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Fraser was feeling nearly as good as Ray, and for much the same reasons; his mood was dampened only by his need to get to work on the case Ray had told him about, i.e., Ray's forced marriage to Turnbull and the mysterious Hogwarts tent village. He couldn't let that stay as it was. It wouldn't be... just.

But that concern was relatively minor. Not that the problem wasn't serious (he took it very seriously), but he was sure that they were going to get to the bottom of it and get Ray free. He believed it the same way he believed in the RCMP motto -- 'maintain the right,' no matter what nonsense his father made up about 'getting your man' -- or in his own sense of taste: with utter, unquestioning conviction. So that was really going to be fine, and in the meantime, they were working together again, and that was very good.

He walked alongside Ray, rucksack over his shoulder, Dief on his other side, leaning in close so as to listen to the very important details of the case. Instead, he got... a rather unusual invitation! Huh.

"No, I'm fine, I ate on the plane..." He gave Ray a curious look. It seemed a little odd -- nice, but odd -- for Ray to be offering him a bed like this. He'd spent the last year sleeping in his office in Chicago and although Ray had gone apartment hunting (http://trinityslash.com/trans/ep148.html) with him, which had been very nice of him, he hadn't once made an offer like this. Fraser hadn't expected him to, of course, as it would be far too much of an imposition, but the fact remained that this was a little strange coming now. Did Ray think he was homeless? "Thank you kindly, Ray, but I do have a room in the castle and it's really more than enough for Dief and me." If anything, it was much too big for the two of them. The rooms at Hogwarts were enormous, and Fraser had gotten used to his little office.

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Hold up. Fraser was going to leave Ray ~~alone with Turnbull~~to investigate the tent village 24/7, while he got to spend his nights in a marriage-free castle? "You may have a room in the castle, but that's not where the case is at, Fraser. We're gonna fix this thing, both of us have gotta be here. Investigating, interrogating...smelling stuff." Actually, Ray was going to leave the smelling/tasting/other random Grizzly Adams talents to Fraser. "There's only two ways you'd be allowed to stay in the village. Either crash with somebody, or get-" Oh, that was a No. They'd never save the day if Fraser was busy being married. Outta the question. "-crashing's really the only way to go."

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Fraser might have put up more of a fight, but as soon as he saw where Ray's explanation was going -- either crash with somebody, or get-- any argument he had dried up. Because he saw where Ray was going with that, and the only thing worse than Ray being married would be to get married himself. There was far too much... He would be a little... They wouldn't quite... Well, he would if he had to, for the sake of the case, but if there was an alternative, let them explore it.

"Understood. But there's really no need to give up your own accomodations. Dief and I can hunker down on the floor. Right, boy?" He looked to the wolf for confirmation. Dief gave them a long-suffering look and a doggy shrug. In the old days, back when they'd had that huge apartment, Ben had given Dief the bed half the time and slept on the floor himself. Why couldn't they go back to that arrangement? Dief would have liked to know.

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Ray sighed right along with Dief. "Fraser, out of the two people here, I'm not the one whose had a head injury. You don't sleep on the floor after a head injury. That's stupid." Never mind that the guy had just spent a month on a desert island. Ray hadn't been there to force Fraser to be not-stupid, so that didn't count.

As the partners discussed sleeping arrangements, they edged towards the entrance to the tent village. And for some crazy, wild, inexplicable reason, the closer they edged towards Ray's particular Casa, they slower his steps became. "Hey," he said, stopping completely. "Maybe we don't need to go straight to the tent. How about we case the area first? Interview the neighbors? Check out the rec center?" Who didn't like a nice rec center?

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Now it was Fraser's turn to sigh. "Ray, I promise you, I'm fine. The Hospital Wing does excellent work." Not to mention that he'd just come from a plane crash, and if he could deal with that and the subsequent month of lonely, overheated and rather strenuous exile, he thought he would have no trouble sleeping on a perfectly comfortable floor for a few nights. He tried not to roll his eyes. "Except for the memory loss, I feel fit as a fiddle."

Fraser noticed, of course, the slowing of Ray's footsteps, but he didn't think much of it until Ray stopped. Then it was hard not to pay attention, particularly at the odd little quaver in Ray's voice. He frowned, turning back to face his partner. "If you want, but I think it's probably best that I see the tent first. Besides which..." He held up his rucksack pointedly. "This is a little heavy." It didn't have much in it, but it did have his uniform, and the weight of red serge was not something to sneeze at. "Is everything all right?"

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Unfortunately for Ray's delaying tactic, Turnbull happens to be returning to the tent village himself at that point, luggage in hand. He hesitates upon seeing them but steels himself and greets them cheerfully. "Constable Fraser, you've returned. How delightful to have your presence among us again! I presume your mission was a success?" After all, how could Constable Fraser fail at a task ~~not involving tricky things like emotions~~?

Now it was time for Turnbull to put all of his considerable skill at obfuscation into effect and enact Operation: Pretend I Didn't Kiss Ray. "Hello, Detective Kowalski, it's good to see you. When did you get back to Hogwarts?"

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"Did I say they do bum work? No. They do bang-up work. Just ask the Barfing Wonder." Which reminded Ray, he really needed to talk to Fraser about the Stephanie Brown Thing. Fraser seemed good with stupid kids and their tempers, for some reason. "It's not Carla and Lily's fault that you took their 'excellent work' and then went off on an island adventure."

Geez.

At Fraser's question, Ray kind of...stiffened up. Telling the truth would mean acknowledging The Thing That Did Not Happen. And lying to Fraser was out, too. Sure, Ray could fudge the truth, make his partner believe he'd practiced (http://www.trinityslash.com/trans/ep154.html) with the Cubs. Exaggerations weren't a problem. But Fraser could tell, probably even better than Stella at this point, when something was off with Ray.

And Turnbull? Turnbull was very, very off.

Sigh. "Fraser, there's something-"

And that was quite possibly the first time in his entire life Ray had been glad for Turnbull's penchant to interrupt things. Huh. What was with the bags?

"Turnbull," he said, in clipped tones. "Are you dense? I've been here for weeks." What was he getting at now?

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Fraser was officially confused. "The who? What?" He had no idea who that was; nor, for that matter, why Ray seemed to be angry at him again. "I didn't hurt myself on the island, if that's what you mean. I feel perfectly healthy." Actually, amnesia aside, he felt fantastic -- he'd gotten lots of exercise on the island and now he was back on the job with his partner, so what wasn't to enjoy about that?

Of course he noticed Ray's freezing up. They'd been separated for the last several months, but in their year together they'd gotten pretty in tune with each other -- particularly in the realm of silent communication -- and Ray was pretty much an open book anyway.

He was about to ask when Turnbull came upon them, and now he was really confused. Why was Turnbull carrying luggage? Why was he asking about Ray's return? And since when were they calling him Kowalski? Fraser stared at Turnbull blankly, then frowned, glancing between the other mountie and the detective. "Good afternoon, Constable. I'm sorry, but I find myself a little confused. I thought I had taken to understand that you and Detective Vecchio had found yourselves, er..." Oh, God, he really couldn't say it. "...in a bit of a pickle?"

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Turnbull cocks his head quizzically at Ray. "I'm sorry, Detective Kowalski, but you must be confused. I just arrived back from a vacation in London." Here, he shakes the luggage for emphasis. "So I'd have no way of knowing you've been here for weeks."

Turnbull is sincerely confused by Fraser's disapproving frown and his comment (Ray wouldn't mention to Fraser that he'd been kissed by another man, would he?). After all, between fretting over being married and fleeing, he never actually found out to whom he was married. "Given that we haven't seen each other for quite a long time, sir, I can't imagine what sort of negative situation we'd find ourselves in." He leans close to Fraser, not wanting others to overhear. "And is he being referred to as Vecchio again? You mentioned he'd reverted to using his real name, but that was before you contracted amnesia."

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What was with Turnbull and the K-word, lately? "Turnbull, it's Vecchio. V-e-cchio. And unless you want to be responsible for kill-" Ray stopped himself. Fraser and the real Vecchio were friends, and maybe he didn't need to hear that kind of talk. "Either memorize it, or stop talking altogether." Ray voted for that last one! In case anyone was curious.

A pickle? Oh, Ray was in far, far more than a pickle. He was about to correct Fraser's vocabulary, when Turnbull did that thing where his mouth movied. He 'couldn't imagine'? The hell?

"Marriage!" Ray exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and walking a few feet away from both Mounties. "The negativest of negative situations. The most pickled pickle ever to pickle." He rested his hands on his knees, and muttered something about Canadians have syrup for brains.

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Fraser didn't flinch as Turnbull leaned in, but the look he gave the man was nothing short of quizzical; and when Turnbull announced that Fraser was the one who had originally dropped Ray's real name, his eyes widened sharply. "I did?" he asked helplessly, bewildered. "But as far as I know, Ray was in Chicago before that. Weren't you, Ray?" He looked to his partner for confirmation. Perhaps Turnbull was unhinged? It didn't seem that unlikely.

He was too distracted by this latest piece of news to be too distraught by Ray's near-slip up. Besides, others -- his father and Lieutenant Welsh in particular -- had been much colder about the potentially horrible death that the real Ray Vecchio faced while he was undercover. Fraser's mouth twisted slightly, distastefully, but otherwise he merely nodded. "Detective Vecchio will be known as Detective Vecchio from here on out, Constable Turnbull, if you have no objections," he declared.

Ray's outburst didn't trouble him much, either. It wasn't exactly anything new. "That is what I was referring to," he agreed with a faint sigh, rubbing his forehead. "You are aware of this-- situation, aren't you, Constable?" Honestly, what was going on here? This was all getting fairly insane, even for Hogwarts.

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Turnbull winces at the mention of Vecchio's murder; he hadn't known the man well, but to be responsible for his death... "Ah, of course, Detective Vecchio. My mistake." Maybe Ray was right about not talking... it only seemed to lead him into more trouble, even when he had a seemingly foolproof plan to get himself out of the doghouse.

And then Ray drops a bombshell on him. "M-married?! What?" Completely unprepared for such a shock in addition to everything else he's facing, Turnbull loses consciousness and crumples to the ground. ~~The only surprising part of this is that his fit of the vapors didn't include a womanly shriek.~~

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Huh? "What?" Ray'd been busy, ranting about syrup and other related things. "Chicago? Yeah. I don't know what everyone here's smoking, but I've never even been to Europe until a few weeks ago. Too much tea. I don't do tea."

Well, at least the Kowalski thing was taken care of. That just left the M-word.

...a word Turnbull was apparently deadly allergic to. Ray walked over, and poked the fallen Mountie with his foot. Several times. Just, you know, to be sure. "Turnbull," Ray concluded, looking at Fraser, "is a very disturbed guy."

Ray didn't get the fancy detective's badge for nothing.

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"Huh." Fraser stared at the now-prone Turnbull for several moments. Somewhat at a loss, he watched mutely as Ray went and poked him. "I... yes." He shook his head. "He's... well." Most of the people who were sent to the Chicago Consulate were sent there for a reason. Fraser had wondered once before (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1394264.html?thread=71485272#t71485272) what Turnbull had done to get sent there, though he'd never actually asked... but honestly, the possibilities seemed endless.

He joined Ray at the body, crouching down to check on Turnbull's vitals. "We'd better get him into the tent. I have some smelling salts, or-- well, something similar, at least-- in my Sam Browne, but I have to fish it out of my bag." It was actually made of cedar sap, secretions from a local variety of nightcrawler and a particularly pungent kind of toadstool, but he thought Ray might really not want to hear about that.

"Come on, Ray, give me a hand." He swung his bag down off his shoulder and set it carefully on Turnbull's stomach; which freed up his arms so that he could slide them under Turnbull's shoulders, lifting the other mountie halfway off the ground. "Would you mind getting his legs?"

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Something, probably the change in position, rouses Turnbull, and he looks around muzzily. "Hmm? What happened?" As memories of Ray's revelation and his reaction come back to him, he blushes at once again making a fool of himself and stands quickly. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm feeling better now."

And now, time to attend to more pressing matters. "When did we get married, Detective Vecchio? How did we get married?" He would question the legality of such a union, but considering the fact that they're in a magic wizard castle, the point is probably moot.

Now that he thinks about it, he'll probably have to memorize a whole new set of laws to keep order in Hogwarts. Drat.

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Did Ray mind? Well, no. Not really. Ray minded when he stepped in gum. He minded when he left a sandwich on his desk and Dief snagged it. He minded when his partner disappeared. Turnbull didn't really rank with mucked up shoes, wolves, and partners. Ray didn't mind - he just didn't wanna. Carrying Turnbull around was on the Top Ten List of Things Ray Didn't Wanna Do. "You look like you got this one covered, Fraser."

Fraser might have given him some grief about that -which Ray would have minded- but then Turnbull went and woke up! Saved. "I'm guessing it was when about a hundred other people got married, Turnbull. Just a hunch. A guess. A feeling." Ray shot A Look at Fraser, as if to say, 'You see what I've had to put up with while you were gone?'

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Fraser did mind that Ray wasn't going to help him, and he was going to give him some grief about that (because as much as carrying the slim-but-extremely-tall constable around was not particularly his hobby of choice, it was important that they Help their Fellow Man when need be, particularly when that Fellow Man was a Fellow Officer, even when that Fellow Officer was being Extremely Embarrassing), but then Turnbull spared him the trouble by waking up. Fraser let him go instantly, taking a quick step back as Turnbull righted himself. "On your feet, Constable," he said unhelpfully.

At least now he could get back to the case. "Yes, it seems as if there was a group... event of some kind." Ray hadn't exactly filled him in, but he'd sort of guessed as much from the mass of tents surrounding them. "Almost like the Blessing Ceremonies of the Korean Unificiation Church." He looked around at the tents, a sudden worry passing across his face. "Oh, dear. I wonder if the Hat is affiliated with Sun Myung Moon." He might well have to add cult activities to the list, if so. "We'd better hurry," he muttered, making quickly for the tent.

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Well, Turnbull may have abased himself once more, but it seems some good came of it. There was no longer any trace of 'oh God, what did you do to me?' in Ray's voice, just everyday annoyance. He mentally chalks this up as a moral victory.

Now, before he manages to bungle anything else, he'll just bow out gracefully. Besides, it's not as though he'd be much use to them at this point anyways. "Ah, I see. Well, good luck with the investigation, gentlemen. I believe I'll get right to unpacking my things and settling myself back in." He busies himself with gathering his bags back up in order to avoid seeing their (no doubt) scornful expressions.

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"Sun Mung Moon?" Hmm. "That the place on Jackson with the really good egg rolls? I miss the really good egg rolls too, Fraser, but I don't think the Hat's a fan." Ray scratched the back of his neck, thoughtfully. "Don't even think the thing can eat. If it can, that's not something I want to watch. Ever."

"Yeah, good luck to you too, Turnbull," Ray waved, figuring Turnbull would need luck with...pretty much everything in his life. Ray was thoughtful like that.

"Oh! Turnbull, wait up." Ray picked Fraser's bag up off the ground -not stumbling AT ALL, and anyone who imagined otherwise was smoking something- and held it out to the exiting Mountie. "Carry this back to the tent, would ya? Me and Fraser got stuff to do."

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