January 5, 2005 (12:36 a.m.)
A/N: Although I have a propensity for writing shônen-ai fics (that being "slash" in the non-anime parlance), I decided to give Fraser and Thatcher a chance together. And although I like Fraser and Ray being together, you have to admit, Fraser and Thatcher would make a good couple. Much better than Victoria, anyways scowl scowl
Intro lines are taken from Fraser and Thatcher's conversation on top of the train in "All the Queen's Horses"
Please review, but be kind, just like our favourite Mountie!
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"I know you have a heart, and I think it beats just the same as mine."
"What about right now?"
"It's racing."
"Out of control?"
"It's a runaway."
Runaway... by XtineThe office was bare, dingy, lit only by the greasy orange glow of streetlights shining through the eternal drizzle. She didn't bother to turn on the lights, it was late, and all she wanted to do was drop off her box of stuff, grab her suitcase and head off to the nearest hotel.
Turnbull had been on duty when she had called to say she was coming back to Chicago. It had been a disappointment. She had been hoping to hear his voice, hoping to surprise him with her news. She had been picturing his face, his quiet smile as the phone rang.
Pleasant images shattered by the stupidity of her other Constable.
Well, it couldn't be helped; in fact, it was probably for the best if Constable Fraser had left Chicago. She would be flattering herself to say that he had left because she was going – she knew very well that she had been a cold-hearted bitch to him. She had done her duty as an Inspector.
That was the reason she had left.
Duty… she had always been a good girl, doing her duty, buckling down and following every rule to the letter. What had that obedience gotten her? She was hounded by her male superiors who only saw her legs and chest; she was shunted into desk jobs as though she was some fragile hothouse plant…and Fraser? She had forced herself to block him out of her mind, to be cold to him.
That's what duty had brought her: a lonely apartment, dreams of a Mountie with clear blue eyes, and four years worth of regrets.
Four years… had it really been that long? It seemed like only yesterday that she had left the city behind. Four years since she had seen his face.
With a sigh, Margaret Thatcher dropped into the chair behind her desk, swivelling it so she faced out the window, resting her head back against the padding. She shifted awkwardly, tugging at the collar of her uniform, trying to get comfortable. She was so tired, her eyes felt prickly and hot, painful to close. Jet lag, probably.
"Red suits you."
She smiled slightly, remembering how Fraser had told her that once, in the middle of updating her on a terrorist situation. She could almost hear the sound of his voice as he…
Wait. That conversation had been communicated in semaphore….
She spun around, jumping to her feet and crying out sharply as she smacked her knees against the low desk.
Instantly, he was at her side, hand on her arm, helping her up. She tried to ignore the tingle that spread outwards through her body at his touch.
"Fraser?"
"Ah, yes sir."
"What the hell… what are you…would you get the lights please, Constable?"
"Er…right away sir."
Thatcher steadied herself against the front of her desk, shielding her eyes as the room was suddenly illuminated. Fraser stood just inside the doorway, looking just as he had the day he had left, awkward and uncertain.
"Constable, you do realize that it is 3:00 in the morning." I haven't seen you in so long, Ben…
He shifted his weight slightly, frowning as though trying to determine the exact meaning of her statement. "Ah… yes sir, it is." He glanced down at his wrist quickly. "Well, actually, it's closer to three-thirty by my clock, although I'm not positive that's the correct time, as it stopped working late this afternoon when I was obliged to pull Detective Vecchio out of the lake, which was, in fact, around three thirty in the afternoon, so…."
"Fraser!" Thatcher interrupted quickly, before the explanation could go any further. "Why are you here?"
"Well…I work here, sir."
This was getting nowhere. She didn't know how a man who was so brilliant could also be so infuriatingly stupid, but Fraser had always managed it, somehow.
"Constable, it's very late, I am tired, and I want to get to my hotel. I will deal with you in the morning." Thatcher pronounced, pushing off her desk. She hesitated for a moment, staring at the bewildered Constable, waiting for him to offer to escort her.
He didn't speak.
She sighed, irritated with herself. It had been four years, more than long enough to get over her petty infatuation. Of course he wouldn't offer to take her back to her room, which would be untoward, and Fraser was ever mindful of propriety. Well, most of the time. Except for on top of the train, where he had kissed her for several delicious minutes. She still couldn't get that out of her head. Not that she would have asked him to stay the night with her. She wouldn't have.
With a brusque shake of her head, Thatcher grabbed her suitcase and strode purposefully towards the door… which Fraser shut before she could reach it. Leaning his back against the door, he stared at her for a long moment, beginning to smile slightly.
She felt her heart skip, and cursed herself for being so pathetic. "Out of the way, Constable."
She could see him thinking, how he met her gaze for an instant, before straightening and staring over her shoulder.
"No, sir."
Thatcher felt her eyebrows raise incredulously, her jaw dropping slightly despite herself, all instincts ready to tear him to pieces for insubordination. She knew the nickname that Fraser's detective friend had given her – The Dragon Lady. If Fraser didn't think she could live up to that name, he was about to find out otherwise.
Then he stepped towards her. Not the deferential approach he usually had, as though he was afraid to disturb her, but a much more predatory walk. She found herself moving back against her will, breath catching in her throat.
"You see, sir, although by returning to the Consulate, you are once again my superior officer, until such time that you should actually resume command of this Consulate, that being, oh, around 7:00 this morning, you have no jurisdiction here whatsoever."
"That's a technicality, Constable," she warned quietly, taking another step backwards, "and you can be sure I will remember it in the morning."
"Oh I'm sure you will, sir," he sounded completely casual, off-hand.
Thatcher shook her head in disbelief. "Are you drunk, Fraser?"
To her surprise, he stopped, tilting his head to one side with an almost nervous laugh, running his thumbnail over his eyebrow in his habitual gesture. "You know, I think I may just be, sir? Well, of course, I'm not drunk, in the, ah sense of being completely incapacitated…"
"You can't tell…"
"But, well, I don't usually drink sir, as you know, but it being the first of July today sir, Ray and Ray… that is," he blinked sharply, gesturing with one hand to develop his explanation, "Ray Ray Vecchio and Ray Stanley Vecchio Kowalski decided we should, ah celebrate Canada Day together." He shrugged, laughing.
Thatcher stared. She had never seen Fraser drunk before. She hadn't thought it was possible.
"So, they insisted that we go out to a bar and, well to be honest sir, it gets a little fuzzy after that, but I do recall them telling me that you would be returning to the Consulate tonight, and, well, ah, asking me what I was going to do about it."
"Do about it…" she repeated his words faintly.
"Yes, well, I know I did promise to erase all memories of our…contact with each other from my mind, but I have been increasingly unable to do so, possibly as I was hoping that by some bizarre twist of fate we would find ourselves on another train headed for a nuclear meltdown in the heart of Chicago."
Reaching out, he caught her arm gently, drawing her forward.
"The fact of the matter is, sir, that I've been wanting to kiss you again for, oh…I don't know how long. Well, actually, I do. Every single minute of every single day since you told me that it could never happen again. I haven't worked out exactly how long that is, but…."
"You're drunk, Fraser."
"Oh no sir, merely vaguely tipsy. Enough to realize that I made a mistake letting you leave Chicago in the first place."
Slowly, he pulled her into his embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, gazing down at her with a fiercely intense expression. She couldn't breathe suddenly; her uniform felt too tight, she couldn't tear her eyes away from his.
"Stop looking at me like that Fraser," she muttered, shifting awkwardly in his arms, feeling herself flush under his scrutiny.
He chuckled softly, sending shivers down her spine. His voice was low, amused, as he rested his forehead against hers.
"Is that an order, sir…?"
No, you know it isn't. God, I want to stay here like this forever…to hell with duty. "Yes." It sounded small, uncertain to her ears. She took a deep breath, mastering herself, making her voice firm. "Yes, Constable, that is an order."
He laughed again, pulling her tighter against the warmth of his body as his lips brushed her forehead. "Not until seven o'clock, sir…."
She was close enough to feel his heart beat. Like hers, it was racing…a runaway.
"Until seven?" she repeated, tilting her head back to face him.
"Mmm-hmm."
Oh what the hell…She reached one hand up, stroking his cheek before settling her arms around his neck. A few hours can't hurt….
END!!!
Oh wait, why not have an…
Epilogue.
Ray Vecchio and Ray (Stanley) Kowalski sat silently in the Riviera, staring at the building that had abruptly gone dark again. The Canadian flag outside flapped limply in the slight breeze, weighted down by the persistent drizzle.
"You don't think they…" Ray (Stanley) began.
Ray Vecchio – the real Ray Vecchio – shook his head, smiling. "Way to go Benny…" He flicked the windshield wipers, swishing away the raindrops so as to get a better view.
Ray (Stanley) shifted impatiently in his seat. "Give me back those binoculars."
"No. This is my car, this is my best friend, and this was my idea. You are just along for the ride."
Ray (Stanley) pushed Dief out of the way, leaning forward over the seat, peering up at the building, before flopping back again with a loud sigh. Then forward again. "Give them to me, or I'll pop you in the head, so help me God."
"Yeah, bite me."
"I swear to God!"
"Shut up."
"…why is this wolf licking my ear?"
END!! ((really this time.))
Ah, the ice-bitch melts, and Fraser's tipsy!! Who woulda thunk it? Of course, if I was in charge of the series, a) this would have happened duringshow, b) Fraser would have stayed in Chicago with Vecchio and Kowalski – I just can't decide which one I like better… I keep shifting back and forth. Fickle, I know – and most importantly, c) the show wouldn't have ended. If Friends can run for over a decade, than so can this!!!!!