Disclaimer: The Due South characters in this story are not mine and anything else Due South isn't mine either. I do not mean to infringe on copyrights held by any copyright holders for Due South. The story however is mine (copyright June 2001 by Postcard on all original story content.) Please do not reproduce for anything other than personal reading without the written consent of author. This story is not written for profit and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.
Author's Notes: This story is for zzzaney. I finally found a spare moment.<G>TYK Z for your suggestions about the little 'incident' I told you about, LOL. This story is brought to you by myself, with the help of Z, and we can't forget the moron who gave me this idea, LOL. Take a bow. TYK for your experimentation.smirk.<BG>
Story Notes:
Inspector Thatcher strode into her subordinate's office, knocking briefly on the open door as she entered. Sat at his desk, Constable Fraser literally jumped out of his chair and stood to attention beside his desk. "Arhem!" Thatcher cleared her throat, looking hard at the Stetson still on his head. Fraser shifted uneasily, but still did not remove his hat. "Aren't you forgetting something Constable?"
"Ma'am?" Fraser looked questionably at her.
"Your Stetson!" She all but shouted. "Remove it. That is common courtesy when addressing a Superior Officer." Hesitantly, he removed his Stetson. Inspector Thatcher shook her head a her subordinate. "Fraser, when was the last time you had a haircut?"
"December the twenty first, the year two thousand, at fourteen hundred hours ma'am. I had my hair cut especially for the Christmas ball we were hosting at the consulate."
"Well, it's getting too long. It looks disgraceful. You look like a layabout. Certainly not the picture we want to portray of the RCMP." Fraser opened his mouth to speak, but Thatcher cut him off before he could even form a word. "I don't care if it's the currant fashion of those Chicago so called detectives you waste your time with. It just won't do. You know the regulation about hair. Get it cut before the next time I see you, understood?"
"Erm, well...you see ma'am I would have had my hair cut sooner only the barber I normally go to..." Not in the mood for lame excuses, Thatcher cut him off again.
"I don't care Fraser. There are plenty of barbers in Chicago. I suggest you go and find one in your lunch hour today. Understood? And this time I expect a 'yes ma'am!'
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Now, I want you to Supervise Turnbull with the shredder. I just haven't got the time and I don't think it's such a good idea to leave him to do it on his own, if you remember what happened last time!" She briefly closed her eyes and shook her head at the remembrance of Turnbull somehow getting the bottom of his red serge caught in the shredder...his screams for help as the machine started to eat his uniform with him still in it.
"Oh, most certainly sir. I'll get on to it right away."
Fraser stood waiting beside Detective Kowalski's desk at the precinct, while Kowalski finished typing up his latest case report. "Frase, d'ya think you can maybe do me a favour?" "Of course Ray. I'll try my best."
"You promise?"
"Well, yes, Ray. We are friends. What can I do for you?"
Kowalski grinned wickedly. "Do you think you can smooth talk Frannie into typing this report up for me? I've asked her myself, but she told me something in Italian which I'm guessing isn't a compliment! I'm sure you'll have much better luck with her!"
Francesca walked past Kowalski's desk. "Yo, Frannie!" "If you want ya report typing up, I've told ya already what you can do with it!" "Fraser wants to ask you somethin. But if ya don't want ta hear it...!" Frannie spun around and looked hopefully at Fraser. She smiled sweetly at him. "Yes, Fraser." "Yes what, Francesca?" "Er, yes to whatever you want to ask me." "But you don't know what it is yet!" "Oh, yeah! So, go on, shoot?" "I was hoping you'd be kind enough to help detective Kowalski by typing up his report for him please?" Frannie sighed. "No." Pouted her lips and stormed off to her nearby desk like a child. Fraser shrugged.
"Speaking of favours Ray, Inspector Thatcher seems to think my hair is getting too long, and has asked...erm, actually ordered me to get a haircut. Would you be so kind as to tell me which barbers you go to?"
Kowalski laughed. "The Ice Queen wants you to get a haircut! Next, she'll be picking out your underwear! Or does she all ready do that, eh?" He sniggered.
"Ray, that's not funny. Inspector Thatcher has genuine reason to insist I have my haircut. It is too long. I've never had my hair this long before. The only reason this time is because my normal barber has been sacked and I am making a stand for his job back."
"Er, Frase!" Frannie was once again by his side. "I couldn't help overhearing you want your hair cutting?" "Yes, that's correct, Francesca. You wouldn't happen to know of any reputable barbers?" She nodded. "Me." "You?" Both Fraser and Kowalski spoke in unison. "Yes, why not me?" She put her hands on her hips. Fraser gave Kowalski a desperate look. Kowalski laughed. "Erm, thank you kindly Francesca, but Inspector Thatcher ordered me to go to a barbers." "Are you saying you don't think my haircutting will pass that...that jumped up woman's inspection?" "No. Most definitely not. I just have to have my hair cut this lunch time." "Then I'll do it." Fraser sighed in defeat. "Come on!" Francesca took hold of Fraser's arm. "Where are we going?" "To my house, of course. All of the stuff I need is there." Oh dear!
At Francesca's, Fraser made himself busy in the living room, putting down newspaper on the floor while Francesca got her 'stuff.' "Right, sit down," Francesca told him, and waved the scissors at him. Fraser flinched and instantly sat. "Where are the rest of your family?" "Out. We have the whole house to ourselves." She grinned at him. Oh dear!
"You know, ya really do have nice hair Frase. Real thick." "Thank you kindly." Trimming his hair with the scissors, she ran her fingers through his dark locks. Absorbed with touching his hair, she closed her eyes as she got lost in the moment. Forgetting she had scissors in her hands, she accidentally snipped his ear. "Ouch!" Small droplets of blood dripped from his left earlobe. "Oh! I'm really sorry Fraser. I...er...I'll erm, get you a plaster and then I'll start shaving!" Oh dear God!
A Mickey Mouse plaster on his ear, Fraser braced himself for Francesca to start shaving his head. "I erm, don't want it too short please. Just nicely trimmed." Francesca nodded. "Yeah. No worries. I'm a pro at this. I've practised on Ray loads of times." Fraser thought of Ray Vecchio's close shaved head and closed his eyes in dread.
Eyes closed, Fraser heard the electric razor start to sizzle out. "Damn!" Francesca cursed. "Anything the matter?" Fraser asked, praying there wouldn't be! "Nah! Just the electric razor I normally use is playing up. Don't worry, I'll give it another try and then if it still won't work I'll use normal razors." Normal razors! YIKES!
To Fraser's relief he heard the electric razor start up. Shaving his head, Francesca tried desperately to concentrate. Nevertheless, her eyes and fingers kept returning to stare at and stroke, the back of his pale white thick neck. They both heard a "Zerrrrrup!" Francesca's hand holding the electric razor, jerked to a stop. "Shit!" Francesca swore. She tugged at the electric razor---it wouldn't budge. Fraser didn't want to ask the dreaded question, but found himself doing so, "Is anything wrong?" "Er, Frase, the razor's cut out again and it's kind of got stuck in your hair."
Between the pair of them they tried to disconnect the electric razor from his thick hair---to no avail. In the end, they had no choice. Francesca had to use a normal razor to cut the electric razor out of his hair. It was some task! When she had completed it, Fraser looked into a mirror. OMG!!! What is Inspector Thatcher going to say??? Dief looked up at his hair, whined and covered his eyes with his paws.
"I'm really sorry Frase. Can I make it up to you? Perhaps you'd like to stay for lunch? We could have a picnic in my bedroom? And afterwards I could go to the store, get a new electric razor and try again? "
Fraser made a point of looking at his watch. "Good Lord, is that the time! I must get back to the consulate. Goodbye!" Putting his Stetson firmly on his head, he dashed out of the front door, Dief close to his heels.
At the consulate, Inspector Thatcher was waiting for him. "So! I trust you got your hair cut?" Fraser nodded. "May I see?" "I erm..." he coughed nervously. "I don't erm, think that's...that is to say...you see..." "Fraser, remove your Stetson!" "Now sir?" "Yes." "Are you, erm, are you sure?" "Just remove it Fraser. That's an order."
Slowly, Fraser took his Stetson off to reveal his new 'haircut.' One half of his head was sort of shaved---in the sense that in places one could see his scalp, showing red slashing scars. And the other half of his head had clumps of his thick dark hair sticking up here and there.
Thatcher's eyes and mouth went wide in pure amazement. Ovitz, Inspector Thatcher's personal assistant, erupted into uncontrollable laughter. In between which, Ovitz managed to choke out, "Where'd you get that? Got run over by a lawnmower!"
Turnbull walked into the consulate, took a look at Fraser's head and shrieked. Covered his mouth with his hands. "What happened sir? Did someone attack you?"
"Yeah! Edward Scissorhands!" Ovitz roared, doubled over his desk with laughter.
Thatcher's mouth curled up at the corners. She bit her bottom lip, desperately trying not to laugh. Instead of bawling at him like he thought she would, Thatcher just started laughing. Somehow she managed to bite her lip and stop laughing. "I erm, think you'd better come into my office!" She forced down a laugh. Turning from him, her face broke into a huge grin.
Inside her office, with the door closed, she turned to face him. "What a DISASTER!" She shook her head. "Well! Either you went to a really bad barbers and in that case I suggest suing them! Or, instead of going to a proper barbers, you decided to have a go yourself and take the razor blade to your hair. In which case you are a complete moron! Well? Which is it? Explain," she pointed to his head, "this!"
She listened while Fraser recited to her what had happened. He finished with, "Do you think you could, erm, help me erm, make it look presentable, please sir?"
She raised her eyebrows. "What do you suggest I do?" He shook his head miserably. Thatcher felt sorry for him. She sighed. "I can't work miracles, Fraser, but I will try and...and do something!"
Pressing the intercom button on her desk, she gave Ovitz a list of things she needed and told him to go and get them. While they waited, Thatcher put newspaper on the floor, sat him on a chair and walked around him, contemplating how on earth she was going to put this right!
After Ovitz had brought the necessary items and left her office, sniggering, Thatcher set about to work. "Take your tunic off Fraser. I don't want hair on your red serge." He nodded. Obeyed.
She picked up the clippers from her desk and moved towards him. "Erm, sir, don't you need your glasses?" Thatcher looked at him hard, as if challenging him to dare contradict her, "Whatever do you mean Fraser! I don't wear glasses. I never have."
Normally her response about 'not wearing glasses' would have caused him some amusement. Not that he'd ever admit that to her. But today he felt no amusement, just dread. Here was a lady whom had to squint without her glasses, and she was refusing to wear them and was going to attempt to shave his head! Argh! He prayed this wouldn't be another Francesca fiasco!
Squinting, Thatcher peered hard at his head. Even with her bad eye sight, Thatcher could see that she had her work cut out for her after the mess Francesca had made. Sighing and wearily shaking her head, Thatcher started to carefully shave off his tufts of hair with the clippers.
"She really has made a mess Fraser." She was fuming that anyone could touch his thick gorgeous hair in such a careless manner. How could she do this? I would be so careful with him. Look at the scars on his head. How dare she do this to him! "When I've finished with your hair, I'll treat those scars." "Thank you kindly sir."
Her bosom brushed against his Henley as she leaned into him with the clippers. Even though his tunic was off, Fraser started to get hot. First, her breasts lightly brushed against his back, then each shoulder in turn. The sensation was stirring emotions in his nether regions that he'd not experienced in a long time. He remembered the feel of her against him on the top of the train. The kiss. He started to take deep slow breaths to calm himself. The last thing he needed was to lose control and embarrass himself further today!
Trying to salvage a hairstyle out of what was left of his hair, Thatcher tried to ignore the feeling of her breasts against his Henley. She started to get hot and her nipples started to slightly harden.
Without her glasses, Thatcher took her slow time in shaving his hair, not wanting to cut his scalp. Moving around to the front of him, she said hoarsely, "Fraser, could you...!" her eyes darted downwards to his lap. He visibly swallowed. Looked down to his lap to see if he'd 'embarrassed' himself. Phew! He hadn't. Meeting her eyes, he stuttered, "C-Could I?"
"Could you open your legs please?" She saw the look of confusion on his face. Thatcher realised what she had actually said had connotations, blushed and bit her lip. "I...I mean, so that I can get near." *Oh no! That's not right! Why can't I form a proper intellectual sentence around him?*
Fraser realised she was as flustered and affected by their proximity as much as he was. He looked at her curiously.
"What I mean is, I need to get near enough to do the front of your head. I could possibly try and cut it from here, but I don't actually want to cut it, if you catch my drift. Oh, want I mean is I want to avoid scaring you like Ms. Vecchio has. And so will you just please open your legs so I can get on with it!" Her voice had started to rise with annoyance at him for making her flustered and at herself, for not being more in control. Therefore, she almost shouted the last sentence.
Petrified that she was going to lose her temper with him, when holding a weapon of sorts, Fraser quickly opened his legs for her. Holding her head high, she let out a slow breath and inched her way slowly in-between his strong thighs. She closed her eyes briefly when her face was out of his line of sight.
Feeling Thatcher's well-formed legs against his own, and having his nose virtually touching her blouse, caused Fraser to catch his breath. He closed his eyes. Dear God! Her sweet scent, which he remember wasn't perfume but her own unique scent, filled his nostrils and started to make him dizzy.
Opening her own eyes, Thatcher realised Fraser wasn't breathing. When she spoke she couldn't look at him for fear of not being able to speak and fixed her gaze on the Canadian flag on her wall, "Fraser, you're not breathing! Are you all right?"
She heard him let out a deep breath, which tickled her blouse. "Yes. Yes, I'll be all right."
Thatcher bent down ever so slightly to reach his head with the clippers. She really could have used her glasses, but she'd managed without them so far and there was no way she was ever wearing those in front of him! Resuming her squinting, she continued slowly shaving his hair.
Fraser finally worked up the courage to open his eyes. What he saw nearly gave him a coronary. He had ending up with having a bird's eye view down her blouse while she stood in between his legs attending to the front of his hair. His sharp eyes had quickly seen a glimpse of her heaving pale white breasts in a lace white bra, before he had snapped his eyes closed again. Fraser couldn't help himself, it was natural---he started to get visibly aroused. He had to tell himself to start breathing. He kept taking slow deep breaths to save himself from passing out.
The closeness of him seemed to be heightening Thatcher's senses. She could feel the warmth of his body like a fire burning beside her. The smell of his Official Issue soap was heady. She hadn't had him this close since the train 'contact.' Thatcher could feel his taut muscles in his legs. And she could feel something else---something between his legs was getting longer and touching her through his jodhpur's---something hard. Oh my! Is he...? Have I...? Experimentally, she leaned her body more against him. Sure enough, she could feel his tackle trying to break out of his jodhpur's. Thatcher's breath caught in her throat.
His closeness was disarming to her. He seemed to break down her armour and expose her feminine needs. If he had been any other man she would have taken him to her bed long ago. What was stopping her wasn't the fact that he was her subordinate, although that had implications, it was the fact that this man had power over her and it scared her. Thatcher liked being in control. Around him, she had very little. Although, from the look and feel of things, it didn't seem like he had much control around her either!
No matter how much she fought, her body had a mind of its own. To her dismay, her body was screaming out to her that it wanted him. She was becoming very aroused. Her nipples were getting harder and harder. The fact that he was breathing down her blouse didn't help matters. The sensation was driving her nearer and nearer to the edge. Her hands started to shake. She desperately tried to steady them. Her hand holding the clippers slipped. She felt him flinch. She froze as she saw his head start to bleed.
"Oh God! What have I done! I'm really sorry Fraser." Putting the clippers down, she took a clean tissue and carefully dabbed his head. "It's all my fault. I'm sorry I've hurt you."
She looked down at him. To his surprise he saw tears in her eyes. Before he knew what he was doing he took them both by surprise and reaching up, he gently brushed away her tears. "Don't cry. It's all right. You're forgiven. It didn't hurt as much as when Francesca cut me." He smiled. "Maybe you should wear your glasses to finish the haircut!"
To his surprise she pushed his hand away and shook her head. "Actually, no it's not. It's not all my fault. It's got nothing to do with my glasses. This isn't all my fault at all. It's partly yours!"
"Mine!"
"Yes. How the hell did you expect me to...to keep my hand steady when you...you breath down my blouse and have a hard-on!"
He went even redder than he already was. He shook his head. "Fair enough. But your not turning it all around on me. In case you had forgotten, I'm a man and you're a very attractive woman. You know how I feel about you, and don't deny you don't know what I'm talking about because you do. You can't just dismiss the 'contact' on the train. How do you expect me to react when you're this close and your breasts are this close!" He nodded to her bosom and they were that close he ended up tupping them with his head. "I didn't...I didn't become aroused deliberately, you know! I just couldn't help it."
Thatcher was taken completely by surprise by his outburst. She stared at him for several moments. He matched her gaze the whole time. Thatcher reached for the clippers. "I'd better finish this off! That is unless you have any further objections?" He shook his head. "Do what you want. You always do." Thatcher looked at him hard. "That was uncalled for Fraser. Just remember what I have in my hand!" she shook the clippers and smirked. "My hand could always slip again!" "I'm sure it will, without your glasses!" Thatcher glared at him.
Both of their anger for each other somehow seemed to fuel their desire. And in their anger, each stubbornly decided to make it harder for the other. Fraser continued his breathing down her blouse, deliberately this time. And Thatcher pressed herself against him more, to try and make him more uncomfortable than her, which in reality only made the situation worse for herself!
Somehow, she finished clipping the front of his hair without cutting him again. Bent over facing him, she found her eyes looking into his. Those blue eyes stared straight back at her. They looked at each other, hard, for several moments. Suddenly their gazes softened. They found themselves moving together.
Their lips met. Fraser reached for Thatcher's hand and prised the clippers from it, tossing them onto her desk. He then hungrily pulled her to him, holding her head with one hand, grasping her back with the other. Thatcher leaned into him as much as she could. One hand cupping his cheek, the other wrapped around his neck.
The kiss lasted until both pulled back to gulp in some much needed air. Kissing again, Thatcher undid his jodhpur's and unbuttoned his boxers, releasing his tackle. Hiking her skirt up, he helped her to straddle him.
"Are you sure?" Fraser asked breathlessly.
Thatcher nodded and tore his Henley off. Taking his hands, Thatcher put one of them to her bosom, the other to her backside. He immediately started to kneed each area. Placing her own hands on his chest, she ran them along his contours. Both revelled in each others touch.
She reached her hand out for her bag, which was on the chair next to theirs. Found what she was looking for. Undoing the 'nifti9' brand condom, Thatcher rolled it onto him. Fraser pulled the strings at the sides of her knickers and they came undone. With a swift pull, the material was removed. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she gripped them and started to ride him. While they made love, Thatcher kissed and nibbled Fraser's chest, shoulders, neck and face. Meanwhile, Fraser undid her blouse and bra, and buried his head in her bosom.
They had just finished making love when the intercom buzzed. Without moving off Fraser, Thatcher reached out to her desk and whacked the button. "What do you want?" Thatcher yelled. Annoyed at being interrupted in kissing Fraser some more. "Sir, Henri Cloutier is here to see you!" Ovitz informed her. Ever tactless, he carried on, "He wanted to barge in, I told him you were in the middle of sorting Fraser out!" *If only he knew just HOW I'd been 'sorting Fraser out!' OMG!*
"Tell him to wait a few moments." Turning the intercom off, she kissed Fraser once more and climbed off him. In a mad rush they dressed themselves. They had just put their last articles of clothing on when, fed up with waiting, Henri strode in. Thatcher scrambled away from Fraser, behind her desk and Fraser stood to attention in front of it.
"Meg!" He started to walk over to her to embrace her and then thought better of it.
"Henri! What are you doing here?" Thatcher didn't attempt to hide her displeasure at seeing him.
Henri looked at Fraser and raised his caterpillar eyebrows. "What have you done to your hair? Surely, Meg you don't condone such disgraceful hairstyles?"
"It's a long story Henri. None of which is any of your business. You still haven't told me why you're here?"
"I was just passing and thought maybe we could put our differences aside and start again! Maybe dinner tonight?"
"I already have plans."
Looking around him, Henri's eyes fell on the rubbish bin. He would have to have been blind not to notice the half hanging out used condom. "I see!" he indicated with his head towards it. Both Thatcher and Fraser glanced at each other uncomfortably. "I can't believe your still dating this man, Meg! Look at him! He has a skinhead and looks like he's been mauled by a bear, or in a fight. And knowing his track record, the fight seems most likely! What you see in this man Meg I have no idea!"
"Then I'll tell you. What I see in him, is none of the arrogant characteristics that you posses."
"That may be so, Meg, but one word from me to Head Office about your little 'relations' you've obviously had in your office and you won't be seeing him again. Your career lies in my hands now Meg!" He smirked at her. Henri walked over to Thatcher and she tried to step away from him. He grabbed her arm. "Not this time Meg. If you can lower yourself for this thug, you can give it to me too!" Thatcher slapped him hard across the face. "I'd sooner give it to a Chicago Detective rather then you! Now get your hands off me!"
Fraser intervened and moved to her side. "You heard the Lady!"
"I don't think you both comprehend the situation! I own your careers now! I have the power to squash them in my hands."
Fraser intervened. "And your career lies in my hands M. Cloutier. I have witnessed first hand your sexual harassment of Inspector Thatcher."
"That's your word against mine!"
"Maybe so, but would you like to chance it?" Fraser asked.
Henri glared at Fraser and then Thatcher. "I'll get you yet!" Turning on his heel, he slammed out of the office.
Thatcher let out a long sigh. "That was a close shave! Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean..."
Fraser smiled and nodded. "You're right though. First he could have caught us, and then we narrowly got away with his reporting us! I'm sorry for putting your career on the line! And for causing more harassment for you!"
Thatcher shook her head. "It wasn't entirely your fault." She smiled. "Come here and let me put something on those scars. Do you still have that horrible concoction you sometimes us?"
"Yes, if you mean the one containing..." Thatcher held her hand up to cut him off. "I don't want to know what's in it. Knowing you, I'd rather not."
After she had carefully applied the concoction, Fraser asked "Erm, Sir, do I really have a skinhead haircut?"
Thatcher bit her lip. "I'll let you decide that!" After routing in her bag, Thatcher held a mirror up for Fraser to look at his new hairstyle. "I'm sorry, this is the best I can do! But in my opinion I think it's a marked improvement!" Thatcher tried her best to sound optimistic.
Fraser's eyes went wide. Now unfortunately, he was sporting a skinhead hair do. Thatcher was right though, it DID look a lot better than the way Francesca had left it.
"Remember, Fraser---hair grows!"
"True. Thank you kindly, sir, for tidying it up as best you could."
"You're welcome. And Fraser!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Stop calling me 'sir' when we're alone!"
"Yes, Meg." He twirled his Stetson in his hands. "Meg?"
"Yes, Ben?"
"Do you really have plans tonight or was that a ruse for Henri's benefit?"
"Yes, I have plans tonight."
"You do! Oh!"
She smiled. "Do you always look this disappointed when you take a date to dinner?"
"You mean?"
Thatcher nodded. "Yes, you're the one I have plans for tonight with. Oh, you don't think you can get away with making love to me without buying me dinner, do you!"
He smiled. "I hope you're hungry, because I'll have to buy you two dinners if I want to make love to you again tonight, which I do!" She grinned and playfully punched his chest.
"Well, you could just buy me one dinner and then a breakfast!"
"Done!"