Transfer    Transfer by MC Stephens

  

 Warnings:- 
 Thatcher, but no sex, no violence, no romance.......no point? This
follows after MotB, so minor spoilers. 

 Rating :- 
 Your grandmother could read it out loud. 

 Credits:- 
 Alliance, I return to you your characters, unscathed. 

 ................... 

 The Transfer 

 The entire complement of the Canadian consulate RCMP detachment was
present in the car that Inspector Thatcher drove carefully through the
afternoon Chicago streets, herself, Constables Fraser and Turnbull, and
one wolf. Several hours spent at the 27th police district, filling in
forms and writing reports, had followed the helicopter flight from Canada.
The coast guard had been pleased to ferry them back after Fraser and his
friend Vecchio's successful adventures on the lake they called Gitche
Gumee. Following a day of, at first, deep concern for the safety of the
missing officers, and then the excitement of the chase and capture of the
`pirates', Meg Thatcher was beginning to run out of adrenaline. She
wondered how Fraser must be feeling. While she had merely worried, he had
been fighting his way out from an underwater coffin of a sinking ship with
a companion unable to swim. 

 She looked to the passenger beside her. Not as immaculate as usual,
though somewhere he had managed a shave, in a uniform that suffered from
spending several hours in the lake water, Constable Fraser was asleep. 

 It was quite obvious that it would take more than a shake or a loud word
to wake the Mountie, who had finally given in to exhaustion. Meg
considered the alternatives. She could hardly take him unconscious to the
Consulate, and she was not clear whether Turnbull could find him a bed.
There was no choice. She altered course. 

 Turnbull was silently scandalised when he realised where his commanding
officer was intending to take his colleague, but followed instructions as
always. With help he was able to extricate Fraser from the car and carried
him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. He followed the Inspector from
the underground car park into her apartment building. As the elevator rose
Meg was desperately trying to remember the state of her rooms, had she
removed the airing underwear from the radiators? She preceded the
constables into her apartment, paused for a moment of indecision, then led
the way into her bedroom. 

 "Let's get him to bed, Turnbull. I should think he will sleep round the
clock" 

 While Meg unlaced Fraser's boots, they would never fully recover from
their immersion in the lake, Turnbull started to remove the man's
clothing. After a while he glanced at his commander with a question. 

 "I think I can leave you to finish the task" she said, colouring
slightly, and left the room. 

 

 Inspector Thatcher spent the remainder of the afternoon in her office,
with the wolf tracking her every move. Dief had watched as his sleeping
friend was put to bed, obviously had decided that the man was quite safe,
and had elected to follow her. Meg found it unnerving, she became
convinced that the animal understood her very thoughts, she even found
herself talking to him. 

 "What are we going to do with your Fraser, eh?" 

 Fortunately that decision was not required immediately. She had informed
Ottawa of the essentials, and promised a detailed report for the next day.


 

 Later, carrying Fraser's newly cleaned uniform, she and Dief returned to
her apartment. The constable had barely moved. Meg took her post-prandial
coffee into the bedroom, pulled up a chair and, with the wolf for company,
she watched as he slept. 

 "What am I going to do with you, Ben, eh?" 

 Here in the privacy of her own home, she could think of many things she
would like to do with him, ranging from shaking him, screaming at him,
anything to make him notice her, to slipping into the bed beside him.
There had been a time when she had thought he cared too. He had kissed
her, and even after she had insisted that such things, feelings, could
never be repeated, he had still semaphored her compliments from the court
house roof. She had seen him watching her, and she had carefully let him
notice that she was watching him too. 

 And then, somehow, it had all changed. He had vacationed in Canada, had
returned to find his long time friend missing from the police department
and his apartment burned to the ground. He had lost everything except what
he carried in his bag, or in his head. Though he remained scrupulously
polite, he seemed to have retreated into himself, and behind his honest,
straightforward look, the drawbridge had been raised. And the more he had
withdrawn behind this shield, the more desperate she had become. With
official business she was fine, cool and efficient, but there were other
times when she had become either tongue-tied or garrulous. She remembered
with discomfort how she had almost begged him not to accept the transfer
to Ottawa. 

 Part of her said that she should let him go while she still retained some
semblance of pride, another part said fight for him. 

 Inwardly awash with emotion, she studied his face, completely relaxed in
sleep. It was almost indecent that a man should be so beautiful. He had
eyelashes that a woman would bankrupt herself for, eyebrows that she
wanted to run her finger along, copying his own habitual movement with his
knuckle.. Her eyes took in every millimetre of his jawline, of the
contours of his cheeks, his nose, his hair, and his lips. She closed her
eyes and sighed. She had consigned his face to her memory, she would not
forget it. 

 Sadly she rose from her chair. Bending down she ran her hand over the
wolf's head 

 "You stay here Dief, look after him. I shall be in the next room if you
need me" 

 Then she left them alone and found something practical to do. Folding his
washed and dried underwear, she placed it beside his uniform, with the
wash bag she had brought from his office. She took his Sam Browne and his
boots, and did what she could for the now dried-out leather. She was,
after all, a Mountie 

 

 It was in the small hours of the morning, the traffic noise had nearly
disappeared, that she felt the animal's paw on her arm, heard his soft
"woof". She unwrapped herself from the blanket. 

 "What's the problem, Dief?" 

 Then she heard the cry. A muffled call for help. She was off the sofa and
into the bedroom in a heartbeat. In the subdued glow from the light in the
hallway, she saw Fraser, still asleep, but tossing restlessly, talking,
crying out. A nightmare. She sat on the side of the bed, not bothering to
put a robe on over the T-shirt in which she slept, and rested her hand on
his arm. He turned to her, eyes open but not seeing. 

 "It's a dead end....there's no way out....I'll keep you afloat....more
water coming in....trapped....." 

 With hands on his shoulders, she shook him gently then increasingly
strongly, 

 "Ben, wake up, you're dreaming, you're dreaming" 

 Eventually he seemed to hear her. 

 "The water...." 

 "Its a dream, Ben" 

 His hands slipped round her and drew her down towards him, her head on
his shoulder. His arms tightened around her. 

 "Help me" 

 Meg remained absolutely still as the fear left him, as his heart that she
could feel pounding in his chest returned to a normal rhythm. Well, she
had got one wish, she was lying in his arms. But he didn't know she was
there. He was fast asleep. She knew that she would have to move
eventually. He couldn't wake to find her with him, but she wanted just a
few more minutes, to feel the warmth of his body next to her's, to absorb
the texture of his flesh through her hands, run her lips across the skin
of his shoulder, his throat, his mouth. Just one moment, to remember. 

 

 He was still sleeping when she left for work. Her note explained why he
was there, where the food was, that he need not hurry back to the
Consulate, and that she would care for Dief. 

 The morning was nearly over when he reported for duty. He thanked her for
her consideration but something was obviously worrying him. 

 "Constable Turnbull put you to bed, Fraser" 

 She had guessed right. 

 The fax machine started chattering as he prepared to leave her office.
Inspector Thatcher tore off the message and glanced at it. 

 "Don't go, Fraser. I think you had better take a seat" 

 The constable frowned slightly, it must be serious. 

 "I have had a very busy morning, Fraser. You and detective Vecchio have
been making waves" 

 The corner of his mouth twitched at the aptness of the expression 

 "So what do I do with you? Shall we talk about your absence without
leave, the acting outside your jurisdiction, and the fact that you had the
whole of the Chicago RCMP and 27th police district looking for you?" 

 "Well, Sir, there was a good reason..." 

 "Or shall we talk about the recovered gold, the pirates arrested, and the
ship's company lives that you saved" 

 He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. 

 "You seem to make a habit of environmental disaster prevention, Fraser,
only this time there can be no great publicity. Detective Vecchio is
unable to have his photograph in the press. So there will be no medals, I
am afraid" 

 "I never expected..." 

 "There will be no commendation either, Fraser. I have been looking
through your file. It is littered with commendations. So I decided to do
something else....". 

 She picked up the fax. 

 ".... which Ottawa has just confirmed" 

 "I didn't want...." 

 "A field promotion, Fraser. Well, a double promotion actually. The
insignia is being couriered from Ottawa. It should be here this afternoon.
I expect it to be on your uniform when you report for duty tomorrow
morning........Sergeant." 

 Fraser was silenced. 

 Inspector Thatcher, rose to her feet and smiled brightly. She stretched
out her hand to him. 

 "Congratulations, Ben" 

 He took the extended hand in his and shook it, obviously still in shock.
Meg laughed 

 "If you don't believe me, look for yourself" She handed him the fax. 

 Fraser ran his eyes down the sheet of paper, a smile beginning to spread
across his face. Occasionally he looked up at his superior officer, not so
far above him in rank now. Then the smile froze and his brow furrowed.
Inspector Thatcher looked slightly apprehensive. This she had not been
looking forward to. 

 "It says here `......his new rank......commensurate with his position as
acting liaison officer'" 

 He looked questionningly across at the Inspector. 

 "But you are the liaison officer" 

 "Well, Fraser, I did say it had been a busy morning." 

 Meg walked away from him, and looked out of the window, through the
curtains that were chosen because they brought out the colour of her eyes.
Why think of that now? She turned back to him, taking a deep breath, tone
official. 

 "Inspector Davidson of Whitehorse had a motor accident yesterday. I fly
to the Yukon on Friday morning. We have the whole of tomorrow for the
hand-over here" 

 "You are leaving?" 

 "Yes, Ben. I am leaving" 

 end