Written for the ds_flashfic Apocalypse challenge.
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"He's been like that all morning," Welsh said. Fraser was sitting in Ray's chair, boots propped up on the desk. And he was--whittling?
"And you say he doesn't seem interested in maintaining the right or getting his man?" Ray pressed.
"His precise words, when confronted with the notion that there were dangerous criminals to be caught, were: 'I really couldn't give a damn.'"
Ray sank slowly into a chair. "I guess that explains the rain of fish on the way in," he said; and Ray Vecchio put his head in his hands and waited for the world to end.
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