This story is set during the second half of Season 3/4. My good friend vic32 suggested that I try writing a kid!fic so here it is. I hope you like it. I would like to mention that I'm not sure whether Canadian citizens required passports to travel between Canada and the USA during the 1990's, but they do in this story! Please leave a review, good or bad, thank you kindly!
RESPONSIBILITY
Chapter 1.
"Two more weeks! That's totally unacceptable!" Inspector Meg Thatcher slammed the telephone down and sighed.
Constable Benton Fraser stuck his head nervously around the door of her office at the Canadian Consulate in Chicago. "Is there a problem, Sir?" Of course he knew exactly what the problem was. He'd been standing outside the office of his superior officer for the last five minutes listening to her berate the poor girl on the other end of the line. He placed his completed 8841C reports on the Inspector's desk.
"Fraser, they told me they'd be finished by the day after tomorrow," replied Meg, still fuming and getting to her feet, "how long does it take to redecorate an apartment?" She waved her hands in the air in despair.
"Sir, if you don't mind me saying, it's not simply a case of redecorating," Fraser pointed out, gingerly, "they need to ensure that the walls of your apartment are completely dry. When that pipe burst..."
"I do realise that Fraser," Meg interrupted him, sighing again. She was annoyed because she knew he was right of course, but she just wanted to move back into her own home. "I'm afraid I'll just have to sleep with you for a while longer."
Fraser's head snapped to attention at her words and his eyes widened. Meg felt the colour in her cheeks deepen. "I mean sleep here at the Consulate...where you also sleep," she corrected herself as Fraser ran his index finger around his collar in an attempt to allow some air to flow. "Of course, you sleep in your office," she continued, desperately trying to talk her way out of her embarrassment. Fraser nodded furiously. "Alone..." Meg continued. She felt her throat tightening and she knew she should probably stop talking now, but she couldn't help herself, "whereas I'm sleeping upstairs in the bedroom...also alone."
Fraser and Meg stood perfectly still, staring at each other for what seemed like the longest few seconds of their lives. Eventually, Fraser swallowed deeply and spoke. "Will that be all, Sir?" he said quietly. He really wanted to leave the office now. Ever since the incident on the train, the one that they had agreed never to speak of again, he and Meg had shared some particularly awkward moments and this was definitely one of them.
"Dismissed," Meg snapped, before adding, a little more gently this time, "thank you for completing your 8841C reports."
Fraser almost ran out of the door, barely avoiding Diefenbaker who had been napping in the hallway. Dief growled. "There's no need for language like that," Fraser hissed at him as he headed back towards his office, taking some deep breaths as he walked. He was certain that he would never understand his relationship with Inspector Thatcher.
Fraser sat at his desk and glanced at his watch. It was almost three o'clock in the afternoon and he wondered how his best friend and unofficial partner at the Chicago Police Department was getting on. Ray Kowalski, who was currently maintaining his undercover identity of Ray Vecchio, had been spending the day attempting to organise some of his old files. The Twenty Seventh Precinct was expecting a visit from the Chicago PD auditors and while Lieutenant Welsh had insisted that the visit was purely routine, he had also insisted that every one of his detectives ensure that there wasn't a single detail out of place. Fraser, of course, would have liked nothing better than to be at the Twenty Seventh assisting his partner, not only to ensure that the department passed their impending audit with flying colours, but also because he gained a curious pleasure from neatness and organisation. He could almost hear Ray calling him a freak at that admission, but he simply couldn't help it. Unfortunately, as Constable Turnbull had been out all day representing the Consulate at a function – and Fraser really didn't want to even imagine how that was going, or why his presence had been specifically requested – it had left Fraser unable to get away.
Suddenly Dief came running into Fraser's office. Fraser looked at his wolf with mild disdain. "Dief, I'm sorry," Fraser sighed, "it was an accident, I didn't realise you were..." but he trailed off and got out of his seat. "What is it?" he asked his wolf, suddenly serious. Fraser's face was now etched with worry as he listened to Dief's response. "Thank you," he said quietly and quickly headed out of the door and back along the hall.
He got to Inspector Thatcher's office and hesitated slightly before knocking twice. He waited for the response that he knew would never come. He slowly pushed open the door. "Sir?" he said, gently, stepping into the room. Meg was sitting silently at her desk, holding the telephone receiver in her slightly trembling hand. Fraser crossed the room. "Sir? What is it?" Meg simply shook her head. Fraser carefully prised the telephone out of her hand and after quickly checking that there was no one on the line, he replaced the receiver with one hand, keeping a tight hold of her wrist with the other. She was clearly very distressed and Fraser was extremely concerned about her now. He crouched down next to her chair. "Who was on the telephone?" he asked her.
Meg took a deep breath and turned her head to look into his eyes. "It was Sergeant Malone from Toronto," she began in a shaky voice, "my...my sister...Lizzie...she's been in an accident..."
Fraser slipped his hand into hers and squeezed it supportively. All thoughts of awkwardness from earlier were immediately dispelled. "What happened?" he asked.
"A truck hit her car on the freeway," Meg replied. "She's...she's in a critical condition Fraser."
"I wasn't aware that you had a sister," Fraser said. His superior officer had never talked about her family at all.
"We...we haven't spoken for four years, we had a...um...a falling out," Meg replied, unable to look Fraser in the eye now. "Her husband and daughter were in the vehicle too, but..." she paused and took a breath, "but they only have minor injuries."
"I'm sorry," replied Fraser, not really sure what else he could say at the moment.
"Malone said I should go to Toronto immediately," explained Meg.
Fraser's heart sank. It was clear that her sister's prognosis was not good. He got to his feet and gently pulled Meg out of her seat. "Go upstairs and pack a bag," he ordered, gently, "I'll book you a flight."
"Fraser," Meg began to protest, "I can't just drop everything..."
"Of course you can," replied Fraser as he guided her towards the door, "Constable Turnbull and I will take care of everything here."
"Fraser, I..." Meg's voice cracked.
"Go to your sister," Fraser insisted.
Meg nodded and headed out of the door, but before she completely left the room, she turned back to Fraser. "The last time I saw her Fraser," she began, her voice wavering again, "the last thing I said to her...I called her a selfish, arrogant bitch." As the tears finally came, Meg ran up the stairs to the bedroom that had been her home for the last few days and threw a few essential items into her overnight bag as Fraser called the airport.
XxX
Two days later, Fraser had heard nothing from his superior officer and he was more than a little worried. "C'mon, buddy," Ray tried to sound encouraging. "No news is good news, right?"
Fraser sighed as he sipped at his cup of bark tea. "I hope you're right Ray," he said.
Constable Turnbull appeared at the door of Fraser's office. "Is there anything else I can get you Sir?" he asked, "or you Detective Vecchio?" he added.
"No thank you Turnbull," replied Fraser.
"I gotta get back," said Ray, putting his empty coffee mug on Fraser's desk. "Now that the, er, the auditors have gone, I gotta get all my stuff back where it belongs."
Fraser and Turnbull looked puzzled. "Surely all the work you did prior to the audit has resulted in everything being in the correct place?" queried Fraser.
"Hey buddy," laughed Ray, shaking his head, "the correct place is not where my stuff belongs."
Fraser shook his head, slightly dismayed. He and Turnbull followed Ray out into the hall. "I'll, er, see ya at about seven thirty then?" said Ray, as he opened the heavy wooden front door.
"Right you are Ray," replied Fraser, nodding appreciatively at his friend. He was aware that Ray had been spending as much time with him as possible since Inspector Thatcher had left for Toronto and was grateful at his friend's attempts to take his mind off the situation.
Ray was about to step outside, when he almost bumped into a woman and her young son who were already standing on the doorstep. "Sorry," he said, puzzled as to why they were standing there.
"Can I help you?" enquired Fraser.
"We're Canadian. We need new passports," explained the woman, slightly nervously, before adding, "urgently."
Fraser glanced at Ray, both were immediately a little suspicious of the situation. "Then I guess you're in the right place," said Ray. "I've really gotta get back," he said to Fraser, apologetically. Fraser nodded as Ray walked down the path towards his GTO.
"Welcome to Canada," smiled Turnbull to the woman and the boy. "Please come in."
The woman smiled back and stepped inside. "My name is Constable Benton Fraser," said Fraser, extending his hand for the woman to shake. "We'll use the Inspector's office," he said, noting the woman's weak handshake with slight concern. Fraser directed them towards the large room. "Turnbull, perhaps our visitors would care for some tea?"
"Yes please," replied the woman.
"What about you, young man? Would you like something to drink?" Turnbull asked the boy, dipping his head slightly as he spoke.
The boy looked nervously at his mother. "Answer the man, Jason," insisted the boy's mother.
The boy looked back to Turnbull. "Milk please," he said quietly. Turnbull hurried off to the kitchen.
"Please take a seat," said Fraser, pulling a chair out for the woman to sit down. She pulled her young son onto her lap. "Now then," began Fraser, taking out a pen from his desk drawer and selecting a green form from the shelf behind the desk, "the first thing I need is your name."
"Nicole Lavine," replied the woman. "This is my son Jason."
Fraser began to fill in the form. "And you are in need of new passports," he continued, "have your old ones expired?"
"No," replied Nicole shaking her head. "They are no longer in my possession. I've...um...we had to leave our apartment in a hurry a few weeks ago. I'm afraid that we weren't able to bring many personal belongings." The woman hung her head.
Fraser looked puzzled. "And you're not able to return and collect them?" he asked. Nicole shook her head again, still looking at the floor. Fraser hesitated for a moment. The woman had clearly been through a difficult time recently, but she'd only come to the Consulate to organise her passports, so he didn't feel he could ask inappropriate questions. "My friend who just left, Detective Vecchio, he works for the Chicago Police Department," he began gently, "is there some way he could help you?"
The woman shook her head again. "No," she insisted, "please Constable, I just want to take my son back home to Canada." Jason began to fidget on his mother's lap. "Jason please sit still," she scolded him.
Fraser nodded and began asking her a few more details that he needed for the forms. As he noted their birth dates, he smiled at the young boy who was getting more and more fidgety. "So, you're six years old then," he said. Jason nodded as Constable Turnbull returned with a tray of cups.
He placed a cup of tea and a glass of milk on the desk in front of Nicole and Jason and then held out a plate of chocolate cookies. "Is he allowed one of these?" Turnbull asked Nicole.
Jason looked hopefully at his mother. "Yes of course," replied Nicole and Jason snatched at a cookie and ate it at such a pace that even Dief was surprised, quickly helping himself to another one as Fraser went through the passport application form with Nicole.
"Do you really need my previous address?" Nicole asked.
"Yes," replied Fraser, unsurprised at her reluctance to give it to him after she'd already hinted at the problems associated with leaving there. "Don't worry, it's purely a formality."
Nicole proceeded to give Fraser the address of an apartment in a rather run down neighbourhood, telling him that they'd been living there for almost two years. When Fraser asked for her address prior to that, her face brightened and she told him about the apartment she used to share with Jason's father in Quebec.
"Are you currently married?" enquired Fraser, working his way down the questions on the form. Usually, completing a passport application was not in the least bit uncomfortable for him, but in this instance the woman was clearly finding it distressing to answer the questions about her private life.
Nicole shook her head. "No," she replied quietly. "Not any more."
"Divorced or widowed?" probed Fraser gently. He had to tick the right box on the form.
"Divorced," replied Nicole, almost under her breath. "Jason, I think you've eaten enough of those now," she reprimanded her son as he tried to grab another cookie from the plate. The young boy looked devastated and instead turned his attention to Diefenbaker who had been patiently lapping up crumbs that Jason had dropped on the floor.
"Why don't you and Diefenbaker go and find Constable Turnbull?" suggested Fraser, seeing that the boy was really bored with sitting still now. "He can give you some of Dief's biscuits, and perhaps you could feed him those? They are much better for his digestive system." Jason eagerly jumped off his mother's lap and headed out to the kitchen with the wolf who was willing to go along with Fraser's plan to use him to keep the boy occupied in exchange for biscuits. Even if they were dog biscuits. He made a mental note to remind the Mountie that there was nothing wrong with his digestive system.
Fraser completed the passport form as much as he could. He was disturbed by her extreme reluctance to allow him to take her photograph, but he was eventually able to persuade her that it was necessary for the passport. There were a few other matters, but Fraser insisted that there was nothing that should cause a problem. "It shouldn't take more than a couple of days," Fraser reassured Nicole, "I need to fax this to Ottowa, but they usually get back to me very quickly."
Nicole looked devastated. "Two days?" she said, her voice shaky, "but I wanted to leave first thing tomorrow morning."
"Oh dear," replied Fraser, "have you already made travel arrangements?"
Nicole shook her head. "Not really. I've rented a car and I'm just going to drive."
"All the way to Quebec?" enquired Fraser, rather astounded.
"No...maybe...I don't know..." Nicole trailed off. "I just need to get away from here and I can only afford to pay for one more night at the motel."
Fraser felt very sorry for her, but he wasn't sure if he could speed up the process. "I'll telephone the Passport office," he suggested, "if I explain your situation, they may be able to treat you as a priority case."
Nicole nodded sadly. "I'll come back tomorrow then," she said. Fraser nodded and smiled supportively. Nicole got to her feet, but stumbled slightly as she did so.
"Are you alright?" asked a concerned Fraser.
"Yes, I'm fine," she replied curtly.
Dief and Jason came back from the kitchen. Jason was eating an apple. "You are hungry aren't you, son," smiled Fraser.
"He's just being greedy," snapped Nicole. "Come on Jason."
"Actually, we have an abundance of apples," explained Fraser, "my superior officer was called away unexpectedly and so we have more than we need. Would you like to take some with you?"
"I'm not, oh, what's the English expression?" Nicole screwed up her face as she tried to recall it. "I'm not a charity case," she finally half whispered.
Fraser was a little taken aback. He hadn't meant to insult her. "I'm sorry," he replied, "it's just that your son appeared to be enjoying his apple."
"Please Mum," whined Jason.
Nicole sighed and looked at Fraser. "Thank you, that's very kind of you," she reluctantly agreed.
Fraser darted off into the kitchen, returning seconds later with a bag containing four apples and a carton of milk. Nicole looked at the milk and then at Fraser, but before she could say anything, Fraser spoke. "We also have far too much milk," he said.
Nicole closed her eyes for a moment. She realised that Fraser was trying to help her and she was actually grateful, but it made her feel like a bad mother all the same. She opened her eyes and looked directly at Fraser. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"It's no trouble," replied Fraser. "I will see you tomorrow. Hopefully I'll have some good news for you." He opened the front door and watched as Nicole and Jason walked down the path. "Enjoy those apples," he called out.
Fraser closed the door, slowly coated his lower lip with his tongue and turned to look at Dief. "I know," he said to his wolf, "but I'm not sure what else I can do." He sighed and walked back to his office.