Disclaimer: I have a cat and a room full of books. Almost everything else belongs to someone else. Recognisable characters, TV shows, movies, etc belong to their creators (in some cases otherwise known as god), producers, directors, etc.
The Art of Matchmaking.
Chapter One - Ravishing.
"She wants you to fight back."
"Pardon?" Fraser glanced at his father's ghost.
"Argue, disagree, gnash your teeth."
"Gnash my teeth?"
"Don't just stand there and take it," Bob Fraser waved his hand over Inspector Thatcher's desk, "Sweep everything off the desk. Have your way with her!"
"Dad!," Fraser lowered his voice, sliding the filing cabinet draw shut, "I am not going to ravish my commanding officer in her own office, on her own desk."
"Maybe you should. It's not like you're getting any younger."
"What does my age have to do with anything?"
"Nothing... It's just...well..."
"Well what?"
"Sometime Son, in your life time, grandchildren would be very much appreciated."
"Grandchildren?"
"Some polite little dragons running around. To make life interesting."
"Have you been talking to Mrs Vecchio, Dad?"
"You know she can't see or hear me Son," Bob frowned, "No, I was checking in with Buck Frobisher. He's going to be my corporeal stand in."
Benton sighed. "Corporeal stand in?"
"I'm a ghost Son."
"How could I forget?"
Bob ignored him.
"I'll never get the chance to teach my grandson's how to ride, show my granddaughters how to track a man across a glacier. Buck can at least tell them how good I was at that stuff," Bob smiled, "Where would you ravish her Son?"
Tbc...