Title: Alternate Thinking
Author: Sasscat Bu-to-y
Rating: [ADULT] [SLASH] R
Codes: Fraser/f, Thatcher/f, Fraser/Kowalski, Alternate Universes
Parts 6-8

Teaser: Meg finds herself in situations she could never have predicted...

Disclaimer: Alliance owns all.

Alternate Thinking
          (c) Sasscat Bu-to-y 1999-2000

Meg stirred slowly, wondering why it was so damn chilly. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow - *that* was better. Nice, warm pillow. Faintly musky. Smelled like--

"Ah, I see you're awake."

--Fraser.

She rolled back over, blearily blinking her eyes. What was Fraser doing in her bedroom? Attractive as he did look in that t-shirt, astonishingly white but for the suspenders that marred its brightness. "Um... good morning, C-- Fraser," she hazarded. She shouldn't use his rank. Because...?

Because it wasn't her bedroom. His bedroom, in God only knew what kind of new universe where he may or may not be a constable. She was tempted to hide her head in his pillow again as it all came back to her.

Fraser was leaning on a pair of crutches; he adjusted his grip on them and looked back at her. "This may seem rather an odd question, ma'am, but do I know you? That is," he added, blushing slightly, "in the uh, platonic sense, of course - although the biblical sense might not be an entirely irrelevant question, considering..." He trailed off, blinked once, then collected himself. "Well, I seem to be at a loss as to how you arrived in my..." he gestured vaguely at the bed, then settled for, "apartment."

Meg stared at him for several seconds. She hadn't even considered-- How could he not know her? She was his-- He was-- Well, she wasn't entirely sure *how* their relationship should be defined, but part of that definition was certainly 'important'. "Fraser, you know who I am," she insisted, hoping somehow that she could make it so by strength of will alone.

He shook his head faintly. "I'm terribly sorry, ma'am, but I'm afraid I don't."

"Of course you do, Fraser; I'm--" Oh, what was the point? Meg rolled her head back and let a look of confusion pass over her face. "I-- I don't remember who I am."

He opened his mouth, then stopped as they both heard the sound of a door closing. "Fraser!" someone yelled. "Could I have a hand here?"

Fraser actually gulped. "Ah, I, ah, you'd better get out of the bed," he stammered.

Meg almost complied before remembering. "I seem to have misplaced my skirt," she mumbled.

"Fraser, are you there?" A woman appeared in the doorway, then froze as she saw Meg. "Fraser, who is this?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Fraser said weakly. "Ah, Leanne--"

"You're not sure," she repeated. "There's a strange woman in your bed and you're not sure who she *is*? Well," she glared at Meg, "perhaps *you* could enlighten us."

"Actually," Meg ventured, "I've, uh, I seem to have lost my memory."

The woman - Leanne - stared at Meg for several seconds. It wasn't a friendly look. "So you took her to bed and made her forget her own name," she told Fraser. He started to object and she cut him off sharply. "I don't want to hear it, *Constable*. I'm sure you can provide me with an absolutely fascinating explanation involving salty mud and dead otters and having to hide in the closet of a stripper, but right now I've got fifty million boxes of the case notes *you* asked for that I have to find room for in this hovel you call an apartment. I don't mean to sound like a bitch," she added sarcastically, turning to stalk back into the other room.

"Oh dear," Fraser murmured under his breath.

"Fraser," Meg hissed before he could follow Leanne out, "I need a skirt."

He looked at her blankly, then shook his head slightly. She was about to ask what was wrong, but he went to the wardrobe - she caught a glimpse of a smooth white cast encasing his leg - and pulled out a plain navy skirt. Why did he-- Of course. *Leanne*. Meg made a face behind his back.

"This should be, ah, suitable," Fraser said vaguely. "I'd better..." He gestured vaguely at the doorway, and the violent sounds of boxes being dropped in the other room.

"I suppose you'd better," Meg said, and watched him swing out on the crutches. Oh god. Of all the universes-- Fraser didn't know her. It reminded her of the time he'd lost his memory, only then at least there'd been... well, he'd been 'her' Fraser, in whatever small way.

Meg put on the skirt and was about to go out into the other room when she heard Fraser's voice. "You know, Leanne, I'm sure there's a very good explanation--"

"There's always an explanation, Fraser. I'm sure it will even have something to it that vaguely resembles some kind of logic. Just once, *just once*, I'd like to find you in a compromising situation and have it actually *be* compromising."

A slight pause, and Meg could picture the exact look of bewilderment on Fraser's face. He'd blink once, then ask--

"You want me to be unfaithful?"

"Of course I don't want you to be unfaithful, Fraser! I want--" She sighed. "I want *normal*."

"I-- I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

"I know you don't, Fraser." There was silence, and Meg shifted uneasily. Should she go out, or--? "See if you can figure out who that woman is," Leanne said suddenly. "I'm going for a walk."

"I-- When should I expect you back?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I'm coming back."

Meg heard a door open and close, and tentatively emerged from Fraser's bedroom. She started to speak, then stopped. She couldn't say anything. Fraser was staring at the door, the most heartbroken look she'd ever seen on his face.

The moment he noticed her, a bland mask drew over his features. "Ah," he said; "Ms-- well. I suppose we should, ah... try to identify you."

"The police station might have my prints," Meg said absently, trying to work out how long she'd slept. The next shift couldn't be that far away. She wondered if she ought to make any plans.

"So you think you have a police record?" Fraser said neutrally.

Meg looked at him and started paying attention to the conversation. "Well, I wake up in a strange man's bed; what am I supposed to think?" she said.

"Hm," Fraser said thoughtfully. Oh dear, she knew that tone of voice. He was concocting a Theory. "Tell me, how do you know my name?"

"Your name?" Meg blinked. That was rather a flaw in her story, wasn't it. "I... I don't know. Are you sure we didn't know each other...?"

"Quite sure," Fraser nodded. "I-- I'm sorry, I'm being remiss," he said suddenly. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Ah... Just water, thanks." She stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. "That... that woman who was here, Leanne."

"Leanne Brighton," Fraser said softly, crutch held under his arm as he poured her a glass of water. "She's my superior officer."

Really. "I thought the RCMP had rules about relationships between its officers," Meg said casually.

Fraser frowned into the glass of water. "There are... guidelines," he admitted. But apparently he was willing to go against them for this Leanne woman. Meg definitely hated her. "Oh-- here," Fraser said, holding out the glass. "I'm afraid I can't..." He attempted a sort of gesture at the crutches with one elbow.

Meg hurried over and took the water. "Thank you. I suppose this seems very strange..."

"Oh no, not at all," Fraser demurred, making his way to a chair. "Miss - you said you thought the RCMP had rules." He put his crutches on the floor beside the chair. "How did you know--?"

"I saw your tunic in the wardrobe," Meg said quickly. Dammit, she had to watch what she said. She took several swallows of water, avoiding his eyes.

"Ah," Fraser said, nodding. "Well, I, ah... You're not wearing any... identifying jewellery?"

"No," Meg shook her head. "No wallet, nothing." Even her car keys were in the pocket of her skirt, back in the other universe. She really did have nothing. Hell, Fraser didn't even know who she *was*. She was... alone. She drained the glass of water and tried to pretend it was something stronger.

And then Fraser was gone, in the space of a blink. Meg bit back a startled oath and put the empty glass on the bench. Whisked away, just when she was finding her feet-- all right, she wasn't finding her feet, but she *hated* being pulled around like this.

She fiercely blinked back several tears, then wondered why she was bothering and let herself cry. It wasn't fair... Why was this happening to her? In fact, she'd settle for just knowing why it was *happening*. She'd seen a lot of strange things since becoming Fraser's superior officer, but this one certainly took the cake. She hadn't been home in two days... had been whisked from one dilemma to another... had actually considered *sleeping* with that American cop who kept stealing Fraser away from the Consulate!

Meg felt the tears dry away and took a couple of deep breaths. She went to wash her face and give herself a good talking to in the mirror. "Get a hold of yourself, Margaret," she said firmly. "There's undoubtedly a reason why this is happening - this is real life, not science fiction; people don't just wake up and find everything has changed. You just have to take care of yourself and trust that whoever is manipulating this knows what they're doing."

She would just have to endure.

--

After discreetly searching a couple of drawers Meg found an old diary - 'her' old diary, which she decided would prove extremely useful. She dropped it on the kitchen bench and helped herself to some cereal. After all, this did seem to be her apartment, and who knew when she'd get the chance for an uninterrupted meal again?

She skimmed through the diary as she ate. Sergeant Margaret Thatcher, RCMP, newly transferred to Chicago. Of course - Meg checked the dates on the diary - 'newly' was a couple of years ago.

Her superior officer was-- Hm. Meg frowned in distaste. Inspector Lee Ann - so that was how it was spelt - Brighton. No mention of Fraser, unfortunately. Perhaps he was still in the Northwest Territories.

She finished her breakfast and put the plate in the dishwasher, then went back into the bedroom to see if she could find a current diary. She'd always been a sporadic journal-keeper, but it was worth a try... Nothing was in obvious sight.

Well, she might as well take this opportunity to have a shower. A long, luxurious, spent-too-long-without-one shower. Meg started towards the bathroom, then stopped.

Suppose she switched universes part way through? If being stranded skirtless was bad, appearing in someone's shower dressed in nothing but droplets of hot water would be worse a hundredfold.

But then, she'd only been here a few minutes. Surely she wouldn't shift that fast. She hadn't in any of the other universes. Meg nodded decisively and continued towards the bathroom.

While she showered, she made plans. She had nothing better to do, so she might as well go into the Consulate and learn a little more about this place. It might be 'safer' to stay in the apartment, in terms of embarassing herself, but it would also be remarkably uninteresting.

Meg switched the water off, and towelled herself dry with something large, yellow and furry. Not for the first time, she was glad she'd cut her hair - no more wet masses hanging soppily down her back. Let's see, if she was going to go into the Consulate - and a sergeant... Sure enough, there were several uniforms in the wardrobe. She found some clean underwear and quickly dressed, raising an eyebrow at the short skirt. Well, in a city like Chicago it would probably be quite useful. There were times when it paid to be a woman.

--

Turnbull was on guard duty when she arrived at the Consulate. Was it her imagination or did he look slightly suprised to see her? Hmm... perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea. But she really did have nothing better to do. And it wouldn't be a total loss, anyway; the walk had been refreshing.

Meg entered the Consulate, bracing herself for... something. She wasn't sure what to expect. She certainly didn't expect what happened.

Lee Ann looked up from a pile of paperwork, saw Meg, and threw her hands dramatically into the air. "I knew it. One week - just one week in Bermuda, and you couldn't last. Really, Meg, is it that hard for you to take a holiday?"

Bermuda. Of course her counterpart was in Bermuda, they all had some strange fascination with the place. Meg was tempted to clear out the bank balance of one of them and go there herself, just to see what it was about the place that attracted her in so many universes.

"Well," Lee Ann continued, smiling sheepishly, "I must admit, I... missed you too. Look, I'm about due a coffee break; you can tell me all about however much of your holiday you actually had. Please tell me you got as far as the hotel?"

"I-- yes," Meg said vaguely, trying to find her feet in the one-sided conversation. She and Lee Ann were friends. That would take some getting used to.

"Well, *that's* good, at least," Lee Ann said, closing a folder and getting up to join Meg. "Hey," she added sincerely, "I'm sorry I sent you away. But you can't deny you needed the break."

"No, I-- I suppose I did," Meg said, forcing a smile. She followed Lee Ann down the hall into a small kitchen and watched the other woman start to make a pot of coffee.

"I don't believe you couldn't last one *week* in Bermuda," Lee Ann muttered, switching on the coffee-maker. "You're the only person I know who is physically incapable of taking a holiday." She fiddled with the settings.

"There were too many Americans," Meg said with a smile, trying to act naturally.

Lee Ann snorted. "Yes, I suppose you would say that. Never mind," she added, leaning over to give Meg a quick kiss on the lips, "I love you anyway."

Meg stood in shock for an instant, barely noticing as Lee Ann turned her attention back to the coffee-maker. Kissing various Frasers was one thing. Even kissing Kowalski was... acceptable. But this... she had to draw the line at this. Not that she was narrow-minded, because she wasn't. But there was no way in hell that she was going along with *this* particular charade.

Let's see, she'd woken fairly late in the morning... had a nice long shower, then breakfast... a good hour's walk to the Consulate. It must be about lunch time by now. "Forget the coffee," she said, carefully not leaning towards the other woman. "Why don't we get something to eat in town?"

"In public?" Lee Ann made a moue of disappointment. "Oh, but then I have to *behave*..."

"I'm sure the practice will be good for you," Meg smiled. So, Lee Ann would 'behave' in public. That was good. Hopefully the next shift wouldn't be too far away.

"Oh, you're so cruel," Lee Ann laughed. "Have it your way. I'll drive."

--

They reached the cafe without further incident, although Meg couldn't help feeling a little uneasy. She let Lee Ann order for her, and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"So, did you do much while I was away?" she asked, deciding that if she controlled the conversation she could keep it on safe ground.

"Oh, you know," Lee Ann waved a casual hand; "liasing. What about you; did you even change out of your uniform?"

"Yes," Meg said matter-of-factly, refusing to be baited. It occurred to her that a lot of Fraser's... strangeness? charm? naivete? sprang from a similar obtuseness. She wondered if it was deliberate. "I, ah... Would you excuse me for a moment?" she added, nodding in the general vicinity of the Ladies'.

"Of course," Lee Ann nodded, and Meg made her escape.

It didn't take her long to perform her ablutions, so she lingered as she washed her hands, at the same time feeling a little ashamed of herself for her avoidance of Lee Ann. But Meg had never asked for this; just because she'd been... somewhat less reluctant to kiss Fraser or Kowalski didn't mean she wasn't open-minded. She had an open mind. Just not so open that anything was in danger of falling out.

Lee Ann was gone when she emerged, and the cafe's colour scheme had a slightly bluer tinge to it. Meg let out a breath of guilty relief, but couldn't help wondering what Lee Ann would think when she never came back from the toilets... Well, she couldn't do anything about it now. She left the cafe and flagged down a cab.

"Where to, Riding Hood?" the driver asked, eying her outfit appreciatively as she got in.

"Canadian Consulate," she said crisply. If he called her 'doll', she was going to hurt him badly.

"No problem." He pulled into the stream of traffic with practised ease, narrowly missing two other cabs and some sort of blue Chrysler. Meg hated American drivers. "So, you work at the Consulate, huh?" he said conversationally.

She was wearing a Mountie uniform; what did he think? "Oddly, yes."

"You know the Constable?"

She frowned at the reflection of his eyes in the rearview mirror. "Which one? We have a number of Constables on staff."

"You know. *The* Constable. What's his name, uh... Frasier, or sommat."

"Fraser," she said, feeling a warm glow in her gut. So he was around in this universe. She smiled. "Yes, I know him. I'm his superior officer," she added, because for someone reason people always seemed to misconstrue her relationship with Fraser unless she clarified.

The eyes in the mirror widened slightly. "You're his boss?" He whistled. "Ooh, man, remind me not to get on your bad side. It's--"

The light turned red and he braked suddenly as the traffic ground to a halt. Meg's seatbelt dug into her as she lurched forward, and she cursed under her breath. She *really* hated American drivers.

"Sorry, ma'am," the cabbie said, a little nervously.

"It's okay," Meg said in surprise. She glanced at the window, then looked closer at a flash of red. It was Fraser, and it looked to be Kowalski beside him, although she couldn't be sure from this distance. They were sitting on a park bench, looking at-- Meg's eyes narrowed. Apparently looking at a roller-blader with an exceptionally short skirt. That wasn't like Fraser.

Their attention hadn't gone unnoticed by the roller-blader. She kept twisting her head back at them, a little nervously Meg thought. Well, she might be unnerved by a strange Mountie staring at her, too.

Inevitably, the distracted roller-blader tripped on something and fell. Fraser immediately got up, his partner following close behing, and strolled over to offer his hand. The girl took it tentatively, and Fraser helped her up, snapping a pair of handcuffs onto her wrist in a fluid motion. What the hell--?

"He just arrested a *roller-blader*," Meg said incredulously.

"What's that?" the driver said as the cab lurched forward again.

"Nothing," she said absently, twisting her head to watch Fraser as long as possible. What on earth did he think he was doing?

--

Meg paid the cab driver with Consulate funds, puzzling over what she'd seen. What kind of universe was this where part of Fraser's job description was arresting roller-bladers? There was probably a reason, she rationalised; something in the way the girl had moved to indicate that she was part of some weird cult Fraser was investigating, or... something. She tapped her pen on the edge of the desk and frowned.

Some time later - she wasn't sure how long - she heard the sounds of doors opening and laughter.

"--ou see the look on her face? That was incredible! I swear to God, Ben, we must have arrested every roller-blader in the state of Illinois." That was Kowalski's voice. Ben?

"Oh, I doubt it," Fraser said seriously. They were outside Meg's doorway now, Kowalski grinning like a maniac and Fraser looking... satisfied. "It was, however, a productive lunch hour."

"I know what would make it more productive," Kowalski grinned, and Meg could only stare as the two men shared a heated kiss. Fraser and Kowalski. Together. She knew the thought should phase her, but after all she'd been through in the last two days she couldn't quite muster up enough disbelief.

After a moment she cleared her throat. "Constable--"

They whirled to face her, Kowalski wide-eyed in startlement and Fraser's face bland. "I was under the impression you were in Bermuda," Fraser said - omitting his customary 'sir', she noted, and not even stuttering at being caught in inappropriate behaviour.

"I came back," she said, eyes flicking between them curiously. This universe was... interesting, to say the least. "I understand you've had a... 'productive lunch hour'?"

"That's right," Fraser said. "We apprehended several individuals who were creating a menace to the public."

Kowalski smirked at the floor, and Meg frowned at him. "You, uh, kinda had to be there," he said sheepishly.

"A menace to the public," Meg repeated dangerously, looking back at Fraser. "Constable, they were *roller-bladers*."

"They weren't paying attention to their course. Pedestrians could have been injured."

They weren't paying attention because Fraser had been *staring* at them. And yet he sounded completely, frighteningly sincere. "Don't you think you might have gone a little overboard?" Meg said sharply. Kowalski drew in a quick breath, and she glanced at him in confusion.

"Ray," Fraser said evenly, "would you please give me a moment with the Inspector?"

"I, ah," Kowalski looked distinctly nervous. "Ben, don't you think--"

Fraser looked at him, saying nothing. Kowalski swallowed and obediently turned to go, giving Meg a sympathetic look as he closed the door.

Oh dear. Kowalski nervous for her, Fraser acting not at *all* deferentially... Meg had a bad feeling about this universe. She forced herself to hold still, looking at Fraser expectantly.

He let out a slight breath, walking to the window. He shifted the curtain with one finger, then let it fall back into place. "When I was younger," he said slowly, "much younger, I... made a mistake." He was silent and for a moment Meg thought that was all he was going to say.

"Her name was Victoria," he continued, as smoothly as if he'd never left off. "Aiding and abetting armed robbery. She drove the getaway car."

The name tugged at Meg's mind, and she remembered something in Fraser's files. Victoria... Metcalf? It had to be the same woman.

"I tracked her above the sixty-second parallel into a place called Fortitude Pass," Fraser said, voice empty of any emotion. Meg got the feeling it was a careful mask. "A storm had been blowing for days; the whole world was white. By the time I found her I had lost everything - my packs, my supplies, my-- everything. She was huddled in the lee side of a mountain crag. She was almost frozen, very near death."

He leaned on the windowsill, face hidden from her. "I staked a lean-to with my rifle and draped my coat across it, drew her inside so I could see her face through the blinding snow and I just held her... while the storm closed around us like a blanket, until all I could hear was the sound of her heartbeat, weakening." His voice wove the images like a tapestry. "It got weaker, and weaker... It was as though I had known her forever across a thousand life times... I sat in the lean-to, just holding her... and I watched her, as she froze to death." He traced something in the air in front of him, lost in the memory. "Her lips... were the most beautiful shade of blue..."

Meg stared at him in disbelief. "You-- You just let her die?" Fraser, of all people. She would have thought... wouldn't have thought he could be so *callous*.

"I was much younger," Fraser said again. "Since then I've-- I've attempted moderation. I... gather you don't think I succeeded today."

"On the contrary, I think that was *extremely* moderate in comparison," Meg said, struggling to wrap her mind around the concept of *Fraser*, letting someone *die*.

"Oh," Fraser said in relief. "Well, then, I'll-- Thank you, Inspector, I won't trouble you any further." He turned and left the room before Meg could collect herself enough to object.

"Damn," she muttered. That hadn't been what she'd meant. This may not have been her universe, but there was something very... disturbing about Fraser, and she felt obligated to fix it.

Just then Kowalski slipped in the door. "Are you okay?" he asked in a low voice. "I mean, he didn't-- y'nno. Look, I know how he can get but he doesn't mean it, he thinks he's doing the right thing. Okay, so making roller-bladers fall over isn't exactly pillar of society stuff, but Ben doesn't really fit into the normal rules."

Meg blinked, looked at him levelly for several moments, then said, "What are you talking about, Detective?"

Kowalski exhaled slowly. "So he didn't-- try anything kinky?"

"He told me a story." Meg folded her arms. "One almost as good as the one you're about to give me."

"Uh..." He swayed from side to side uncertainly, before deciding, "Hell, why not. You'll need to know sooner or later, especially if you keep with this whole controntation thing - what is with that, anyway? You *never* talk back to Ben."

"I *am* his superior officer," Meg pointed out, frowning.

"Yeah, but he's the Terror of Tinytown. Never mind, I'm telling you why he thinks he's Robocop. Thing is," Kowalski walked towards her and perched himself on the edge of her desk, "when he was a kid he was, like, clubbed to death by these seal hunters or something. He tried to infiltrate their gang, but he, uh, didn't do so good. So now he's got this whole 'crack down on criminals' thing going on - you know, get them before they get him. I think he figures that if he'd arrested the perps right away, he wouldn'ta got hurt, so now he sees every jaywalker as some sorta psychotic seal poacher he's gotta bring in."

"He arrests *roller-bladers* in his free time," Meg said levelly, in case this had somehow slipped Kowalski's attention.

"Well, yeah, but... Point is, it's not his *fault*. Okay, he enjoys it a little too much sometimes..." Kowalski swallowed and shook his head. "Jesus, that time I was framed..."

"Tell me about it," Meg said curiously. If Fraser was so bad, why was Kowalski still his partner? --In whatever sense of the word.

Kowalski hesitated. "I, uh... Look, it's-- not that important..."

"Please," said Meg gently. "I'd like to know. As-- as a friend."

He snorted without rancour. "I ain't got no friends, you know that. Too straight for Lakeview, too queer for Chicago PD."

"You have one now," Meg told him. She saw his head snap up to look at her; held his eyes until he believed her.

"It was a couple of months back, now," he said slowly, settling back on the desk. "You were off at your spa thing. I was having a meet with this guy, y'nno, only it turns out to be a setup. I get whacked on the head, I fall down, I wake up later to find this uniform blasting away at me and Volpe dead. So I take off. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, which is probably why I came here." Kowalski looked down at his hands, twisting them in his lap.

"I told Ben what happened," he continued softly. "Next thing I know, he's got the handcuffs on me, he's rattling off these fifty pages of rights - I swear, it must take half an hour to arrest a guy in Canada. He said he believed me about Volpe, but I still resisted arrest, and he had this... *look*, in his eye..." He rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling. "It was this... absolute betrayal. Like the Queen turned around and declared Canada a communist state or something. I thought he was gonna put a bullet in my brain.

"He decided it was okay, though, 'cause I was in shock and I didn't know what I was doing... But he still - I dunno, like once he'd thought of me that way he couldn't just switch it off." He stopped abrubtly and shrugged.

/So he didn't... try anything kinky?/

Meg looked at Kowalski, and wondered. "Ray," she said slowly, "did he... hurt you?" It was almost physically painful to ask the question; painful to watch Kowalski sit in front of her and not deny it; painful to think that maybe, if things had been a little different in her universe...

"He just..." Ray started, a little catch in his voice. He swallowed hard, eyes glistening suspiciously. "Just-- held onto me, a little tight - you know how strong he is. We-- we slept together, in his office," he explained, not looking at her. "He wouldn't take the handcuffs off. He--" He shook his head miserably. "He just held onto me, that's all. Just a little tight."

"How tight?" Meg asked softly, dreading the answer.

Kowalski continued to stare at the floor. "Real tight," he admitted. One hand rubbed jerkily at the other wrist.

Meg was staring at him, not quite able to believe what he was saying. No... she believed it; she couldn't bring herself to accept it. This... this sadist was not her Fraser. She shook her head incredulously. "Oh my god..."

Kowalski looked at her quickly, resting his hands on his legs. "Hey, it wasn't that bad. I mean, it's not like I was telling him to stop, or anything-- I mean, not much..."

"Listen to yourself," Meg exclaimed. "How can you defend him? You're a cop, Ray," she found the name coming easily to her lips, "you must have come across a million cases like this." She leaned forward earnestly. "You know what you have to do."

"He needs me," Kowalski insisted. "He's so hard on himself. He needs someone to take care of him."

"And who takes care of *you*?"

He looked away. "I can handle myself. As long as I don't break the law--"

"And how long is that going to be?" Meg asked softly. "All you have to do is step off the footpath in the wrong place. Sooner or later you're going to make a mistake--"

"You're asking me to make it sooner," he snapped, standing up. "Dammit, I-- I love him, I can't--" He shook his head helplessly. "I can't give him up. I already lost Stella, I don't wanna lose Ben too."

Meg stood too, and put her hand on his shoulder. "How can you love someone you're so afraid of?"

Kowalski didn't answer. He looked away, and after a moment said, "I gave up everything for him. My friends, my life, my-- almost my job. The only reason I still have my badge is 'cause Chicago doesn't want to piss off Ben. He's all I've got anymore."

"Apply for a transfer," Meg suggested. "Start over. You owe it to yourself to get *out* of this."

He kept staring at the wall for a few more moments, then looked back at her. "That's your advice?" he said uncertainly.

She nodded.

"As a... friend."

She nodded again, then drew a quick breath as something occurred to her. "Detective... Ray. I'm not staying. And when I come back from Bermuda for good, I-- I'm not going to remember any of this. I can't explain right now--"

"'Sokay," Kowalski interrupted, shrugging her hand off his shoulder. "Lots of people don't remember being my friend." He gave a small mocking smile.

"It's not like that," Meg insisted. "I really won't remember."

Kowalski cocked his head, assessing her sincerity. "What, you mean like some kinda neural head thing?"

"Something like that," she agreed in relief. "It's rather complex, and, uh... a little embarrassing. I'd appreciate your discretion...?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem," he said automatically. "I-- What you said, though; I dunno. I gotta think about it."

"Think hard," Meg said urgently. "You owe yourself that much."

The door opened before Kowalski could reply, and Fraser walked in with a sheaf of papers. "Inspector, I--" He saw Ray, and frowned. "Ray, I thought you were going back to the station."

Kowalski opened his mouth and closed it again, looking panicked. "I, uh, I was just, uh, talking to the Ice Queen..."

"Apparently so," Fraser said blandly.

"We were just going over some of the details of your arrests today," Meg said smoothly.

"I see," Fraser said steadily. "In any case, these are for you." He handed Meg the papers, apparently without taking his eyes off Kowalski's nervous face. Was it her imagination, or did Ray look a little surprised at his own reaction? Perhaps that alone would convince him to apply for a transfer.

"I trust they're satisfactory," Fraser added.

Meg glanced at the reports. "What? Oh. I'm sure they will be." She turned around and dropped them on her desk, taking the opportunity to steel herself. This Fraser was... well, disturbing. She could only imagine what it must have been like for Kowalski. For his sake, she forced herself to remain confident. "We shouldn't keep the detective. I'm sure he has important work of his own to do back at the station."

"Of course," Fraser conceded, looking ever-so-slightly disappointed. "I'll see you tonight, Ray."

"See you," Kowalski said automatically. His eyes found Meg's, and he nodded briefly, miserably, before heading out the door. He'd get the transfer. She was surprised to discover how relieved she was on his behalf.

--
End part eight

Continue with Alternate Thinking