Part One: I Don't Get Paid Enough for This

"Chicago P.D. Freeze!"

Detective Ray Vecchio leveled his gun at the two suspects looking at them calmly through his glasses. The two men had been trying to sneak away in the confusion of the string operation and had managed to make it outside but not without being noticed. Now they stopped short and turned around.

Vecchio smirked. "Good. Okay." His eyes locked with theirs a moment before they turned and ran. Vecchio cursed and started after them. A door banged open behind him and he turned, dropping into a crouch and taking aim.

Recognizing the person, Vecchio immediately lowered his weapon. After all, it was never good teamwork to shoot your partner, even unofficial ones. Vecchio's eyes flickered from the Canadian Mountie to the fleeting felons and started after them again.

"C'mon, Fraser," he gestured but it was hardly neccessary. Constable Benton Fraser was already running beside him, having figured out the situation in seconds.

The two suspects split t the end of the alley and Vecchio spun the hard left into an adjoing alleyway. The man he was pursuing clammered up a chain link fence. Vecchio sprinted down the short distances, tucking his gun into his side holster and scrambled up the fence after him.

He was swinging over the top when he realized his mistake. The man on the other side had not started running again, rather he had picked up what appeared to be a broken shower rod and was waiting for Vecchio to drop within his reach.

With a yell, Vecchio let go of the fence and tackled the otehr man. They landed hard and crashed into trash cans and garbage bags. Although winded the man managed to get an elbow in Vecchio's stomach and a jab to the temple. Bright lights exploded in front of Ray's eyes and for a momemnt he was disoriented. The other man started to take off again. He squirmed out from under Ray and crawled and started to stumble his way out of the garbage.

Ray caught the man's ankle and tugged. The suspect went down hard on the pavement and Ray moved quickly to draw his handcuffs. After securing the man, Ray hauled him to his feet. The man was none too happy and making sure everyone could hear.

"All right!" Veccho snapped. "You're under arrest that means you have the right to remain silent which means you can shut up right now."

"And what are you going to do if I don't?" the man challenged.

Ray met his glare. "You can shut up or I can make you. Okay?" The man didn't respond. "Okay?" he repeated. Still no reaction but finally on the third time, the man looked away. Satisfied Ray started walking him back to the station.

"So Vecchio," Detective Thomas Dewey taunted, "what took you so long?"

The majority of the felons they'd brought in today had already gone through processing, even so, Ray couldn't find time to slip away to take a shower. He scowled but ignored Dewey's comment.

"He had to take a detour, you know," Detective Jack Huey added. He was there when Ray got to the group and after seeing the condition of both detective and suspect knew what had happened. It was fairly obvious but more so, provided a great source of amusement.

Francesca Vecchio, civilian aid to the department, wrinkled her nose as she came to Ray's desk. "It seems like you detoured through a dumpster," she criticized.

"Did anyone ask you Frannie?" Ray snapped. "No. They didn't. So go away."

The tone did nothing to intimidate her. Raised in an Italian family she knew how to take and how to give back better than she got. "Well excuse me, Oscar the Grouch. I am not the one who was rolling in trash and can't be bothered to shower. It's a good thing your vacation starts tomorrow. Maybe you'll be in a better mood." She turned and left before he could get a retort in.

Ignoring the snickers of amusement around him, Ray dropped his head looking at the unfinished paperwork. He sighed. Half the page was blank and Walsh was sure to want the report in before he left. Irritated, Ray scribbled furiously and dropped the paper into the 'DONE' box a mere six minutes later.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out of the squad room. A few stops and some last minute packing and he'd be set for tomorrow. Vacation waited for no man.

Benton Fraser stood primly in front of Inspector Tatcher's desk. He watched as as his superior officer huffed a few times before she rose to her feet. She paced the small office before turning to him.

"Good work, Fraser," she admonished but somethign in her tone failed to make the words believeable. "As usual."

Never one to be shy, he caught her eye before asking, "Is there something wrong?"

"Wrong?" she echoed.

"You seem flustered," he explained.

"Flustered?"

"Yes. Agitated. Uneasy. Preocupied. Distracted. Nevous."

Tatcher held up a hand and sighed. "I know what the word means Fraser." She took a moment to compose herself. "I was speaking with my superiors about your performance and they expressed a concern."

"Of course they did," a new unexpected voice huffed. Fraser's gaze cut narrowly to his right. Thatcher still had her back turned, even if she didn't she wouldn't have been able to see, much less hear, the third man.

Dressed in an official RCMP uniform stood Fraser's late father bearing little sign of age and even less signs of death. He'd shown up one Christmas season and had simply become a fixture in his son's life. Appearing at random, he doled out advice or commentary or criticism as he saw fit. Confident that his son was the only one that could see and hear him.

Now, he walked towards Tatcher, wanting his opinion heard. "They're a bunch of bereaucrats up there. Half of them wouldn't be able to find ice in a river if they fell through it."

Benton blinked at his father's tirade. "What?" he asked puzzled.

Tatcher turned to face him, asuming he was prompting her to continue. "While they applaud your work with the local department--"

"The Yanks need all the help they can get son."

"--they think it's disrupting your work at the Consulate."

"I don't see the issue Inspector. Everything done with the Chicago P.D. has been on my own personal time."

"Which I assured them. Still, they've asked me to put you on administrative leave for a while."

"I'm being suspended?"

"They just want the reports to stop for a bit. So think of it as a vacation. Go north, solve a mystery up there and they'll be happy."

"This isn't logical. I don't see how--"

"They want to transfer you Fraser!" Tatcher blurted out. "I wasn't supposed to say anything. If you want to go it can be arranged, if not you need to keep a low profile. You've got two weeks off. Take a break because if they see you cracking another Chicago crime they've going to think you don't have enough to do here, and they'll yank you somewhere else. I really would like to avoid losing you... and your skills."

It was the closest thing to concern that she'd displayed in a while. Althought the confused logic puzzled Fraser the more he realized he had no choice but to do as told. Besides it wasn't as if the rash action were doing anyone harm.

He nodded his understand and Tatcher dismissed him. Closing the door quietly he started for the stairs when he heard Constable Turnbull's voice giving his polite and customary introduction as he did with all visitors. He was cut off.

"I know," Vecchio said. "Now do you think you could move before I drop this thing on your head?"

"Now that's not called for."

"Look. Move or I'm going to drop this."

Fraser wiped the amusement from his face and walked towards the door. Trunbull had moved onto the steps leading upstairs, no longer in the way. With a loud thud, Ray set down the ten gallaon glass tank on the small table but upon seeing Fraser, picked it up once again.

The turtle slid to one end as his living space became unbalaned. With a steady hand, Fraser levelled the tank but made no move to take it from the other man. Ray frowned in frustration, even more so, when Fraser's deaf wolf came up and started to sniff at the tank.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey. Hey!" Ray caught Diefenbaker's eye. "Go away," he enunciated. The wolf whined but slinked away obligingly.

Ray gave Dief a critical look before turning back to Fraser. "Are you sure he can behave himself?"

"I assure you Ray. Diefenbaker has no interest in the turtle."

"Good."

"However, it's a moot point, because it looks like I wont' be able to take care of it."

"Frase, we talked about this. I specifically asked you and you specifically said--"

"I now have two weeks off."

Ray blinked.

"It's not really two weeks off," Fraser explained as he launched into the particulars.

"So you have plans already?" Ray asked when he ahd finished.

"No, not especially. After all, I did just find out ten minutes ago."

"So come with me. We'll drive down to the beach."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"Nah, don't worry about it Frase. You can split the driving and half the cost. It'll be good to get away."

"But your turtle..."

A look of utter disbelief crossed Ray's face. To think that someone in the world would rather turtle-sit than go to the sunny, warm beaches of Miami.

"I'll stuff him in the backseat," Ray assured him. "Are you gonna come?"

"Yes. I think I will. It sounds nice."

"Nice?"

"Sunny."

"Sunny? You're hopeless. I'll see you tomorrow at six a.m. Then we'll have two weeks of nothing but rest and relaxation."

"He's jinxed it now son. Those three words guarantee that everything will go wrong."

Ignoring his father, Fraser smiled at Ray. "I'm sure nothing will go wrong."

"That's what I love about you, Fraser, so optimistic."