Being Benton Fraser

by Theodosia

Chapter I – Getting Into Fraser's Pants

I hate mornings, but I especially hate mornings that start out bizarre and just keep going. Like this one, where I woke to realize I was in Fraser’s office at the Consulate, on Fraser’s cot, and had no memory of how I got there.

Could it be a dream? I lay back down but a wet, warm nose on my neck made me yell and try to sit up, and I managed to knock the cot over, and me onto Diefenbaker. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I yelled at him, poor wolf. I kicked my way out of the blankets (doesn’t Canada have fabric softener?) and discovered I was wearing Fraser’s big red long johns.

I was steadily getting more worried. I’ve been knocked for a loop in the ring, but I never had a blackout or a hole in my memory until the Volpe case. Missing time is just creepy. “Fraser?” I yelled, hoping my favorite Mountie would be nearby, and there’d be some un-alarming explanation like… I dunno, but not involving death or dismemberment.

I took stock – no headache, which was good, and I felt my head – no bruises, so I hadn’t been knocked out. I wasn’t hung over: been there, upchucked that. Which left odder and more unpleasant possibilities, like knockout drugs.

“Fraser!” I yelled again. Dief stared with the weirdest look in his wolfy eyes. “What’s up, buddy?” I said, noticing as I did so that my voice sounded funny. My throat wasn’t sore, and it wasn’t that “dozen whiskeys and two packs of cigarettes” hoarseness from a cold… it was just deeper.

Something that had been tugging at the back of my mind like a loose shirt-tail made me look down at my hands… which didn’t seem to be my hands – not bragging here, I have distinctive hands, or so the ladies tell me. I know them… like I’d know the back of my hand, right? Backs or fronts, they were broader and thicker, handsome even, but not mine. Even if they were at the ends of my arms, which on closer inspection also didn’t seem to be my arms….

“Holy Mary, Mother of God!” I said – reverting to Mum-speak under stress, oh yeah. There are no atheists in Mountie holes. I scrambled to my feet and looked around for a mirror. No, of course Fraser didn’t keep one in his office-cum-bedroom, that would be down the hall and in the bathroom.

Yeah, Benton Fraser RCMP stared back at me, only the expression was pure panic-stricken Kowalski. I said something in Polish, curse words that Mum would never translate for me. They seemed weirdly appropriate.

I touched Fraser’s – my – face with his — my – hand. This must be the best hallucination ever: sight, sound, touch. I picked up a bar of soap and gave it a quick sniff, confirming that smell was there too.

My legs went kind of wobbly, and I sat down hard on the toilet lid. I had been going to give the soap a lick, just to prove that taste was a part of my well-rounded trip, but that was too weird even for me, though weirdly enough not for Fraser, if I was him.

Dief was sitting in the doorway, his head cocked. “You think this is strange for you,” I said, and he whimpered. I might have wished to get into Fraser’s pants, but I didn’t mean that I’d also be getting into his boots… or his red union suit. I made a mental note to practice safe wishing in the future.

What I needed now was a plan of action. The first thing I’d do… was go to Fraser for advice and/or help. Except, I was Fraser… so where was he? If I was him, didn’t that mean that he might well be me right now? I sprang up and headed down to Fraser’s office, intending to get dressed and book it over to my apartment.

Except there was somebody knocking on the Consulate door. Pounding, even. I looked down at him – me – in Fraser’s red jammies and decided that it could wait until I got him – me – dressed, if I didn’t want Fraser’s rep with the Mounties to go even further downhill. Anyway, it was probably somebody wanting help with a visa, so if they were still there by the time I got Fraser dressed, I’d just have to see how good my Mountie improv was. God save Canada.

It was only then that I heard a voice – a strangely familiar voice, because your voice sounds weird when it’s coming from outside your head – and it was calling, “Ray! Ray! Are you in there?”

There could be only one guy in all the world right now who would come to the Canadian Consulate and yell my name. I opened the front door and there was me on the stoop – standing stiffly upright, clothes unnaturally neat, hair combed flat. He’d somehow gotten a Henley, which is a mystery because I didn’t think I owned any. “Fraser,” I said, “I hope to hell you have a good explanation for all this, because I sure don’t.”

Fraser’s – my – eyes widened. “I haven't entirely discounted an elaborate hallucination,” he said.

“We can’t both be having one,” I said. “One of the hallmarks of a trip is not doubting whatever you’re seeing, and I’ve been doubting enough for two people – and a wolf!” Next to me, Dief barked. He was looking kind of put out.

Fraser – I was going to call him Fraser, even if he looked just like me – knelt down and spoke slowly so Diefenbaker could read his lips. “I know this is confusing; we’ll just have to make the best of it.” I got a good look at me, and I resolved to try to gain some weight, I looked about two meals away from being the poster boy for starvation.

I said the first thing that popped into my head. “You didn’t try to do the hair?” It was down, that made me look like a bum… funny how it’s hard to let go of your appearance, huh?

Fraser stood up – I didn’t think I was capable of standing that straight. “I thought it better to get over to the Consulate quickly once I had assessed the situation. I would rank personal grooming rather lower than body-switching of unknown origin.”

“If I had any doubt you were Fraser….”

“If I had any doubt you were Ray—” He gave me a brilliant smile that I’d have recognized anywhere, even if it was on a different face.

I grinned back, and honestly I felt my spirits lift some. Fraser and I have gotten into some weird – very weird – situations, but together we’ve always been able to figure a way out. I knew in my heart this wasn’t going to be any different.

“Er, Ray?” Fraser said. “Do you think you should be standing in the front doorway of the Consulate in my underwear?”

I looked down. “At least it’s red?” I said, which earned me an eyebrow rub – which, I have to say, looked damn funny on my face. “Let’s go make some coffee for me and tea for you, and start working on a solution, buddy,” I said, and stood aside with a “come in” gesture. “Oh, and welcome to Canada!”

Chapter II - Oatmeal

In the kitchen we got the coffee measured and percolating, the kettle heated, plus cooked the oatmeal that Fraser insisted he wanted. “You’re not possibly hungry,” I said, realizing that I – in Fraser’s body – kind of was. “A little chocolate, a lot of coffee, that’s what you’re used to.”

“I see no reason to abandon lifelong habits,” Fraser said.

“You’re going to get a headache from the caffeine withdrawal,” I said, “and it will stick with you for the rest of the morning if you don’t have at least a cup.”

Fraser nodded slowly. “Conversely… you should drink tea this morning… I’m not used to so much caffeine, and it would make you jittery… well, more jittery. It will be hard enough convincing anyone that you're me without extra nervousness thrown in.” He looked meaningfully at me, and I realized I was sprawled out over my kitchen chair, which was definitely a position I’d never seen Fraser in.

“We’re going to have a hell of a time impersonating each other,” I said. “The sooner we get back in our own bodies, the better.”

“I quite agree, but I'm at a loss for a cure,” said Fraser. “While there are occasional Inuit tales of spirit possession, and an abundance of body-snatching folklore among the First Nations – the tradition of the Wendigo, which actually is not strictly speaking body switching—”

“Fraser—” I said, trying to get his attention. “Fraser, Fraser, Fraser.” (Was I this hard to get through to normally? Maybe I needed to get my hearing checked.)

“Yes Ray?”

“Have we had any cases involving Native anything in like the past three months? Have there been any weird artifacts in the Consulate, or inukshuk dedications or anything like that recently?”

“Nothing comes to mind.”

“Then I think we can skip on the similar tales of spirits possessing anybody,” I said. “Usually in the movies, it’s some kind of native idol or a gypsy curse.”

“Will humorous cinema serve as a better guide than native folklore?” Fraser said. “I don’t see that privileging one over the other gains us anything—”

“Wait a second!” I said. “Yesterday, while we were out with that Baxter-Schmidt woman and her attack raccoons, the Duck Boys brought in a fortune teller!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ray,” Fraser said. He brought the tea and coffee cups over to the table. I looked at where he’d put them, sighed, and switched them around, so that I had the tea and he had the coffee.

“I heard about it from Frannie,” I said. “You were releasing the raccoons back into the wild, while I went back to the station. The fortune teller got into a yelling match with Dewey, screaming stuff… and cursing everyone in sight.”

“Cursing… if that worked, we would be up to here in bad fortune,” said Fraser.

“Yeah, but what if this time it did?” I said. “Remember that voodoo case… Frannie is still finding grass seeds on her desk.”

“Magic isn't necessary to explain our predicament,” Fraser said with a shake of his head. “There are other, scientific hypotheses that could account for the situation.”

“Oh, yeah?” I said. “Name one.”

“Hypnosis,” Fraser said promptly.

I rolled my eyes. “So are you hypnotized, or am I? I’m pretty sure we’re in this together, and Dief is sure confused as well.”

“We are both hypnotized,” Fraser said, “or rather, that is what I theorize. We’ve been hypnotized to believe that we’re actually the other.”

I blinked and flashed on Eddie Murphy on Saturday Night Live saying “Help! Help! I’ve been hyp-mo-tized!” which didn’t help much. “Okay,” I said slowly. “So, really, I’m Fraser, I’m just imagining that Ray has possessed me?”

“Well, yes,” said Fraser.

“And you’re really Stanley Raymond Kowalski, only you’re compelled to do your best approximation of Benton Fraser?”

“Essentially, yes,” said Fraser. “One imagines that by now, I would have had a fair amount of exposure to Fraser’s mannerisms, speech patterns and patterns of mental processing, picked up at an unconscious level.”

“The sort of know-how that would let me recognize you if you were, say, in a different body?” I said sweetly.

“It is a hypothesis that certainly fits the facts,” Fraser said. He took a sip of my coffee and stopped dead, eyes widening.

“Exactly,” I said. “It’s too damn elaborate, depends on a hypnotist getting it exactly right with the both of us, not to mention hypnotizing us in the first place, and then releasing us back into the wild.”

“Occam’s Razor?” Fraser said.

I blinked. “Now, you see, that’s just a good example, I said. “I never heard of this Razor, so how would I know… if I’m really you bamboozled into thinking I'm me? On the other hand, if I was you, believing that I’m Ray, wouldn’t I have a clue?”

“All it would take is a post-hypnotic suggestion,” said Fraser. He swallowed a spoonful of the oatmeal he’d insisted on having and grimaced.

“Yeah… but how would Ray-pretending-to-be-Fraser know it in the first place?” I said

“Ray, you’re far more retentive than you give yourself credit for,” Fraser said.

“Wait… you’re telling me this, but if I’m really you, then why are you telling me?” I said. “I’m not the one who needs convincing, then.”

That stopped him dead, paused with another spoonful of oatmeal halfway to his mouth. “I didn’t say it was a perfect theory,” he said. Had I ever looked so earnest before? Probably for a week, when I was seven.

“Whether it was a rogue hypnotist, or a gypsy curse, we’re going to have to suss it out,” I said. “Unless it’s one of those curses that if you figure it out it goes away… like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day… all he had to do was make the girl fall in love with him.”

I then had to explain the plot of Groundhog Day to Fraser, of course… yet another film that never made it up to his corner of The Frozen North. Hey, I was in Toronto that time, and they had movie theatres and video stores, so it’s not a Canadian thing: just for the record, it’s Fraser!

And if I didn’t want to go through life as an involuntary Canadian, we’d have to figure out how to reverse this, toot sweet. I said as much to Fraser, and added, “Canadian for a day I can hack, but anything much longer and I’m worried I’ll do your rep serious damage.”

“Oh dear,” Fraser said. “I hadn’t given any thought to communicating our predicament to any of our confederates… if we tell anybody what has happened…”

“… they’ll lock us up in separate padded rooms,” I finished for him. “And then we’ll never get back to our proper bodies. So we’ve got to fool everybody while we play Spot the Curse.”

“Masquerade… as you?” Fraser said, looking horrified. He dropped his spoon in the oatmeal.

“Yeah… American for a day… just think of it as slumming,” I said and winked. Thought about it for a moment. “I’m going to have the tougher job, Thatcher is like a hawk, but at least she’s intimidated by you, so that’s something.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say ‘intimidated,’” Fraser said.

“’Baffled?’” I said. “Sometimes I swear I can hear gears in her adding machine just grinding.”

Fraser gave me a grin… I was used to his rare grins, but it was kind of weird to see it splayed out over my kisser. I wouldn’t have thought so, but I look halfway decent when I smile, Stella always said so…. I stopped dead, appalled at the idea of Fraser encountering The Stella as me.

“Whatever you do,” I said. “If you see Stella, run. She knows me better than anybody, including Mum, and she’s perceptive as all hell. Get out of wherever you are, don’t say anything, don't pass Go, just hide until she goes away.”

“Ray, I don’t think—”

“Oh, it may seem like it will be easy,” I said. “Nobody’s expecting anything out of the ordinary, they’re not going to be watching us any more than normal, so there’s some leeway. But Stella kind of looks at me with a critical eye, not like a normal person would….”

Fraser hmmm'ed.

“Hey,” I said. Fraser has issues with Stella, I get that. “Stella still cares about me, the same as I do her, and that’s a problem, because she’s going to notice. She talks to you more than a sentence, she’s going to think I’ve slipped off my rocker. And aside from the distress that I don’t want to cause her, one of the things she does professionally is get involuntary commitments for rocker-slippers. Plus, she still has my power of attorney, so she wouldn’t even have to talk my folks into it.”

“I see,” said Fraser. “Ducking out might well be the better part of valor.”

“You betcha,” I said. “Run, do not walk to the nearest exit.” I thought for a second. “I think I could convince her I am me wearing your body, if I had to. I wouldn’t want to, unless it becomes necessary… it would be upsetting.”

“Surely this won’t go on long enough to necessitate such a step,” said Fraser.

“If we don’t find out what caused it,” I said. “If it goes on more than a day or two, we’re going to have to get a couple friends to help us cover. Avoiding the men with the butterfly nets is where it’s at, today.”

“Butterfly nets?” said Fraser. He took a spoonful of oatmeal and made a face. “Good lord, this tastes like library paste! Something must be wrong with it!” He put the spoon back in the oatmeal and pushed it away. “Maybe you’re right… maybe I shouldn’t eat much.”

I caught a whiff… it sure smelled good, like breakfast. “Ummm,” I said. “Are you going to eat the rest?”

Fraser looked up from the coffee he’d been chugging. “No… I’ve lost my appetite… or perhaps I never found it.”

“Listen to your body,” I said. “Or at least respect that it’s gotten into routines that are your cues if you want to keep up the illusion that you’re me.”

I seized the bowl. “You don't mind?” I said.

“Er, no,” Fraser said. He looked dubious.

“Good,” I said, and popped a spoonful of it in my mouth. It wasn’t like seeing God, not hardly – more like one of those baby angels with the wings. I never honestly thought oatmeal could taste this good. “What did you put in this stuff, crack?”

Fraser blinked and while he thought, I took another couple spoonfuls. Hadn’t realized I was that hungry. “Er, Ray?” he said. I nodded around my mouthful. “Perhaps the sense of taste is more individual than I had considered.”

“I never thought of it that way,” I said. “It’s just… wow. I mean that.” I went back to gobbling oatmeal, and ended by scraping around the bowl with my spoon.

“On reflection, it’s rather daunting,” Fraser said. “How much of our selves is determined by our physical bodies? Are not the human spirit and mind much more than the frail vessels that house them? Do such petty details as the taste of food, the perceptions of the senses make such a difference to our essential identities?”

Way too much philosophy, way too early in the day for me. “You’ll get used to it,” I said. I sat up straighter, remembering as I did so how Fraser usually sat, like there was a ruler super-glued to his spine.

“I just pray that I don’t have to,” Fraser said, chagrined.

“Something this wacko… if it can be made to happen, it can be made to un-happen. We just got to figure out who or what done it, and get it un-done,” I said.

Fraser looked thoughtful. “Usually, I’m the one who spouts the optimism,” he said. “Perhaps the chassis is having an effect on the driver, as it were.”

I shrugged. “Speaking of chasses, we’ve got to get me dressed in your clothes. The last time I was in a Mountie suit, I had to have Turnbull dress me, because I couldn’t figure out half of it, and I don't suppose that I’ve got any better at it just by being moved over to the Mountie side of the aisle.”

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow, which just looked silly on my face. “You should take a shower, as well,” he said. At my look, he said, “Well, it’s what I’d do.”

“You took a shower in my body?” I said, not sure how I felt. Not like I objected to having him handle intimate parts of me, but I had kind of hoped to be there while it was happening.

“I would hope that proper care of a borrowed body would a prime consideration,” said Fraser. “At any rate, I couldn’t discount the possibility that I was merely having an elaborate dream, so a cold, brisk shower seemed well-suited to test the hypothesis.”

“Oooh, cold shower,” I said. “For what it’s worth, I’m convinced that this is really happening, so I’ll settle for a nice hot one… you do have working showers here today, right?” The one time I’d stayed at the Consulate, they hadn’t had any working bathrooms.

“They work, yes,” Fraser said, still looking doubtful. Well, it’s got to be strange to have somebody taking your body off to get cleaned, pressed and starched – might as well throw in Martinizing, whatever that is.

“Our best bet is to get over to the station as soon as possible,” I said. “I’ll have to beat feet away from here… doing your job is going to be a problem. I can forge your signature, but forget the handwriting, not to mention remembering to fill in box 32 on Form G.”

“Filling out forms would be impersonating a Mountie,” Fraser said, “which, really, I can’t countenance.”

“For that matter, impersonating a police detective is a felony,” I said. “But actually—” I tapped my – Fraser’s – chest “—this is a bona fide Mountie sitting here. He’s just… out of his mind, but as far as the law is concerned… and I’m betting it’s the same in Canada… it’s a variation on habeus corpus. As far as the law can prove… I’m you."

Fraser rubbed the eyebrow again. It’s a wonder he hadn’t worn his own off. “That does make sense.”

“Hah,” I said. “Let me catch that shower, we'll get me dressed and then we can lay out our plan. Remember how Thatcher let you come over early when we had that forger we thought might be Canadian? You call, and I’ll tell her that there’s another possible Canadian impersonator who needs investigatin’ – it’s the truth, sort of.”

“Ray—” Fraser stopped. “Well, yes, that’s the truth, but….”

“We gotta get to the station,” I said. “There’s nothing out of the usual here – if this were some sort of Canadian curse, we’d know by now. Dollars to donuts, it’s the gypsy woman done it; we track her down and make – well, convince would be nicer, if we want everything to be nice after – get her to switch us back the right way round.”

“Certainly, it’s a place to start,” Fraser said. “Oh dear, this means I’m going to have to appear as you.”

“Just slouch and say as little as possible,” I said. “It works for me just fine, and they won’t expect you to be human before your third cup of coffee.” I got up. “Where do you keep the towels around here, anyway?”

Chapter III - Cleanliness is Next To…

I wondered if this might be Fraser's first hot shower. He might be just enough of a gigantic freak to think they were bad for the character. Even if I did currently like oatmeal, I wasn’t about to jump off the cold shower bridge by my lonesome.

Still the SS Kowalski lost steam when I shut the bathroom door. I only had to take off Fraser’s underwear and step naked into the damn shower, and then I could get on with the masquerade, solve the mystery and put us back in our right bodies… but now that I was slowing down, the enormity of what had happened was hitting me again hard.

I was in somebody else’s body – not only that, Fraser’s body.

Honestly, Fraser tooling around in my body didn’t bother me much – I trust the guy, he’s Mr. Respect For Others, and frankly he’d take better care of it than the owner. Me in his body, though, that was a whole ‘nother can of worms, felt more intimate… which is funny, really. It’s not like I’m not used to being around naked men – and no, I’m not only talking about the gay thing, I spent a lot of time around the gym, and in the locker rooms, modesty isn’t a craze among macho boxers, right?

Being in Fraser’s body felt more intrusive. I got my Nosy Parker side – I didn’t end up a detective by accident – but I don’t go snooping in medicine cabinets of houses I’m visiting socially. If Fraser had asked me, “Do you want to tool around in my body for a day, Ray?” I’d feel less at sea. This was like being made to strip at gunpoint.

On the other hand… if such a thing had happened, Fraser would blush, I'd roll my eyes, and then we'd get on with the case. That’s what Fraser had done this morning. I took a deep breath, turned on the shower, stripped out of the long johns too fast to linger over what was for now my body, and jumped in. And immediately jumped back out, because – hot! – and reset the faucets as I dripped on the bathmat. Finally I got in again and ducked my head under.

Okay… better, definitely much better. If I shut my eyes and didn’t look, I could fool myself that I was in my real body, the one I was born with. Fraser is bulkier than me, I could wish I’d had that much muscle when I was boxing, even if it would have sent me up three or four weight classes. From inside, with my eyes closed, it felt pretty much the same as ever, except for maybe some lower back pain and stiffness.

The hot water had a good effect, I was definitely looser – probably looser than Fraser’d ever been in his entire life, even when he was a little baby. He probably had his blocks lined up like soldiers and his crayons were never broken. They wouldn't have dared.

I tried singing – I had hoped that the talent would have carried over, but I was no better – maybe a little more in tune. I shampooed, noting that with the shorter hair my fingers just ran through it, started the soaping part of the festivities, and froze up when I reached what my Mum would have delicately referred to as 'down there.'

I am not a prude, I’m not even that good a Catholic… and really, I made my peace with masturbation as an enjoyable hobby back when I was a horny teenager. Beating off in the shower? Normal part of the routine, if I’m in the mood for it and there’s time. And if I were in my body, at the least there’d be a little “Hi, how are you?” fondling in passing. We’re definitely talking some favorite body parts.

All this brought me back to the question of whether I was intruding on body parts that I hadn't been invited to fondle? Fraser is a private person who keeps himself buttoned up. I was pretty much crazy in love with him… how much of that he knew, I wasn't entirely sure, but he was smart enough to have noticed, and he'd pretty much given me no encouragement. I felt honor-bound by that.

So… dilemma. Was it tantamount to uninvited sexual touching I was about to do? Particularly as a result of thinking about Fraser naked, I’d given said naked body a good-sized hard-on.

Really good-sized – I hadn't traded down in the dick department. Plus a foreskin, which I’d always wondered about. All the guys I was with in college were cut, like me, so it – um – never came up.

So now I had guilt and a woody that won’t quit. I closed my eyes and put my head under the hot water to think. As far as the law was concerned, I was Fraser, they’d have to make new laws to cover body-switching so the legal angle was covered. Of course, there was Fraser’s wacky theory that I was actually him thinking that I’m me, in which case a little masturbation was really only a little masturbation.

But I knew better than that. Still, the worst violation had already happened, and it wasn't our fault – getting stolen out of our proper bodies was a horrendous crime, we were both just lucky that we ended up with our bodies in possession of people we trusted.

Fraser trusted me, I knew this. Let me in closer than anyone, except maybe Diefenbaker – no, he trusted Dief less, especially around doughnuts – and more than once he'd trusted me with his life. The question was, would I violate that trust if I did what my – his – body was urging me to do, or would I be violating his trust in another direction by not following those urges?

‘Cause now I was thinking if I took care of business down there now, Fraser’s dick was going to be less excitable for the rest of the day – God knows I’m a horndog if I go too long without some relief. I didn’t know if Fraser wanked off every day – I honestly hoped so, he deserved a little fun – but when Dewey was making some bad blue jokes about a gross indecency case once I heard Fraser say that masturbation is a normal part of adult sexuality.

I swear I wasn't trying to come up with a flimsy justification, okay? It might just be wanking off, but there was a deeper moral dilemma there, since I was responsible for what happened to my friend’s body now. We could get into a running firefight later and I’d have to weigh endangering Fraser’s life in a new and bizarre way versus doing my – our – job.

Come to think of it, I figured I’d better warn Fraser that he couldn’t expect to be able to jump as high, hit as hard, see as well, or do half a dozen other things that he was used to doing. At least it’d be legal for him to use a gun… and in fact, he could get me (provided I ever got back to being me, that is) in legal trouble if he didn’t exercise his police authority in some instances.

I took a deep breath, feeling that I’d thought it through. That woody still hadn’t gone away, so I did something about it… okay, something nice… and let’s just say, Fraser’s body was happy about what I did. Any more details, you’ll have to imagine for yourself, okay?

But just for the record… foreskins are neat. Not supercalifragil-whatsis neat, not going to have to take a vow of celibacy and spend my nights regretting what I’ve lost neat, not needing to go look up my parents (and wouldn’t they be surprised to see me-as-Fraser right now?) and give them hell because they’ve ruined my life neat… but if I’m ever in the position to decide for a boy baby of mine, or someone asks me for an opinion, I’d vote on skipping on the circumcision.

Chapter IV - Sniff Test

I got out of the shower feeling better than when I’d gotten in, nothing like some hot pounding water (and some hot pounding, period) to make your troubles wash away, at least for a while.

I wrapped myself in a towel and went in search of Fraser – who was seated at his desk writing. He looked so solemn and intent… I really would have recognized him as Fraser right off the bat. I hoped to hell that nobody else he’d run into knew him like I did. Maybe Vecchio, if he was back from playing gangster in Vegas, and Fraser had better remember to zip his lips around Welsh, who is very observant when he isn’t trying to herd cats. Frannie wouldn’t be a problem as long as he remembered to call her “Sis,” and be brusque. Dewey had trouble recognizing himself in a mirror; Jack Huey might notice something was off right away, but he usually plays a slow observer's game, so hopefully by the time he put two and two together, we’d be back in our rightful bodies, so no problem.

Fraser still hadn’t noticed me – he was expecting his hearing to be as good as usual, or maybe my brain concentrates harder than his. I’d never stopped to consider how much of “ourselves” is really our bodies. I was sure getting a crash course.

Speaking of which… I straightened up, forming a mental image of Fraser finding me at his desk, picturing what he would say. “Ray – Ray!” I said, realizing it’s much easier to do somebody else’s voice when you’ve using their actual mouth and vocal cords. “Just what do you think you’re doing at my desk?” I split the tone between bewilderment and righteous indignation the way he does.

The double-take Fraser gave me was a beauty to behold: shocked, baffled, amazed, all by turns – and on my face, too. Finally he put down his pen, and just said, “Ray?”

“Gotcha,” I said. “Do I pass the quick impression test?” I leaned against the doorframe, dropping the straight spine routine.

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. “The voice – I have to say, you do it well. But you need more clothes – in fact, any clothes at all, if you have the slightest hope of ‘pushing it off.’”

“‘Pulling,’” I said. “It’s ‘pulling it off.’” I looked down at myself, having forgotten I only had a – kinda small – towel wrapped around my hips. I sure wasn’t used to a view quite like this – big broad chest, narrow waist, six pack abs and all.

“Ah,” Fraser said. I made a mental note to use that at least once per conversation. It would also give me time to think about how to respond. “We shall have to get you dressed. But first, you’ll have to shave.”

I felt my chin. Fraser sure doesn’t have much of a beard. “I think we can skip it,” I said.

“Ray—” Fraser shook his head. “Believe me, Thatcher and Turnbull will notice.”

He had a point. “Just show me where your razor is then,” I said.

“Ah,” he said, and my poor eyebrow got another rub.

“Okay,” I said. “Electric shaver?”

“Not as such… I think I’ll have to shave you as well.”

Fraser escorted me into the bathroom where he produced the most lethal-looking straight razor in the history of hair removal. It could have doubled as a machete in Canadian jungles. “Frase, you’re kidding, right?” I said. “This is to get back at me for the whole “What are you doing at my desk thing,’ right?”

“Ray, I would never joke about personal grooming.”

“I’d still feel better if you had one of them barber chairs, and a little pole with the red stripes,” I said.

Fraser made me sit on the toilet lid. It didn’t take him any time to get prepared, he had powder that foamed right up when he stirred in some hot water. Felt warm and silky when he brushed it on my face, I almost forgot to be worried – until he snapped that damn razor open.

“Er… you will be careful, right?” I said. Couldn’t help it, had to say it.

“Ray,” Fraser looked very solemn. “I think you can trust me not to cut my own throat, as it were.”

I thought about that. “I suppose it's a big incentive,” I said and leaned my head back. “I’m ready for my close shave, Mr. DeMille.”

Fraser didn’t get that, but he didn’t let it stop him. I’d never had one of those old-style barber shaves like in the movies, and it was oddly sensual, with the razor whispering over my skin, Fraser telling me now and then, “A little to the left, Ray,” or “I’m going to do your upper lip now,” or whatever. It was like pillow talk, only one of us was being really careful not to move, and the other was armed with a miniature samurai sword.

I started relaxing, and discovered that maybe I shouldn’t relax too much – I was definitely getting turned on. Boy, was I glad I’d taken Little Fraser out to the playground earlier, he wasn’t ready for more fun yet, but he was definitely thinking about it. I pictured Stella giving Fraser-masquerading-in-my-body the critical eye, and that helped to deflate my below-the-waist aspirations.

“I’m afraid I can’t provide a hot towel,” Fraser said. He washed off the razor – strange to see my fingers dancing so gracefully at a task – and used a warm washcloth to wipe off my leftover foam.

I stood up and gave my chin an appreciative once-over in the mirror. “Not bad at all,” I said, hand to chin. “Wow.”

“The devil is in the details,” Fraser said. He smiled at me, in a way that I knew meant he'd caught onto the weirdness of seeing himself-not-himself. “Now let’s get you dressed.”

I was once again intensely grateful that I’d taken Fraser’s dog for a walk – if I thought that getting shaved was erotic, I’d obviously never gotten dressed by Fraser. Turnbull helping me out with the serge hadn’t been a big turn-on, but tall, gangly and The Brain That Came From Planet Canada isn’t exactly my type either, and anyway, I’d been concentrating on solving the whole Volpe mess while being marooned on Canadian soil.

I mean, for that matter, I’m not my type. I got few complaints with my body – the feet reach all the way to the ground, I not only don’t run towards fat, I have to work to keep the weight up, my left hook isn't pathetic – but all that said, if I had to pick from a bunch of guys at a gay bar, my choice probably wouldn’t be a skinny blond. Maybe I’m just not into mirrors, or I got fixated like those baby geese on a nature show – I’d rather go for your basic unadorned Daniel Day-Lewis… or Benton Fraser; they seem equally unattainable.

Anyway, all of the above is to say… I’m not really likely to be attracted to myself, you see what I mean? By all that’s logical, I shouldn’t get turned on by slim long-fingered hands doing up my laces, strapping on suspenders, buttoning up brass buttons and so on. It should be like a striptease in reverse, but the more I thought about Fraser touching me – even in this body, and him in mine – it just kept getting hotter.

To distract myself, I started asking Fraser what questions Thatcher was likely to ask and how he’d answer them. I already knew he generally addresses her as “Sir” so I could go with that. I tried a couple of lines, to see if I got the intonation right, and I could tell I was on target. This was good stuff, and it took my mind off feeling that I was seducing myself.

I’d have made it all the way though without further ‘incident,’ but when Fraser was strapping on the Sam Browne, and putting the lariat thing through the loops, he was bent half over me, his hair practically brushing up my nose, and I caught a whiff of him. “Whoa!” I said – surprising myself, it just came out of the depths of my lizard brain – gotta get another sniff there. I bent in closer and snuffled up the scent of shampoo, coffee, and what I can only describe as a clean masculine aroma.

I’d smelled guys before – what with the locker rooms, and getting up close and personal on some memorable occasions – the scent wasn’t all that unknown to me, though it’d never been a turn-on in and of itself.

But this odor went straight to my dick, I swear. I know I must smell like a guy, but aside from occasionally sniffing a t-shirt for wash-worthiness, I'd never paid much attention – it was in my nostrils all day long, so it would be like smelling air… when I was in my own body.

From the outside, though – whoa! Alert the media and stop the presses! If they collected and bottled my sweat, they could sell it for an aphrodisiac, I swear. Well, that was the effect it had on Fraser, or at least Fraser’s body. Not exactly your average customer, I grant you.

“What is it, Ray?” Fraser said, still bent over. I’d kind of put a hand on the back of his neck, so I could sniff better – I swear I had no memory of touching him, but there my hand was.

“I’m… smelling you,” I said, kind of freaked out by my own weirdness.

I took my hand off his neck, and Fraser raised his face to mine. “And that’s unusual because…?”

“Damn… do I really smell like that?”

“I’d suppose you do,” said Fraser. “I’ve always liked it, at any rate.”

“You sniff me on a regular basis?” I said.

Fraser blinked. “Not… smelling for its own sake,” he said. “We’re often enough in close quarters that I can’t help noticing your scent from time to time… but it’s not as though I put my nose in your hair on a regular basis.”

“Uh,” I said. “It… kinda took me by surprise.” I realized the heat on my face meant I was blushing. Which was crazy, because I don’t blush, I don’t even get red-faced when I’m angry… then again I’ve seen Fraser get embarrassed, and he pinks up pretty good.

“Ah,” Fraser said – the all-purpose Fraser noise. “I suppose there would be a difference in smell perception… and one wouldn’t necessarily perceive one’s own personal odor whereas it would be quite…” He stopped. “Would you mind if I smelled you?” he said.

I actually had to think about that, mostly to realize that I’d already assumed he’d want to, and it was only fair. I said as much, and added, “Sniff away… you’re not going to go for an armpit, are you?”

“Thank you, Ray,” Fraser said. “No, an armpit won’t be necessary. I was more thinking of the nape… if it would not be too intrusive?”

“Ah,” I said. I couldn’t see any harm in it. “It only seems right that you get a turn.” My hard-on had returned, but I was seated, and the tunic and the generous cut of the pants were a pretty good disguise. I bent forward a little. “You may sniff when ready.”

He leaned over my shoulder, and I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. How long has it been since somebody breathed on me there?

“Wool of course… and shampoo,” Fraser said. “And neat’s-foot oil.” There was a gentle tug on my collar – not hard to picture a long finger pulling it back, not unlike how I’d fantasized, really. “And… yes, I suppose that would be me.” Fraser became very still.

“Frase—” I started to say, turning my head slightly – and got hit by a blast of eau de Kowalski, right up my intakes and straight down the chutes to my gonads, any progress in deflating Fraser’s Little Buddy instantly erased by olfactory bliss. It was like crack perfume.

“I hadn’t expected,” Fraser said dreamily. “I smell… quite nice, really.”

I just breathed him in, licking my lips and fighting back the impulse to taste his skin, my skin. “Frase—” I said, kind of strangled, unable to say more. Fraser glided back with a look of wonder, like the time we surfaced in that little submarine, and there was the Bounty with a crew of sea-going Attack Mounties. It didn’t matter that he was smiling with my face, I'd have recognized him if he’d been switched with Dr. Ruth or Mr. T. or anyone less likely.

I couldn’t help it, I smiled back. “Fraser, I’d know you anywhere,” I started to say at the exact moment he said something which I didn’t catch, and I laughed, and he laughed, and it was one of those good duet moments that we get, when we’re really in tune with each other.

And then, as Fraser straightened up, I saw his expression change from amusement – passing just momentarily through confusion, then realization, and then into pure embarrassment. If I’d had a time-lapse camera, I bet I could have tracked the flush that bloomed over his face. (Which was a surprise that my face could blush at all.) “Pardon me, Ray,” he said, more strangled than I’d been, and he straightened up and quickly turned his back to me, arms stiff at his sides, hands balled up in fists.

But not so swiftly that I couldn’t see the enormous hard-on that he was sporting.

I’m not the only one getting turned on here was my first thought, and my second was to be embarrassed for Fraser. I mean, I figured he liked me, not liked me, and being suddenly turned on like that had to be mortifying. I guess my body remembered a whole lot of fantasies and jacking off, and maybe getting a whiff of L’Air du Fraser was enough to turn my dick on.

Meanwhile, though, I was letting the poor guy practically writhe in embarrassment. “Frase,” I said. “No harm, no foul, you know what I mean?”

I could see him take a deep breath, his shoulders moved, even if his arms and hands didn’t. “I’m not sure I do, Ray,” he said, unnaturally stiff. Stiff the other way too, I suppose.

“It’s the smell,” I said, my tongue outracing my brain, going on instinct. “It’s a brain thing, and then touching your own body… it’s like masturbation or something.”

“They do say that smell is the deepest, most instinctual sense.” Fraser sounded thoughtful, good.

“And we’re used to being in our own bodies…” I said. “This switching stuff, it’s awful confusing. You kind of want to get back to what you know, you see?”

“Even though it is confusing…” Fraser trailed off. Yes, he was mortified, no doubt about it.

“I—” I stopped, this was embarrassing, but I knew if I owned up it would make Fraser feel a whole lot better. “I got turned on there, myself. Actually, make that a lot turned on.”

I saw Fraser straighten up as my confession sank in, heard him breathe out a sigh. He glanced over his shoulder at me, face still flushed. “You too?”

“Yeah, me,” I said. I realize I was halfway to rubbing my own eyebrow, settled for brushing my hair back instead. “I didn’t say anything, didn’t want to embarrass you… it didn’t occur to me that it would happen to you too…”

“I still owe you an apology,” Fraser said. “This is unacceptable.”

“It’s like going through adolescence again,” I said. “Here you are with a new body, one that you don’t quite know how it works, and it starts doing stuff you have no idea what’s causing it, or how to control it. It sucks.”

“Ray, I…” Fraser swung his head around again, looking less embarrassed and more… impressed? “You have a good point.”

I swallowed the obvious retort – damn straight I had a good point, and it was fixing to rip through my trousers. Fraser didn’t need more wisecracks about his misbehaving dick. Still, there was one true thing I could say. “It’s not like I have to be shocked at the sight,” I said. “I mean, I do get to see that on a fairly regular basis – from a different angle, usually."

Fraser goggled at me, half-turning as he forgot what he was embarrassed about. “Ray!” he said. Then, thoughtfully, “I suppose… there’s some truth to that.”

“I figure, it’s like someone held us up at gunpoint, and made us strip,” I said. “Sure, we’d be embarrassed at first, but not really all that much, because it’s the fault of the perp who made us strip, right?”

“Still, it’s up to me to maintain professional decorum,” said Fraser.

“Fuck professional decoration,” I said, mangling it on purpose just to tweak him. He needed tweaking to get his mind off the pocket rocket. “You don’t have to worry about professional anything with me – we’re way past that stage.”

“I understand, Ray, but—”

I cut him off… keep him on the ropes, that was the idea. “What happens here between the two of us, nobody has to know. I’m not gonna be all shocked by the fact that you got turned on – I’m not even shocked by getting turned on by you, ‘cause it’s my body, you see? All the normal rules are suspended, have to be.”

“But Ray…”

“You keep but-ting me, you’ll turn into a billy goat, and won’t I look silly with horns?” Okay, I was tweaking him, but it was working, and hey, my own ardor was drooping.

Fraser sighed and rolled his eyes. “There is a certain element of homoeroticism that can’t be ignored….”

“Sure it can,” I said. “I can ignore it with one hand tied behind my back if I have to.”

“Ray, I’m serious,” Fraser said.

Okay, I might regret this, but damn, I didn’t want him to think I was going to hate him. “I’m serious too,” I said. “I’m okay with the homo-eroticism. Have you ever heard me make a gay joke? I’m down with it.” Half-truth there, but now was so not the time to weird out my already weirded-out partner by disclosing exactly how okay I was with it.

“No, you haven’t, have you?” Fraser said. “Still… I suppose I shouldn’t deceive you – I’ve fancied you for some time now, and actually being in your body—”

“You’ve fancied me?” That brought me to a screeching halt, let me tell you. I mean, there’d been times that I’d definitely wondered how Fraser felt about me, but he was so tightly wound that I’ve concluded it was mostly wishful thinking.

“I should say that I’ve – well, entertained some lust towards you,” he said. Must be translating because he thinks I don’t know what ‘fancied’ means. “I fear that it may be affecting you when you smell—” he tapped his, that is, my chest – “me – sort of a Pavlovian response.”

“Oh – so you were worried that I’d have some sort of gay freakout?” I said. “I thought you were mortified because you couldn’t figure out why my chassis was getting so hot for your body.” My tongue was running way ahead of my brain here, I realized almost exactly as soon as the words left my mouth.

“Ah.” Fraser had forgotten his mortification enough to turn around, and definitely the ardor was still evident if not as raging as before. “Well, it is a surprise to be lusting after my own body, as it were, but not as to whom I was lusting after.”

“I get that,” I said. “And like I said, it doesn’t rile me up any. Okay?”

“That is a relief,” Fraser said, and sounded like he meant it, too. “But….” He trailed off and I looked up. “Your response to my smell, I fully understand that, as I said, I have smelled and enjoyed it quite often… I certainly didn’t expect that your senses would be so engaged by my body… unless….”

He stared at me. I’ve seen pictures of me staring that way, I’ve even practiced it in a mirror so I can use it during questioning, but it’s sure different to be on the receiving end. “Ray… am I to gather from what you’ve said… and what the evidence suggests… that you might entertain lust towards me?”

Busted. “Ah,” I said. I had mentally rehearsed for getting busted on inappropriate feelings, if and when God forbid that happened. But I swear I had never thought that he’d be returning those feelings when he found me out. This opened up whole new worlds.

“Ray?” Fraser said.

“Sorry…” I said. “I – yeah, I do. Have for a while, really…” I would have gone on, but I heard Dief whuffle, and then I could hear a key inserted in the front door lock. “Frase,” I said, “Who’s at the door?”

Fraser looked up. “I don’t hear anyone, Ray. But at this hour, it would most likely be Constable Turnbull.”

“Oh, Christ!” I said. “I – we’ll talk about this later, okay? No way are we letting this drop, right?”

“No.” Fraser sounded pretty positive on that point.

I could hear the front door being opened, and then Turnbull calling, “Constable Fraser? Are you in?”

I caught Fraser in the act of opening his mouth to answer, and put my finger to his lips. “I’ll be with you right away, Constable,” I called, trying to go for Fraser’s bland round tones. Not bad for a first try, but I should have said ‘directly’ instead of ‘right away,’ maybe.

“I’m Fraser, remember?” I said to Fraser in a low voice, hoping to hell that Turnbull didn’t have Mountie bat-ears. “You, you’re here to discuss a case with me. I’ll go out to the foyer, distract Turnbull, you slip down to the office and then come back noisy towards us.”

Fraser looked at me, smiling a little smile. “You have a rare gift for dissembling, Ray.”

“You better hope I do,” I said. I patted down my tunic. “Everything in place?” I said, spreading my arms for Fraser to inspect.

He frowned. “Ray—”

“Yeah?” I said. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t disgrace the uniform?”

Fraser is a freak, I know and accept this. Anyone else I would have blown off. But I know from dealing with him, and yeah, seeing the other Mounties and the way they act, that they take this uniform thing – the whole job thing – dead serious. “I will do my best,” I said, “you have my word on it.”

“Thank you, Ray,” Fraser said. “I trust you very much.”

“And I trust you,” I said. “Let’s both keep our jobs, huh?” I grabbed his shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. “It’s showtime for the two of us….”

He nodded, I took a deep breath, straightened my spine, adopted Fraser Neutral Expression Number Seventeen, and opened the bathroom door. My Mountie masquerade was beginning for real.

Chapter V - Showtime

Turnbull was taking off his Mountie coat in the hallway, and somehow managing to get his arm caught in the sleeve. It seemed to me that for everything that Fraser could do right, Turnbull did something wrong, like the Universe was trying to compensate for Benton Fraser, RCMP. Which made me kind of have to pity Turnbull, whereas mostly I would have laughed (politely, behind his back) at the guy.

When he’d successfully de-coated at last, I’d figured out what Fraser would most likely say. “Good morning, Turnbull; I trust you slept well?”

“Good morning, sir!” Turnbull spun around so fast that he swayed, his face puppy-earnest. “I passed a pleasant evening, sir, I am happy to report.”

“Ah,” I said. Might as well get started on my “ah” quotient for the day, while I frantically ran through my list of Possible Responses. “That is very good.” In my head I was hoping I didn’t sound like Homer J. Simpson trying to pass as a cultured guy. I caught myself starting to slump. I wondered if I could find a back brace to strap me up?

Turnbull was looking at me expectantly. What did Fraser say about what he was supposed to be doing – oh, right. “You’ll be on desk duty this morning.” I thought I managed to get Fraser’s implicit 'and it will be to the greater glory of Canada' in my not-quite-a-question phrasing.

At any rate, Turnbull straightened up. “I will indeed, sir.” Like he couldn’t think of anything in the world he’d rather do. By and large he seems to like being posted to a consulate in Chicago, so maybe desk duty was his cup of tea.

Speaking of which… “I met with Detective First Class Vecchio this morning.” Hopefully, I was loud enough that Frase could hear his cue – but even if he didn’t, I’d laid the groundwork to explain his presence. “The kettle should still be hot from my tea,” I added, “perhaps you would care for a cup?”

“I would indeed, sir,” Turnbull said.

“I might like a second cup myself,” I said. Pity I couldn't make more oatmeal… I figured it'd be pushing it to ask Turnbull to make me some, damn.

I let Turnbull lead the way to the kitchen, but I beat him to the kettle, which I made it my business to top off, leaving him to get the tea, since I wasn't sure where it’s kept – I'd had too much on my mind this morning to notice what steps Fraser used to make tea, not knowing that my future was going to depend on it. Mum used to tell me the devil was in the details.

Turnbull was one eager beaver – he had the complete tea kit on the table before I even got the kettle back to the stove. Maybe I could get him to make me some more oatmeal… but before I could frame out how I'd ask without spilling the beans, there was movement at the kitchen door.

“Constable Fraser,” Fraser said. He was standing all neat and precise, hands behind his back, like I’d never stand, and I’d leave off the ‘Constable.’ “I’ve left the case file notes on your desk, should you need to review them.”

“Detective Vecchio, so good to see you!” Turnbull exclaimed, turning towards Fraser. “Did you have a pleasant night’s sleep?”

Asking about sleeping must be some freaky Canadian thing… maybe it’s hard to sleep during the Midnight Slumber and they're all insomniacs.

“Tolerably well,” Fraser-as-me said, and in my head I heard the buzzer from Jeopardy, but Turnbull didn’t notice. “And you, Constable Turnbull?”

While Turnbull recited the exciting action details of his quiet peaceful night – why is everything with him a production number? – I caught Fraser’s eye and slumped on purpose, just like he never would have. Then I stood up straight, and nod, meaning “do you get what you’re doing wrong?” and for a wonder he caught the clue bus, and did it subtly too, relaxing gradually. At this rate he’ll be doing a good Kowalski impression about the time I retired, but at least it was a start.

The kettle started to whistle, and Turnbull jumped to it before I could move a muscle – which was a blessing, because I’d have been expected to pour, and I couldn't remember how Turnbull takes his tea – no, wait, during Volpe he mentioned how he likes an extra spoonful of sugar in his tea, too, when he saw how I take my coffee.

“Perhaps you’d like to join us, Detective?” Turnbull said to Fraser. “It would be no trouble.”

Fraser actually looked wistful, but before he could give into temptation, I made a big show of looking at “my” watch, and said, “Ray will be late to work if he lingers, so we shouldn’t keep him.”

Fraser managed to nod and look panic-stricken. “If there’s anything else I can help you with, Constable?”

I felt like a mean parent turning a child out into the cold – even worse, maybe, because I was sending Fraser out without a snowsuit – but he had to go to the station and put in enough of an appearance so that I could be called over there like normal. “Nothing here, Ray, my good friend,” I said. “If you learn anything significant about the case, please do call me at your earliest convenience. I know you want to solve it as badly as I do.”

Fraser nodded. “That will be it, then,” he says. “Good day, Constables.”

“I’ll get the door for you,” I said, abandoning my tea, which Fraser would never have done – but quick-thinking me managed to save the day ever so slightly by turning back and asking, “Turnbull, will you please excuse me for a minute?”

“Of course, sir.”

Chapter VI - Tea Time

I caught up with Fraser in the hallway. “Contractions – you use them,” I said. “Try to keep a picture in your mind of me, and what I’d say. You only have to suck down a couple of cups of coffee – the M & M’s are in the upper left drawer – and pretend to work on the Baxter-Schmidt paperwork. The Lieu won’t throw you a case until you’ve handed that in… so don’t hand it in, whatever you do.”

“I’m not very good at this,” Fraser said, tugging at the collar of his Henley.

“Yah, you suck so far,” I said good-naturedly. “You’re a quick learner, though… keep in mind that less is more – if I’m grumpy and not saying much, that’s what people are likely to expect, so you give it to them.”

“You have such trust in me,” Fraser said.

I had to grin. “Yeah, I do,” I said. “You’ve always come through for me when it counts, I know you can do this if you try. Just remember – contractions, grumpy, rude. And run away if you see Stella – I’m serious about that!”

“I wish I could run away,” Fraser said.

“I wish we could both call in sick,” I said. “But we need to get on this.” I gave his shoulder a squeeze – geez, I’m bony! – and opened the front door.

Fraser stepped outside and who should come trotting down the hall after him but Diefenbaker? “Hey,” I said. “Dief.”

The poor half-a-wolf looked at me, then looked at Fraser-as-me, looked back at me-as-Fraser, and whined piteously.

Fraser knelt down and caught Dief's muzzle so that he couldn’t but help looking at Fraser's lips. “You can’t come along, Diefenbaker,” he said. “Your place in this masquerade is right by Ray’s side. He’ll be joining me in an hour, so it won’t be so very long. If I show up with you along, they might notice that something is wrong.”

Dief sighed looking worried, as well he might… I had worries enough for the both of us, but at least I’d have a wolf-dog by my side. “Fraser, I know you can do this,” I said again.

Fraser straightened up and smiled bravely. “I’ll see you at the station then.”

“With bells on,” I said, and watched him walk away before I shut the door. I was sure I didn’t walk that way, but hell if I know how I should walk, since I’d never seen me do it.

Back in the kitchen, Turnbull was sitting with the tea cooling, so I had to make with the pleasant. I sure wished I had more idea of what Mounties talked about on their breaks – huh, make that typical Mounties, I’d spent plenty of time with the King of the Freak Mounties… though the more time I spend with Turnbull, the more I had to wonder if I hadn’t bestowed the crown on the wrong guy.

Luckily for me, Turnbull opened with, “Did you see the curling last night, sir?” and when I admitted that I hadn’t (and I knew that Fraser hadn’t, because he had dinner at the good Ethiopian restaurant on Wacker to celebrate closing the Case of the Attack Raccoons), I got a play by play recap of the so-called “action.”

I was used to hearing Fraser's conversation-encouraging noises (mostly when I’m telling him about basketball) so I could fake them well. I recognized about one word in three, since for Fraser’s sake I’d actually tried to grok curling. Now I know what it’s like to be Diefenbaker, as the Turnbull side of the conversation went “Blah blah blah stones! Blah blah house blah blah sweep!” and I was going “Ah,” in reply a lot.

At least the tea was good. I mean, I was enjoying just smelling it, not to mention sipping and letting it roll back over my tongue, like Stella wanted me to do with the good wine she’d buy for dinner parties. I was going to have to try this shit when I got back to my own body.

I lasted through Turnbull sipping the last of his tea – holding the teacup with his pinkie extended, which was more evidence that he was the real King of the Freak Mounties. Then he caught sight of his watch, so he turned his wrist up to see it, but he had his nearly-empty cup in hand when he did it….

Good thing that Fraser has reflexes – I jumped back out of my chair before any of it splashed my way – I’d have had to change into Fraser’s back-up uniform, which I wasn't anxious to do. I manage to curb my impulse to chew Turnbull out, not that he wasn’t upset enough, it was almost tears there, even if tears weren’t becoming a Mountie.

I thought I was getting the hang of the Fraser ‘tude – I just pretended I was high and trying to hide it from my folks. Who said youthful misbehavior doesn’t pay? I soothed Turnbull by lying that it could have happened to anyone. Then I looked at my watch and “discovered” that it was past time that Turnbull unlock the front door and set up for business.

Which focused him, though he was fussing about the dishes. If I had been me, I’d just have left ‘em in the sink until he came off door duty and let him do them then, but my What Would Fraser Do meter told me otherwise. “Don’t worry, Constable,” I heard myself saying, “I’ll take care of the washing up.”

“Would you, sir?” Turnbull looked awed. Stop the presses, slightly senior Mountie offers to do dishes. That’s the kind of leadership we want in today’s R.C.M.P….

“It would be my pleasure,” I lied, gathering up the plates and cups. I realized that I’d just committed myself to taking off the tunic, because no way would Fraser risk schmutzing up The Uniform. So I had to struggle out of the straps and strings and buckles and buttons and bows. When I'd gotten kitted up in the damn thing, I'd paid attention believe you me, but this direction I'm flying solo.

I’d have been blushing like mad if Turnbull had watched me stumble through undressing – I’d seen the King of the Freak Mounties shed this thing in less than 30 seconds, but I had to stop and note that tab A comes out of buckle B but not before lariat-thing C comes out of the rabbit hutch, and so on, if I was going to have a clue how to back together.

And that wasn't all, I realized that I couldn't do a Kowalski on the tea-cups, I’ve got to do it Fraser-style, in case Turnbull came back and wondered why I'm swirling the teacups under the hot water and putting them in the rack – no soap, no scrubbing. I never knew it was so exhausting to be Fraser….

Fraser wouldn’t have broken any of the fragile-looking teacups, so I didn’t, and eventually all was done – well, that used up 15 minutes of the hour or so that Fraser was going to wait before calling me over. I re-donned the tunic, and only found about three different ways to screw up the Same Brown belt and so on. I didn’t dare ask Turnbull for hints… I didn’t want to give him any reason to doubt that I was Fraser.

What I needed was a picture to compare myself to… and where better to find one than in Fraser’s office. I figured he probably had Mountie Monthly with centerfolds of Constable January, Sergeant February, Corporal March and so on. They probably have letter columns where people write in to insist that the traditional way to tie your lariat is with a left-handed double clove hitch, not with the latter-day equivalent of a designated hitter….

The overly-earnest face of Canadian hospitality was busy baffling tourists, so I ducked into Fraser’s office. I wanted all my buttons and bows in order for Thatcher. The Ice Queen regularly got kitted up in full Mountie drag, so she knew exactly where serge red everything was supposed to go. And she'd give Fraser demerits for the hell of it.

I started casing the room quickly for pictures of Mounties. You’d think Fraser would have a couple of photographs in plain sight, but no…. On the other hand, he’d left me finished piles of forms, with explanations paper-clipped to the top of each stack, which was what he must have been doing while I was wanking off in the shower. Not that I was complaining – if it was left to me to fill out the forms, Fraser’d be weeks fixing things up, that is if he didn’t get fired for crimes against bureaucracy. Maybe they execute Mounties for that – or rip off all their insignia and drum them out of the corps. Couldn’t have that happening to Fraser on my watch.

I did a quick reconnoiter of the desk drawers. Right on top, I hit pay dirt – Fraser had several photographs of himself and me, and himself and Vecchio. Huh – didn’t know he kept those around. For the first time since Turnbull showed up, I let myself think about what Fraser said about being attracted to me.

Fraser said he liked my smell as well… cool. All this time I’d spent wondering if I’d even have a chance and he’d probably been sniffing me on the sly and wondering if he’d ever have a chance with me… the irony made me want to punch a wall, but I had to get back to the task at hand.

Sure wished Fraser didn’t have pictures of Vecchio right here at his fingertips, though. I nosed around in the week between taking over Vecchio’s job, and Fraser coming back from Canada, to try to suss out exactly what their “relationship” constituted. Nearly everybody thought of the Mountie as sexless, or clueless or both. The Lieu told me that if I could work it out with Fraser, good, but he wasn’t expecting we’d be able to click the same way. “Good if you can, okay if you don’t,” was the exact quote.

Fraser and Vecchio did look pretty "friendly," hands on shoulders, hips bumping, looking at each other, but then Vecchio is Italian. And also, the pictures of Fraser and me, that was pretty much the same body language, turned up to eleven. Compared to Vecchio, we were all over each other. I sure hoped that the same sexless aura that kept tongues from wagging about F&V was still working it for F&K… or that nobody but Fraser and me ever examined these photographs too close, because if I came back from a big trip to Mars and saw them for the first time, I’d definitely think that we were lovers….

Whoa, that was one thought that I’d better put off if I wanted to keep my focus on getting us out of this predicament… even though the fact that it was now an actual real possibility made me want to dance a little jig. But instead I gathered up the three pictures that clearly showed the front of Fraser’s uniform, so that I could be certain that the lariat – okay, the lanyard, I remembered what it’s called– got hooked up down around the fourth button.

I decided that I needed a careful eyeballing in a mirror, to see if I could spot any more discrepancies. I’m not that bad about details but compared to Fraser, I’m Sloppy Joe, and the other Mounties aren’t far behind.

Going to the bathroom mirror seemed like a risk, but one that I might have to take – unless there was one hung inside the closet door? I hadn't thought to look there in the excitement of waking up Fraser, so I opened it up – no mirror, only backup serge hung with military precision.

And that was when my morning took yet another bizarre turn, like taking an ice cream Sundae already piled high with whipped cream and sprinkles and a cherry on top, and then spraying it with more whipped cream, adding a banana and chocolate sauce, until it slopped over onto the kitchen counter. Yeah, it’s an overworked metaphor, but believe me, this turn of events really, really deserved it.

Chapter VII - Closeted

There was something hinky with Fraser’s closet, and I don’t mean moths. Back in our fancy condo Stella and I had a walk-in closet – I got a small rack for my suits and uniforms, Stella took up the rest – so it wasn’t the fact that Fraser’s closet seemed to go back for a ways that threw me. No, there was a whole different room back there once you pushed aside the hangers.

Like I said before, it is no accident I ended up a detective because snooping is in my blood. I couldn’t have not walked into that room if my life had depended on it. I couldn’t remember Fraser mentioning they had a cozy cabin-like room – maybe they had it built after my little stay during Volpe, or maybe it was some top-secret Canadian hideaway for visiting dignitaries that lowly Americans weren’t supposed to know about. Right now, I was legally a Canadian, sort of, so I’d have as much right to look into this as Fraser would.

I have to say, it was a damn good cabin imitation – there were even 'windows' that looked out over a snowy landscape, rough wooden walls hung with pictures – not that I needed more Mountie pictures now – wide plank floors, what looked like an old wind-up Victrola, and there was a fire going in a big cast-iron wood stove, with an old guy in front of it, in a rocking chair. I hadn’t seen him at first because it was dim.

He saw me maybe two seconds after I noticed him. “Uh, hi?” I said, a little rattled, enough to make me forget my impersonation.

I’d seen this old guy before, but damned if I could remember when or where. He was about my size, not as broad as Fraser, with hair that hadn’t yet conceded the battle between gray and white. His face had enough lines in it to look like they’d used the same chisels that had cut the bark off the logs. “Hello, son,” he said casually, but I could tell he was pleased. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Oh, great. Somebody who knew Fraser, who I didn’t know from Adam. I had a clue how to behave with the friends we’d run across in an 'ordinary' day, but this guy knew a Fraser I’d never seen… this could be tricky.

All this flashed through my mind in a second. “Ah,” I said, which is always a promising start if you’re Fraser. “Good morning, sir,” I said. “I was looking for a mirror, and thought I remembered one in here.”

Was there a flicker of something in the old guy’s eyes? I tried not to stare, which would give the game away, but I felt sure I’d said something wrong.

But the old guy just shook his head. “No mirror in here, son,” he said. “Can’t stand the things, staring back at you. I have no use for them now.”

“Ah,” I said. Brilliant again, Kowalski. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

The old guy got to his feet. He was wearing a flannel shirt, which must be like Canadian native dress. “You know my door is always open – at least metaphorically.” He moved over to a trunk that was standing by the wall. “I think I may have something you can use here.” He didn’t bend over, just stood and stared at me a moment longer. “Remember when your Uncle Tiberius won the Irish Sweepstakes during the Blizzard of 1966?”

When in doubt, punt. “Can’t say that I do,” I said, praying that it was the right way to go.

Another flicker on the old guy’s part, and I still couldn’t figure out what was what. “Just a minute,” he said, and bent into the trunk. I was idly rubbing at my eyebrow when I heard the characteristic noise that a racked shotgun makes. He did it quick, like he’d practiced, cocking a motherfucking big double-barreled shotgun in one smooth move and aiming it square in my face.

I went very very still, thumb still on my eyebrow. I’d rather face down a .357 Magnum than a shotgun; they leave big holes but only if they hit you. Aiming a shotgun is much easier, since it spreads. I’ve never seen ‘a head blown clean off’ by a revolver, but I’ve seen what little is left of a face blasted by a large-bore shotgun at close range – say eight to ten feet, about as far apart as we were now. You can’t out-jump one of those, whereas you might get lucky with the .357 – also the old guy looked like he knew what he was doing.

All of this went through my mind in about a half-second. “Ah,” I said, staying perfectly still, not moving my hands, not moving anything but my lips.

“What have you done to my son?” the old guy said.

What? I must have misheard, that didn’t make sense, because Fraser’s dad was pretty damn dead. ‘Old Guy’ must be another old friend who called Fraser ‘son,’ just like Buck Frobisher. Okay, I could work with that, provided I didn’t get my – no, make that Fraser’s – head blown off.

“I can explain,” I said, hoping the silence hadn’t gone on so long that he was going to get twitchy and blow my head off on reflex.

“You certainly will,” he said indignantly. “What is this, some kind of – plastic surgery – impersonating a Mountie! And you actually expect to get away with it?”

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It was the simple truth, but you don’t try to sell that to a guy with his finger on the trigger. Yet, what better choice did I have to go with? At least it would distract him until I came up with some lie that he was more likely to believe… “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I said.

“Try me.”

“Ah,” I said. “Well, I woke up in Fraser’s body this morning, and he woke up in mine.”

“And you would be…?”

“Ray Ko— Vecchio,” I said. It probably didn’t matter if I broke my cover, I’d get committed in Fraser’s body and end up in a Canadian loony bin, which is what my Mum predicted except for the Canadian angle.

“Vecchio, eh?” The old guy sure sounded Canadian. “Tell me something that only Ray Vecchio would know.” You could stick your whole finger down those huge shotgun barrels, if you wanted. I had a great view of them, 'Old Guy's' aim never wavered.

I felt like a big bag of vacuum, all the facts about Vecchio’s life vaporized what with the imminent death aspect. “Um… he lives at home with his mother and sister, and other sister, and her husband and kids,” I said.

“And is he given to speaking of himself in the third person?” says the old guy.

Shit shit shit. “Shotguns make me nervous,” I said. The simple truth, really.

“You’re not Ray Vecchio,” said the old guy. “Tell me who you are.”

I closed my eyes. “I’m not Benton Fraser,” I said, “but I’m in his body. Somehow we got switched around… we’re trying to figure out how we can undo it.”

Silence. I cracked my eyes open to get a glimpse of his face – looking thoughtful. Good. “I know this is a lot to accept,” I said. “If it wasn’t happening to me, I’d think they were crazy if someone told me.”

“Hmmmm,” said the old guy. “I wonder if this isn’t some native curse. As I recall, there were some tales among the Tlingit about soul sharers… but they were more likely to possess you than switch bodies around."

“Fraser thought that it might be some Native American – um, Native Canadian – thing,” I said.

“Just call them Indians, son.”

“Of course, he also suggested that maybe we’d just been hypnotized into believing we were each other.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous.” But he slowly lowered the shotgun just the same.

I nodded. “There was a gypsy at the station yesterday,” I said. “Now, maybe that’s a coincidence—”

“Oh, you can never trust a gypsy, son,” said the old guy, not winning himself any points in the PC sweepstakes. “I heard about one who put a curse on a detachment east of Great Slave Lake, had them convinced they were chickens.”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

The old guy nodded, gave me a wintry smile. Maybe this was the Canadian equivalent of slapping me on the back and calling me ‘buddy.’ Having hung around Fraser so much, I was getting good at picking up the signs. “You’ll be the Yank, then?

“’The Yank?’” I said.

“The Kowalski fellow, the Polack – Benton thinks highly of you, it would be natural that you’d end up switched. Are you him?”

“More or less, at the moment,” I said. Nope, not even placing in the PC stakes, not that I was fazed by ‘Polack’ which in my personal scale of epithets rates more scorn than annoyance.

“So, you’re here… is he over at your station?”

“I hope to God he is,” I said. “I’m gonna get called over there. He’s supposed to look for clues.”

“Well, that’s something, then. He’d better keep his mouth closed… he doesn’t sound a bit like you.”

“That’s what I told him,” I said. “’Less is more’ and all that. I figure we got a day or two before enough people notice something's wrong, but the less they catch onto today, the more latitude we’ll have to work on the cure.”

“I’ll go ask around,” said the old guy. “Maybe somebody has heard something, or remembers something about how you go about fixing something like this.”

“I really don’t want to go through life as a Mountie,” I said. “All respect to Fraser, but it’s hard enough to be a detective… I could get deported.”

“I haven’t any desire for my son to turn American,” the old guy grumped.

“Yeah, somebody asks him to recite the Pledge of Allegiance and they’ll be… whoa,” I said, my brain having caught up with my ears. “Your son? I thought Fraser’s dad had been killed, what with the coming to Chicago on the trail of his father’s killers thing…?”

“Oh, no, I’m his father all right,” said the old guy, who would be Robert Fraser if he wasn’t pulling my leg.

I stared. ‘Robert Fraser’ seemed serious enough – I think I’m pretty good at detecting if someone is lying – but if it were true… was Fraser keeping the fact that his father was alive secret? How unlikely was that? Fraser had trouble telling white lies let alone big honking fibs like the existence of a real live father. Unless…

“Oh, you’re like… a stepfather, adoptive father, whatever?” I said “I thought Fraser’s dad was kind of, well, dead.”

“Oh, I am, son, I am.” Completely serious – usually the only people you see with this kind of positive affect are the completely honest or your typical psychopathic serial killer, who isn’t burdened by that pesky conscience thing. "Sergeant Robert Fraser, RCMP – somewhat retired."

“You’re dead?” I said. Inside my head, I’m going 'TILT.'

“I suppose you could call it ‘living-challenged,’” said 'Robert.' “No one could be more surprised than I about how the after-life has turned out.”

“So, you’re… what? Haunting the Canadian consulate?”

“Oh, I keep busy enough,” said ‘Robert.’ “Look in on Benton now and then, give him the benefit of my advice.”

I took a moment to wonder who this ‘Benton’ was, then I remembered that Fraser had a first name, which he usually pulled out for introductions, then discarded like a used tissue. Funny to think there were people who thought of him that way, but a dad would. If ‘Robert' really was his dad, hanging out and bothering him….

Come to think of it, Fraser – Benton – did have those strange conversations with thin air, now and again.

“Is Fraser the only one who can see you?” I said.

That brought Bob up short, and I realized that I’d done that sequential-thing that Fraser complains about. “Mostly,” he said after a long pause that somehow suggested I was mentally deficient.

“So you’re kind of haunting Fraser?” I said again.

“Not as such,” 'Robert' said, looking put out. “Only in the sense that I show up now and then. It’s not as though he's scared, or unhappy to see me. Well, occasionally he’s a tad distracted, and I could wish for more gratitude… but definitely not haunting, per se.”

I stared open-mouthed. Given the way he talked, I didn’t see how he couldn’t be related. There couldn’t be another Mountie, alive or dead, who talked like that.

(Except for Turnbull, who talked more like them than either of them. But none of the Mounties on the Bounty talked like them, even if they said ‘eh?’ a lot.)

“So you’re a ghost,” I said. I reached out a finger and poked him, gently. “You sure feel solid.”

“I don’t set the rules, son,” said 'Robert' giving my finger the evil eye. “There’s not much point in trying to explain these things. Like your current predicament – it just is what it is. You have to play the hand you're dealt.”

"That's… true," I said, and found to my surprise I meant it. Ghost? Sure, why not. I was standing here in Fraser's body so a ghost wasn't much more unlikely than that. “We don’t know what caused this body switch,” I said. “I’m figuring we’d remember if we’d ticked somebody off, or if there was a cursed object, or a talking statue, or whatever. About the only thing we pissed off in the past twenty-four hours is the lady with the raccoons…”

“Raccoons wouldn’t switch your bodies around.” Fraser Senior sounded so positive about that, like they were more likely to knock over your trash cans or cheat at dice or steal your credit card numbers. Maybe in Canada they were.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m going with the gypsy theory,” I said.

“You’ve got to start somewhere, son,” he said. “Keep an open mind, explore the possibilities. I’ll work the case on my end as best I can, and let you know.”

“That’s good, that’s great,” I said. “Um… what I came in here in the first place, I’m trying to get this lariat-thing laced up right—”

Bob opened his mouth to answer, but I could hear somebody turning the doorknob of the closet behind us. I turned to see who it was–

Chapter VIII - Closet Case

--and suddenly I was in the closet, no shit.

No, seriously, there I was with the coats and the spare suit and the flannel shirts and the pressed jeans, and it was the Ice Queen herself opening the closet door. The cabin was completely goneski, maybe I’d been imagining it, or dreaming… only it didn’t feel that way.

“Ah,” I said. I was getting a premonition that not only was I going to get sick of saying that, I was going to be doing it again and again through my day.

How the Ice Queen manages to have icy brown eyes, I don’t know, but she has a stare that could freeze flames, and she was aiming it at me, or rather Fraser. Then she sighed. “Constable,” she said. “If you are quite done ‘meditating’ in your closet” – and she paused to sniff, the bitch – “I should like to inquire whether you've finished those forms I've been waiting for?”

“Ah,” I said again. I tore myself away from wondering where the cabin had gone and focused on the small vibrating woman in front of me. “Sir,” I said, relieved that I’d remembered how 'I' addressed her. Now if I only had something to say to her. My gaze went over to where Fraser – in my body – had been sitting filling out stuff this morning. There was a pile of papers neatly squared on the blotter. “My desk—”

Queenie didn’t even wait for me to finish my sentence, not that I actually had an end to it, or even a middle. Not that she would've have waited; she swooped down on that pile like an eagle – no, a vulture – on the hunt. By the set of her shoulders, I could tell that she was eager to find some mistake so that she could reject the whole pile and make me fill them out all over again. I’d never thought much of her, but I hadn’t realized just how psychotic she was about Fraser.

While Thatcher bent over the papers, I stepped out of the closet and shut it softly. I didn’t want to give her any more excuses, so I straightened up the way Fraser does… and remembered to put my hands behind me, at parade rest. I used to do it when I was in the academy, so it’s not like I can’t, I just choose not to.

All this was lost on the Ice Queen, who was checking each and every ‘i’ for a dot. (I bet she checks Turnbull’s dusting with white gloves on.) She went “hmmmmm” like a dentist that couldn’t find a cavity, and looked up at me. “These are quite in order, Constable,” she said. The words were crisp and even kinda favorable, but the look in her eyes promised that the first time I slipped she was going to be there, 'I’ll get you, my pretty' and all that.

“Thank you, sir,” I said. I focused my gaze just over her shoulder, which used to drive my most hated instructor at the academy batshit – it isn’t technically insubordination, but it’s off-putting. Okay, I was baiting her, I should have my head examined, but damn, it was that or see how well Fraser’s head-kicking abilities worked.

“Constable,” Thatcher’s gaze tried to gimlet me like a crumbly cork. “Your uniform—”

“Sir?” I said, remembering at least a hundred times that Fraser had played innocent. This experience was giving me new insights into Fraser’s coping strategies.

“Your uniform, Constable,” Thatcher said, louder this time.

“I’m sorry, sir?” I said again. Butter would not melt in Fraser’s mouth. Even if I had known exactly what was wrong with my uniform, I wouldn’t have admitted it.

She sighed loudly, and came over to me, and tugged on the lariat, adjusting the knot so that it was up near my neck – okay so that’s what was wrong, knew it was something! “There,” she said.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” I said.

“Really you should know better,” Thatcher said. Now that she was close, I could smell her – pretty perfume, the wool of her business suit, and just a hint of sweet feminine sweat. I made the mistake of looking her in the eye… and okay, I have been the recipient of some smokin’-with-desire looks from The Stella in my day, but this one nearly scorched Fraser’s retinas out of my head.

Speaking of heads, I could feel the shock of that look traveling down my backbone towards the South of Fraser’s Border. I sure didn’t want to pop a boner in front of Fraser’s boss, for Fraser’s boss, that would be like sexual harassment, not to mention that she would either karate chop me into next week, or else jump on for a ride. I thought about the glimpse I caught of my grandmother in her underwear, when I was eight, which is my never-fail resort in these situations, and it came through for me once again. “Sorry, sir,” I said.

“Very well, Constable,” Thatcher said, still looking intense and still smelling like girly heaven.

We might have stood there until we both turned grey and they carted us off to the Canadian Old Folk's Home if the phone hadn’t rung. I somehow managed not to jump out of my uniform, but it was close.

“Uh, excuse me,” I said. What I should have said was something like “If you'll excuse me, sir,” but I was still a little too shaken by the near-sex encounter. So was Thatcher, it seemed – she didn’t even try to grab me as I edged past her and nearly leaped across the room to put the desk between us and grab the phone just as it rang for the second time.

I had a bad three seconds while I tried to remember what it was that Fraser said on the phone when he answered it – like I haven’t heard it three hundred times – but panic-stricken necessity pried it out of my brain and onto my tongue, or maybe it was just that Fraser’s mouth was so used to saying it that it was on auto-pilot. “Canadian Consulate, Consulat du Canada.”

There was a slight pause on the line – as if the caller was shifting mental gears – and I heard a semi-familiar voice say, “Hello, I’m calling for Constable Benton Fraser, is this he?”

I tried not to get distracted by the fact that your own voice sounds funny when it’s not coming from within your own head, and tried to figure out what Fraser would say. What I settled on was “This is him. How may I help you today, Detective Vecchio?” I might as well clue the Ice Queen that I was talking to my liaison-buddy, so that when I asked to be excused to go play with the nice cops she wouldn’t be all surprised.

“Ra—” Fraser managed to stop himself before he spoke my whole name. Yeah, this body-switching thing was Confusion Central. “This is Detective Ray Vecchio calling,” he said. “I regret to inform you that we need your services at the station.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Detective,” I said. That was probably a little too formal – I was trying to channel Fraser, not Turnbull – but given the shaking up I’d just had, it was better to err on the side of too much. “Is there anything that I can help you with today?”

“I’m not joshing, Ray,” Fraser whispered. “Something is very wrong here, and I would suggest you get here as soon as possible.”

“Is that so?” I said, conscious that Thatcher was standing right there. Had to make this sound good to her. “I assure you that the Canadian government would take that seriously indeed.” In my peripheral vision, I could see that Thatcher had straightened up infinitesimally – she had obviously taken extra credit classes at the Fraser School of Good Posture and Deportment. I had my Canadian fish on the line, all right.

“Are you not alone?” Fraser whispered.

“Yes, that is correct,” I said. “Have you found out anything more about the suspect?”

“Ah,” Fraser said. “I’ve not been able to talk to Welsh – he’s been closeted with Frannie all morning, and when I knocked, I was told to come back later. Half the bullpen is missing, including Detectives Huey and Dewey.”

“That is not good,” I said, a little rattled, and realized then that I’d forgotten my persona. “As you would say, Detective.” I tried for a light, 'joshing' (as they say in Canadian) tone to cover the slip.

“Most of them have called in sick,” said Fraser. “And Frannie came out of the Lieutenant's office just a few minutes ago, went to the board, filled out more “sick” notices, and retreated. I don’t know how to describe it… but she’s walking oddly.”

Oh, this is so not good. I managed not to say it out loud this time. “I would say that we should definitely pursue this, Detective,” I said instead. “Shall I see if the Inspector can spare me?”

“That would be excellent, Ra—Constable,” Fraser said.

I covered the bottom half of the receiver with my palm the way Fraser does, and looked up at the Ice Queen. “Detective Vecchio has indicated that my participation might be of particular help in a case that has come up, a fraud case,” I told her, feeling hellaciously stilted, but Fraser lives his life on stilts. The Ice Queen looked vaguely miffed, but before she could speak I unleashed my big gun, my Get Out of the Consulate card: I dropped my voice slightly and said, “There may be Canadian involvement.”

Oh, I had her hook, line, and sinker. “Constable,” she said grandly. “I am sure you will represent the interests of our country to the best of your abilities.”

“I will, sir,” I said, feeling like I should bust out in a chorus of “Oh, Canada.” I hoped that when the Americans were away, the Canadians didn’t start singing their anthem, because I couldn’t remember anything beyond the first two words. Fraser tried to teach me the lyrics once, but there are two sets of them in English – and then it turned out, get this, that the real song is in French! Imagine that, having your national anthem not be in English. Which would make sense if you were in France….

Anyway, if I didn’t get hopping on the Case of the Purloined Bodies, I’d have to learn all three sets of lyrics and get used to celebrating Thanksgiving in October, as if getting my own body back were not motivation enough.

“If there is anything that we can do back here at the Consulate,” Thatcher said, “feel free to call upon us.”

“I shall, sir, if the parameters of the case dictate such an action,” I said. I’ve heard Fraser spit out that very sentence with a straight face, so it seemed like a good thing to say – it certainly seemed to satisfy the Ice Queen, anyway, who straightened her spine a fraction more (incidentally showing off her rack just fine) and marched out of Fraser’s office.

I remembered that I was holding the phone. “Fra—Detective,” I said. “Inspector Thatcher concurs that I should join you at the station as soon as possible.”

“Yes, please,” Fraser said emphatically. “As soon as humanly possible.”

“You’ve got the Goat at the station?”

“I thought better of trying to drive it in your characteristic fashion. The gig would be up almost instantly.”

“Jig, Fraser – the jig is up.”

“Ah. Incidentally, your mother called—”

I groaned. “What did she have to say?”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t up to pretending – I attempted to pass myself off as… well… myself. She seemed to think I had a cold.”

I thought about banging Fraser’s head repeated against the desk, it would serve him right. Except that it’d hurt me while I did it. I hate it when my perfect plans have holes in them.

“Did you make good excuses about how I wasn’t going to be in at the station today?”

“Ah.”

“Fraser, under the circumstances, a white lie might have been a good idea,” I said quietly – Thatcher would probably suspect something if she heard Fraser yelling at the top of his lungs. “She’d figure out something is up if she talks to you as me for a while….”

“She indicated no such intention,” Fraser said. Talking on the phone was easier than talking face to face; I could picture his face superimposed over mine, sort of.

“We’ll have to hope to God she doesn’t decide to drop by, then,” I said. Mum hadn’t come to the station since I explained to her about the whole “undercover as Vecchio” thing. Dad is still a little hazy on the details, but Mum keeps reminding him, so he’s getting better; not that I’m so eager to dissuade him from showing up, under other circumstances I’d be happy that he was taking such an interest in my job when he hated it so much before… I can’t win, you know?

Anyway, back to Fraser: “I didn’t get that impression from our conversation,” he said. “I just thought you should be informed.”

“I see,” I said. “Okay, I’ve got clearance from the Home Team here, so I’ll be on my way over. Hang in there, but keep a low profile – if you see Stella, run, okay?”

“Do you really think that would be necessary?” Fraser still didn’t sound convinced.

“She sees you standing in an unnaturally upright position and the jig is up faster than you can mangle the Pledge of Allegiance,” I said.

“Really, Ray,” Fraser said.

“How much coffee have you had?”

There was an embarrassed silence from the other end of the line. “I’ve had two more cups,” Fraser said, in a tone that suggested tiny bamboo shoots were slowly being driven under my fingernails.

“There, you see?” I said. “Have some chocolate while you’re waiting. The Cavalry is on his way over.”

Chapter IX – The Thinking Brain Wolf

Finally, finally I could get out and get started on fixing things – getting me back in my own body, Fraser back in his. I jumped up from the desk and stepped into the corridor, nearly tripping over Dief, who was stretched out in the hallway as though he was on guard. He looked up with a groan, and did something that I would have called a double-take if he’d been a guy and not a wolf-dog.

“What?” I said sharply, and immediately caught myself, looking around to see if Turnbull or the Ice Queen was within earshot. More softly, I said, “Is there something wrong, Lassie?”

I swear, Diefenbaker's gaze went up to the top of my head and stayed there. “Oooo-kay,” I said slowly, and touched my head. Maybe my hair – Fraser’s hair – was looking funny, or I had something from the closet stuck in it. Or it was standing up, trying to signal that the head’s inhabitant wasn’t the right one. Everything felt okay, so I didn’t know what could be the problem. Maybe I should check in the bathroom mirror to see if “FAKE” was written on Fraser’s forehead. I ran my hand back over my head one last time and then it struck me… I’d left The Hat sitting on the corner of the desk.

Fraser would never leave without that. “Thanks, buddy,” I said to Dief, and retrieved it. He waited in the hall, and then trotted smugly by my side as I strode (Fraser strides, okay?) to the foyer, where Turnbull was answering some questions that two brochure-clutching tourists were now regretting they'd asked.

My intention was to keep on striding out the door, but Dief pushed himself in front of my legs and barred the way. He stared at me again, then very deliberately looked over at Turnbull, then back at me. Ah, I thought – yes, now I was internalizing the Fraserisms. But I still had the wolf-dog barring my way… and that’s because Fraser would never just leave the Consulate without saying something to Turnbull.

I found myself nodding to Dief, which was crazy, but then it was a crazy day for sure. He was not a Seeing Eye Dog, but an Urging Courtesy Wolf. Any port in a storm – if Vecchio and Fraser were gonna come out of this with their reputations intact and their sanity unquestioned – okay, a little late for Fraser – I'd need all the help I could get.

I waited until Turnbull stopped talking about stamps in Calvary, or something like that, and before I could clear my throat Dief coughed, which caught Turnbull’s attention. “Constable!” he said. “Are you going out, sir?”

Let’s see, hat on my head, coat on…. I swallowed the trademark Kowalski comeback. “I fear that Detective Vecchio has requested my assistance,” I said. “Duty calls, and all that.” Damn, I still sounded like Homer Simpson trying to be sophisticated.

“May I wish you best of luck, then?” Turnbull said, sounding awed. Of course, this was a guy who got excited when he had to lick envelopes.

“Thank you, Constable,” I said.

“No, thank you, sir,” said Turnbull.

For a split second I wondered what would happen if I said, “No, thank you, Constable,” and how many repeats I could get from Turnbull, but that would be tempting fate, and also Dief would bite me. I settled for rubbing my eyebrow. “Dief,” I said, and the wolf-dog moved, opening the way to the door.

At the threshold I paused, and adjusted the brim of my hat, gave Brave Smile #5 to Turnbull and strode into the outside world. When the door shut behind me, I realized that I'd forgotten something very important… namely, how was I going to get to the station?

I’d asked Fraser about my GTO, but somehow I'd still assumed it would be waiting in the no-parking zone with my official police placard in the window. Hell, whenever I’m over at the Consulate, the Goat is right there, it’s like my personal parking space, kind of. Okay, so Fraser gets upset if I can’t plausibly claim that I’m on Official Police Business, and I move it to a more legal space. I mean, most of the time when I’m there during daylight, it is for business reasons – Thatcher doesn’t like me hanging around scarfing Consulate coffee and sending Turnbull out for donuts.

But I wasn’t undercover as Vecchio today, I wasn’t supposed to have a car, so why did I assume my car would be there? Worse, I had no idea how I was getting to the station. Fraser often walked, and while I might have his legs (and the rest of him), I sure wasn’t eager for that.

Well, I’d take a taxi then. Fraser complained that they'd rarely let him take a wolf as a passenger, but I could lie about that. Dief was practically a K-9, and I could show them my Chicago PD badge to back it up – er, no. That and my wallet were over with Fraser. I was armed only with my native wit and a spiffy red uniform, and I knew that in one of the surprisingly numerous pockets, containers and pouches was Fraser's RCMP identity card, which might help to convince the cab driver.

I could even play the good guy card, and reimburse Fraser for the cost of the taxi ride—

Oh, wait. How much money did Fraser carry, anyway? I was taking it for granted that I had my usual amount of cash, more enough to cover a surprise taxi ride.

I looked in Fraser's wallet, and came up with three American singles. They looked sad and lonely, and I checked for cobwebs. However I knew where Fraser kept his ready money, which was actually ingenious, not that I’d admit it to him: inside the headband of the Stetson.

Unfortunately, Fraser’s stash was all funny-looking Canadian money. As they say, that and five cents wasn’t going to get me a ride on the subway.

Speaking of which… well, I know this sounds prejudiced as all hell, and I really wish I didn’t feel this way… but long ago I mentally divided the world into two groups – make that three – people, criminals, and the poor slobs who take the subway. And I am no poor slob.

I know, I know, there’s a lot of reasons to take public transportation, like not having a car, or wanting to avoid a bad commute, or an abiding interest in keeping the Earth green. I have taken my share – as a kid – but I’ve gone to a lot of trouble in my adult life to avoid it. And would have gone on doing so… but then life hands me a Mountie and tells me to make Mountie-ade.

Fact: Fraser usually walked over to the station, which would take me the better part of an hour. Fact: I didn’t have enough American-style cash for a taxi, and I wasn't up to arguing – no, wait, persuading – a cabbie into taking Canadian. Fact: there’s a subway stop a block from the Consulate, and another that’s two blocks from the 27th.

I waited for some wonderful Fraserian plan to hit me… something involving heroics like hanging off the back of a delivery van that just happened to be going by way of the 27th, or maybe some old friend would drive by, recognize Fraser and offer to give him a lift. This proved I wasn’t Fraser, because no lightning was hitting, just Dief's little whine to remind me that time waited for no wolf.

Okay, so my perfect no-public-transportation streak would get an asterisk in the record book. If I'd had to take the subway while on a case I’d have done it, no question… I just had to look at this as, like, the ultimate in undercover assignments – I’d gone so far under that I was a completely different guy. And Fraser didn’t have any perfect record to consider when it came to the El, right?

Chapter X - Chicago Transit Authority

I had to have the fare card machine explained to me, okay? To add to my humiliation for the day (and hadn’t this already set a personal record?), I couldn’t work the subway. It had changed since I was a kid – then you just went up to the booth and handed over your change for a token. Now there’s a whole wall computer-thing to program what Zone you’re in and what Zone you’re going to, and add them together and multiply by five or something… I think.

Anyway, I never did figure it out. While I was standing there trying to make sense of the instructions, and wondering whether Dief would consent to woof once for yes and twice for no to let me know how many dollar bills I should feed into the machine, this cute girl who asked me if I needed some help.

At first I was way relieved, because right when I needed some help I had it… and let’s face it, how many pretty girls (okay, she was a woman, but given our relative ages, while she wasn’t jailbait, ‘girl’ it will be) come up to me – Ray me – and offer to help? Not many, so when it happens it’s a red letter day, right?

So even with the whole fare-purchasing a bust, and actually needing help, it still made me feel warm. I couldn’t help smiling when ‘Jennifer’ insisted that she was going that way and she’d see that I got off at the right stop, and I got a good buzz when I saw that she was smiling back, so much so that I totally forgot about my funk over my ex-perfect record.

The only glitch came when Dief trotted under the turnstile. A little black woman in a Chicago Transit Authority uniform came out of the 'Information Booth' and said, “You can’t take a dog in here!”

“Ah,” I said, thinking Bad idea to tell her that Dief is not a dog right now. “Dief!” I called “Diefenbaker!” But his back was turned, and as usual he either didn’t hear or else he chose not to – I know which my money's on.

“I’m sorry… he’s partially deaf,” I said. I straightened up, remembered to doff the Stetson for a (presumable) lady, and prepared to lie my head off. “He’s a service dog,” I said. “Our equivalent to your K-9 police dogs.”

“He’s a what?” said the woman. “Equivalent to what?”

I’d seen and heard Fraser go through the explanation so many times, it was like I had a script. “Diefenbaker is a service dog for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police,” I said. “As you may have inferred from my uniform—” like you’d miss several acres of red wool “–I’m a Constable, and I’m on my way to my job as a liaison with the Chicago Police Department.”

“And I am Marie of Roumania!” snapped the CTA woman.

“No, really,” I said. Okay, it sounds goofy even to me. I remembered my undercover persona and added, “I have official proof, if you would like to see it, ma’am?” I capped it with a Fraser Smile, it couldn't hurt to lay it on thick.

“Yes, I would,” she said, but I could tell the Fraserian charm was working on her.

It was a good thing I’d located Fraser’s wallet already – I didn’t have to look like a red-clad fool digging it out. Fraser had an official RCMP identity card with a big red maple leaf, plus an official CPD Liaison card, and his Canadian driver’s license and more. The big surprise was that he actually had a badge.

“I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father’s killers,” I said, while she looked. “And, for reasons that don’t need exploring at this juncture, I have remained, attached as liaison to the Canadian Consulate.” So I have the speech memorized, sue me.

Maybe it was the liaison speech, or maybe she figured that nobody in their right (or otherwise) mind would fake RCMP credentials, but the CTA lady handed back my wallet and grinned at me. “You take care, Mr. Mountie,” she said.

“Thank you kindly, ma’am,” I said. This was good practice, I told myself. Also, we couldn’t have Fraser involved in an “incident” today – if he got into a yelling match on the subway, the jig would definitely be up!

Diefenbaker was waiting for me on the platform, along with my “native guide,” Jennifer, who took me by the arm as if I needed help up the stairs, or else she really wanted somebody solid to lean on.

Good god, she’s hitting on me, I thought… and then realized No, it’s Fraser she’s hitting on. That was damn depressing, let me tell you.

I mean… S. Raymond Kowalski is not a dog. Skinny, okay, I don’t kid myself I'm what babes go for. I coulda done worse in the looks department, definitely, but Fraser’s fighting in a whole different weight class. I'm not in his league, not even close.

Except… now I was, and I was learning all sorts of things about Being Benton Fraser. I mean, I was prepared to deal with our friends at the Consulate as Fraser, I knew 'em enough to know what would make them jump. Going around in public as Fraser, on my own… that was a whole different ballgame. I knew how Fraser acted alongside me, but I was missing an important side to it… how he acted when he didn’t have me to help deflect the attention that inevitably came his way.

Like this chick, Jennifer, who was sitting beside me on the subway bench, looking ready for me to say something wonderful that she could hang on like a drowning woman in a sea of boredom. “Have you been in Chicago long?” she said, all dewy-eyed, breaking me out of my reverie.

I made small talk with her. Fraser’s bat ears were a pain on the subway, I kept overhearing other people’s conversations, plus all the Walkmans around us. Fraser lives in a whole different universe than I do, and he must be much better at keeping track, because I was zoning out right and left on Jennifer.

Partly it was because I’d realized that her attraction was not to Fraser, but to Fraser’s appearance, which he had no more control over than I did of the way I looked – I mean, except for the grooming thing.

Not that I’m a slob – okay, I could use more excitement in the wardrobe department, but the clothes are clean, I’m clean – sometimes I take two showers in the same day, if say I’ve been working out in the gym, or lately, chasing after some bad guys in wildly bizarre ways that gets me covered in garbage, or cocoa powder or glittery sparkles (I was washing sparkles down the bathtub drain for a solid week). And I do experimental things with my hair.

But none of that ever got me the kind of attention that I was getting from Miss Jennifer, or from at least half of the female population of the El car, and a certain percent of the male passengers, too.

It was kind of unnerving, was what it was. Sometimes I’ll grab the spotlight deliberately, in an interrogation or a situation where I have to take command – I don’t hesitate to pull out my badge when I need to. But undercover I depend on blending in, I expect people’s eyes to slide right over me – “skinny guy with the hair” – I count on it, in fact.

Fraser can’t fade. Especially not in the red suit, but even if he’d been dressed in jeans and an old Henley, he’d still stand out like a big handsome thumb, twice as good looking as anyone you run across in real life.

What got me is that I knew this, but it was still startling when it happened to me. I had an urge to get up and, well, yell at people, make a scene. Which would be no good at all, since an impolite Mountie would probably screw up North American harmony and before you know it, Abrams tanks would be rushing across the border on their march to Ottawa.

Now that I look back on it, I feel sorry for Jennifer. If she’d gotten the bona fide Fraser, at least he would have listened to her and answered her questions. Instead she got me, and it took all I had to maintain a polite façade. She let me know when it was time for my stop, and I did remember to thank her very kindly, but I could tell she was regretting that she’d wasted this much time on a good-looking stiff.

For me, I'd discovered that I could hack being Fraser better than being a subway rider. But I was one step closer to getting my own body, my own face back… and really after this, I didn’t want to spend one more second than necessary to do it….

Chapter XI - Bullpen Behavior

Dief ran on ahead into the station while I paused just outside in the parking lot, giving a final tug on the tunic and psyching myself up for the gauntlet. I’d have to be quick on my toes if I was going to fool an entire building of trained investigators. In my favor, they thought Fraser was damn weird to start with, and they didn’t have any reason to suspect that someone was impersonating him. I could so do this.

The reception area was its usual five-ring circus, but it seemed more chaotic because Fraser has his hearing turned up to High. I’d never considered that if those Northwest Areas are so quiet you can hear snow fall and stuff, the city must be like… I dunno, a heavy metal rock concert 24/7. No wonder Fraser seems distracted so much of the time… unless that was because of his father.

I looked around nervously for Sergeant Bob Fraser, but Ghost Dad was MIA. Maybe I had hallucinated him, though that shotgun had looked damn real.

The usual suspects – no, I mean the cops – said hello to Fraser. Frannie isn’t the only woman who has eyes for Fraser, she’s just the most unsubtle one. At least I thought she was, but then I’m not joined at the hip to Fraser – he walks around without me all the time – and some of the looks I was getting now practically made my ears smoke, not to mention little butch Joe Rogan, whom I’ve wondered about, acting all friendly.

I knew better than to linger, the key was to keep moving without making it obvious. But then Fraser often cruises along like that – if he showed interest it would get him swallowed alive, I think. I was learning this lesson damn fast – I'd been dumped into Fraser 401 without any of the intermediates. Diefenbaker did his part, yipping at me when it looked like Fraser was going to get waylaid, and so in this fashion I eventually made my way up to the bullpen.

It was suspiciously deserted for a mid-morning bullpen. Two of the night shift, Crawford and Missy vandeVere, were sitting bleary-eyed at their desks, and usually they’d have been headed home unless they were on a red-ball. No, wait, Fraser told me that most of our shift had called in sick, so they were covering.

Fraser was sitting at my desk, in my body. He had my feet up on the desk, which was good, and he was wearing my cross-strap shoulder rig which was even better, though he was somehow managing to sit unnaturally prim. Which was kinda funny-looking on my lanky, skinny body, if you ask me. What was worse was my least-favorite glasses perched on his nose, the big thick tortoiseshell ones from my bottom drawer, which I keep there so that if every single other pair that I own breaks, I'll be able to see to shoot.

So, so far, he was B- overall, but then subtlety and deception are not what Fraser is known for, so I’d rate him at least a B+ for effort. He was studying a file, and didn't notice us until Dief did a sneak lick on his ear. Good, let him try to deal with that, I thought mercilessly, as he flailed about in surprise, file pages flying.

“Diefenbaker!" he yelped. "Honestly!"

Time to move into action, so I strode Fraser-like across the bullpen. “Detective!” I said heartily. “Diefenbaker, stop that. You know Detective Vecchio does not like that at all.”

Fraser stopped flailing to stare accusingly. It wasn’t me that set the wolf on you, buddy – damn if Dief doesn’t always take me by surprise. I bet in the future Fraser would remember to call off his wolf. “Ra—Constable,” he said. Getting better there, too.

“Allow me to help you, Detective,” I said, swooping down on the scattered pages. We got them together quicker than I'd hoped, and I sat down to put them back into the file folder. Dief crawled under the desk and went to sleep.

“Ah,” Fraser said, standing next to my desk looking distressed. “Er, that is, Fraser, you’re in my chair.”

Oh, oops. Out of habit I'd sat down in my desk chair. “Sorry, Ray,” I said, popping up. Fraser would act all embarrassed, so I did the whole politely-dying-here body language thing he gets going on, while Fraser stiffly slipped into my vacated desk chair. I sat in the guest chair, close enough to have a quiet conversation. I casually glanced at Crawford and vandeVere; they were reading paperwork while Crawford held a telephone to one ear and vandeVere interviewed a tired-looking witness.

“Frase,” I said very softly. "Lose the specs."

He gave me a weary smile: funny to see it on my face. “I’ve had an easier time of it than I expected, but my impersonation hasn’t been tested much,” he said, putting the glasses in his coat pocket. “There has hardly been anyone here to talk to – and the ones that are in don’t know you very well.”

“Yeah, you could probably stand on the desk and sing ‘Oh Canada’ and they’d just think I was eccentric,” I said.

“How was your morning?” Fraser said.

I quickly considered – tea with God-Emperor of the Freak Mounties, Fraser’s Ghost Dad’s closet and the shotgun, the third degree from the Ice Queen, and oh yeah, public transportation. “Fraught,” I said. “Very very fraught. Being Canadian is harder than it looks.”

Fraser snorted softly. “I could have told you that, Ray,” he said.

“Yeah, well.” I took a deep breath. “I might have had a hallucination."

“You were… seeing things?” he said. “Perhaps a side-effect?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “There was this whole cabin out the back of your closet…”

“Oh, my,” Fraser said. He looked startled, but not surprised. “And did you go into the cabin?”

“Yeah, I did,” I said. “There – well, there was an old guy there who said he was your Dad.”

Fraser looked pole-axed, which was pretty strange on my face. “You talked to him?” he said.

“Yeah – after he got done pulling a shotgun on me,” I said.

“He – what?” Fraser all but yelped. We glanced over at Crawford and vandeVere, but they weren’t interested.

“He caught on quick that I wasn’t you,” I said. “Which is good work for a hallucination.”

I looked at Fraser with my truth detector turned on High. “I suppose,” he said, “that it might possibly be a hallucination that, well, belongs to my body.”

“It was your Dad, right?” I said. “He’s kind of… haunting you?”

“Not haunting so much as ‘showing up,’” Fraser said, looking embarrassed.

“Once I explained, he seemed to take the whole body switch thing in stride,” I said. “At least, he stopped pointing the shotgun at me.”

“Ray, I’m so sorry,” Fraser said. “If he’d known who you were, I’m sure he’d never have threatened your life.”

“He thought it might have been some plot with plastic surgery involved,” I said, “compared to which, a ‘gypsy curse’ is positively normal.”

“I’d have preferred to introduce you under better circumstances,” Fraser said.

“So… not really a hallucination?” I said.

“Well… possibly it might be folie a deux,” Fraser said. “Though Buck Frobisher could see him, too, and I’m fairly certain that he spoke to Gerrard… that would make it folie a quartre.”

“Whatever,” I said.

“I suppose if we’re experiencing a body swap, a paternal phantom seems pedestrian in comparison,” Fraser said.

“And I sprained my sense of wonder, too,” I said. “Talking dogs, superheroes, voodoo zombies, whatever, just bring ‘em on.”

“Really, Ray,” Fraser said. I noticed he wasn’t as able to keep up the stone face. I wondered how he’d do ‘playing statue’ outside the Consulate now… no, that would be me, and I’d suck at it. Probably slug the first kid that came up and poked me, and then I’d get posted to the Consulate in… where the hell? Outer Mongolia, maybe.

“We’d best get on with it,” he said, hand on the reassembled dossier. “I retrieved the so-called gypsy’s file from Francesca’s computer.”

“’So-called?’” I said. “She’s not really a gypsy?”

“She’s from New Jersey… though of course, the various Rom tribes have settled in both the States and Canada, so that doesn’t preclude that ethnic identity.”

“Frase,” I said. “So is she or does only her hairdresser know for sure?”

“Her name would indicate an Italian-American background,” Fraser said. I laid my hand on the file and eased it over while Fraser summarized what little was there. It really wasn’t much of a rap sheet. Julietta Messina had been accused twice before for fortune-telling fraud, but the complaints had been withdrawn. The Indianapolis PD had included PDFs of the prior complaints, as well as a college transcript. I studied the list of courses, lots of stuff on Comparative Sociology and Anthropology, two semesters abroad – to China and Tibet? – though she’d ultimately gotten a degree in Social Work. A social-working fortune-teller?

Frase finished up about the same time that I stopped reading. I looked up at him and said – “So where’s the paperwork from yesterday?”

That got me a slightly annoyed head jerk. “I can't locate it. It should be in Francesca’s 'To Be Filed' pile.” He pursed my lips. “Francesca is usually dependable. And I checked both Detectives Huey's and Dewey’s desks, in case it hadn’t been turned in. I surmise that it is in the Lieutenant's office.”

All the Venetian blinds in Welsh's office were down, and the slats were all flat against the glass – you couldn’t even see moving shadows. I wasn’t eager to parade either of us past the Lieu’ – they don’t come much sharper. On the other paw, we needed all the info we could get. “Think it would be worth it to come up with some premise that could get us a look at it? Like… there’s a Canadian fortuneteller who looks very similar?”

“I attempted to brace Francesca on the misplaced paperwork when she came out,” said Fraser. “But she stated she was in a ‘tearing hurry,’ and when I asserted that it was very important, said she’d see about it later. She appeared nervous, and I wondered if perhaps she had subconsciously noticed that Detective Vecchio seemed… off.”

“You’re doing the best you can,” I said. “And it sounds like she’s just preoccupied.” Frannie usually treats Fraser like he's the last station before spinsterhood, so the sisterly sass she gives me would seem pretty cold by comparison. I wasn’t looking forward to getting the full-blast Francesca “I’m In Heat, Ask Me How” Vecchio treatment – like one of those dancing prairie chickens on that nature show, only with a shorter skirt and red lipstick.

Something caught Fraser's attention. “Ah,” he said, and gave a little jerk of his chin to indicate that I should look.

I thought better of swinging around and turned slowly in my chair. Dewey – Detective Thomas Dewey – was on his way to the Duck Boys' desks. He wasn’t part of the sick call – which was funny, because if anybody would take advantage of a blue flu I would have put my money on him. He was going to be pissed when he found out that he’d missed a free pass.

I remembered my 'role,' and while Ray Kowalski wouldn’t pass the time of day with Dewey, Fraser was God’s gift to politeness. “Detective Dewey!” I said. “How unexpectedly nice to see you today!”

Behind me Fraser sighed. It wouldn’t matter if I overdid the Fraserese with Dewey… except that he was looking at me with an odd expression, which if I hadn’t known better was panic with a side of desperation.

“Hey, Fraser!” Dewey sounded off, too. “Ray, how ya doin’?” He smiled, which would have been okay, because Dewey is a smiling idiot, but it was like it was too hearty.

“Good morning, Det—” I unobtrusively kicked the side of Fraser’s chair before he blew the gaff – next he’d be asking Dewey how he’d slept. Fraser caught the clue-bus and buttoned up.

Dewey was oblivious as he went through stuff on his desk in a very un-Dewey-like manner – no wait, it was more off than that, he was sitting at Huey’s desk, but if he was looking for something Jack had left there, that’d make sense.

Still… I grabbed my pad and a pencil from the cup on my desk, scrawled: “IS DEWEY ACTING STRANGE OR IS IT JUST ME?” and pushed it over to Fraser.

Fraser got an expression which really reminded me of him, cool and calculating – I’m not sure I’ve ever looked that smart. He wrote and pushed the pad back to me. “He seems worried and preoccupied. Perhaps the illness that has so many out of work today?”

Dewey switched over to tossing his own desk. He was very thorough – and you never see Detective First Class Thomas Edmund Dewey being methodical in any way, shape or form. If the day so far hadn’t already leaped way ahead in my lifetime Odd Days List, Dewey’s behavior would have been right up there. It’s like he’s an entirely different person, I thought idly, and even as I smiled at my own funny, I realized I could very well be more right than I had intended.

I grabbed the pad and wrote, “DO YOU THINK HE’S REALLY DEWEY?” and passed it over to Fraser.

Fraser stared at the pad, then up at me with “I think you’ve gone around the bend” flashing neon in his eyes.

“It’s a possibility,” I said very softly, and touched my nose – that is, on the face I was wearing.

If “Dewey” had caught the Fraser-like expression on “my” face, the game might have been up right there. It was pure Fraser surprise, I don’t think my eyes open that wide normally. “You mean…?” he said in a loud-as-normal voice.

I grabbed his wrist, and whispered, my head close to his, “Don’t look, don’t look, let him think that we’re discussing something intense.”

Fraser shifted from stunned to with-it, zero to sixty in a creditable time. “You may be right at that,” he whispered, and we ended up grinning at each other. I hadn’t forgotten what it had felt like to be so close, and smelling him now, I was on the verge of some very inappropriate workplace thoughts.

Fraser’s gaze flicked over my shoulder. “He didn’t notice,” he said quietly. “It’s okay if you look now.”

That was my cue. I mentally rehearsed what I’d say if “Dewey” noticed me staring: ask if he’d like tea. It’s good to have the script ready, you want to be smooth and natural – or in Fraser’s case, stiffly polite.

But “Dewey” was still tossing the desk. He went over to Frannie’s desk, and that’s when I recognized the walk – why I hadn’t before, well, I just wasn’t looking for it. Jack has this stroll, he’s a terrific dancer, and I should kick myself for not recognizing it sooner. This was Huey.

Dewey-Huey flipped through the files in Frannie’s in-box… just what Fraser had done, I bet. And for the same exact reason. I tore the used page off the pad and wrote “IT’S JACK. I’D BET THE GOAT ON IT” and slid it over.

I could practically hear Fraser's gears whirring. He nodded, wrote, and passed it back: “I concur. The question is, do we confide in him as to our situation?”

“YES” I wrote and looked up at him. “We can use all the help we can get,” I said softly.

“Strength in numbers,” Fraser replied just as softly and grinned. “Also, the ‘gypsy’ was his case originally.”

“I think Dewey was the one who ticked her off…” I said. I wondered where Dewey was – well, Jack probably knew. I grabbed the pad again and wrote. “WE’LL TALK TO HIM IN INTERROGATION #1, IT SHOULD BE EMPTY. YOU TAKE THE FILE DOWN, I’LL ASK HIM TO JOIN US AND FOLLOW.”

Fraser nodded, got to his feet. “Wait,” I said, and wrote a little more. “IF WE’RE WRONG, WE PRETEND IT'S A PRACTICAL JOKE. NOT MUCH, BUT ALL WE’VE GOT.”

Fraser bent and whispered in my ear. “We’re not wrong, but advice noted just the same.”

Chapter XII - Interrogation Technique

I lurked in the hall for long enough to seem natural, then I went back like it was an afterthought. “Detective Dewey!” I said. I noted how long it took Jack to remember what name he was supposed to answer to, and waited until he’d looked up. “Detective, Detective Vecchio and myself could use your advice in Interrogation One.”

'Dewey' frowned, remembered to put on Dewey’s shit-eating grin. “I’m kind of busy, Fraser,” he said.

“I fear that delay would be inadvisable,” I said. It was easy to project Fraser’s insufferable rightness. “Your input is vital to this case.” I inclined my head. “I know for a fact that Detective Vecchio concurs.” I knew that Jack might waver if Fraser made the request (hey, I would myself) but if he knew it came from me, he’d heed it.

“Okay, then.” 'Dewey' got up to follow me. “This had better be life and death.”

Oh, that isn’t the half of it. At the bullpen door I turned and noticed that Frannie was standing at Welsh’s office door, looking unexpectedly solemn. Fraser was right, something was up there, but I had to let it go until we got Jack squared, so I just said, “Francesca,” and gave a polite Fraser head-bow – it’s as close as he gets to curt, usually. Before Frannie could reply I whipped out.

'Dewey' still didn’t suspect a thing, he was too intent on his own impersonation. I stopped by the break room. “I think Detective Vecchio would like some coffee,” I said. One or the other of the covering detectives (I think Crawford, who complains about the bad coffee) had actually made a fresh pot. Fraser’s body didn’t seem to require much caffeine, but I knew I’d be on my mid-morning cup, so Fraser must be wanting it about now.

Huey-Dewey grabbed a cup and followed me into Interrogation One like a sacred lamb to slaughter. Fraser had pulled up three chairs to the table and spread the file out. I put the cup of coffee down in front of Fraser, and then locked the door. If we were wrong, I didn’t want Dewey running out in a panic if he didn’t believe us.

But just from the way he walked across the room, I could tell that he wasn’t Dewey. I caught a glimpse of his nervous expression in the one-way mirror that took up one wall of the interview room.

“What do you got, Ray?” ‘Dewey’ said, looking at the papers all laid out with paramilitary precision. They must teach laydown technique at the Mountie Academy, or else Fraser’s just naturally organized. Me, I lay stuff out the way it occurs to me, but Fraser has a gift for figuring out how to make the evidence tell a story.

“This is Messina?” ‘Dewey’ said suspiciously. “That’s not your case.” He looked from Fraser sitting unnaturally upright, over to me slouching by the door, and back to the paperwork. “Unless Welsh took me off it?”

“No, Detective,” Fraser said, not even trying to sound like me. “The Lieutenant has not made any changes in the case's disposition. I think you will find, however, that we have become enmeshed in it.”

'Dewey' gaped open-mouthed at Fraser. “How – you –?”

“Jack,” I said. Dewey’s got a nearly handsome face, but his eyes were all Jack Huey, a little wild and a lot desperate. “You’re not the only one in this boat.”

“Fra—Ray?” Huey said. “You mean, you’re him?”

“And he’s me,” I said.

“Holy shit!” Huey said. “I thought it was just me and Tom.”

“We are affected too, Detective,” said Fraser.

Huey stared over at Fraser. “You really are in there,” he said.

“Yeah, because God knows I’d never talk like that," I said, which brought Jack's gaze back to me.

“Ray! You locked me in!” said Jack. “You afraid I was going to run for it?”

“We thought it was best if we confronted you in a controlled situation,” said Fraser. “If we were wrong….”

Jack groaned and shook his head. “Tell me about it. You know where Tom is right now?”

I climbed into the open chair, and leaned back. No need to be artificially upright any more. I checked me out in the mirror – I looked so damn Fraser, except for the posture thing. “Jack, I’ve been paying too much attention to my own troubles,” I said. “Where is Dewey, anyway?”

Jack pronounced every syllable slow and precise: “The loony bin.”

I sat up, eased the chair back down onto all four legs. Oh shit.

“He woke up in my body, scared the hell out of my wife, and then wouldn’t shut up about not being me. Vivia got so wigged out that she called the paramedics, they sedated him and took him to Cook County Medical.”

“Oh dear,” said Fraser.

“He never did know when to shut up, did he?” I said.

Jack rolled his eyes, a purely Huey move on his Dewey face. He even made Dewey’s clothes look nattier, somehow. “Myself, I yelled bloody murder, but at least I was alone. Vivia was right there next to him, asking what was wrong. He doesn’t react well to surprise, and Viv… she’s kind of forceful when she’s worried.” He shrugged. “He got off on the wrong foot, and never had a chance to back up.”

“He’ll have a chance later on,” said Fraser. “Especially if we can reason with him, point out how a bit of role-playing may improve his situation.”

“Already on it,” said Jack. “I spent the last hour with Viv, got her to believe I was me – I had to talk fast, she’s not too fond of Tom even when he’s in his right body. Anyway, long story short: she believes me, and she’s going to be right there in the hospital when he wakes up, demand some alone time and get him to play along with the 'he is me' thing. She can be very persuasive… I know.”

“He plays it right, you might even get a paid vacation pending a psych evaluation,” I said.

“I’d prefer to earn my vacations the old-fashioned way,” snapped Jack. “I don’t intend to spend the rest of my days as a… white guy. I figure it has to be the gypsy fortuneteller we busted yesterday… she was mad enough, and I can’t imagine going to all this trouble unless you were pretty angry.”

“I only heard about it second-hand,” I said. “The dustup in the Bullpen… she was your collar, what happened?”

“It was nothing, man,” Jack said. “Some yelling, yeah, but no major violence – I think Tom grabbed her wrist when she tried to leave, but it wasn’t anything.”

“Perhaps we are starting at the wrong point,” Fraser said. “Why were you arresting her in the first place… while it may be illegal, fortune-telling is not generally considered a major crime, after all.”

“True,” Jack said. “This was more in the way of motivating her to be forthcoming about an acquaintance of hers – Nelson Gorodish is suspected on a murder down in Indianapolis. She’s read fortunes for Gorodish and his associates, but Messina clammed up… so we brought her in on the charge, to have something to deal with.”

“You took her out of her office in handcuffs?”

“Not even that,” said Jack. “We asked her to come in, over the phone, figured we could send some uniforms for her. She's wifty, so I really didn’t expect the meltdown when I read her Miranda – she refused to believe that we were arresting her!”

“It really does seem unfair that you changed tactics on her,” Fraser said.

“Frase,” I said, “she’s had enough experience with the police that she should know how the game is played. She could either cough up the info, or else we play hardball.”

“All the same,” Fraser said. I couldn’t sit still, I got up and wandered over to the mirror. My reflection was downright eerie, because I kept expecting to see me. I’d gotten hat hair, which was so damn unfair. So while Fraser went on about bait and switch, and the care and feeding of cooperative witnesses, I finger-combed my hair back into something nearly neat. I wondered how 'my' hair would look with a little product.

“Ray. Ray. Ray,” Fraser was saying. I turned, a little guilty – okay, guilt-tinged – and saw that he had somehow managed to put disapproving Fraser expression #6 on my homely face. I had to smile, and damn if he didn’t stop to smile back. Even mixed up as we were, we were still a duet.

Beside him Jack rolled his eyes once again.

“Ya gotta admit, this has its humorous side,” I said. “If she’d wanted to kill us, she could've done that. This has a certain poetic justice.”

“I see no justice,” Fraser said. “Even if Detectives Dewey and Huey might somehow have been considered deserving of a supernatural switch, extending it to two people who were neither present nor complicit is egregious overkill.”

“Side effects,” I said.

I hadn’t known I could raise just the one eyebrow. “How so, Ray?” Fraser said.

“Like that poisoning case last year,” I said. “The one that Kozlowski caught – the poison was for the groom, but most of the wedding party had a taste of the cake. The poison went further than the perp intended.”

“Side effects,” Jack said, a little disgusted. “You call getting switched around like… I dunno, swapping the heads on Barbie dolls… a side effect?”

“Hey, you come up with an explanation,” I said.

“Voodoo,” said Jack.

“So all we have to do is find her lair, and swap the heads back, right?” I said.

“Oh please,” said Jack. “Maybe some hoodoo written out in chalk on a floor… this isn’t exactly my specialty.”

“We have to examine all the possibilities,” Fraser said. “This spell – or curse, I’m not sure what to call it – may have been mis-aimed or merely more powerful than intended. It may well have backfired on her – there’s the three-fold law to consider.”

“The three-folded whatsis?” I said.

Fraser opened his mouth to answer but there was a sudden crackle on the PA system, giving us just enough warning before a clearly female – and strangely familiar voice said, “Gentlemen, you don’t know the half of it.”

Chapter XIII - Frug State

Busted was the first thought in my head. I hadn't locked the observation room off Interrogation One. There’d have been no reason for anyone to go in there, unless they wanted to spy on us. I didn’t know how long the unknown woman had been there, but she had to have heard more than enough to convince her that all three of us were crazy.

But then I realized where I knew that voice from – it was a little distorted maybe, but the whatchacallit, timber was right – “Frannie?” I said.

Jack said, disbelief before, during, and after each syllable, “Frannie!?”

Fraser, though, did the eyebrow thing again, and stood up. “Lieutenant?” he said. “Is that you, sir?”

The voice was definitely Frannie’s, but the way she spoke was pure Welsh. “Constable, your perspicacity never fails, does it?”

“Oh, it’s been known to, sir,” Fraser said. “Particularly under difficult and challenging situations such as these.”

“And they are very challenging indeed,” said Welsh. The observation room overhead switched on – one-way mirrors work because the light on one side is much brighter than the other – and we could see Frannie standing there. Okay, it was Frannie’s body standing there, kind of Welsh-lite, not having the height or the heft, but definitely standing like he – she – did.

I should have figured it out when I'd seen Frannie earlier, but I’d been playing Spot-the-Huey. She wasn’t showing much skin, for one thing – you hardly ever see Frannie not in a crop-top in months with vowels in them. Welsh must have ransacked her closet for the most unrevealing regular clothes he could find, so at least we weren’t seeing his – her – bellybutton.

“Are we quite done gaping at the Lieutenant, detectives?” Welsh-as-Frannie snapped.

“Ah, sorry, sir,” I said. “Just with the surprise and all….”

“Yes.” Welsh frowned, which looked damn funny on Frannie’s cute little kisser – like a little girl imitating her old man. “Since this, ah, condition afflicts all of us, it’s time to join forces… and if we’re to decide on a course of action we should repair to my office, which providently is not outfitted with a one-way mirror or a built-in listening system.”

The light switched off in the observation room…like it had been a vision. None of us said anything, nobody moved. Maybe we’d all hallucinated it… just like I’d hallucinated waking up in Fraser’s body. Riiiiiiight. “Did that really happen?” I said, feeling like someone had to break the silence. I looked at Fraser, he appeared to be having trouble keeping his poker face on. Jack still looked stunned. “Hell, I’m going to have a cup of coffee, even if it doesn’t agree with me,” I said. "Fuck, I should have a drink.”

“Oh, me too, me too,” said Jack. “Maybe two or three… Welsh… Frannie….”

“I’m sure the Lieutenant will handle this… new wrinkle with care and dignity,” said Fraser.

“I thought this morning that the worst that could ever possibly happen had happened to me,” said Jack. “Now I know I was wrong.”

“You and me both,” I said. It really did make trading bodies with Fraser seem not as bad.

I helped Fraser gather up all the pages of Messina’s sheet, and we straggled back to the Bullpen. I stopped and got that cup of coffee – I dropped in three sugars, what the hell, it wasn’t like Fraser was prone to diabetes. I realized I wasn’t getting the coffee so much to drink as to have something normal to do so that I didn't think about Welsh being Frannie, or vice versa. I’ve dealt with drag queens and trannies professionally plus running across them in my private life, and I thought I’d gotten over some stereotypes, and so on… but this was just too weird.

“Ray?” Fraser said softly from the doorway to the break room. “We don’t want to start without you.”

“Coming, coming,” I said, picking up my coffee and following him across the bullpen. Jack was standing outside Welsh’s office, looking more nervous and ill-at-ease than when he’d come in. Having your own personal body drugged and held for observation was pretty rough. At least Fraser and I were single, at worst we’d be able to take over each other’s lives, but Jack had a wife and a kid… and the Lieu’ and Frannie? Holy shit.

Fraser took a deep breath before he knocked. “Come in,” called that too-high voice.

Welsh was seated behind his desk glowering like a constipated bulldog who’d been turned into a Chihuahua. That made me feel better, because if you couldn’t count on Welsh’s mood to be edgy, what could you trust?

“Gentlemen,” Welsh said, and then a truck hit me.

Okay, so it wasn’t a truck; it just felt like one. I had been looking at the desk, not the couch, and on the couch had been Frannie, who was in Welsh’s body. She came up off the sofa and kind of launched herself at me. “Fraser!” she said. “Oh, this is too horrible! You have to fix things! Please!”

She had me in a bear hug, and I was getting one word in three because she was talking so rapidly. Welsh is a honkin’ big guy who played linebacker in college until he blew out a knee. He has six inches and sixty pounds on me easy. It’s fair to say that Frannie hadn’t gotten used to being him yet, because she just grabbed me, wailing “Fraser, you’ve got to help us,” over and over.

Me, I was being squeezed like a Beanie Baby – couldn’t hardly get enough breath to squeak a protest. I heard Fraser saying, “Frannie! Frannie! Francesca, over here!” until it got through. She stopped squeezing and I took in a little air – which was good, because things had been on the verge of going dark there.

“Ray?” she said tentatively, her face turned from mine – and now I had some beard-burn to add to my woes – towards Fraser… who looked just like me, now.

“Not Ray, Frannie,” Fraser said, cool as anything. “I’m afraid you’ve been hugging Ray.”

“Oh,” she said, letting go of me so fast I had to step back a few to get my balance. Fraser was right there to catch me.

“Whoa!” I said – where is Keanu Reeves when I really need him? “Frannie, I’m sorry—”

But Frannie was doing enough freaking out for two people really. I didn’t know Welsh’s body could blush quite that red…. “Oh my god,” she said, but with Welsh’s deep voice it sounded more like Harvey Fierstein camping it up. “Oh, Ray – Fraser! This is so damned confusing!”

“Frannie,” Fraser said, “I fear we’re all a little confused right now.”

“Fraser…?” she said, staring at him in my body. “Is that you?” She looked back at me. “I thought you were him… but you’re… Ray?”

“He’s Ray, and I’m Fraser,” said Fraser. “At least for today. I take it that when you woke up this morning…?”

“She was over in my condo,” said Welch. “And I was in the Vecchio household.”

“Oh dear,” said Fraser.

“And Mrs. Vecchio came in and woke me up, told me that I would be late for work if I didn’t get a move on,” said Welsh. "At first I thought that I was dreaming, and pulled the covers over my head, but then she came back….”

“Good God,” said Jack.

“I can’t take much more of this!” said Frannie. She went back to Welsh’s couch and scrunched herself up on it, crossing her legs as she did so. She got a pained look and quickly uncrossed her legs without saying a word. I had to look away and cough to keep from laughing. Boys learn early not to sit that way, unless they like discomfort.

I caught Fraser’s eye, and had to cough again – he’d seen it too.

“Gentlemen!” Welsh said. He’d have boomed it – you could tell that in his head it was booming but he only had that little throat to do it with. By the time Frannie got her body back – please please let it be soon –she’d be hoarse.

I climbed onto a chair, put my feet up on the desk, and uncapped my coffee. It didn’t smell or taste the way it should, and I made a face as I put it down. Both Fraser and Welsh were looking at me with dismayed expressions. “What?” I said. Fraser’s gaze flicked to my Mountie boots on the corner of the desk. “Can’t a guy get comfortable?"

“I expect the good Constable is experiencing some cognitive dissonance,” Welsh said. “As I am myself.”

“And it’s just wrong,” said Jack. “I mean, like cats and dogs living together wrong.”

“Deal,” I said. “It’s Ray in a Mountie suit, okay?”

“We’re all a bit on edge, I think,” said Fraser. While Jack and I had taken the chairs opposite Welsh’s desk, Fraser stood in parade rest. “The main thing is to solve our mutual problem. Since the Lieutenant is also suffering from this outrage—” Welsh nodded, and Frannie sniffed. “—we won't worry about covering with a superior officer, at least for most of today.”

“Just for today, Constable… I’m not going to be able to cover much beyond that,” Welsh said. “Sooner or later my superiors are going to want to see me in person. We’ve been able to get by so far because I can prompt Frannie to speak over the phone – that’s how we got Crawford and vandeVere to cover. I suspect that the rest of our shift are also affected, but they’ve had the good sense to call in sick. I had hoped that you and Ray wouldn’t have been switched since – uncharacteristically, I might add – you were not present for the craziness yesterday.”

“So that leaves you, Frannie, me, Fraser and Jack to fix this,” I said. “Dewey’s out – did you hear?”

“Oh, yes, the hospital called,” said Welsh. “He never did know when to shut up.”

“Vivia’s on it now,” said Jack. “They wouldn’t let me in to see him – I know I could have talked him into playing along, if I could have gotten to him.”

“Night terrors,” said Fraser abruptly. Being Fraser, he expected his point was blindingly obvious from just those two cryptic words. And as usual, we all looked blank-faced back at him. (Okay, not quite as usual – we all had different faces on. But they were blank.)

“Ah,” he said. “Night terrors are a particular form of nightmare, so vivid that the illusion persists into the waking state.”

“Oooh, ooh,” said Frannie, sitting up on the couch and looking more animated than Welsh had since the age of ten. “I know this one, it was in my psychology course. It’s a frug state.”

I closed my eyes, trying not to laugh at the sudden picture of Huey doing the Funky Chicken. “Fugue state, Francesca,” Fraser said, ever helpful.

“Yeah, that thing,” she said. “The psychiatrists don’t have a good explanation for it, it just happens randomly… huh, I wonder if a couple of those cases aren’t due to body switching curses, ya know?”

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. “You may have something there,” he said. “At any rate, it is a sudden and unexplained fugue state that can persist for a couple of hours… and generally doesn’t recur. Provided the patient acts normally thereafter, there is no reason that Detective Huey – or Dewey, as the case may be – couldn’t be released in short order, if he plays along.”

“So Huey won’t automatically be put on long-term disability?” Welsh said.

“Detective Dewey could even be discharged today,” Fraser said. “That is, if he can be cued to play along.”

“Vivia is very persuasive,” Jack said. “She’s a nurse, you know, she speaks their lingo.”

“If she needs any backup, I’ll be glad to provide it,” Welsh said. “Although, perhaps not while in this body… speaking of which, we’ve gotten somewhat diverted. Not that Detective Huey’s current predicament isn’t important, it’s just that if we address the cause rather than the symptom, we might be able to cure the problem.”

Fraser nodded, Jack looked thoughtful. I said, “So who bells the gypsy?”

Chapter XIV – Belling the Gypsy

“That, Detective, is the question of the hour.” Welsh spread out a file – it was Messina’s sheet, what we’d been looking for – of course. “First, I take it that you’ve also concluded it is the fortuneteller who is the cause of our current condition?”

“You mean aside from her saying stuff like, 'You ever think what it’s like to be in someone else’s shoes'?” Jack said.

“She’s the top of my short list of suspects,” I said.

“Well, it may be a cliché, but according to the Law of Parsimony, more commonly known as Occam’s Razor, an explanation of unknown phenomena should first be attempted…” Fraser said, but trailed off when he saw that every one of us was giving him the fish eye. “In short, the simplest answer is often the best one.”

“Very good, Constable,” said Welsh. “I propose we seek out this Messina and have a little chat. She may be in the process of leaving town – certainly I would, had I caused such chaos, be extremely desirous of an extended vacation….”

“I wonder,” said Fraser, “if Ms. Messina was knowingly responsible for our current predicament, what she hoped to gain by it.”

“Why would that matter, Fraser?” said Jack. “She saw it as a way to get back at us, does she need more than that?”

“I suppose not,” said Fraser. “There’s usually a rationale, no matter how obscure.”

“Is body-switching a criminal offense?” said Frannie. We all stared at her. “I mean, is it even in the Illinois criminal code?”

“It’s not in the Canadian code, though there is a small section relating to witchcraft,” said Fraser. “I think the more general offense of ‘intent to do bodily harm’ – i.e. by switching consciousness between bodies – might apply. Or, possibly, kidnapping.”

Welsh looked long-suffering, as he mouthed “kidnapping.”

“If you could get a prosecutor, judge and jury to believe you about the body-switching,” I said, “then maybe you could make a case, not that it matters here. I think Messina's motive is she wants to blackmail us into dropping the fortunetelling charge.”

“Gentlemen,” Welsh said, “and, er, lady—” he shrugged his little shoulders “—we are perhaps putting the cart before the horse. I’d prefer to see what Messina has to say for herself, and then proceed accordingly.”

“I just want to beat the living crap out of her,” Jack said.

“And that will convince her to return us to our rightful bodies how, Detective?” snapped Welsh. He still managed to aim a death glare at Jack with Frannie's big doe eyes. It’s all in the attitude.

“Well, the threat alone…” Jack trailed off.

“That’s precisely why you’re not going on this fishing expedition,” Welsh said. “Also, I need a veteran police officer to assist Francesca in maintaining the illusion that I’m me, so as to keep the brass from coming down to see why my entire bullpen is out sick.”

“Whoa, wait right there,” Jack said.

“Lieutenant Welsh, you’re not going to leave me here?” Frannie said. Her expression took about 30 years off Welsh’s age. “What do I say if somebody calls?”

“That’s why Jack will sub for me,” Welsh said. “He knows how to finesse the brass, plus he’s an actual police officer whom I can appoint as a temporary shift supervisor for that desirable veneer of legal authority. Jack can advise you, pass you notes, just like you and I have been doing.”

“I guess,” said Frannie. She crossed her arms over her chest and somehow managed to look small and scared in a big hulking way.

“Oh, no way am I sitting this one out,” said Jack. “Lieu’, if there’s one case that my life depended on….”

Welsh shook his head. “That’s precisely why you can't come. If Messina was aiming at you and Dewey, having you along might just make her madder… and to be fair, Jack, I can’t risk you losing your temper. Even if this was a simple assault case, I wouldn’t take you along.”

“I—” Jack frowned. “I think I can control myself if I have to.”

“And you probably would…. Anyway it isn’t as though the rest of us have less reason to be angry. But we have a clean record with her, which puts us in a better position to be persuasive.”

“Her magic may not work under duress,” Fraser said. “Assuming that’s what she used.”

I shot Fraser a look that I hope clearly said, 'Please don’t bring up the hypnosis theory for the love of God and all that is non-crazy,' and for once it seemed to work.

“Indeed, Constable,” Welsh said. “Had I any viable alternatives, I wouldn’t be sending any of us, but finding someone whom I can make understand our situation seems unlikely." He stood up. "So, Fraser and Ray are with me, Frannie will hold down the fort here with Jack. Vecchio, you have your cell phone?”

I actually reached down to pat my coat pocket before I remembered I was in Fraser’s uniform. “Not on me,” I said. I looked over at Fraser who was looking at me inquiringly. “Coat pocket, Frase,” I said, and he blinked and pulled it out with a rueful smile.

“Do you have my guns?” I asked him. I was still bugged that The Uniform didn’t have a gun, it made me feel kind of naked – when you’re used to going armed because theoretically, you could be called upon to exert your police authority at anytime, you kind of notice when you aren’t.

Fraser opened up his coat to show off my shoulder rig. “I must confess I still feel uneasy about carrying loaded weapons,” he said.

“You’re an accredited police officer, your – my – permit has your current face on it,” I said. “They’d have to rewrite the laws to take body-swapping into account – so far as the law is concerned, you’re me.”

“A good point, Detective,” Welsh said. “I’m hoping we won’t need firearms in order to put matters to rights – but it’s nice to know one of us is carrying.” He gathered up the files. “Jack, Frannie, I know you’re maybe feeling a little frustrated being left here, but if we’re going to get through this without further imperiling our careers and lives, your role is just as vital if not more. You’ve got to hold down the fort.”

“I hear you,” Jack said.

“Do you have to go?” I swear, Frannie’s lower lip was trembling, and if all the guys hadn’t been watching, I’d have given her a big hug, no matter what she looked like. Call it latent brotherly instincts or something. Any of the four of us guys would have been more comfortable playing Welsh; it can’t have been easy suddenly turning into a hefty middle-aged commander when you’re used to being a hot little number whose toughest dilemma of the week is what color to paint your nails.

“Frannie,” Welsh said. “We're going to have to solve this problem ourselves. Your job is to follow Jack’s suggestions. I wouldn’t leave you with him unless I trusted him – you know that.”

“Okay, Lieutenant Welsh,” Frannie said. “I’ll do the best I can."

“You’ve done fine so far,” Welsh said. “Don’t worry about my reputation, I can handle a little criticism… twenty-five years of service counts for something. The main thing is keeping us free to go after Messina, so we can get this fixed… anything else is gravy. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing and we should be fine.” He paused, looking at her. “Okay?”

Frannie took a deep breath – she had a lotta lung capacity now – and said, “Yes. I can do this.” She still looked like a deer in the headlights.

“That’s my girl.” Welsh didn’t seem to see any irony in saying that, and I wasn’t going to spoil the mood by snickering. I caught Fraser pinching the bridge of his nose, though, so I wasn’t the only one.

“Gentlemen, you’re with me,” Welsh said, and led the way out of the office. I spared a backward glance for Jack, who still looked pissed, and Frannie, who looked nauseous. Several someones were having a suckier day than I was, but that failed to cheer me up.

Dief must have woken up from his nap, because he came out from under my desk and trotted ahead of us. When we got to the ground floor, Welsh said, “So, Vecchio, where’s your car?”

I took a quick glance – nobody close. “Ah,” I said. “Fraser kind of left the car back at my place.”

“My driving might have given over the game,” Fraser said.

“’Might?’” I said. “You might as well have taken out billboards all over town.”

“Gentlemen!” Welsh said. “We’ll have to sign out a pool car. I’d offer to let you drive mine, but Francesca has the keys, and there could be questions if we took it.”

“I’ll sign,” I said, and took a step towards the dispatcher’s booth. “Er,” I said, stopping dead.

“I was going to say, Ray,” Fraser said. “I’ll have to….”

“Well, they’re not going to sign out a car to me this way,” said Welsh. “I didn’t realize how much I depend on people recognizing me.” He shrugged. “I’m getting plenty of attention like this, but it's not the kind I want.”

“We must endeavor to remember our roles,” said Fraser.

“You can handle the paperwork?” I said to him.

“I've seen you do it often enough,” he said. “Pardon me a minute,” he added to Welsh, who looked after him a little strangely as he walked away.

“He’s treating me like a girl!” Welsh spat.

“I don’t think he can turn that off,” I said. “It’s a package deal.”

“Chivalry,” Welsh said. “Let me tell you, it’s different from the other side.”

Welsh had never struck me as rabidly sexist, but he’s still a man of his generation. I wondered if his time as a woman was going to raise his consciousness. They say a liberal is a conservative who got mugged and started working for gun control.

Sooner than I’d expected, Fraser was back with the keys and we proceeded to the parking lot where we played 'match the keys to the car.' I hate taking pool cars. It’s true that I could save rubber, gasoline, not to mention wear and tear on the Goat by driving a pool car, but I hate fooling with all the paperwork, just to drive a tinfoil body powered by a rubber band motor.

By the time we found the car, I'd totally forgotten that I was supposed to be Fraser, but at least my screwup was balanced out by Fraser going around to hold the door open for Welsh. Since he beat me to it, at least no-one was going to wonder why Fraser wasn’t all over the politeness thing.

Not that Welsh waited for her – his – door to be held. No, he went right around to the driver’s door. Which is where I headed and we almost had a collision. "Detective," Welsh said, giving me The Glare, and I briefly debated with myself whether I wanted to arm wrestle my boss for the car.

“Ah,” said Fraser. “Perhaps I should drive? The car is signed out in my name. Such as it is.”

I opened my mouth to say, “Are you crazy?” but Welsh said, “That would be appropriate, Constable,” so I bit my tongue instead.

Welsh got the front seat, of course. Dief and I got the back seat. Maybe there’s some unwritten rule that says Mounties belong in the rear, with their wolves. Maybe my life sucks – it could be either one. I almost knocked my Stetson off getting in the car too – just not used to taking it off before I sat down.

Fraser strapped himself in, then took my old glasses out of his pocket and put them on. "Frase!" I said, outraged.

"What, Ray?" he said.

"I never wear my glasses," I said.

"Well you should," he said. He looked over his shoulder at me, it was like looking at the Ghost of My Geeky Past. Poindexter City. "Yes, I know it's not something you ordinarily do, but I happen to need to see to drive."

I opened my mouth, but couldn't think of any comeback that wasn't just… stupid. Fraser is used to seeing 20-20, so it's not like he was doing it to bug me. Even if it did. He's a nervous enough driver without vision problems.

As Fraser s-l-o-w-l-y backed the car out and inched us through the parking garage, I tried to recall whether Welsh had been exposed to City Driving Fraser-style. He wouldn’t have been so eager to have Fraser drive if he’d ever ridden with him before. Fraser, who has to be reminded that it’s not normal to jump out of second story windows, turns into Mr. Timid when you put him behind the wheel on a city street. He’s actually fine on highways, and on country lanes, but put him on a city boulevard and he’ll barely go ten, peering cautiously over the steering wheel like an old lady. Constable Jeckyll, meet Constable Hyde.

Welsh lasted all of two blocks before he said, “Constable? Do you think that perhaps Vecchio could take over the driving now?” He said it politely, but Welsh has that trick of making 'polite requests' sound like orders. After a quick rearrangement of personnel into their rightful places, I swung the shitbox-on-wheels into traffic and we were on our way at a much more reasonable pace.

I got a little bit of my own back – Fraser sat in the back seat with Diefenbaker, in my body. Whose ear did Diefenbaker go for? Not the guy driving the car, or the hottie lieutenant chick. I refrained from commenting on Fraser’s attempts to reason with Dief, but if I told you a smile of “I told you so” creased my extra-handsome face, I would not be lying.

We started with Messina’s fortunetelling "office," which was just off the Loop. I’d expected a storefront with a cheap neon sign saying “Palms Read” with faded cut-out stars and glittery curtains, but this was a modern office building with a little waterfall and plants in the atrium, listing a bunch of “holistic medicine” vendors, as well as a day spa in the basement. Apparently this New-Age-y stuff paid better than I’d thought.

We were standing in the lobby scanning the business names and Welsh was flipping through the file trying to locate the name of Messina's business when a woman, who looked like Stevie Nicks would look if she was a plump middle-aged Illinois matron, came into the reception area. “Can I help you?” she asked me.

This threw me off, because when I’m with Fraser, I’m used to the Big Red Object by my side attracting all the attention, except that today all the bees were going to be buzzing around my flower. “Actually,” I said, but Welsh cut me off.

“We’re investigating a case concerning Miss Messina.” Frannie was going to spend a week being hoarse after Welsh got through forcing his voice through her little throat. “We’re from the Chicago Police Department.”

If I were me, this would have been the moment that I would have showed my badge to identify myself as a police detective. Maybe I was getting the hang of this identity thing, so I gave Fraser a little elbow and a nod.

“My name is Detective First Class Raymond Vecchio,” Fraser said. I could almost see the words “—and I first came to Chicago” forming on the tip of his tongue. “We need to get in touch with Ms. Messina as soon as possible. Have you seen her today?”

“Stevie” looked considerably less welcoming as soon as the fortuneteller was mentioned. “What do you want with Julietta?” she said. She looked me up and down, what with the big red Uniform and all.

“A Canadian national may be involved,” I said helpfully. It was true.

“And how do I know you’re really the police?” she said to Fraser, who looked hurt. I think he was used to having people believe him the first time he said something. He showed her my IDs and introduced us – she told us her name was Natalie Marchand. "Why are you here? Is Julietta having trouble again?"

“When did you last see Ms. Messina?” I said.

"What business of it is yours?" she said, which was actually a fair question.

"There are some questions we desperately need answered," said Fraser. My – his – face looked open and earnest, and kind of cute, if I do say so. And he just kept on with the soft explanation, until I could see Marchand soften. The last time she'd seen Messina had been when the fortuneteller would have been leaving for the police station the day before. She hadn’t seen her since then.

I stood back as Fraser dragged more out of Marchand about Messina's work habits, and more details like whether Gorodish had ever come by the Chicago office (she didn't think so), and just when I thought he’d run out of steam, he mentioned casually that it would probably be advantageous if we could see Messina’s office.

Fraser knew enough American policing to know he had to finesse getting into Messina's workspace. An offer from the landlady is good enough for the courts. But being that we’re the victims of a ‘crime’ that wasn't prosecutable, I was prepared to jimmy the door open and worry about my conscience doing a number on me later. That we’d be legally clear was icing on the cake.

Marchand led the way up the marble and chrome staircase and over to plain hall door. “This is where the magic happens,” she said, and threw the door open.

Chapter XV - Magic Happens

I dunno what I expected Messina’s lair to be like… velvet drapes and scarves and crystal balls, that kind of shit. Instead what we got was New-Agey, or maybe Eastern Zen-IKEA fusion – big cabinets, vertical blinds, free form couches around a big coffee table with some candles, and an embroidered silky cloth scattered with what looked like human finger bones.

“Frase,” I said, picking one up, “is this weird or what?” They were smooth and mostly flat, and they had scratches on them, straight-across or broken in the middle, like letters but not like any alphabet I knew. I don’t know how to put it, but they felt funny, like they were left over from cave man days.

Fraser had gone over to the bookcase, Welsh had gone directly to the desk in the corner, Dief was sniffing all around – I guess we all gravitate to the stuff we know how to investigate. “Itching, Ray,” Fraser said.

“Huh?” I said, ever quick on the uptake. “Itching – no, Eeeching what?”

“The I Ching, Ray,” Fraser said. He scooped up a couple of the bones and turned them over in his – my – long hands. “Also known as the Tao Te Ching. See… they’re engraved. It’s Chinese fortune-telling, a very ancient art.”

“Messina’s supposed to be a fortuneteller,” I said. “So that fits. But what are these things?”

“Sheep rib bones, cut up and polished,” Fraser said. “See? And engraved with hexagrams.”

He held them out for me to see, but really, as long as they weren’t the fingers of her victims, I didn't much care. “Sure, if you say so,” I said. “Creepy.”

“Airline tickets," Welsh said. There'd been no attempt to hide them, they were sitting right in the drawer. "Air Nepal," he added with disgust. "She keeps a neat desk, I will give her that. No smoking crystal balls, no shrunken heads, no manuals on Body Switching for Fun and Profit. I am not happy at all, gentlemen.”

Dief whined at me from over near the wastebasket. I got down on my knees next to it. Even her trash was neat –yesterday’s folded Sun-Times, pencil shavings, several pages of torn-up notes which I put aside, a folded wrapper for a sandwich from an organic restaurant, a brown apple core and at the bottom, some greasy ashes and bent staples. “She’s a smoker?” I said. “I don’t see any butts.”

“Incense?” Fraser said. He’d settled on the floor next to me. “I thought I smelled… something.”

I sniffed. I’d been noticing an odor but hadn’t thought about it. “Yeah, no cigarette smoke.”

“Marijuana?” Welsh said. “A drug charge would give us some pressure to encourage her to fix us.”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” said Fraser. “Definitely not marijuana or tobacco….” He took another sniff, looked puzzled. “I can’t place it… something organic, herbal.”

Huh. That was strange – Fraser’s nose never fails… and then I realized he was stuck with my nose, which let's face it, just wasn’t in the same league. I think he must have had the same thought, because he looked over at me. “I’m not licking anything,” I said. “Let’s get that straight right now.”

I picked up a pinch of the greasy ashes and inhaled their scent. Wow – it was a rainbow of smells, woody, floral, musky – I needed a bunch of new words to be able to describe them. I mean, I might have been driving Fraser’s nose, but the owner manual wasn’t on board. “Sorry,” I said. “There’s some stuff I think I smelled in a kitchen once, but that’s all I got.”

“Ah,” said Fraser. “If she’s been burning incense, then it would have to be in one of these cabinets….”

While he went over to root around, Welsh and I split up the discarded notes – they’d been torn in half, but it wasn’t a moment’s work to match them up. I don’t think Messina was trying to make it hard on anybody going through her trash – they were session notes, torn and discarded.

“I’m getting a lot of nothing,” I said.

“I can’t make sense of this gobbledygook,” Welsh said. “I think it’s astrology – symbols and stuff.” He showed me the paper, and I had to agree – I recognized the male and female signs, and no, it wasn’t from bathroom doors, because they’re the same as Mars and Venus.

“Yes, that would be astrology,” said Fraser over our shoulders. He held a bunch of little jars. “We’re in luck that Ms Messina labels her ceremonial herbs.”

“What’s that got to do with the price of tea in China?” said Welsh.

"Quite a bit, sir," said Fraser. "Though our fortuneteller would be more concerned with the cost of the rare herbs she was burning as part of her ceremonial activities. If Ray can identify some of them, we may have a better idea of what she was trying to accomplish."

Welsh rolled his eyes, which looked damn funny on Frannie's face. I'd not gotten used to seeing her as him, but it was weird how very much I could recognize straight off, from the set of his shoulders to the way he walked. I decided that petite Welsh wasn't as bad as a mincing, hulking Frannie, that was more like a Great Dane thinking it was a tiny French poodle.

"Ray," Fraser said, and I jumped. "Can you sniff this—" He waved a little bottle under my nose. "—and tell if it's what you smelled in the ashes?"

Fraser ran through maybe twenty bottles. I was surprised by how many I could recognize straight off. I've spent enough time gagging when Fraser goes into his "lick the world and the world licks back" routine, but damned if he isn’t getting solid evidence.

I don't remember most of them – "Chinese Sage" was one – and some of them Fraser didn't even know their English names. He noted down the ones that I identified on his pad, which he'd borrowed from me – the Chinese ones got the little stick letters.

"Are we done?" I said. Playing bloodhound was hard work once the novelty wore off.

"I fear so," Fraser said.

"This is all very irregular," said a gruff male voice from over in the corner. I spun on my heel and stared, trying to figure out how somebody could have gotten into the office without any of us noticing. It took a second to realize that the guy was dressed in red serge, like me, and another second to realize that I'd met him before – he'd been pointing a shotgun in my borrowed face. Sergeant Robert Fraser, RCMP, definitely very very retired. "When I ran investigations, you can bet they were officially sanctioned."

"What?" I said loudly, staring.

Fraser looked up at me, then over where I was looking, and went kind of still, as close to a deer in the headlights as he ever gets.

"Is that you, son?" Fraser Senior said, peering at Fraser in his detective outfit. "You're out of uniform."

"What what?" Welsh said.

As one, we turned and looked at him, and he was obviously not seeing Robert at all. I opened my mouth, and couldn't think of a thing to say. I think my thinker was all tuckered out. "Diefenbaker, don't bother Ray," Fraser said suddenly.

I blinked, and recovered my savoir-faire a little. "Yeah, Dief, watch it," I said. "Sorry, sir, the wolf startled me."

Dief looked up from where he'd been sniffing the bookcase and gave us one of his "I'm innocent, why are you picking on the poor wolf again" whines.

Welsh went back to pulling stuff out of the bookcase. I sighed quietly, realizing how I'd tensed up. No wonder Fraser seemed like a space cadet sometimes.

"I can't say I like the thought of an American son," said Robert, circling Fraser, who kept looking straight forward. All those shifts playing "statue" outside the Consulate are good practice for dealing with ghostly relatives. Fraser was doing the best acting I'd seen from him all day.

Robert turned to me. "As for you, you could try to stand up straighter." I found I was making a fist, even though I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to connect it with his face. "You should remember what uniform you're wearing."

"Geez, Frase," I said. "I wonder what your father would have to say about all this."

"I can almost hear him now," Fraser said gravely. I smiled at him, he smiled back at me, we were having one of those duet things going.

"It's unnatural," Robert said. "Just my opinion, of course."

If Welsh hadn't been there, I'd have bent Fraser over in a liplock just for that. As it was, I settled for rolling my eyes, while Robert turned to the shelves.

"Can we get on with the burglarizing," said Welsh, "and the other irregular police procedures?"

"Of course, sir," I said. I turned to the filing cabinet and hauled it open. Messina kept just as neat files as she did desks and so on. Unfortunately for us, it looked like they only held invoices for fortunetelling/counseling sessions. I checked under 'G' for Gorodish, but went straight from 'Gordon' to 'Greer.'

"Sir—" Fraser said to Welsh "—can you think of anything else we should be looking for?"

Welsh had been going through the shelves while we did the sniff test. "You mean aside from the fact that the woman never met an astrology book she didn't like?" he said. "Nah. Astrology, fortune-telling, it's all garbage."

"No, sir," said Fraser. "Undoubtedly most of it is, but inasmuch as she seems to have switched our minds around, it would argue that at least some element is demonstrably real."

"Even a stopped watch is correct twice a day," Welsh said, turning back to his shelves.

"Just what I would have said, son," Robert said. I kept my eyes on Welsh, determined not to give the game away.

Welsh looked like he was about to say more, when Dief, who'd gone back to sniffing, whined and sat down in front of a shelf and pawed at some books. "Gentlemen," Welsh said, and bent to tug at them. "What is this?" he said, pulling out several books in a clump, which looked bizarre until I realized they weren't separate but a box disguised to look like books. "She didn't want this found."

Welsh brought it over to the desk and we gathered around, even Diefenbaker. "It's a strongbox, all right," Fraser said.

"I really can't approve of this," Robert said, from over Fraser's shoulder.

"It's too much to hope she left the key in one of her drawers," said Welsh.

"I certainly didn't see one," Fraser said.

In the meantime, I was straightening out a paperclip. "Hand it here," I said. It's a good thing I became a cop, because I could have made a really good criminal. The box folded back neatly on concealed hinges, once I'd sprung the lock. I'd expected cash or maybe drugs, but whatever was inside the box was wrapped up in an elaborate silk scarf, and wasn't all that heavy, or large. I flipped the wrapping over and over in my hand, undoing it, until it was revealed – it was like a small bracelet… or, well, a cock ring, all silver and gold, with incised patterns and what looked like more Chinese hero-things all over it.

"Oh, I don't like that," Robert said, like we cared or something. But still, there was something in his voice. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck try to stand up.

"Weird," I said, and picked it up with my fingers… and almost dropped it, fumbling it back onto the cloth so I didn’t have to touch it. "Really weird," I said.

It had felt, well, funny, and this was after a day of strange sensations, okay? It was like an electric current running through my fingers, making them tingle.

Fraser was looking rather surprised. I looked up and saw that Robert was gone – completely. "What is it, Ray?" Fraser said. He'd noticed that his Dad was gone, too.

"I dunno," I said. "Be careful," I said. For once that made him slow down, and he gently tapped the ring-thing with one of his long fingers.

"I see what you mean," he said. You would have had to looking close – which I was, no surprise – to notice he'd shuddered. "There's something there – an aura."

"Aura?" said Welsh. He grabbed the ring, and managed to close his fist on it. The expression on Frannie's face would have made me laugh my guts out on any other day.

"Holy shit!" he said, his hand shaking. It tumbled from his grip, off the edge of the table with a musical "ting!" and onto the floor with a "tang!" and a couple of "pings." Diefenbaker sniffed at it, and backed away like he'd smelled something dubious, wrinkling his muzzle.

"What the hell is that?" said Welsh.

"Obviously, an item of some power," said Fraser. He wadded up the silk scarf and used it to scoop up the ring.

"You mean… like a magic thingahoosie?" I said.

"Give me a freaking break," Welsh said.

"I don’t think we can discount the possibility, given our current state," said Fraser.

"I am going to beat the gypsy to death with these little fists," Welsh said.

"Me too," I said. "Only not so little in my case, and anyway, I'm going to kick her in the head."

"Homicide, while no doubt emotionally satisfying in this case," Fraser said, "would not get us back into our rightful bodies, gentlemen." He carefully wrapped the ring back up in the silk, so there were many insulating layers around it, and popped it into his pocket.

"You're taking the ring?" I said. Not that I hadn't concluded we'd need to do so, but I'd expected to have a no-holds-barred wrestling match with Fraser about it, since it was a little like stealing.

"We may need to persuade Ms. Messina to reverse the spell," Fraser said. "She may need the ring, if it is vital to the swapping process… and if it is not, surely the secretive manner in which it was concealed suggests that is it of considerable value… and it could well be, ah, leverage for the restoration of our rightful bodies."

"You are full of surprises," I said.

"The Lieutenant has pointed out that legal redress is not an option," Fraser said. "Extra-legal methods would seem to be our only course."

"And she deserves it," Welsh said. "You want to be taking those herbs along, Constable?"

"Yes, I think so," Fraser said.

I dumped out Messina's in-box to use as a tray and loaded up the herbs. It wasn't exactly 'extra-legal' but I was taking petty pleasure in messing up her nice office.

"Are we done here, then?" Welsh said. "Dief isn't going to find other little surprises, is he?"

"Dief?" Fraser said. Dief gave a snuffle and sat down. "I'd suggest proceeding to Ms. Messina's abode for further investigation," said Fraser.

"Excuse me?" a female voice said from the doorway. A small woman stood there, dressed in a neat little pantsuit, like the ones that Stella paid an arm and half a leg to Brooks Brothers for. "Natalie told me you were up here."

"And you would be?" Welsh said. I shut my mouth; it was Welsh's ball, bat, and glove.

"Ellen Stuckley, you met my assistant, Natalie," she said. "Are you here about the men who tried to break in?"

"What?" I said, completely forgetting about letting Welsh drive. "What men?"

Stuckley looked from Welsh with his "Police Aide" badge on his shirt, to me in my Mountie uniform, over to Fraser, who stood with his usual uprightness, probably waiting for her to notice the red uniform that he wasn't wearing. "Natalie said you were here in Julietta's office…?"

"That would be us," said Welsh. "Const—er, Fraser, why don't you show Miss Stuckley your police credentials."

Fraser wasted three seconds with a blank look on his face before the clue-bus arrived. "I'm Detective Ray Ko-Vecchio," he said. "I first came to… er, I'm a detective attached to the 27th Precinct." He unclipped the badge, which he'd been wearing on the gun rig under the jacket, and handed it to her, then fumbled for my wallet.

"What men?" I said.

"You're a Mountie?" she said, look at me. "Are you from Canada?"

"Constable Ve-Fraser is our liaison on this investigation," said Welsh. "We're following up on an earlier incident. Men were trying to break in?"

"I thought you were here about that," said Stuckley. She looked a little bewildered. "There were men here earlier, I caught them trying to get in the door of the office, and when I asked them what was up, they said that Julietta had sent them to pick up some things, but they'd forgotten the key. And they asked me to open the door for them, and I said no… and I thought they were going to – well, I don't know, but I could swear they were thinking about grabbing the keys, but Mr. Stuyvesant came down the corridor just then, and they left."

Stuckley crossed her arms over her chest. "If you felt that way, they probably would have," I said. Welsh nodded.

"And then I called the police," she said. "And they said they would send someone over."

Fraser caught my eye and nodded. "We were following up on a clue," he said. "But perhaps this has something to do with our investigation – what did these men look like?"

"We'd better hurry, Vecchio," Welsh said meaningfully. "Miss, if you would, just give us the description now, and we'll take your statement later. It might behoove us to hurry over to Miss Messina's domicile to see if they have turned up there."

"I'm thinking the same thing," I said.

'Aided' by Welsh's prompting – I held my tongue, because it was confusing enough without the Mountie butting in – Fraser got as much description out of Stuckley as we could, though she hadn't really noticed that much – two gangsta types, one dressed in fatigue pants (she thought), the other with a do-rag on his head, both white. She thought they might have blue eyes, wasn’t sure about the height – typical witness, that.

Fraser would have done his usual long routine of politely thanking the witness, but Welsh nailed him with 'her' gaze and proceeded to thank Stuckley for her excellent help, someone would contact her later today or tomorrow, if she thought of anything more, please contact Detective Vecchio (he got it right that time) at the 27th, yadda yadda, thank you kindly, ma'am.

We left Stuckley to close up Messina's office, and Welsh practically charged down the stairs, with me, Fraser and Dief in hot pursuit.

"You think Gorodish sent those guys?" I said.

"It would stand to reason," Fraser said.

"Let's roll," said Welsh, turning back to look at us. "I think we want to find Miss Messina first, if we can."

Chapter XVI – Chasing Julietta

This time we didn't have a little collision trying to sort out who went where in the car. We'd be a smoothly functioning unit in another six months. We had to get back into our old bodies – not that Fraser's was unpleasant, but I didn't think I could take the pressure of being an uptight Mountie for more than a day or two.

Messina lived a good fifteen minutes drive from her office. It was a funky old neighborhood, with a bunch of three-story apartment buildings. Hers was set back slightly from the block. "Don't drive straight up, keep going by," Welsh said, when I made the turn off from the highway. "See the car, there."

Welsh inclined his head, and I looked to see a black pimpmobile parked in front of a fire hydrant.

"You think she's got visitors, then?" I said. "Damn, she could be in serious trouble."

"Just so, Ray," Fraser said from the backseat. "The owners of that car may also have an interest in Ms. Messina's affairs."

"Maybe she switched bodies around on them," I said.

"Surely she doesn't do that often," Fraser said. "We'd hear of more people put into mental institutions."

"She has a talent for hacking people off," Welsh said. "One could draw a lesson about karma here."

By now, we'd turned the corner. "I think we'd better investigate," I said. "If Messina ends up dead before she switches us back…."

"Agreed," Fraser said. "A short excursion into someone else's life might be interesting under less desperate circumstances, but a permanent sojourn… is unthinkable."

"Oh, of course, Constable," said Welsh. "Me, I could have lived the rest of my life without trying to walk in high heels, personally."

I parked the car near the alley behind Messina's block and got out. Fraser got out and held the door for Welsh, and received a glare for his trouble.

"We need a plan," Welsh said. Dief sniffed the wheel on the car. "Vecchio, you're a big red neon sign."

I looked down at myself. "I could maybe take off the tunic," I said. It wasn't too cold.

"Really, Ray! It isn't as though The Uniform," his voice made it into caps, "is a detriment to your appearance.

"They'll probably think I'm an off-duty doorman, anyway," I said.

"They might actually just be visiting her," said Fraser. "We may have misconstrued the situation here."

"We'll find out," said Welsh. "If they mean her no harm, then we'll have the pleasure of beat—, er, reasoning with her." I made a mental note to never seriously hack Welsh off in the future.

I was heading toward the corner when Fraser said, "Ah!" It might have been my voice, but there was no mistaking one of his significant 'Ahs.' Maybe than twenty feet from us, there was a dark-haired slender woman without a coat, looking very nervous and carrying what looked like a pillowcase stuffed hastily with clothes, peering suspiciously in our direction.

Welsh must have recognized Messina about a fraction of a second faster than me. "Hey, you!" he tried to bellow, though it came out more like a shriek. I gritted my teeth, because if I'd been the first to see her, I'd have said something more reassuring. I think the whole "being female" thing was getting to Welsh, not that I'd have said it to him under pain of torture.

Fraser started to say, "Ms. Messina?" but I don't think he got as far as the first 's' before she took off running down the street. There was no question that we took off after her, leaving Welsh's pool car with its door still open.

Messina turned out to be kind of athletic. Her jacket sure hadn't mentioned that. Why she couldn't be a plump and indolent fortuneteller, I don't know. Welsh was the first to fade because Frannie is no triathlete. Me, I’m a sprinter – that is, my body is – so for the first couple blocks, Fraser was hot on her heels, with Diefenbaker right on his heels. I was half a block back, feeling no pain, getting used to running in the boots, and realizing that we were setting her up for a classic kick – put your fast runner out to run out the leader, then let the guy with the stamina put paid to her.

I could tell when Fraser's wind broke, I knew that feeling from the inside. It was nothing to Dief, whom I've seen pace actual cars. Another block and I'd flashed past Fraser, who was looking pissed and holding on to a stitch in his side – he'd catch up, I knew, the main thing was to see if I could break Messina.

But Dief had other ideas – I guess he thought Fraser falling back was his cue, because he put on a big burst, and was, you know, actually snapping at her heels, which is something that people say but very rarely see.

Or, in Messina's case, feel, and I don't think she liked it much, because she gave a little shriek and crashed to the pavement. Dief neatly jumped over her, and then wheeled around to bark hysterically in her face.

Messina did what any reasonable being would do under the circumstances, which was to scramble on her hands and knees over to the nearest wall.

Good, she wasn't going anywhere now; I had time to reduce my running speed and think faster. We hadn't yelled "Stop, Police!" or anything like that, not that even Fraser could have spared the lung power, and I realized that was to our advantage, legally speaking. There weren't any people in sight, we'd run into a business park with wide lawns, and making this too publicly a police matter would just complicate things.

"Diefenbaker!" I yelled at the half-a-wolf as I came up to them, for all the good it did. "Ma'am, stay down, I'll get him." I waved, and damn if it didn't work. "Dief, down!" I said, and for once he actually did it – maybe Dief was just used to obeying Fraser, no matter who was inside, or else he was smart enough to suss out what was needed.

Dief sat down and gave a snort of disgust. I turned to Messina. "Are you all right?" I asked, offering her a hand up – which, incidentally, would let me keep hold of her.

"I – oh, hell!" she said. She was younger than I had expected, the jacket said 38, but she could have passed for 30 easy. "You're one of those guys!"

"Ma'am?" I said. Fraser plays dumb all the time, I didn't see why I couldn't make it work for me.

"You were there – at the alley!" she said. "Don't try to fool me! You… Dudley Do-Right?"

The big red tunic must be a dead giveaway. "Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, at your service," I said.

"Okay, this is surreal," Messina said. "The Canadians are mad at me? Is my entire life not enough in the dumpster that I've got to be an international fugitive as well?

"The Canadians aren't mad at you," I said. Technically, only one was. "You're involved in something that they're urgently concerned about…."

"What, Pierre Trudeau needs his fortune told?" Okay, I gave her points for snark.

Fraser chose that moment to come limping up, breathing hard. "Nothing like that."

Messina looked wary. "Did Gorodish send you?"

"Definitely not," Fraser said.

"Then why the hell are you chasing me?" she said. "Gorodish sent his goons by and I had to get out quick… and there you were, looking at me, chasing me."

"We're attempting to protect you," Fraser said. "I'm Detective First Class S. Raymond Vecchio."

Messina took a step back and I caught her, so that she didn't bump into me, but also making sure that she didn't go any further. "Oh, jumping Jesus on a pogo stick!" she said. "Is this about the arrest? I posted my bond, what do you people want?"

"Really, Ms. Messina," said Fraser, "there's clearly been something of a misunderstanding."

"I'd say so!" she snapped. "I don't want to testify, my lawyer says I don’t have to testify, end of story! There's no call to go arresting me—"

She was ready to give the "detective" a piece of her mind. "There have been some new developments," I said, cutting her off. I hadn't thought beyond getting her into an interrogation room where we'd have privacy for the crazy stuff. Somehow I'd imagined finally catching up with Messina would involve a lot of anger and yelling about giving the Pigs their just desserts et cetera, so I hadn't thought out asking her if she'd accidentally switched some bodies around. I hadn't thought what would be needed if she hadn't realized what she'd done… if she'd done it.

Fraser, bless him, had actually thought that out. "We need to take you back to the station," he started to say, but Diefenbaker gave an emphatic bark.

I looked where the wolf was looking and saw that a large black Cadillac was pulling up … in fact, it was the pimpmobile we'd seen in front of Messina's building.

It held two men, gangsta-types, and a very angry-looking Welsh – angrier than I'd ever seen Frannie, anyway. Steam was all but boiling out of her – his – ears. They tugged "him" out of the car by the wrist. They were large guys, dressed in the latest ghettowear, with big fat pimp chains and do-rags, just what Stuckley had described– trying too hard, but what do you expect from Indianapolis?

"What the hell?" said Gangsta #1. I realized he was seeing a guy in a funny uniform holding onto the lady of the hour. He gave Welsh a shake – nasty customer. "What else didn't you tell us?"

Messina had stiffened up. These guys must be the ones she'd been fleeing, and here I was holding onto her. Well, not for long, if I had anything to do with it.

I went to catch Fraser's eye, and saw that he was looking to me. His gaze flicked to the gangsta nearest him, back to me. I blinked to let him know I got it, glanced at the pavement to show what I was going to do. Our duet hadn't been much affected by the swap.

Meanwhile, Welsh was looking even madder. I noticed he had a bruise coming up on his right cheek, so he'd been roughed up but had decided to bide his time. Well, good.

"I don't know what you people are doing here," said Gangsta #2. "But we're taking the Messina chick, so you might as well hand her over."

"You really think this is going to make me more favorable toward your boss?" Messina said. "I already gave him my answer, that's final." I could feel her trembling, even though her voice was steady.

"Nothing is final, bitch," drawled Gangsta #2.

"What makes you think we're going to hand her over?" Fraser said calmly. He took a step, so that we'd be more spread out. Good thing neither of our bad guys was looking at Welsh, who'd twigged.

In answer, #2 pulled up his sweatshirt to display a gun tucked in his track pants – stupid; if you're going to show a gun, you should be pointing it. Besides, it meant he had to take one hand off Welsh, who took the opportunity to punch the guy.

I didn't wait to watch all this go down. As soon as I saw Welsh moving, I pushed Messina to the side and closed on #1. He had about three inches and twenty pounds on me – make that on Fraser's body – so that meant I had to get in close and hard and fast.

Plus, it turns out that Fraser hits hard, even when he's me – or I'm him. I slammed #1 in the jaw, enough to numb a couple of my knuckles, which knocked the guy out – who knew he had a glass jaw? It was a textbook KO.

I saved my savoring for later – all hell was breaking loose the next fight over. I later reconstructed what happened – Welsh had swung around and done his best to pummel Gangsta #2 with his tiny Frannie-fists. He was about half the size of #2, so it was… distracting, but that's about all. Almost simultaneously, Fraser attacked. Of course, if it was me driving, I'd have pulled my gun, but Fraser doesn't think that way. Unfortunately, he was used to a lot more muscle behind those punches, so they weren't putting the guy down.

Gangsta #2 tried to haul his gun out, but it went skittering across the pavement nearly to my feet. As I picked it up, Dief bit the guy's calf, which sent him toppling to the ground.

That left him wide open for Welsh to try to kick to death, but I put a stop to the would-be homicide by pointing the guy's gun at him. "Hold it," I said, and #2 was torn between flinching every time Welsh kicked him in the side and looking down the barrel of the gun.

Oh, I'd have had his attention in full if it weren't for Welsh – Fraser had to lift the Lieu' up by the waist and away from the cowering bad guy. "Sir!" Fraser said, sounding both outraged and grudgingly admiring, "that won't do!"

"Stay down, asshole," I said. "Don't even think about moving!"

When Fraser put him down, Welsh started to kick the unconscious Gangsta #1 in the kidneys – poor guy groaned but didn’t waken. "Sir!" I said. Anything to distract Welsh from killing him, because the guy was going to be pissing blood for a week. "You'll have to tie the prisoner up!"

That got through to Welsh that he was beating up on perps in custody. He took a deep breath. "Shoelaces," he said, and got to work.

About this point, Messina tried to fade away, but I was alerted by Dief. "Ms. Messina," Fraser said smoothly, "We'll be with you directly." He set to tying up #2, who looked half pissed and half embarrassed and in no small amount of pain, also using the guy's own shoelaces – good thing that he wasn't wearing Velcro sneakers.

Welsh had gotten himself under control. "Time to call this in," he said. "Vecchio, you want to do the honors?"

"Sure," I said, "but I think Fraser'll have to talk."

"Ah," said Fraser. "Have we considered all the implications…?"

For once I got Fraser's drift on the first try. I was him, he was me, "Welsh" was back at the station while "Frannie" was here…. "What are we going to do, Lieu'?" I said in a low voice. "I think we need to huddle up here?"

"What's the problem?" Welsh said, low enough that the prisoners and Messina couldn’t hear.

"If we take them into custody, I'll more than merely introduce myself as an American police detective," Fraser said. "I'll be functioning as one… and you, Lieutenant – you'll have to swear under oath, as Frannie Vecchio."

Welsh pursed his lips (sporting smudged red lipstick) and nodded decisively. "True, but I have them dead to rights on a kidnapping charge," he said. "It'd be a worse wrong to let them get away. And these guys could be looking at five to ten for the kidnapping… if the DA deals for details that would bring down Gorodish. I might never have to testify… or else, we'll get switched back – oh, please Lord! – and then Frannie wouldn't have to – either way."

I nodded. "Frase – you think you can handle it?" He'd helped me on so many cases, and god knows, he used to fill out most of Vecchio's paperwork. I relied on him to double-check mine. Still, he wasn't in truth an American detective, even if the legal angle was covered.

"I can't say I'm overjoyed at the prospect," Fraser said. "As you know, I'm a stickler for proper procedure… and I fear my manner will not be convincing… though it's not unusual for me – 'Fraser' – to accompany Detective Vecchio through booking and interrogation." He sighed. "Lieutenant, you say you 'are okay' with this?"

"This situation is so out of the world that I couldn't find it with a map and a compass," Welsh said. "I think it incumbent upon us to act in the honest spirit of the law rather than to the exact letter."

"I see," Fraser said. "If you're at ease with it—"

"Not at ease," Welsh said. "Resigned. Definitely resigned."

"'Resigned,'" Fraser said. "Then – if Ray doesn’t disagree—"

I nodded. "If – that is, when – we get switched back, I was right here," I said.

Fraser cracked his neck, and then did that thing with his tongue that I find almost irresistible. (It even looks good on my face.) "Then I'd better call it in."

Chapter XVII - Frannie Comes Out

I only had to prompt Fraser two or three times during the booking. The uniforms at the 3rd didn't notice anything hinky – or didn't say anything out loud – if Detective Vecchio was unnaturally polite and kept conferring with his close Mountie friend and the decidedly bossy Civilian Aide. Welsh couldn't forget that he ran the precinct – well, he did, it was just that the world hadn't caught on to his rank.

Welsh nearly ran the batteries down on his little pink cell phone coaching Frannie and Huey who to call and what to say to get Gangsta 1 and Gangsta 2 released to the 27th, with a pit stop at the hospital. I didn't think either of them was so badly injured that they required medical attention, but better safe than sorry, and also it would hold off the questioning until we were back in our own bodies.

Welsh wanted them bad, and not just to kick them to death – he figured if they rolled on their boss, we'd be getting somewhere with Gorodish. I couldn't disagree.

Finally back at the 27th, I rescued Messina from the back of a prowler and stashed her in an empty interrogation room. I made sure she had magazines, sodas to drink, and personally brought her a sandwich. She didn't say much of anything… I told her that we had to process the goons, but we'd speak to her 'real soon.'

Welsh suggested that 'Welsh' take 'Frannie's' statement in his office, which actually meant that he wrote it down while sitting at his own desk. Huey brought us up to date. They'd managed to keep a lid on things. Huey's wife Vivia was springing Dewey from the loony bin. Vivia had gotten some "private time" with her sham husband, and brought him up to speed on how he had to play along.

Frannie was curled up on the couch, looking forlorn. I flopped down next to her. "How are you holding up?" I said.

"I don't think this day is ever going to end," she said. It was amazing how small Frannie could curl up, considering the frame she was inhabiting.

"I know the feeling," I said. "Though right now I feel good."

"Well, of course you do," Frannie said. "You get to be a Mountie. And handsome."

"I'm handsome enough as myself," I said. "Well… not funny looking, anyway."

"You know what I mean, Ray," Frannie said, and whapped me on the arm – except that with one of Welsh's big hands and big arm, behind it, it rocked me.

Fraser came back from dealing with booking downstairs just then, putting something on Welsh's desk and speaking with him. "You know, I should have known it wasn't you," Frannie said. "Look how straight he's standing."

I've been told I carry myself with 'a dancer's grace.' Okay, so that was Stella, and we were in college at the time, so you can maybe chalk it up to too many poetry classes, but I do think I have coordination going for me. Even so, the way Fraser moved was different – straighter, yeah, but it wasn’t just about how un-curved my spine was.

Fraser's very coordinated, I've seen him pull moves I didn't think were physically even possible. Fraser has this stillness when he's in motion, like some Zen thing, like those old Chinese guys doing their Tai Chi in the park in the morning, turning corners that aren't there, using aggressively polite body language to annoy people into doing what he wants. It was neat to look – since I had nothing better to do – and see how much of "Fraser" was really in his head. The fact that the body didn't look like him hardly mattered, once you knew what to look for.

Welsh nodded at something Fraser said. I still couldn't quite get my head around 'he' being a 'she.' 'Frannie' looked older with Welsh at the wheel, and a lot more commanding. It had been funny as all hell to watch Welsh order the uniforms around, and them start to obey him, until the moment when they remembered that it was a Civilian Aide giving them orders. But then Fraser'd been Johnny-on-the-spot repeating Welsh's orders, and I'd given the Lieu the high sign to remind him who he was today.

I caught Fraser looking over at us with a killer grin. He's usually Constable Spock, though I know how much of that's a front now – you have to look close to see if he's happy, but with my face, it must have been harder to control those muscles. I've got a good smile, if I do say so myself.

"Somebody thinks something is funny," Frannie said in my ear, the instant Fraser followed Welsh and Huey out of the room. Dewey and Vivia must be on their way up.

"Probably thinks our brother-sister act looks kind'a—" I hesitated just a second "—weird-ass."

"Queer, you mean," Frannie said, looking me in the eye. She smiled. "You don't have to hold back… I mean, I might be a guy, but I'm still attracted to men. So I guess it fits. And you know, it's OK with me."

"Frannie!" I said. I didn't know if I should be shocked or laugh.

"No, really," she said. "I caught a glimpse of me in the men's room mirror, and I move like Ru Paul in a business suit!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, and Frannie whapped me again. "I'm serious as a ton of cement!"

"Bricks," I said.

"Bricks, cement, whatever," she said. "The point is that I'm gay, right now."

"I guess you sort of are," I said. "'Not that there's anything wrong with it.'"

"I'm serious, Ray," Frannie said.

She was looking serious. This was a friend – and sort of a relative – going through a big realization. "And you know it's OK with me," I said. "You never hear me running down the gays, do you?"

"I wouldn't be telling you if I thought you were against it," Frannie said. "It's just… I had to tell someone."

"Yeah, I see that," I said. I'd agonized over telling Stella about my switch-hitting, because it wasn't fair to keep that secret from your future wife. "It's never struck me as wrong, y'know?"

"Yeah, that's just it, Ray!" Frannie said. "That's what I didn't expect – that it just feels natural. I thought being gay would be… hating girls, or being all 'I'm a pervert, hooray!' Instead, I'm feeling, well, normal."

"That's how it feels," I said.

Frannie did a classic double-take – look away, look back intently. "Ray?" she said. I played what we'd said over in my head. Frannie flies off in about three directions at once even when she's sitting still, but that doesn't mean she isn't smart.

I could have passed it off as a joke, and said that I hadn't meant it "that way," but I just didn't have the heart to do it. So I shrugged instead.

"I hadn't realized," she said in a small voice. I could feel a blush creeping over my – Fraser's – face.

Her expression changed to a grin that was pure Frannie, even on Welsh's big mug. She reached out that big Welsh hand and patted the top of my near one. "That doesn't change anything, Ray, really."

"Better not!" I said.

"After what I've been through?" she said. "I learned stuff today… and anyway, it wouldn't have changed anything if I'd found out before this. You're my sort-of brother."

"I've never been ashamed," I said. "But I think it's wiser to keep my mouth shut, you see? It's hard enough being a straight cop."

Frannie gave me her most serious nod. "I totally wouldn't spill the marbles… unless you wanted them spilled." She blinked, I could see that the wheel was turning inside her hamster cage. "Did Stella…?"

"Stella knew," I said. "She was cool with it."

"Of course," Frannie said.

I knew, plain as the nose on Welsh's face, she had a question that she didn't know how to ask. "I like girls, too," I said. "We didn't break up over that."

"That's …neat," Frannie said. "I mean, not that you broke up – I mean the liking girls thing."

"It makes life more complicated," I said.

"Yeah, I can see that," said Frannie, and I thought that she did. "I don't like girls," she added. "Though I bet I could show them a really good time, y'know?"

Back in high school, it was simple to figure out what I liked best, but Stella's funtime had taken a lot more effort. Somebody who'd been female would have a big advantage. "Most people go one way or the other," I said.

"Yeah," she said… and then she smiled. "Oh Ray! Fraser likes you, do you know?"

"He's a nice guy," I said, not knowing where this was going. Frannie is just crazy about Fraser, so I tend to tiptoe around the subject with her, especially because I'm quietly, desperately fixated on him myself.

"I mean, really likes you," she said. "And you like him a lot, don't you?"

"Um, Frannie," I said. I caught myself rubbing my eyebrow, and ran my hand through my hair instead. "It's complicated."

"You have to tell him," she said. "You two should get together!"

"Ah," I said. "I thought—"

"Now it all makes sense," she said, excited. "I just didn’t see it before."

"See what?" I said, fascinated in a kind of sickly way.

She took my hand between her big ones and bent to half-whisper in my ear. "I think Fraser likes guys best."

I blinked, and swallowed several sarcastic comebacks. "I kind of wondered about that," I said.

"He totally does!" Frannie said. "God knows, I've tried every trick I know to get him interested… and I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not dog food."

"Dog meat," I said automatically.

"Whatever." Frannie said. "Three years plus, and I don't get more than a kiss on the cheek… whereas you just stroll into the 27th one day and ever since he can hardly tear his eyes away."

"Really?" I said, astounded that Frannie had noticed.

"Yeah… I felt bad for him, because you were so hopelessly straight, what with Stella and all. He got so hurt by Victoria, I thought he was just setting himself up for more, and short of throwing him down and having my way with him, there wasn't much I could do about it."

"So you're saying—"

"That you should let him know you're interested," she said. "You are, aren't you?"

Damn it, I was blushing again, Fraser must have more blood vessels than I do – I could feel the heat on my face. "Yeah, I am, but I was holding back, 'cause I didn't think he was interested."

"You should see him when he thinks you're not looking," she said.

I couldn't help smiling. "You think he'd go for me?" I said. I shook my head, today was surreal in so many different ways that I couldn't count. "I thought you wanted him for yourself."

"Pffft," Frannie rolled her eyes. "I've got a crush, but bottom line I want the guy to be happy," she said. "If he changes his mind and starts going for me, I wouldn't complain… but he lights up with you around, he worries about you more than anyone else these three years. And he deserves to be happy."

"So… I like, have your blessing?" I said.

"You're my brother, sort of," she said. "If it's not going to be me, I couldn't ask for a nicer guy."

"That's – thank you, I guess," I said. "It's not like we've, ah, discussed getting together."

"Yeah, but you should," Frannie said. "You'd be great together."

I couldn't stop the grin. "Maybe we would," I said.

"That's the spirit, Ray," Frannie said. "I'm glad we had this talk. Jack's been an absolute rock this afternoon, even if he's worried about Vivia and Dewey, but it's not like I can talk to him about this. And Harding—"

"'Harding?'" I said. It's not like I don't know the Lieu has a first name, I've even been there when people have used it.

"If I can run around in somebody's body, I think I can use their first name," said Frannie.

"You have a point," I said.

She gave me one of those little squinchy Frannie faces, which you'd never expect on Welsh's big ugly mug. "Anyway, he practically kept me from killing myself this morning – not that he didn't have an interest in keeping his body alive. He talked me out of believing that I'd woken up crazy, he calmed me right down. Without him, I'd totally be in the loony box with Dewey."

"'Loony bin,'" I said automatically.

Frannie shrugged. "Anyway, the thing of it is, I still can't talk to him about some stuff – like realizing that this way, I'm gay… there's no way that I could tell him that."

"He's like a father," I said. Actually Welsh does remind me of my dad… in many ways as far from him as you could get, but somehow similar.

"Yeah, and a lot better than my Pop," said Frannie. "But I wouldn't have told Pop and I certainly wouldn't tell Harding, either. So – thank you, okay?"

What could I say to that? "Welcome," I said. I grabbed Frannie's hand and gave it a squeeze, and in response she leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the forehead – just the natural Frannie thing to do. It certainly felt natural.

Of course, that's exactly the moment that that Welsh and Fraser chose to walk back into the office.

Chapter XVIII - Hopscotch

"Ah, gentlemen," Welsh said. "Am I perhaps disturbing a tender moment?" He put his hands on his hips.

"Gentleman and lady," Fraser said ever helpfully, closing the door.

I was saved from having to defend anyone's honor – I was thinking more of Frannie's than mine – by Frannie snorting loudly. "Ray was being very sweet," she said.

"You never saw brother-sister bonding before?" I said.

"You weren't even brother and sister to start with," said Welsh. "And I have to say, you're even less so at this point."

Fraser was having a hard time keeping a straight face – the tip of his tongue was showing, which I find irresistible on his face, and actually it didn't look so bad on mine.

"Ray was cheering me up," said Frannie, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting. "I don't see why it has to be such a Federal deal."

I had to look away to keep from busting out laughing until I cried. The tidal wave of craziness felt like it was cresting over me… and I have to hand it to the Lieu, if it had been me walking in to see my body kissing Welsh, I wouldn't have been just mildly grumpy.

"I'm sure Detective Vecchio was just trying to cheer Ms. Vecchio up," said Fraser.

Welsh rolled his eyes. I relaxed a fraction – there ain't no flies on Welsh. "If we're all done here," he said, "Dewey – I mean, Huey – no, dammit. You know who I mean – has arrived with Vivia. They're getting a few things from his desk, and they'll camp out in here so Huey can handle the phones, and Dewey can lie down."

"The Thorazine hasn't cleared his system," Fraser put in. "At least it made him more amenable to Vivia's suggestion that he play along with the impostor role."

"And we can finally attend to Miss Messina, get her to reverse whatever it was that she did," Welsh said, with a gleam in his eye that spelled R.E.V.E.N.G.E. if she didn't.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I said. Her M.O. argued strongly that she hadn't done it on purpose – but then I've run across stone cold killers who gave off just as much baffled innocence.

The Duck Boys – and Mrs. Duck Boy – came in. Dewey looked like he'd been down for an eight count, but at least he wasn't feeling any pain. Vivia looked like she'd put a gun to his head and ordered him to pretend to be her husband – I'd hate to be on her wrong side, people only thought that Stella was a ballbuster. She eyed the rest of us as though the entire body swap had been our bright idea.

"Hold as many calls as you can," said Welsh to Huey. "I'd prefer that our time with Miss Messina be uninterrupted."

"I'd still prefer to meet with her myself," Huey said.

"Noted, Detective," Welsh said, in exactly the same way that Fraser says "Understood." No wonder the two of them get on so well.

I got up and went over to the door, Frannie right on my heels. "Wait a moment," Welsh said "Frannie, you stay here with Jack and Tom, they'll need you for the phone."

Frannie looked pole-axed. "But don't I get to see her?" she said. "All this, and I don't even meet her?"

Fraser touched her arm. "You can help best here," he said. "I expect that the Lieutenant's voice will be required a few more times this afternoon, and you're the only one who can do that."

"Yes… but…" Frannie trailed off, and pouted. "Okay," she said. I was relieved frankly, because Frannie's only real talent so far as interrogation goes is to confuse the suspect. I didn't want Messina off-balance, I wanted her fully-balanced and ready to put us back where we belonged.

Messina was still seated in Interrogation One, reading a magazine – one of those MacLean's that Fraser had brought around to the station – and frowned, bad sign there.

"Miss Messina," Welsh said. "We need to talk."

Messina was clearly puzzled that the Civilian Aide (it said so, on the Welsh's breast pocket, right on top of his cute little rack) was leading off with the questioning.

Messina sighed, and turned to Fraser. "First off, am I under arrest?" she said, and I revised upward my estimation of her smarts, first because she remembered to ask the actual detective, and also because that's the prize question that any lawyer worth her salt advises you to ask first thing. "Again?" she added.

Welsh caught Fraser's eye, and shook his head. "I'll conduct the questioning," he said to Messina, "ably assisted by one of my detectives and his partner."

"I beg your pardon?" she said.

"The answer is that, no, you're not under arrest, but we'd like to have you answer some questions, set some things straight here," Welsh said.

"I said all I was going to when I was here yesterday. I didn't know those guys today, you probably know more about them than I do." Once again Messina turned to Fraser – who, after all, seemed to be the only official cop in the room. "Is it normal for your aide to ask the questions?"

"Ah," Fraser said. He was standing at parade rest, arms behind him. "Lieutenant?"

Welsh stood up, all five foot five of him. "I should have introduced us more formally," he said. "I'm Lieutenant Harding Welsh of the 27th Precinct, Chicago P.D.." He nodded towards me, "That's Detective First Class Ray Vecchio, and on my other side, Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

"Informally known as the Mounties," Fraser added.

Messina looked as though Welsh had gone off his rocker. "Come again?" she said.

"I know this looks a little strange," Welsh said.

"You said it," snapped Messina. "Listen, I didn't sit here for an hour and a half to listen to nonsense."

"No, you didn't, and in sheer point of fact, you're not," Fraser said. Welsh turned around to look at him. "Lieutenant, if I may?" he said.

"Better you than me, Constable," Welsh said. "I confess to considerable curiosity as to just how you'll explain our situation."

"Ms. Messina," Fraser said. "I know this seems irregular, but bear with us for the nonce."

"You're a Mountie?" Messina said, her gaze on Fraser's un-serge-clad body. "You said you were a detective."

"It was a necessary deception, one that I naturally regretted," Fraser said. "But the truth of the matter is—"

"I don't—" Messina said, but Fraser held up a hand.

"Ms. Messina," Fraser said. "By any chance, did you put a curse on members of this Precinct?"

Messina looked baffled… and then her eyes widened just a bit. "I wouldn't have called it a curse," she said. "Just a strong wish…."

"What kind of wish?" Fraser said. "And what for?"

Messina was shaking her head. "It was just a wish, a prayer, if you will," she said. "That the detectives who were so rude, and arrested me on bogus grounds would get a good lesson in walking in the other guys' shoes."

"Ah, shit," I said, only realizing after I'd said it that I'd spoken aloud. Even Dief – stared as though I'd grown a second head. "Isn't it obvious?" I said.

"Not to me it isn't," said Messina, annoyed.

Welsh was pinching the bridge of his nose, Fraser repressing a smirk. "You wished too hard," I said. "Huey and Dewey sure got a chance to try each other's shoes out for a fit, but the rest of us got switched around as well."

Messina stared at me, appalled. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," she said. "I don't know if you think you're playing some kind of elaborate joke…."

"Ms. Messina," Fraser said. He pulled a silk-wrapped bundle out of his coat, and deftly unfolded it on the table, displaying that weird ring-thing. "Perhaps this will refresh your memory."

Messina did a very gratifying double-take. "What did – where – how did you get that?"

"It's an object of no little power," said Fraser.

"Yes, you could call it that," Messina said. She got a steely look. "You had to have gone in my office to get that," she said. "You broke into my office?"

Before she could get more het up, I said, "The building manager let us in."

That left her with her mouth hanging open. "Just what is going on here?" she said. "You got a warrant?"

"Not in point of fact," Fraser said.

"That's—" Messina was searching for what to say, not that I blamed her any.

"We've had to resort to extra-legal redress for our situation," Fraser said. "A serious offense has been carried out against us – I'm not sure whether assault or kidnapping would be the best high concept description – and our chances of legal redress seemed rather slim."

"Wait – you're really–?"

"We're not kidding that we're in the wrong bodies," Welsh said. "I'm 54, and a police lieutenant of the male persuasion… or at least I was."

Messina gave him a look that suggested to me that she was going to opt for the "crazy" option, because Welsh sure looked like a cute young woman who was unaccountably speaking in a gruff voice. "I'm not Canadian," I said. "Though you would think I was, with the uniform and all."

Like a compass needle swinging North, Messina's gaze went over to Fraser. "And you?" she said.

"I'm not a detective," he said. "Even though my ID says Ray Vecchio, it's not – yet I woke up in this body."

"We can get you three more victims," I said. "Detectives Huey and Dewey, and Frannie."

"Frannie?" said Messina. She was starting to look a little green.

"She's the real Civilian Aide," Welsh said. "Upset as I am with this change in my lifestyle, there's a gentleman out there who is even less thrilled, let me tell you."

"But why--?" said Messina.

"I don't know why," said Welsh. "But I think we are not the only ones affected – I'm sure we had several more partners switched around, but I didn't want to question the guys too much and give the game away if they hadn't been. Telling them that there was a bad case of the flu going around seemed more than merciful."

"I suppose it's theoretically possible," said Messina.

"Oh, it's a done deal," a familiar gruff voice said, off to my right behind my shoulder. Don't look, don't look, I told myself. All I needed was Messina convinced we were nuts because of Sergeant Robert Fraser, late of the RCMP, showing up – that would sure convince her to help us.

Fraser hadn't turned, but I could see him looking over my shoulder. "You seem to have swapped everybody around but my son's wolf," Robert said. "It's a miracle he didn't end up switched with that poodle."

Fraser wasn't reacting… but Messina was. She'd turned around, quite surprised. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in," she said. "Are you with the other Mountie?"

"I beg your pardon?" Sergeant Fraser said.

I continued steadfastly not looking, but now Welsh was. "Ms. Messina?" he said, scanning the room quickly. "Is there a problem?"

It was Messina's turn to glance around, taking in me not-looking, Fraser trying not to look, Welsh confused, and presumably whatever expression Sergeant Robert was wearing. "I'm… not sure," she said.

"You can see me?" Sergeant Fraser said. He sounded put out. "I don't know that I like that."

Messina hesitated. "I sometimes get… impressions," she said, her eyes still on Fraser's ghost dad. "It comes with the job, you see."

Welsh said, "Comes with what?"

"I've always been psychic, Mr. Welsh," Messina said.

Fraser immediately said, "Lieutenant Welsh," only he pronounced it the way he always did, "Lef-tenant."

"For God's sake, son!" Sergeant Fraser said. "It's "Lieutenant,' Miss. I don't know where Benton learned to pronounce it that way."

Messina blinked. "Ah, Lieutenant Welsh," she said.

"So you're psychic," Welsh grated out, somehow giving 'psychic' the same intonation you'd give to 'tortures tiny puppies for shits and giggles.'

"For lack of a better term, yes," said Messina. "I do see… auras, from time to time."

"Auras?" Sergeant Fraser said. "That makes me sound like a hallucination."

Messina smiled at Welsh. "Sometimes I get impressions, of those who have recently passed – I got a strong picture of a Mountie just then, an older gentleman." She paused long enough for drama's sake. "I get the impression he could be related to Mr. Fraser here."

"Constable Fraser," I said just a shade behind Fraser.

"Oh, 'I get the impression,'" Sergeant Fraser said with a snort. "You're going to play that game, then?"

"Constable Fraser," said Messina firmly. "I gather you're recently bereaved?"

"He first came to Chicago on the trail of his father's killers," said Welsh. "But he's probably told you this already, so can the acting job." Messina got what would have been a beetle-browed glower aimed at her, but on Frannie's face it looked more like indigestion.

"Actually… no, Lieutenant," Fraser said. "Ms. Messina wouldn't be the first psychic to report that my father's spirit remains close. And I haven't had the opportunity to relate to my reasons for coming to Chicago."

"Me neither," I said. "We haven't spent any more time with her than you have, Lieu'."

"She could have picked it up from one of the uniforms," said Welsh, which to give credit to the man was actually a logical possibility, even if it didn't happen to be true. "I've got enough troubles without adding psychic mumbo-jumbo to today's diversions."

"Wait a minute," said Messina. "You've actually been body-swapped, but you don't want to believe in the possibility of communication with the spirit world?"

Welsh was starting a slow burn, the kind that usually ends with the innocent bystander (often me) being read the riot act; you could see it in his velvety brown eyes. "I believe in stuff I can see, stuff I can feel," he said. "You can save the Psychic Friends Hotline act for when you're hanging out with your friend Dionne Warwick."

"That is so off-base, I can't even—" Messina burst out. "That is so unfair—!"

I could see they were both gathering their wits, and breaths, for the next round. There was a short silence, like the calm before the storm, and I caught Fraser's gaze, lifted my eyebrow to indicate we'd better do something. "Oh, you don't want the women getting into a brawl, son," Sergeant Fraser said.

That got heads turned by both Fraser and Messina, and nearly identical frowns. "Reason would indicate," Fraser said, "and not to take the side of Ms. Messina—"

Oh, like reasoning with Welsh was going to do any good – not even when he was himself. There was no time to agonize over what to do, because Fraser's logic wasn't going to do much beyond antagonizing both of them.

The answer was sitting on the table right in front of us. I scooped up the ring-thing casual-like, but careful to keep a fold of the silk between my hand and the ring. "Lieu'," I said brightly, "hold onto this, would you?"

It wouldn't have worked if Welsh hadn't been distracted, but he wasn't expecting me to grab his near hand with my free one, and turn it over so that I could drop the ring into his palm and fold his fist over it. His big brown eyes got bigger than ever, and he made what I'll be cruel and call a girly yelp.

Holding that ring was like sticking your finger into a live socket. I wasn't cruel, I let go right away, and Welsh dropped the ring on the table, where it bounced once and then did that thing where it makes little circles before it settles down. I bet there's a word for that, but damned if I was going to ask Fraser just then.

"What the blazing blue – hell –" Welsh said, remembering that he was in the presence of a lady. "What did you think you were doing, Vecchio?"

"You wanted something physical," I said with a shrug. "'Something you can touch, something you can see.'"

"I – hell," Welsh said, rubbing his hand.

Messina straightened out the silk cloth I'd let drop and scooped up the ring with her bare hand. "It's such a little thing," she said.

I caught Fraser looking around the room, and checked it out for myself. Sergeant Robert was goneski, as suddenly as he'd showed up.

Welsh took a deep breath, let it out. "Let's just concentrate on the things," he said. "Facts that we all agree on, tangible objects…."

"Yes, of course," said Messina. "It is imperative that we get you back into your proper bodies. That's my real concern here, I can't stress that enough."

"Pardon me," Fraser said. "Just what is this object?" He gestured towards Messina's hand.

"It's a ancient Chinese relic, a katra ring," said Messina. She turned it over and over in her hand, the light gleaming on it. Remembering made my fingers buzz. "Used for meditation, chi exercises, spirit travel—" She stopped, looking dismayed. "'Spirit travel' would cover body swapping."

"Bingo," I said.

"I'm sorry," Messina said. "Terribly, terribly sorry. I had no idea – I meant for your detectives to have some dreams to set them on a right path… not this."

Welsh caught my eye, clearly asking if I was buying the story. I nodded. I've seen my share of liars, cons, and self-deluded dreamers, but I'd go bail she wasn't one of those. I was, in fact, betting my future on it.

"The question is," Fraser said, "whether you will be able to switch us back."

"Of course!" said Messina. "I mean… I'll certainly try." She paused. "I mean… I think I know how I did it… so if I reverse it… it should work, right?"

Frase looked at her in that semi-frozen but polite way he has when he's not hearing stuff that he likes. Hell, even Welsh got an alarmed look. It looked like it wouldn't be simple. Somehow I'd thought that when we found the fortuneteller, we'd be back in our own bodies right away.

Messina nodded. "I'll need some stuff from my office… some reference books, too."

"I believe I have all or most of what you need," said Fraser. "All the herbs from your cabinet, for instance."

Messina did a double-take. "Boy, when you guys burgle, you don't do it by half!"

"I'm sure I speak for my comrades when I say that we thought long and hard about the consequences – but our desperate situation, and the unlikelihood of redress by conventional means, argued for taking immediate action," said Fraser.

Messina looked at him, nodding. "If it had happened to me, I wouldn't stop to observe legalities either," she said. "I think I'd show up with my guns drawn, y'know?"

"I hope you will look upon our restraint favorably," said Welsh. "Our lack of physical violence might be considered a courtesy."

"Yes," she said thoughtfully. I remembered Welsh kicking Gangsta A and Gangsta B, and decided it wasn’t a bad thing that Messina had their treatment to compare hers with.

"I'll leave you to get started," said Welsh. "Constable—" We both looked to him, and he added, "the real one – would you assist Miss Messina with whatever she needs? Vecchio, you can pitch in with the actual police work, or if Fraser needs you to run errands, you may consider yourself excused from official business."

"Sure, Lieu'," I said. "Should I bring the stuff from the office in here?" I added to Fraser.

The answer was affirmative, and I headed out with Welsh and got the stuff where I'd left it tucked out of sight in my desk. Two guys from the evening shift had come in early to cover for the "sick" roll, so Welsh – and Frannie – soon were up to their eyebrows in reassigning work to them and covering the phones.

Even so, I had to wonder whether Welsh's reputation was going to take a flaky hit or two, what with Frannie's kooky ideas how Welsh was supposed to act. You know, before I started undercover work, I assumed most people could act – it comes natural to me, so why not? Frannie just had no clue, but with Welsh or Huey or even me to run interference and remind her what she was supposed to do or say, she managed to get by. Even Dief pitched in – I do wonder about that wolf, sometimes.

I checked back in Interrogation One and they asked me to scare up some chalk or tempera paint. Then I got mirrors out of Frannie's purse and desk. When I next looked in they were painting circles and lines on the floor. It was all Greek to me, except for actually being in Chinese.

I gathered that Messina had copied a diagram out of her old books with symbols that she wasn't sure about, but it turned out that Fraser had a better command of those little Chinese squiggles than she did. It was way more technical than that, but I didn't even try to keep up.

I got busy again – Welsh asked me to brief the subs on a case, and I got sucked in for half an hour right there. When I got back to the interrogation room, Fraser and Messina were sitting, looking at the finished design. There were candles in the middle of circles, bowls with incense sticks or water at the intersection of lines, and get this – sand in some of the sections, mirrors in others and that weird-feeling ring right in the middle. "That's the craziest game of hopscotch I've ever seen," I said.

"We've gone over it enough," said Messina. "We've double-checked the calculations, triple-checked the translations—"

"The figures could be clearer," said Fraser. Okay, he was definitely worried. Concerned. Too careful, maybe.

"What's the holdup?" I said.

Fraser sighed, looked down at his long fingers. "We've got no way to test the spell."

"Could you use a guinea pig?" I said.

"Even if we had a pair, I don't know how you could tell if you swapped their minds," Fraser said. "There's not much personality to a guinea pig."

"Just get a nervous one and a calm one," I said. "Or one who likes to run in his wheel a lot." Did guinea pigs have wheels? We had gerbils when I was a kid, but even they had personalities – you just had to watch 'em closely.

"Ray, I don't think…" Fraser shook his head. "I don't think that it would be a fair test. It's not like the guinea pigs can consent."

"They should be grateful we're not dripping Clorox in their eyes," I said. Messina grimaced. "Why don't we use me?" I said. One of our swapped pairs was going to have to go first –either me and Fraser, or Welsh and Frannie, or Jack and Dewey. We needed Welsh to run things, Frannie had had enough upset and stress, and Dewey, too. I trusted Fraser with my life, and it would save a lot of arguing as to who should bell the cat.

"Ray, it's untested and quite dangerous," said Fraser. "Perhaps Dief would consent…."

"Yeah, we could swap him with the turtle," I said. "And then we put a donut down across the room and see how long it takes Turtle to get to it."

"Um," said Messina. "We'd have to reconfigure to deal with animal personas." She looked at our goofy expressions. "Oh thank God, you're not serious," she added.

"Somebody's got to go first," I said. "I'm seriously volunteering, right now, before we lose our nerves."

Messina took a deep breath. "I don't think we can prepare any better, not until we've done it once."

"It doesn't exactly lend itself to trial and error, huh?" I said. "You got it to work the first time, so I figure it's good odds. What do we have to do?"

Not much, as it turned out, though I had to keep after them some more before they'd agree. I'd thought they'd have to anoint me or sprinkle incense in my hair or send me out to get shriven, but all they wanted was for me to stand in a painted circle holding a sprig that smelled like sage. I touched Fraser on the shoulder before I stepped in – would have hugged him, but Messina was right there – and said, "You know, whatever happens, I know you did your best."

"Understood, Ray," Fraser said. He had that Fraser-look that I would have recognized on any face anywhere, equal parts pride and pleasure. For a smile like that, I actually would swim 150 yards underwater… experimental body-swapping was a piece of pie by comparison.

Fraser stepped into another circle, after lighting the candles and the incense sticks and pouring water into bowls, and they both commenced chanting, Messina walking around the circles counter-clockwise. It kind of reminded me of Mass, only I didn't have to kneel every five minutes.

I sure didn't feel anything. I tried to empty my mind, but that never works so good – I start thinking about how I'm not thinking, noticing that my nose itches, wonder whether I remembered to turn off the stove… like that. This wasn't really that much different, except that I was getting a headache from all the incense.

Messina did most of the chanting in Chinese, and sometimes Fraser would answer her. I'd gotten the idea that the spell would bottle up our spiritual essences and then shoot them back into the right bodies, like a cosmic squirt bottle. Sounded great in theory, but in execution it was a disappointment.

Finally, Messina put down the incense she'd been waving around and around the outskirts, and Fraser put down his sprigs, and they both looked at me. "I don't feel anything," I said, looking down to check if I was still clad in red serge. I was. "Aw, shit," I said, and added, "Excuse me," for Messina.

"I had expected… something," Fraser said. "It was as though I was insulated from the katra."

"I could feel it," Messina said. Her voice had gotten slower and sleepier as the ritual went on. "It was working, I'd swear to it."

"We done for now?" I said. "I think this calls for tea… or maybe we could hit a bar early."

I started to take a big step out of my circle, wide because I didn't want to step on the pretty lines they'd taken so long to paint, and as my foot went over the edge, I heard Fraser bark, "Ray! Don't—"

That's when all hell broke loose.

Chapter XIX - To Hell and Back

I'd been asleep when the first body swap happened. I don't know if the second one happened the same way, but if it did I'm definitely glad I was out for the count.

This time I was awake, still in Interrogation One at the station, but at the same time, like it was a super-imposed picture (only it was in 3D – sound and feeling and all that), I was in a big room filled with people standing and sitting. For a split second maybe, I had a feeling like I was flying – or moving very fast – and then I was completely elsewhere.

It was quick, whatever it was. My foot had just touched the ground outside the spell circle so I was mostly balanced on my other foot, so I staggered when I "landed." And when I took a step my ankle twisted, and I went flying into a banister, which I clutched for dear life…

…And looked into the surprised eyes of a guy in a prison jumpsuit. "Uh," I said then "Oh," when I realized that my voice was higher. I pushed myself upright, looking up behind the prison guy where there was a high – desk or something – with a motherly-looking woman in a black dress staring down at me.

My first thought was that I'd died and gone to Afterlife Court, except then I'd be on the one on trial. I looked away from the judge, and saw that I was in a courtroom – packed with spectators, press, bailiffs, opposing counsel, and at the prosecution table, one of Stella's associates – name of Martz – who was holding a pen and looking very concerned. There was a jury box filled with twelve jurors, all of them gaping except for an old guy down the end who looked like he was asleep.

Everyone else in the room was looking at me. The judge cleared her throat. "Ms. Kowalski?" she said.

I looked at myself, which you would have thought I'd have done first, noticing the conservative dress suit from Brooks Brothers, the expensive manicure, the small frame, Prada pumps and Givenchy pantyhose. "Oh, shi—" I said, catching myself just in time as that kind of language wouldn't be appropriate for the courtroom, or do much for Stella's reputation.

I thought really really fast. "I feel… odd," I said, and sagged to the floor – not too fast, not too slow. I've seen people faint for real, and so had a bunch of the people watching, so I didn't want to overplay it. They'll buy that Stella's not feeling well, because I must have jumped into her in mid-argument, and I'd lost my footing so they're primed to think that it's a dizzy spell.

My best bet was to stall, as there was no chance that I could take Stella's place in a trial, so a fainting spell was just the ticket. I left my eyes closed as I heard the judge order the bailiffs to my side, then pretended to come around as they helped me to my feet and into the judge's chambers. "I just felt dizzy, all of a sudden," I said. "I must have passed out, Your Honor."

The judge asked if she should call an ambulance. "Oh, no, Your Honor," I said. It was Judge Sudis, whom I had testified before, and who Stella likes, she has got a good rep for a reason. "Let me call my doctor."

"Of course," said Judge Sudis. "I may as well recess for the day. Do you need someone to stay with you now?"

"I don't think so, I'm not dizzy anymore," I said. Perfectly true, that. "I do think I should talk to my doctor. Could someone get my briefcase?" Stella always carried her cell phone in it, turned off when court was in session. I had to get in touch with Fraser and the 27th.

Sudis didn’t want to leave me alone, so a bailiff stayed behind. It took what seemed like a long time but was only another three or four minutes before they brought "my" briefcase. That was long enough for me to have half-a-dozen kittens – what had happened to Stella? Had she landed in my body? In Fraser's? Somebody else's? I'd sooner hurt Fraser than Stella – he can take care of himself better, even if Stella is one tough girl.

She'd better be tough. So many people were so much bigger than me, it was like I'd shrunk… which I had – being a woman was more challenging than I thought. Good god, I hadn't realized bras were so pinchy. I resisted the urge to touch my crotch, inasmuch as I knew there wasn’t much there to adjust. Actually, being a woman felt kinda nice – different but nice. I felt almost as home in Stella as I did in my own skin.

Finally, I got the briefcase and switched the phone on. I tried to think of how to conduct a coherent conversation with Fraser without letting the bailiff know anything was hinky, and was just about to give up in despair and ask the guy to step out when I realized the judge had a private bathroom. I excused myself, wobbled into the room on the damn Pradas, shut the door, sat down on the toilet lid, turned on the faucet, and practically busted one of Stella's expensive fingernails speed-dialing my own cell phone, which if God was kind to me was still in the pocket of the coat that Fraser was wearing.

"Detective Ray Vecchio's cell phone," Fraser said promptly on the second ring. "Er… Ray Vecchio speaking."

"It's me, Fraser," I said. "Ray, that is. The voice is kinda high right now."

"Ray!" he said – a lot of relief in that one word. "It's Ray," I heard him say, which seemed to trigger a babble of excited voices in the background. "Ray, it seems that Stella was swapped into your body."

"No shit, Sherlock!" I said. "Guess who got jumped into Stella's body by accident?"

"Who, Ray?" Fraser sounded distracted. "Ah," he said, and I knew he'd caught up.

"How's Stella?" I said. We've had good times, and bad times, and she's pretty much hated my guts at times, but I've never wished any bad on her. I could have kicked myself in my own head for getting her into this insanity… but who'd have thought that the spell would screw with her?

"Ms. Kowalski has calmed down," Fraser said. "She was… initially hysterical, when she realized her situation. And – well – she thought you were present, which would have been calming, but I didn't get a chance to tell her that I was not you before she discovered it for herself… which upset her more rather than less."

"Oh, brother," I said. Stella would have been upset, turned to the only person there that she trusted – I knew that's what she'd done – and then he turned out to be Fraser? Oh yeah, she'd be upset.

I could practically hear Fraser rub his eyebrow. I could certainly hear him sigh. "Ray, I'm so sorry. Julietta is going over the formulary as we speak."

"You couldn’t have known, Fraser," I said. "I volunteered to be the guinea pig. Serves me right."

"I blame myself," Fraser said. "I should have realized the circles were meant to contain forces. When you broke the circle, instead of swapping with me, you went to the person you were closest to."

"Wait—" I said because that didn't make sense. "I should have swapped with you, because I'm—" I stopped "—in love with you," was what I didn't dare say, so I settled on "—we're buddies."

Fraser was silent for a moment, long enough for me to mentally kick myself. "I realize that you're still very close to your ex-wife."

"Yeah, okay," I said. "But, well… you swapped the first time with me. That's got to mean something."

"Does it?" Fraser said.

"Completely," I said, suddenly certain of it.

"Perhaps I should say, you swapped with the person you were next closest to," Fraser said.

"Right, I see that," I said. And I did – hell, Stella still had my power of attorney, she'd be the one to tell them if it was OK to operate if I was unconscious, or tell them to turn off the machines if I was brain-dead – and I trusted her to make that kind of decision. So when my… whatchamacallit, soul, had been squirted out and was looking for a place to go, where did it head?

"I was still insulated," said Fraser. "If I'd been standing nearby, outside the circle… I should have thought of this."

"Do not beat yourself up over this," I said. "Especially because it'll be me you're beating up on, right?"

"Ray," Fraser said.

"I'm serious," I said. "This has caught us all flat-footed, I know you're making it up as you go along. Stella's probably never going to forgive me, but then she stopped being a fan a while back, so really, not much of a change there, all things considered."

I heard Fraser sigh, letting out a breath. "It's an honor being your partner," he said.

"Likewise," I said. "Frase, we've got a lot to talk a—" I broke off because I could hear a voice on the other end of the phone call, saying something to Fraser, and even though it was a pleasant masculine rumble, there was something that told me Stella driving those vocal cords.

"Yes, of course, you may speak to him, Assistant State's Attorney Kowalski, ma'am," Fraser said. Uh-oh, he was pulling out the Full Formal mode of address to The Stella, which meant she'd been on the warpath, not that I exactly blamed her.

"Yes, put her on," I said. I kicked off the pumps and contemplated Stella's small feet while I waited for Fraser to hand over the phone to her. Actually, they're not such "little" feet, she takes an eight, but compared to mine they're little. I wiggled "my" toes in the pantyhose – funny, that I'd seen those beautiful little toes so often, but never quite this way.

"Ray?" The voice had Fraser's timbre and baritone, but just the way she said my name told me it was Stella, I swear.

"Stella!" I said. "God, honey, I'm so sorry—"

"Ray! I was so worried!" More exasperated than angry, better than I had hoped for. "They didn't know where you'd gone, and my cell phone was off, and I didn't want to call the courthouse because it might give the game away… I couldn't think what to do!"

"I was right there in the courtroom," I said. "Staggered, everyone was staring at you – me, that is."

"Oh dear… the closing argument," Stella groaned – funny to hear that familiar grumble with a deeper voice.

"So I pretended to be fainting," I said. "The judge had me taken to her chambers to recover. I asked for the cell phone, said I had to call my doctor."

"Oh, that's good," Stella said.

"Came in here to the bathroom and called, finally," I said. "Oh, and Judge Sudis recessed for the afternoon, so you should get a do-over tomorrow."

"I hope so," Stella said.

"It had to be worse for you," I said. "At least I expected to end up in a different body."

"I thought I was hallucinating at first," Stella said. "I'm still not 100 percent sure I'm not."

"I wish you were – I wish I was," I said. "But I could never have dreamed this up in my worst nightmare."

"So there I am, sitting on the floor and trying to figure out how I got here, and there you are, asking me, 'Ray? Are you all right?' which is too weird. I can't figure out where the courtroom went, and then I get a glimpse of what I'm wearing… and then I get a glimpse of the rest of me!"

"Oh, Stel,'" I said.

"I was like, 'Ray is this some kind of fucking joke?'" said Stella. She has a tongue on her when you push it. "And he says, 'You're not Ray, are you?' and that's when I lost it… because even though he looked like you, he wasn't you."

"Christ, Stella!" I said. "Fraser was only trying to help."

"Yes, but I didn't know that at the time," she said. "Honestly, I think if I'm going to have nightmares about any of this, the most likely candidate is when I realized there was an impostor in your body."

"I was lucky that it was Fraser who got switched with me the first time," I said, "and then you with me this time. Not that I thought it was lucky when it first happened … that was before I knew what happened with the Duck Boys, and Welsh and Frannie."

"Hoo boy," Stella said. "What you just said about having to believe this because you could never have made it up?"

"Frannie and Welsh, huh?" I said.

"Exactly."

That's my girl, I still knew precisely what wigged her out or made her laugh. It seemed to me that in the past year, I'd finally gotten over being hurt by the end of our marriage, and been able to go back to the head space when Stella was my friend, which is a good place to be. "Huey and Dewey are kind of a shock as well," I said. "That is, if you know them."

"Oh, I got that, too," she said.

"We've got to get you back into your own body," I said. "After I hang up here, I'll tell them I spoke to my doctor, who said it was most likely a reaction to some – unspecified – medication, and then have them call me a cab. One ride later, I'll be at the station, and we can see about doing the swap right this time."

"About your body," Stella said. "I… well, I have something to tell you."

"Okay, what?" I said.

"When I found out that Ray wasn't you… I kind of hit Constable Fraser."

"Oh, Stel," I said.

"So you're going to have a black eye," she said, sounding embarrassed. "I was panicking a bit—"

"I don't blame you," I said. "I'm sure Fraser doesn’t either."

"I know that's true," she said. "He was very gracious about it. That doesn't mean I won't feel bad… or that you won't have a black eye when you get back."

Fraser hits like George Foreman on a good day – I know that from experience. "Ouch… but it's not like it'll be the first black eye I've ever had."

"That's true," Stella said.

"But definitely the first one you ever gave me." I couldn't help it, I'm a wise-ass. We may have had our share of screaming arguments, but neither of us had ever raised a hand to the other.

"Oh Ray, don't rub it in," Stella said. "I'm embarrassed enough as it is."

"No, it's okay," I said. "You should have seen the big hug Frannie gave me when she thought I was Fraser."

"Frannie? As the Lieutenant?" Stella choked up with laughter and I started laughing with her. After we wound down, she said, "You forgive me, then?"

"Absolutely," I said, feeling that I could forgive her everything – up to and including our divorce. When had it changed – that I could think about the divorce without blackness descending on my heart and mind? "Stell, I just want to say…"

I trailed off not because I didn't know what to say but because I was suddenly dizzy – no, not dizzy, but a rather a different but familiar feeling, like I'd felt before when the spell had squirted me halfway across the city and into Stella's body. For a moment, I could see two rooms – the little bathroom that I was sitting in, and Interrogation One, where Stella – I – was sitting at one end of a table and holding a phone while at the other end, Fraser and Messina had their heads down over books.

And then there was that feeling of flying, rushing through space and distance, and I felt like I'd fallen from a great height—

Chapter XX – Brass in Pocket

–and there I was, in the interrogation room, just as I'd seen it in that pre-swap split second. I looked down at myself, still in the jodhpurs, still in Fraser's body. But at least I was a guy. I suppose I should have taken more time to actually experience being female, but mostly, I'd been too worried about blowing Stella's cover to play around. Didn't even think to fondle my breasts… but then I'd fondled them plenty before, so maybe it wouldn't have been all that novel, you know? Anyway, I've never spent a lot of time wondering what it's like to be female, most of my energy's gone into figuring out how to be a guy.

I must have made a noise when I got switched, or else Stella must have, because Fraser and Messina were looking at me from the other end of the table. "Ms. Kowal—" Fraser said, but I could see him reconsider. "Ray?"

"Got it in one, Frase," I said. I shook my head and straightened up. It felt like I should be dizzy, but I wasn't – I was good to go. Fraser's body must have a double-dose of the usual amount of get up and go, after a day like this. I had a sudden surge of optimism. "Did you – were you able to come up with something to switch us back?"

The way Fraser looked at Messina, it was clear it would be news to him if she'd made a breakthrough – but she shook her head. "I've been working on some of the symbols we hadn't translated," she said. "But I haven't done anything with them… yet."

"Then Ray and Stella just… spontaneously switched?" Fraser said.

I nodded. "We weren't doing anything but talking," I said. "We were mid-sentence…." I looked around for the phone, realized that I or Stella must have dropped it during the switch.

"Give me a minute here," I said. I found the phone on the floor – it had opened up when it hit and the battery pack was under the table. Once I got it put together and switched on, it rang almost immediately. "Ray Vecchio's phone," I said, remembering that I wouldn't be answering in my regular voice. There were open cases we were still hoping for leads on, it wasn't like my job had ceased to exist while all this craziness was going on.

"I'd like to speak with Ray," Stella's voice said from the other end. I mean, not just Stella's voice, it was her way of speaking and all.

"Stell, are you okay?" I said. "I'm back to being Fraser."

"Oh, damn," she said. "I hoped that everybody got switched back… did Julietta come up with something? I wish she'd thought to warn us."

"I was just asking the same thing… but they're almost as surprised as we are."

Stella sighed. "So you're still stuck," she said.

"Yeah, but… that was proof we can do it," I said. "It's just the getting it right part that's the problem."

"Ray?" Fraser said. I hadn't noticed the black eye until now. It was a good one, Stella must have knocked him off his feet. That was my girl, all right, she's have made a hell of a fighter.

"It's Stella," I said. "She got back to herself okay."

"Thank god," said Messina. Thinking that she'd screwed up even more than she had at first couldn't have been much fun.

"They wanted to know if it was you," I said to Stella.

"I'm back where I belong," she said. "Now I just have to lie through my teeth about my medical condition." She sighed. "But it beats telling the truth under the circumstances."

"I know Martz asked for a recess and Sudis granted it," I said. "Go home and relax, you earned it."

"Oh, I'm coming down to the station," Stella said.

"Ah," I said, "don't get me wrong… but what for?"

"Welsh and Frannie have been struggling all day – I can run interference for them," she said. "Also, if I come in to talk to you and Constable Fraser about a case, nobody is going to wonder that we want some privacy, or if we say that you can't be interrupted. It's the least I can do."

"Stella, that's… really great of you," I said. "This has to be the last place on Earth you'd want to be."

"I suppose," Stella said. "But you and the rest aren't out of the woods yet… and Ray, you know you can count on me when the chips are down, despite what we've been through. I may not be your wife any more, but I'm still your friend."

"And I'm yours," I said.

We said goodbye, and Stella went off to run the gauntlet of concerned courthouse personnel. I closed up the phone and saw Messina had come over with the kama sutra ring suspended from a silken cord. "What are you up to?" I said.

"I'm taking a reading," she said. "You had a very different aura when Stella was here."

It figures The Stella would end up on a first name basis with our fortuneteller. "Don't send me anywhere else," I said. "I've had enough exciting travel, thanks."

"I'm sure you've used up your quota, Ray," Fraser said.

"There should be a quota," I said. "Better yet, you get a round-trip ticket that states the time that you're going, and when you're coming back."

I didn't think it was the world's funniest quip, but I didn't expect Fraser to look startled and Messina to stare wide-eyed at both of us. "A time… designation?" Fraser said. "Julietta, there were a number of symbols that we weren't sure about…."

They rushed to the reference books. There seemed to be more of them than I'd fetched from Messina's apartment or maybe they take up more room when they're open.

"Did I say something?" I said.

Fraser looked up. "About how long were you gone, do you think?"

I checked Fraser's watch on my wrist, ran some mental math to figure out how long I'd been back, and guesstimated when I'd last checked the time before we'd started the ceremony. "Forty, maybe fifty minutes," I said. "It seemed a whole lot longer than it was."

Fraser touched his developing black eye tenderly. "It seemed long on this end as well," he said. "If the switch reversed itself naturally it may be that we inadvertently designated a duration. If we can find it, we may be able to reexamine the analogous designations in the original spell to ascertain whether they served a similar purpose."

"Translate that into English, Mr. Spock?" I said.

Fraser sighed. "A number of the symbols in the original formulary were elusive. Some may have controlled the duration of the switch."

"So, like, the spell would have an ETA?"

"It's probably not that simple, Ray," Fraser said, while Messina riffled frantically through several dozen note pages. "Though…" He looked very thoughtful.

"Well?" I said. "It could be that simple."

"The spell we tried did, er, run out," said Fraser.

"Here it is," said Messina, and said something in what I'm guessing was Chinese.

They got into it again, showing each other symbols and drawing stuff on scraps of paper. It was obvious that I was not going to be much help, so I wandered back out into the Bullpen to see what was up – not much, the subs were on the job. I took a couple of calls, totally forgetting to be "in character" for the first few – thank goodness the subs didn't know the department well, though at least they were up to speed on why a Mountie was acting as the Civilian Aide.

When I put down the phone, Dief pushed his nose into my knee. "You gotta go?" I asked. Poor wolf – not only was everybody mixed up, we've forgotten his needs. But on our way out to the pit stop, he zipped into the Break Room, where Frannie was backed up against the counter by an older white-haired man whom I couldn’t place. Come to think of it, I'd noticed Frannie go past me a while ago. This wasn't good – turning Frannie loose to talk to anyone who might come along wasn't exactly a great idea, even when she's in her own body.

My worst fears were confirmed – in fact it was worse than my worst fears. The guy who had Frannie backed up against the counter was Acting Captain Hanley, O'Neill's second in command. The brass must have sent him down like a Vice Principal, to check up on the absences today.

"So, how many of your detectives are actually on the job?" I heard the guy asking.

"There's Vecchio and Dewey," Frannie said. She was holding her head to the side, standing with her weight mostly on one foot – like a girl. If this kept up, Hanley was going to think that Welsh was on drugs.

So I asked myself, What Would Fraser Do? If this past year had taught me anything, it was how to predict that. So I straightened up, pulled my tunic down just a hair, took a deep breath and strode towards them. "Acting Captain Hanley, I presume," I said, because Fraser would be formal with a capital 'F.' "How nice of you to stop by today!"

I wasn't sure if Fraser had ever met Hanley, Welsh encourages me to take him elsewhere when the brass visits because he's got a theory that the less the brass sees of Fraser the more likely they are to forget about him.

"Ah yes?" Hanley said, startled. Good, I could work with startled.

"May I introduce myself?" I said, not even pausing, "I am Constable Benton Fraser, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for—" I thought fast because I might have to draw this one out, "—very good reasons, I've elected to stay at this juncture."

Hanley looked blank, like so many of Fraser's victims. When he's "on," he'll wait just long enough for his victim to think about responding and then go on just as if they had. So that's what I did. "Firstly," I said, "a surprising number of cases involve Canadian interests, either those of Canadian nationals who have been crime victims, or much less often, perpetrators. Thus I can perform a necessary function that would otherwise be unavailable to your department. Though of course, I am also serving my country just by working at the Consulate, even if that position doesn't capitalize on my full range of talents and skills as a trained police investigator."

"Er, yes," said Hanley, looking a little buffaloed. Before being Fraser, I had never really appreciated how politeness can be used as a weapon in the right hands. It's like pistol-whipping, really.

Hanley was on the ropes, and my boxing coach would have been disappointed if I didn’t press my advantage. "Secondly," damn I hadn’t thought of a second part yet think brain think, "—ah, a foreign perspective is sometimes just what successful detecting requires. As an outsider, I have a certain lack of experience with common American conventions and, um, things. Quite often my partner has found that my earnest questions about customs and practices opens up avenues of inquiry that prove fruitful in the long run."

While I was spouting this, I was staring into Frannie's eyes, trying to beam thoughts like "Get out of here while you can," and so on, but she was standing there open-mouthed like a Jane Doe in the headlights.

"Ah, very nice, Officer," said Hanley.

"'Constable,' actually," I said right away. "The RCMP – that's the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, though of course it was originally the Northwest Mounted Police – specifically modeled its ranking pattern upon the classic structure laid down by Sir Robert Peel – for whom the Bobbies are named, incidentally. Thus we also have Corporals, Sergeants, Staff-Sergeants, Inspectors – that is, Lieutenants in the American parlance – and beyond that, Superintendents and Commissioners."

I was pulling this spiel purely out of my ass. I'd stood in the hall and listened to Turnbull speechify too often, but now it came in handy. I'm channeling Turnbull more than Fraser, but any Freak-Ass Mountie in a storm has become my motto.

"Mmmm-hmmm," said Hanley, whom I've reduced to speechlessness.

I tried to flag down my derailed train of thought, but I had got a runaway brain. A touch on my shoulder alerted me that Fraser – Fraser as me, that is – had joined us.

"Acting Captain Hanley, greetings," said Fraser. I tried not to wince, but Hanley wasn't likely to notice what a lousy performance that was. "I see you've met my partner, Constable Fraser."

"Ah, yes I have," Hanley said. "And I was just talking to your Captain." He looked over to Frannie, who was still standing there with her mouth hanging open.

"A man under whom I am proud to serve," said Fraser. "As it happens, I need to avail myself of his expertise if you don't mind – it will only take a moment."

He nodded to Frannie. For most people this would have been a cue, but all he got was a weak smile. So while Hanley wasn't looking, I shot Frannie a look that threatened imminent death – though I had to pretend to rub my nose when the poor Acting Captain glanced back.

"If you don't mind, sir, would you follow me?" Fraser said plaintively, and this time – finally – it gets through.

"Yes, I'll come with you, Detective," Frannie said – the best Welsh impression she'd done all day. "If you'll excuse us?" She gave Hanley a perky smile – which made Welsh look like he was on drugs – and minced off after Fraser.

"I've found that the standard Canadian investigation protocol complements my partner's most excellently," I said loudly and earnestly. Fraser looks so wholesome when he says stuff like this – if I could get his face to work for me that way, I could take Hanley's attention off the things we didn't want him to notice… I hoped. I babbled on for… I don’t know how many minutes more, except that I kept the patter going as long as I could, mixing up stuff I'd heard Fraser say with stuff I made up out of whole cloth, throwing in a couple of instant Inuit proverbs that I adapted wholesale from Chinese fortune cookies I've gotten.

You know Fraser pretty much has a reputation as a freak… and that allows him to get away with murder. If Hanley went back to HQ with tales of the Mad Canuck of the 27th… fine. All that I asked was that he didn't think Welsh was getting ready to apply for gender reassignment.

Almost to the minute I ran out of breath, Welsh in his Civilian Aide disguise came tromping up. He must have conferred with Fraser and Frannie, because he had a duty roster clutched in his delicate fist. "Lieutenant Welsh says you want to know who's where," he said.

"Hello, Frannie," I said. "Acting Captain Hanley, this is our Civilian Aide, Francesca Vecchio. She should be able to answer your all questions."

Welsh gave me a look that could have peeled paint on a park bench. Hanley, though, he glommed onto Welsh like a lifesaver, and I don't mean the fruity kind, either.

"Carry on, then," I said. "It was a great honor to talk to you, Acting Captain Hanley." So I hadn't let him get a word in edgewise, but still. He shook my hand quickly, like I might start talking to him again. If I stayed Fraser for long, this was a power I would have to use only for good.

Back in the Bullpen, Fraser was sitting too upright at my desk. "Frannie went into Welsh's office?" I said quietly in his ear, leaning over his shoulder.

"Yes. You handled that very well," Fraser breathed back at me.

I hadn't been this close to him since the morning, and he smelled great. I realized I'd rested my hand on his shoulder. "Sorry about that," I said, releasing him. It wasn't a good idea to start feeling your partner up in the bullpen. I'd had so many impossible daydreams featuring him, and to have them this close to reality was a trip and a half.

"Heads up," Fraser said, and I glanced up to see Hanley headed full steam for Welsh's office. Jack had been hanging out at Dewey's desk, and now he popped up in Hanley's path. Fraser dialed Welsh's extension, and spoke quietly, so low I could barely hear him, to warn them that the Acting Captain was on his way. At least he'd find the right body sitting behind the right desk.

"What can I say? Or do?" I said. "I ran through everything I could think to say—" Too bad I couldn't get away with setting a wastebasket on fire – too many witnesses. What we needed was a violent suspect, and there's never any when you really need them.

Jack was doing his best to slow down Hanley, speaking rapidly as he trailed after him, but I think the brass was determined to speak to Welsh this time. I was ready to pray to St. Jude that Frannie would hold up under scrutiny when an angel appeared—

Okay, so it was my own former angel, Stella Kowalski, and she didn't own wings or halo or harp, but she sure appeared at just the right instant. "Paul!" she called in that soft voice that somehow carries across a courtroom. "I didn't expect to see you here!"

Hanley stopped in his tracks. Stella's made a point of getting to know the cop brass, so it wasn't surprising that she had stuff to discuss with him. I saw her glance over to us once, when Hanley looked away, and she smiled. She knew what the score was, after all.

"I'll let them know she's blocking the way," I said, gathering an armful of random files and headed down the other aisle to Welsh's office, where Dief was lying in front of the door. "Don't you bite anybody," I said, and he snorted as though he could understand me.

Inside the office, Frannie was in position at the desk with Welsh perched on a chair behind her where he could work the strings. Vivia and Dewey were seated on the sofa – Dewey looked like he'd been on a weekend bender and hadn't sobered up yet, but that's what major drugs do when you don't need them. Vivia was watching him like a hawk, or at least like a woman whose husband's body has been commandeered by an idiot. Remind me never ever to cross Vivia.

"I should have had an escape hatch installed in here years ago," Welsh said when I'd shut the door. "A line of retreat when it's needed – is it too late to get a fireman's pole installed?"

I spread my files out on the desk. "If we look busy, and interrupt you with questions, he's more likely to say hi and go," I said to Frannie. "Whatever you do, ignore any suggestion that he needs to be alone with you, okay?"

Frannie looked tired. "This day can't end soon enough," she said.

"Another 30 minutes," said Welsh. I glanced at the clock. More time than I would have guessed had passed while I'd been having fun with body-switching and brass-baffling.

There was a knock on the door, but no one moved. "You've got to say to come in," Welsh whispered to Frannie.

"Okay," Frannie whispered back. "Come in," she boomed. I stood straighter, holding a random file as though the fate of the Dominion of Canada depended on it.

"Harding!" Hanley said, looking at Frannie who was hulking timidly behind the desk. "I've run out of time! Can't stay, so I wanted to say that you've done a good job with the alternative coverage!"

"Thank you," Frannie said. There was a spark of the real Frannie in her eyes when she added, "I couldn’t have done it without my staff."

"Yes, yes," said Hanley, looking just a bit dazed. Fraser and Stella together make a righteous one-two punch.

"They're very… enthusiastic," said Frannie, overplaying. Welsh looked like he was going to kick her if she didn't shut up. She'd forgotten the memo that said we didn't want to prolong this.

But Stella, bless her, stuck her head inside the door and said, "Harding, so sorry I'm late for my 4:30!"

There was a frozen moment. We were all so fixed on protecting Frannie, it took us a moment to realize that Stella was giving us the Big Out. Welsh was on it first, more credit to him. "Would you help me, Detective?" he said to Fraser, gathering up the files. "We'll get the Lieutenant's desk clear, and then he can meet with Ms. Kowalski."

Welsh could have a second career undercover – we got the message loud and clear, but Hanley didn't suspect anything other than that the Lieu' had a bossy Civilian Aide. Vivia and I took care of getting Dewey moving, and we cleared out in record time. Welsh made a point of walking the Acting Captain out of the station, in fact.

I couldn't see Fraser and Diefenbaker anywhere. Huey strolled over and said in a low voice, "Fraser's gone to get Messina. Sounds like it's time for a summit meeting."

It was only a minute or so later that I saw one of the blinds in Welsh's office windows tugged open briefly. Then the door opened. "It's okay to come back in the water," Stella said with a smile. "The sharks have gone."

Chapter XXI - The Fellowship of the Ring

I grabbed a couple spare chairs, Vivia put Dewey on the couch again, and Welsh came back from the front door, swearing under his breath and claimed the executive desk chair. Frannie curled up on the filing cabinet behind Welsh's desk like she usually does – I didn't think Welsh's body bent that way. Stella was standing in the doorway, watching us all.

"You doing okay, Stel'?" I said.

Stella looked at me – and then she looked at me. "I know that you're you," she said. "It's still startling."

I shrugged helplessly. "Thanks for the assist there – Hanley was clinging like the 'Hang in there!' kitten."

"Any time – I mean that, Ray," Stella said. "You get into real trouble, I will be on your side."

"Thanks," I said. "Same here."

Stella smiled. "Strange that now you're like this, I can remember better how much I liked – still like – you."

I smiled. "We both kinda forgot that."

"Now we just have to get you back into your right bodies," she said.

"If anybody can do it, it'll be Fraser," I said.

"The resident expert on everything weird. If you had any sense, you'd run in the opposite direction when you see him coming."

I shrugged and smiled, and Stella just gave me this look. "You never did have any sense," she said, and went in and sat on one of the guest chairs.

I followed her in just in time to hear Frannie say "Look at my hand, it's still shaking." Actually her hand looked rock steady.

"You did good," I said to her. "Hanley thinks a bunch of loons work here, but I don't think he got a chance to notice much off about you."

"He's not entirely mistaken about the personnel issue," Welsh said gloomily. "Especially after the day we've had, we should all be getting treated for post-traumatic stress disorder."

"I think waking up this morning qualified me," Huey said, coming in. "Or getting a glimpse in the bathroom mirror." He looked over to Vivia, who was regarding his Deweyesque exterior with dismay. "Family members should get combat pay too."

"We're all here?" Fraser said from the doorway. "Good, I think we can start, then." Messina followed him in and took the remaining guest chair. She looked like she'd have preferred to be anyplace else, like suspended by her ankles over a pit of rabid vipers on a fraying rope. It's one thing to feel guilty that you've screwed up people's lives, but it's another to sit down with them.

Fraser waited politely for Dief to trot in, shut the door, pulled the whiteboard out of the corner, and tacked up some papers with Chinese writing on them. I marveled at how much he moved like himself in a different chassis – and was sexy about it, too. The glasses didn't detract that much.

"Constable," Welsh said, shaking me out of my coma. "I'm sitting here hoping to hell you have some good news. Particularly after what happened this afternoon."

Fraser licked his lips. "On the whole I would characterize it as good news," he said.

Everyone perked up. "Thank goodness!" Frannie said.

"There's a 'but' attached to that," I said, in case anybody needed a Fraser-English translation.

"It's complicated," said Messina. "While the swap this afternoon wasn't fun for anybody, it did give us some vital data. We discovered we’d misread a key component in the original formulary."

"Should I think that this is a good thing?" Welsh said in his overly precise, trying-not-to-be-annoyed way.

"Yes, sir," Fraser said, pointing to some of the pretty squiggles on the whiteboard. "We had supposed these characters were purely ceremonial. Julietta copied them over into the pattern we utilized this afternoon… but she made a small error." He took a marker and scrawled two large squiggles. It was like one of those "spot the difference" games they give kids on restaurant placemats, only in Chinese. It took me a minute, but finally I saw there was a swoosh missing on one.

"I checked and double-checked," Messina said.

"And I checked it over also," said Fraser. "My calligraphy used to be better, but I've let it lapse in recent years. It was a mistake that anyone could have made, and as it turned out, it was fortuitous." He turned to Messina. "If you would," he said, gesturing to her.

Messina stood up. "There's a time component to the spell that we hadn't been aware of," she said. "In a way it was very good that we incorrectly transcribed the character – originally it indicated a day, but this way it stood for an hour."

"I see…" Welsh said. "You used the wrong word?"

"The formulary isn't the same as a programming language," Fraser said, "but it has some similarities. You could say that we slipped a decimal point."

"Whoa," I said. "So, the thing with us getting spontaneously swapped back? That's where this formu-whatsis made a difference?"

"Exactly, Ray," Fraser said. "There was a built-in time limit."

"A time limit?" Stella said. "So if it was an hour for what happened with Ray and me… what is it for the original spell?"

"That's the good news," Messina said. "Once we realized that it was that character that made the difference, we went back to the books and cracked it. The original specification was for a day – 24 hours, more or less—"

"More or less because it relates to the moon cycle, which is slightly more than 23 hours," Fraser added.

Stella got it first – outside of Fraser and maybe Welsh, she was probably the smartest person there. "Then… you only have to wait?" she said.

"Essentially… yes," said Fraser. "The spell should reverse in another… oh, six to eight hours."

There was a hubbub which made the earlier one look like a murmur – we all spoke at once. "People, please!" Welsh said, glaring, though less effectively than normal. Frannie's face is just too cute to look fierce. "Constable— are you sure about this?"

"Relatively, Lieutenant," Fraser said. "The spell is not intended for permanency."

"So the switch with you and Ray?" Huey said.

"Had we understood the process better – we misused the pattern, insulating us from each other, so that his consciousness – spirit, if you will – flew to the next person he trusted most, his ex-wife." Fraser nodded to Stella and she gave him a frosty smile. They'd never be best buddies, but they'd come to an understanding.

"Bottom line," Messina cleared her throat. "The spell should dissipate shortly after midnight, and you'll all be back where you belong."

Welsh frowned. "Yet somehow I still don't hear the sound of certainty."

Fraser cracked his neck, and rubbed his eyebrow. "It's true this is merely a deduction," he said. "I have confidence in our empirical evidence. Ray's misadventure turned out to be a good test – the same spell, only shorter."

"And what if you're wrong?" Welsh said.

"We can start again tomorrow, using what we've learned – perhaps we'll leave out the time specification altogether. But I would strongly suggest we first see if the spell disperses naturally."

Everybody had an opinion, all at the same time. "Okay, people, settle down," Welsh boomed. "I'm sure we all have questions for the good Constable and Miss Messina, but can we kindly take turns?"

He looked first to Frannie, who looked ready to burst. "So we have to wait?" she said. "We can't speed it up?"

Messina looked at Fraser. "Julietta and I have discussed this," he said gravely. "There's no guarantee a variation on the same spell wouldn't put matters even more awry."

"You mean like… I could end up in Las Vegas? If I got switched with Ray – my original brother?" said Frannie.

Fraser looked thoughtful – what might have happened if it had been Fraser who stepped out of our circle first? Vecchio might have come back to the 27th early. Or I'd have gotten up close and intimate with that bitch Victoria. They would have been the next candidates after me, I guess. "That's a distinct if disturbing possibility," said Fraser. "You see how grave the dangers are?"

"I want it to be over," said Frannie, "but, well, I can stand it for a few more hours if it means Ray is safe. But I'm not the only one who has to make that decision, there's the Lieutenant, too."

"So there is," Fraser said. "What are your thoughts, Lieutenant?"

"I've been in worse predicaments," said Welsh. "If we're still stuck tomorrow, I'll be screaming blue murder, but I can last a few more hours … inasmuch as we're going off-shift soon and then I'll only have to wait at my place."

Fraser looked over to the couch, where Dewey, Vivia and Huey were hanging out. "I just wanna sleep," said Dewey. He wasn't in any pain, at least. "And when I wake up, everything's going to be okay, right?"

"That's what we believe," said Fraser. "Mrs. Huey, Detective Huey?

They tried to speak at the same time, smiled at each other, and Jack nodded for his wife to go ahead. "Jack's told me a lot about you, Constable Fraser," said Vivia. "He talks about the precinct, things he sees, what he feels. He puts a lot of trust in you, especially when something 'weird' is going on."

"I – thank you, Mrs. Huey," said Fraser.

"That's Vivia, honey," she said with a grin. "You don't earn Jack's respect easily, and it's rare that I don't agree with him." Her eyes flicked to Dewey, I noticed. "Now I've had a chance to see you for myself, which settles my mind a bit more."

She took a breath. "I don't get a vote on this, it's Jack's body, so I can only advise him… but if you say that it's most likely he'll get back into the right body if we just sit tight, I'll wait it out and not complain." She patted Jack's hand next to her.

"I can't disagree with that," said Jack. "I'd rather cross my fingers than risk screwing things up more."

"Ray?" Fraser said, turning to me.

I'd forgotten I had a vote. "Ah," I said. "Well… I had my try, and we know how that went—" Stella grimaced and I nodded to her. "We're getting off work in a few, so I can hang loose tonight."

Fraser nodded. "I, of course, would follow my own advice and wait to see if the spell behaves as forecast." He looked over to Welsh. "Any last comments, sir?"

Welsh in Frannie's body looked so small in that big chair. I wondered if Welsh had any sisters and if they had as much presence as he did. "Constable, you've made a convincing case. It's frustrating, but no more than the rest of our day has been. If you're wrong… I would suggest we call in sick and reconvene at Miss Messina's office tomorrow."

Welsh looked around. "If there are no more questions," he said.

It wasn't really a question, just politeness, but Vivia sat up. "I have some questions," she said. "Since we have the little girl who got us all into this trouble."

Messina's olive skin tone paled. "Wh-what do you want to know?" she said.

"First I'd like to know what you thought you were doing," Vivia said. "And then I'd like to know where the hell you got this thing and what the hell do you intend to do with it after this is over?"

Messina nodded. "I apologize again – I was only trying to send some instructive dreams. It was white magic, with good intentions, not malice nor mischief. I didn't think the katra ring was that powerful!"

"That's all well and good," said Vivia. "And I suppose I have to accept your apology – but I don't ever want to have to go through another morning like this again – thinking that my husband was having a psychotic break? – I hope nothing like that ever happens to you."

"I'm terribly, terribly sorry," said Messina.

"I can see that you are," said Vivia. "So we'll put that behind us, forgiven if not forgotten… but I want to know what you're going to do with that katra thing, now that you know what it can do."

"Oh, I won't do that spell again," Messina said. "I knew that the katra was a powerful artifact when I saw it in Gorodish's study, and I got a series of… well, you could call them spirit visits, telling me that I had to take it… so that I could return it to its rightful owners in Nepal. Which is what I intended to do – but I had to raise the money first, so I left Indianapolis, set up shop here, and – well, the rest you know. Another week and I'd have been gone, I even have my plane tickets."

"No wonder Gorodish wants the karat ring back," I said. "He knows it can switch people around, so if he goes to jail, he can send some other guy in his place."

Messina looked horrified. "Oh my God, he totally could," she said. "I thought that the spirit travel the books talked about was symbolic. No wonder it had to be taken from him."

Welsh frowned. "Under the circumstances, I'll pretend that we didn't just hear you confess to burglary," he said. "Because, quite frankly, imagining Gorodish able to use the, ah, device at will… well, that shouldn't be permitted in any way, shape or form, ever." He looked directly at Fraser. "Constable?"

Fraser looked solemn – well, more solemn than usual. "As we've said, this situation goes beyond the reach of law… we have to look at the larger picture, and choose which battles we can win with the weapons at our disposal."

"I think we can all agree on that," Welsh said. "Ms. Kowalski?"

"I concur," Stella said. "I am declaring it an offense that the DA's office would use its discretion to choose not to pursue, so you now have a legal reason to disregard Ms Messina's confession, in expectation of her future cooperation in the case against Gorodish." She arched one of her perfect eyebrows ever so slightly.

"I'll be glad to help," said Messina. "That is, as soon as I get back."

"I'd actually recommend protective custody on behalf of the DA for the next several days, inasmuch as Gorodish may not stop at one kidnapping attempt," Stella said. "You can stay with me tonight, we'll get the process started in the morning. We may have to delay your flight a week or two – we may need you for a bluff, if our would-be kidnappers roll the way they should," Stella said. "I can just imagine what the defense lawyer would make of the testimony of a fortuneteller."

"Actually I prefer the term 'spiritual counselor,'" said Messina.

Stella looked skeptical. "I doubt the defense will be that polite," she said. "But in any event I don't intend to give them the chance. We're not going to be able to enter body swapping 'evidence' into the official record."

"That's wise," Welsh said. "And are we agreed that we never speak of this experience to anyone outside this group?"

I shrugged. "Who'd believe us anyway?" There were a couple nods around the room, except for Fraser who looked like he'd thought better of listing five people who would.

"Good," said Welsh. "It's five now, so the night shift is in. Time to go home - those of us with homes we can go to without questions, that is."

"It would probably be for the best if the swapped pairs stay in geographic proximity," Fraser said. "To make the re-transfer, ah, easier."

"Yes," Messina said. "We know that it wasn't necessary for the initial swap, but it can't hurt. I'd avoid consecrated ground, as well – we know that dedicated ceremonial spaces can interfere."

"I'll skip Midnight Mass, then," I said, which earned me an eye-roll from Stella, and an "is he kidding again?" glance from Messina.

"It would be best if you came home to your apartment, with me," Fraser said. "You could go back to the Consulate, as it is after hours, but frankly, I'd feel more comfortable if I wasn't alone there."

"That's fine with me," I said.

"Tom can stay with us. I wouldn't want to leave him by himself until the drugs are out of his system," Vivia said. "It won't be the first time he's crashed on the couch."

Welsh turned to Frannie. "Oh, I can't go home like this," she said, her eyes wide.

"Mama would be terribly surprised," I said.

"Vecchio," Welsh said. His tone managed to convey that it wasn't my real name and also that I was a wise-ass, both of which were accurate. "Miss Vecchio, may I offer the refuge of my condo for the night? You are welcome to stay there, whereas I will take a room in a nearby hotel."

"Oh you don't have to do that," Frannie said. "It's not like you'll take advantage. Er—" she fluttered her big hands "—or vice versa. Well, you know what I mean."

"I suppose I do," said Welsh. "Well, then, I hope that the next time I hear from any of you will be with the news that you're back in your proper bodies. Constable, Miss Messina, do we have an ETA on the resumption of our rightful identities?"

Messina nodded. "It should be 50 minutes earlier than the initial swap, which was about 1 AM last night."

"So just after midnight?" Welsh said. "You all have my home number, let me know if you make the switch or not. We'll meet tomorrow at Miss Messina's office if the good Constable and our… spiritual counselor friend are wrong, but I place considerable faith in the assurances we've been given here."

Welsh got up and it was clear the meeting was over, as well as our day – the evening shift was shuffling in, or already at their desks. "We'll retrieve Ms. Messina's possessions from Interrogation," said Fraser.

"I'll take care of my desk," I said. Nobody would think twice if they saw Fraser cleaning up Vecchio's desk. He used to do all of the real Vecchio's paperwork, practically, so the night shift wouldn't blink.

Stella had lingered to speak to Welsh, and she came by as I was stuffing Messina's paperwork back into a file. "Ray," she said. "I haven't had a chance to thank you."

"Thank me?" I said. "I can think of a lot of reactions you might have had, but I wouldn't have picked that one."

"Well, I was annoyed," she said. "But it's clear it wasn't your fault, or something you could have anticipated. You did your best to ensure my reputation didn't suffer, so I owe you for that."

"Any time, babe," I said. "I owe you a hell of a big apology – I never intended to bring you into this at all."

"Constable Fraser said something to that effect," Stella said. "He said you were sure that I'd know he wasn't you right away… you were right. But you could have come to me…."

"I didn't want to worry you," I said. "And… I was already freaked enough for myself."

"I see that," Stella said. "And I know you wouldn't want to bother me unless it were absolutely necessary… I just want you to know I'm there for you."

"Thanks," I said, because it was the simplest and most accurate thing to say.

Stella smiled and the moment was goneski. "I'm going to take off with Julietta," she said. "The DA's office has an apartment she can stay in tonight. Welsh will call me if the switch doesn't happen, and in that case I'll make sure she's at the office tomorrow."

"Stella, you are the best," I said.

"And don't you forget it," she said with a saucy smile – that's my girl, all right. I watched her walk away across the Bullpen, hips swaying, shoulders set, attitude as cocky as the day I'd met her. Better she wore those Pradas than me.

And suddenly, I realized that my heart was only twanging faintly. Our love was a pleasant memory, now, I could look back at us fondly, something that had happened to a different guy. Okay, a very different guy at the moment, but the bigger picture? A wiser older guy who was ready to move on.

A warm nose thrust into my hand as I stood lost in thought. "Dief," I said, smiling down at his wolfy face. "It's been one hellacious day for you too."

"It's been tough all around," said Fraser. He stood a few feet away, looking where Stella had walked off, his expression maybe a little… wistful? I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at my younger self – Fraser had put my geek glasses back on – looking on. I really wasn't that guy any more, was I? Neither was Fraser, but he looked like I would have looked, younger, still wishing for Stella, when I knew now that I wouldn't want to go back.

As if he'd read my thoughts, Fraser said, "Sometimes, do you still wish…?"

"Less and less all the time," I said, and meant it.

A smile came slow over Fraser's face – okay, it was my face, but that was definitely a Fraser-smile. "That's very good to hear." There was nothing suggestive in the way Fraser was standing, or what he'd said or how, I'd swear… but for some reason, I was reminded of what we'd almost gotten into this morning. And tonight we wouldn't have to break anything off because we had to figure out what had happened and how to fix it. The day really wasn't over – and the evening could get, well, interesting.

Chapter XXII - Bodies At Rest

We hardly spoke in the taxi on the way home – yeah, I won the taxi argument. After tooling around in my body all day chasing a freak Mountie with boundless energy, Fraser was discovering from the inside just how tiring that was. Or maybe he was as eager as me to be alone with each other.

Fraser actually fumbled with the apartment keys. I surprised myself by how still I was, but I felt jittery inside. Which was silly, it wasn't like we'd decided to have sex tonight, or even discussed it… it wasn’t that getting lucky was a done deal.

Dief trotted into the kitchen to drink from his bowl. My place looked untouched – Hurricane Fraser had woken up in my bed, figured out that he'd been switched, washed, dressed, and departed without tearing it to pieces. He maybe isn't completely human.

Meanwhile Fraser watched me as I took my (okay, his) coat off. I tried to read that look – I'd have known what it meant if I was seeing it on his face. Sometimes during this crazy day, I could see him underneath the skin and bones, as if the body was the least important part of who we are. Yet, it's essential to who we are, it's all we do and feel, and we are in it for our entire lives. Food tasted different when I was Benton Fraser, smells smelled intenser, sounds sounded louder and were harder to ignore, I'd run after Messina and not fetched up winded. There were a billion small differences and maybe a couple thousand big ones.

You want to really know someone? Try walking in his boots for a day.

But even so, there was so much that I didn't know about Fraser, I could spend the rest of my life finding out. All of this went through my tiny mind as I stood there, with the coat hanging in my hand, and watched a slow smile spread over his face. "We talked this morning," Fraser said. "You admitted you were attracted to me. Does that still hold true?"

"Whoa," I said. "This morning was a long time ago."

"So it was, an entire lifetime," Fraser said. His gaze swept over me, and I wondered what he was seeing – it had to be like looking in a mirror. "You didn't answer…."

I hung up the Mountie coat and the Stetson, to buy myself time. "It's gone too fast," I said. "I'm… still getting used to the idea."

"Ray," Fraser said. "A day can't be a 'long time' and yet have 'gone too fast' simultaneously."

"Sure it can, it's one of those double-timey things," I said. "Wavey light rays that bounce off mirrors?"

"Light rays are both waves and particles, depending on how you look at them—" Fraser said. "But you still haven't answered my question."

"I'm weirded out." Now that I had put a name on it – okay a verb – I didn't feel much better about it, but I found that I could start talking. "I want— I want you, I really do. It's just… I open my eyes, and it's me, staring back at me."

"Ray… I can wait, if you'd rather." Fraser's voice was pretty much neutral, but I snuck a look and he looked disappointed, at least until he saw me looking.

"I don't want to wait!" I said, the words spilling out before I knew what I was going to say. "I mean, my heart doesn't want to, but my head…." Even that wasn't entirely true. "It's not even my brain… it's like I want to, but then I look at you, and you're me, and…"

"I see," Fraser said. "So it's your eyes that object."

"Well… kinda," I said.

"You don't see yourself as attractive," he said. He turned to the mirror that hangs in my entrance, left over from my Stella Years and looked at his – my – face. "I've thought you were possibly the most attractive man I've ever seen from the moment I first laid eyes on you," he added.

"Lose the glasses, at least," I said. "You look like Poindexter with them on."

"I thought they added a boyish appeal," Fraser said. "But… eye of the beholder, I suppose… and I don’t need them on to see you so close by." He took them off, folded them and left them on the mirror's shelf. "Is that any more inviting?" he said.

"Yeah – no – damn it," I said – I could see myself (with Fraser's face) looking over "my" shoulder. I turned around and closed my eyes. "I've got to work through this," I said.

"I'll wait, Ray," Fraser said. "I won't push… unless I should, of course."

I couldn't think of what to say to that. Dief came to my rescue, and made a noise – it wasn’t a whine, because wolves don't, more of a 'pay attention to me' noise.

"Pardon me, Ray," Fraser said. "Do you still have Dief's food in your larder?"

"'Course I do," I said. They'd ended up over here often enough that I kept tea stocked for Fraser and special vet diet kibble for Dief, but Fraser always politely asked if I had it – the kibble. He never asked for tea, and it had taken me a couple times to realize that he wouldn't, but if I offered, he always accepted. I'd even got the kind of tea he liked, from – really! – a tea shop.

I headed to the kitchen. I turned on the burner under the kettle and got Dief's guest dish out of the drainer as I spoke. "Are you hungry? We should have stopped for takeout. I guess we could send out now, if you don't mind, or we can scratch something together. I don't have much, but we could probably manage an early breakfast—"

"Ray… you're babbling," Fraser said.

"Am not," I said automatically. He tilted his head up, nailing me with a challenging stare from underneath his brows. "Okay, I am." I took a deep breath. "I'm nervous as three cats and this is too fucking weird."

Fraser leaned back against the refrigerator, his arms crossed neatly, still as a stone – I could hardly see his chest rise and fall. "Our current situation is indeed unique," he said. "Considering our present state of intimacy – comfortable with each other's bodies to a degree that many couples never know – surely physical intimacy would not be objectionable."

"Whoa, hold up right there," I said. "Let's not even get into intimacy—" I made a show of putting my hands over my ears, realized I'd stalked over to the other side of the kitchen, and decided to stay there. "At first glance it sounds funny," I said. "You watch a movie like Freaky Friday and think, 'how funny, mom and daughter have traded bodies' without ever considering how devastating it would be – not just the cute identity stuff, but everything about a person, their bodies, private parts, pissing – every damn thing. It's one hell of an invasion."

"So it is," Fraser said. "A doctor's checkup before a class of freshman medical students couldn't be more embarrassing, a rape victim's examination for evidence, a—"

"I get it, already!" I said, quickly.

"It's not that I don't feel it as well—" Fraser said. "But since it's with you, it doesn't feel like so much of a violation to me." He looked at me thoughtfully. "Why are you so upset with it now?"

"We've been so busy all day," I said, "running, trying to figure out things and put them right. I think this is the longest we've been alone together since about nine AM, and stuff I put off thinking about is coming back to bite my ass." I could feel blood heat sizzling on my face, maybe visible it felt so hot.

"You're embarrassed," Fraser said. He took the kibble down from the shelf where it lives and poured some for Dief, who was still standing there waiting patiently. "I'm sorry, I'd prefer not to make you uncomfortable."

"It's okay, Frase," I said. Even if it wasn't he'd have had to tie me down to a rack to make me admit it.

"It's just that… after the day we've had, this is our first truly private, truly relaxed moment," Fraser said. "I kept coming back to what you said this morning, about how you feel about me."

"It's not that I don't want to – I do want you," I said. Oh Lord did I – like lungs want air. "It's just—"

"—overwhelming?" Fraser said. "I fear I often distance myself from my emotions by over-intellectualizing. Knowing it was you who shared the humiliation of our situation—"

"Whoa, hold the humiliation," I said. Somehow, Fraser had gotten closer. I could probably smell him if tried – I was this close to jumping him. Why had I ever thought that Fraser was Mr. Spock, anyway? Emotions ran through him just as much as anybody, as I had cause to know.

"Is it that you feel violated, then?" Fraser sounded – angry? "Ray, if you feel you have been obligated by our intimate situation, then of course—"

"I'm not trying to back out!" I said. "I am so not backing out because of that! You're my friend, my buddy, my partner—" I waved my hand, the words were too damn inadequate. "I stand behind what I said this morning, and what I felt. Same as how I feel now—" I tapped my chest "—in my heart – okay, your heart – it's just—"

"The body switch, then?" Fraser said.

I nodded vigorously. "It's the body thing, the face thing," I said.

"Can you – do you think you can work through it?" He stepped back, looking sad. "If we must wait—"

"No—," I caught myself. "I don't want to wait!"

You could have lit a city block with Fraser's smile. "So you do—"

"Yeah, I do," I said. "It's just that… the way we are now, it's weird." I was going in circles. "I can't get my head around it. If I kiss you, it's like I'm kissing me."

"I admit there is an element of novelty," Fraser said. "When you stop to think about it—"

"When I stop to think about it, that's when my skin starts crawling," I said. "I mean, if I kiss you now, it'd be like I was kissing myself."

"Ah," said Fraser. He poured the hot water into mugs and slid mine over to me.

I got busy adding cream and lots of sugar, even if I suspected I didn't like it that way when I was Fraser. It gave me something to do, plus it cooled the tea down. I'd just taken a sip of it when Fraser added, "You ordinarily don't object to masturbation, do you?"

Not only did I spit tea all over the table, I breathed it in wrong and choked. I wasn't exactly in danger of dying, but Fraser came around and give my back a couple of light slaps. "I'm okay, I'm okay," I spluttered.

Fraser rubbed my back through the serge. He was crouched to bring himself to my seated eye level, his face close to mine. "I certainly didn't mean to upset you," he said, practically in my ear.

I closed my eyes – I couldn't not smell him, and he smelled like guy heaven. I can't describe the scent, other than it was wholly masculine. "Frase," I choked out, my eyes clamped shut. If it was his Fraser face that I'd see, I'd have been so all over him by now.

"Ray – you could call me 'Ben,' you know," he said low and close, his breath puffing on my face. It was tea-scented and pleasant.

"'Ben,'" I said, obedient. I couldn't move to save my own life.

"Yes, it's Ben," he said. And I could feel the air shiver, which gave me a moment's warning before he kissed me, so I didn't jerk away. His lips brushed against mine, held there, and passion – yeah, I'll cop to passion, okay? –welled up in me, and then we were both kissing, licking at lips and sucking on tongues.

We broke it off in favor of breathing. Fraser – Ben – leaned against me, his forehead on my shoulder, which was good because then I couldn't see his face. He'd slid a warm arm around my waist. "This is the most perverse idea in the history of perversion," I said.

"Ray," he said, drawing my name out slow. "When it's consenting adults who will not hurt anyone with the expression of their love, how can it be true perversion? This may be the best idea I ever have."

"Ya think?" I said. All the blood was gone from my brain so my grammar was nearly non-existent. But in my heart, I knew he was right, and that I was okay with this. Kissing him had been a big-ass reminder of how bad I wanted him. It made all the difference in the universe.

Dief looked up from his kibble and gave a snort. "I'll thank you to stay out of this," said Fraser. I felt him rub his face against my arm. "May I suggest a change of venue?"

"Sure," I said. I'm careful who I get turned on with, because once my switch is flipped, I'm – er – easy. Like a kid in a candy store, and let's face it, Fraser has a lot in common with Godiva. "You got any ideas?"

"Bedroom," said Fraser firmly. Stella liked the bedroom best too. Me, if Fraser wanted, I'd do him on the kitchen table, or standing on one foot in a hammock, but beds are nice too, and it's not like I have to prove something in the adventure department anymore anyway.

Fraser slid up and behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders. "Don't look," he said, "let me steer you."

"Okay," I said, because I am Mr. Easy and my dick was voting "Yes!" And also I didn't want to lose the illusion that it was a Fraser-shaped Fraser behind me.

So we got up, and proceeded to the bedroom, him with his hands on my shoulders. "Like Orpheus with Eurydice, only reversed," he said, which was Greek to me. I decided not to break the mood by asking for a translation.

"What now? – Ben?" I said in the bedroom, trying out the new name, and definitely not looking at the mirror over the bureau, which would have given away the game.

"You keep your eyes shut," Fraser said, "while I undress you."

"Doesn't sound like much fun for you," I said. One of his hands stroked my hair and I leaned my head into it.

"On the contrary, Ray, it's been something of a personal fantasy," Fraser said. "You undressing me – I'll just, well, role-play."

"Role-play, huh?" I said. "I have the same fantasy… just didn’t think it would happen quite this way."

"Well, we can't have everything," said Fraser. "But I promise you, you'll have your turn once we're returned to our right bodies." He pulled back the tunic collar, and kissed the nape of my neck. My breath hitched. "Perhaps a blindfold?" he said. "It may be difficult to remember to keep your eyes closed."

"Sure… sure," I said.

"Ah, Ray, do you have any handkerchiefs?"

I could barely imagine a universe where handkerchiefs existed, let alone one where I'd own one. Especially with what Fraser was doing to me. "Handkerchiefs?" he prompted.

I tried to think. Didn't have to be white did it? "Bandanas – upper right hand drawer in the bureau," I said.

I kept my eyes closed and concentrated on picturing Fraser in his own body going through my drawers as I listened to him move around. "Let me know if this is too tight," he said after a moment, and I felt smoothly folded cloth across my eyes. Fraser followed this up with another scorching kiss, and we got into some body action too. I hadn't necked – and torso'd and hip'd and hell, groined like this since I was in college. I could almost have said I felt faint, if I could ever admit to feeling something like that.

"Damn," I drawled. "You kiss better than you look."

"Not compared to you," he said.

"Me as me, or me as you?" I murmured.

"Yes, no, both," he said against my cheek. He sighed. "Now to get you out of that uniform…."

My hands fumbled for the buckles on the Sam Browne, and he caught them. "No," he said, "I'll do it."

"I think I'm going to die from waiting, Ben," I said, absurdly pleased I'd remembered the new name.

"No one ever does," he said. I could feel the lariat and belt being removed, then he went to work on the Velcro on the tunic collar and the brass buttons – smooth quick work, but then he'd done it a hundred thousand times. He straightened my arms out to take off the tunic, stepped away and back – must have put it on top of something. "Did I ever tell you how good you looked when you dressed in a uniform to sneak out of the Consulate?"

"You liked that, huh?" I said.

"Boots," he said, and I could hear him drop to the floor and start to tug at the lacing. "I can admit now that the image warmed many a lonely night."

"It did, huh?" He was as quick with the boots as he'd been with the tunic, and then he was working the laces on the funny pants – without unlacing they're tight enough that you can't get the damn things over your feet, as I'd discovered during the Volpe case.

Suspenders were next, then he was working on the waistband. "Jesus," I said, because he was so damn close to Ground Zero.

"Like that, do you?" he said, and cupped my erection – thank God for loose-fitting pants.

I have no idea what I said – maybe I just whimpered, but he took pity and went back to de-pantsing me, leaving me in Henley, undershirt and boxer shorts. "I fear I'll dislodge your blindfold if I try to take off your shirt," he said. "But if I remove it while you keep your eyes closed, you could skin out of it easily enough…."

"No problemo," I said. I pulled off the blindfold with my eyes closed and held it out for him to take, then skinned out of both shirts at once. I didn't feel cold, I felt hot, like a furnace on overdrive.

"There," he said, taking the shirts from me, and then said, "And now the blindfold… and Ray, you have a choice…."

"Choice?" I said, "I gotta choose?"

I must have sounded anguished because he chuckled. "Either I can – pleasure – you now, or you can undress me first?"

"Pleasure?" I said. It was such an old-fashioned word, it struck me funny.

"Ah, Ray," Fraser said. "Er, fellatio." He sounded a little choked-up, I could see mind's-eye-Fraser blushing. I never thought a clinical word could sound so hot. "Unless you would prefer something else?"

"Oh, Frase – Ben," I amended. "I – whatever you want is fine." Too, too many choices! "Unless you want me to do you first?"

"No, Ray, this is for you," he said. "I'm going to help you to the bed now, it's to your right—"

We danced our way over to the bed, with Fraser leading. I'd never thought much of his dancing, but he was gentle and slow. I sat, he sat, I put my arms around him and gave him the Braille treatment, skinning him out of his shirt (he'd lost the gun rig somewhere) – and then I was running my hands along his body, and down to his waistband, while he did me the same… only he didn't stop at the waistband of the boxers.

"Lean back," he said, "let me—" I groaned and lay down on the bed, and it was no hardship at all to lift up my hips so he could pull the boxers down around my knees.

That might have been my last truly coherent, entirely in English thought – my power of speech deteriorated even more than usual, until it consisted mostly of "Oh!" and "Yes" and "Oh yeah!" Fraser started out using his fingers, stroking and teasing me, while his mouth moved down my chest and stomach. Then he switched to using tongue and lips on me. It seemed like he was always one delightful step ahead of my anticipation, getting down to some serious hot wet heat and suction and friction and all those good things.

I didn't last long, but I was gone enough not to care, trying not to jerk my hips too much but hardly able to hold back. I came with a long moan, feeling almost like the first time I'd ever come. "Holy fuck," I gasped. "That was – you were – damn it, why did I wait this long?"

Well, that's what I tried to say, I'm not sure what actually came out. But Fraser just chuckled and crawled his way up me to start kissing again and I was all for that. Now his mouth tasted like tea and the faintly bitter tang of come, which to me is like the bell ringing for those Dr. Pascal's pooches.

Somewhere during the festivities I'd lost the blindfold, lost all my inhibition about looking at Fraser in someone else's body even if that body was mine. This close to his face, only able to see eyes, nose, maybe a little mouth, it wasn't too disturbing. I kissed him again, and said, "That was amazing. Even if I'd had words for it, I would have forgotten them."

"It was my pleasure, Ray," Fraser said. "I've wanted – for so long." His voice trailed off and he held me tight. I ran my fingers through his hair, soothing him, wishing I could do something to show him how I felt in return – oh yeah, I could feel his hardon digging into my hip. Well, then. Usually, I'm ready to roll over and sleep after an intense orgasm but now I felt jazzed up, ready to go ten rounds, or however long it would take to bring him off at least once.

"Ben," I said, and he smiled blissfully – so pleased that I'd remembered the new name. "What would you like," I said. "Anything from a hand-job on up, your choice, dealer takes all."

"Ray," he said, eyes closed. "I don't know—"

"I like getting fu—" It occurred to me that maybe he didn't use that term, I'd never heard it from his mouth. "I like playing catch," I said, "that is, if you like pitching."

"Catch—?" Fraser looked lost for only a moment, then intrigued, then thoughtful. "Ah," he said. "Perhaps we should reserve that for the future – it might not be a wise idea when we're unaccustomed to these bodies' individual responses." He looked sad. "Even though I want to. And you should know, I like catching as well."

I rubbed my hip again him. He'd lost the briefs somewhere along the line, and I could feel the silky heat of his boner. "Rain check on that," I said and he sighed. "Gives us something to look forward to, right?"

I didn't let him brood on what could have been, just resolved that he wasn't going to regret what we'd do tonight. I turned him onto his back, and licked my way down the center of his chest. "Show me," Fraser gasped, "Show me what you wanted to do for me." How could I refuse an invitation like that? I set out to do my damnedest.

I started with his belly button, because I know mine is just this side of ticklish. By the way Fraser – Ben – was breathing, he was just about ready to pop, so I moved deliberately, running my fingers down the treasure trail to Ground Zero. I moved myself down the bed a bit, so I rested my chest on his thighs, which would pin him down a bit and give me a better ride if he bucked. I was thinking he'd be a bucker, since I was….

When I look back on this, I think I should have felt weirder, maybe – I mean, it was me I was playing with, right? But never from this angle, and besides it was Ben who was moaning when I brushed my knuckles down his hot hard length, and put my lips and tongue delicately onto his silky skin. All the guys I've ever been with have been different, and at the same time pretty much the same, so this wasn't as strange as you might think. I had a big advantage – and no surprise that Ben's blowing me had been historically terrific, really – in that I had some deep practical knowledge of what he'd be finding irresistible.

I'm not porn-star sized, but I've never felt inadequate, and I have to say – as long as we're speaking of what it's like to suck yourself off – I was way more than sufficient. Who was it who said 'more than a mouthful is a waste?' Not true, it just gives you more surface to work over, so I did.

Ben – yeah, I was getting used to that name – gasped my name a few times, and I could feel his thighs tighten under me trying not to buck, so I backed off and gave a lick to his balls, hot tongue on cooler flesh. He smelled and tasted so good there, I can't even begin to describe it. Hell, sometimes I close my eyes and try to remember it exactly. I mean, I know what I taste like, I can lick my own hand anytime I like – but I tasted different when I was Ben, and it was very cool.

"Ray, oh — don't stop, no—" Ben said. Yeah, when they start talking incoherent it's time for the Happy Finish. I closed my fist over the base of Ben's cock and licked over the hot head, feeling shudders run through his body. I rubbed my other thumb behind his balls, and could feel them tighten up as I took him as deep into my mouth as I could. I was taking a slight chance there but I didn't think Ben could have much of a gag reflex, so damn, I was going to go for it.

Now I really worked him, my tongue where it would do the most good, and hot, heavy suction. I was rewarded with sincere groaning and renewed hip action, which I'd been prepared for, 'cause what do you expect – driving him crazy was the whole point. I rode him, and moaned around my mouthful, to encourage him.

It did just what I wanted – Ben gasped, "Ray, I'm – I'm – oh!" and came. I could feel the hot spurts in the back of my throat, I swear he came harder than anybody I'd been with. I don't think I come this hard all the time! I'd held my breath so I didn't choke on the bitter mouthful and then swallowed it down. Neat and clean, that's me.

Ben lay there and panted, clearly satisfied, and I couldn't stop grinning as I crawled into position beside him. "You okay there?" I said. "I get the idea you might have liked that."

"Love you," he murmured – I watched his heavy lids flutter, trying to stay open. He was asleep by the time I registered what he'd said, and then I wanted to kick myself because I hadn't responded quick enough. But I figured that could wait until he woke up, it was enough to hold it in my heart for now.

I watched him sleep until I started yawning, and then I shifted around so that I spooned him, warm and cozy, and finally drifted off to dreamy-land myself.

Something was different when I woke – there was ringing, which I finally figured out was a phone. Somebody shifted on the bed next to me, turning on a too-bright light. I squinted, realizing that I had no idea where my glasses were. I lay back, trying to convince myself that what I remembered of the day before wasn't a dream – was it?

Fraser was on the phone. "Yes, Lieutenant," he said. "We were asleep until you called just now." He paused, while I tried to herd all my marbles into one jumbled pile.

"You did?" he said sharply, and something about the way he said it gave me that shot of adrenaline I needed to make my mental engine turn over. I realized I was looking at Fraser – he was Fraser again, in his own body.

"Holy shit!" I yelled. "Fraser, you're you!" I looked down at me – if Fraser was Fraser that should mean thankyouJesus – I was back in my own body. I felt my face for confirmation, though it pretty much had to be mine, right? I blame it on the sleepiness.

Fraser tucked the phone under his chin and looked at me with a grin that could have lit up Navy Pier. "He and Francesca have switched back as well. And so have Detectives Huey and Dewey."

"Tell him we're good," I said. "Tell him we're great."

I watched Fraser as he talked. It was such a relief to have him back in his own body, me in mine, the world set right again. Hey… better than right, come to think of it.

Fraser hung up the phone, and smiled again – and then his smile faded a little. "Are you good?" he said. "Are we good?"

"As long as you're you and I'm me, I think we're good to go," I said, rolling over and putting my head on his chest. He was warm like a furnace, and I turned my face up so I could see his. "This is greatness."

"This changes… everything," he said. "It's daunting."

"You scared?" I said. "I'm scared, too – it'd be crazy not to be scared."

"Scared… but happy beyond belief," he said.

"Me too," I said, and yawned – yeah, I was that bushed. "That was a happy yawn," I said, "—Ben."

Fraser was trying hard not to laugh, I could tell. "Then let's sleep," he said, "and we will wake to a new life."

Sounded good to me… and I fell asleep as me, cuddled up to him, and all was greatness.