A/N: So I've been on a Due South kick recently. Like some of my other favorites, not everyone is into it but I like writing it. Like the other Due South fic I wrote this is a one shot. It's based entirely off of the Pilot but with one distinct difference: It's written from an American's point of view. There was one thing that bothered me completely when I saw the Pilot. I think my objection will be obvious to those who remember the show..

A Lieutenant's Attitude

"Vecchio!"

Ray Vecchio almost flinched when he heard Welsh's voice calling his name from his office. Ray was the black sheep of the detective squad. He had come from the neighborhoods which usually produced the mob figures they normally chased down. He was also opinionated and hard to control.

This meant that he didn't have a regular partner and he was okay with that. It also meant that he was often given the jobs which most detectives didn't want to deal with. He often had to find his own higher-level cases to show off his skills in hopes of promotion.

But that also meant he often had many cases open. And his boss wasn't the type who enjoyed waiting.

With a sigh, he stood up. Might as well go and face the music.

"Lieutenant. You called for me?" he asked with a forced cheerful voice.

"Yeah," his boss replied. He handed over a file with a piece of paper in it. "This just came in. I want you to look in on it – see if you can chase down what's being asked for."

"What is this about?" he asked, even as he began opening the folder. He quickly read through it and then said, "Oh. I don't know, Lieutenant. I've got a lot of cases I'm dealing with. Can't you get someone else to chase this down?'

Even as he finished saying this he looked up into his boss's face and realized that he had majorly fucked up. Welsh spoke with a far more serious voice than he normally used. "If you read that you saw that it's a request for us to look into a list of names which might be involved in an accidental shooting up north. A Mountie died. And one of the names might be involved."

Ray was confused. "Yeah. That's what I got." He didn't see the point his boss was trying to make.

"What's a Mountie?"

Ray thought quickly. "Those guys who ride horses and dogsleds and march around in parades?" Ray could see his boss wasn't impressed.

"Vecchio. The word Mountie comes from Royal Canadian Mounted Police. This dead guy was a member. This means that this was a cop." The particular emphasis caused Ray to twig to exactly what was being said.

"Oh. Yeah. Right."

Welsh gave him a wintry smile. "This means that even if this was an accident, somewhere in Chicago there could be someone who's a cop-killer. And even if the vic was not one of ours here, he was a cop. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Sir." Vecchio was putting on the eager to please face.

Welsh could see that Vecchio now had an idea of the proper importance. "One more thing."

"Boss?"

"Look at the name of the vic, and then look at the name of the cop who's making the inquiry."

Vecchio quickly read through the report once more and then his eyes widened. "Fraser. Both are named Fraser."

"Right. So not only is this a cop, but he's from a family of cops. Remember that as you go forward. Right?" he asked

"Yes, Lieutenant. I'll get right on it and have it ready by the end of the day."

Welsh nodded and then motioned him to leave the office.

Later that day he was sitting in his office when a knock on the door sounded. He looked up and saw Vecchio with an expression which was far more detective than brown-noser. "What is it, Vecchio?" he asked.

"Boss. I think I'm onto something with the Mountie thing."

"What you got?" he asked.

Vecchio walked in fully and set the file down. "I chased up the names on the list and talked to one of the people on that trip. It was a bunch of doctors and dentists on a hunting trip. But get this: You see that picture?"

Welsh looked down and saw the picture of the six posing. "What about it?"

"The fourth guy? He was actively trying to avoid getting his picture taken – this was the only one with him. He gave his name as a dentist who hadn't been on one of these trips for a while. When I checked into it, I found out that the dentist died four years ago. Whoever that is, he used a fake name for this trip."

Welsh sat back as he thought about that. "That means that wasn't no huntin' accident. This was straight up murder. And it also means this was planned. Which makes it Murder One. Someone went there specifically to kill this cop."

Ray nodded. "That's what I figured. I was looking at the picture and something about that guy – I've see him before. I don't remember who it is but something about that photo twigged something in me. It's botherin' me I can't remember."

Welsh looked at Vecchio for a long moment and then nodded. "Sleep on it. Now, about the other cases on your desk …."

The next day Ray Vecchio was at his desk, looking over old cases he had worked. A phone call came in. "Detective Vecchio. You've got a call on Line 4."

Vecchio looked up at Elaine, the Civilian Assistant and asked, "Who is it?"

She shrugged. "It's from Canada."

His eyes widened and he grabbed the phone. "Hello. This is Vecchio."

"Hello. This is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I am calling to enquire as regards a matter proffered to your department. It was regards a shooting …"

"Yes." Ray interrupted, even as he was waving madly to try to get his boss's attention. "The shooting death of Sergeant Robert Fraser. A relation of yours?" he asked even as Welsh started coming over with a curious look.

"Yes. It was my father."

"Constable Fraser, I was asked to take care of it." He looked up at his boss, whose eyes had lit up in understanding. "Is this a private call? Is anyone around you?"

"Well, no. In this area the only phone connection was damaged and I had to climb the pole and connect directly." Welsh motioned him toward his office.

"I see." He really didn't. "Can I put you on hold for just about 30 seconds? I need to take this into a more private office."

"Certainly."

Vecchio put it on hold and then the two moved back to Welsh's office, Ray shutting the door.

Welsh looked at Ray, who nodded. Welsh turned on the speaker phone. "Officer Fraser?" Welsh said.

"Yes. Well, er, no. It's actually Constable. Constable Benton Fraser."

"I see. Well this is Lieutenant Welsh, Detective Vecchio's Commanding Officer. Constable? Are you alone?"

There was a pause and then the voice came through, "Er. Yes, Leftenant. As I was explaining to Detective Vecchio …."

Welsh interrupted. "That's fine. As long as you are alone. Vecchio has been looking into it and we seem to have made some progress. But it would be good if we could talk directly. Are you available to come to Chicago?"

"Well, I have been given bereavement time. I was planning on returning to duty as soon as possible but I believe that I can take an additional two weeks away from my duties."

"That's fine. Come to Chicago, the 27th precinct. But there's one thing."

"Yes, Leftenant?"

"Don't tell no one. We figured out this was likely a hit."

"A 'hit', sir?" The voice was confused.

"A hit, an assassination. Someone likely hired this guy. And since no one in Chicago likely knew your father …"

"Yes. That is quite unlikely. My father spent the majority of his life around …."

Welsh shook his head even as he interrupted again. "That's fine. As I was saying, it's likely someone up there that bought this guy. So it's better if no one knew you were coming."

The voice that came back was slightly offended. "Surely the RCMP could be apprised …."

"No one, Constable. We don't know who was in on it. One cop getting another cop killed … it's happened before. It's better you don't tell no one."

There was a pause and then the voice came back. "I will need to tell one person. Superintendant Meers was a long time friend to my father and he was quite willing to allow me to look into the matter even if it was ruled likely an accident. I will have to explain to him, even if I tell no other."

Welsh considered that. "Well, ask him to tell no one else, even if they are considered trusted. Because this stinks and we need to find the rat or rats who set this up."

"Understood. I will inform Superintendant Meers that I am accepting the extended bereavement and then privately apprise him as regards the situation."

"Good. We hope to see you soon."

"Thank you, Leftenant Welsh."

The phone call ended and Welsh said, "Let's at least figure out who it is before he gets here."

The next day Lt. Welsh was confronted by his boss, Captain Stands. "What's this about you authorizing extra resources on this Mountie thing? Everything I found said it was an accident and it wasn't even in Chicago."

Welsh looked at his boss and said, "Yeah. Well, that's wrong. We chased up the information as requested and found out that it was actually a hit. Which means that we've got a cop-killer in Chicago." He looked at his boss, hoping he would understand.

His boss, another old-school cop, did. "I see. A cop-killer?" There was a pause and then his boss said, "Take what you need. But try to keep it from getting too expensive. The budget can't take a major hit if we can avoid it."

"Yes, Captain. I'll try to keep it as cheap as possible."

The Captain nodded. "But get this guy. That's an order."

"Yes, Sir," he said with certainty. He knew his boss would understand.

Benton Fraser, RCMP, walked into the terminal at Chicago's O'hare International Airport. This entire trip was taking a good portion of the stipend he had received following his father's death, but if it resulted in the capture of his killers, he was perfectly willing to spend the money.

Looking around for directions, he noted a uniformed police officer holding up a sign: "Fraser."

Immediately walking over, he looked at the man's name plate and said, "Officer … Thomas." He looked into his face. "My name is Fraser. Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, though of course I am currently off duty and not wearing the uniform. I was not aware that anyone was apprised that I would be arriving."

The officer, a younger black male, looked at him for a moment slightly taken aback but then said, "Your boss called Lt. Welsh to tell him when you were arriving and asked us to look after you. He needs your help as soon as possible."

"Ah, I see. Very well. Then let us carry on."

The conversation to the station was minimal, Fraser deciding that the man did not know how to relate to him. Fraser took the opportunity to pay attention to the environment and get his bearings.

Once within the precinct he was turned over to a wonderful woman named Elaine. "I was asked to send you right to the Lieutenant." She pointed to an office where a man sat at a desk with a woman and another man standing nearby.

"Thank you kindly." He didn't notice the woman's instant look of surprise and admiration.

He walked to the door and he was motioned inside. As soon as he opened the door, the man behind the desk spoke, "Constable Fraser."

"Yes. I am Constable Fraser. Leftenant Welsh I assume?"

The man nodded. "That's what it says on the door. Please come in and have a seat." He motioned to a chair.

Fraser walked over and very precisely sat down, although he didn't feel comfortable with a woman standing. "This is Detective Vecchio, who was assigned your father's case and this is Assistant District Attorney Stella Kowalski, who has been assisting with warrants and other things."

He stood up and greeted the two respectfully. He didn't sit back down.

Welsh sat forward and pushed a page across the desk. "Constable. Do you recognize the number which is highlighted in yellow?"

He looked down at the page, a list of times and phone numbers, and saw the item. "Actually, I do."

The woman, Assistant District Attorney Kowalski asked, "Who owns that number?"

Benton was confused. "This is the number for Staff Sergeant Gerard, an old friend of my father's and a fellow RCMP Officer." He paused and then asked, "What is this?"

Welsh and Vecchio looked at each other and then Vecchio explained. "The list of names turned up this guy, Frank Drake, who was posing as a dentist on a hunting trip to Canada. He has a record a mile long. We started asking around and once he heard about it, this is the number he called. We think that's who sent him after your father."

Fraser was very confused. "Gerard? He's one of my father's oldest friends," he said in protest. "For what reason would he send an assassin after him?"

Welsh took over. "We don't know. But when we approached him after he made this call, he tried to kill the Detective here and the other two that I sent with him. So he was arrested. We want to use him to find out where this goes. But we need your help."

He looked up and with a startling fire in his eye he asked, "What do you need me to do?"

Gerard was at home when the call came in. He picked up the line, "Hello. This is Gerard."

"Hello. You know who this is." Gerard sat back as he recognized the voice. "We've got more problems."

"What?" he asked, a little annoyed.

"You know what I said yesterday? People asking questions? Now there's another one who shows up. He looks like one of yours."

"What does he look like?" Gerard asked.

"Tall, 6' 2" or so, clean shaven, dark hair. He's wearing flannel and a hat just like yours. He's been asking around after me too. When I took this job, I was told there wouldn't be complications. Now there are complications. You get what I'm saying?"

"Yes, I do. We need to take care of this quickly."

"Well, for a similar fee, I can take care of this one just like I took care of the last one. But I need to know now – or I got to disappear. And if someone finds me, I might have to explain myself – if you get my meaning. I would rather avoid that – I'm sure you would too. So can I take care of this one?"

There was a pause and then Gerard answered, "Yes. Take care of this one too. Make it look like a mugging – that kind of thing happens where you live."

The snide reply came quickly, "Don't be looking down at me. This is the second guy who works for the same people as you that you want taken care of. You're no better than me. You should remember that if you don't want to be taken care of too."

Gerard was annoyed. This hired gun would have to be killed – as soon as Benton Fraser was silenced. "Call me when it's done."

"Oh, I will. I expect my bank account to reflect my good works on your behalf."

"It will."

"Be seeing you."

The phone disconnected.

Gerard took it from his ear and looked at it. Sighing, he hit the mechanism to reset the phone and then began to make a few calls. His backers were in agreement with his plans. And the man who would take care of it was put on notice that a job would be coming.

Gerard hung up the phone and sat back, sighing. When did it come to this?

His musings were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Seeing no additional signs, he pulled out his weapon in case this was an attempt to silence him. But peering out the window, he could see Superintendant Meers waiting patiently.

Wondering what he could be doing there – the man had no connection with the power damn scheme, he put away his weapon and went to the door. Opening it he said, "Superintendant. I was not expecting you."

"Welton Gerard. I am here to place you under arrest for conspiracy in the death of Sergeant Robert Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and contracting the murder of Constable Benton Fraser of the RCMP. We have the assassin that was hired in custody in Chicago and recordings in which you speak with him and others on these matters, verifying your own guilt." Even as he spoke, several other Mounties appeared around them, coming from their hiding places. "I ask that you come quietly after allowing us to ensure that you not armed." Meers' face was implacable as he uttered this and Gerard knew that the jig was entirely up.

Immediately he started planning what he would do to keep himself alive and then possibly escape. He knew that under normal circumstances he would soon be dead or locked up for the remaining years of his life. He had no interest in that. But he also knew there was no value in resisting. He came quietly.

Benton Fraser was in the Lieutenant's office when the call came in. "Yes. Yes. Of course. I see. Good. I'll tell him. Thank you, Superintendant Meers." Welsh hung up the phone and looked at Fraser. "That was Superintendant Meers. Staff Sergeant Gerard has been taken into custody and had already agreed to provide evidence and testimony in exchange for a lesser sentence. He will be giving up everyone who was involved with your father's death."

At that Fraser felt an enormous release in tension that he hadn't noticed had been building since her heard his father had died. Welsh gave him a minute for him to gather himself. In the end – he felt a bit empty. His father was still dead. "Thank you, Leftenant Welsh. The news is quite welcome."

Welsh nodded. "Meers has informed me that you need to contact the Canadian Consulate in Chicago. As of tomorrow, you will be on duty as you assist in the necessary work to extradite Frank Drake and transport him to Ottawa to stand trial and/or to testify. The local consulate is trying to fill the position of Deputy Liaison, which would normally work with us and they need the help. The evidence will also have to be transported. Your travel costs and the costs of your stay will be taken care of or reimbursed through the Canadian Consulate. You are, however, on your own for tonight. We could help with that if you need."

He stood up. "I should be able to secure at least temporary lodgings. But your offer is appreciated. Thank you kindly." He paused as he struggled with what he was saying. "If I may make a statement?"

Welsh nodded, a curious look on his face.

"I was warned that the police department here would give short shrift to the matter of my father's death. No one who I spoke to in Canada had any confidence that it would be taken seriously or handled so quickly. And yet, I find that all suppositions and conclusions that I had arrived with were proven to be completely spurious. The Chicago Police Department has handled this matter with the greatest of professionalism and consideration, far beyond what I experienced even in Ottawa when dealing with my own organization, though I am certain that Gerard played a part in that. For my poor thoughts, I would ask your forgiveness, as I had no true reason for such poor expectations."

Fraser was very worried when Welsh turned and moved to the window and looked out onto the streets. He stood there nervously as the man thought about what was said. Finally, Welsh turned back. "You are forgiven, Constable. It's true: We have far too many crimes and criminals of our own to deal with here to take the time and resources to be able to deal with those committed in Canada. If this was anything else, you would have been right. There is a reason we handled it so quick."

Fraser looked at him with earnest interest. "Your father was a cop. Likely killed for doing his job. That's the kind of thing that every cop takes seriously. It doesn't matter that this is Chicago and you and your father were Canadians. You're a cop ... like us. As soon as it came in, I gave it over. Detective Vecchio immediately investigated. I authorized the needed resources. My Captain instantly allowed it when he heard that it was about a cop-killing. You're one of ours, just like your father was. Cops – we take care of each other. It's called the Blue Line here in America and it's a very big deal with us. Capice?"

Fraser nodded in wonder. "Yes. I quite understand. Thank you kindly."

Welsh nodded. "Dismissed."

Fraser immediately left.

As he entered back into the main room, Detective Vecchio called out, "Fraser! You all set?"

He paused. "What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"What I mean is: Is everything taken care of for the night? Is there anything left to do here?"

"No. Everything that could be done has been. I only have to obtain short term lodgings for the night. I report to the Canadian Consulate tomorrow to make further arrangements."

"So you need a place tonight?"

"Yes. That is what I just said." Fraser was confused – he thought he had been clear.

Vecchio shrugged. "Tell you what. I got a spare room at my house. You seem like a good guy – you're a cop. Ma always makes extra and tonight's lasagna. No one makes better. Why don't you come home with me and I can drop you off tomorrow on the way to work?"

Fraser was quite taken aback at the suggestion. "There is no need to inconvenience yourself or your family. I am certain that I can obtain sufficient accommodations for the night."

Vecchio rolled his eyes. "Don't be so proper." The man sounded annoyed. "When I called home earlier, I told my family about the cop I was helping from Canada. They all were interested in meeting you. Besides. Ma likes feeding people. Not accepting her food is, like, a mortal insult. You gotta come home with me."

Trying to gauge the man's sincerity, finally Fraser capitulated. "Very well. I accept your generous offer. Thank you kindly."

Ray rolled his eyes again and said, "Come on. You can tell what it's like up there in Canada, what it's like being Nanook of the North."

As the two left the squad room, Fraser spoke. "My name is not Nanook. For the Inuit, Nanuk, now spelled Nanook as well, was the spirit known as Master of Bears. He decided if hunters …." As he listened to the Mountie talk about the Inuit, he could only be amused by the man's enthusiasm.