Rage: The Thunder Rolls

by Tanya Reed

Here's the conclusion. The sequel "Weakness" will soon follow.

Disclaimer: Due South belongs to someone other than me.

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He had called 911 while Fraser was waiting in the car. How could he not? It almost seemed like a betrayal of his best friend, but seeing the broken apartment and the unconscious, bleeding man, he could do nothing else. He told them that his name was Detective Ray Vecchio and, when going to see a friend of a friend, he had come across the badly beaten man. There was no mention of Fraser.

As he rode the elevator back to the posh lobby, Ray wondered what had happened. He knew this was something he could never ask Fraser. Pondering, he thought about what he knew. It was something about bruises that made Benny go ballistic on this guy, which led Ray to believe that Burrell had inflicted bruises on someone Fraser knew. Since Ray only knew of two people Fraser and Burrell both knew, and Elaine had seemed perfectly fine...

"The Dragon Lady," he whispered.

With a nod, the detective accepted this. He knew more about Benny's feelings for Thatcher than his friend would ever give him credit for. So, the scum had hurt the Dragon Lady. What Ray couldn't figure out was why she hadn't killed him.

Pushing all knowledge from his face, Ray approached his car. He looked at his friend sitting in the front seat, ignoring the wolf who had traveled with Ray. For the first time Ray could remember, Fraser was a mess. His usually immaculate hair was standing in several different directions and his clothes were ripped and wrinkled. There was dried blood on his face. Most of it wasn't his.

"You know, Benny," Ray said, sliding into the driver's seat. "It's after hours. What d'you say we call off the man hunt until tomorrow? I'm tired, you're tired, Dief's tired..."

"What do you mean, Ray? I feel fine."

Like hell, Ray thought, saying, "Maybe so, but you look like crap."

With a frown, Fraser turned the review mirror so he could look in it. "Maybe you're right."

"I know I am. Besides, Dief's stomach's growling so loud I can't concentrate anyway."

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She looked so fragile, almost like a lost child, as she walked in. Her eyes were downcast and the bruise on her cheek showed sharply against her pale skin.

Fraser was surprised to see her there. He hadn't known she would come. Quickly, his eyes roamed her form, searching for all of her visible hurts. He purposely avoided her eyes, knowing what he'd find there, but eventually they were all he had left.

Taking a breath, hoping Meg couldn't hear it, he raised his eyes to hers. Immediately, he wanted to look away, but he couldn't. Broken. She was broken. Shattered pieces of her self respect mingled with a pain so profound it tore his heart to shreds. She wasn't the Inspector as she stood there--not that strong, proud woman whose sarcasm could cut deeper than a sword. Instead, she was his Meg, hurt and frightened and longing for what little comfort he could give.

He loved her then, loved her more than at any other time he could remember.

He reached for her, not speaking, drawing her into his arms. She shuddered there, stiffening, before gradually relaxing into his embrace. Fraser held her, stroking her hair, trying to will all that had happened away. This was one lesson she should never have had to learn.

After a moment, she spoke. "I'm not...I'm not who you think."

"It's all right," he soothed, his arms tightening. "I know what he did to you."

"I couldn't stop him," she said softly into his shoulder. "I...I couldn't stop him."

"Let it go." He loosed her, his hand tracing her cheek. When she would not look at him, he led her -- unresisting -- to the bed. Propriety, rank, protocol, they were all nothing here as he sat and drew her into his lap.

"What kind of officer am I?" she demanded harshly, allowing his arms to circle her again. "What kind of woman?"

A tear slipped from her control and slid slowly down her cheek.

Fraser brushed it away with gentle fingertips, feeling the shaking of her delicate form through her clothes. He pulled her closer, tucking her dark head under his chin. Carefully, he began to rock.

"It was not your fault..."

"I should have been stronger. I just wasn't strong enough."

"He hurt you," Ben said softly, continuing to rock. "Being hurt is not a crime, Meg. I've been there. Victoria."

At his mention of the woman who had almost destroyed him, Meg's arms wrapped around him tightly. He didn't know if she responded to the hurt in his voice or if she just needed something to hold on to.

Fraser wanted to fill her face with tender kisses, wiping away all memories of rough hands and cruel words.

"Let me..." His voice failed him and he paused before starting again. "Let me love your pain away."

Ben awoke with a start, finding himself alone in a dark, silent apartment. The shock of the transition made him reach for her in the darkness. A dream. It had been a dream. The other side of his small cot was as cold as death. She had never been there.

It was hard to let go of the dream, to realize that she had not come to him to help her through her pain. Something squeezed his heart and an aching for her settled around him. If he was alone, then so was she.

What was she thinking? What was she feeling? Had she been able to sleep? Ben had a feeling that she hadn't. Her insecurity would be tormenting her even more than those pictures haunted him. It was a horrible, gnawing feeling to know that she was so far away. He couldn't take her in his arms and hold her like he longed to, and love every memory of that Burrell man from her mind.

Ben hugged himself, the longing to act in real life as he had in his dream becoming almost unbearable. He could see her, bruised and battered, needing someone but too proud to ask for comfort. Damn her pride, and damn his own! If he could just show her how much respect and lo...His mind pushed the latter thought away and began again. If he could just show her how much respect he still had for her, maybe she would be all right. Instead, here he was--alone--dreaming of doing what he wanted but afraid of her violent reaction if he did; and there she was--alone--telling herself over and over again that she had failed some sort of test and proven herself unworthy. Nothing he could do would bridge the gap between and allow him to comfort her, and that was the saddest thing of all.

A big, gusty sigh escaped him. Two things had been taken from him as well--his control and now his sleep. Somehow, they seemed like a little enough price to pay for her. Carefully, he took out the knowledge that had been forced with his loss of control and examined it again. One good thing had come out of this, and though she may never know it, he knew it. That was enough. The memory of Victoria could no longer hurt him. She had been replaced.

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Ray sat at his desk, staring at the files in his hands. One was for Tom Norton and the other was for Max Riker. He had picked Fraser up and the two of them had arrived at the station just minutes before. Fraser had gone to the cafeteria to get some milk and Ray had headed to his desk, where he found the files Elaine had laid out for him. Since Fraser didn't have to be at the Consulate until after dinner, they decided to get right to their suspects, with Fraser finally letting Ray know what the bruises had told him--besides the fact that some slime bucket had given his boss a once over.

As Ray sat waiting for Fraser, Elaine approached. There was a frown on her pretty features, and he could tell there was something on her mind.

"Morning, Elaine."

"I heard you found Glen Burrell beaten in his apartment last night, Ray. Is he going to be okay?"

Ray shrugged. "I don't know."

"I'm going to drop by to see him in the hospital after work. I wonder who did it."

Carefully, Ray put down his files, mentally forming his next question. "You're not involved with him, are you?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but no." she said with disgust. "He's just a friend of my brother's. Besides, he's seeing that Dragon Lady of Fraser's. He's kind of cute though."

Ray mumbled, "He wasn't last night."

"What?"

"Nothing, Elaine. Who's assigned to the case? Do they have any leads?"

"Huey and Dewey. Ask them." She gestured with her thumb.

"Thank you kindly, Elaine," Ray said in his best Fraser imitation.

This elicited a snort from her as she turned and walked away.

Ray was going to get up and approach the Duck Boys, but he saw Fraser coming in with his carton of milk. Ray could not help but notice, for the second time that morning, the smudges of black underneath his friend's eyes. He also looked paler than normal, but other than that, there were no indications that he had lost it the day before.

"Ready, Fraser? Got your calcium intake for the day?"

"Ready, Ray," he replied, settling into his usual chair.

"We got files on both of these guys, though not long ones. Norton got into a bit of trouble when he was a kid, just little stuff. He grew up poor but fought his way up. Riker was suspected in a fraud scam a little while back, but he was found innocent. A couple of Norton's offenses involved violence."

Fraser ran a knuckle over his eyebrow before asking, "Which one is left handed?"

"Left handed?" Ray was startled for a moment, but quickly covered it. He opened the files and searched the information, wondering if it would be there.

"Oh, here it is. Riker."

"He's..." Fraser paused, tilting his head as he converted for Ray's benefit. "Six foot three."

"Yup."

"230 pounds?"

"Right again."

"He's our man."

Ray snapped the files shut and rose, knowing Fraser was rarely wrong. It was time to pay Max Riker a visit.

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Meg was at her desk trying to work when her phone buzzed. She put down her paperwork, which concerned...Meg realized she didn't know what it concerned. She had just been staring at it for the past half hour. Tiredly, she rubbed her eyes with one hand, reaching for the phone with the other.

"What is it, Turnbull?"

"There's a call for you, sir. A nice young woman."

"All right," she sighed. At least she could forget paperwork for a minute. "Put her through."

After an audible click, she continued, "Inspector Meg Thatcher, Canadian Consulate, may I help you?"

"Hi," The voice was soft and hesitant, "My name is Elaine Besbriss. I'm not sure if you've heard of me or not."

Meg frowned. "Your name does sound rather familiar. How may I help you?"

"Well..." The voice hesitated again, as if she wasn't sure how to begin. "I didn't know if anyone bothered to tell you. I thought you might be worried."

Meg straightened, her tiredness draining away. "What happened?"

Was it Fraser? He hadn't arrived yet and there were so many dangers out there in the Chicago streets. Every day, though she'd never tell them, she was afraid that either Fraser or Turnbull would leave the Consulate and never come back to her.

"It's Glen. I know you've been dating him..."

"Glen," Meg breathed, a shiver going through her whole body.

"Glen Burrell. You are dating him, aren't you?"

Meg tried to speak and failed. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "We...we went out a couple of times."

"Well, someone attacked him yesterday."

Meg's mind was wrenched from the mental images brought on by the mention of his name.

"Attacked?"

"Yes. In his own apartment too. He's in the hospital now, still unconscious, but they think he's going to make it."

"Oh." She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Disappointed? No, she couldn't be disappointed that someone hadn't died--even him. She could not bring herself to feel sorry for him, however. In fact, it was almost a form of elation to know that someone had treated him the same way he had treated her.

"So, anyway," Elaine was saying, "I thought you should know. I work at the police station with Ray--you know, Ray Vecchio?--if you decide you want his room number. They are allowing him a few visitors."

"Do they...do they know who did it?"

"Not yet, but they're working on it. Huey and Dewey are checking out his apartment right now."

There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but instead she said, "Thank you for calling," and hung up.

She sat in thoughtful silence for a few minutes, wondering whose father, brother, boyfriend, son, or sister had finally decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. Meg wished that she could have been there to see the look on Glen's face as someone hit him over and over. Just imagining it gave her a feeling of profound satisfaction. Knowing that he'd hurt no one else for awhile was nice too.

She picked up her pen, chewing her lip. Would the memories never go away? Firmly, she pushed them aside for what seemed like the millionth time that day--and it was what, nine thirty?--and started to fill in the forms.

Meg had filled in a whole three lines when a thought struck her so hard she dropped her pen.

"Fraser," a voice whispered in her mind, and she froze.

Fraser? Could it have been Fraser? What if he had seen through her lies, and...Meg shook her head sharply. No. It couldn't have been Fraser. She closed her eyes and carefully replayed her conversations with him. He had been his usual calm, charming, and unemotional self. His face and eyes had shown no sense of knowledge, and his concern seemed completely neutral. Besides, she chided herself, Fraser was not the type to go around busting heads. Even the thought made her blush. What was she, some damsel in distress and Fraser some red knight rescuer? Had she fallen that far?

Admitting that she was being ridiculous, Meg picked up her pen, which seemed to be broken. Had she squeezed it? With a frown, she studied the ink running over her fingers.

Meg, she thought, Lately, you have worse luck than a moose in a nick knack store. Think you can at least hold it together to get through the day?

She got up to put the pen in the garbage can, trying not to notice that the ink on her fingers was the color of bruised flesh. Will everything remind me of him until the day I die? Once it was deposited, she kept going to the door. There she paused before opening it and peeking outside.

"Turnbull?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Can you tell Fraser I'd like to see him when he gets in?"

"Certainly, sir." He sounded too damn cheerful.

Turning to go back into her office, Meg had only one thought for herself.

Fool.

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The knock on her door startled her. Meg had finally been able to submerge herself in her work, and the outside world had faded for awhile.

She blinked, putting down the report she was reading, and barely remembered to snatch the glasses off of her nose. Securing these in her desk, she said crisply, "Come in."

It was Fraser. Of course, she knew it would be, but the knowledge of Fraser and the reality of Fraser were two different things. Somehow, she always seemed to be surprised that he was exactly as she remembered him.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Meg studied him carefully, starting with his face. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary there. His 'Mountie face' was perfectly controlled, no hint of any emotion present at all. Those beautiful eyes of his were intense, as if the whole universe merged in their depths, but that was not unusual. His posture was respectful, his appearance immaculate. There were no hints of worry or change in attitude. He was just Fraser.

"Yes, Fraser. Come in." She wondered if he could see her bruise now. The ones on her torso and arms and legs she could cover, but the one on her face was there for anyone with eyes to see. "How are your plans for entertaining Mr. Rouleau's son coming along? He will be here in less than a week."

She saw puzzlement pass over his features, but he replied, "I have asked Ray to think of some entertaining places for children in the city. He has agreed to have them in my hands by Friday. I will be better able to make my plans at that juncture, ma'am."

"Yes, I'm sure you will, Constable," she said absently, wondering how to work a certain something into the conversation.

"Is there anything else, sir?"

Her eyes searched his face once more as she decided to just take the plunge. "Yes, actually. I wanted to inform you that I may be away for awhile this afternoon. You see, someone I know was badly beaten yesterday and I may go to see him in the hospital."

She carefully continued to watch Fraser's face, but nothing there changed. "I was informed that he will recover, but as yet he is unconscious and so has not identified his attacker."

Fraser didn't even look faintly interested. "You would like me to remain at the Consulate this afternoon, Ma'am."

"That would be nice, Fraser." She bit her lip as she realized that came out sounding very sarcastic. Sarcastic was not the way she wanted to go with this. "Um...I can't get over how strange it is for someone to have gone into Glen's home," It was hard to say his name. She almost choked hearing it come from her own lips, but she continued, "and beat him like that. I mean, what reason could they have?"

Fraser shrugged. "I don't know, ma'am."

With an inward sigh, Meg gave up. There was no way she was going to get Fraser to have any reaction to her words. She felt slightly disappointed at that, though she tried to tell herself she didn't. No matter how self sufficient she was--which was not much right now--Fraser always seemed to bring out her buried longing to be cherished. Closing the subject in her mind, calling herself a fool again, she waited for Fraser to ask her if he could be dismissed. He didn't, of course. Instead, he just stood there studying her frankly, making a flush come to her face.

Flustered, she waved her hand. "Of course not. You are dismissed, Constable."

He nodded and walked to the door. She was still watching him closely, so she saw him put his hand on the knob, hesitate, then begin to turn back towards her. Meg looked down, pretending to be absorbed in her work. She even peered at it as if she were trying to see it without her glasses.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

"Yes, Fraser?"

She raised her eyes and a stillness went through her body. For one instant there was nothing hidden, nothing concealed. For the first time since they'd been on the train, she saw the real Fraser.

"No one should steal another person's dignity."

Then it was gone, and so was he.

The End