Rage: The Thunder Rolls

by Tanya Reed

Here's another of my oldies. A couple of people have mentioned the fact that it's not on so here it comes. It's rated Teen for violence. Here are my original story notes, as usual:

Pairings are Fraser/Thatcher (are you starting to see a pattern in my writing yet?) Oh, and this story takes place between 'Red, White, or Blue' and 'Flashback'. Spoiler warnings for ATQH, RWorB, WATE, and The Promise. I want to thank my betas Lisa/Gypsy and Amanda. They were great betas. I also have to thank them separately--Lisa for giving me half of my title, and Amanda for being willing to answer any number of stupid questions at any time of the day or night. Bows. Thank you kindly, ladies, for your help.

Disclaimers: Oh, Alliance-all characters are thine, but the ideas are all mine.

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There was an Eagle's song playing somewhere.

He cocked his head to the side, listening. It sounded like it was coming from Constable Turnbull's office. It was quite loud and Constable Fraser wondered if it was disturbing the rest of the Consulate. Slowly rubbing a thumb over his eyebrow, he wondered if it would be impolite to ask Turnbull to turn it own. In the end, it was the Inspector who decided him, even though she wasn't even in the room. Today was her first day back after two days of sick leave, and she didn't need to be disturbed.

The decision made, Fraser got up from his desk, neatly placing his pen to the side of the file he'd been working on. Being in a hurry was no excuse to be messy. Diefenbaker's head rose as Ben did. "It's all right, Dief. I'll be right back. Try not to eat anything while I'm gone." The wolf let out a low half whine of injured pride and the Mountie almost smiled.

Fraser didn't make it to Turnbull's office. He was about half way there when he saw Inspector Thatcher's secretary coming towards him, a determined look on his face.

"Constable Fraser?"

"Yes?"

"She wants to see you."

"Understood."

Then Fraser continued on his way, changing his destination. It was not a surprise that Inspector Thatcher wanted to see him. After all, she had been gone two days. She ran things with a fist of iron, and those two days probably had her imagining all kinds of disasters. In truth, no disasters had occurred, though there had been a...situation. Reaching the Inspector's door, Fraser paused a moment, telling himself that he would not smell her from across the room. It was unprofessional and she would not want it--but sometimes it was hard. Before what had happened on the train, Fraser believed that the Inspector kept wild flowers in her office. Now he knew this was not the case.

Politely, he knocked. A cold voice told him to enter and he did so, removing his Stetson.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Constable. Where is your report on the last two days?"

"I was just finishing it up, ma'am..."

"And what's this I hear about a goat?"

Fraser looked up, flushing. "Well, you see, it was like this...He didn't mean to eat Turnbull's hat, I'm sure, and Diefenbaker was only trying to protect your office, sir. I'm sure the Russian Consulate..."

"Fraser," she cut in sharply, "why was there a goat in my Consulate?"

He stopped in mid explanation, slowly turning his hat in his hands. "Constable Turnbull did a favor for the Russian Consulate. They decided to repay him with a goat."

"Ah." She lifted an eyebrow. "And the problem with the Russian Consulate now?"

"I was going to go offer them a formal apology this afternoon, ma'am."

"Good. I trust this incident will be covered completely in your report." Her tone clearly stated that she couldn't leave the children alone for one minute without them getting into trouble.

"Yes, sir," Fraser replied, looking directly into her face for the first time. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, yet he let his eyes wander over her features. They stopped their exploration under her right cheekbone. Was that a bruise?

Inspector Thatcher's voice rose again as she began to chastise him. He never heard a word of it, however--except sentry duty--as his mind began to pay attention to her body. Yes, that was a bruise, about two days old, he'd say, still black but light and fading to yellow. Of course, it was covered with make up, and if he hadn't been searching her face, he might not have seen it.

'Yes, ma'am' and 'no, sir' came from him automatically in all the right places as he continued to study her. His body remained at strict attention, as his eyes wandered lower to the exposed opening at her throat. He almost winced as he saw, peeking out from the fabric, another bruise. This one was darker, uglier than the first. It was about the same age, but its purple and black colors looked like a stain on her skin. A laceration, puckered at the edges, ran down one side of it. Had the Inspector been in an accident? That would account for her two days off. Inspector Thatcher never took time off.

"Is that understood, Constable?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now is there any other news you want to tell me before I read it in your report?"

Fraser tore his thoughts from her injuries and thought about her question. "Constable Turnbull fell down the stairs, but thankfully is uninjured." Did her mouth twitch? "The French Consulate dropped off some wine--which Turnbull drank, causing him to fall down the stairs. Lt. Welsh wished to discuss a matter with you about a Canadian prisoner. I washed the curtains in the Queen's bedroom..." he trailed off.

"Is that all, Constable?"

"I believe so, sir."

She nodded absently, reaching up to tuck a stray dark strand behind her ear. Usually, such a simple gesture of humanity would have thrilled Fraser, but this time, his eyes were riveted to her forearm.

As her arm raised, the fabric of her blouse slipped down her wrist to reveal a mottling of bruises. Concern almost made Fraser break his pose. The only thing that stopped him was knowing that she would not welcome it and would probably scorn it.

"You are dismissed. I expect your report on my desk in an hour."

"Yes, sir." He gave a little nod and turned to go. He reached for the doorknob, but could not turn it. Images of her in a car as it crumpled in on her or of her falling off of someone's fire escape filled his head. He had to know. Was she in pain? Slowly, knowing if he said the wrong thing he'd get a tongue lashing and maybe another year of sentry duty, Fraser turned.

"Ma'am?"

"Yes, Fraser?" She sounded tired.

"Um...I was just wondering...By any chance did you...How did..."

"Just spit it out, Constable." Her voice was like ice, but he pressed on anyway.

"Are you all right?"

Her eyes widened. "Am I all right?"

"Yes, sir. Are you injured?"

Those same dark eyes now narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if you don't mind me saying so, I noticed that you have several bruises and abrasions. That led me to believe that you had in some way been injured."

"I'm fine, Constable."

He just looked at her. The room was silent for several moments, the only sound their breaths as they mingled in the air.

Finally, she replied, "If you must know, Fraser," Her annoyance was plain. "I fell. I was at home two days ago, got up and felt woozy. As you know, I just got over the flu. The dizziness caused me to fall against my coffee table. It's all very embarrassing and I would appreciate it if you didn't bring it up again."

"Yes, sir," he agreed. "Sorry, sir."

Satisfied, he turned and left the room.

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Did he know? Could he tell? Meg sat in her chair staring into space. His face had betrayed nothing; he had seemed satisfied with her answer, but with Fraser, you never could be sure. What he knew was not always present in his eyes--those eyes that saw everything.

Her gaze wandered down to her arm. Slowly, and gently too because it was still tender, Meg drew her blouse down to expose the skin. Her face flushed as she regarded the blue and purple marks, impotent anger racing through her. When the test came, she had not been strong enough.

It had been a hard, painful lesson. She caressed the skin, not flinching, then drew the fabric back over it.

Her mind went back to Fraser. He had seen them. After all the trouble she had taken to conceal them, some carelessness on her part had revealed them. She wondered which he had seen first, where he had been looking when concern made him take note.

Still, she told herself he had seemed satisfied with her answer. There was concern there, yes, but no overt interest. If he knew, surely...It was in Fraser's nature. That she did not want. How would she face him if he knew? How could he respect and take orders from someone who...This time, the burning in her cheeks was shame.

Next time, she would be strong enough.