a camera that day?"

Fraser swallowed hard. "No . . . not that I . . . no."

Damian looked away from the screen, now showing an image of his son jumping through a skylight, and faced Ray.

"I don't suppose you know what's going on here, son."

Ray shook his head. "Not a fucking clue."

"Raymond. Your mother's right next to you."

"Sorry, Mom."

"Stanley? Is something wrong?"

Damian could see his son shiver as the image of Raymond and Fraser sledding down a mountainside flashed across the screen. The two men looked at each other. They didn't look like they had any better idea of what was going on than he did.

"I don't know, Mom. It's . . . there's something kinda queer about this tape."

Damian watched as an image of his son . . . kissing his partner appeared on the screen. He sat down heavily on the arm of the couch, and reached for his wife's free hand.

Barbara looked at her son. "Would someone please tell me what's going on? I don't remember anyone filming us at . . . where is that, Stanley?"

The scene playing out on the screen was - impossible.

Ray and Fraser standing next to a grill in the backyard of a house Damian had never seen. Barbara, her hair no longer grey, but pure white, sitting in a lawn chair nearby, leaning over to pet a small puppy. Damian, leaning heavily on a wooden cane, telling a story about his days in the merchant marines to Fraser. And Ray, sporting a goatee, one arm wrapped around Fraser's waist, slipping pieces of steak to a much-aged Diefenbaker, who lay curled up at his feet.

Finally, the screen went bright blue. The tape had ended.

Ray looked over at Fraser. "So . . . um . . . ."

Fraser blinked, then shook his head. "No idea."

Damian squeezed his silent wife's shoulder, then got up and walked over to the VCR and removed the tape.

For a minute, nobody spoke, then Barbara got up from the couch and said, "I think we could all use a nice cup of tea."

"Could I give you a hand, Mrs. Kowalski?" Fraser said, starting to rise.

"Oh heavens, no. You just stay here and . . . Benton, under the circumstances, don't you think it's time you started calling me Barbara?"

Damian watched his wife leave the room, then turned his attention to examining his fingernails. When he looked up, Raymond and his . . . partner were staring at each other, both looking a little like Matt Krawcek did after he'd been on a week-long bender.

"So . . . " he started, then closed his mouth again and shook his head. That was one hell of a movie. "So . . . ."

Ray scrubbed at his face and sighed. "You got something you want to ask, go ahead and ask."

Damian looked at the videotape he was still holding in his hand. He glanced over at Fraser, who was examining his fingernails, then turned back and saw a look of resignation on his son's face, like Raymond was just waiting for the yelling to start.

What the hell. It was just a movie.

"It'll keep, son. Let's go see how your mother's getting on with that tea."

(Back To The Index)

Still Partners
by Beth H
(c) July 2003

Lieutenant Welsh looked up from his paperwork at his detective and sighed. "Kowalski, what part of 'you've got to work with a partner' don't you understand?"

"What part of 'I've already got a partner' don't you understand?" Ray said. " For Chrissakes, Lieu . . . just because the guy got himself into a little trouble, you can't just . . . ."

"A little trouble? Kowalski, he was abducted by aliens! We all saw it happen."

Ray flopped down on the lieutenant's couch. "Yeah, well . . . look, they said they were going to bring him back, so this is like . . . can't you just think of this like Fraser's gone on vacation or something?"

"To another planet?"

"He'll be gone two weeks, Lieu. Three, tops."

Welsh shook his head. "I know you miss him, Ray. We all do. When someone loses a partner, it can be rough, But you've got to face facts. He's gone, son, and . . . . "

"Not all of him."

"What?"

Ray got up from the couch. He put his sports bag down on Welsh's desk "Okay, Lieutenant," he whispered.. " I've got something to show you, but you gotta promise you're not going to freak out."

"I don't 'freak out,' Kowalski. I never 'freak out.'"

"Yeah, okay, so . . . .here." He unzipped the bag, then crooked his finger. "Take a look."

Cautiously, Welsh looked in the bag.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant."

Welsh jumped back from the desk, his eyes wild. "What in the name of all that's holy . . . do you know what that is, Kowalski?"

"Shhhhh! You said you weren't going to freak out!"

"That's . . . a head in that bag," Welsh said. "Fraser's head!"

"Yeah," mumbled Kowalski. "I know."

"Perhaps if I might explain the situation to the lieutenant, Ray. It's actually quite an interesting story. You see . . . "

Welsh stared back in the bag. "It's . . . talking. Fraser's head is talking."

"I know."

"Make it stop."

Ray shook his head. "Make Fraser stop talking? Can't be done."

"Ray, I hardly think that adding insult to injury is called for at this juncture."

"Sorry, buddy," Ray said, patting the bag. He turned back to Welsh. "See? It's still him. It's still Fraser. I don't want a new partner, Lieutenant."

"Thank you kindly, Ray. And I don't want a new partner, either."

"Will the two of you both stop already!" Welsh said. "You're giving me the heebie-jeebies!"

"Sorry, Lieu."

"My apologies, Lieutenant Welsh."

Welsh sat down heavily in his chair. Nobody spoke for some time.

"So. That's really Fraser in there?"

". . . and then Snuffy Prescott said, that's the last time I . . . . "

"Yeah, that's him, Lieu."

"And you want to stay partnered up with him?"

Ray nodded.

"And the . . . . aliens promised they'll bring the, uh, rest of him back soon?"

"Yeah."

Welsh sighed. "This goes against my better judgement, but . . . what the hell. It won't be any weirder than half the other crap the two of you have put me through."

"Thank you, sir. You won't regret this!"

"I'm regretting it already, Constable. Kowalski? You've got two days off. Use the time to come up with some kind of a cover story. I trust your powers of bullshitting haven't deserted you."

"No, sir. I mean . . . .yes, sir. We'll come up with . . . something."

"See that you do. Now get yourself and . . .your partner out of my office."

~~*~~*~~*~~

Ray got in behind the wheel of the GTO and put the open bag down beside him, then slumped down in his seat. "You doing okay over there, Frase?" he asked without looking over at the passenger side.

"Yes, thank you . . . just fine. That seemed to go rather smoothly, didn't it?"

"Uh-huh."

"Ray? I was just wondering, now that things have been . . . ."

"No."

"But if you could just explain . . . .."

"I said no."

"It's just . . . when you and I were in the parking lot . . . ."

"I thought we'd agreed not to talk about this, Fraser."

". . . and the aliens started to take my body away . . . ."

"Fair warning, I'm gonna give you to Dief to play with."

". . . what exactly did you mean when you screamed ?Dammit, this isn't the head I was hoping for!'"

Ray started to undo his seatbelt.

"Ray. Ray. Ray . . . where are you going?"

"I'm going back in to see if it's too late to put in for a transfer."

From the bottom of the unzipped sports bag, Fraser's head grinned

(Back To The Index)