Fraser, RayK, Dewey; Arch To The Sky (takes place during canon, stands alone); G; 627 words; 24. Classic.

"I'm telling you, Frase, the look on his face is gonna be classic."

"I'm certain it will be." Whatever that means. "What I don't understand is why you feel the need to..." Fraser gestured, hand open and flat, as he tried to phrase it delicately.

"Time-bomb his desk?"

"...well, yes, Ray. Though I fail to see how exactly it's a time-bomb, as it would be very clearly offensive in the immediate--"

"Look, look, look, Frase." Ray Kowalski gestured off toward Huey's desk, giving Fraser a toothy grin. "Sandor says Tony's got some kinda really funky foot problem, right? I dunno what it's called, I don't wanna ask too many questions in case knowing means I can't eat his pizza anymore, but the point is that his socks are choice. Choice, Fraser, for a primo stench to curl your nose hairs from like ten paces. It matures the longer it sits out there."

Fraser's eyes widened a fraction, and he merely stared.

"So here's the trick. You stash it in his desk somewhere he's not gonna think to look, maybe someplace underneath in one of the little gaps, you know? Shove it up there good. Then, you sit back, and you wait."

"You wait."

"You wait. First day, maybe he doesn't notice so much, except he sniffs his armpits and thinks he needed to shower better this morning." Ray leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on his desk top. One hand wound through the air in a rolling gesture as he explained. "Next day, maybe he's thinking it's the guy next to him that's got the hygiene problem. Annoying, but no big deal, right? But the third day, that smell's getting worse and the guy's thinking maybe he left his lunch in the desk last week or something and it's starting to fester. So he starts looking. But he doesn't find anything, 'cause I'm that good."

Fraser folded one hand behind his back. He was indeed beginning to see where this was headed, and his features settled to an expression of bafflement with a hint of disapproval. "Ah."

"Ah. What d'you mean, 'ah'? It's a great gag. By day five the guy's going nuts trying to find whatever crawled in his desk and died! The guy at my last station dismantled his whole desk before he found the sock and he didn't get the smell of lysol and gym outta the thing for days--"

"Ray."

"What?"

"Ray--"

"No, Fraser." Ray was pointing at him now. "No. It's a good gag. I've got a great thing going with Sandor on this, he supplies me Tony's socks, I don't hit 'im in the head for bringing me sub-standard pizza. You're not ruining this for me with your judgment and your Canadian-morals-routine--"

Fraser's mouth was open for the reply - he found this was his first mistake, all given - when Detective Dewey slid by holding... a pair of tongs.

With a rather unpleasantly discolored sock in them. Ray was quite correct; the smell preceded it by a distance of several paces, and Fraser could name three possible diagnoses for Tony's apparent foot problem before he even saw the sock.

"Come on, he just went for coffee!" Dewey hissed, and Ray's toothy grin was back. "Let's get rid of this thing before the stench soaks into my suit, I just had this dry-cleaned and I don't wanna explain to Welsh why I smell like a locker room puked on me."

Ray lingered long enough to flash gleeful wide eyes at Fraser before he was out of that chair and swarming down on Huey's desk.

Fraser stood there a moment. Pick your battles. He sighed before pinching the bridge of his nose and walking away.