- - - - - - - - - - - -
Disclaimer: I make no money from this, I don't own these guys, yadda yadda yadda
. . .
Rating: PG
Archive: Yes
Category: Crossover, Humor.
Summary: A brief stint in the Windy City. Set during Season 1.
"Invisible Dues"
By The Mad Fangirl
- - - - - - - - - - - -
* * *
//It's rare that you'll hear me admit this, but I should've listened to my
partner.//
"I'm telling you, that place is crawling with Mounties. Don't even go there."
"What? Why?"
"Simply because they always get their man."
"Hobbes, they're just guys. I get in, get what we need, and get out."
"May I remind you that I have a wealth of experience operating on foreign soil?
You can't put one over on
the RCMP. Better for us to go through proper channels in this particular
matter, much as it pains us both to
wait." This in a breath.
"Foreign soil? It's *Chicago.*"
"I didn't think either of us needed reminding that embassies were sovereign
ground."
"It's a consulate."
"Fine! Have it your way. Being official rather than terrorist-type Canadians,
they won't kill you. They'll
just lecture you, embarrass you, maybe fine you. Which is no less than you
deserve for not listening to
Bobby Hobbes."
Darien took that as a go-ahead, sliding out of the van.
"Hobbes, tell me something?"
"Yeah, what?"
"Why does Bobby Hobbes keep referring to himself in the third person?"
As Darien rounded the corner, disappearing from sight, he heard, "Part of his
inestimable charm, my man."
"Yeah," Darien muttered, really disappearing from sight. "Completely
inestimable."
"I heard that!"
* * *
The constable, Turnbull, spun on his heel and opened the embassy door. Darien
slid in just ahead, and the
slight rush of cool air caused the man to shiver. Despite this, Turnbull was
now inside, so he shut the door
and removed his hat.
"Strange weather we're having," the Mountie said, and Darien froze. He thawed
as the Mountie kept
talking pleasantly, and quite clearly to himself. //Hobbes has me paranoid.
This poor kid isn't even right in
the head.//
Darien proceeded up the stairs and approached the office he knew to be at the
top. The door was open so
he stepped silently inside, to watch the two having a genteel argument to either
side of a large desk. It
could only help pass the time.
"Ma'am, if you'll only let me explain . . ."
"Frasier . . . "
"Ma'am, I agree that the flounder had no business in your sportcoat, but . . ."
"Frasier!"
Maybe not so genteel.
The woman stood. "Frasier, I need . . . I need to take a walk. And pick up my
drycleaning. When I return,
you will have that explanation."
"Ma'am, that's what I've been trying to . . . ."
And over her shoulder, "Frasier!" Darien stepped out of the way to let her
through.
As he did so, he heard a low whine from the floor.
//Dogs. Aw, crap.//
"Yes, Diefenbaker?"
Darien kept himself perfectly still.
"Diefenbaker, there's nobody there."
Darien didn't know which was weirder: that this Mountie talked to his dog, or
that the dog was right.
"Diefenbaker, stay! There's obviously nobody . . . what do you mean, hiding?
In the closet? My Dad,
maybe, but he's harmless . . . Diefenbaker, there's nobody by the window!"
Frasier stood and walked to the window. Diefenbaker's whine lowered in pitch.
Frasier opened the
window and leaned outside, his arm a scant five inches from Darien's face.
Diefenbaker growled and
barked.
"What are you talking about? What do you mean, you'll show me?"
Diefenbaker, heretofore unseen, rounded the desk. The large white husky
combined both a wild and a
civilized air. He was really a noble looking creature. And he was looking,
nobly, at Darien.
"Honestly, wolves these days . . ."
//Wolves ?!?//
Darien couldn't have moved if he'd tried.
Diefenbaker rounded on Darien, coming in close and slow. Darien prepared to
kick, hating the necessity,
because the wolf (?!?) was really just doing his job.
Then he heard a hissing noise. "Diefenbaker! Diefenbaker, no!"
Darien looked down. Yellow ice crystals defined part of his shoe and pant leg.
He looked back up, and
Frasier's eyes were meeting the air where Darien's own eyes should have been.
"Is this a voluntary condition?" the Mountie asked, neutrally. "By that, I
mean, can you make yoursef
visible?"
In answer, Darien shook off the Quicksilver, as well as the . . . wolf pee.
Diefenbaker, offended, jumped
back, barking again. "Not permanent, anyway. Voluntary's another story."
"I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
"No, I don't believe we have."
"Benton Frasier, Royal Canadian Mounted Police."
"Darien Fawkes, U.S. Department of Fish and Game. Is that a registered wolf?"
"Diefenbaker is half wolf. I assure you, he's both legal and licensed."
"Oh. Well, boy, is my face red . . . I'll just be going now."
"I think that woud be wise. Especially since I wasn't aware that Fish and Game
was a national department.
I'd always been given to understand that it was administered by the states under
the Department of
Interior."
"Well, you learn something new every day."
"That's been my experience, yes." Frasier's eyes followed Darien as he left.
Fawkes looked back, and saw
that the Mountie remained exactly a meter behind. "And the next time your
government wants something,
they might try asking politely, through official channels."
"I think that was Plan B."
"I believe you'll find it much more effective." Darien passed Turnbull, who
stood, snapping to attention.
"Constable, please show this gentleman out."
Turnbull escorted Fawkes to the door. As the two reached the street, Darien
said to Turnbull, "Aren't you
wondering why you didn't see me come in?"
"Pardon, sir?"
Darien sighed. "Never mind." He turned to find the van, and found himself
confronted by Robert Hobbes,
walking in his direction, chatting amiably with a woman carrying a plastic-
wrapped sport coat.
"Fortunate you ran into me, Mr. Hobbes. Of course, we'd be happy to facilitate
your work. The Canadian
consulate has the utmost respect for the Department of . . ." She stopped as
they reached Darien, eyeing
him frankly. She was, of course, the Mountie's boss. "Ah. You must be Mr.
Fawkes. Meg Thatcher.
Your partner's been telling me all about you."
"Nothing good, I hope."
"Now, now, he speaks very highly of you. I do wish some of my own men were as
wedded to procedure."
She unwrapped the jacket and held it in Darien's face. "Does this smell like
flounder?"
"No, Ma'am."
Her look, first suspicious, softened. She wanted to believe.
"Well, I think we can find a way to share some of the sample with you. I just
need to check a few things.
Robert, I'll call you."
"I'll be looking forward to it, Meg." And as she entered the consulate, Hobbes
motioned with his head,
directing Darien toward the van."
"I."
"Come on. Get it over with."
"Told."
"C'mon."
"You."
"Bring it on home."
"So! I *told* you so! Ha! In your face, Fawkes!"
"Look, can we just get home?"
"Not yet, my friend."
"Need to rub it in a little more?"
"Maybe. Or maybe I'll just let you buy me lunch."
"Chicago-style pizza?"
"By definition."
The two walked the long Chicago block and turned back around the corner.
* * *
END
TMF
Disclaimer: I make no money from this, I don't own these guys, yadda yadda yadda
. . .
Rating: PG
Archive: Yes
Category: Crossover, Humor.
Summary: A brief stint in the Windy City. Set during Season 1.
"Invisible Dues"
By The Mad Fangirl
- - - - - - - - - - - -
* * *
//It's rare that you'll hear me admit this, but I should've listened to my
partner.//
"I'm telling you, that place is crawling with Mounties. Don't even go there."
"What? Why?"
"Simply because they always get their man."
"Hobbes, they're just guys. I get in, get what we need, and get out."
"May I remind you that I have a wealth of experience operating on foreign soil?
You can't put one over on
the RCMP. Better for us to go through proper channels in this particular
matter, much as it pains us both to
wait." This in a breath.
"Foreign soil? It's *Chicago.*"
"I didn't think either of us needed reminding that embassies were sovereign
ground."
"It's a consulate."
"Fine! Have it your way. Being official rather than terrorist-type Canadians,
they won't kill you. They'll
just lecture you, embarrass you, maybe fine you. Which is no less than you
deserve for not listening to
Bobby Hobbes."
Darien took that as a go-ahead, sliding out of the van.
"Hobbes, tell me something?"
"Yeah, what?"
"Why does Bobby Hobbes keep referring to himself in the third person?"
As Darien rounded the corner, disappearing from sight, he heard, "Part of his
inestimable charm, my man."
"Yeah," Darien muttered, really disappearing from sight. "Completely
inestimable."
"I heard that!"
* * *
The constable, Turnbull, spun on his heel and opened the embassy door. Darien
slid in just ahead, and the
slight rush of cool air caused the man to shiver. Despite this, Turnbull was
now inside, so he shut the door
and removed his hat.
"Strange weather we're having," the Mountie said, and Darien froze. He thawed
as the Mountie kept
talking pleasantly, and quite clearly to himself. //Hobbes has me paranoid.
This poor kid isn't even right in
the head.//
Darien proceeded up the stairs and approached the office he knew to be at the
top. The door was open so
he stepped silently inside, to watch the two having a genteel argument to either
side of a large desk. It
could only help pass the time.
"Ma'am, if you'll only let me explain . . ."
"Frasier . . . "
"Ma'am, I agree that the flounder had no business in your sportcoat, but . . ."
"Frasier!"
Maybe not so genteel.
The woman stood. "Frasier, I need . . . I need to take a walk. And pick up my
drycleaning. When I return,
you will have that explanation."
"Ma'am, that's what I've been trying to . . . ."
And over her shoulder, "Frasier!" Darien stepped out of the way to let her
through.
As he did so, he heard a low whine from the floor.
//Dogs. Aw, crap.//
"Yes, Diefenbaker?"
Darien kept himself perfectly still.
"Diefenbaker, there's nobody there."
Darien didn't know which was weirder: that this Mountie talked to his dog, or
that the dog was right.
"Diefenbaker, stay! There's obviously nobody . . . what do you mean, hiding?
In the closet? My Dad,
maybe, but he's harmless . . . Diefenbaker, there's nobody by the window!"
Frasier stood and walked to the window. Diefenbaker's whine lowered in pitch.
Frasier opened the
window and leaned outside, his arm a scant five inches from Darien's face.
Diefenbaker growled and
barked.
"What are you talking about? What do you mean, you'll show me?"
Diefenbaker, heretofore unseen, rounded the desk. The large white husky
combined both a wild and a
civilized air. He was really a noble looking creature. And he was looking,
nobly, at Darien.
"Honestly, wolves these days . . ."
//Wolves ?!?//
Darien couldn't have moved if he'd tried.
Diefenbaker rounded on Darien, coming in close and slow. Darien prepared to
kick, hating the necessity,
because the wolf (?!?) was really just doing his job.
Then he heard a hissing noise. "Diefenbaker! Diefenbaker, no!"
Darien looked down. Yellow ice crystals defined part of his shoe and pant leg.
He looked back up, and
Frasier's eyes were meeting the air where Darien's own eyes should have been.
"Is this a voluntary condition?" the Mountie asked, neutrally. "By that, I
mean, can you make yoursef
visible?"
In answer, Darien shook off the Quicksilver, as well as the . . . wolf pee.
Diefenbaker, offended, jumped
back, barking again. "Not permanent, anyway. Voluntary's another story."
"I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
"No, I don't believe we have."
"Benton Frasier, Royal Canadian Mounted Police."
"Darien Fawkes, U.S. Department of Fish and Game. Is that a registered wolf?"
"Diefenbaker is half wolf. I assure you, he's both legal and licensed."
"Oh. Well, boy, is my face red . . . I'll just be going now."
"I think that woud be wise. Especially since I wasn't aware that Fish and Game
was a national department.
I'd always been given to understand that it was administered by the states under
the Department of
Interior."
"Well, you learn something new every day."
"That's been my experience, yes." Frasier's eyes followed Darien as he left.
Fawkes looked back, and saw
that the Mountie remained exactly a meter behind. "And the next time your
government wants something,
they might try asking politely, through official channels."
"I think that was Plan B."
"I believe you'll find it much more effective." Darien passed Turnbull, who
stood, snapping to attention.
"Constable, please show this gentleman out."
Turnbull escorted Fawkes to the door. As the two reached the street, Darien
said to Turnbull, "Aren't you
wondering why you didn't see me come in?"
"Pardon, sir?"
Darien sighed. "Never mind." He turned to find the van, and found himself
confronted by Robert Hobbes,
walking in his direction, chatting amiably with a woman carrying a plastic-
wrapped sport coat.
"Fortunate you ran into me, Mr. Hobbes. Of course, we'd be happy to facilitate
your work. The Canadian
consulate has the utmost respect for the Department of . . ." She stopped as
they reached Darien, eyeing
him frankly. She was, of course, the Mountie's boss. "Ah. You must be Mr.
Fawkes. Meg Thatcher.
Your partner's been telling me all about you."
"Nothing good, I hope."
"Now, now, he speaks very highly of you. I do wish some of my own men were as
wedded to procedure."
She unwrapped the jacket and held it in Darien's face. "Does this smell like
flounder?"
"No, Ma'am."
Her look, first suspicious, softened. She wanted to believe.
"Well, I think we can find a way to share some of the sample with you. I just
need to check a few things.
Robert, I'll call you."
"I'll be looking forward to it, Meg." And as she entered the consulate, Hobbes
motioned with his head,
directing Darien toward the van."
"I."
"Come on. Get it over with."
"Told."
"C'mon."
"You."
"Bring it on home."
"So! I *told* you so! Ha! In your face, Fawkes!"
"Look, can we just get home?"
"Not yet, my friend."
"Need to rub it in a little more?"
"Maybe. Or maybe I'll just let you buy me lunch."
"Chicago-style pizza?"
"By definition."
The two walked the long Chicago block and turned back around the corner.
* * *
END
TMF