Title: Bermuda Triangle
Author: Zeborah
Rating: [ADULT] [SLASH] PG-13/R
Codes: Fraser/Thatcher, Fraser/various, alternate universe
Part: 2/2

Teaser: A followup to Sasscat's "Alternate Thinking" parts 1&2. Fraser is trying to find out how Thatcher escaped from her cell when he's presented with another puzzle: why has she come back?

Disclaimers: Alliance owns all.

Notes: Thanks to Sasscat for letting me play in her alternate universe. You really must read parts one and two of her "Alternate Thinking" before this story.

Warnings: This is written in an alternate universe of the Star Trek tradition, ie it's dark and contains... well, alternate universe stuff. Crude language, leather and whips, sexual references, violence, non-consensual happenings... This is hovering on the border between PG-13 and R. Proceed at your own risk.

 

Bermuda Triangle
-(c) Zeborah 1999-

The next morning was bright and sunny, more like spring than early winter, and it would have put Fraser in a good mood if he'd really put this mystery behind him, as he'd told Thatcher he had the night before. For that precise reason, it was the perfect setting as he approached the Consulate just as she was starting up the steps. "Good morning, Constable," he called cheerfully.

She looked around at him. "Good morning, sir," she said, smiling back, and waited for him to arrive.

As they walked up the steps together, he swung his arm around the small of her back. "Did you sleep well last night?"

It was several seconds before she closed her mouth and opened it again to say, a little distractedly, "Yes, sir. It's... good to be back in my own bed."

Was it only his imagination that injected that with some extra meaning? Or was it the hypnotic rhythm of her hip under his hand that made him reject it? "It's good to have you back at work," he said.

"Well, I... Thank you, sir. Constable Moskovitz said you've been busy here."

"Mmm," he said softly as they stepped into her office. "I'm sure you'll be looking forward to getting back in the saddle. I should let you get to it."

"I... suppose so, sir."

Fraser stepped back, letting his fingers run a light trail across her back as he did. "I'll see you later on, then, Margaret."

"Yes, sir."

He turned to the door as she turned to her desk; then, as if remembering something suddenly, he turned back. "Margaret," he said, and she looked up quickly, "you haven't seen Kowalski at all since last year, have you?"

The smile on her face froze.

"I just need to talk to some of my friends," he explained, "and I'd like to be sure of the facts before I pass judgement on their reliability."

"Oh," Thatcher said. She relaxed a little, but didn't look as happy as she had before. "Well... no. No, I haven't. I mean... in the distance a couple of times, but not up close. I've never talked to him."

"That's a pity," Fraser said. "For my friends."

"Yes, sir." Then she said, just before he turned away, "You said, yesterday, that you saw me. Last week."

Yes, that was that slight inconsistency in her story.... He made his smile waver a little, as if he were a little worried about his state of mind but not willing to show it.... "Did I?"

Her mouth opened in puzzlement, then shut again. "Nnnoo," she said slowly. "I suppose you didn't say so, exactly."

"That's good," he said with false cheer. "I do so hate to lie." He touched the brim of his Stetson and left, shutting the door behind him. The sooner he could resolve this entire situation the better; it was far too messy for his taste, not to mention far too... personal.

He hung up his hat, tunic, and two yellow stripes in the closet, then turned to his desk to prepare for the morning's work.

***

In a weak attempt at false bravado, Kowalski was actually wearing the belt Fraser had ordered for him. He sauntered into the office, faltered a little as the door was shut behind him, then recovered and flashed a smile. "Good to seeya again, Inspector my friend."

"Believe me, Mister Kowalski," Fraser said, standing up, "the feeling is mutual." He extended his hand over the desk; Kowalski looked at it and gingerly shook it. "So, shall we get down to business?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," Kowalski said.

"Please-- Oh dear," he said suddenly, "I don't seem to have a spare chair. Would you excuse me for just one moment, and I'll have the Constable bring one in." He opened the drawer with the telephone in, incidentally drawing Kowalski's eyes to the whip on the wall, and dialed Thatcher's number.

"Good morning, Canadian Consulate, Constable Thatcher speaking."

"Constable, this is Inspector Fraser," he broke in. "Would you be so kind as to bring in a spare chair for my guest?"

"Yes, sir, I'll be right there."

"Thank you kindly." He hung up and closed the drawer again. "It won't be just a minute," he said.

Kowalski tore his eyes off the whip. "Yeah, no, that's fine," he said. "So, uh, what's this about anyway?"

"I simply wanted to clarify some details of your testimony yesterday," Fraser said.

"My testimony?"

"Account, report, statement--"

"Yeah, I know what a testimony is, Fraser, I'm just saying-- Okay, fine, what details?"

There was a knock at the door. "Please come in, Constable," Fraser said nonchalantly, and prepared to pay close attention to both their reactions. He turned back to Kowalski as the door opened and said, "Perhaps it would be easiest for you to just repeat the whole story, Mister Kowalski. Oh, do make yourself comfortable first."

Kowalski turned automatically to the chair and performed the perfect double-take; Thatcher simply stared in horror, first at him, then at Fraser.

"You might be interested in this too, Constable," Fraser said calmly, sitting down.

Kowalski was the first to speak. "Look, I don't gotta--"

"Shut up," Thatcher interrupted fiercely. "What right do you have to come in here and lie about me? I worked every minute of my time here for a week last year trying to make the case against you stick, and I should have pulled a week's worth of all-nighters too. I swear--"

"Constable, please. Your manners." Fraser wanted to hear what Kowalski had to say.

He was looking almost as agitated as he had the day before. "I don't gotta do this," he said. "I don't gotta stay here and be like this here in the middle of you two. I told you what happened yesterday, and if you don't like it you can just... Nnnnn!" he growled. "Forget it." He turned and started towards the door, but Thatcher stopped him with a hefty shove.

"That's a lovely belt, Mister Kowalski," Fraser said.

Kowalski froze. "Yeah," he choked out after a moment. "Nice belt."

"Please, have a seat."

He sat down heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, so about a week ago, she and me, we met around in my area, just by chance like, and she starts talking to me so I answer, and she's acting strange, and then she snaps out of it a bit and goes off wherever she goes."

"That's a lie!"

"I didn't do anything," Kowalski was continuing quickly, "I didn't touch her. I mean, so I said something about going into a bar, but that's just because she's looking really out of it and I thought maybe she wasn't well. I wasn't going to do anything--"

"What is all this about, Kowalski?" Thatcher demanded. "You know full well you never so much as saw me last week. Unless you were on the flight to Bermuda with me and I never noticed, and believe me, I would have noticed."

He looked at her for a moment, then turned to Fraser. "Is she for real?"

"She's trying to be," Fraser said. "That should be all for now, Mister Kowalski."

He stood up, shifting away from Thatcher. "Look, are you going to keep fucking me around like this? 'Cause--"

"Yes," Fraser said, and watched Kowalski blanch. He offered his hand, but didn't complain when Kowalski just backed out of the room, glancing back and forth between them as he went.

"Well," Fraser said, standing up. He walked around to Thatcher. "An interesting revelation, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," she said bitingly. "I didn't realise you were friends with Kowalski."

He slapped her, hard.

Her face flew to the right and bounced back again with a choking gasp.

Fraser turned away quickly and pressed his hand against his leg. Dammit; now he was losing his temper. This was not a good case for him. But Ray Kowalski and Margaret Thatcher, together -- but that was still no excuse for losing his temper. "I'm sorry, Constable," he said, looking out the window, up at the thin blue sky. "I shouldn't have done that."

She didn't answer, except with uneven breaths.

Maybe he should take a walk to calm down. He turned back around and was startled to find tears on her cheeks.

"How?" she whispered. "How can you trust him? And not me? How can you--" She shook her head in frustration.

"The problem is, Margaret," he said softly, "that Mister Kowalski isn't the only person who says he saw you. So do I, and Constables Moskovitz and Turnbull, and a whole host of my friends, who were in fact the first to bring the situation to my attention. So you see that however much I would like to believe you, it is becoming increasingly difficult to do so. Now," he continued, moving slowly towards her, "if you would just tell me the truth then I will do my best to see that you are treated with all leniency, and with all the circumstances taken into account. But otherwise I really can't help you, Margaret. You understand that, don't you?"

She shook her head again. "I didn't do anything. I never even saw him. I was in Bermuda, the whole time."

It was all Fraser could do not to reach out, stroke her cheek, and tell her that he'd never doubted her. If he hadn't seen her himself-- He sighed. There had to be some way to convince her to talk to him. He moved around her and opened the door. "Jeremy, would you come in here for a minute, please?" Then he went to his closet and, taking one of the yellow stripes, started pressing it into place.

His aide arrived just as he was tucking the bottom of the strip into his boot. "Yes, sir?"

"Constable, would you please see that Constable Thatcher is comfortable on my desk," Fraser said, and took the second stripe off the hanger. "And see to her cheek," he added. "That could turn into a nasty bruise."

"Yes, sir."

Fraser finished with the stripe as his aide tried to move Thatcher towards the desk. She finally started towards it as he started buttoning up his tunic, and only reached it when he put his Stetson on and shut the closet door.

"I don't expect to be long, Jeremy," Fraser said on his way out.

***

He came back a little refreshed, though not very much so, and feeling prepared once more to deal, calmly and firmly, with Thatcher. What he was not prepared for was to see her walking towards him down the corridor.

She stopped, her face suddenly wary, but clearing an instant later. "Inspector Fraser; right," she said in a brisk tone. "Could I just--"

"Constable Moskovitz," Fraser called, doing his best to keep calm, "would you please come here and explain to me why Constable Thatcher is wandering down the corridor towards the exit?"

Thatcher looked up at the ceiling in exasperation. "Where," she asked in a carefully controlled tone, "am I supposed to be?"

Fraser raised his eyebrows and gestured towards the office door just as it opened and his aide stepped out, a flannel in one hand. "Sir, did you-- Oh," he said, seeing Thatcher. "Oh my. Uh--"

"Don't have a heart attack, Constable," she said, and pushed past him into the office.

"I'll deal with you later," Fraser told him, taking the flannel from his hand and following Thatcher in. He realised she was wearing pants instead of her usual short skirt around the same time as he realised she was still on his desk. Well, this was... awkward. "Would you excuse me just one moment?" he said, and started to turn to his closet to spend that moment hanging up his uniform and trying to clear his mind.

"I don't have a moment, Inspector," Thatcher-with-the-trousers said.

He turned around and fixed her with a piercing look. "I beg your pardon?"

She didn't flinch. "Could you let her go?" She gestured to Thatcher-on-the-desk.

"No."

"No, of course not," she said with a sigh. "Fine, I'll be brief. My name is Margaret Thatcher, trans-dimensional detective. You can call me 'Detective', but I don't intend to stay long enough for that to make a difference. I'm chasing a hardened criminal who's running amok through various universes and wreaking havoc as he goes. In short, something unusual happened in your universe approximately a week ago, which probably appeared to be due to your Margaret Thatcher, but was in fact none of her doing. So if you would just disregard whatever the incident was and put it behind you, it would be much appreciated and I can get on with my job."

"I see."

She waited, then sighed. "It was another Margaret Thatcher, Inspector. From a T57 universe, which means-- Well, never mind what it means. She was pulled into this universe by F-- by said hardened criminal when he pulled his little stunt. She was clearly not familiar with this type of universe, was taken somewhat unawares, and made god only knows what idiotic mistakes which you've misapplied to her local counterpart."

"And now this other Margaret Thatcher would be...?"

"In another universe, where she's making god only knows what other idiotic mistakes which I'll also have to sort out for her. I do sympathise with her," she added, "but really this is most infuriating. Do you believe me yet?"

"It's not an eminently credible story, Detective."

"Yes, but on the other hand you've got two of us in the same room."

"Right you are," Fraser admitted with a nod.

"Good. So I can go then." She fiddled with her belt and disappeared.

Fraser looked at the spot where she'd just been, then turned to Thatcher-on-the-desk. "I'll just be one minute."

While he was hanging up his uniform he decided that it might just be easiest to believe the woman. Her story, after all, did seem as credible as the facts, and it was the best explanation he'd had all week. Margaret was cleared of all wrongdoing -- he turned and started to undo the restraints -- his own mental health and the reliability of a good portion of his friends in Chicago was restored to good repute, and Kowalski... Well, Kowalski was looking as if he might make a good friend too, with a little softening of his temper.

He undid the last restraint and helped Margaret off the desk. Her eyes tried to meet his but skittered away again, and her whole body was tense under his hands. "I'm sorry," he said.

She nodded, a quick jerk of her head.

"You understand--" He took a breath, trying to find a way to explain how he could have distrusted her. "All the evidence--"

"Yes, sir," she said quietly.

"I saw you myself. I wouldn't have believed anyone else, but... Margaret, I am sorry."

She nodded again, then started shaking. Fraser drew her close to his chest and held her there with one hand on her back and the other in her hair. Her cheek was warm through his silk shirt, her head fitting smoothly at his neck... blue sky out the window....

"I was going to tell you," she said suddenly, "tell you that I'd done it. Whatever it was."

Fraser shut his eyes briefly. "I'm glad you didn't."

After a few more moments she stopped shaking and took a breath. He stepped back a little from her, still keeping one hand soft on her arm. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, sir." She smiled a little. "Thank you. Can I go back to my duties?"

"If you want to," he said, hesitating to let go of her. Then he remembered: "We'll need a story for Ottawa."

"We could tell them Kowalski kidnapped me," she said, and Fraser was fairly sure that the gleam in her eye this time wasn't a tear.

"That could work," he said solemnly. It would make it rather more difficult to be friends with him, but so be it. "If you can give me a full report of what happened and how he treated you, I can make sure the witnesses' stories coincide." He turned to the door and walked out with her.

His aide was there, back pressed against the wall, looking very very worried. "Inspector, I--"

"Yes, Jeremy, that's fine," Fraser interrupted. "My apologies for doubting you. Would you kindly arrange for Constable Thatcher to read a copy of our investigation reports for the last nine days?"

"Yes, sir," his aide said, looking as though he wanted to be relieved but wasn't entirely sure that the situation warranted it yet. "Uh, Constable Thatcher, they're just, uh--"

"In your desk. Good," she interrupted briskly, and went off with him down the corridor with a quick glance back at Fraser.

He nodded at her and went back into his office, shutting the door behind him and going to move the restraints back into their usual, more tactful, position under the desk. He'd barely opened his drawer to retrieve a sheath of papers to work on when the phone started ringing. In a way, it was almost as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened over the last two weeks.

***
END

Back to contents
Continue with Alternate Thinking