This is set during Season 4. It's a light-hearted, fun story, nothing more. I started writing it when I needed cheering up. I hope you enjoy reading it.
CHAPTER 1.
"Thank you, everyone, for coming this evening," gushed Constable Turnbull. "It's an honour to be able to celebrate my birthday with all of you."
It was a cold Chicago evening as Turnbull made the impassioned speech to his friends and colleagues as they stood outside the Lightning Strikes bowling alley. He'd wanted to take everyone to the museum to see the new temporary exhibit of pencils on loan from a museum in England, but Fraser – who was slowly learning what most Americans found interesting (and it wasn't pencils) – had suggested they go bowling instead.
The detective previously known as Ray Kowalski, but currently known as Ray Vecchio, glanced at his watch. He really didn't want to be here this evening at all – he'd rather have been at home watching the ball game – but Fraser had made him feel guilty about turning down the younger Mountie's invitation, so here he was.
Turnbull was starting to get choked up as he continued to speak of his pride at being able to work at the Consulate and with the Chicago Police Department. Inspector Meg Thatcher almost started to feel guilty about the menial tasks she gave him every day…almost.
"Yeah, yeah," sighed Detective Thomas Dewey, dismissively. "Can we go in now?"
"Good idea," chipped in Jack Huey. "It's freezing out here."
"Oh yes, yes of course," nodded Turnbull and he held open the door as Dewey and Huey entered the building, followed by Ray, Fraser, Lieutenant Welsh and Inspector Thatcher.
Just as the door closed behind them, a taxi pulled up outside and Francesca Vecchio got out. She ran into the bowling alley. "Sorry I'm late," she began, smiling at Turnbull, but then her face fell as she looked from Turnbull to everyone else in the group. "Oh…I thought it would just be…I thought when you asked me to go bowling with you…" she trailed off, disappointment evident in her voice as she realised her mistake.
Turnbull looked bemused; he had no idea what she was talking about.
Ray stifled a snigger. Whenever any guy asked Francesca to meet her anywhere she assumed he was asking her on a date. "It's, er, it's Turnbull's birthday," Ray explained, feeling sorry for her as her face reddened with humiliation. "We're here to par-tay!" he added with far too much enthusiasm than the situation warranted. He was really trying hard.
Francesca smiled and nodded, wishing she'd worn something less revealing. Although Fraser's here too; maybe this evening might still be productive after all?
Turnbull strode confidently up to the desk.
"Hi, I'm Candy," smiled the young woman behind the desk. "Do you have a booking?"
Candy's surgically enhanced bosom was barely contained in a pink nylon strapless creation and she was wearing a skirt so short it even shocked Francesca.
Ray looked at Welsh, Huey and Dewey and instantly knew that they were all thinking the same thing. They all knew it was wrong, but they couldn't help it; the girl might as well have been naked. They all realised that Inspector Thatcher would lecture them about being disrespectful and objectifying women if she'd known what was going through their minds so they quickly wiped the grins off their faces. Ray glanced at Fraser, but his expression was giving very little away.
"Good evening, Miss," began Turnbull, apparently oblivious to the amount of flesh on display. "We have, indeed, made a booking for this evening in the name of Turnbull."
Candy ran her finger down a handwritten list of names until she found the booking. "Oh yes, here you are," she smiled at Turnbull. "You have lane three."
"Thank you," beamed Turnbull. Inside he was shaking with nerves. He had already double checked the booking earlier, but he was still terrified that something would go wrong and spoil his carefully laid plans. So far so good, though.
He hadn't expected so many of his friends and acquaintances to accept his invitation and he wanted his birthday evening to go well. He was unaware that the only reason Lieutenant Welsh was there was to get out of going to the new Captain's cocktail soiree. He would also have been disappointed to find out that Inspector Thatcher had been let down at the last minute by a visiting Italian diplomat and so had decided to come along just so she could be with Fraser instead.
"Have you been to Lightning Strikes before?" asked Candy. As she spoke she looked back over her shoulder and appeared to get distracted by the clock on the wall.
"This is my first visit," Turnbull explained.
Candy was frowning at her watch now and didn't say anything.
"Miss?" ventured Turnbull.
"Oh, sorry," beamed Candy, flicking her bleached blonde hair over her shoulders. "What did you say?"
"I said that I have not been here before," reiterated Turnbull.
"Oh, OK," Candy's voice went squeaky with excitement as her focus returned to her customers. She loved it when a new customer came in because it gave her a chance to give her well-rehearsed welcome speech. "Welcome to Lightning Strikes," she began. "My name is Candy and I'm here to help you have the best time. We pride ourselves on our friendliness and cleanliness, which kinda rhymes…" she giggled at her own joke, even though she'd made it a hundred times before.
Ray rolled his eyes as she continued to explain where the bathrooms were and how to order food from the menu. He'd heard it all before. All the staff were trained to recite the same information and he'd been here a few times in the past, although not so much recently. Fraser had actually suggested an evening out at the bowling alley a few times, much to Ray's surprise - because he couldn't imagine his buddy enjoying it - but they'd never quite got around to going.
"I'll bring over your complimentary soft drinks shortly and Dominic will get your shoes for you." Candy was finally finished and she pointed to her colleague at the shoe desk. "Have a nice evening!"
Meg Thatcher hadn't been bowling for years and as they went to get their bowling shoes, she began to wish she'd stayed at home and caught up on some paperwork. She turned her nose up as Dominic gave her a pair of tatty red and white shoes to wear. She had deliberately worn three pairs of socks this evening; the idea of wearing shoes that hundreds of other people had had their feet in turned her stomach.
Fraser noticed her concern. "Don't worry, Sir," he said. "The probability of contracting a fungal infection is…"
"I don't want to know, Fraser!" she exclaimed and stormed off with her shoes to find Welsh, Huey, Dewey and Francesca who had all brought their own shoes.
Welsh's shoes were quite old fashioned, but he'd had them for years and they were still comfortable so he saw no need for new ones. Dewey had a very expensive pair which he had been showing off to everyone in the squadroom all day. Francesca's bowling shoes were pink and covered in diamantes, of course and Meg rolled her eyes in disgust at the overt femininity on display.
The Inspector was aware that she would be competing for Fraser's attention this evening and she wondered if she should have worn something less casual. She was dressed in jeans and a flowery shirt that was quite pretty for her, but she felt frumpy next to Francesca.
Dominic was a little slow at his job and Ray drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited.
Fraser watched the young employee with interest. The shoes were all arranged very neatly in their slots and Dominic obviously took pride in his work; a quality Fraser admired.
As Dominic scanned the shelves for the right sizes, an unusual earring caught the light as it swung from his left ear. He grabbed a pair of red and white shoes and handed them to Fraser. "These are for you," he said. "I'll just get the others."
"If you don't mind me asking," began Fraser, taking his shoes off the desk. "The earring you wear – is it tribal?"
Dominic laughed. "Kinda," he replied. "It's Bajoran."
Fraser frowned. "I am unfamiliar with that tribe," he said. "Are they from the Amazon?"
"No," Dominic laughed again. "From Star Trek: Deep Space Nine."
"It's a TV show, buddy," added Ray.
"I am aware of that," replied Fraser, indignantly. "Maxwell Dawson, the captain of the Tuktoyaktuk petanque team, loaned me the original series on VHS and I found it quite enjoyable. Although I haven't seen Deep Space Nine, I think The Next Generation, while not quite the same, still holds true to the spirit and values of the original."
Dominic nodded approvingly. "They've deliberately tried something different with Deep Space Nine," he said, "and I think it works."
"Personally, I prefer Canadian television," said Turnbull, dismissively.
Ray was quite surprised. He watched Star Trek occasionally, but he couldn't imagine Fraser watching it, nor owning a VCR player for that matter.
Fraser noticed his friend's sneer. "There was a VCR in the lunch room at the station," he explained. "We had a small library of tapes, mostly recordings of Open University programming from the UK. They were quite fascinating, Ray and very educational. You should watch them one day."
"Er, yeah," replied Ray; the word 'educational' had immediately put him off. "One day when I need to fall into a coma, maybe."
Fraser frowned disapprovingly and was about to explain the benefits of continuing one's education when he was interrupted by a yell of "No!" from Dominic.
"What's wrong, son?" asked Fraser.
Dominic spun around, a look of panic on his face. "This is an odd pair!" he exclaimed. "One size nine and one size ten! I check them in and out personally; how could this have happened?"
"It's alright," replied Fraser, calmly. "The matching shoes are probably there somewhere," and he walked around the desk to help the flustered young man.
Ray looked at his watch again. This was getting ridiculous. He seriously considered making his excuses and leaving; the game had only started ten minutes ago and he'd still be able to catch most of the action if he hurried. He almost jumped over the counter to find himself some shoes, but Fraser had gone into full blown helpful-Mountie mode and Ray decided it wasn't worth interfering.
"Here they are," beamed Fraser, suddenly.
Dominic gratefully reorganised the shoes. "Sorry," he shook his head, apologetically. "I get a bit freaked out if things aren't where they're supposed to be."
"I completely understand," Fraser smiled supportively, but Ray just snatched his shoes and went to sit down, leaving Fraser with an apologetic smile on his face. "My friend is…eager to begin bowling," he said to Dominic, awkwardly.
Finally the whole group had shoes and Fraser began to set up the scoring machine at lightning speed.
"What was with the freakazoid behind the shoe desk?" asked Ray.
"If you don't mind me saying, Ray, that's an appallingly rude comment," replied Fraser with a frown. "He is a young man with a penchant for neatness. I find nothing freaky about that."
"You know what these Trekkie kids are like," continued Ray. "I'd bet my car that he ain't got a girlfriend."
"Neither have you," Dewey pointed out with a grin.
"Oh hardy har har," replied Ray with a sneer. Dewey was lucky Ray was tired, or he'd have kicked him in the head.
"Gentlemen, please," said Welsh, impatiently. "Can we get on with this game?"
"I think you should be a team captain, Sir," said Francesca, never one to miss an opportunity to suck up to her boss, "and Turnbull should be the other one, seeing as it's his birthday."
Everyone agreed with her suggestion and Turnbull loyally chose Fraser and Inspector Thatcher for his team, with Francesca adding herself just so she could play with Fraser. Welsh was happy with the Mountie's choices, especially as Dewey had been boasting all day about how good he was at bowling.
"Looks like we kinda got ourselves an international competition here," grinned Ray. "You've gotta make like a Canadian though, Frannie," he added with a wink.
Candy brought over a tray of drinks as Fraser was bending over the scoring machine to adjust order of play after Ray and Dewey had argued over who should play first. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared shamelessly at his behind. Meg gave her to the count of five to stop, but she didn't. "Thank you," snapped the Inspector brusquely and took the tray of drinks from the under-dressed woman, taking her by surprise.
"Can I get you anything else?" asked Candy, smiling at Fraser.
"No," snapped Meg.
Candy's smile faded and she walked away.
The Inspector sighed. It felt like they'd been there forever and they still hadn't started bowling. She wasn't enjoying herself at all and she was dismayed to see that Fraser was watching Candy intently while a heated argument had broken out between Ray and Dewey about which ball Francesca should use.
"Fraser!" yelled Meg and her subordinate snapped round, wondering why he was in trouble this time. "Can you please focus your attentions on this game of bowling and not on an under-dressed, over-inflated bimbo!"
Everyone fell silent as she yelled and Fraser's face flushed red.
Ray hated it when the Inspector spoke to his buddy like that. He wished Fraser would stand up for himself more often.
"Oh, no," he replied, suddenly realising how it must have looked to her. "I…I…I wasn't…that is, my interest in her would be the same whether she was wearing clothes, or not…er, I mean, wearing those clothes, or not…er, I mean my interest in her does not relate at all to her clothing. What I mean is, I have no interest in her, not in the way you're suggesting…" he trailed off and sighed; he was just digging himself a deeper hole.
Meg shook her head despondently. "Right, I'm going first," she announced and, picking up a large orange bowling ball, stormed off to take her turn.
"But, Sir," protested Fraser. He sighed; now he would have to adjust the scoring machine again. They'd already agreed that Francesca would be going first, but no one wanted to argue with the Inspector.
Fraser smiled to himself. As much as this particular group of people didn't always see eye to eye, it was still wonderful to him to be out socialising with such a large group of friends. It was in stark contrast to his mostly solitary childhood and, despite the arguing, he wouldn't have changed it for the world.
Meg was pleased with her first throw. It had been years since she'd last been bowling, but she got a good score with only two pins left standing.
"OK, let me show you people how this is done," announced Dewey and he strode confidently onto the lane. Everyone watched intently as Dewey bowled his ball which promptly skewed off the lane and into the gutter.
Dewey couldn't believe what had just happened. "There's something wrong with this lane," he said, waving his hands in the air in frustration, but his second ball did exactly the same thing. Dewey stormed back to his seat in silence.
Francesca hadn't bowled for a while, but she still managed to score a few points for her team, as did Turnbull and Fraser threw a strike. On the other team, Huey and Ray both did well making up for Dewey's dismal attempt and then Lieutenant Welsh scored a strike.
"It's like riding a bike, you never lose it," grinned the Lieutenant.
Dewey scowled at him behind his back.
"It's simple physics, really," explained Fraser. "A curve ball aimed between pins one and three at an angle of approximately six degrees is the optimal position for a strike."
"Glad it's approximate there, Fraser, because I get a bit hazy between five and ten degrees," said Ray, sarcastically.
"Obviously velocity, friction and rotation all have a bearing on the outcome," added Fraser.
"Obviously," nodded Dewey, pretending he understood. "Well now I know exactly where I went wrong." He stood up to take his turn again and rolled another ball into the gutter.
A group of teenagers in an adjacent lane cheered one of their team loudly and Dewey yelled at them to keep the noise down, but it didn't seem to make any difference. Dewey couldn't knock down a single pin.
The game continued and, despite Dewey's failure, the scores were quite evenly balanced. Ray scored a strike on his second turn and, of course, Fraser threw another strike too.
"Wow, that's amazing, mister!" grinned a young boy who was bowling with his parents and older brother in the adjacent lane.
"Don't bother the man, Ritchie," scolded his mother.
"It's quite alright," replied Fraser, as Ritchie slowly walked back to join her.
Ritchie's mother was heavily pregnant and carefully eased herself out of the plastic seat to grab her son's hand, massaging the small of her own back with the other. "He gets frustrated when he doesn't knock any down," she explained, smiling apologetically at Fraser. "I'm Julie Santini," she continued with a smile. "We promised the boys we'd go bowling one last time before the baby's born."
"Benton Fraser," replied Fraser. Then he lowered his head slightly to address the little boy directly. "Keep practising, Ritchie," he said. "Practice makes perfect." He gave Ritchie an encouraging thumbs-up.
Dewey stood up to take his turn and shook his head. "Practice makes perfect," he muttered sarcastically under his breath. If this goes in the gutter again I'm quitting, he thought to himself as he tried his hardest to line up his aim. He closed first one eye, then the other, spinning the ball around in his hands and when he was satisfied he swung his arm back, took three running steps and released the ball…which immediately veered left and dropped straight into the gutter. Dewey threw his hands up in the air in despair.
Jack Huey could sense the impending explosion and picked up his and his partner's shoes. "Um, happy birthday, Turnbull," he said apologetically to the young Mountie. "It's been, er…fun," he said, "but I think it's time Tom and I left now."
"This is the stupidest bowling alley in the world!" exclaimed Dewey at the top of his voice. Jack tried to lead him by the shoulder, but he shrugged his partner away. "Next time we're gonna play hockey," he said angrily and marched towards the door, with Huey running after him. Just before they left the building, Dewey turned back and forced an apologetic smile onto his face when he saw Turnbull's disappointed look. "Happy birthday, Turnbull!" he called out and Turnbull waved an acknowledgement as the two detectives disappeared out of sight.
