Ghosts
Disclaimer: Nope don't own them, but darn it if I did, I'd share with everyone. Idea and new charas are however mine... mine!
Warnings: New charas, AU
Rated: PG-13
Archive: Um here I suppose, if any one wants to, they can put my story up on their site. As long as you tell me so I can check it out
-Notes- An AU, but if you wanna place it in the series it would take place before Victoria's Secret
Feedback: Most definitely welcome, I need it like I need oxygen... so give me life!
'Blah blah' - indicating thought
------ - Indicating time change or memory
''''''''''''' - indicating scene change
High winds in northern sky will carry you away
You know you have to leave here
You wish that you could stay
There's four directions on this map
But you're only going one way
-Due South
"Has anyone seen my report?" an ebony haired woman half shouted at anyone that passed by her. She shuffled through a few manilla envelopes on her desk, before frowning deeply. "Great just great," she said to herself, knowing no cared to hear her. Elaine sighed, wanting to stamp her foot in a childish manner but instead settled on placing her hands on her hips. She had just gone to the copy room to copy a paper for filing, maybe been gone for five minutes at the most and when she had returned, her report that had been sitting neatly on her desk was now missing in action.
The woman sighed again, lifting her head and spotted a file in a man's hands. "Detective Gardino? Louis is that my report?" She stalked off after the man.
The Chicago Police Department was in a frenzy. The hustle and bustle of activities were a reminiscent of a hive; busy working bees buzzing back and forth all under the order of the powerful Queen er rather King that barked orders and all snapped to attention. The air was thick with the smell of stale doughnuts, old coffee and sweat. Not the most pleasant thing to first smell when one came off the streets but none of the occupants of the department seemed to notice or care as they scurried to hurry with their jobs so they could end their shift and go home to a nice warm bed.
Frenzy would put it lightly.
Two street cops came off from the street, dragging a man in handcuffs who was singing about the Apocalypse, an angry cut and bruise forming above his right eye, he stank of rotten fruit and three of his teeth were missing as well as his left shoe. He started in on another song, the two officers jostling him as he tottered back and forth and ran into a figure standing in the middle of the room.
The heavily clothed figure stumbled, a hand reaching out to grasp the end of a desk to steady itself before rightening slowly. A green tattered pack was slung over both shoulders, a heavily downed sleeping bag tied atop by bits of twine and a shoelace tied a small metal pot that banged quietly against a zipper as the person who was dressed in heavy winter gear took a step forward. In an instant a large Husky dog appeared beside the figure, pressing into it's side as if it too didn't want to get stepped on. Sky blue liquid eyes soaking in every detail of the busy place. The dog whined softly, looking up at its master who bent slightly, rubbing behind a floppy ear that looked as though it been torn in half.
Shifting the straps of the pack, the figure moved slowly, a slight limp to it's gait into the rush of moving bodies. The squeak of the metal and leather brace that surrounded the person's left leg was drowned out by the nonstop humming of voices. A door to the left opened and a large man stepped out.
"Elaine where's that report?"
"It's coming Lieutenant Welsh," the woman yelled back, feeling her nerves beginning to fray. She brushed back a few curly ringlets of hair from her face and mentally rolled her sleeves back up, the Civilian Aide patch on her shoulder only making her more determined to find the report. With the recent overflow of drug smugglers from the North to Chicago, the 27th District was swamped and that meant longer hours, grumpier people with guns and no time for showers. Weren't there other cities or states that were capable of drugs being smuggled into them?
"Excuse me ma'am?"
Elaine looked up, ready to throttle whoever was bothering her. She glanced down at the Husky then back up at the person. She raised an eyebrow at the heavy winter clothing but decided she didn't want to know, nor did she care at the moment. "If you need to file a complaint or report a crime, the front desk is back that way."
"Oh no, thank you but I'm looking for someone." The person pulled a folded piece of paper from a pocket the dark green coat and slowly unfolded it. "A Benton Fraser. The Consulate sent me here."
"Fraser? Eh yeah, over there." The woman pointed behind her towards a desk that was near where the elder man's office was. Normally if anyone ever looked for Chicago's resident Canadian, be it male or female, most paid attention but at that moment a corner of a folder caught Elaine's eye, poking out from the trash receptacle near her desk. Retrieving it, she dashed off over to Welsh's office.
The Husky yawned and licked the fingers of the stranded figure, feeling his master's troubled mind. The fingers then curled into a timid but determined fist and moved again in the direction where the woman had pointed. Three men sat in handcuffs in front of Welsh's office, one looked like he had just come off the street, the other two were of the white-collar kind. Moving past the men slowly the two came upon the desk, a metal name card read "Detective Vecchio, Raymond" half hidden by a loose stack of scattered papers and files, half a sandwich and an empty can of pop.
The person sighed; their search had ended abruptly. There was no Benton Fraser here. Dark blue eyes glanced down at the faithful canine. Looked like they'd have to head back to the Consulate to make sure they had been given the right directions. The Constable Turnbull had been quite a character, giving the oddest directions.
"Come on, we best head back before it starts to get dark." The silver and gray haired dog gave a low whine in protest but obediently followed its master. One ear twitched and raised, the canine glanced around as he heard a voice above all the others. Sniffing the air, he searched through all the scents and let out a soft bark only to be cuffed gently by the heavily geared person. A hand rested atop the dog's head, the other hand came up to lift the fur lined hood. Voices fluttered from the stairs of the Precinct and a man dressed in a brown suit appeared, followed by a man in a red Serge.
"Listen Fraser, if I want some Eskimo's quote on how the beet is the orange, I'll ask for it."
"Ray, Ray, Ray." The Canadian held back the urge to sigh. "That would be a Chinese Proverb."
"What?" The brown haired man stopped trekking up the steps. "Fraser I don't care what it is, just don't say it. I'm not in the mood for it right now."
"Understood."
"And stop staying understood."
"Understood." Fraser removed his Stetson as the two men arrived finally at the top and held his hands behind his back, giving his partner a thoughtful look. "Is this about the case?"
"No Fraser I like getting pissed off about quotes and Chinese vegetables." Vecchio ran a hand over his face and through his thinning hair. "I just wish we could get a break and nail these guys." Ray practically had to shoulder his way through a group of officers blocking his way to his desk, he could hear Fraser excusing and pardoning himself around everyone.
The Italian Detective bent over his desk, leafing through a few papers and picked one up, reaching for the water bottle. Finding it empty he tossed it in the trash, bouncing off the edge before falling in. Score for Ray, he thought. He looked up, something was missing. Oh that's right, Fraser's voice. He turned, catching sight of a dog but turned his attention fully to the Canadian.
"Fraser? Fras, hey?" He waved a hand in front of his partner's face that had turned a weird shade of white. "Benny, you look like you've seen a ghost." Not receiving an answer he turned, following to where the Mountie was staring.
Benton's eyes widened to a unacustumed saucer like state, his hands clutched his hat so tightly it creased around the edges, his mouth felt like sandpaper when he tried to swallow and his heart skipped a beat. The heavy winter clothed person had paused in lifting it's hood, blue eyes catching his. A timid smile appeared though it was a bit hesitant and the hood fell freely, revealing curly hair the color of tangerine and rust. The locks framed a face that been weathered a bit from harsh climates and yet only made the youthful beauty stand out. Fraser couldn't breathe, the room suddenly felt hot and stuffy, closing in on him and the only thing he could muster, came in a breathy whisper...
"Mum?"
--Notes from OMWOS--
First DS fic, the idea has been in my head since '95 and I've finally decided to write it.