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Elaine says, "What?" and then she says, "Oh, for..." and "No, no I will not."

Then it's, "Look, Frannie. They're strange people on the internet exchanging porn about a TV show. Why do you care what they think about your spelling?"

"Where did you find this stuff? Tell me you're not writing this on your work computer. I knew this printer paper looked familiar. Is this what you've been doing instead of the Blenkmann report?"

"I didn't say I'd edit it if you finished the Blenkmann report, I said you needed to finish that before you wrote any more. Because writing reports is part of your job, Frannie. Which is why I proof-read those."

"This is not something I imagined I'd be arguing about as a cop on a stakeout. Do you think Jack and Dewey spent their last shift planning semi-legal romantic epics?"

(There was an unsettled pause after that last, as both Frannie and Elaine realized independently and then out loud together that (a) it was entirely possible, and (b) the only thing more terrifying than that thought was trying to imagine what those stories would be about.)

"Okay, okay, fine. Give me the printout, and you watch the building. You owe me coffee and a croissant tomorrow."


A few years later, when she's putting together her site on geocities - she has her own website! With columns, and a nice yellow patterned background, and photos, the whole tamale! - she thinks about not putting up those first couple stories. Especially the one that goes into so much detail about the seed-pearls spanning the tiny waist of Amanda's wedding gown.

But really, she's not embarrassed, and she doesn't see why she should pretend to be. Everyone's got to start somewhere, right?


"Francesca. I admit I glanced only briefly at this document, but as the paragraph I read included the words 'ghosted over her trembling milk-white breast, encased in its pink lace prison,' I must conclude one of two things. Either this was not the report you meant to give me, or the SecureInvest embezzlement case had a great deal more complexity and human interest than I'd been led to believe.

"Also, I think you'll find that Agent Mulder has hazel eyes, not blue.

"That was not an invitation to tell me more, officer."


Frannie's stirring a putanesca sauce, watching this new Superman show on the kitchen TV, and thinking idly that the amount of pink that girl Lena wears is way too much even by her own standards, when she gets the call from Welsh. She shrieks, and Maria nearly takes off a finger with the breadknife, and the babies start crying, and her ma starts praying, and it's pandemonium for several minutes before Frannie can get a verb in edgewise to say no, nothing's happened to Elaine. Nothing's happened to Ray, or Stella, or Ray, or Benton.

She, Frannie, has just been asked to take the test for detective.


From: Raymond Vecchio {}
To: Francesca V. {}
Re: Re: Do me a favor?


Is this what you're into now? I can't believe you would look at something like this in a house with children in it! I looked this up on one of the department computers!


>From: Francesca V. {}
>To: Raymond Vecchio {}

>Do a search on the word "goatse." It's important!
>Frannie <3 <3 <3


Elaine, who persuaded Frannie into moving to LiveJournal to begin with, buys her a permanent account on their third anniversary. She still complains that she can hear Frannie taking notes in her head sometimes while they're having sex, but Frannie's pretty sure she doesn't really mind.


"Frannie, I've only read one of these books - it was for a case! Yes, the case involved kids' books! They were smuggling exotic reptiles in hollowed out copies of The Goblet of Fire - look, that is not the point! The point is that Harry Potter's eyes are not blue. They're green. She only mentions it twice on every page.

"Hey, I'm stuck in the hospital two days, Fraser brings me a laptop computer, I was bored. Why'd you write it if you don't want people reading it?"


Turnbull ships Buffy/Andrew, which is so obviously wrong on so many different levels that Frannie seriously considers that he might be writing those fics as some kind of secret code to send messages to his wife when she's on missions.

She doesn't get into flame wars much any more, she just tells herself the Spuffy shippers will see how wrong they are in the end. But there is only so much mortal fish can bare, and Ren sending her a link to his ship manifesto when she's already traumatized by seventh season is the limit.

"msmalaprop" and "sewardspatient" get written up in one of the first wank reports over at the new F_W.


"Detective Vecchio. While I did rashly say you could have some minimal decoration on your desk, I would prefer not to have to explain to the Commissioner why action figures are posed in compromising positions all around your computer."


When Benton's third book comes out, the one about oil drilling or whatever, he and her ex-fake-brother get pekinged by the publishers and the Mounties into going on a bunch of talk shows. Frannie tapes all the American ones, of course, and gets Turnbull to tape and send her the ones from Canada. Fraser is...well, he's still Fraser, and beautiful, even if he looks like he'd rather be facing a firing squad than Jon Stewart. Ray is skinny and twitchy and rude, so no surprise there.

Surprised isn't really the word, though, for what she is when she finds it listed for Yuletide: RPF - Canadian Explorers. There was a documentary about Franklin out earlier in the year starring Colin Firth, so that's one thing, but at least three people have actually requested stories about S. R. Kowalski and Sergeant Benton Fraser, and when she does a little googling she finds a tiny but active fandom.

People seem to way overestimate Ray's coolness.

She ends up betaing a fic, because she's in the Yuletide chatroom when one of the hippos asks if anyone can read it, and she thinks hey, why not? It's not bad, aside from the brain-shattering thing. For some reason, though, the writer thinks Benton's eyes are gray.


Ray Vecchio to me

WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME? Why do I not know better than to click links you send me?
-Hide quoted text

On Tue, Dec 29, 2009 at 15:50, Francesca V. {} wrote:


Frannie might not have discovered some frozen dead guy, or headed up an organized crime task force. She's never jumped out of a plane, gone undercover, or carried her partner for miles through the wilderness on her back. But she's the 2-7's top interrogator, for reasons that still mystify her but she doesn't question. Harding's stood by her and Elaine for enough years that the whole CPD knows: not only do you not talk snot about Welsh's lezzie cops, but Besbriss is being groomed for Lieutenant someday.

This may not have been the life she ever pictured herself leading. She'll always carry a little bit of a lamp for this one blue-eyed guy she sees every Christmas, but she's not alone in having once loved somebody she never quite got over. It doesn't matter who your old love was if you've got your best love with you.

Frannie's got the weirdest family ever in the world, and she kind of likes that. She's got a girlfriend with soft skin and a smart mouth, and 367 friends on LJ. She's a detective, and a good cook, and a mother, and a writer. And yesterday the new civilian aide-guy fell out of his chair while checking out her legs in her new leather skirt.

She figures that's as happy an ending as anybody could ever have never thought to wish for.