Rage: The Thunder Rolls

by Tanya Reed

Here's another chapter, folks. It's kind of short. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Due South.

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How could he have been so stupid? It had been there all along and he had missed it--overlooked it because he wanted to believe the lie. It was easier and safer to believe the lie.

As Fraser moved through the streets, barely noticing people or places as he went, his mind went back to the station. One moment, he was talking to Ray, explaining what he had learned from that poor child's body, and the next his mind was focusing on the prostitute's bruises. He had a moment of total clarity as something clicked. It came to him, like a slap, what had been bothering him all day.

Bruises...It was the bruises...Just thinking of it rolled Fraser's stomach. Yes, he had had an epiphany, and it was an ugly one. It stole his breath and froze his blood as the pictures started racing through his mind. Her bruises. It was not the prostitute's bruises that tortured him, as disturbing as they were, but the ones that he had wanted to kiss away just that morning. If only he had paid more attention or looked beyond her words. He had seen three. How many were there that he didn't see? Had she been moving stiffly? Was she in pain? Fraser grit his teeth. Blind fool.

She said she had fallen once--against a coffee table. He had accepted this because she said it, and he trusted her more than anyone else--with the possible exceptions of Ray or Dief. Somehow he had forgotten her fear of being weak and her tendency of doing anything to protect her inner self, that sweet inner self that was so rarely glimpsed and so greatly cherished. She had hid her vulnerability, afraid that Fraser would see it, and he fell for her blind like any innocent duck.

Fraser thought the fire inside of him might eat him alive as he thought about what he now knew. It all made sense. Inspector Thatcher had gone on a date, called in sick for two days with bruises so varied and scattered that each one must have been caused by a separate blow. How could he have done it? Anyone who knew the Inspector knew how much she valued her pride and self control. For her, dignity was everything. Her sense of self revolved around her dignity and ability to control her surroundings. For someone to rip that dignity away, tearing at the tenderness beneath...

She must be shattered.

This thought echoed over and over in his mind as he pictured it. His heart cried out, trying to make his mind stop the torture, but it mercilessly continued. It was his punishment for allowing this to happen.

The stairs in his building seemed to echo his steps with thunder as he raced up to his apartment. How could that Burrell person have taken it all from her? That is what angered him the most. How could he have looked at that sweet face--adorable even in strict reprimand--and hit her? That he could knowingly rip away a person's self respect, especially someone like Meg's...

He had to get out of his uniform. The red serge, even the weight of his Stetson, burned his skin right through his underclothes. They were holding him, trying to soothe him. Fraser didn't want to be calm. He didn't want to be strapped in by duty and ideals and his country. He wanted to...he wanted to...And for once, God dammit, he thought, I'm going to chose what I want over what's right!

The uniform slid off like butter.

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The shaking began when she got in the car. It started with her hands, and she was helpless to stop it. With horror, Meg took her hands off the wheel and stared at them.

It had all seemed so nice. About a month ago, she had run into Glen in the supermarket. Shocked to see someone from her hometown in Chicago, she had gone up to him. He had surprised her by picking her up right there in the frozen foods section and giving her a tremendous bear hug. Meg hadn't seen him since high school and she was pleased to note he was even more handsome than ever.

He had asked her out and she had gone. They had a wonderful time, so a couple of weeks later, they did it again. Glen was rich and treated her wonderfully. She felt like a princess when she was out with him.

Yeah, right, a princess. Meg leaned forward, placing her warm forehead on the steering wheel. Some princess. Well, it could have been worse, Meg. He could have forced himself on you instead of using you for a punching bag.

Everything had changed the other night. It had started out the same, but instead of dinner or a play, they had gone out dancing. It was grand while it lasted and both of them had a little too much to drink. They went to her apartment by cab for a nightcap.

Flashes of remembered pain went through Meg and she clenched her hands into fists.

"Bitch."

"What?" She turned a little unsteadily, surprise furrowing her brow.

His backhand caught her by surprise, and she could not keep on her wobbly feet. A shot of pain went through her as the tender flesh below her ribs connected with the corner of her coffee table. She cried out as his shoe bit violently into her back.

"Get up, woman! You're supposed to be a Mountie!"

Meg tried to push the images from her mind, but they would not go away. She could still feel the hard cruelty of his hands on her skin. Of course, she had tried to fight back, but it seemed that alcohol had severely limited her responses. Instead of defending herself, she ended up hitting firm objects--the walls, the entertainment centre, the coffee table, his knuckles--over and over again.

Biting her lip, Meg attempted to ignore the voice in her head. You should have been able to subdue him anyway. You're a Mountie, dammit! You should be stripped of that uniform!

Between the voice and the memories, she hadn't been able to relax for days. If anyone found out...She could just imagine the smirks behind her back, the knowing glances, the false sympathy.

With a groan, Meg managed to start her car. She got control of her trembling, looking furtively around to see if anyone had seen her moment of weakness. The word 'weakness' echoed in her head like thunder as she pulled out of her parking space and headed home.

It would be another long night.