[ It sure is brave of him. Fraser on the other hand is leaning toward rather smelling bad than ever going in her office without permission, but...well. Ray's American. He'll survive. Letting Fraser have the phone was probably a mistake, though. He set to work dialing in the number with the old style turning dial even as Ray vanished out the door, then set the carriage in his lap, using both hands to support the receiver at his ear. ]
Good morning, Lieutenant. Why yes, the weather is quite lovely today. I thought so too. And how is your wife?
[ The conversation carried on just like that, with Fraser stalling significantly for time, before at some point Welsh asked him why he was actually calling, and Fraser knew he'd exasperated the man. Good; he was always so much more cooperative when all he wanted was to make Fraser get to the point. ]
Well you see, Sir; Ray and I were somewhat waylaid. Yes, Canadian business, Sir, it couldn't be avoided. Not precisely, no. No. [ Longer pause. ] No, nothing on fire. No, no loss of life. No Sir, not international security. [ Pause. ] Well yes, I do understand. Fifteen minutes? Understood. [ So much for cooperative. ] Yes Sir, I'll tell him. Thank you kindly, Lieu--
[ He'd hung up. Fraser stared at the phone for a moment, then shrugged and set it down. Oh well, it had been worth a try. Or not, as the case may be. It was always easier to apologize after the fact. Making use of the time Ray was in the other room, he got up to his feet and head over to the desk to write a note to Thatcher. The last thing he wanted was to be here when she found the door--he'd never live to see lunchtime. Then he fetched a basin of water - ice cold - and a washcloth, all still handcuffed, and rinsed himself down. He pulled on a new pair of breaches, laced up his discarded boots, and then sat on the edge of his desk to wait for Ray to come back. ]
The Lieutenant says if you aren't there in twelve minutes and thirty eight seconds, he intends to trade you in for a canine unit and a new espresso machine.
no subject
Good morning, Lieutenant. Why yes, the weather is quite lovely today. I thought so too. And how is your wife?
[ The conversation carried on just like that, with Fraser stalling significantly for time, before at some point Welsh asked him why he was actually calling, and Fraser knew he'd exasperated the man. Good; he was always so much more cooperative when all he wanted was to make Fraser get to the point. ]
Well you see, Sir; Ray and I were somewhat waylaid. Yes, Canadian business, Sir, it couldn't be avoided. Not precisely, no. No. [ Longer pause. ] No, nothing on fire. No, no loss of life. No Sir, not international security. [ Pause. ] Well yes, I do understand. Fifteen minutes? Understood. [ So much for cooperative. ] Yes Sir, I'll tell him. Thank you kindly, Lieu--
[ He'd hung up. Fraser stared at the phone for a moment, then shrugged and set it down. Oh well, it had been worth a try. Or not, as the case may be. It was always easier to apologize after the fact. Making use of the time Ray was in the other room, he got up to his feet and head over to the desk to write a note to Thatcher. The last thing he wanted was to be here when she found the door--he'd never live to see lunchtime. Then he fetched a basin of water - ice cold - and a washcloth, all still handcuffed, and rinsed himself down. He pulled on a new pair of breaches, laced up his discarded boots, and then sat on the edge of his desk to wait for Ray to come back. ]
The Lieutenant says if you aren't there in twelve minutes and thirty eight seconds, he intends to trade you in for a canine unit and a new espresso machine.