Sasscat: "We watched Due South. We got ideas. What's new?"
Zeborah: "We actually wrote a story about the ideas; I guess that's new..."

(Headers and stuff at the end.)

Hitting the Target
by Zeborah and Sasscat

It had been a long day. Ray unlocked his apartment door as Fraser hung back patiently for his chervil and tarragon. Once he'd handed the spices over he was going to collapse on his bed and have a long hot shower. The door swung open and he stepped inside; he was pulling his holster off by the time he heard the click by his ear.

"Lose it," Frannie said dangerously.

Okay. This was going to startle Fraser more than Frannie usually did. Ray slowly put his holster on the table beside him, remembering the gun he'd seen Frannie sporting at the precinct. Why hadn't he paid more attention to it before? And why had he thought it would be a good idea to leave an emergency key at the Vecchio house? And why had he thought Frannie was sane?

All these thoughts somehow managed to skid through his brain in the instant it took Fraser to follow him in.

"Don't move, Boy Scout," Frannie told him, pushing the gun to Ray's neck and swinging him around. "Back right off."

Fraser got his rabbit-in-headlights woman-at-four-o'clock look, but said politely as he warily closed the door, "You all right, Ray?"

Oh yeah, he was a box of fluffies. "I'm well, Fraser, and you?"

Frannie was getting into her stride. Her insane stride. What the hell *was* this? "Dead in your tracks right there. Take out the gun and drop it on the floor." He could have sworn he heard a smirk in her voice on the word 'gun'.

Wait a second. Why did she think Fraser had a gun? No answer immediately sprang to mind, but the important thing was, she did. He could work with this. "Don't do it, Fraser. Take the shot."

Whoa, did he just tell Fraser to shoot Frannie? But then, Fraser was a sharpshooter, he'd just shoot the gun right out of her hand. While it was pointed at his neck... Bad plan. Hang on, Fraser didn't *have* a gun. Unless Frannie knew something he didn't!

"I'm not carrying a gun."

Ray breathed again.

"Drop the gun," Frannie repeated.

Damn.

Fraser shook his head earnestly. "I honestly don't have one."

Oh, that was good. Ray had no idea what he was doing, but he was doing it. "Sharp shooter first class," he said confidently. Or maybe not so confidently. He had a *gun* to his head. "He can take the head off a pin." Or Frannie could take the head off of *him*...

"He's right about that," Fraser said, cocking his head slightly.

"Drop it or he takes you out," said Ray. Fraser could find a way. Fraser could take her out with a button off his tunic.

Fraser apparently didn't know the script. "I would if I had a gun, Ray."

"Show me the gun!"

"Well, we'd have to go back to my office," Fraser said. With a hint of a really inappropriate smile, he took out his boot-knife. "I do have this knife."

"Oh, that's good," Ray muttered sarcastically. "Threaten her with camping utensils."

Fraser raised his eyebrows sincerely. "Can't afford to bluff, Ray. She's already shot one person."

Ray spluttered internally. Person? One? Shot? Shot! Already? Who?!

"Drop it on the floor -- drop it. The belt too." And then suddenly her hand was at *his* belt, and it was *not* staying still. He started to gulp, then inadvertently choked on the gulp.

Fraser flicked a wry eyebrow upwards as he complied, and if this wasn't such a serious situation Ray would have thought he was smirking. No, in fact, Fraser was downright smirking. This was so not a smirk-worthy situation, but he was smirking, and now he said, "Are you sure you've thought this through, ma'am?"

Splutter. Ma'am? Ray had a feeling, sort of outside of the whole life-and-death type context here, but he couldn't avoid a niggling feeling that he was being mocked. He probably would have dwelt on this a little longer if he hadn't suddenly realised what Frannie's hand was doing down there.

"Move over here slow," she told Fraser, and tossed Ray's handcuffs on the floor between them. "And pick up the bonds."

Handcuffs, Frannie, Ray told her silently; they were called handcuffs. Oh, God, she was going to handcuff them together or something. And then what? What was she going to do? He continued to panic.

"I don't think you want me to do that."

"Pick them up," Frannie repeated, wriggling the gun for emphasis. It hurt.

"All right," Fraser said serenely. He slowly began to crouch. "But it's a mistake." One hand reached for the cuffs. "You see, a bond," he paused meaningfully as his fingers touched the smooth steel, "is an instrument of trust between two people," he flicked a glance at Ray -- oh thank God, finally a plan -- "indicating a public promise that must be honoured." He scooped the handcuffs up, dangling them between his knees. Ray blinked. "Much like a promise I made to uphold the law. So you see," he passed the cuffs to his left hand, trailing them through his fingers as he rose, "the problem is, now that I have the bonds in my hands, I'm honour-bound not to give them to you."

Ray boggled, but didn't think he had the brain capacity to figure out what the hell that-all meant. But there was a plan here. He didn't know what it was, but he liked it. Until the gun at his neck shifted pointedly. "Give her the bonds, Fraser." God, now he was calling them bonds too.

Fraser looked as innocent as was humanly possible while still toying with the handcuffs. "I can't do that, Ray."

"You got three seconds and I shoot him," Frannie declared, sounding mildly irritated. "One."

Fraser looked truly regretful. "I'm sorry, Ray."

This time Ray's splutter made it out of his mouth. "What do you mean sorry?"

"Two."

"Give her the damn bonds!"

"Can't do it," Fraser said, with an air of finality. "I'm walking out of here with them." And sure enough, he turned to the door.

"That's it," Frannie said with annoyed bravado. "He's dead." Oh my God, she sounded serious. He was going to die, and Fraser was walking out the door. Why was-- There was a plan, there was a plan, there was a plan.

Fraser seemed to have forgotten the plan. "Sorry to hear that."

"Fraser!" Ray wailed.

Frannie pushed past him, bringing the gun to bear on Fraser. "Three!" Ray gathered his balance and tackled her, as a stream of water lanced through the air. Frannie shrieked as they hit the ground, loosening her grip on the gun. Ray grabbed it.

Wait. Water?

He looked at the pistol. Water pistol. He looked at Fraser.

Fraser's eyes were on the brim of his hat, distraught. He prodded the wet patch. "She shot my hat, Ray."

Ray felt like pointing out that it had only been a water pistol, but he had a feeling Fraser had noticed. "She shot you in the hat?"

Fraser didn't seem to have clicked that-- Ray wasn't sure what he was supposed to have clicked to. "I can feel the water seeping through it," he said mournfully.

Ray was torn between horror at the sacrilege and frustration at what the hell was going on. "She shot you in the hat, all right," he said, playing for time.

"How does it look?"

Ray tried to ignore Frannie's wriggling underneath him. "Doesn't look good."

Fraser glanced at Frannie and smiled a mischievous smile as he looked the small distance back up to Ray. "We'll have to go home and get my other one."

"We can do that, Fraser," Ray said nervously. Right after they'd put Frannie in Bedlam... and maybe Fraser too.

"Thanks, Ray."

Frannie finally worked up a protest. "What about me?"

"Oh, I still have the bonds," Fraser said, swinging them in a circle around his finger.

"They're called *handcuffs*," Ray said, finally feeling comfortable correcting them now that he didn't have a gun to his head. Water pistol. He looked at it, wondering why the hell Fraser hadn't realised what it was.
Frannie snorted. "Oh, yeah, handcuffage, like that sounds good."

Handcuffage-- bonda-- wha--? He gaped at her, then turned his gape upon Fraser. "Fraser?" he pleaded.

Fraser lowered his brow in puzzlement. "Ray, you did say you were all right."

"I had a *gun* to my head, Fraser."

"It was a water pistol, bozo," Frannie scoffed. Fraser looked at him in agreement. After a significant pause she batted at his chest. Hard. "You thought I had a real gun?" she demanded. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Fraser hastily stepped forward. "I, ah, I'm, that is, I'm sure Ray--"

Frannie pushed Ray off her and got up, dusting herself off indignantly. "So you didn't even-- you didn't want-- well, that's just not right, mister! You can't just walk into a person's apartment--"

"It's *my* apartment," Ray said possessively, but she carried on unheeding.

"--and make them think... *things*, and then go, 'Oh, no, I'm sorry, I thought you were threatening my *life*'!"

"But I did," Ray wailed, then suddenly thought how dumb that sounded when it was just a water pistol, and *Frannie*, and Fraser was looking at him like he had just grown a big arrow that pointed to himself and said 'I'm with Stupid'. And Frannie was looking really pissed and upset. "I just... thought..."

Fraser wrung the handcuffs absently. "I'm sorry, Ray," he said, like he was digesting this new bit of information; "I thought you realised--"

"That it was a *water pistol*!" Frannie contributed venomously.

"It was in your hand," Ray pointed out.

Luckily Fraser seemed to know what he meant. "You did say you were all right, Ray."

Slowly the pieces of 'getting it' came together into one big 'got it'. Frannie had come here into his apartment, and Fraser and the water pistol, and the handcuffs Fraser was still playing with at this very second... "You really thought I'd go for..."

"Well, wouldn't you?" Fraser asked matter-of-factly.

"Well, not when-- that's not-- it's-- that's just not the point!"

Frannie snorted in disgust. Fraser raised his eyebrows. "I rather thought it was, Ray." He walked forward, one minute at a time, something like a smile hovering on his lips. As he reached Ray he lifted his hand to eye-level, and the handcuffs obediently trailed up Ray's chest.

"Um."

Frannie sauntered over, taking the handcuffs and draping them over his shoulder as she walked behind his back. She left her arm resting across his back and leaned towards him seductively. "See, Ray, I don't think we're going to let you leave."

"It's my *apartment*!" he protested automatically, bewildered.

She jingled the cuffs against his chest. He looked at them. Then he looked at Fraser. He tried to look at Frannie, but she was just a blur of sweet-smelling lipstick in the corner of his eye. Then he looked at the handcuffs again. "Uh," he said, and licked his lips, "okay."

The End
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