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Pizzas and Promises

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Prompt: Everyone in the cast is some type of food. Is there a chef? 

Rating/Warnings/etc: T for innuendo, some swearing and complete lack of plot


For reasons that really really didn't need exploring at that juncture, Ray was a pineapple. He whirled around in the middle of the bullpen and just stared. Bringing his hands? How were they somehow still hand shaped? Up to press against his eyes in disbelief, he immediately regretted that course of action and waved his hands around as his eyes burned. "Ow, ow, ow, fuck, ow!" 

Dewey snorted to his left. "Ray touched his eyes again." 

Ray glared as best he could through stinging eyes as Huey chortled.

"When are you going to learn, Vecchio, pineapple juice and eyeballs don't mix."

"Yeah, let's face it, not much does mix with pineapple." Dewey snickered, ducking his head when Ray growled at him. 

"Let's see how funny it is when I dissolve you!" He blinked at the two men and finally registered what he was seeing. "What the hell even are you?" 

"Uh, I'm a fish, like always, Vecchio, you should get your eyes tested," Dewey scoffed like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

Bewildered, Ray mouthed something rude as he turned to stare at Huey - currently a very passable tomato - who was looking at him like he'd grown a second head or, you know, spontaneously turned into a pineapple. "What the hell is going on?"

"Geez, Ray, there's no need to yell," Frannie scolded as she walked in. "Always with the yelling, what you not had enough candy in your coffee this morning?" 

Coffee, that seemed important. He could really use a coffee right now. Mouth opening and closing like the fish Dewey was, and boy could he smell that now, Ray pointed at her. "You, you're bread?!" 

"Duh," Frannie rolled her eyes at him and sat at her desk to file her nails? "What's with you today, Ray? You're acting more spicy than usual." 

Planting his hands on his hips, Ray scowled at the ceiling. "Acidic, Frannie," he corrected, absently wondering why in the hell he cared. 

"Acidic, spicy, what's the difference?"

"Well, for one, pineapples aren't spicy, they're a fruit, they're acidic, more pain, less pleasure," Huey pointed out with a wink. 

"You're telling me," Frannie retorted. 

"Great, this is just greatness," Ray interrupted irritably. "So, nobody wants to focus on the fact that somehow WE'RE ALL FOOD NOW?" 

"Detective, I assume it's you making all the noise out here. My office, now."

"Good, save us from him spewing his acid everywhere," Frannie muttered, making a rude gesture when Ray glared at her. 

Ray followed Welsh with relief. He sounded normal at least, looked reasonably normal too as he vanished back into his office, maybe he would have answers. 

He stopped cold once he'd shut the door behind him and blinked at the Lieutenant. 

"What, I got something on my face?" 

Ray couldn't close his mouth if he tried, and just shook his head with growing fear that he'd actually had that nervous breakdown he'd been heading towards after his divorce. "You're a…  a cup of coffee?" he grimaced at the squeak of his voice. 

Welsh sat back and fiddled with a pen as he gazed back at Ray shrewdly. "Your powers of observation astound me, Detective."

"Yeah, uh, me too."

"I heard you got The Chef in lockup."

"I do?" Ray asked, looking over his shoulder and running a hand over the tall stiff spikes on his head. That didn't even bear thinking about right now but he needed to find a mirror like yesterday. 

"DA is going to want this case sealed up tighter than a drum. He's bad news, been cooking up a storm in the Italian quarter."

"Uhuh," Ray just nodded because if he was having a breakdown induced hallucination, it was better to just go with it right? He was sure he'd read that somewhere.

"It's all riding on your report so get all those T's crossed and I's dotted before he lawyers up later today or we're all going to end up in the fire if you get my drift."

"Yeah, uh, fire bad," Ray stated simply, feeling more than a little dazed.

Welsh narrowed his eyes at him. Ray couldn't blame his doubt, he wouldn't trust himself with a ball point right now. "Maybe get the Mountie to help, hm?" 

Fraser! Yes. Fraser would find him eventually and pull him out of whatever this was. "Sure, I'll, uh, call him." Fraser would know what to do. 

"So rather than yelling the obvious at your fellow Detectives, I can safely presume you have work to do?"

Nodding haplessly again, Ray couldn't help but stare at the slight coffee stain on the white of Welsh's… body? He got the sudden overwhelming urge to poke him, see if he really was made out of polystyrene. 


The note of warning shook Ray out of his musings and he pointed to the door. "Right, report, The Chef, on it… Sir." He dashed out of the office and headed straight for the men's room. He had to know, had to see it with his own eyes. 

In the corridor two guys bumped into him, in a hurry, knocking him back a little. "Hey watch where you're going!" he called out, looking over his shoulder at the flash of green and white as they turned a corner, spotting broccoli, and was that a cauliflower? 

He frowned, that felt odd, out of place somehow. Like anything was in place right now? He thought to himself with annoyance as he ducked into the men's room and resisted the urge to scream at the prickly sight of himself in the mirror. 


When he stepped out again, he caught a flash of red and, uh, yellow - both sporting Mountie hats - stepping into the bullpen with what could only be described as a donut shaped wolf trotting between them. Peering through the door Ray spied the back of Fraser looking all stiff as Frannie sidled up to him, trailing a finger down his front in a suggestive manner that had Ray rolling his eyes. "Hey Frannie, step away from the Canadian, he doesn't want to be in your sandwich." 

"Ray!" Fraser chided, rubbing an eyebrow furiously like he'd been caught in the middle of something scandalous.

Ray grinned at Frannie's scowl but felt slightly guilty by Fraser's flushed face and mortified expression. He gave his partner a quick once over, and quickly squashed down the not unfamiliar urge to take a bite out of the guy. Huh, Canadian bacon, it made sense in the addled mess that was Ray's brain right now. 

Grabbing his Sam Brown, he tugged Fraser out of the bullpen leaving Frannie to the excited chatter of Turnbull who could only be some kind of cheese. Again, that wasn't the weirdest thing Ray had seen that day so he didn't give it a second thought. 

"Ray where are we going?" 



Ray just rolled his eyes at Fraser's unwavering trust in him. "Please tell me you see what's going on here?" 

"What's going on?" 

"Something hinky, Fraser. Something very hinky is going on."

"I see," Fraser replied carefully as Ray shoved him into the supply closet and shut the door behind them. "And is that the technical term, Ray?" 

"Technical term…" Ray turned on the light and glared at his partner. From the little smile on his face, Ray knew Fraser was messing with him and normally he was all over that but right now he had more pressing culinary matters to deal with. "Fraser, I'm a pineapple."

Fraser's smile widened. "And a fine-looking pineapple you are too, Ray. May I say your spikes are looking quite fetching today."

"Huh, fetching..." Ray shook his head and filed that for later. "What's with you? It doesn't bother you that I'm a pineapple?" 

"Should it?" 

"I'm a food, Fraser! You, you're bacon!" 

"Yes, cured if I'm not mistaken," he explained cheerfully. 

"That explains everyone drooling after you I guess," Ray muttered.


"This is not normal, Fraser. We are people not food! Hell, you had Frannie back there trying to get you to be the meat between her buns which Turnbull is hoping she can be persuaded to swap out for cheese. Huey is a tomato, Dewey is literally a fish, Welsh is some kind of bad coffee and I'm a fricken pineapple! Look at me!" 

"I am looking at you, Ray." Fraser drew back slightly with a small disapproving frown. "And I must say, I never pegged you for a judgmental individual."

"Hey, no, it's not, I'm not like that! I'm all about living your best self and being who you are. No judgment."

"Then what is wro--" 

"--We're supposed to be human people, Fraze! How are we food? How is this even possible?" 

"Are you sure you're alright, Ray? Did you hit your head when you arrested Mr Chef last night?" 

Ray squirmed as Fraser's concerned hands were suddenly on his spikes? Hair? Head? Examining, searching, running over the prickly edges of his skin making him shiver. He pulled away when Fraser touched the back of his head and winced, putting his finger into his mouth and sucking it. "Hey, hey cut it out!" Ray tried not to stare at Fraser sucking his finger and put his hand on the back of his head where he found it slightly damp. 

"You're injured." 

"All the more reason for you not to touch! You have any idea what pineapple juice can do to meat, huh?" 

Fraser pinned him with an intense look that had Ray squirming a little. "Why yes, Ray." 

That little smile was back and Ray found his throat was suddenly dry. Could pineapples get dehydrated? 

"As well as imparting great flavor, pineapple juice also helps to tenderize meat while it marinates. An enzyme in the fruit, called Bromelain, softens the meat by dividing proteins like collagen and also imparts a rich and tangy flavor." 

"Huh, I was thinking more along the lines of acid, ouch." 

"Oh, of course," Fraser ducked his head shyly, that flush returning to colour his cheeks. 

Ray was immediately distracted; however, he was a Detective he picked up signals and he was getting all kinds of mixed signals right now that he wanted to investigate more than being a pineapple. "But uh… tell me more about that um that enzyme thing."

Peeking up at him with hopeful eyes - and Canadian or not, bacon had no rights looking that lickable - Fraser smiled again and opened his mouth to speak only to be silenced by loud panicked shouting coming from outside the door. 


Ray placed a hand lightly on Fraser’s chest and brought a finger to his lips. Fraser simply nodded in understanding - at least their duet was as smooth as ever - while Ray listened against the door. The noises quietened and he shared a nod with Fraser before carefully and quietly opening it to peer outside. 

Drawing his gun from his holster, Ray stepped out and crouched down, he could hear worried shouting coming from in the bullpen. Could this day get any worse? He looked up as a bunch of officers - though Ray couldn’t quite tell who they were given that they were all some kind of fucking food, and was that a cake? - were corralled down the adjacent corridor by a cauliflower wielding a gun. 

Apparently, it could get worse. 

Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Ray blinked and glanced back at Fraser. “Follow my lead, do not, I repeat, do not do that thing you do.”

“What thing would that be, Ray?”

“You know, that thing where you jump up a big red target and try to talk nice to the bad guys.”

“Ray, really, I do not make myself a tar--”

“--Fraser that is exactly what you do. You are unarmed and you attract attention. Now shut up and follow my lead or I’ll lock you in the closet, got it?”

“Understood,” Fraser stated simply in a tone that told Ray he definitely got it. 

“Don’t get moody.”

“I’m not,” Fraser replied in a tone that implied the opposite to Ray. “Shall we perhaps focus on apprehending the malfeasants?” 

“Malfeasants…” Ray repeated incredulously. Apparently turning into literal meat hadn’t dulled Fraser’s vocabulary any. 

Creeping forwards, gun held in front, they made their way towards the bullpen. He stopped when he felt Fraser’s hand on his back before he heard barking. The next moment a Dief donut bounded around the corner and almost barrelled into them. He felt the grip on his holster strap before he was hauled backwards and into Interview room one just in time. Ray found himself squashed between the wall and Fraser who smelled surprisingly… sweet. He stilled when two vegetables ran past the open door, not even thinking to look inside while focusing on catching a wayward donut wolf. 

Of course, the bad guys were vegetables, out of all the things that did not make sense that day, that made the most sense. He inhaled deeply and bit his lip at having Fraser pressed against him. Nice as it was, they had more pressing matters to deal with. 

“You alright, Ray?” Fraser whispered, sounding a little hoarse himself.

“Yeah just… sweet…uh you, I mean, you smell sweet.” He resisted the temptation to lick. Licking the Mountie, as tasty as he likely was right now was bad. Very bad. Down, Ray, no! 

“Maple syrup, Ray.”

Ray canted his head at Fraser, how did he make that sound like the most normal casual thing in the world? “Huh, figures.” He swallowed when their eyes locked and gestured weakly for the door. “Uh we should probably--”

“--Right you are.” 

Fraser stepped back, much to Ray’s disappointment and lightly brushed himself down where Ray had accidentally got uh pineapple juice on him. “Sorry about that,” Ray muttered, not sure why he was embarrassed. 

“It’s quite alright, Ray. It happens.”

What? What the hell did that mean? Ray just stared at Fraser. “Does it?” 

“Does what?” 

Okay, fine, Fraser was playing innocent, Ray could roll with that. He couldn’t handle standard Mountie crazy on top of the whacked out crazy he was already not handling. “Forget about it. Will Dief be okay?”

“I’m certain he’ll be fine. For being rather rotund, he can still outrun most individuals.” 

“Oh yeah, a turnip on legs got nothing on the donut,” Ray commented, glancing out the door. “Come on, coast is clear.”

He led the way to the bullpen and spied in through the side door window. He saw Welsh, Huey, Dewey and Frannie handcuffed and sat on the floor with two goons holding weapons at them. 

Thatcher chose that unfortunate moment to walk through the main entrance of the bullpen calling out for Fraser because of course she did. “Constable Fraser, you forgo--what! What is the meaning of this! Get your hands off me!”

“Shit, ow, ow, she’s hot, put her with the others!” the carrot yelled, shaking his free hand with a grimace.  

“I’m not touching her,” the turnip man protested. 

“Oh, for god’s sake!” Thatcher rolled her eyes and walked over to where the others sat and folded her arms, levelling an impatient glare at the two gun… men… vegetables… whatever. 

Ray snickered and ducked down, straightening his face when he was met with a concerned Canadian frown. “Thatcher’s a chili,” he explained pointlessly. 

“Yes, Ray.” 

Of course, that was normal, why wouldn’t it be? Ray rolled his eyes, “We got two vegetables, in there, plus those two we saw chasing Dief and at least another two who took everybody else.”

Fraser nodded, “The others must have been taken to the cells, it’s the most secure place. We need to find out what they want.” 

“One of them mentioned that mob guy we got last night, The Chef. But he’s locked up in the cells, we need to make mashed potato out of them right now before the others get back.”

“But they’re not pota--”

“--Can it, Fraser. On three.” 

Fraser grabbed Ray’s arm and steered him away from the bullpen. “We need to make sure The Chef is secure. If we remove their motivation, they’ll be easier to apprehend. We should split up; I go to the cells and you--” 

“Kick them in the head?”

Fraser tilted his head at Ray. “Has that ever actually worked?”

Ray shrugged. “You know, that one time. Shut up, Fraser, and no we’re not splitting up. There’s only two of ‘em, we can take them. You with me?”

“But Ray I really think that--”

“--Do you trust me or not, Fraser?” Ray glared at his partner who looked momentarily torn before he nodded. 

“I trust you.”

“Okay, good. On three.”

Ray wasn’t even going to ask how they’d managed it but apparently bacon and pineapple did work well together. He'd have to remember to tell Sandor that the next time he questioned his pizza choices. 

None of it made a lick of sense though and no Inuit story Fraser could tell him would make it make sense. But those guns had looked real enough so Ray was relieved they hadn’t gotten a shot off. 

Once they’d gotten the carrot and turnip cuffed, Ray went to help Fraser uncuff everybody else. Except Thatcher who seemed to think this was normal for an American police station for some reason and was being spicy about the inconvenience. “Look, cut the spice okay, we just saved your ass,” Ray barked out irritably.

“Detective!” Thatcher’s eyes went wide and Ray whipped around. The bullpen entrance swung open and in walked the heavily armed cauliflower and broccoli guy he’d run into earlier. He saw Fraser to his left look at him with bright eyes and Ray thumbed his nose. He’d spotted the donut sprinkles too.

“Hey that’s the coffee machine guy!” Frannie exclaimed, pointing at the broccoli man. 

Ray snapped his gaze to Francesca. Coffee, there was something about the coffee he had needed to tell somebody.

“Detective Vecchio,” the large white cauliflower uttered with a wide smile. “The Chef has been hoping to get you alone. You’re going to come with us.” 

Turning suddenly, Ray grabbed Fraser’s face in both hands and planted a firm dry kiss to his lips, pulling back with a smile. “I don’t just want you for your bacon, you know that right?” he winked at Fraser's stunned expression. 

“I’m glad to hear that, Ray.” 

"What the hell?" Broccoli uttered. 

“I’m going to jump bogart all over your head!” Ray declared cockily and held his arms out, making sure their eyes stayed on him and not on the wolf donut creeping closer from the side. Using the distraction, Ray launched forward, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Come on! You want to take me, let’s dance.”  

Cauliflower and broccoli’s attention zeroed in on Ray giving Dief and the others the opportunity to leap into action. Ray jerked back as broccoli guy got a lucky shot off and he was hit hard by something. It felt hot and wet and he looked down at the red smear covering his chest.


Fraser’s urgent yell caught his attention and he turned, reaching out for his partner, gasping at the heat spreading through his entire body, then fell to the ground. He barely noticed the flurry of movement, the loud barking of Dief nor the surprised screams of the two goons over the pain and the sight of Fraser’s worried face peering over him, so close. “Hot,” he gasped and writhed uncomfortably in Fraser’s arms, his entire body felt like it was on fire. 

“Hold still, Ray, you’re going to be alright.”

“Fraze… M’sorry, I have to know...don’t let me die without knowing!” he reached a hand up and tugged his partner down by the neck.

“Knowing what, Ray?”

Ray leaned up and smiled weakly when Fraser got the hint, closed the distance and pressed his mouth tenderly to Ray’s. Falling back, he grinned and closed his eyes. “Yep, pineapple does taste good with Canadian bacon.” 



“I can die happy now,” Ray mumbled, feeling strangely light and floaty. 

“Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray?” 

“God, what, Fraser! Can’t a guy die in peace?” Ray cracked open an eye when Fraser cleared his throat. 

“Um, I don’t think you’re dying, Ray.”

“I’m not? But I was shot and you kissed me...” he frowned.

“You’re lying on the floor of the 27th precinct having suffered an apparent reaction to something you’ve ingested and you um… you kissed me.” 

Both eyes snapped open wide and Ray stared up into Fraser’s flushed face. “Fraser?”


“You’re not bacon?” 

“Not that I’m aware, no.” Fraser frowned and pulled back, helping Ray to sit up. 

Looking down at himself, Ray palmed his own body. “I’m not a pineapple!” he crowed.

“No, Ray, it looks like you were drugged. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Planting one on the Mountie,” Dewey snorted from a safe distance away. 

Ray looked around sharply at that, finding everyone standing around him, with Fraser kneeling beside him. He touched his mouth and stared wide-eyed at his partner who only blushed harder if that were possible. Fraser ran a finger along his collar while clearing his throat and Ray wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment. “Coffee!” he blurted out suddenly. 

Fraser blinked at him in confusion. “Coffee?” 

“It’s the coffee!” Ray scrambled to his feet and dashed out of the bullpen, stumbling, catching himself on a desk and nearly face-planting the floor as he struggled to find his feet. No way was he stopping to think about how real that kiss felt and how that made his stomach feel squirmy and him a little bit sick, but that was probably the drugs, and how if Fraser blushed any harder the guy was going to pass out. Not today, thank you kindly. Put that in a box marked: nope. 

All of that was only registering as a three, possibly a four on his whacko-meter after what he’d been through, anyway, so he could think about it later when he was sober, a lot later. He ran, staggered and skidded to a halt in the break room, finding two installation guys putting the final touches to the new coffee machine Frannie had finally gotten Welsh to sign off on. 

“Back for more, Detective, how’d you like it?” The first guy grinned at him. 

Ray drew his gun and pointed it at them. “Down on the ground! Right now, you turnips before I turn you into soup!” He heard the others burst through the doors. 


“Arrest these farthammers, they’re working with The Chef.” 

“Who?” Fraser rubbed an eyebrow in confusion, looking like he wasn’t entirely certain Ray should be brandishing a loaded weapon.

“He’s crazy! Get him away from us!”

“Shut up! Trying to think!” Ray yelled back, pressing a palm to his temple that now throbbed painfully. “Fuck, that guy.... Uh… whatsisname? The one we arrested last night.” 

“Mr Cuoco?” 

“Yeah, that guy. They’re with him and they uh, drugged the coffee machine so they can break him out. Hey, hey!” Ray gestured wildly at a couple of uniformed officers. “Put that down, don’t drink that! Lieu, you need to get that machine tested, get a sample to the lab!” 

“How do you know all this, Detective?” Welsh asked as he lifted one of the goons off the floor once he was safely cuffed. 

“I had a cup. They let me try it before they finished installing. They seemed off, like I’d seen ‘em before. Last night when we arrested their boss. But it was late, I was tired and I just wanted coffee. I went to finish my report and I felt weird. I was going to check it out and the next thing I know I’m a fucking pineapple!”

Welsh’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “A pineapple?” 

“I believe, Ray experienced what you would refer to as a ‘trip’ from whatever substance these miscreants laced the coffee machine with.” Fraser helpfully provided, continuing his explanation at Ray’s insistent nodding. “His subconscious must have supplemented his drugged reality in an attempt to warn him about what was happening or what he instinctively suspected was about to take place. Which is where we found him, unconscious on the floor. It’s fortunate he realised in time to prevent the rest of the station from falling foul to its effects.”

“Yeah, what he said, they were going to cook our goose,” Ray jutted his chin in Fraser’s direction, receiving one of those small smiles that made him feel like he was king of the fucking world. 

Except, everybody else was still looking at him funny; he looked down at himself to make sure he really wasn’t still a pineapple. Because that would suck. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he felt a wave of dizziness sweep over him, making him lose his balance. He blinked to orient himself and found Fraser warm and solid by his side, holding him up, a hand curled around his arm firmly. “I still feel funky,” he mumbled, licking his lips, getting the sudden urge to lick something, or rather someone. He snorted a laugh and peered up at Fraser, that little flushed patch of skin just below Fraser’s ear would do nicely. 

“He’s no doubt experiencing the AHAAH the come down from his high, Lieutenant.”

Ray snickered when Fraser squeaked, he tasted good on his tongue. “Tasty. Fraser Benton, buddy, lemme lick that Canadian bacon.” 

“Oh dear,” Fraser muttered as he gently pried Ray’s hand from the collar of his uniform.

“Uhuh, you better take him home, Constable,” Welsh uttered dryly, dragging one of the buttplates out of the break room with him as he left. “The rest of you, pick up that trash and I’m sure you can find work to do,” he bellowed. 

Huey and Dewey cleared their throats, picked up the second guy and gave Fraser sympathetic smirks before leaving him to handle a now very loose-limbed Ray. Ray laughed, who were they kidding? They were just jealous, everybody lusted after Fraser. Ray was simply the guy lucky enough to call him partner.  

"You sure you don't need any help, Fraze? Ray probably needs to rest. We could take him home and you could come over for dinner?" Frannie asked hopefully, throwing an impatient glance at Ray. 

"I'll be fine, Francesca, thank you kindly." 

"Yeah, Frannie, thank you very kindly." Ray smirked at her and knew he probably shouldn't feel or look as smug as he did at her departing wistful gaze, especially not in the middle of the 2-7, but he did anyway.

“Fraser!” Ray flung his arm around Fraser’s neck and drew himself closer with a wide grin. "Ben-ton?"

“Yes, Ray?”

Fraser proceeded to steer Ray out of the precinct with a strong arm around his waist. Ray was grateful for the lack of follow up questions, he didn’t think he was up to answering questions right now and Fraser felt so warm against him, it was distracting. He leaned into Fraser’s support bodily and draped his arm over Fraser’s shoulders, causing Fraser to stumble slightly under his weight. 

“You are good, this is good. This is greatness, because we taste good together you and I.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhm, the best, a duet. I want pizza, can we get pizza?”

“Of course, Ray.”

“No pineapple!” he declared firmly. “That would be like… I dunno… cannibalism or something.”


Ray snorted a laugh when Fraser’s voice went high at the end. “You think I’m crazy, but you won’t believe the things I’ve seen Benton buddy, calamari.”

“You might be surprised, Ray. The Inuit believe that vision quests can be aided by certain--”


“Yes, Ray?”

“Shut up?” 

“As you wish.” 

“I wish I may, I wish I might. Can I ask you to stay the night? Can you do that? You know, in case the vegetables find me?” Ray found himself being manhandled into the seat of the Goat and tried to look seriously up at Fraser who was definitely smiling at him now. 

“The vegetables, Ray?” 

"They're nef… nefa--something, Fraser!" he whispered. "Can't trust em."


"Yes! So you'll protect me? You got my back, partner?" 

"Always, Ray." 

Ray didn’t care if Fraser was just humouring him now, he was a good buddy, the best. “Greatness.” He smiled, then frowned when his stomach suddenly decided it was time to do somersaults again. “Ugh, Fraser, don’t let me hurl in the Goat. Promise me?”

“I promise, Ray.” 

“Good. You’re a good bacon buuu--” And Ray said nothing else as he promptly passed out and dreamed of a pineapple pizza trying to eat him. At one time he might have called it a nightmare but weirder things had happened.