InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "I'm so sorry."

Inspector Meg Thatcher, RCMP (megthatcher) wrote in utr_logs,
@ 2009-01-30 14:51:00

Entry tags:

constable benton fraser, inspector meg thatcher

Maintiens le droit
Who: Inspector Meg Thatcher and Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP
What: Strategy session
When: Approximately an hour after this exchange
Where: CSIS safehouse, Bloomsbury
Warnings: Probably nothing to worry about

Bloomsbury, of all places. Well, Thatcher supposed it was a logical enough choice, given the nearby large tourist hotels and shopping centre. Plenty of anonymous people around. Likely the sort of place where a spy could blend in.

CSIS, of all agencies. She had never pictured herself in the Service canadien du renseignement de sécurité, in either covert or overt ops, and now here she is with identification that (apparently) proclaims her to be Maggie Norton. Maggie. She never liked being called "Maggie," and had insisted on "Meg" as soon as she could.

At least it was still in service to her country, though she'd feel more comfortable if she still had red serge to call her own. Unlike Fraser, who was ... someone who got asked for his autograph? He must feel the loss of his uniform more keenly than she does.

So ... things could be worse. And she and Fraser--and the wolf--surely will be able to figure out a way back home.

Her impatience turns to anxiety as she imagines what an unsupervised Turnbull could do to the consulate while she's away.

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chicagomountie
2009-01-30 03:30 pm UTC (link)

Fraser pauses briefly at the door of the assigned address, turning to see where Diefenbaker is. All things considered, he thinks, it was probably a good thing he was already dressed this morning. Although he now utterly lacks anything other than what he's wearing at present-- his customary and extremely distinctive red serge.

Diefenbaker is, apparently, half a block behind him, nosing at something on the ground.

"Diefenbaker!" he calls, despite knowing full well the wolf is utterly stone deaf. He frowns as he moves back towards him a few paces, to make out the object of the animal's attention: a chocolate bar wrapper. Then, he sighs briefly. "Oh, Diefenbaker."

The wolf looks up at him finally. "Rrrrf," he replies. Fraser shakes his head disparagingly, then looks at him and enunciates slowly. "Come. On."

Diefenbaker makes a subvocal noise of reluctance, but pads towards him.

Fraser hasn't even really begun to try and make sense of what's going on right now. There isn't a modicum of sense about it to begin with. Which, really, should be par for the course for him. But this is utterly beyond the pale. He's profoundly in the dark, and if it's one thing Fraser can't stand, it's not knowing what's going on in a way that's logical.

First things first: Meet with the Inspector. His superior officer. At least, she was until about two hours ago. Now, he's not sure what he is, much less what comes next.

He raps on the door, and assumes his traditional stance; weight evenly distributed on both booted feet, hands clasped behind his back.

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	megthatcher 2009-01-30 03:34 pm UTC (link)
	The door opens quickly, revealing the familiar face of Inspector Meg Thatcher. "Enter," she orders, stepping back so that he may come inside. From what Fraser can see of the flat, it is about as personal as a hotel room, perhaps a furnished residence maintained by a corporation for consultants. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

chicagomountie
2009-01-30 03:41 pm UTC (link)

The white wolf's bulk passes ahead of him and inside as he removes his flat-brimmed Stetson and tucks it under his arm before doing likewise. He turns to close the door behind him, shutting out the noise and bustle of London with it.

He moves to the centre of the room, his hat under his arm, and his hands clasped in front of him.

"I apologise for my lateness, sir. I was waylaid several blocks away by a group of tourists, who--"

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	megthatcher 2009-01-30 03:43 pm UTC (link)
	"Wanted your autograph?" She shakes her head in puzzlement. "Are you getting mistaken for Dudley Do-Right again?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 03:47 pm UTC (link)
	"Photograph, sir." He clears his throat. "I believe we have an even deeper problem than we initially thought." He moves his hat from under his arm, and withdraws a neatly-folded piece of newspaper from inside the brim. With care, the paper is unfurled and handed to her. It's the front page from The Times. "The date, sir." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

megthatcher
2009-01-30 03:50 pm UTC (link)

"They probably can't tell the difference between a Member and a Beefeater," she grumbles as she takes the paper. "What the ... and you got this today?" She glances over at the desk in the living room, where a laptop rests. "Well, now I'm wondering about that computer. It's secured by thumbprint, but you'd expect CSIS to have the high-end equipment." She resists the urge to deliver a lecture on the budgetary struggles between the two federal forces.

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chicagomountie
2009-01-30 03:56 pm UTC (link)

"Yes, sir, I did." He follows the line of her gaze, then looks back to her. "And for all intents and purposes, I do not apparently exist-- and have never existed. There's no record of a Benton Fraser in any public records, and certainly not within the RCMP."

This is the part that's bothering him the most. He's just had the rug pulled out from under him, for reasons he knows not why, or how.

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	megthatcher 2009-01-30 04:00 pm UTC (link)
	"That doesn't make you any less of a Mountie," she says swiftly. A good commander maintains the morale of her subordinates. "I know who you are and what you're capable of, and any version of the Force would be fortunate to have you." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

chicagomountie
2009-01-30 04:05 pm UTC (link)

The unsolicited compliment catches Fraser entirely off-guard.

Actually, pretty much everything that's happened today has caught him off-guard. This is one more thing to add to the the list. He stands in the middle of the floor, his hat held by its brim in his hands, and stares at her in something akin to shock.

"Oh," is all he can manage, and that in of itself is after several long moments of silence.

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	megthatcher 2009-01-30 04:45 pm UTC (link)
	Thatcher can't recall the last time she's seen him looking this stunned. Of course, these are extraordinary circumstances. "Why don't you sit down?" she suggests, gesturing at the couch. "We've both had a shock." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

chicagomountie
2009-01-30 04:58 pm UTC (link)

Right now, he's clinging to formality. It's a known quantity, a structure with which he's familiar. "What of your position, sir?" he asks, pointedly remaining standing.

Anything but talking about himself. Just file it away and focus on something else. "We could always attempt to get back to Chicago, via the Consulate-- though if our postings have been entirely erased from the record, so to speak, that may not be possible."

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	megthatcher 2009-01-30 05:05 pm UTC (link)
	Fine. She'll sit down. "According to the ID, which includes my photograph, my position is that of a CSIS operative named Maggie Norton." She has a sour expression on her face. "I'd prefer it if you continue to address me as accustomed." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 05:07 pm UTC (link)
	Fraser looks somewhat offended at the implication that he might even consider doing otherwise. "Understood, sir." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	megthatcher 2009-01-30 05:41 pm UTC (link)
	"So ... our assets." She spreads out her hands, ticking off the points as she lists them. "The clothes on our backs, the IDs that don't actually belong to us, this residence and its contents--to an extent--and the results of your research. Other than the newspaper, what have you learned?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 08:33 pm UTC (link)
	"Precious little, sir, other than the fact that this is apparently a common occurrence here, wherever 'here' is precisely, for when I asked at the Consulate about this confusing turn of events, the young woman assisting me seemed entirely unperturbed by what I was telling her." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	megthatcher 2009-01-30 08:43 pm UTC (link)
	What kind of place is this? "How does society function? How can ... my God, the disruptions this could cause all over the world!" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

chicagomountie
2009-01-30 09:09 pm UTC (link)

Fraser sets his hat down upon the coffee table, though he remains standing as he reaches into the top left breast pocket of his red serge to withdraw the wallet he discovered earlier. "I expect there must be some provisions in place, or there would be complete chaos." He opens the wallet, feeling oddly intrusive about doing so once again, even though for all intents and purposes, it's his now. "What those provisions are, I have no ... "

He stops talking. Fraser never stops talking in the middle of a sentence. He's staring at something in the wallet.

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	megthatcher 2009-01-30 09:11 pm UTC (link)
	"Fraser?" This is very atypical of him, to the point that she rises from the couch to peer at what he is looking at, rather than simply ordering him to show her. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 09:20 pm UTC (link)
	The wallet is snapped shut abruptly before her eyes alight on the content. "Sir?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	megthatcher 2009-01-30 09:21 pm UTC (link)
	"What were you looking at just now? And be specific. Don't just say 'this wallet.'" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 09:23 pm UTC (link)
	He looks back at her, tucking the wallet back into his pocket. "It's nothing, sir. As I was saying--" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	megthatcher 2009-01-30 09:26 pm UTC (link)
	"Constable Fraser, I have rarely seen you stop talking short of physical injury or interference from a Chicago detective." Her eyes narrow. "A wallet ... belonging to another person...." She is, after all, more than just a paperpusher. "You found a family photo, didn't you?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 09:30 pm UTC (link)
	"No." He stands there, immobile, looking at her. God, why can't he lie to save his life? Moments pass. The lie can't hold. His sense of personal ethics won't allow it. "Yes." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	megthatcher 2009-01-30 09:33 pm UTC (link)
	Thatcher nods. "It's all right, constable," she says quietly. "That's all I needed to know." She returns to the couch, attempting to restore a more professional atmosphere. "Have you--or has Diefenbaker--eaten lately? Do you have a place to stay?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

chicagomountie
2009-01-30 09:38 pm UTC (link)

He's not sure he can even think about food right now. There's a deep, profound sense of nausea creeping into his gut, and it's difficult to ignore. Diefenbaker's overly large stomach, however, can account for the two of them easily.

Focus on the facts. On right now. He clears his throat.

"Ah, it appears that this individual's home address is based in Toronto, sir, rather than somewhere locally. As for food, well, Diefenbaker ate rather well this morning."

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	megthatcher 2009-01-30 09:41 pm UTC (link)
	"Then you'll both stay here until other arrangements can be made. Such as a return home. Have you learned anything about that?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 09:47 pm UTC (link)
	"Ah." Fraser finds himself acutely missing his bedroll suddenly. With that, he can sleep anywhere - outside, in a hallway, wherever there's a flat enough surface. He has no idea how much space this safehouse affords. "I heard talk of something called 'Port Keys', sir, but I haven't had the opportunity to investigate further as of yet." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

megthatcher
2009-01-30 09:49 pm UTC (link)

"A task for another day, perhaps." She taps her chin thoughtfully, then rises from the couch. "I've had a chance to look around, so I'll give you the tour, such as it is."

The small kitchen is easily visible from the living room, especially since there is no wall, much less a door, to separate the two spaces. "The refrigerator and pantry appear to have been recently stocked," she notes.

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	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 09:55 pm UTC (link)
	His thoughts keep coming back around to the wallet and its contents, despite his best efforts to dislodge them. He merely nods in acknowledgement. (Reply to this) (Thread)

	megthatcher 2009-01-30 09:57 pm UTC (link)
	"Home office space here--" She waves at the desk with the unfamiliar laptop on the other side of the living room, then continues through the rest of the flat. "Bathroom, and ... bedroom." Singular. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 10:02 pm UTC (link)
	He's standing behind her. It means he can get away with closing his eyes for a moment. One bedroom. Of course. This was a safehouse for one. "I see." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

megthatcher
2009-01-30 10:05 pm UTC (link)

Thatcher turns her head to look back at him, silently ordering herself not to blush. "It would be a temporary arrangement," she says in her most neutral tone. It isn't easy to maintain. "As I said earlier, Fraser, for all I know you're the last of my command. I want you--that is, I think it would be best if we stayed in close contact--communication--until we can discover a way to return home. Or ... make more permanent arrangements here."

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	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 10:13 pm UTC (link)
	His expression isn't entirely unlike that of a deer caught in a car's highbeams. Did it get warmer in here, or is it just him? "Entirely understandable, sir. I'll be fine with the-- " He glances past her, only to realise that Diefenbaker has claimed his spot on the couch already. "Oh." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

megthatcher
2009-01-30 10:17 pm UTC (link)

That wolf. The extraordinary circumstances obviously haven't changed him.

Still, time to make the best of it. At least she's landed in one of the world's greatest metropolises, and not Moose Jaw.

"We'll go to Harrod's," she says briskly. "I'm sure my doppelganger wouldn't object to my using her resources to buy a bedroll for a fellow peace officer. Especially since we're all Canadian." Thank heavens for small mercies that she hasn't changed nationalities as well.

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	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 10:22 pm UTC (link)
	He's going to have to have another discussion with Diefenbaker about hogging space. Not that he'll listen. He's deaf, after all. "I only need a blanket, sir." He's slept in far worse with a lot less. And he's entirely uncomfortable with this concept of using money and resources that do not belong to him. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	megthatcher 2009-01-30 10:24 pm UTC (link)
	"Blanket it is." No point in arguing with him when it comes to his spartan preferences. "And ... you'll need a change of clothes." She does her best to soften that recommendation. "You'll need to wear something while your uniform is being cleaned." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 10:30 pm UTC (link)
	As if this has just occurred to him, Fraser glances down at his ceremonial red serge. "It would seem I'm not currently-- officially-- a Member, sir. I'm not entirely certain I'm entitled to wear it at all." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	megthatcher 2009-01-30 10:33 pm UTC (link)
	She can sympathise. After rising to the rank of inspector, she only had to wear the red serge on certain occasions, but being forbidden to wear it ... it chafes. Mentally. Worse than the itching of the actual uniform, if she lets herself dwell on it. "I shouldn't think anyone would object to you wearing the Stetson," she says judiciously. "Or the Strathconas." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 10:36 pm UTC (link)
	"It's all I have," he says, simply. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	megthatcher 2009-01-30 10:38 pm UTC (link)
	"I know." She folds her arms across her chest, not quite a hug. "I wish I'd been wearing mine." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	chicagomountie 2009-01-30 10:41 pm UTC (link)
	His gaze refocuses sharply on her for a long moment in surprise. Red suits you. There's a tightness in his chest that he can't describe adequately, as though he's not getting enough air, perhaps. This is all too much, and he suddenly feels vaguely claustrophobic. He straightens. "Sir, may I be ... " (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	megthatcher 2009-01-30 10:42 pm UTC (link)
	"Dismissed," she says quickly. "Return as soon as you can." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

chicagomountie
2009-01-30 10:44 pm UTC (link)

An abbreviated nod. "Understood. Thank you, sir."

With that, he steps around her, and heads for the door, and the streets beyond. It's not home, and nowhere but the vast expanses of the Territories ever will be, but an open space of some kind is desperately needed at the moment, and time alone to try and digest everything that's happened in the last hours is essential if he's going to cope with whatever the universe decides to throw at him next.

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