Title: Alternate Thinking
Author: Sasscat Bu-to-y
Rating: PG-13
Codes: Fraser/Thatcher, Kowalski/Thatcher, Alternate Universes
Parts 23-24

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 was beginning to discover that the hospital was an incredibly boring place. It hadn't been so bad during the weekend, when she just slept through most of the day anyway, but she was spending longer amounts of time awake now, and there was absolutely nothing to do.

Oh, there were the other patients in the ward, of course. Mrs Keller, who'd had a bad stroke and did little more than produce 'eh, eh' noises at odd intervals; ancient Mrs Young, who was very proud of the fact that she'd never seen a doctor before, let alone been in hospital, and talked non-stop about her goat; Mrs Garibaldi, who seemed to be the only 'Mrs' who actually still *had* a husband; and Mrs Orr, who referred to all the male nurses as 'pert young things', and all the female nurses as 'obnoxious do-gooders'. Mrs Garibaldi actually wasn't too bad a conversationalist, but she spent even more time sleeping than Meg did.

Really, the most interesting part of Meg's day was the commotion when Mrs Keller had her catheter replaced. How depressing. If Fraser wasn't at work... She spent a lot of time wondering if (and hoping that) he'd visit after six.

But every few hours Ray brought her some more painkillers. If it weren't for his cheerfulness to lift her spirits, she'd probably go mad. He even brought her a magazine, although she took one look at the overly abundant words and felt her headache double.

"That's normal," he'd assured her with a grin; "next time I'll just try Playgirl."

She gave that suggestion a frosty glare.

Late Tuesday afternoon, the white-haired occupational therapist arrived. She was "Cathy-with-a-C, not to be confused with nurse Kathy", and seemed to find the similarity of names immensely amusing. She also insisted the doctor must have told Meg she was coming, although Meg couldn't remember it. Then again, that was hardly a guarantee the doctor hadn't said it.

"We'll have our real appointment tomorrow morning; I just thought I could stop by and see how you are," Cathy-with-a-C said, radiating good intentions. Meg wouldn't have been surprised if the woman had declared that the two of them were going to be 'bestest friends'. She disliked her on sight.

Ray was surprised about that when she told him. "C'mon, Canada, everyone likes Cath. She's a bit dotty, sure, but she's real friendly."

"I know," Meg groused. "It's sickening." Cathy seemed to be one of those people who couldn't say a bad word about someone if their life depended on it.

"You know what your problem is," Ray started, in the tone of voice that said he was about to tell her, "it's that you're going stir crazy in here. Canada, have you even been out to the TV room?"

"I can't *walk*," Meg snapped. Did he think she would volunteer to be confined to this bed? If she'd had money, she could have gotten her TV operational, but she couldn't even have that small comfort.

"Yeah? When was the last time you tried?"

The question caught her off guard. "Saturday," she admitted. Since that one abortive attempt she'd had assistance for every trip to the bathroom or shower.

"Four days," Ray said derisively. He stopped and counted. "Okay, three days, but if I was good at math I wouldn't be a nurse. Which I am, so I know how much a concussion can heal in three days. Get up."

"What?"

"Get up, Canada," he repeated, and made a gesture to accompany the command. "Walk. Right over to the door. Bet you surprise yourself."

She looked at the door in trepidation; it suddenly seemed a lot further away than it used to. "You've got to be kidding."

"There are people in this hospital with no *legs*," Ray snapped. "It's about time you got out of that bed and stopped feeling so damn sorry for yourself. All you got's one little bump on the head and a little broken arm. There's people don't even bother coming *out* here for worse."

After everything that had happened to her in the last week and a half, Meg had had enough. "Don't talk to me about feeling sorry for myself," she said angrily. "You have *no* idea what I've been through in the last week and a half. I've been ripped from my home, thrust into dangerous situation after dangerous situation and every time I nearly find my feet I'm pulled out again." She didn't know if the others were awake and listening and, frankly, she didn't really care. She continued in a low, furious voice, "I've been chained to a desk, locked up, arrested, nearly run over by a car, fell *into* a tree when the apartment building I was sleeping in suddenly disappeared from around me, and listened to a very good friend tell me about being *raped* by the man I thought I loved! I was ready to just let go and die, but even *that* didn't work because some idiot was in the park in the middle of the night and found me under the tree. I've had a headache for five days, haven't had a decent meal in god knows how long, I spend half my day sleeping and the rest of it just wanting to cry, and I have no idea if I'm *ever* going to get home! So don't you *dare* lecture me about self-pity, Ray Kowalski."

He opened and closed his mouth several times. "I-- I dunno what to say. Jesus, I'm sorry, Canada. I didn't know..."

"Of course you didn't," she said sourly. "How could you?"

"Am I forgiven?" he plaintively asked.

She couldn't last long against the little-boy look on his face - besides, her head hurt so much that maintaining the strength to be really angry at anyone was impossible for more than short periods of time. "Yes, you're forgiven," she said tiredly.

"Good," he grinned. His expression turned serious. "Now get up."

"*What*?!"

"Yeah, you've had a tough break. It sucks, and I'm sorry about it. That doesn't mean I'm not gonna do my job. You can walk, and you will. Get. Up."

Meg stared at him for several seconds, then realised there was no point in prolonging the confrontation. "Ray Kowalski with a backbone," she muttered as she pushed back the covers. "This is going to take some getting used to."

"What's gonna take getting used to is *you* going on like we're old friends," Ray retorted, smiling as he helped her sit. "Easy, now. Headrush?"

"Mm-hmm," she affirmed, closing her eyes as blood pounded through her brain. "Hurts."

"'Sokay, Canada, it'll get better."

She was startled to realise that it did subside a little this time. Maybe he was right.

/No 'maybe' about it, Meg; he knows what he's doing./

It galled her to realise that, despite her supposed revelations about Ray Kowalski as a person, she still hadn't taken him seriously enough to think that he could know better than her about this concussion business. She promised herself that, if she could only remember the promise for more than five minutes, she wouldn't misjudge him again. /Really this time.../

"Ready to try standing up?" he said softly.

She nodded, letting his strong arms guide and support her as she found her feet. The dizziness enveloped her, but she fought it back, refusing to let it win. She could do this.

Finally she could stand on her own. Ray let his hands fall away, still standing close behind her right shoulder. "How's that? You wanna go for the big prize?"

Meg had to have her hands spread just to balance in one spot - not easy, considering one of her arms was in a cast. To get to the door... She swallowed and started, "What if--?"

"I'll catch you," Ray anticipated, his voice low and warm in her ear. She turned her head, feeling a sudden light-headedness that had nothing to do with concussion and everything to do with burning attraction. The look on his face said he knew it too, eyes dark with controlled desire. "I'm not, uh... Patients," he said, stepping back a bit. "I'm not supposed to get involved with patients."

"Oh. Right." Meg tried not to be disappointed - after all, the one time she *did* get Ray, she was thinking of Fraser anyway. And she'd spent most of the day missing Fraser's company. It was about time she made up her mind. "I'll go to the door."

Ray nodded in three directions, which was about two directions less than he usually did. It was still dangerously endearing. "I'll watch."

She walked to the door - unsteadily, of course, but she was *walking*. When she reached it she turned to flash Ray a triumphant smile, putting a hand on the wall to support herself.

"Y'see?" he said smugly. "Now come back."

She made her way back towards the bed, toying briefly with the idea of 'accidentally' stumbling so he'd have to catch her. It would be terribly unfair... and a lot of fun. But she restrained herself and merely sat back on the bed, rubbing her head a little. "Thank you."

"Yeah, my pleasure." He started to sit beside her, then reconsidered. "I gotta go see some other patients. You need anything, Canada?"

"No..." She glanced at the door, and smiled. "I think I'll go out and watch some television for a while."

"Greatness." Ray walked beside her to the hall, to make sure she was okay, then gave her a grin and a wave as he headed off in the other direction.

--

Later in the evening Fraser stopped by the television room, bearing gifts. She made her way towards her room, grateful that he matched her slow and awkward pace. "I'm glad you could come."

"I'd finished work for the day and thought you might appreciate some company," he said, setting his paper bag on the floor as she climbed back into bed. "And Inspector Thatcher wanted me to bring you some things."

"Really," Meg said, frowning slightly. She wasn't sure how she felt about getting charity gifts from herself. "What sort of things?"

Fraser lifted the bag onto her bed. "Some clothes for the daytime, some books, and, ah..." He reached into the bag, smiling slightly. "I do apologise for the cliche."

"Grapes!" Meg exclaimed in delight. "Real food! Oh, Fraser, thank you."

"Oh, not at all," he said sincerely. "It's my pleasure. Ah... where shall I..." He looked around vaguely.

"In the cabinet there," Meg pointed, and remembered Ray's admonitions to drink as she saw the jug and cup of water on top. She reached for the cup and took a sip as Fraser put the bag of goods away. "Oh, I am so sick of water." She remembered seeing a coffee machine out in the TV room, but didn't really feel like walking all the way out there again.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Fraser asked, apparently reading her mind. "I believe I saw a machine out in the other room."

"Fraser, you're a godsend," she said fervently. "Thank you kindly."

"White, one sugar?" he asked, starting towards the door.

Meg frowned. "Actually, Fraser, I take my coffee black."

"Oh." He faltered slightly. "Of course, I'm sorry. I was thinking of--"

"Your Meg, yes, I realise that. --Don't say anything!" She held a hand up suddenly, demanding his silence. A memory was stirring in her mind. Fraser... another Fraser. *The* other Fraser, the one Ray had thought was this one's twin.

/The Meg I knew,/ he'd said. No, that wasn't right; he called her something else. Maggie. /The Maggie I knew was always.../ he'd flashed a slight smile that could have been bitter, sarcastic, wry or even perhaps fond, /more than capable./

That was it. She'd told him she'd let go of the tree, and he'd said, /I'm sorry. I never meant... I just wanted to keep her off my trail. I assumed you would be able to adjust to the transitions. The Maggie I knew was always... more than capable./

Transitions? She remembered being confused; well, she was confused now. All it had seemed to do was make him impatient. /You are aware that you have counterparts?/

She was now that her concussion was fading. How did *he* know? And what did he know about her universe-travelling?

"You remember something?" Fraser asked softly.

This universe's Fraser. She shook off a slight feeling of deja vu and sighed in frustration. "Not much. Not enough to help me understand this."

Fraser glanced at the floor, clearly uncertain as to what he should say. Finally he looked back up and offered her a wan smile. "Well, perhaps a coffee will help."

She smiled half-heartedly in return. "Perhaps."

--

The coffee sat cooling on the cabinet while Fraser read aloud from one of the books he'd brought. Meg struggled not to fall asleep, but she couldn't prevent a slight yawn every now and then. She tried to focus on the story, but all the words seemed to melt into one another. It didn't help that the rhythm of Fraser's soothing voice - even as it lulled her towards sleep - seemed to match the pounding of her head.

However, when Ray wheeled his trolley into the room, she was instantly awake. "Good evening," she said, pushing herself up a little in her bed. "You're here late." She found herself ridiculously pleased by that fact.

Fraser stopped reading, making a quick note of the page number. "Nurse." He was a little less enthusiastic than Meg about his greeting. She found herself ridiculously pleased by that, too, as if the two of them were going to start fighting over her.

"Hey, guys," Ray said brightly. "I'm pulling double shifts; long story. Storytime, huh?"

"He has a beautiful voice," Mrs Orr offered in what was probably meant to be a licentious tone.

Fraser didn't appear to notice anything but the surface compliment. "Thank you kindly, ma'am."

"Uh... great," Ray said, giving them both odd looks. "So, Canada," he added, quickly changing the subject, "you up for some painkillers?"

"Always," she said, reaching for her cup of water as he brought them over to her. She was getting quite good at swallowing tablets dry, but she knew he'd chide her about dehydration otherwise.

"Hey, I brought you something," he said conspiratorially as she drank.

Meg put the cup back on the cabinet and raised an eyebrow at him. She could see a magazine on the edge of his trolley. "Playgirl?" She wouldn't have put it past him.

"Not quite," he said with a grin, tossing the magazine onto her stomach. "Mad magazine. Lots of pictures, not too many words; perfect for a head case like you." He grinned wickedly. "And there's a Playgirl spoof in there somewhere."

"Well, I'm sure that will be very entertaining," Meg said dryly. The man was incorrigible. That was probably part of the reason why she was so attracted to him.

"My aim is to please," Ray said cheerfully. "Gotta go; duty..." he mimed tugging on a chain around his neck, "pulls. Buzz if you need anything."

"I will," she promised, watching him go.

Fraser cleared his throat and she blushed slightly, looking back at him. "Shall I, ah... continue?" he asked, holding up the book.

Meg glanced wistfully at the Mad magazine, but for some reason nodded. "By all means." She sat up a little higher, and put the magazine on top of her bedside cabinet to look at later.

--

The next morning Cathy-with-a-C took her into a spare examination room for twenty minutes of tests. Meg wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea to begin with, and she fast grew appalled as she realised how dismally she was faring.

"Repeat this sequence of numbers back to me," Cathy said, glancing at the sheet of paper providing the test questions. "Five - four - seven - eight - five - two."

Meg had mouthed all the numbers along with her, but when it came to recalling them, her mind put its foot down, figuratively speaking. The most she could remember seemed to be about four pieces of information; beyond that, her memory baulked. "Four... something... eight five two?"

"Good," Cathy said, in the bright tone of voice that meant Meg was failing miserably. "You're doing wonderfully, dear. One - four - one..."

And so it went on. There were other tests, of course - mental addition and multiplication, remembering faces, tasks, and strange symbols she was told to recreate on paper. Information processing, judgement calls and just about anything it was conceivable for a brain to do.

Finally, just when she thought she would drop from sheer exhaustion, Cathy said, "Right, we're almost done. Can you remember the four things I told you to remember at the start of the test?"

"No," Meg said tartly. Actually, she recalled that the third had been a piano, now that she thought about it.

"The first one was a kind of bird," Cathy prompted.

She almost had it... Just as it was about to come to her, Cathy interrupted her thinking. "All right, dear, tell me which one of these it was. Sparrow, robin, eagle--"

"A robin," Meg said impatiently, frustrated Cathy hadn't given her a chance to get it on her own. She could have done it.

"Excellent," Cathy beamed. "Now, number two was a piece of fruit. Apple, orange, banana--"

That time she hadn't even paused, Meg thought angrily. "Banana. The third one was a piano."

"That's wonderful, dear. Now, can you remember the fourth one?"

Meg took a breath, knowing that anger and frustration just made it harder for her to think. Number four... was... a kettle, she thought, but just as she was about to say it Cathy interrupted again.

"All right, pick one of these. Comb ... hammer ... shovel. Do you know what it was?"

That was only three. What happened to kettle? Meg frowned at her suspiciously.

"Was it a comb?" Cathy asked, looking at her with sickly sweet patience.

Meg folded her arms, tired of playing games. "You tell me."

Cathy smiled sympathetically. "I think somebody's getting a little bit tired. We're almost finished, dear. Can you tell me if number four was a comb?"

"I suppose it was," Meg said, a little sullenly. She was still sure it had been a kettle.

"Wonderful. Now, I want you to read this little pamphlet," and Cathy handed over a glossy booklet that looked like it had *far* too many words, "and it will tell you a little bit more about what you're going through. We'll make an appointment for you to stop back in a week or two as an outpatient, and we'll see just how well you're doing."

"Thank you ever so kindly," Meg said as she stood, mimicking Cathy's ridiculous sweetness.

"Oh, it's no trouble, dear. Now, do you need a hand back to your room? I'll call an orderly for you," she said, even as Meg was shaking her head. It was a good thing she left Meg alone, then, or there might have been one less occupational therapist on the hospital's staff.

Meg almost sat back down to wait for the orderly, but she'd be damned if she'd give Cathy-with-a-C the satisfaction. Besides, she was walking better now; she was sure she could make it back to her room.

If she could remember which way to go. Meg paused at an intersection of four identical corridors, leaning against the abandoned trolley-bed - damn, what *were* they called? - on her left. Why did hospitals have to be so large?

"Going for a walk?" a voice said in her ear, so unexpectedly that she jumped and let out a most undignified shriek. Ray grinned unrepentantly.

"Don't sneak up on me like that," she said angrily.

"Sorry, Canada. You're right, I should leave you to..." he gestured vaguely, "lean against your gurney in peace. See you round." He started off along one of the corridors.

Bastard. "All right, come back; you've made your point. I'm sorry I snapped. Better?"

"Oodles," he said, returning to her side. "Need a hand?"

She was about to say she just needed to know which direction to go, when she realised that she *was* excessively tired. Twenty minutes with the ever-annoying Cathy was bad enough, even *without* the tests and the walk to the exam room. "Thanks," she said wearily. "I just need to get back to my room."

He put his left arm around her waist for support, letting her lean on his shoulders. Mmm, yeah, this was good. They set off down the corridor, back the way Meg had first come. Great, she hadn't even been going in the right direction to start with.

"How'd the tests go?" Ray asked conversationally.

Meg groaned. "Oh... Can we talk about something else?"

"Relax, Canada, all the head cases say that," Ray said with a smile; "they all think they failed miserably, and they usually did. All it means is that you're concussed, and we already knew that."

"And to think," Meg said dryly; "I've been spending the last week and a half trying to convince everyone I'm *not* a headcase."

Ray chuckled warmly, and she could feel his shoulders moving under her arm. "Maybe the lady doth, uh... protested too much. Someone up above decided you were asking for trouble."

"Sometimes I feel like standing up and yelling to God or the universe to take their best shot," Meg said. "And then a little voice inside my head reminds me that they might just do that."

Ray laughed, then quickly looked at her. "Uh, you don't *actually* hear a little voice inside your head, do you?"

"No," she said, giving him an odd look. Of all the things to ask...

"Okay, good. That's just something I've got to check. Y'nno, you get hit on the head..."

"Your brain stops working quite right," she chorused along with him. "Thank you, Ray, I get the idea." She yawned, stumbling slightly. "Sorry."

"You want to rest?" She nodded and he led her into a very familiar looking examination room; "You can sit in here."

"Great," Meg muttered; "square one." At least Cathy wasn't here waiting for her.

Her legs gave out without waiting for her to sit down, but Ray still had his arm around her waist and gently held her up, slipping his other arm around her in almost a hug. Meg tilted her head up slightly to meet his eyes. Neither of them moved for several seconds, carefully suppressing rational thought. When they kissed, it felt like the inevitable happy ending.

Ray made a slight sound and put her down on a chair before taking several steps backwards. "I, uh... sorry. I shouldn't've done that."

"It's all right," Meg began, shaking her head.

"No, it's not. I'm your nurse." He hugged his arms to himself in a familiar gesture, rocking forward slightly. "I suck," he muttered.

Oh, right... That rule. She grimaced and thought for a second. "You know, I have already slept with you. So you wouldn't technically be *getting* involved with a patient, since--"

"But *I* haven't slept with *you*, Canada," he said, unfolding his arms so he could thump his chest in emphasis. "And you're not the one who'd be getting their ass chewed out for it. Okay, normally, me and the system, we're like this:" he brought his fists together, then yanked them apart hard. "But if I get this whole universe... other universe time travel thing, you have no idea when you're skipping out, and that's not what I'm *looking* for right now."

All right, maybe Meg was more concussed than she'd thought, because she could have sworn she'd just heard Ray rejecting her. That wasn't how these universes *worked*. If he wasn't interested in a fling, he should have said so from the start, instead of leading her on - and she didn't *care* if she was being unreasonable; it was her prerogative. She was just opening her mouth to snap at him when the door opened and a man in a white uniform came in with a wheelchair.

"Ms Thatcher? Cathy said you need some help to get back to your room."

Oh. The orderly. "Thank you," she said, manoeuvring herself into the wheelchair to face away from Ray. She dropped the booklet Cathy had given her onto her lap.

"Neurology," Ray said quietly. "Room 28. Thanks, Drake. I'll see you later, Ms Thatcher."

It was the first time he hadn't called her by his pet nickname, and she tensed in shock. It wasn't that 'Ms Thatcher' was excessively formal, not from hospital staff, but from *him*--! She fought the ridiculous urge to cry and instead pushed her good hand into a fist against her thigh.

She was fine. Why should she care? It was just Kowalski - it wasn't even *her* Kowalski, for crying out loud. It was just this infuriating concussion, making her tired and emotional. She closed her eyes and longed to go home.

--
End part twenty-four

Continue with Alternate Thinking