Title: Alternate Thinking
Author: Sasscat Bu-to-y
Rating: PG
Codes: Fraser/Thatcher, Kowalski/Thatcher, Alternate Universes
Parts 21-22

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

Disclaimer: Alliance owns all.

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

The sound of a throat being cleared was what finally broke the kiss. "Hi," the nurse said, with a forcedly polite smile. "Test time."

Oh, great. She let out an undignified groan as Fraser stepped away from her bed. It seemed like hardly any time since the last lot of tests; she must have fallen asleep. Again.

"Do you remember your name?"

"M-- Meg..." She winced as Ray inflated the blood pressure cuff too tightly.

"His name?"

"Fraser." A flash of torchlight in her eyes that left her blinking away the dazzle.

"Day and year?"

"Friday, nineteen ninety--" She glanced at Fraser in the hopes of inspiration. "--five...?"

"Saturday, ninety-seven," Ray said curtly. He poked his electronic thermometer in her ear and waited for it to beep. "Do you know where you are?"

Even Fraser raised his eyebrows at the nurse's brusque attitude. But his eyes switched to Meg when she said, "Toronto. What?" she added, noticing his look.

"Chicago," Ray corrected, packing up his instruments. "You'll be happy to know lunch is soon, so..." he shrugged. "You can eat something. There's a call button there if you need me, which you probably won't."

Before she could think better of it, Meg asked, "Did you have a bad coffee this morning?"

"Bad coffee? No, this is me in a good mood. I'm in a very good mood. It's those Canadians in love, it really butters my muffin, it just..." By this stage he'd degenerated into a mutter, but she was fairly sure she heard the words, "I hate head wound patients," as he pushed his trolley into the corridor.

"Oh dear," Fraser said lightly. He found himself a chair and set it next to the bed so he could clasp her hand - the one that wasn't in a cast. "How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts," she said promptly. Then added, "As do my arm, back, ribs, stomach, and foot. In short, Fraser, I feel just dandy. What did I do to deserve this?" she demanded of the air.

"Fell out of a tree, apparently," Fraser said with a smile.

She giggled, cringed at the fact that she'd just *giggled*, and had a flashback of hanging onto a tree branch, all in the space of a single second. "That hurt," she said sleepily. "Falling out of the tree, I mean. Or... into..." Her brow furrowed as she tried to figure that one out. Fell into the tree? Sounded right... and yet...

"I understand that it was rather large." He was watching her closely. "You're tired."

"A little," she hedged, then rather ruined the effect with a painful yawn. "All right, a lot. But that doesn't mean anything; I'm always tired in here."

"You're concussed," Fraser said firmly. "You need to rest. I'll stay, if you like."

She made a contented sound and snuggled under her blankets. "I'd like that." God, she was practically purring. But she was tired enough that she didn't really care. She yawned once more, then fell asleep with Fraser watching over her.

--

Lunch, the doctor and more painkillers all arrived at the same time. She dealt with the painkillers first, then listened to the doctor talk over her head as she picked at the food. It wasn't actually that bad, but before she'd finished the doctor authorised her to be moved to another ward, where she promptly fell asleep.

She woke up with the vague feeling that she ought to be remembering something. It was hardly a new feeling; she remembered very little of however long she'd spent in hospital. There was something different about this, though... As if... as if...

She couldn't remember what it was 'as if'. With a frustrated sigh she rubbed her temples, and winced at the movement. She was bruised all over. Her head pounded, and she was just deciding that it would be an extremely opportune time to go back to sleep when she noticed movement at the door.

A handsome, dark-haired man in jeans and a red-and-black flannel shirt was lurking there, frowning at a clipboard. She knew him, quite certainly knew him, but couldn't remember his name. Why was he frowning? That didn't seem like him. She didn't think he was usually so... expressive.

He lifted his head when he saw she was awake. "If I wasn't faced with the evidence, I'd find it hard to believe any counterpart of Maggie Thatcher's could be so incompetent," he said bluntly.

She placed the name as her own, more or less, but didn't have a clue where to begin with the rest of his sentence. Her mind was too foggy... her head hurt. "I'm sorry?"

"Concussion, broken arm, cracked ribs, bruised liver, sprained ankle," he read off the clipboard, "and more injuries too extensive to list. They found you in a park. What did you do, fall out of a tree?"

A fleeting memory didn't fleet quite fast enough, and she felt again the rough bark against her skin, her hands opening... "I let go."

Blue eyes blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I let go... of the tree. It was too big... I was tired." She was tired now. She fought to keep her eyes open.

He stared at her for several seconds then thumped the wall. "*Damn*."

What? He didn't swear. She was quite sure that this man didn't swear; it just sounded wrong. He-- Fraser, it was Fraser. This wasn't her Fraser... and *that* thought invoked a staggering feeling of deja vu, almost as if she meant it *literally* wasn't her Fraser. But that was impossible.

Wasn't it?

A few moments later, as Fraser began to explain, she had other things to think about. Her eyes went wide and remained that way until the nurse wheeled his trolley into the room and performed a perfect double take. "What-- how--" he stuttered, glancing back at the corridor.

"I'm from an alternate universe," Fraser said easily.

"Oh," the nurse said, relaxing; "twins. Right. Ray Kowalski," he added belatedly.

Fraser smiled, like a predatory cat who had just discovered - to his delight - that his prey was no match for him after all. "I know."

"Well... okay, I guess your brother told you. Uh, he's out making a call," he added to Meg. "He'll be back soon. In the meantime..." He dangled the blood pressure apparati in one hand, and she groaned.

"Well, I see that you're in very... *professional* hands." Fraser nodded farewell, and mockingly added, "It's a pity he's your nurse, isn't it?" as he fiddled with something on his belt. It was incredibly disconcerting to watch him vanish.

Ray whirled around angrily, then stopped as he saw the empty floor where Fraser had been. He took a couple of steps and peered into the corridor. "Yeah, you run," he muttered, coming back to finish wrapping the pressure cuff around Meg's arm. "Jerk."

"He went to another universe," Meg said helpfully, yawning a little.

Ray looked at her steadily for several seconds before remembering to inflate the cuff. "Okay. And do you remember your name?"

"Meg Thatcher," she said obediently, as Fraser walked in. This one was in full uniform and she guessed it was the one who had been making a call.

"Constable Fraser, you've got great timing," Ray said, jotting Meg's blood pressure down. "I was just talking to your brother; he left before I could--"

"My brother?" Fraser said in surprise. "I'm afraid there's been some kind of mistake. I have no brothers."

"Sure you do," Ray objected. "He was just in here. Looks just like you. Your twin?"

Fraser was shaking his head and Meg rolled her eyes at them both. "He's from another universe," she said patiently.

Ray looked at Fraser and offered, "This is just a temporary effect of the concussion. She should be back to normal within a couple of weeks."

Meg frowned. "I'm not crazy," she said acerbically.

"Of course not," Ray said soothingly. "Your brain's just not working quite right at the moment, that's all. You'll feel better soon."

She gave him an icy glare, but he either didn't care or didn't notice. She suspected the latter, because he was busy getting his Instruments of Torture from the trolley.

"Do you remember your name?" he asked, flashing that annoying torch in her eyes.

"I already told you." She was trying to snap, but it came out as more of a tired mumble.

"Humour me." Thermometer in ear.

"Meg. Meg Thatcher. And I'm in Chicago and it's Saturday, December, 1997."

"Greatness!" He grinned mischievously. "And d'you know what the date is?"

Sadistic bastard. She paused for a moment to figure it out. "Sixth."

He made a face. "Uh, close but no cigar. Thirteenth."

She pulled a face right back at him and let her head thump back against the pillows. "Well, since I don't smoke, I think that's close enough."

"What's smoking got to do with it?" he asked in apparent bewilderment.

"You said--" She sighed and gave a slight shake of her head. "Never mind."

Ray shrugged easily. "Okay." He grabbed his trolley and spun it towards the door with a flourish. "Gotta go. Rounds to see, patients to do-- Uh, you know I mean that the other way around. Have fun," he added, with a slightly sour or jealous glance at Fraser. Then he wheeled his trolley out the door.

Fraser performed a quick succession of uncomfortable gestures; much too fast for Meg's concussion-wounded brain, but one of them was a familiar thumb-scratching-brow. "Ah... sir..."

"What is it, Fraser?" she said curiously.

"I, ah... Well, sir, I'd..." He held his hands out in front of himself, as if preparing to make a speech. "I'd like to apologise for my, ah, unprofessional actions eariler. Sir."

Meg blinked, cursing the damn concussion for making her so slow. "Actions...?"

Fraser looked even more uncomfortable. "I, ah, our, er... our... contact. It was unprofessional and completely unpardonable, and possible even unethical, considering your, er..." He waved his hand near his head for several seconds, then let it fall. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

She slowly shook her head, regretting it as he tried to hide a flash of pain. Whatever had happened, he clearly...

Oh.

They hadn't... had they? She searched her memory anxiously, which didn't take long as most of it was still one big lump of grey fuzz.

This was so *frustrating*. Meg pressed her right hand against her temple, willing the pain and tiredness to subside so she could think for half a second. It wasn't very effective.

"You're tired," Fraser said softly, taking his seat by the bed without looking at her. "You should rest."

Meg wanted to talk about whatever he felt he had to apologise for, but she *was* overwhelmingly tired. She closed her eyes to dream of trains and half-formed arguments; when she awoke much later, she wouldn't remember a thing about duplicate Frasers from other universes.

--

What Meg *was* aware of when she next woke was something far more pressing. "Fraser," she hissed, the recollection of his name coming easier now. "I have to go to the bathroom."

Fraser turned an interesting shade that could have been either extremely pale or extremely red.

Ray, who must have returned to the room at some stage suring her sleep, stammered, "I'll, uh, I'll go get one of the female nurses," and fled.

Meg rolled her eyes at men in general, and announced, "I have to go *now*."

"Oh dear," Fraser mumured. "I, ah, I... can you stand?"

She was just about to find out. Meg pushed herself up to a sitting position, careful of her broken arm, and groaned as her head spun. She slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed as she waited for the pain and dizziness to subside.

Finally acknowledging that they weren't going to, she slid off the bed. She kept a cautious eye on the thin hospital gown in case it decided to ride up in front of Fraser, then took a step away from the bed.

A stab of pain from her sprained ankle instantly reminded Meg why that was a bad idea. She stumbled, tried to compensate, and found herself pitching downwards as her damaged brain refused to keep her balanced.

The next thing she knew, Fraser was holding her, honeymoon-style - an arm under her legs, an arm supporting her back. The cast holding her broken arm rested heavily on her chest. She wasn't sure if he'd moved fast or she'd actually blacked out. Nor whether her current difficulty forming a coherent thought was due to her splitting headache or the fact that Fraser's face was about three inches from hers.

"Are you all right?" he murmured, showing no inclination to put her down.

"Mm-hmm," she responded, watching in captivation as his mouth moved towards hers. But-- oh damn. She couldn't have blacked out, because then she would have lost bladder control, and she wouldn't have to worry about her current dilemma. "Fraser?"

"Mm-hmm," he echoed.

His eyes were dark and delightfully purposeful. Oh, she really did not want to interrupt this; unfortunately, she had no choice. "Bathroom."

He straightened abrubtly and looked embarrassed. "Oh. Oh, of course."

Meg closed her eyes and let Fraser carry her, trying not to groan at the movement. Her head felt like it was ten metres underwater. She felt like she ought to point Fraser in the right direction, but fortunately he seemed to know where he was going, so she left her eyes closed.

"Is this Ms Thatcher?" A throaty, authoritative voice that inexplicably reminded Meg of the texture of grated carrot. She frowned slightly at the image, unsettled to realise that this concussion really was affecting her brain.

"Yes. She's having some difficulty walking," Fraser added, no doubt worried about the seemliness of their current position.

"That's to be expected. Concussion, isn't she? Ray said she was one of his head cases. I'm Kathy." And then, still in the same breath, "Through here, if you can manage."

"Oh, it's no trouble," Fraser assured her. "In fact, I once carried a frozen caribou almost thirty-six kilometres--"

"Fraser," Meg interrupted, opening her eyes to give him a pointed look. She caught sight of a mirror and stared.

It was the first time she'd seen herself since the fall. She barely heard Fraser's "Understood," too busy simply taking in the number of rough, red scratches on her face. She looked like hell.

Kathy was chuckling. "Husband?"

"Oh, no," Fraser said, eyes wide. "Subordinate officer."

"I'll bet it feels that way sometimes," Kathy agreed cheerfully. "Down on this, Mister--?"

"Fraser," he supplied, setting Meg down on something that would have been a wheelchair if it weren't for the cold toilet seat set in the middle of it. "Constable Fraser; and Inspector Thatcher *is* my superior officer."

"Oh, it's your last name," Kathy said, wheeling Meg into a cubicle and positioning the toilet-seat-chair so that the hole in the middle led down to the toilet. "Can you manage from here? Don't need a hand with your gown?"

Meg shook her head, determined to preserve at least *some* of her dignity.

"Okay," Kathy said, straightening. "If you get stuck, just pull that cord and I'll be right in." She closed the stall door behind her, but it was not so soundproof that Meg couldn't hear her ask Fraser, "So, you're single, then?"

Meg gritted her teeth and plotted horrible ways for the nurse to die. Then realised that if she could hear them... they could hear... So much for dignity. She closed her eyes and felt a vivid blush rise to her cheeks.

--

Time in the hospital passed quickly, punctuated by painkillers and exhortations to drink plenty of fluids from Ray, and unflagging wordless encouragement from Fraser. Kathy of the carrot voice helped her to shower, keeping her more or less balanced on the metal seat provided for patients in just Meg's condition. Again, Meg was amazed by the scratches on her arms and legs. She doubted that tree had any twigs left after the way she'd crashed through it.

The stupid questions had eased off, and the nurses seemed to be content just to let her memory keep coming back on its own. Meg would have preferred it to do so a little faster. All the same, she knew most of who she was when she was woken on Monday by a disturbingly familiar voice.

"Fraser, Turnbull just gave me the most ridiculous story--"

Both Megs saw each other at the same time.

"What on earth is going on here?"

All the vague feelings of homesickness and not belonging that Meg had been experiencing over the past few days suddenly resolved into a crystal awareness of just what she hadn't wanted to remember.

Alternate universes.

"Oh," she said, heart sinking. "You're..."

"Inspector Meg Thatcher," the other Meg said, folding her arms in bewildered antagonism. Fraser was looking between them in disbelief. "Who are you?"

"Inspector Meg Thatcher," Meg said promptly, determined not to be the underdog here. Then she thought about how unbelievable the explanation was going to sound, and put on the placating smile she generally reserved for people Fraser had offended. "It's, ah, really quite a fascinating story--"

Alternate Meg gave a polite, tight-lipped smile. "And I can't wait to hear it."

Well, she'd convinced one of the Rays, once... it might work. "I'm another version of you," Meg said; "from another universe."

"She's also concussed," Fraser said, by way of explaining her explanation. He slowly stood up, as if finally deciding which one of them was really his superior officer.

Meg was about to try to convince him she wasn't off her rocker, but her counterpart had already turned towards him.

"Fraser, can *you* - by some remote chance - offer anything resembling an explanation for this?"

Fraser shook his head and shrugged helplessly. "I thought she was you, sir."

"*I* was in Bermuda! And believe me, this is not what I expected to find on my return." Meg watched in astonishment as her double tried - and failed - to look authoritative and in control. "I want you to rectify the situation, Constable. Immediately."

"Yes, sir." Fraser cleared his throat, running his thumb over his eyebrow. "Ah, which situation would that be, sir?"

"Well..." The other Meg was clearly flustered now. "There are two of us! Of me!" Her voice was rising and the real Meg glanced nervously at the other four patients in the ward, hoping they wouldn't wake up. This wasn't going to be a conversation she'd want anyone to overhear, even senile old ladies. "Obviously, that can't continue."

Fraser cocked his head. "It can't?"

"No!" Meg-two shifted uncomfortably for several seconds then blurted, "Well, at least find out where she's from."

Meg was coming to the conclusion that she had no respect whatsoever for her counterpart in this universe. The woman was clearly unprofessional, incapable of behaving with any dignity, not to mention short-fused. Nothing like Meg at all.

"I told you," she said with some irritation, "I'm from another universe. I've been being randomly propelled into new universes for the past... week. I think." She put a hand to her head and grimaced. Something told her she'd found the explanation, but she couldn't for the life of her remember what it was. "When I arrived in this one I landed in a tree, and I--" her eyes skittered to Fraser briefly, "ah, fell out."

Fraser looked at her with a sudden expression of concern, and she rued her hesitation. The last thing she wanted was to worry him unnecessarily. This was the most normal Fraser she'd met in the last week and a half. He could almost be her own Fraser, if she didn't know better. Well, it couldn't be helped now. Besides, there was still her counterpart to convince.

"Thank you for clearing that up," her counterpart was saying, with a sceptical smile. "I think we can now safely conclude that either you're mentally unhinged, or you take me for the biggest idiot this world has ever seen."

Meg plastered on a sickly sweet smile over her own. "On the other hand," she said through clenched teeth, "there are two of us."

Meg-two's smile weakened slightly. "Well," she said awkwardly, "yes..."

At that point Ray employed his usual sense of timing and wheeled his trolley through the door. "Okay, Canada, I've got drugs, drugs, and more drugs. Take your pick-- Jesus, are *all* Canadians twins, or what?" he blurted in surprise.

"Ray," Meg said lamely. "Oh. Ah, good morning. This is... well, this is Meg Thatcher."

He stopped staring at her 'twin', and swung round to look at her instead. "You're Meg Thatcher."

"Technically... speaking..." Meg admitted. "You see, I'm from another universe." The more people walked into the room, the worse it sounded.

"Canada," Ray said patiently, "we've talked about this. Y'nno, you get hit on the head, your brain stops working quite right--"

"She does offer a convincing argument," Fraser said, coming to her defence.

"Right," Ray snorted. "And I'm from Never-never-land, with Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. Is this one of those hidden camera shows? 'Cause if it is, you can take your two sets of twins and your hidden cameras and just," he made little shooing motions with his hands, "leave this bed to someone who needs it. 'Cause I ain't buying it."

"I should think it would be rather difficult to fake a broken arm," Fraser argued.

Ray shifted from side to side, and Meg recognised the antagonistic look he took on when he thought everyone else knew something they weren't telling. "Yeah, well, *I* didn't set the thing, did I? All I got's the chart and these," he looked down at the plastic cup in his hand, "drugs... uh... Well... they could be plasti-- place--"

"Placebos?" Fraser offered.

"I was getting there."

Meg let out a breath of frustration and called on her recovering memory. "Your name is Stanley Raymond Kowalski. You're thirty-six years old, you drive a black GTO, and if Fraser ever hypnotised you then you were apparently abducted by aliens at age ten. You have black sunglasses that you hang on your t-shirt, you dance, you have bad eyes, and you're extremely good at annoying people you don't like. I know you, Ray. In my universe you're a cop... and a fine one at that."

He stared at her from the bottom of the bed, wide-eyed and motionless. Then he said, "This *is* a hidden camera show."

Meg wet her lips and didn't look at Fraser. "You have a tattoo on your left... no, your right arm, near the shoulder. It's a--"

"All right, okay," Ray interrupted, so hastily that she raised an eyebrow and wondered what his tattoo was in this universe. "I believe you. How did you, uh... I mean, you've seen it?"

"We, ah... In one universe... you and I..." She was acutely conscious of Fraser, standing on her right. She didn't want to see his face. Or the other Meg's, for that matter. "It's not important."

Ray was grinning softly; at least *somebody* was happy. Meg-two cleared her throat and said, "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you. Now Constable Fraser and I must return to the Consulate--"

"Already?" Meg shot a panicked look at Fraser. She didn't want him to leave.

"Well, you will be asleep for most of the day," he pointed out.

"Yes, but--" Meg could feel everything slipping away from her. She wanted him to be here each time she awoke. She wanted to be safe in the haven of the hospital for as long as she could until she had to return to the big scary world of random universe-hopping. She wanted Fraser to wrap her in his arms and never let her go.

"You're right," she said, glancing up at the ceiling. "You have duties to attend."

Out of her peripheral vision she could see Ray glaring at Meg-two and Fraser for abandoning his patient. Meg-two glared right back, but Fraser at least had the decency to look troubled as the Canadians departed. Meg started panicking again at the thought that he might not come back.

Ray rattled the tablets in his plastic cup, focusing her back onto him. "You want these?"

"Definitely," Meg said fervently. It felt like she'd had this headache forever.

He came to the head of the bed and helped her sit enough so she could swallow them, then passed the cup of water from the cabinet beside her bed. She took a few sips to replace the taste of the painkillers, then discovered she was thirsty and drained the cup.

Ray frowned at her as he put the cup back on the cabinet and refilled it from the jug sitting there. "You drinking enough?"

"Yes." A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she lifted her head in shock. "Ray! Didn't you say *two* sets of twins?"

"Nice try, Canada, but don't change the subject. How many cups you have a day?"

Meg frowned in irritation. "I don't know, two or three. This is important. Tell me about the other twins."

"That's not enough," he said firmly. "Uh, it was just that guy who looked like your Mountie friend, the one you said went off to another universe. I didn't like him. Which doesn't mean you don't have to drink more."

"Another Fraser?" Could it be she wasn't the only one going through this? Maybe it was even the Fraser from her own universe. She could only pray she'd meet him again. "When was he here?"

Ray blinked. "Uh... Saturday. Look, you gonna drink more? Those are not big cups."

"I will, I promise. Did he say where he was from?" She only wished she could remember.

"Just another universe. I thought he was kidding. He disappeared before I could really talk to him. I *really* didn't like him."

Meg sighed in defeat and let her head sink back into the pillow, grimacing at the pain from her sudden burst of intensity. Maybe she'd catch up with him in another universe.

Ray was watching her closely. "Okay, I think it's naptime. You're whacked. And when you wake up," he pointed at the cup with a stern expression on his face, "*drink*."

She tossed off a loose salute and said tiredly, "Yessir."

"Good. See you in a few hours."

--
End part twenty-two

Continue with Alternate Thinking