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

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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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[info]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.

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[info]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."



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[info]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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[info]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."

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[info]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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[info]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.

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[info]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."

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[info]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."

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[info]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."

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[info]chicagomountie
2009-01-30 10:36 pm UTC (link)
"It's all I have," he says, simply.

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[info]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."

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[info]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 ... "



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[info]megthatcher
2009-01-30 10:42 pm UTC (link)
"Dismissed," she says quickly. "Return as soon as you can."

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[info]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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