Monday Night ….
Meg walked into the consulate well past midnight, her sky high heels in hand. Her bare feet padded silently down the hall to her office. Light from the security bulb along the street lit her way.
"I'm so tired of being a consulate social butterfly." she thought as she opened her office door.
"No! Jimmy! Stop!" Fraser's voice carried through his office door and down the hall. Meg stood perfectly still-frozen.
"Jimmy, please." the constable's voice carried desperation, "don't pull the trigger."
Meg heard him scream as he relived the grisly suicide of the seventeen year old hockey player. The mournful wail sent chills down the Inspector's back. Quickly, she made her way down the hall and pounded on Fraser's door.
"Constable Fraser, open this door!" Meg hammered on the door with her small fist until it hurt, "Fraser, answer the door, it's an order!" she shouted twice before the white, wooden door flew open, nearly sucking her inside. Fraser stood ram rod straight, his dark blue eyes red rimmed, and his usually tamed hair a mess.
"Are you alright, Constable?" Meg studied her subordinate, concern in her dark brown eyes.
Ben hung his head, his thumb nail scratching at his eyebrow. Overwhelmed by the intense nightmare and the Inspector's presence, he couldn't speak. His heart still hammered, a shout hanging in his throat.
"Constable Fraser, I see that Jimmy Hellman's suicide has taken a toll on you. I'm relieving you of duty pending a psychological fitness evaluation." Meg watched the fear in Fraser's face. She wanted to wipe away his anxiety. Fraser hadn't been himself since watching Jimmy end his own life. The Mountie's hands had still been covered in blood when she saw him. He'd been calm, eerily calm. Even Turnbull had been worried about him. Detective Vecchio had been hovering since then, as had Diefenbaker.
"Sir, I assure you, I'm perfectly fit, I ..." before he could finish, Meg cut in,
"I disagree, Constable." she fixed him with an expression that brooked no contest. She needed to be mean to him to be kind in the end.
"You'll thank me in the long run, Fraser, you'll see." Meg nodded decisively.
Ben looked down at his sock clad feet, head still spinning. Awkward silence settled between them.
"Carry on, Constable Fraser, I'll have a counselor lined up for you tomorrow." Meg clasped her heels tighter and turned to go.
The next morning at nine o'clock, Inspector Thatcher called Fraser into her office. He wore his red serge, despite being relieved of duty.
"I've arranged for you to see Dr. Chandler, here's the information, you have a ten o'clock appointment." she handed him a sheet of note paper. A name, address and phone number crossed the page in her clear but feminine hand.
"If I may, Sir,"
"No, you may not, Fraser." Thatcher leaned forward, elbows on her desk.
Ben wondered at the flicker of concern in her dark chocolate eyes.
"Understood, Sir." he nodded, his expression grim.
"Dismissed, Constable." Meg's voice betrayed her, at least to her own ears. Fraser turned on his heel and left her office without a word. Meg lowered her head into her hands. Being a bitch was tiring sometimes.