Title: Alternate Thinking
Author: Sasscat Bu-to-y
Rating: R
Codes: Fraser/Thatcher, Kowalski/Thatcher, Alternate Universes
Parts 28-29

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

Disclaimer: Alliance owns all.

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

Fraser pulled up outside what should have been the police station. "You can stay in the car," he told Ray.

"Yeah, right," Ray scoffed. "For one, I wanna make sure this quack of yours doesn't mess Ms Thatcher up even worse. Besides, you probably stole this car."

"Ray--" Meg started, but Fraser shrugged easily.

"It's not *my* universe," he said, obviously unconcerned. Meg glanced uncertainly from Fraser to the car as they entered the building.

A woman with long, dark curly hair looked up as they entered. "Mister Fraser, hello. I take it this is Ms Thatcher, and you are...?"

"Ray Kowalski." Ray pushed his way in front of Fraser. "Which way to the doctor?"

The woman smiled politely. "I *am* the doctor. Sydney Hansen, MD. This way, Ms Thatcher."

Meg followed Doctor Hansen down a corridor, unsurprised when Ray and Fraser jockeyed for position behind her. Those two were... even more childish than the nation-flipped Ray and Fraser. Which was admittedly rather flattering, but she'd hate to see one of them get hurt. And if they carried on this way, Ray would undoubtedly get hurt.

Not that he wouldn't give as good as he got, she was sure. But this Fraser was... harder. There was a raw, lawless quality about him, like the brutish hero of a trashy romance. He'd probably feel quite at home on a Viking raiding ship, pillaging villages and taking buxom virgin prisoners. Meg thought about being tied up and at his mercy, and grinned wickedly.

Hansen led the way through a room with a lot of complicated looking computer and medical equipment into another room with just a trolley, bed, and a few potted plants. There was a two-way mirror between the two, just in case anyone wanted to sit at a computer and still be able to see the potted plants. "When did the injuries occur?"

Meg couldn't be bothered figuring that out; instead she looked at Ray for the answer.

"Last Friday," he said. "She was brought in in the early hours of the morning, unconscious. Apparently she fell out of a tree."

Fraser cleared his throat. "Ah, she fell *into* a tree." Something about his casual tone suggested that he and Hansen knew each other fairly well. "My fault, I'm afraid."

Meg shot Ray a warning look before he could say anything about that, and he took a calming breath. "Okay. Concussion, fractured radius, cracked rib, hepatital contusion, and the obvious in bumps and bruises. No sign of sub-deural hematoma. We discharged her this morning."

"You're a doctor?" Hansen said in surprise.

"Nurse," Ray said smugly.

"Oh." She considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Then you can assist me."

"Assist you in *what*?" Ray demanded. "We already did everything we could for her."

Hansen shook her head. "If what Mister Fraser tells me is correct, your universe has a significantly inferior medical science. No offence, but you've hardly even begun to treat her condition."

"You can fix my concussion?" Meg said hopefully.

"Essentially," Hansen said with a smile. "And we can replace this clumsy cast of yours--"

"Clumsy?" Ray protested indignantly.

"Poor choice of words," she told him. "It's a very fine cast, as casts go. But I think we can come up with something a little less... primitive."

"Well, this 'primitive' science works for us," he retorted.

Meg rolled her eyes. "Ray, as the one who *has* the concussion and the broken arm, please shut up and let Doctor Hansen work whatever futuristic magic she has available."

He laughed a little. "Yeah, okay. How's it work, Doc?"

Instead of answering, Hansen bent down to retrieve a white plastic package from the bottom tier of the trolley. She lightly tossed it to Meg, and said, "There's a changing room through there. If you need a hand, just buzz."

Somehow the offer of help sounded a lot less patronising than it had coming from the nurses in the hospital. Meg glanced at the package curiously and headed for the door Hansen had gestured to. Ray and Fraser seemed to have some small sense of propriety because neither of them offered to help her undress.

The changing room was eerily small, with metal rails around the walls for support and a hook for clothing. There was a drain set in the floor, so presumably the room also doubled as a shower. Meg glanced up and quickly identified a shower head in one corner of the ceiling.

She shed her coat and spent a while longer struggling with the awkward dress. Fashion and broken arms just did not mix. Finally she managed to get the dratted thing off, and turned her attention to the appropriately blood-red medical gown from the package.

Whoever had designed it clearly had a brain. It was loose and free-flowing, with a simple velcro strip right up the front. She ran her good hand over it to make sure it was completey fastened, then went back out into the exam room.

Hansen and Ray were having an intent conversation over the trolley; Fraser, though, was leaning backwards with his elbows on the bed, ankles crossed. He smiled when he saw her. "Red--"

"Don't say it," Meg said quickly. That was a compliment only *her* Fraser was allowed to give her. Innocent, sincere, utterly unfathomable. If this Fraser said it she'd know exactly what he was thinking and what he was hoping to, well, gain. Attracted as she was to him, it would still somehow cheapen the simple phrase that had come to mean so much to her.

"If you'll lie on the bed," Hansen said, glancing up briefly. Meg started to obey, then frowned at the difficulty of climbing onto the high bed one-handed.

"Allow me," Fraser murmured, scooping her up and setting her gently on the bed. He drew his arms back only enough to rest his hands on her shoulder and leg, smiling into her eyes.

"Thank you," Meg said, much happier to receive this, unspoken, compliment. Well, more or less. "Fraser, take your hand off my leg."

"My apologies," he said smoothly, moving his arms to lean on the side of the bed. "How's your head?"

"Sore," she said with a grimace. "Do you think she can really fix it?"

"I believe so. She has no reason to lie."

"Hmm." Laying down like this made Meg sleepy. She blinked, looking drowsily up into Fraser's eyes. In this light they were a sharp crystalline hazel. "What are they talking about over there?"

Fraser glanced at Hansen and Ray, then looked back down at Meg. "She's explaining how she's going to treat you. The concussion is the easiest part; a simple injection will reverse the breakdown of the repair proteins your neurons are attempting to produce." He seemed to expect her to understand that. "For the broken bones--"

As if on cue, Ray's voice interrupted in loud disbelief. "You're going to *operate* on a broken *arm*?"

Meg blinked and twisted her head to look at them, paying more attention to what had been a murmured conversation.

"What's the problem with that?" Hansen said in surprise.

Ray stuttered incredulously for a moment, then managed, "The *problem*? What about risk of complications, what about overkill, what about big waste of money and time?"

"Money and time aren't an issue," Hansen said coolly. "There is no risk of complication. I don't know what sort of anaesthetic you use in *your* universe, but here patient safety is something of an issue. Both the lab and all my equipment are sterile. And as for overkill, perhaps you should ask Ms Thatcher if she wants to wear that wad of plaster on her arm for the next five weeks."

Ray stood there for several seconds longer, body stance protesting firmly, then sagged. "You're the doctor."

"That's right," Hansen said firmly. "I am."

Meg glanced up at Fraser to see him half-smiling at the argument. Or more precisely, at Ray losing the argument. She sighed patiently. "So what exactly *are* you going to do to my arm?"

Hansen turned and walked towards her, Ray following like an obedient shadow. "It's a fairly simple procedure," she started. Ray nodded sarcastically, then glanced at Fraser and narrowed his eyes. Hansen continued, "We'll give you a general anaesthetic, then access the bone."

"Cut me open," Meg said with a smile. She ignored the staring contest Ray and Fraser seemed to be having over her head.

"Exactly," Hansen said, returning her smile. "I'll use adhesive sticks to brace the fractures - they'll just dissolve into your body tissue after a few months. Do you play any strenuous sports?"

"Just baseball," Meg said. "But I am in law enforcement--" she faltered at Fraser's startled look.

He quickly recovered. "I see you're not that different from my Maggie after all. Please, continue."

"Right," she said slowly. There was something about his expression... she wasn't sure what it meant. She shook her head and looked back at Hansen. "I'm in law enforcement," she repeated, "and lately I've found myself in some extremely... difficult situations." Fraser ignored the dig. "Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not," Hansen said reassuringly. "I'll just provide you with a special glove to provide extra support for your arm. It's not unlike that cast you're wearing now, but a lot thinner and more flexible."

That didn't sound particularly like the cast to Meg, but she didn't argue. "Is that all?"

"That's about it," Hansen said. She looked at Ray. "Did the hepatital contusion heal normally?"

"Yeah, I think so. Your stomach's not still sore, is it, Canada?" he asked, and Meg shook her head.

"Then I don't need to worry about that." Hansen nodded decisively. "We'll go scrub up. Mister Fraser, you'll need to wait outside."

"When you come back," Fraser said, and Hansen seemed to have been expecting that because she nodded easily and led Ray out of the room.

"So, your Meg's in law enforcement," Meg prompted, before she could forget.

That same flash of startlement crossed Fraser's eyes before he composed himself. "Oh yes. Don't you remember?"

"Not particularly."

"Try."

She hated when people told her to try. She didn't want to push herself; she just wanted Doctor Hansen to fix her so she could regain her painfree ease of recall. With an irritated sigh she cast her mind back to this Fraser's hospital visit. What had she already remembered?

/I find it hard to believe any counterpart of Maggie Thatcher's could be so incompetent./ That was one thing. And... she'd told him she'd let go of the tree. /Damn! I'm sorry, I just wanted to keep her off my trail./

/You are a detective, aren't you? Well, of course not; your universe has no knowledge of the Teedib./

"What's the Teedib?" Meg asked softly.

Fraser's mouth twitched ambivalently. "Trans-Dimensional Investigations Bureau."

"She's a detective."

"Yes."

Meg lay still for a moment, fitting that fact into what she knew of this Fraser. And, of course, resting her head. Then, with a sudden flash of insight, the pieces came together.

/She's a detective./

/I just wanted to keep her off my trail./

Having just figured it out, her brain was happy to finally remember the important part of what Fraser had told her. /Her job is to apprehend criminals such as myself who have transgressed one of the many outdated laws governing trans-dimensional travel and contact./

"You're a criminal!" she said in astonishment.

"Technically," he agreed.

Meg didn't respond, stunned speechless. He was using her to somehow lay a false trail so he couldn't be brought to justice. How *dare* he? No wonder he hadn't been happy to hear she was a cop, like the 'Maggie' Thatcher on his trail. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, having no idea what to say to him. There had to be a reason... 'Outdated', he'd called the laws. Perhaps he was... taking political action of some kind. A kind of resistance fighter.

"We're back," Hansen said, breezing into the room in dark blue medical scrubs.

"So I see," Fraser said mildly.

"Leave." She gestured for Ray to bring the trolley closer to the bed as, a little surprisingly, Fraser obediently left. To Meg she said, "Nurse Kowalski's going to give you the anaesthetic. If you have any questions or objections, now is the time to hear them."

Meg looked at the door Fraser had gone through, wishing she could finish that conversation. She wanted to know what the hell he was up to. "No questions or objections," she said quietly.

"Okay, Canada, sleepy-time again," Ray said, putting a mask over her mouth and nose. "Just take deep, even breaths. Count back from a hundred if you want."

It wasn't necessary. Meg could already feel the anaesthetic affecting her brain. She blinked slowly, feeling her chest going up and down. "Night," she murmured, just so Ray's smile would be the last thing she saw as she went to sleep.

--

When Meg woke up, Fraser was leaning over her. There was a casual guardedness to his eyes that suggested a very *un*guarded expression had just been banished. She wished she hadn't missed it. And then she was too busy being ecstatic that her head didn't hurt to care much about expressions that may or may not have been on Fraser's face. "She fixed me," she said gleefully.

Fraser smiled at her in amusement, and Meg let herself be too happy to care about dignity, either. "Apparently so."

"Thank you for bringing me here," she said, and meant it more sincerely than she'd meant any thanks in her life. Her head was so *clear*. Warm, dry air brushed her arm where it had been encased in plaster, and all over she felt a burning delight: she didn't hurt.

"Oh, it was no trouble," Fraser assured her, then cocked his head in disagreement. "Well, mostly no trouble."

"Where are Ray and Doctor Hansen?"

He briefly rolled his eyes. "Your friend has decided this world's medical advances are worthy of his interest after all. Doctor Hansen's giving him a full tour."

Meg lifted her head off the bed to run her fingers over the operation scar on her left arm, measuring each precise suture with her fingertips. The crinkled red of it was a vivid contrast to her plaster-pale skin. There was something she ought to be remembering... And thanks to Hansen, she *could* remember it. She smiled slightly, then cleared her face and looked back up at Fraser. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Breaking the law. Evading... my counterpart. Using me as bait." She couldn't quite prevent the bitterness that edged her voice at that last part.

Fraser took a breath. "Ah." He hesitated, studying her much like her own Fraser would if he were trying to figure out how to appease her. "Why do you think I'm doing it?"

"I'm not going to play guessing games with you, Fraser," she snapped. "I'm not going to tell you what I want to hear. I want the *truth*."

"My reasons," he said steadily, "are just that. *My* reasons. I'm afraid your curiousity will have to remain unsatisfied."

"That's not good enough!" Meg pushed herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed so she could sit facing him. "You brought me into this, Fraser; I have the right to know why!"

"You already know why; because I needed a diversion. The rest does not concern you--"

"The *hell* it doesn't concern me! Fraser, if you don't tell me--" Meg faltered, suddenly remembering that she couldn't actually threaten him with anything. Even if, by some slim chance, this Fraser *was* a member of the RCMP, he certainly wasn't under her command. She gritted her teeth furiously.

"My fiery Maggie," Fraser said in fond amusement. "You're very compelling when you're angry."

"Compelling?" she repeated incredulously.

"Very much so." He slid his gaze over her. "And red does suit you; I can't imagine why you wouldn't want to hear that as often as possible."

This was unbelievable. Was he an American again, or just incredibly tasteless? "Fraser, this is *not* the time to be trying to get me into bed. I want to know--"

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" he interrupted curiously.

Meg hesitated. "Well, isn't it?"

"Meg." He shook his head. "Pretend I'm your Fraser--"

She snorted at that. "You're *not* my Fraser." In so many ways.

"Hypothetically," he said patiently. He leaned in, putting his hands on the bed on either side of her hips. "Would you object if I kissed you?"

Meg's pulse obediently tripled. She took a deep breath, fighting to banish that image from her mind. "I-- I don't see how that's relevant."

"Would you object if *I* kissed you?" he asked, abandoning his first question.

"Well-- yes!"

"Why?"

Because she wanted it so much. Because she wouldn't be able to think. Because he was using her to evade the law, and she was having trouble remembering why that was such a bad thing. Because he was making no effort to pretend he wasn't shamelessly attempting to seduce her. "Because... you're not my Fraser..." As if that had mattered before.

"If it looks like a duck... and quacks like a duck..." He was leaning closer towards her. Meg took a breath and forced herself to pull back.

"But the duck in my universe isn't a criminal," she said firmly.

"Perhaps he simply hides it better," he said with a grin. "Are we really that different, him and I? More different than you and Maggie?"

Just this morning she'd been standing in the Consulate kitchen trying to persuade another Fraser that, alternate universe or no, she was just the same as his Meg Thatcher. But as far as he'd been concerned, she was a total stranger. Ray had turned her away because he wanted something more than a fling. This Fraser knew who she was, where she was from, knew she wasn't his Maggie... and wanted her anyway.

But he was *using* her. He refused to even see fit to tell her why he thought it necessary to break whatever laws he was breaking. But could his reasons be justified? Could he be as noble as her Fraser? After all, he'd just gone out of his way to take care of her injuries. Meg closed her eyes in frustration. It shouldn't be this hard. She should be able to just say no, or say yes, or... The hopeful thought flickered across her mind that perhaps she'd be able to persuade him to send her home.

"Meg," Fraser chided gently, his voice as warm by her ear as his breath on her cheek. "Stop thinking. Do you want this?"

How cliched. This was the point where she was supposed to realise how much she wanted it, throw caution to the winds, and let him sweep her up into his arms. "Of course, but--"

"But what?" He shook his head. "Meg--"

"Don't interrupt me, Fraser," she said irritably, "I'm trying to think."

Fraser looked surprised; in the romance novels, the innocent heroine wasn't supposed to take time out to rationally think things through. He straightened, stepping back to give her some space; but still said with a smile, "If you're still thinking, I'm obviously doing something wrong."

Meg gave him a cool look, waiting for him to shut up and let her be. She had to think about this - because she certainly wouldn't be able to think about it once they'd started. She could remember, in dizzying detail, each and every kiss she'd shared with Fraser, any Fraser, and an ability to maintain coherent thought wasn't one of the features.

All right. Pros: it would be wonderful. Cons: she really, really ought not to. Why? Because he wasn't Fraser. No, he was better than Fraser; he wasn't her subordinate, he wasn't so... cringingly shy, and he had a certain edgy charm that made her compare him to *Vikings*, of all things. But he had kidnapped her, and unless he was willing to give her a damn good reason she couldn't forgive that. "You should tell Doctor Hansen I'm awake," she said flatly.

Fraser laughed bitterly. "Your little nurse friend, you mean. I should have known."

What? Meg stared at him for a moment before rolling her eyes in comprehension. The real Fraser may have been polite and sincere, but this one certainly had his share of male ego. He just *couldn't* believe she didn't want him unless there was someone else involved, could he? "This has nothing to do with Ray," she said impatiently. "And trust me, your petty little competition with him is hardly endearing you to me."

Fraser tensed. "I am *not* competing with him," he said in a low voice, reacting far more than Meg had expected to her comment.

"Yes, you are, Fraser," she said firmly. "You're threatened by him. And it's very childish."

"I am *NOT*!"

Meg flinched as his shout echoed around the small room. She closed her eyes briefly, willing her heart to return to its normal speed. When she opened them again Fraser was staring at her, obviously regretting his outburst. She'd touched a nerve. If only she knew what it meant. "Why, Fraser?" she softly asked. "What did he ever do to you?"

Fraser wet his lips, looking at her silently. Finally he answered, in a voice filled with pain, "He took you away from me."

Oh. Oh *no*. Despite everything, Meg felt her heart going out to this oh-so-alternate Fraser. It was all becoming clearer now. "Tell me about it," she said, as gently as she could manage.

Fraser turned away. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fraser," she commanded.

For once, it worked. He took a deep breath, staring at the floor. "We were... Maggie and I... I had never been so happy. We met through work, and-- and spent almost a year together. And then I saw the two of them, at Detective Kowalski's apartment, performing some... extremely unambiguous activities."

Meg's breath caught in her throat. No wonder he hadn't wanted to tell her anything. "I... I'm so sorry..." Fraser didn't even seem to hear her.

"I had to leave," he said in a hollow voice. "I couldn't bear to... I stole this." His fingers rested on the device on his belt. "I stole it, and I left, and she had the gall to pursue me as though *I* were the one at fault!"

Meg couldn't bear to see him hurting. She slid off the bed and walked to him. He turned at the light touch on his arm. "Fraser, I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "You didn't deserve that."

"How can you be sure?" he whispered.

She caught her breath, stabbed to the core by his agonising self-doubt. This wasn't right. Fraser should be confident, prepossessed; even irritating in the belief of his own infallibility. How dare some other Meg Thatcher have brought him to *this*? Had she known what she was throwing away, or simply not cared?

Meg had no intention of adding to Fraser's wounds. She lifted her hand to his cheek, watching him turn uncertain eyes on her. "I'm sure," she said quietly. "You didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve anything like that."

Fraser covered her hand with his own. "I..." he started slowly, then gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "Thank you." He hesitated, then edged towards her.

Meg felt her skin begin to tingle as he leaned in. Her stomach jumped pitifully. "Fraser," she murmured; her hand slid of its own volition to the back of his neck, and he covered her mouth with his own.

Immediately she knew this was a mistake. She had never felt this emotionally adrift, as though her very soul was fleeing into Fraser's. It awakened a desperate yearning within her, one that she had always thought could never be appeased. But this... was not her Fraser. He didn't work for her. And he needed her as much as she needed him.

She pressed against him hungrily, drawn into him merely by the power of his kiss. She'd always known - half-known - imagined - that there was an intense passion lurking under that guarded innocence of his. Now there could be no doubt; he'd unleashed its full force upon her. She didn't stand a chance.

Fraser drew back a little, cupping her cheeks in his hands. "Meg," he breathed, and the unashamed lust in his gaze sent an electric thrill through her.

He picked her up off the ground and Meg let out a yelp, clinging to him reflexively before she realised she wouldn't fall. Fraser made no apology, carrying her back to the bed as though it were simply impossible she could refuse. Well... perhaps it was. There was something about this desiring and demanding Fraser that made her heart skate. He wasn't polite, he wasn't anxious to please - he was untamed. A feral Fraser. His wildness called to her.

"You've wanted this," he murmured, brushing her hair from her face. She couldn't deny it. Fraser slid his hand between the velcro strips of her medical gown; half caress, half undressing. "How long?"

"Years," she whispered, vaguely acknowledging to herself that she'd only known him two years. "Lifetimes."

"Liar," he said in amusement. Meg started to laugh, but he silenced her with a heart-stopping kiss. She responded eagerly, seeking out his tongue with her own. With the scratching sound of parting velcro, his hand found its way to her breast. She let out a muffled sound of pleasure, arching instinctively to his touch as she gave herself up completely to the sensations he evoked within her.

--
End part twenty-nine

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