amedia

Story title: Dead Men Tell Some Tales [link to AO3]
Author: Amedia
Fandoms: due South, Rat Patrol
Rating: PG
Characters: Sam Troy, Jack Moffitt, Hans Dietrich, Bob Fraser, Benton Fraser, Ray Kowalski, Diefenbaker
Ship: Fraser/RayK, Moffitt/Dietrich
Summary: While investigating the murder of a retired undercover cop, Fraser and RayK enjoy more ghostly cooperation--and interference--than usual.

Warning: Some of the characters are dead when the story begins, but that doesn't stop them from solving a crime. To say nothing of matchmaking.
Word Count: 1696

Author's note: Prompt fill for

ride_4ever, who requested a "Fusion prompt: due South characters in Rat Patrol AU. (Slash preferred.)" I spent a long time figuring out how to get these characters together, and this wound up being more of a Rat Patrol characters in due South kind of story--but there is definitely slash! Many thanks to Lorelei for cheerleading.

It was cold. He was lying on a hard surface. There were voices speaking nearby.The last thing he remembered was getting shot, and the world going dark.

The voices were familiar. "Shouldn't he be up by now, Hans?"

"I'm sure he's fine, Jack. We'll see him soon."

"I suppose it was fairly traumatic."

There was a chuckle. "As opposed to being trapped in a collapsing tunnel?"

He could hear the smile in the other's voice when he answered. "But you were there with me, Hans. That made all the difference. Troy here ... he was alone."

There was a silence, and then a quietly spoken, "You're right." Then Troy felt a hand on his shoulder, friendly, comforting—but not warm in the least.

Troy opened his eyes. Moffitt. Dietrich. It was Dietrich who had put a hand on his shoulder. He smiled, glad to see them. After all, his prickliest comrade and his deadliest enemy had eventually become his best friends.

And they died in an archaeology accident forty years ago, Troy reminded himself. "Am I dead?" he asked.

"'Fraid so, old chap," said Moffitt.

"How are you two still here?"

Dietrich chuckled. "Waiting for you, of course. We're not sure why, except that ... we had the sense there was something we needed to do for you."

Troy sat up and swung his legs over the side of the metal table, leaving his body lying on it. "Yeah, catch the bastard who put me here," he said.

"Who was it, Troy?" asked Moffitt, his voice intense. Troy remembered that tone of voice from the war, and suddenly had a moment of pity for his murderer.

"Beckmann's son, Josef. He never believed that his father was a war criminal. If we'd just shot the man in combat, it would have been one thing, but destroying his reputation, bringing shame to his family—his son couldn't forgive that."

"We'll make sure he pays for it, Troy," said Dietrich. "We'll find a way."

Troy looked from one to the other with a grin. "I can't get over seeing you two. I went to your funeral in Cairo, you know."

"We saw you there," said Moffitt. "Along with Hitch and Tully." His voice caught for a moment.

Dietrich put a hand on Moffitt's arm and continued, "We were honored."

Troy felt as if he were being drawn away. He was reluctant to leave Moffitt and Dietrich, but he had a sudden confidence he'd be seeing them again. "I'll see you on the other side," he said, reaching out his hands to grasp theirs momentarily.

They squeezed back, but Troy could tell their grips were meant to reassure, not to hold him back. He let himself float.

******

Moffitt and Dietrich watched Troy fade peacefully and disappear. "Just like him to leave the hard part to us," grumbled Moffitt, an affectionate tone in his voice.

"The practical question is, how do we ensure that his murderer is caught?"

"Why don't you try lending my son a hand?" Moffitt and Dietrich whirled around to see a white-haired man in a Mountie uniform standing behind them. The man put his hand out. "Bob Fraser. Glad to make your acquaintance."

"Er, I'm Jack Moffitt and this is Hans Dietrich," said Moffitt. "Friends of the deceased."

"So I gathered," said Bob. "Let's cut to the chase, fellas. Who killed him? Wait—don't tell me." He paced back and forth for a moment, deep in thought, then spoke. "Troy recently retired from undercover work, infiltrating the Chicago Mob. You shoulda seen all the three-piece-suited dons at his funeral! Most of them never caught on."

He pointed his finger at the body on the slab. "I think one of them did find out, and had him erased in revenge. These guys don't like to be fooled, you know. If we can figure out who the hitman was, we can finger the boss."

"I hate to disillusion you, Mr. Fraser," said Dietrich politely, "but we had a chance to speak with Troy before he moved on. He was killed by a man named Josef Beckmann because of something that happened in the war."

Bob rubbed his hands together. "Valuable intel, boys! Extremely valuable. Let's go pass it on to Chicago's finest—and my son."

Moffitt and Dietrich looked at each other, puzzled by Bob's choice of words. Bob chuckled. "My son is a Mountie too," he explained. "Canada's finest. His partner is a Chicago cop. Great kid. A good match for Benton. They should ... nah, never mind."

Moffitt and Dietrich fell into step behind Bob as he led through the walls of the morgue out onto the street. "How do you suggest we convey this information to, er, Benton?" Moffitt asked.

"My son is Constable Fraser, if you please," said Bob firmly. "I'll just tell him."

"You are capable of communicating with your son?" Dietrich asked.

"You'd be amazed what I'm capable of," said Bob loftily. "Except for playing matchmaker. No good at that."

Moffitt looked at Dietrich. Dietrich looked at Moffitt. They both shrugged.

******

Benton Fraser and Ray Kowalski were having lunch outdoors at a small cafe near police headquarters. "So whaddaya think, Fraser?" asked Ray. "The Mob had him erased?"

"Something doesn't quite add up, Ray," said Fraser, frowning. "The details we talked about earlier... this wasn't carried out by a professional hitman. It was more personal."

Ray looked thoughtful, then nodded. "You got something there," he agreed. "But that opens up a whole new can of worms. We're gonna have to dig into his personal life, do a lot more legwork."

"No rest for the virtuous, Ray," said Fraser.

"Don't worry, boys, I got this," said Bob.

"You can't grab the check, Dad, they don't take ghost money."

"That's not what I meant, son," said Bob Fraser, just as Kowalski said, "Your dad's here, huh."

"Yes," said Benton Fraser. "What did you mean, Dad?"

Kowalski watched in fascination as his partner carried on a one-sided conversation consisting mostly of "uh-huh" and "I see." Finally, Fraser turned back to Kowalski.

"Dad got some information about the murder down at the morgue," he said. "He says he brought a couple of witnesses to meet me, but I couldn't see or hear them."

"Witnesses to the murder?"

"Unfortunately not. Witnesses to a post-death testimony by the murder victim. In the ghost world, that's considered as valid as a dying confession." He sighed. "My father was, however, able to act as a go-between and convey their words to me. Sam Troy was murdered by Josef Beckmann, the son of a German war criminal who believed that Troy had falsely accused his father."

"Oh, well, that's easy," said Kowalski sarcastically. "All we have to do is find him and prove it." He looked toward the direction in which Fraser had been speaking. "Your dad gonna help?"

Fraser shook his head. "He's gone now."

Moffitt looked at the tabletop. "It's a shame they can't hear us, but let's see if we can do something else." He lifted the salt shaker a few inches off the table.

"Hey!" said Kowalski.

"Whoever lifted the salt," said Fraser, "are you Sam Troy's deceased friends? Shake once for yes and twice for no. If you would, please."

Moffitt shook the salt once, and they managed to hold a conversation, with Dietrich adding information now and then by means of the pepper shaker. The two of them accompanied Fraser and Kowalski to Bergmann's apartment, glided in through the doors and came back out to assure the detectives by rattling Kowalski's keys that yes, there was evidence inside.

"We can't barge in there on the say-so of a couple of ghosts," Kowalski groused, leaning against the door frame.

"I have an idea, Jack," said Dietrich. The two of them ducked back into the apartment.

A moment later, Fraser and Kowalski heard banging and rattling and crashing sounds from inside the apartment, followed by shouting. "Who's there? What's going on? Stop! Help! POLICE!"

"Why, Ray," said Fraser, smiling. "I do believe they're playing our song."

******

Fraser and Ray were enjoying a quiet celebratory drink at Fraser's apartment.

"Shouldn't we be celebrating too?" asked Dietrich. "With Troy?"

"I don't think our mission is completely finished, said Moffitt. He was watching the two detectives with a slight frown, his arms folded. "Why aren't they both on the couch?"

"Because that dog ... wolf ... creature is taking up most of it?" asked Dietrich.

Moffitt grinned, reaching out to pet Diefenbaker. "That could be it. I just think ... remember what Bob Fraser said?"

Dietrich studied Fraser and Kowalski for a moment. "Yes. I too have been watching their interactions, Jack. I believe the correct expression is 'idiots in love.' Each one is afraid to be the first to speak."

Moffitt looked up from petting Dief to smile at Dietrich. "We never had that problem," he said affectionately. Dief immediately nosed around to try to get Moffitt to resume petting him. "Hey," said Moffitt. "The dog knows we're here."

"Maybe he can help us," said Dietrich. "Here, boy," he said. Dief didn't move.

"I don't think he can hear you," said Moffitt, puzzled. He petted the dog's head and Dief turned toward him. "Can you fetch Ray and bring him over here?"

This time Diefenbaker responded, thumping his tail enthusiastically. "I think the dog agrees with us, Hans," said Moffitt.

"Hey, hey, hey!" said Ray as Diefenbaker seized the edge of his sleeve and urged him out of his chair and over to the couch, depositing him nearly in Fraser's lap. "Dumb dog! You made me spill my beer!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ray," said Fraser, reaching over with a napkin to mop up the liquid on Ray's shirt. The movement brought his and Kowalski's faces within an inch of each other. They both hesitated for a moment, staring into each other's eyes, and then suddenly they were both kissing, beer and napkins forgotten. Dietrich reached over and rescued Ray's glass, setting it on a nearby table.

"Oh," Dietrich said suddenly. "Jack ... I think ..."

Moffitt reached for Dietrich's hand. "On to the next adventure," he said with a smile, and kissed him as they faded away.