Touching The Truth
by Blarney Stone
Rated R
All Due South characters belong to Alliance. No copyright infringement is intended.
"Do not talk to me," Ray Kowalski ordered his passenger as
he stared straight ahead and gripped the steering wheel as
if it was his only anchor to sanity.
"But. ."
"I said do not talk to me. Do not look at me. In fact,
don't even think at me. Close your little eyes and think
about winning the lottery or something, I don't care," he
warned, a distinctive growl in his voice.
"You're such a grouch sometimes."
"And yet she's still talking to me. Francesca, shut up!
Okay do you understand that?" Ray ran a trembling hand
through his unruly blond hair.
Frannie flipped her jet black hair imperiously over her
shoulder; which didn't actually work out as planned,
because she had cut it short earlier that year. "What's
your problem Kowalski? All I did was ask you a few simple
questions about Fraser, like what he looked like in his
longjohns and you flipped out. You know, I think you're
taking this edgy James Dean thing a little too far."
"I have a gun, Francesca."
"I know what your problem is: you need a date. I know a lot
of really desperate, lonely women. I'm sure I can convince
one of them to go out with you," she said reaching out to
pat his arm condescendingly.
Ray jerked away from her and snarled, "Don't touch me
either. I mean it, Frannie."
"That's it! You pull this car over right now, Mister. I
mean it." Ray looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "I
mean it, Ray. Stop this car NOW!"
Grumbling to himself, he obeyed. "What are you going to do;
walk the rest of the way home? If you were going to do
that, you should have told me back at the station instead
of twisting my arm into driving you home."
Frannie smiled at him serenely, sending shivers of fear
down his spine. "Ray," she began sweetly. "You're very
tense. I think we need to do something about that." She
grabbed his jacket and with surprising strength, hauled the
skinny detective over to her side of the car.
"What are you doing?" he squeaked.
"I bet you can figure it out," she purred, and attacked his
mouth. He struggled vainly. Frannie held him in a vise-like
grip.
When, at last, she let him come up for air, he gasped, "I
thought you were hot for Fraser."
"Look Ray, a girl has needs, okay?"
"But I'm supposed to be your brother!"
"We won't tell Ma," Frannie reassured, as she slipped a a
hand down the back of his pants, and pinched his
butt.
Ray thought it over for a moment and then said, "Okay."
Then he plunged in for another kiss. Frannie tasted great,
he thought, as he pressed her nubile form against him. This
is not exactly what I had in mind, but hey, any port in a
storm, he mused. He rubbed his hand along one shapely
thigh. Meeting no resistance, he slid his fingers slowly
upwards under the tight leather skirt. Bingo, he sighed
when he encountered the very lacy panties.
Frannie's hands were under his shirt and her teeth were
gently nipping at his neck , so he figured that she
probably wouldn't object to his next move. He cautiously
moved his hand across the panties, downward until.
.
"Uh Frannie, what's that?" he croaked..
"What's what, lover?" she crooned.
"That! That . . that. . That's not supposed to be there,
but is, " Ray
sputtered.
"Oh THAT! Come on, Kowalski, I can't believe you've never
run into one of THOSE before in all your travels."
Ray moved off her and slammed himself up against the
driver's side door, all in one quick movement. "You're a. .
you're a. ."
"Spit it out, boy."
"You're a MAN!" he blurted.
"Right in one guess. You're not nearly as stupid as I
thought," Frannie
smirked, rearranging her clothing.
"I don't get it. Does everybody know about this, except me?
Does Fraser know?" Ray slowly slipped down into his seat,
carefully keeping as much distance as possible from
Frannie.
"I don't think any of the other cops know. I've been
dressing like this since high school, so even my own family
has started thinking of me as a girl. I doubt Fraser knows,
unless he can smell me or something weird like that." She
looked at the horrified Ray and continued in a gentler
tone. "My real name is Francis. Francis Albert Vecchio.
When I was little, I used to sneak into my mother room and
try on her clothes and jewelry. It freaked my father out,
let me tell you, but Ma was more understanding. As time
went by, I discovered that I wasn't happy doing boy stuff.
Baseball and spitting did nothing for me. Now Barbies, I
could really relate to Barbies. When I hit hight school,
and all the other boys were chasing cheerleaders; I was
drooling over the football players. One thing led to
another in the back seat of the captain of the team's car
and I figured out I was gay. Eventually, I started wearing
my female friends clothes and found that it made me happy.
Over the course of the next few years, I changed my name to
Francesca and basically began to live as a woman."
Ray shook his head in disbelief. "I'm hallucinating. I'm
having pot flashbacks. Can you have pot flashbacks? I know
you can have acid flashbacks, but I never did acid in
college, only pot, so that's what it must be."
Frannie rubbed his back companionably, and was rather
pleased that he didn't flinch away. "Easy Ray, don't
hyperventilate. It just takes some getting used to that's
all."
Ray closed his eyes, hoping to stop his head from spinning.
"Okay, Frannie is a guy. I can deal with that." Suddenly
his eyes popped open. "Hey, what about what we were just
doing? What the hell did you think I was going to do when I
found out?"
Frannie shot him her best Mona Lisa smile. "I thought you
would be pleasantly surprised."
"Excuse me?!!"
"Come off it, Ray. You are not 100% het, so don't even try
that with me."
He blushed, and indignantly demanded, "What do you mean by
that?"
She fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly at him. "You, pal,
are an ass man. It doesn't matter who' s ass it is, you've
got to check it out. Mine, Turnbull's, Huey's, especially
Fraser's, Thatcher's, even Welsh's; you eyeball 'em all.
So, I know that you're ready to go whichever way the wind's
blowing."
Ray pouted and tried to think up a retort for that, but
nothing came to mind. He settled for glaring his most James
Dean glare at her.
"Well," she finally said. " You can sit there pretending to
be James Dean, (and I personally think you look a lot more
like a young Steve McQueen from his days on Wanted: Dead or
Alive) or you can drive me home. Or. ." she
hesitated.
"Or what?" Ray asked, smiling goofily over the Steve
McQueen comparison.
"Or we could go back to your apartment and you could
experience the best of both worlds." She raised an
impatient eyebrow at him.
Ray grinned broadly, and started up the car. "You know
Frannie, I think
we might have a few things in common."
Frannie scooted over next to him and put her hand in his
lap. "Definetly a few things in common."
the end.
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