Conversion
by Te
November 1999

Disclaimers: If they were mine, I would occasionally 
dress them in vinyl.

Spoilers: Ha!

Summary: Turnbull does some thinking.

Ratings Note: PG-13, tops.

Author's Note: LaT wanted some T/F, I did my best 
to provide...

Acknowledgments: To Mistress LaTonya, for mucho
encouragement and inspiration and such.

thete1@earthlink.net

*


Detective Vecchio despairs of my love for country 
and western music. Although he appreciates the 
Christmas songs -- 'see, all the depression makes 
sense for those' he is wont to say -- the rest leaves 
him cold.

Ever since the curious Volpe matter he has taken 
it upon himself to 'correct' my musical taste, and 
the results have never failed to be educational.

If confusing.

Ray seems to favor music with a healthy dose of 
percussion and bass, and so most of my education 
has been focused on those bands with distinct
Afro-Caribbean and Latin influences. When I was 
finally able to distinguish between the bands 
Cameo and Parliament, I was told that I had 
something called 'funk' in my trunk.

Ray assures me that this is a good thing. 

In any case, Ray's tastes are quite eclectic, and it 
wasn't long before the music we listened to 
changed utterly. 
 
Among the new additions was a band called the 
'Grateful Dead,' and their style of music is quite... 
different. That is, there is a definite country 
influence in the lead singer's vocal choices and in 
quite a few of the guitar riffs, but many of the 
songs are ultimately jumbled to my ears, and even 
dull. 

Ray promises me they'll sound better if I share 
some of his brownies, but I never did care for 
chocolate.

In any case, after much dramatic despair for my 
musical ear, Ray relented and played something 
else altogether. A live version of the song "Althea" 
from one of the Grateful Dead's more recent -- and
less cool, I am told -- shows. 

The singer describes the mythical woman as 
someone who is "honest to the point of 
recklessness; self-centered to the extreme." And 
suddenly I saw Constable Fraser. 

My superior, my Consulate-mate since my lovely 
box was eaten by a family of rats, my politely 
iconoclastic hero.

Sometimes I am quite sure that he only... 
tolerates me. At best. 

This used to cause me no end of grief -- who wants
his hero to see him as a figure of contempt? 
However, as I came to know the man behind the 
reputation...

Yes, he is strong, and capable, and handsome. He 
has a brilliant mind and often painfully acute 
insight into the human heart. He plays a 
challenging game of hockey. 

All of these things and more make Constable 
Fraser a more than worthy superior officer and 
occasional friend. 

He is also as insensible as a brick when the mood 
strikes him. 

Never mind the casual disregard for my own skills, 
never mind the daily flouting of authority, tradition,
and common sense. Never mind even the danger he 
puts himself -- and by extension all those who care 
about him -- in on a regular basis. 

Ray and I have been patiently throwing ourselves at
him for months now and have yet to get even a 
rubbed eyebrow out of the man. 

The patiently prepared meals, the enforced intimacy 
of Ray's GTO, the long nights of protocol review, the
tubes of lubricant under his cot, the careful 
placement of past issues of Bottomboyz In Blue 
around Ray's apartment and the Consulate... nothing. 

Fraser breezes past our best efforts as though his 
uniform had been issued with a serge chastity belt. 

One would almost think he was heterosexual.

And then one would remember the fact that Fraser 
owns not two but *eight* Sam Brownes that have his 
quarters reeking of neatsfoot oil day in and day out.

And one wouldn't even need to think about the boot 
issue. 

The Constable could certainly be playing a game with 
us, some epic plan of Byzantine complexity that would 
end with Ray and I being taught a lesson about proper 
behavior between co-workers, but then he would look 
far more smug.

Fraser has quite the 'poker face,' but smugness is his 
weakness, I fear.

No, Ray and I have come to the conclusion that Fraser 
is simply dumb as a fence post when it comes to 
carnal matters. A disappointment, to be sure -- we had 
been looking forward to learning more about his knot 
expertise -- but something that can be worked around.
 
Ray believes that my introduction to the Gothic and 
Industrial musical sub-genres later this week will 
provide me with ample inspiration for our next assault 
on Fraser's virtue. 

I really do learn a lot from him...

end.