Title: Alternate Thinking
Author: Sasscat Bu-to-y
Rating: [ADULT] NC-17
Codes: Kowalski/Thatcher, Thatcher/m, Alternate Universes
Parts 13-17

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

Disclaimer: Alliance owns all.

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

It was when Ray offered to give her a lift to the airport (in terms that made it difficult to refuse without looking suspicious), that Meg began to worry. All right, Ray was sweet - and kind, and thoughtful, and-- /enough, Margaret/. But he was *so* thoughtful that she had a strong feeling that he'd not only want to drive her to the airport, but watch her get on this plane to Bermuda, for which she didn't actually have a ticket.

Actually, the plane was probably more likely to go down to Atlanta, and then across to Bermuda, but that wasn't the point. The point was, she'd think of something. She was an officer of the RCMP; thinking on her feet was part of the job. And it was bound to be easier now that she'd had a decent meal. Good food... the ultimate tranquiliser. She was almost relaxed as she walked to the car with Ray-- *Kowalski*.

"No luggage?" he asked curiously.

"It's still at the airport." There, she could think on her feet if she had to.

"Hm," he nodded. "Uh... you want the radio?"

"Yes, thank you." It should have been awkward, but it wasn't. The silences were more... content.

Ray leaned over and flicked a switch, then barely a moment later flinched and flicked it off again. "Uh, how 'bout a tape?"

Meg frowned slightly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just..." He sighed. "We used to dance to that. My ex."

All right, now it was awkward. "Stella."

"What?" He glanced at her briefly then shook his head and fumbled with the tape. "But anyway, that was years ago. Old history." He thumped the tapedeck and grinned as the music came on.

It was actually quite nice. Strange; she'd always assumed Kowalski's tastes ran more to the... raucous end of the music spectrum. This was recognisably modern, with a blatant rhythm and synthetic sounds, but it was neither jarring nor tuneless. She smiled and leaned back in her seat, letting the music wash over her.

With the tape on, their conversation was relaxed and sporadic. Mostly Ray would say something out of the blue and she'd respond to it, then they'd grin at each other and lapse into contented silence again. At one point Ray said, "You remind me of her sometimes. Briana. My ex."

Briana. Not Stella. Oops, that could have been awkward. There wasn't really a lot Meg could say to answer him, so she settled for, "Oh?"

"Yeah. You're tough, you--" He stopped and shook his head. "You know what, I take that back. Briana wasn't tough, she just made me feel... what's the word..."

"Safe?" Meg suggested.

"Unnecessary," Ray said.

"Oh."

There was silence again for a while, the tape humming along to itself. Ray stopped for a red light and said, "I'm glad you came back. After..."

"I made you feel necessary?" Meg said lightly.

"I like to help," he shrugged.

"You did. Thank you." They smiled at each other for several moments, then Meg looked down at the gearstick. "You know... since we're pretending these two days didn't happen... we could--"

A car from behind honked loudly, and Ray muttered a curse at the green light. He took off and glanced at Meg. "Yeah?"

"It doesn't matter," she said with a sigh. He shrugged philosophically and changed the subject.

"What time's your plane?"

Okay, she could think fast. "I don't have a ticket yet. Whichever one's got an available seat soonest."

"You got your plastic?"

She blinked, then realised he meant credit cards. "Of course," she lied. /Actually, Ray, I've been destitute for the past several worlds I've been in. Oh, didn't I tell you about my amazing universe-skipping ability?/

"Okay, good." He hesitated, and said, "Uh, look, don't take this the wrong way, but can I give you some cash? Just in case you run into trouble or something and... need it."

"Ray, I can't take your money," she objected.

"But I'm flush right now, and I-- I'd feel a whole lot better. Please, Meg..."

She sighed and hung her head. She didn't want to take his money. She could never pay it back, for one thing... but she was likely to need it in another universe. Reluctantly, hating herself for it, she nodded. "All right." But she didn't watch as he got out his wallet.

That was the last conversation until they reached the airport. Ray slowed the car and looked around, muttering, "Finding a park's gonna be hell."

"Just drop me off here," Meg said quickly. "Thanks for the ride--"

"No, I want to make sure you get on the plane okay."

"Don't be silly," she was starting to say, then jarred to a stop as she hit something hard. She cried out in pain, sprawling across the concrete. What--?

"Oh god," she said, slowly levering herself to a sitting position. She'd switched universes. *In* the car. Only the car wasn't there in this one. If Kowalski had been going a little faster... if there had been a car in this universe, just a second or two behind... if just about anything else had happened-- "Oh god," she said again, unsteadily.

A loud honk penetrated her senses and she flung herself to one side, feeling a stab of pain in her left wrist. A car sped past, over the ground where she'd been lying. Meg took a deep, shuddering breath and climbed to her feet, cradling her injured wrist.

Now she *really* wanted to go home.

--

Part 14 is the Missing Part. (It was going to be 13, but I can't count. ;) ) In part 14, Meg - shaken from her near-miss with the car at the airport - walks all the way back into town, meets up with Sven (the Scandinavian interior designer from Burning Down the House), thinks 'what the heck' and, er, goes home with him. But Sven bores me, and I *could*not*write*the*part* no matter how hard I tried. So eventually I figured you guys would rather I continued the series than keep futilely trying to finish part 14. Someday... one day... the Missing Part may make an appearance. But in the meantime, there is the summary and here is the next part:

--

Finally, on the fourth day of this horrific jaunt through the universes of the world, Meg was in a decent mood. Thanks to Sven, who apparently had been a lot less gay in the last universe than in her own, and thank god for that. Not that it was great sex, because it probably barely made a six out of ten, but it was *sex*, and considering how frustrated she'd managed to get herself in the last four days (as opposed to how frustrated she got working side by side with Fraser day after day...) that in itself was a major achievement. She almost sang as she walked into the Consulate--

--Straight into Ray Kowalski, who stared at her in shock. She gave him a wicked grin and walked into her office, which she knew was hers because her counterpart in this universe had conveniently stuck a flashy gold plaque on the door with her name on. Everything was finally going right.

Ray followed her in. "I, uh... I thought you were in... y'nno, Bermuda."

"Too many Americans," she said cheerfully. She'd said that line so many times she didn't even have to think about it any more.

"Oh," he said. "So, uh... this doesn't have anything to do with... that stuff I said to you? At the, um, airport."

Oh damn. Meg felt her good mood evaporate and rubbed her forehead tiredly. "What... part of what you said to me?" she ventured.

"Uh, the part where I said I..." he shifted around and finished in a low voice, "love you."

Oh. Oh dear. Meg realised her jaw was hanging open and closed it with a snap. Usually only Fraser left her flustered like this. --Oh dear. Although it shouldn't be entirely unexpected, considering the rough progression these universes occasionally employed, and... had it been two universes ago, with Inspector Kowalski? It felt like less. Well, it *was* just this morning.

"Right," she said, trying to sound authoritive. "Right. That part. Of course." She sounded like Fraser when Francesca Vecchio had made a more blatant than usual attempt to lure him into her boudoir. Dammit. She cleared her throat and tried again, "Well, no, but I have been... thinking about that."

And what? Once again, she hadn't the faintest clue how to proceed. She was here to help (she assumed), but what was helping? Telling Kowalski to move on? Telling him she'd happily spend the rest of her life with him? And she really, really wanted to do the right thing; Ray had treated her so well in the last however many universes.

She didn't want to take chances. "Actually, I'm not your Meg," she said firmly, before she gave herself a chance to reconsider.

Ray blinked. "Uh, come again?"

"I don't belong here. I'm from another..." She winced and swallowed. "Um, another universe." Damn, it had sounded more convincing in her head.

He stared at her for a moment then took on an aggrieved expression. "Hey, you want me to back off, you only gotta say so. I may have lousy taste but I still got *some* pride--"

"Ray!" she interrupted. She'd just had a brainwave. "I mean it. Your Meg is still in Bermuda. *Call her* and see."

He narrowed his eyes at her uncertainly. She gestured at the phone on her desk, keeping her expression as sincere as possible. Finally he headed for the phone, hesitated a moment, and picked up the receiver. "This is stupid," he muttered as he dialed.

It occurred to Meg to wonder why he knew the number to her hotel by heart, but it probably wasn't important. She watched him closely as he tapped his fingers on the desk.

"Yeah, Meg Thatcher's room." He looked bored, mildly irritated-- and then his expression turned shocked. He spun around to stare at her, still holding the phone to his ear. She guessed this universe's Meg had answered.

"Uh, it's me," he said belatedly, and winced at whatever Meg's counterpart responded. "Yeah, I-- I'm sorry, I know. I-- I gotta go." He made several attempts to get the receiver back in its cradle before finally succeeding, then he took a breath and stared at Meg. "H-- How did you do that?"

She spread her arms. "I told you, I'm not your Meg."

He started to speak, stopped, and shook his head. Finally he ventured, "So I guess you don't know about what happened at the airport."

Meg shook her head. "I do know," she said, stepping towards him, "that you are a good, kind, sensitive person. You can be obnoxious as hell, but you mean well. And if you can get your Meg to see that too, I have no doubt she'd be honoured to go out with you."

He looked at her uncertainly. "You mean that?"

"Yes," she said, without a doubt.

He grinned a little. "*You* wanna go out with me?"

"Yes." Woah, where had that come from? She quickly covered, "But I doubt I'll be in this universe that long."

"Oh. How--" He wiggled from side to side. "How long is that?"

She wondered if he was thinking what she thought he was thinking. What she hoped he was thinking. "A few hours to a day."

"A few hours," he grinned, and she had no doubts whatsoever. Six-out-of-ten Sven, eat dirt and die.

"That's right," she confirmed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Did you have... something in mind?"

His grin was rapidly broadening and he moved a few inches closer to her with little-kid excitement. "Well, since you're a stranger to this universe... I could give you a tour of the city... starting with my apartment?"

"I think that would be acceptable, Detective," she murmured, feeling a little excited herself. She liked this universe, she really did. If only her good luck would hold.

"My car's outside," Ray started, and she felt her face fall. He saw it; "What?"

"I've... had some close experiences with cars, recently," she admitted, absently touching the bandage on her sprained wrist. Damn damn damn. There was the Queen's Bedroom, but that was... well, less than soundproof.

"Your arm?" he said, nodding towards it.

"Yes. I..." She hesitated, looked at her watch, and decided she really hadn't been here long enough for it to be dangerous. She hoped. "It's all right. Let's go."

"Great. Greatness," he said enthusiastically. "Whatever brought you here, I like it."

Well, she was here to help. She grinned at that thought and headed for the door, Ray quickly following.

--

By the time they reached Ray's apartment - her apartment, Fraser and Lee Ann's apartment; this place got around more than she did - it felt like they shouldn't be able to keep their hands off each other. In reality Meg stood awkwardly a good third of a metre away from him... but the air was heated and his eyes were dark. He smiled shyly and gave a nervous laugh. "So, uh... home sweet home."

"It's nice," she said, without looking around.

He nodded, continuing the motion long past the time any normal person would have done. After several seconds he seemed to realise he was still doing it, and stopped. "Uh... So." He glanced at the floor for half an instant. "Uh, you sure you wanna...?"

That was, Meg reflected, probably the sexiest question ever known to mankind. "Absolutely," she breathed, taking the last step towards him. Then added, "That is, if you still want to..."

"Hell yeah," he said earnestly, and grinned. They leaned towards each other by silent consensus, hesitated a moment to keep eye contact for as long as possible, and then his mouth was tenderly meeting hers and eye contact be damned.

The kiss was restrained... for about two seconds, then she found herself practically trying to devour him. He squirmed around, pulling off his shoulder holster and incidentally managing to press himself against just about every part of her. He let out a kind of purr as he tossed the holster aside.

Hips ground against hips, fingers twisted in hair, arms held bodies tightly together. Maybe they couldn't melt into one person, but they were damn well going to die trying. She felt the giddy sensation of movement, went with the flow, grunted briefly as she tumbled down onto something soft... a sofa... with Ray on top of her.

"You know," he panted between kisses, "we'd probably... be... a little... more comfortable... on the... ohhh... the bed..."

"Probably," she breathlessly agreed, hands roaming his smooth skin as she worked his t-shirt up and over his head, careful of her sprained wrist. They were kissing again as soon as the t-shirt was out of the way, him clumsily tugging at the buttons of her blouse. They were wrapped together, lips... tongues... What was that phrase Americans were so fond of? Hot and heavy. Hell yeah, she thought, utilising another useful American phrase.

His hands found her breasts, and his touch - while not exactly deft - was enough to make her groan into his mouth. She tried propping a foot up, but it kept slipping off the edge of the sofa. She kicked off the shoe instead and fumbled for the bulge straining against his pants, stroking it in movements roughly coinciding with his attentions to her breasts.

He made a sound of pure pleasure and she felt the heat between her thighs intensify. "Oh yeah," he purred, pushing into her touch, then abrubtly sat up on hands and knees, straddling her body. "No, wait. Not that way."

She grasped his meaning instantly, considered briefly whether to be flattered by or envious of the male ability to get off practically instantly, and instead unbuckled his belt. He leaned down to kiss her again, quite thoroughly, then got up. "I'll get a... um, a..." He gestured vaguely in the air.

Right. Good idea. Okay, maybe she could forgive him for stopping. She nodded and pulled off her other shoe as he disappeared, grabbed the first one from the floor and joined him in his bedroom. He closed a drawer, holding a small square packet between his teeth, and sat on the bed to tug off his shoes and socks.

Meg finished unbuttoning her blouse and pulled it off, followed by skirt and pantyhose as he worked his trousers undone. She wrapped her clothes around her shoes in a quick easy bundle, saw Ray stumble with his pants around his ankles and laughed.

"Well, I'm glad I amuse you," he grumbled, kicking the dark denim away.

"Oh," she let her voice drop meaningfully, "you do *much* more than that." She pushed him lightly back onto the bed and straddled his lap, taking the condom packet from him and wrapping her arms around his neck as they kissed again. His hands slid to her hips, holding her as she rubbed against him. He hummed lightly in the back of his throat.

"Y'r arm's okay?" he murmured, voice low with half-masked desire.

"Mm-hmm." Okay enough to hang onto her bundle of clothes.

"Good." He suddenly flipped her over onto the bed, and followed her down without putting his weight on her. Damn, she was glad this was a soft mattress. "What's with the knapsack?" he mumbled, nuzzling her neck.

Oh dear, he would have to ask *that* question. She felt a burn in her cheeks that for once had nothing to do with his ministrations. "I-- I tried..." She cleared her throat, tried to concentrate with his tongue lapping just like *that*, and said, "Last time I did... this... I swapped universes partway through. Without my skirt."

He snorted against her skin and lifted his head to grin at her in amusement. "That woulda been something to see."

Sure, from *his* point of view. She rolled her eyes, then frowned as his expression changed. "What?"

"I..." He dropped his head to place a row of gentle nips along her shoulder, effectively hiding his face from her view. "'S none o' my business."

She refused to let him distract her, rolling him over so she could stare firmly down into his eyes. "What is it, Ray?"

He looked away briefly. "I, uh... I just wondered who you were... y'nno. When you lost your skirt."

Oh. He was jealous of himself; that was adorable. She grinned and kissed him hard. "As a matter of fact, it was you. All right?"

"More than," he said enthusiastically. He gave her a relieved grin of his own and drew her down for a long, tender kiss. Mmm. She relaxed against him, enjoying the sensation of his hands on her skin as he worked her bra off. He added it to her bundle without needing to be told and she smiled into the kiss.

She was getting dizzy. The feel of his hands on her was intoxicating, the unbearably sensual teasing of her skin under the pretense of removing her underpants, the slick and sweaty contact of heated skin. "Ray," she groaned, pushing against him impatiently.

He gave a little gasping moan as if she'd hurt him, but the hand pulling her hips to his suggested it was anything but painful. His other hand ran along her inner thigh, up and down in syncopated time with their shallow breaths. Not far enough up. She wriggled backwards, pushing the condom packet into his hand so she could pull off his grey boxer-briefs, somewhat less than proficiently.

Ray ripped the packet open with his teeth, grunting a little as he rolled the sheath on. "Don't start without me," Meg smirked, adjusting her grip on her clothes. Her wrist hurt, not that she cared at this stage.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he gritted out, eyes locked on hers as she positioned herself over him.

The air crackled, and her eyes fluttered closed as she slowly took him into her. A groan broke from her throat, unbidden, her fingers clenching on her bundle of clothes. Ow, sore wrist.

"Oh god," Ray groaned. "Oh, that's good. Meg..."

"Yeah," she panted, rising up and pushing down again, hard. "Ah," she grunted. He was hot inside her, every movement eliciting pleasure. "You know, that's the first time you've called me that."

"First-- nnh-- first time you let me." He grasped at her hips as she rocked against him.

She sucked a breath between her teeth as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. "I'm not her," she reminded him, stepping up the pace. Oh god... She groaned again.

"I know." He slid his hands up to massage her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples. His eyes were half-closed, drugged and beautiful, his skin flushed with exertion. "Jesus," he panted, half-coherently, "ohh... Meg, please. Can't-- Can't--"

Neither could she. She moved a little faster, a little harder, the fiery pressure inside her increasing to unbearable levels. Any minute now... Ray... f'Ray... Fraser...

He cried out and bucked against her as he reached his release, his hands clenching painfully on her breasts. Dammit, not *yet*-- She snarled in frustration, then gasped as his fingers slid between their bodies. "God, yes," she moaned, writhing against him, "harder... harder..." Then she bit her lip viciously to keep from screaming out the wrong name as she came.

Ray rolled her gently to lie next to him on the bed, and pulled off the used condom. He brushed a kiss over her mouth, then tasted his lips and frowned at her in concern. "You're bleeding."

She ran her tongue along her lip and winced. "Apparently so." Dammit. She closed her eyes and rolled her head into the pillow for a moment to ream herself out. There were certain things one did not do when sleeping with the best friend of one's subordinate officers, and she was fairly sure that thinking of said subordinate officer was one of them. Damn, she missed Fraser. And at the same time she couldn't forget the sadistic Fraser of two... three universes back.

"Are you okay?" Ray asked softly.

Okay? Sure. Guilty as hell? Absolutely. "I'm fine," she said, looking up at him. "Just... tired. I've been thinking on my feet for four days. Running on adrenaline, haven't been eating properly..." When she put it like that, she *was* tired.

He got up, giving her a sympathetic smile. "Take a shower. I'll make some lunch... dinner..." He looked around for a clock and shrugged. "Whatever. Or you could nap, if you want. I guess all this universe-hopping must be pretty rough, huh?"

"You could say that," she said, easing herself up off the bed. Oo, sore. But it had been worth it. She followed his gesture into the bathroom, holding her clothes bundle tightly.

Same routine as at Sven's. She held the bundle outside the shower with her sprained wrist, washing herself with the other. It occurred to her yet again that she really hated this little trip. Holding one's clothes in a protective bundle was not normal post-sex behaviour. With a sigh, she switched off the faucet and began the ever-so-interesting task of getting dressed without letting go of the rest of the bundle, and without straining her injured hand too much.

Leaving the bathroom, she could smell something delicious. She followed her nose into the kitchen, where Ray was standing by the stove in a patchy blue robe, frying something. "Smells good," she commented.

"Nah, it's just leftovers," he said with a modest grin. He pushed it around in the pan with a black fish-scrape, then wiped his hands on the robe. "You wanna take over? Just stir it a bit. I'll go shower."

She took the fish-scrape as he left and tried to identify everything in the pan. Sort of casserolish... stuff. Some unidentifiable red meat, mushrooms, onions, carrot sticks, peas. More unidentifiable substances. She helped herself to a piece of meat, burning her fingers. "Nyaa," she said, as it burned her tongue as well. Damn, that was hot. Tasted good though. Good quality beef.

"How's it going?" Ray asked when he reappeared, freshly clad in baggy khakis and a Chicago Bulls t-shirt.

"Good." Meg prodded at the meal. "I think it's done."

"Greatness." Ray started a circuit of the kitchen, retrieving plates, cutlery and glasses. Meg turned off the stove element and tried to convince herself he wouldn't drop anything.

"Your Ray's a lucky guy," Ray said out of nowhere, setting his armful of stuff down on the table.

Meg shifted her weight uneasily. How to say that it was Fraser she was really interested in? And that wasn't exactly going anywhere either. But it was becoming clearer to her that her interludes with Kowalski were more a mixture of friendship, loneliness and homesickness than anything... stronger.

More or less. Mostly. Well, at least in part.

Hell, all right, maybe she was *slightly* interested. But nevertheless, there was Fraser to consider. She couldn't-- Well, it wasn't that Fraser was really *in* the picture; as his superior officer any kind of inappropriate unprofessional off-duty liaison was naturally out of the question.

Maybe she could fire him again...

"You miss him, huh?" Ray said softly, and it took her a moment to realise he meant her universe's Kowalski.

By then she'd already nodded, so she added, "I miss everyone," to allay her guilty conscience. "I... I'm feeling a little homesick, to be honest."

Ray gave his own peculiar nod, the one made up of small movements that went on several seconds too long. It was adorable, and somehow comforting. "Yeah. You'll, um... You'll probably feel better with some food in ya."

"I expect so," Meg said softly, and lifted the frying pan off the stove.

--

After 'lunch-dinner-whatever', Ray persuaded her to get some sleep. It wasn't exactly a difficult task; Meg's only objection was that she felt strange sleeping in his bed, and she was reluctant to voice that. So she let him tuck her in and kiss her gently goodnight, and was asleep soon after.

She woke up to the sensation of falling. She *was* falling. She screamed and flailed frantically, then felt things thumping against her, pain shooting up her left arm and over her chest. She managed to catch onto a branch, landing heavily on her stomach. Her ribs and back ached, no doubt from the broken branches above her, and her heart was pounding.

Apparently in this universe the multi-tenant apartment building was a park.

Shit. Meg hauled herself more securely onto the branch, gasping in pain as she tried to use her left arm. Sprained was bad enough; now it felt like it was broken. That was *just* what she needed. It hurt too much for this to be a dream.

She lay still for a moment, regaining her breath and taking stock of her injuries. Broken arm. Chest pain that was probably a bruised rib or two. She touched them gently and winced. Possibly cracked. Her spine seemed to be all right - thank god - if a little bruised. Plenty of bruises all over, when it came down to it. And her ankle was throbbing with a persistence that suggested a sprain, or at least a twist.

Perfect.

Meg wriggled her way, one-handed, along the branch to the trunk of the tree, trying not to look down. She'd never really realised how high that apartment was. Closing her eyes and calling on all her childhood experience, she slowly and awkwardly prepared to climb down the tree.

Her ankle almost gave out when she tried to put her weight on it. Meg gave a little whimper of pain before regaining control. All right, so she'd just-- what? Climb down the tree with one hand and one foot? It was *impossible*. Her head hurt, too; she must have struck it on one of the fifty million branches she'd crashed through in her fall.

She couldn't get down like this. She leaned her forehead tiredly against the tree-trunk. Her head pounded.

"I want to go home," she whispered miserably. She ached all over, she was stuck in a big tree, and every time she found her feet something hauled her into a new universe. For what must have been the first time in the last four or five days, Meg knew exactly what to do. She leaned backwards...

And let go of the tree.

--
End part seventeen

Continue with Alternate Thinking