1. Written for _unhurt_, the depresing post-COTW ficlet pg13, genish
2. For bluebrocade the failed attempt at a boring day for Fraser pg-13, slash
3. For joandarck kid!Fraser, Uncle Tiberius and transvestism.
4. For shadowkitty, Dr Who, the secret origin of Jack.
5. For _unhurt_ Fraser on sibblings, possibly squick-worthy.
6. For joandarck Meg Thatcher on "Pearls Before Swine".
7. For _unhurt_ possibly more cabbage for Fraser, gen.
8. For originalkitsune kid!Fraser, kittens, and unrequited f/v
9. For missapocalyptic Ray K and his allergy to libraries and housework.
10.For maryavatar the non-sexual adventures of Fraser's hat
11.For maryavatar inappropriate undercover outfits and certainly-not-gen-by-request bumsexxin.
12. For shadowkitty Jack Harkness and the Killer Bunnies of Jupiter.
13. For shadowkitty New Who - Buffy crossover.
Once upon a time there was a mountie called Fraser. He was a very good mountie and had a deaf half wolf called Diefenbaker, who might not have been deaf at all, since he had very good hearing when there were donuts to listen to. Fraser and Diefenbaker lived in a cabin far far away from everyone, even donuts, and went out on sled patrols and saw nobody. Sometimes Fraser shot rabbits for tea, sometimes Dief caught rabbits for tea, but he did not shoot them because he was a wolf. And sometimes Dief would pretend that the rabbits were donuts really, because they lived far away from them and that made Dief sad. Fraser was sad too, but not because of the donuts. Like Dief pretended to be happy and have donuts, so Fraser pretended to be happy but without the donuts, because they were fattening and Dief should be ashamed of himself prefering them to nice healthy rabbit. And they went on very lond sled trips, where nothing happened, and sometimes Fraser took injured birds home with him, but they always died. And sometimes Dief couldn't tell the difference between Fraser and the birds...
Once upon a time there was a mountie called Fraser, he lived in his office and drank lots of tea. He liked bark tea, which his best friends likened to "dirt", "wood" and "totally gross". So he never told them of its uplifting and drug-like properties, which were the only thing to sustain him when Inspector Thatcher made him stay in and fill out dozens of forms hundred and twenty-eight oblique fours and polish the siilver. And when he's polished the silver he had to set it on the table for the very boring dinner party, throughout which he would have to stand at attention like a decorative hatstand and stare at a point exactly twenty-eight point four centimenters to the left of the Inspector's head until this disquieted her and made her scream at him to get out of her sight. And then he would go and visit his best friend...
(damn this has got interesting again)
...and fuck him through the floor, to use his best friend's vulgar parlance. And sometimes his best friend was called Ray and sometimes his best friend was called Ray and sometimes they were both called Ray and were in fact Confused.
Once upon a time there was a mountie called Fraser, except he wasn't a mountie yet, he was a little boy, and his father was a mountie called Fraser instead. Fraser (not his father the other mountie called Fraser) couldn't see why it was a bad thing that his grandparents compared him to his Uncle Tiberius, who used to be a mountie called Fraser until Things Happened and he wasn't, because he thought Uncle Tiberius was really quite nice. And he saw more of him than he saw of his father, who was still a mountie called Fraser at this juncture and Very Busy. So sometimes Uncle Tiberius, who was a mountie called Fraser but wasn't any more, would come visiting with his travelling tailoring business and tell Fraser, who wasn't yet a mountie called Fraser, about his theory that you could make a cheap and durable fabric out of brassicas. It smelt like cabbages. Fraser had a sweater made out of it, but his grandmother got all Odd when he wore it. And Tiberius, who was no longer a mountie called Fraser, would let Fraser, who wasn't a mountie called Fraser yet, play dress up in his samples. Fraser liked the green dress and that was when the comparisons started and his grandparents began to doubt whether he'd become a mountie called Fraser at all.
Jack was always very smart, and this upset his parents, who thought his education should have been restricted to how to use his credit disk. He was a Harkness of Tau Ceti 6 and needed to know no more, just how to rejoice in the beautiful wealth the blood of its blue-skinned natives brought, and how that bought so many fabulous things. Like his uncle's hamster tennis set which used real hamsters imported from earth and bred at great cost.
Jack set out into the universe, the regretable consequence of too much education and the ill-favoured choice of school which left him surrounded by fuzzy liberals (and indeed they were fuzzy, and furry and liberals and his uncle would have liked to play tennis with them) and this is why he is the only living member of the Harknesses of Tau Ceti 6 at the present date.
His family having lost a specially celebratory tennis match specially conceived by the rebel faction.
They never knew that Jack had serrupticiously sent them the funds with which to obtain things considerably more useful and offensive than the hamster tennis set.
Fraser hated it when the Vecchios argued, he couldn't understand it and it frightened him. He couldn't understand being frightened either, it was strange and unfamiliar and rather like the Vecchios in that respect. He was particularly frightened when Ray and Francesca started arguing about him. And it wasn't just because it was strange and unfamiliar. He could not understand how it worked, how they could argue, if he had a sister he would not argue with her. It would be so wonderful not to be alone and to have such and understanding as Ray and Francesca had. He would not do whatever Francesca alleged Ray had done to her hamster either, whatever it was. But then, he wouldn't do to a sister what he wanted to do to Francesca and then, if Fransecsa was a sister, than Ray would be a brother and he wouldn't do what he wanted to do to Ray to a brother either.
And then, with all the siblings in the world, he would still be alone.
Pearls before swine, that was what it was, thought Meg Thatcher as she tried to arrange her coifure to her satisfaction.
Why had she been sent to this god-forsaken land with its complete failure to understand even the basic of civilities and its total success when it came to discourtesy (and rampant crime)? She had never expected this when she had signed up for the special diplomatic service course; not only was it a way to fill in her mandatory service education requirement, she had thought, she could be posted to new and exotic locales and fill in her fivehundredandtwelve oblique eight under the dappled shade of palm trees and hear the relaxing sound of the surf as it washed up the beach and lapped at her feet.
Instead, she had been sent to this slum, for want of a better word, though she knew there were worse parts of the city and Benton Fraser took a perverse delight in not only habituating them but inhabiting them.
And the staff! Benton Fraser was not even the worse; there was the boy from Victoria who was forever dropping vases and trying to ruin her lines with some infernal pastry concoction cooked in Service time! He was even more infuriating than Fraser.
And Benton Fraser had proved to be nothing more than a disappointment, failing even to realise what diplomatic service offered him or the grandeur of his birth-right and that if he just knuckled down and followed instructions he would reach the pinacle of the Service. Indeed he seemed to delight in his disinterest in such things. And that was wrong...
...they would have made such a wonderful couple.
At the very least, then she'd be able to find out what he put on his damned hair, she thought as she tugged at the brush once again.
Fraser was, loathe as he was to admit it let alone say it, bored.
He was bored with processing the paperwork for the Canadian Cabbage-Growers Expo, despite some favourable childhood experiences.
He was bored with the obsessive fever that now gripped the Consulate in some sort of Cabbage orientated fervour. It was, he mused, rather like the tulip craze of the seventeenth century only less beautiful and considerably less fragant.
He was bored with Turnbull's plethora of celebratory brasica-based dishes, which he was testing out on the Consulate staff so that he could find the most delightful for the Cabbage Growers' Celebratory Dinner on the coming Thursday.
And he was intensly bored with the way the Inspector would shrilly scream at him and doubt his competence for anything more than picking up her dry cleaning. Three times in a week, it seems she for one was desperate to get shot of the resplendant odour of cabbages.
That was the one thing that didn't bore him (that and Ray and his now-infrequent visits); the smell reminded him terribly of his childhood. It didn't bore him, rather it made him maudlin for a more innocent time and a much smaller world, and that sickened him.
One day, when Fraser was young and nights still could last a month, and months could last for eternity, he found a kitten sleeping in the book trailer.
He picked it up and hid it under his sweater. Somehow he already knew his grandparents would disapprove of it. They would consider it a waste of space and food.
Benton kept it a secret the whole of the trip to 'Tuk, his grandparents never knowing that he was sneaking away food from the table and playing with it in the dark. Once he got to 'Tuk, he gave it to a girl called June. He never let her see him cry, he feigned disinterest and pretended her brother's tonka truck was the most exciting thing in the world. The truck didn't even purr, and it wasn't warm and furry and didn't press against his cheek and somehow make him think of his mother.
And ever since Benton Fraser has been very good at keeping secrets, and at not acting on his wants. When Ray Vecchio told him that he was beginning to think he was homosexual, gay, Fraser offered hearty support and kept his secret for him.
And now, Fraser's alone again, and reading his father's journals, and he comes across the entry:I heard from my mother that Benton adopted a kitten and then gave it to a girl. He must have thought it better for the kitten than the half-nomadic life to which I've condemned him...
and Benton's heart shatters, the ice of it fracturing and melting and the slivers of it cutting him to his very heart. And nobody sees him cry.
Fraser finally ran out of patience when Ray claimed allergies not only to housework, but to libraries.
And then he found himself not only with one digit extended and pointing (digging) into Ray's chest, but with Ray pressed up flat against one of the bookcases. Ray looked something like a carribou stuck at the top of a mountain path, gazing down at the hunter waiting at the bottom with a loaded gun.
And he was breathing terribly fast.
And his eyes were wild.
It took Fraser a minute to realise that this was not terror, or at least, the breathing was not in terror, though the look in Ray's eyes was, but was merely a secondary reaction. A reaction to Ray's breathing rapidly running out of control.
And then Fraser realised that indeed Ray was allergic to housework and libraries and probably a hundred other dusty things. He hoped this was not the way to dusty death, and did not even inquire as to why Ray failed to take medications for the condition the answer would undoubtably be similiar to why Ray failed to wear his glasses or to why Ray refused to take the medications the doctor prescribed after the unfortunate encounter with the llama-hunting marmoset.
Instead Fraser took a step back, and then caught Ray before he could begin to fall and held him close in the centre of the room, and hoped for this to pass and silently begged forgiveness.
Fraser had hung his hat in many places over the years, from yurts to caravans to the Ministry of the Interior during a sit-in he had organised to protect the native wildlife of the greater Ontario area.
He had never seen his hat hung like this, though.
Not even that night when he had slept in a hole, and hung it on a tree root. Or the time with the hallucinogenic carribou, when he'd hung it on the antlers, loathe to have it streaked with gore.
But he had never seen his hat hung like this.
"So, Frase, what do you think?"
"Ray, I do believe that this is the most inappropriate guise I have ever been asked to wear in my years with the RCMP..." Fraser protested as they dressed in a spare interview room, they didn't want to go to the locker-room with outfits this... outre.
"What about that dress you wore 'round Vecchio, do not think that I do not know about that, Ms. Fraser."
"Ray, that was uncalled for, and at least that I initiated that."
"So that's what you call it then? Initiating. Did you, you know, "initiate" a lot with Vecchio?" Ray Kowalski leered, Fraser found it at once distressing and appealing.
Fraser began turning a colour he knew Ms Fraser would call strawberry sunrise, or rather, Ms Fraser's cosmetics would call "strawberry sunrise", Ms Fraser would call it "embarassing" since there's only so far a man, woman, person could change.
Dief whined, he quite agreed with Fraser on the point, but could not see what the problem was with the coverings, he thought these were much more attractive, and would enable him to display properly and then, maybe the blond would bitch for his packmate and he wouldn't have to listen to Fraser...
Fraser blushed even more, and then found that his body was far more approving of Dief's speech than he was, and...
...he was wearing harem pants, which he thought lacked even as undergarments.
And the gauzy material chafed and was quite fine enough for Ray to see his distress.
"Can't be having you coming all over the fine and beautiful costume Welsh provided, particularly since the guy got it on deposit. Cut budgets, you know..."
And before Fraser could even fathom what Ray was saying, the blond detective had turned around and was lowering his leather hot-pants and offering his... Fraser could not think of a dignified word at this juncture, could not think at all, except of a nature documentary he once saw where a baboon displayed its bottom.
Fraser had not seen the erotic appeal of that. But then, a baboon was ill-comparison to the splendor of Ray and of Ray's ass, Fraser allowed himself to think the word, even if he could not bring himself to say it, as he parted the fabric and reached for his organ and steadied himself against Ray's back.
If there were ever two words to strike fear into a time-agent's heart, they were those.
The Killer Bunnies of the Blue Moons of Jupiter were quite notorious.
Of course, everyone knew about them except for the new boy.
Jack siddled up to the unfortunate, "You know, there's a job that needs doing on the QT, right? And you're the guy to do it, you've got just the talents we're looking for..." he said, and handed the kid a mutant carrot.
Everyone knew about the Killer Bunnies, except for young Cadet Jones who was going to spend the next month looking for them while wearing a deep space environment suit.
There were times when they wondered where they recruited the kids from these days. They were all so green, except for the Alpha Centurian in Unhappenings, who was green but was smart enough not to end up on the Blue Moon of Jupiter in Meteor Season.
"Jack, just let me check you over..." the Doctor began.
"Doctor, I do not need checking with the sonic medical scanner or whatever it is, I'm just fine, look no bites, nothing."
Rose stared at Jack, with a look she'd learnt from her mother but would never admit to, until he stayed still in the centre of the librarian's living room. Then she turned round and looked at some of the books, trying at once to work out the titles and would would have a book called "vampyr" anyway, and scope the blonde girl's outfit. She was trying to learn from Jack, camoflague herself to the era; and see if she could see whether Bunny or whatever her name was had a boyfriend. While she got that she couldn't have Jack, or put up with him, she didn't want Miss California here getting into his pants either.
"Hhm..." began the Doctor looking at the holographic readout, "this says you're not quite human," tailing off quietly, hoping Jack didn't hear.
But Jack's attention was focused elsewhere, on the other blonde, much to Rose's momentary annoyance. "I say," Jack began smiling devilishly, "you don't half look like my great aunt Anyankha."
You can request one all of your own if you like.