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Title: Alternate Thinking
Author: Sasscat
Bu-to-y
Rating: [SLASH] PG-13
Codes: Fraser/Thatcher, Kowalski/Thatcher, Alternate Universes
Parts 9-12
Teaser: Meg finds herself in situations she could never have predicted...
Disclaimer: Alliance owns all.
Alternate Thinking
(c) Sasscat Bu-to-y 1999-2000
With nothing better to do, Meg started reading through the reports this universe's Fraser had given her. It helped to distract her a little, because she couldn't stop thinking about everything she'd seen here and what Ray had told her. Arresting roller-bladers was one thing. Strange, possibly a little mentally unhinged, but basically harmless (whether or not the roller-bladers agreed). On the other hand, what Fraser had done to Kowalski was tantamount to-- She didn't want to think about it. She bit her lip and studied the paperwork.
How could one person be such a pillar of society in one universe, if you kept him out of his closet and didn't hit on him too hard, and in another universe such a... sadist? madman? obsessive-compulsive psychotic? She couldn't believe that just one incident in his childhood had caused all this, however many self-recriminations he'd felt about failing to infiltrate some seal-hunting gang. Maybe they'd clubbed him over the head just a little too hard.
Maybe she could talk to him. She should at least clear up the misunderstanding from before, or he'd continue with his mass-arrests of roller-bladers thinking it wasn't in the least over the top or strange or *remarkably* disturbing.
She rose, taking the reports for confidence, and went down the hall to his office. It was... not an office. She frowned at the shelves of Consulate supplies, then turned and made her way back along the hall, checking doors as she went.
Jackpot. "Fraser," she started, then stared at his left hand, which was waving gently back and forth through a candle flame. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm sorry," he said, almost the same chillingly casual tone in which he'd described the Metcalf woman's death, "I didn't hear you knock."
"I--" Meg swallowed. "--Must not have knocked loud enough." She frowned at herself mentally. Letting Fraser intimidate her was not the reason she'd come in here. "What are you *doing*, Constable?"
"My one zero nine eight nine B report," he said in mild surprise, as if there was nothing else he *could* be doing. Nothing like... oh, sticking his hand in fire. But there was something about his level gaze that was incredibly unnerving.
"The candle," she prompted, calling on every minute of officer training she'd ever had to keep her voice firm.
He glanced at it briefly. "Oh. Yes, it helps to focus my mind."
Of course. It was perfectly logical. Meg nodded, smiling in frustration. "Burning yourself... helps to focus your mind?"
"Yes," Fraser nodded. "Fire *is* man's most useful tool. Although my uncle Tiberius--"
"Right," Meg said slowly, still nodding. "I was hoping I'd misheard you in some way." At least, she supposed, he wasn't in the closet talking to the air. "Fraser, do you think this is the behaviour of a person with... shall we say, rock-solid mental foundations?"
Fraser looked at her sharply, his hand stilling with the center of his palm in the flame. "Is there a problem, Inspector?"
Was he actually worried about what she thought of him, or just tiring of the conversation? Meg felt herself wilting under his gaze, and managed, "No, I-- Never mind." She retreated into the hall, closing the door behind her. Damn, damn, damn. That had not gone how it was supposed to. She leaned against the door and hung her head. So much for saving Chicago from the ravages of its over-enthusiastic protector. She couldn't even hold his eyes.
--
It wasn't difficult to avoid Fraser for the rest of the afternoon. He was diligently working away in his office, and she was... well, not in his office, that was for sure. She was hiding, and she hated herself for it.
She was only going to be here for a short number of hours; a number growing even shorter as time passed. It wasn't as if he could do anything to her. He couldn't make her life a living hell; couldn't do to her what he'd done to Kowalski. For Ray's sake... for the sake of Chicago's roller-bladers... hell, even for the sake of the dead Victoria Metcalf; she *had* to talk to him.
Even if he scared the hell out of her.
Meg made her legs get up and walk down the hall, leaving her door open. She was about to knock when she heard a sound near the Consulate entrance. When she turned around, all she could see was her office door opening.
Her office-- opening--
(Sneak a preview of "Gambling Freely" for a look at Ben and Ray's past, or take a break with the lighthearted "Greeting His Match".)
"Turnbull, I thought--" Kowalski stared at her. "Meg! --Constable," he corrected himself sharply. "I, uh... Weren't you...?"
What was Kowalski doing in-- whoever's office that was in this universe? It *couldn't* be his... it couldn't. He wasn't Canadian, for a start. "Too many Americans," she bluffed - if it wasn't Bermuda, she didn't know *what* it could be.
Kowalski grinned, then seemed to catch himself. "Well, maybe you can call your partner and let him know he can stop calling *me* to see if you're back yet?"
"Of course," Meg said, took a breath, and ventured, "sir." He looked at her a little curiously, but it seemed to be about the hesitation rather than the deference itself.
"Right," he said, looked at her a moment longer, then went back into the office.
Meg breathed a sigh of relief, and cautiously opened the door she was in front of. It looked like an office. It was organised, so it couldn't be Turnbull's. She went in, closing the door behind her, and shuffled through some papers until she found something with her name on. Okay, office identified. She sat behind the desk and tried to figure out what to do next.
The phone rang. She hesitated briefly before picking it up. "Canadian Consulate, Constable Meg Thatcher speaking."
"I thought I told you to call your partner," Kowalski snapped. "Here, maybe you can put his mind at ease that you're still alive and liaisable." Before Meg could answer, there was a keytone and a new voice.
"Meg, I wasn't expecting you back so soon. I suppose the weather in Bermuda isn't quite what you're used to."
Meg flinched at the cool, confident voice. The tinge of an American accent did nothing to dispel the tension from the last universe. She took a breath and tried to remember *her* Fraser; the one who wouldn't hurt a fly, the one who gave her advice on presents, the one that she really needed to see right now.
"Meg?"
"I'm here," she said quickly. "Hi."
"Hi," he mimicked. "How was - thank you, Francesca - how was Bermuda?"
"You know," she said vaguely, "sun, sand; the usual. What about Chicago?" She crossed her fingers, hoping for some information about this world and how Fraser could be American and still be Fraser.
"Darlene Carmichael from Accounting had her baby," he began, and proceeded to reel off a list of names and events that meant absolutely nothing to Meg, in speech patterns that were just different enough from usual to throw her off-balance.
"Right," she said when he was done. "Give them my congratulations," she added, to pretend she'd parsed all of it.
"I already took that liberty. Ah, can I offer you a ride home tonight?"
She glanced at her watch; five-thirty. She'd be in this universe for a few more hours, at least; long enough to need somewhere to have dinner, and some way of getting there. "Certainly," she said, reminding herself that however disturbed or disturbing the last Fraser had been, she was in a new universe now.
"I'll be there at six," Fraser said. There was a slight pause, and he added in an odd tone, "Actually, Meg, there's more I should tell you. It might be best for it to wait until I can speak with you in person."
"All right," Meg said, slightly confused. As usual, she was in over her head. It was remarkable that she'd made it through this many universes, successfully impersonating herself. "I'll see you at six, then," she said, and hung up the phone.
Out of curiousity she pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a pen. How many universes had she been dragged through? Well, the first one had been when Kowalski had invited her to a bar and Fraser had tied her to a desk. That seemed to pretty much set the pattern for the rest of them; either Fraser or Ray (or both) interested in her in some way. The only exceptions had been the one with Lee Ann Brighton, and - she swallowed and screwed up the piece of paper - the last universe, where Fraser clearly had better things to do...
So what about this universe? Fraser was *American*. She still had no idea how that could work. Maybe if one of his ancestors had emigrated - but no, all of them would have had to, and that seemed unlikely. And for the same to happen to Ray Kowalski, nation-flipped...
It was beyond improbable. It just didn't *work*. Meg started ripping small squares from her screwed-up ball of paper, settling back in her chair to wait for six o'clock.
--
At six o'clock Fraser was leaning against a car in front of the Consulate, dressed casually in jeans, a blue checked shirt and a brown leather jacket. A German Shephard lay by his feet, tongue lolling. Fraser cocked his head to one side, as his gaze slid over her legs. "That's a lovely skirt."
Meg slowed her pace uneasily. Maybe this Fraser didn't go around arresting roller-bladers, maybe he didn't work with one hand in a candle flame, but she was suddenly acutely aware that she didn't want to be alone in a car with him, whether or not she needed a ride.
He pushed himself off the car he'd been leaning against and opened the door with a slight bow. The dog jumped in and spread out over the back seat as if it owned it. Diefenbaker. "Your transport awaits," Fraser proclaimed.
"So it does," Meg said, stopping about a metre from him. She took a breath, looking at the car uncertainly.
"I know you don't like American drivers, Meg, but I think I can put your mind at rest," Fraser said gravely. "I took remedial vehicle safety classes while you were in Bermuda." He sounded just serious enough that she guessed it was a joke.
"That's great," she said, in a tone that she hoped could be interpreted as either earnest or similarly joking. But she made no move to get into the car. She'd spent too long trusting her instincts to deliberately put herself into what they were screaming was a dangerous situation.
Fraser looked at her sharply, one hand resting on the top of the open car door. "Is there a problem, Meg?"
She flinched despite herself, the words and tone stirring memories of Fraser-the-Sadist. "No, I-- Bermuda... sharks..." She gestured helplessly, without a clue what she was saying. "I think I'll just walk home..."
"It's twenty blocks," Fraser objected as she started backing away. He took two long steps and caught her arm, pulling her to him.
Meg froze, every muscle in her body tensing at the touch. He let go, eyes searching her face. "What's wrong?"
"I--" Meg shook her head. "I can't explain right now. I just... No offence, Fraser, but I would rather not be alone with you right now."
He stared into her eyes, lips moving slightly the way they did when he was formulating a Theory. "You know," he said slowly, with a hint of what would have been a smirk on anyone else, "my father used to say a little sexual tension was good for a relationship. Of course I doubt he realised I was listening at the time."
Meg paused. "*Working* relationship," she said, prodding him to clarify. Anything else would be another complication she could do without right now.
"Oh, I'm sure it could work," Fraser said innocently.
The bland tone was too, too reminiscent of a man who burned himself to help focus his mind. Meg looked away; saw Kowalski coming down the Consulate driveway, grey trenchcoat flapping loosely at his brisk stride.
Fraser followed her gaze. "Speaking of sexual tension," he murmured wryly.
What was that supposed to mean? Meg shook the thought away irritably, trying to figure out how to avoid going home with Fraser. Kowalski was at the gate now, nodding at her in greeting. "Constable."
"Sir," she returned, watching the way he eyed Fraser. Alpha males. How delightful.
"Inspector," Fraser said politely.
"Detective," Kowalski drawled, glancing at Meg once more before starting off.
"Sir," Meg called after him, without thinking. She hesitated only briefly when he turned back to her. "Could you-- That is, could I trouble you for a ride home?"
Out of the corner of her eye she could see Fraser staring at her - dangerously, she assumed, but when she glanced at him it was clearly shock. The hurt, bewildered look on his face was almost enough to make her forget Victoria Metcalf's death; almost enough to make her forget the tears in Ray's eyes as he'd admitted what Fraser had done to him. Almost enough. She let out a ragged breath and fixed her gaze on Kowalski.
"Sure," Kowalski said slowly, looking between the two of them. "Come with me."
Meg joined him in relief, carefully not looking back. Who would have thought that one day she'd wind up trusting Kowalski more than Fraser? Just for a while, she told herself. Until she could forget.
"I guess Detective Fraser told you about the trial," Kowalski said quietly.
Meg looked at him, visions of minefields inserting themselves into her mind. "No," she said cautiously.
"Ah." Kowalski grimaced. "Well. Uh... Guilty on all counts. The jury were out for less than an hour. I, uh... I don't think Vecchio's gonna be your partner again in this lifetime."
Vecchio? Meg stared at him in suprise, her step faltering briefly, then quickly looked at the pavement ahead of her. Unless she was completely misinterpreting, Ray Vecchio had just been sent to prison. And Fraser had been his replacement...?
"How d'you feel?" Kowalski asked softly.
"To be honest, I-- I don't really know," Meg said, and it was true enough. She didn't know anything about the situation. What had Vecchio been on trial for? Was she for him, or against him? And, too, she couldn't help feeling a little guilty at her deception. Ray Kowalski seemed to genuinely care for her, and she... she wasn't who he thought she was.
"Here's the car," he said, stopping abrubtly. It occurred to her that the Consulate ought to have its own carpark, but she tossed that thought aside even as Kowalski unlocked the vehicle.
He held the door open while she got in. "Thank you," she said automatically; it was a matter of common courtesy. But Kowalski shrugged self-deprecatingly.
"Aah," he said awkwardly. "Y'nno." He closed the door and walked quickly around to the other side of the car.
Meg smiled quietly to herself. 'Inspector' Kowalski could be as RCMP as he liked; in this universe, at least, he was still an American at heart. His downtown dialect was comfortingly like home. And at the moment she was sorely in need of comfort.
--
"Meg," Kowalski started hesitantly, after they'd been driving for some time.
Meg looked at him immediately, feeling her stomach tense. He couldn't have found her out - she'd been doing so well... "Yes, sir?"
Kowalski grimaced slightly. "Meg--"
"Sir?" She was nervous; she couldn't help herself.
"Quit that," he snapped. "Nnh. Look, I-- Well, I guess I consider myself your friend..."
Meg looked at him thoughtfully for several seconds. "You are my friend," she realised. The past few universes, at least. She only hoped it would last.
Kowalski glanced at her, a shy smile forming on his face, then quickly looked back at the road. "Uh, yeah. So, I... I was wondering if everything was okay between you and Detective Fraser."
Yes, well. Meg looked down, adjusting the belt on her red serge tunic. "It's... a little complicated, sir."
"Right." Kowalski nodded resignedly. He kept nodding for a couple of seconds, then said abrubtly, "Did something... happen in Bermuda?"
Meg suspected she knew what he meant by 'something happening'. She glanced at him without quite meeting his eyes, then looked back down again. She didn't want to lie to him. But she'd been through hell recently. "I've, ah... had a rough couple of days, yes," she admitted miserably.
For a moment the only sound was Kowalski drawing in a breath, then he said, "I'm sorry."
Meg had no answer to that. A lie of omission was, nevertheless, something Ray didn't deserve. He was helping her out, and the best she could do was make him think she'd been raped? In a few hours she'd disappear on him, and not even remember the entire incident when 'she' came back from Bermuda. She couldn't just leave this hanging.
"I..." She shook her head slightly. "I'm going back to Bermuda, tomorrow morning. Facing one's fears and all that," she added at his sharp look. "I'll be all right, Inspector," she assured him. "But if you don't mind, I think I'd like to pretend this..." she waved her hand around, indicating the situation, "my coming back early... didn't happen."
Kowalski frowned. "Meg, I know--"
"I know," she interrupted, "I shouldn't bottle this up. I'm not. I just need to work through it, in my own way, in my own time."
"I guess you know what you need," he agreed reluctantly. "But if there's anything I can do..."
"Ah..." She squinted at the windscreen, tired of pretending to be other people. Even if they were all her, they... well, weren't. "I'd appreciate it if you could speak to Fraser for me. Just... tell him to put this behind us."
Kowalski was nodding. "Yeah. Y'I can do that. I, uh-- shit." He pulled hard on the steering wheel, and Meg struggled to retain her balance as the car performed a sharp U-turn. "Missed the turn," he muttered sheepishly. "Talk to Fraser. Don't worry, I'll handle it."
"Thank you," Meg said gratefully. She was slightly surprised to discover how real they could feel, the emotions she was pretending. She looked at Kowalski as the car slowed and the world slowed too, precognition tingling in her veins. "I trust you," she whispered.
Kowalski made no response. He parked the car flawlessly on a corner and stared ahead for a long moment. Finally he looked at her, blue-grey eyes flickering over hers. She wasn't sure which of them was leaning towards the other; whether the world outside the car was making any noise at all; whether her eyes were even open when their lips met.
She could taste his breaths, his mouth soft on hers. It was different to kissing him before. That had been about sex. This was about friendship, and trust, and loneliness, and God help her, maybe even about genuinely caring for him. Twice, now, he'd saved her from Fraser. She wanted him to save her some more.
"Meg," he whispered. He pulled back. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. You're not ready..."
Meg dropped her head to stare bleakly at the gearstick. /Next time, for God's sake pick a different story./ "It's all right," she said hollowly. "I-- I'll see you when I get back from Bermuda."
"Right," he said, and she could feel him watching her as she got out of the car and walked into the by now familiar apartment building.
--
Meg let herself into the apartment, grateful that the latest key she'd picked up still worked. God, this had been one hell of a day. The fridge was mostly empty (of course; she was supposed to be in Bermuda), so she poured herself a tall glass of water and gulped it down dangerously quickly.
One hell of a day. Although she'd noticed that it was a lot easier when Ray - Kowalski - was around. For the most part, he was essentially the same Ray as in her own universe. And as for the other parts... Well, she was seeing new sides to him. He was a lot more sensitive than she'd ever given him credit for. And it was consistent enough that she doubted it was just the vagaries of chance and alternate universes.
--*Not* that it mattered, because she was in love with Fraser, and when she got back she'd... if not do something about it, at least take him out for a coffee. Only thinking about Fraser gave Meg an uneasy feeling, as she recalled that, consistently speaking, the Frasers she'd been meeting had been... somewhat rougher than one would expect.
"That doesn't mean anything," she said aloud. To hell with consistency. Change the subject. She glanced at the time and tried to guess how much longer she'd have in this universe. Say about three hours a trip... Still an hour and a half, then. She ought to time it, find out if there was a pattern.
Meg looked at the empty glass in her hand, narrowing her eyes slightly. She opened a drawer at random and found a fork, then went to find the television. She put the glass on top of the television, carefully balanced the fork on its rim, and turned on the television for want of anything better to do. She couldn't even order some food, because she had no checkbook. It was a good thing she'd had a large breakfast.
She looked for the most comfortable chair and pulled it in front of the television. Airing was a bad sitcom she didn't recognise, so she switched to one of America's abundant news channels and sat back in her chair to see if she could learn anything about this universe the *easy* way.
--
Not long later the phone rang. Meg stood up automatically, then hesitated. One, she didn't know where the phone was. Two, she wasn't entirely sure if she should answer it, considering that she was 'supposed' to be in Bermuda. But she'd already seen both Fraser and Ray, so it was probably one of them calling, and if she didn't pick up they'd rush over with half the city's ambulances in tow. Ray would, anyway; she wasn't sure about Fraser anymore.
With that thought in mind she honed in on the sound, locating the phone just as the answerphone kicked in. /You've reached five-five-five--/ Meg picked the receiver up before it could continue. "Meg Thatcher."
"Meg, you're all right."
She took a breath and let it out again, pushing down the conflict of emotions Fraser's voice raised in her. Dammit, this was not the previous universe. He wasn't going to do unsavoury things under the pretext of justice. Even if he was supposedly an American in this world. "Yes. I-- I apologise for my earlier behaviour. It was unprofessional and I--"
"Yes, it was," he said bluntly. "Meg, are you going to apologise, or are you going to explain? Frankly, I'd rather prefer the latter."
She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the wall. "Ray hasn't spoken to you yet, then."
"You mean Inspector Kowalski."
She winced at her slip, and shook her head. She was sick of lying. But explaining was out of the question. All she wanted was to curl up in her own bed and sleep for several months, uninterrupted.
Fraser misinterpreted her silence. "Ah. Perhaps you do mean 'Ray', then."
Meg sighed. "Fraser-- You don't understand."
"No, Meg, I don't. Of course I realise the current situation with Vecchio is difficult for you, but--"
"That's not it," she interrupted. "Fraser, I can't-- I can't talk about this right now. Kowalski can explain; I... have to go."
"Meg--"
She hung up and counted the seconds until the phone started to ring again. This time she let the whole answerphone message play before she unplugged the phone, sat back down in front of the television, and stared deep into the empty air.
--
She must have dozed off, because she woke up some time later to discover the television hissing softly - what was this, the only channel in the USA that didn't run twenty-four hours a day? - and the sky just beginning to lighten outside the apartment window. Damn, she was hungry. She'd probably have been cold, too, if it weren't for the thick red serge she was wearing. Thank god for RCMP uniforms. She got up, cramped muscles protesting the movement, and tried to massage some feeling back into her neck.
She found marmalade but no bread, and was hungry enough to consider just spooning the jam out of the jar. But eating that much sugar with nothing to leaven it just didn't appeal to her; and besides, she couldn't find any toothpaste, either. She put the jar back on its shelf and wandered back to the television.
The glass and fork were still on top of it. That meant that she'd spent about twelve hours in this universe. Longer than any of the others, except the first. So much for patterns. She switched the television off, with one last frown at the static, and sighed.
There *had* to be a reason for this, shuffling around between universes. An idea had been slowly taking shape since the last universe - she shivered lightly at the memory of Fraser's blatant sadism - and now she let herself consider it. What if she was meant to help? The Ray who didn't have the sense to get the hell out - of his relationship, his job, hopefully the *state* if he was going to be safe - the universe where Fraser and Lee Ann Brighton were together, and clearly having problems; this universe, where... what? Well, clearly there were some unresolved issues between her and Inspector Kowalski.
A nagging voice reminded her that she had certain unresolved issues with her fellow officer back home, but she ignored it. That wasn't the point right now. Once she'd done whatever she was meant to do here, maybe she'd move on to the next universe; the sooner she did that, the sooner she'd get home.
All right, but how did she go about that? Even if she was right about what she was supposed to accomplish in this universe, she had no way of contacting Kowalski. She'd told him she was going back to Bermuda; it would look strange if she suddenly decided to turn up at the Consulate after all, just to... do whatever she had to do.
With perfect timing, the intercom buzzed. She could guess who it was even before she toggled the 'talk' switch, "Hello?"
"Uh... hi. Look, I'm-- I'm sorry if I woke you, Constable, but I, uh..."
She smiled at his nervousness. "Not at all. I just woke up anyway."
"Well... good," Kowalski said. "Yeah. It's just, you said you were going back to Bermuda today, and I figured maybe you wouldn't have a lot of food at your place, seeing as how you're supposed to be on holiday, so I thought I'd bring some stuff over for you."
Meg blinked and glanced at her watch. "At half past five in the morning?"
"Like I said, sorry if I woke you, but I called the airport and the only flights to Bermuda were morning, so I figured..."
"No, that's-- that's fine." Fine, sweet, considerate, thoughtful, adorable... "Ah, come on up. Sir," she added belatedly.
There was no response; she was willing to bet Ray was already inside the elevator. He was... It was difficult to understand why Stella Kowalski had ever left him. Well, when he wasn't being an obnoxious American, Meg amended hastily. Because he was good at that, too; the most obnoxious, arrogant, cocky, smug, *frustrating* man she'd ever had the misfortune to meet.
So why was she smiling as if this was a first date?
Meg pushed that thought from her mind. He was just bringing breakfast, and she'd talk to him about whatever issues this universe's Meg had with him, and then she could move on to the next universe and whatever issues had to be dealt with there. Simple.
Ray arrived not long later, and Meg let him in, managing to stare only briefly at the two bags of groceries he was wielding. She noticed that he, too, had found something to stare at; "You're not wearing your uniform to Bermuda, are you?"
"No, I fell asleep in it last night." She decided that his comment gave her the right to remark on his supplies. "Is there a siege going on that I'm not aware of?"
He gave an embarrassed grin, looking down at the brown paper bags, and she discovered that yes, there *was* a grin more appealing than his usual incandescant one, and this was it. Oh-- dear. She swallowed hard, and tried to listen to his answer. "I, uh, wasn't sure what you'd want, so I got easies and cookables."
"Right," she said weakly. "I... Well, I have to change. So you can cook something, and I'll get undressed. Dressed," she corrected hastily. "Changed. In the other room. Sir." Dammit, there was something about being flustered that always made her tongue slip in an oh-so-very Freudian way.
Ray was laughing. "Meg," he started, looking back up, then stopped as their eyes met. The change in atmosphere was palpable. Meg could feel her pulse skyrocketing, almost trembling as her heart hammered against her ribcage. She felt like she'd just run a marathon. Oh, and didn't she hate the way those romance books described it (when she wasn't secretly loving them), and every time she was just as astonished to find out that it was actually true.
"I, uh... I'll go... cook something," Ray said, gesturing towards the kitchen with one paper bag. His eyes didn't leave hers.
"Right," Meg repeated. She closed her eyes suddenly, took a breath, and nodded. "I'll get changed." It was much easier to think coherently this way. She turned and headed into the bedroom - eyes open again - before she thought about what she was doing. Or wasn't doing.
Her counterpart had obviously taken a fair number of clothes to Bermuda, but Meg was able to find an acceptable outfit. She was tempted to wear something scandalously low-cut, just to feel Ray's eyes on her-- but that was ridiculous; who knew what trouble it could get her into in the next universe.
Ah, the next universe. Convinced as she might have been about her 'here to help' theory, there was still the possibility of shifting universes while she was getting changed. Meg was extremely unwilling to chance it; being stranded without a skirt once was bad enough. Eventually - and feeling rather stupid - she contrived a system whereby she could take off one garment while holding onto whatever would replace it. If she shifted, she'd at least be *holding* some respectable clothes.
She felt even more stupid when she'd finished changing and could still hear Ray's cooking noises from the kitchen area. Well - better safe than sorry, anyway. She ran her fingers through her short hair and went out into the main room.
"Hey," Kowalski said, without looking up from stirring... whatever he was stirring. "So I'm thinking, we're going to pretend these two days never happened, right? You never came back, never told me... what you told me, we never-- Okay, we're already pretending that didn't happen," and Meg guessed he was referring to their kiss. "So anyway, I'm thinking maybe you can call me Ray while we're pretending you're not actually here. 'Cause after all," he glanced at her as he lifted the pot off the stove, "this isn't real, so I can't exactly have you up for insubordination. Am I right, or am I totally off track here?"
"You're right," Meg said, and added, "Ray."
"Okay. Good." He nodded several times. "So we're on track. Ah," he added suddenly, carrying the steaming pot over to the table, "breakfast."
"Ray," Meg said slowly as she followed him over, "what I told you, about... Bermuda. You should know, it wasn't--" She grimaced, trying to work out how to phrase this. "I mean, the, ah, the man... He-- tried. But I did manage to, ah... repel him. So to speak."
Ray looked at her in sheer relief. "That's-- really really good. I, uh... I'm glad."
Meg nodded, feeling slightly better. It still wasn't ideal, but... she had to say something. Telling him she was from another universe wasn't exactly very plausible. "So, ah... I'll be all right. But that's why I've got to go back. Face my fears..." She had no idea what to say next.
"Yeah, I understand," Ray said, smiling gently. "Take all the time you need."
"I don't-- I have to go. I want to stay," she told him earnestly. "But I can't."
"It's okay, Meg," he assured her. "Whatever you need, just... y'nno."
"I know. I just..." She closed her eyes, wishing she could say what she really meant. This Ray... She liked him, she admitted. She liked him a lot. She-- "I do want to stay," she said again.
Ray squinted uncertainly, the way she'd seen him do when someone said something he didn't understand. "Meg, is-- are you... tryin' to tell me something here?"
She hesitated for a long moment, then dropped her eyes. "No... nothing." Absolutely nothing. She sighed slightly. "I, ah... When I come back, you should ask me out," she said impulsively.
Ray pulled his head back a little to regard her in surprise. "What, you mean like, on a date?" She nodded. A slow, dazzling grin spread over his face. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." He nodded. "I can do that." He tipped his head to one side and back again, philosophically. "Fraser'll be peeved."
Meg's mind obligingly presented her with an image of Fraser, angry - in particular, the sadistic Fraser from the last universe. She wasn't sure whether to freeze or shiver. This was-- dammit, she wasn't *in* that universe anymore.
Ray was studying her expression. "Meg," he said, and hesitated. "That... thing, that happened to you. That wasn't... I mean, did that happen in Bermuda? Or... someplace else."
Oh-- dear. He'd misinterpreted her tension and drawn his own wrong, appallingly wrong conclusions. Meg shook her head quickly. "No - no, it was in Bermuda. He just--" Think fast, Meg. "He looked like Fraser, very much. And he, ah, acted... very much like Detective Fraser. In some ways." And in some ways he just went around arresting roller bladers and abusing his partner. "But he wasn't Fraser." And she had to remember that.
"Okay." Ray nodded slowly, letting out a breath of-- relief? She thought it was relief. She didn't like to think what else it could be. "Okay, good. Uh..." He looked around, presumably for a change of subject, and noticed the table. "Ah, breakfast's getting cold."
He was awkward, probably hoping he hadn't offended her. Meg tried to remember one of his americanisms as they headed for the table. "Let's rock and roll," she said, to relax him. She was rewarded by a laugh and a blinding grin. Oh yes, this was definitely a good idea.
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End part twelve
Continue with Alternate Thinking