Well, I haven't added anything to the ten-dance fic, but I do have stuff from the post-COTW fic. The premise is that Fraser and RayK still went on their sledding adventure, but Meg got posted in Toronto. About six months have passed since the season finale.
He entered the outpost at a flat-out run, zipping past the desks of a dozen bewildered RCMP members as he headed for the Inspector's office. He hadn't even had a chance to put on his uniform, much less drop his bags anywhere, but he was already late, and he had decided it was better to appear in civilian clothes rather than appear before his new superior officer, the commander of the Fort MacRee detachment of the RCMP, even further past the time he had been scheduled to show up.
He'd intended to find out the name of his new superior before arriving, but he had been sidetracked by a suspicious smell at the airport, which had led him and Diefenbaker to enough improperly stored fuel to destroy a dozen square kilometers, as well as to a staunch railroad supporter who had planned do use it for exactly those purposes, though he was still unclear on exactly how blowing up a small airport in northern Alberta, rather than somewhere more visible, would further the woman's cause. Making the arrest and then seeing that the fuel was properly put away had taken up the time he'd meant to use to mentally prepare himself for his new posting, and so he was a bit rattled when he threw open the door to the Inspector's office and said, "Sir, I'm terribly sorry for my tardiness..."
And then he realized who he was speaking to.
"Fraser?" Inspector Margaret Thatcher said, her eyes wide, dropping the jacket she held in her hands.
He felt his duffel bag slip out of his fingers, hitting the floor with a *thump*. "Inspector," he almost whispered. "You're my new superior officer?"
"You're my new *Constable*?"
He briefly glanced around the room, just in case. "It would appear so, ma'am."
She ran her hand through her hair—it was longer than the last time he'd seen her, he couldn't help noting, irrelevant as it was—somewhat nervously. "I had no idea—that is, I was told Ottawa was finally sending someone to take Constable Allen's place, but I only just received the file, and I didn't have a chance to look at it before we had to move on [name, probably a pun] and bring him in before he got out of the country."
His jaw dropped. "You captured [name]? The one behind more than thirty bank robberies in the past year?"
"He's in lock-up right now." She looked rather pleased with herself. "He gave us some trouble, but nothing we couldn't handle. I was able to get his weapon away from him before he could shoot anyone."
Truly, he didn't know what to say. (It was not, he couldn't help noting, the first time she had knocked him speechless.) The last time he'd seen her, Meg Thatcher had been on her way to an administrative position in Toronto, which she had seemed to be looking forward to. He'd never expected to find her doing—exulting in, really—fieldwork in a tiny town in the Northwest Territories.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Oh, sorry, I missed the offer to post a snippet
Date: 2011-02-14 11:21 pm (UTC)He entered the outpost at a flat-out run, zipping past the desks of a dozen bewildered RCMP members as he headed for the Inspector's office. He hadn't even had a chance to put on his uniform, much less drop his bags anywhere, but he was already late, and he had decided it was better to appear in civilian clothes rather than appear before his new superior officer, the commander of the Fort MacRee detachment of the RCMP, even further past the time he had been scheduled to show up.
He'd intended to find out the name of his new superior before arriving, but he had been sidetracked by a suspicious smell at the airport, which had led him and Diefenbaker to enough improperly stored fuel to destroy a dozen square kilometers, as well as to a staunch railroad supporter who had planned do use it for exactly those purposes, though he was still unclear on exactly how blowing up a small airport in northern Alberta, rather than somewhere more visible, would further the woman's cause. Making the arrest and then seeing that the fuel was properly put away had taken up the time he'd meant to use to mentally prepare himself for his new posting, and so he was a bit rattled when he threw open the door to the Inspector's office and said, "Sir, I'm terribly sorry for my tardiness..."
And then he realized who he was speaking to.
"Fraser?" Inspector Margaret Thatcher said, her eyes wide, dropping the jacket she held in her hands.
He felt his duffel bag slip out of his fingers, hitting the floor with a *thump*. "Inspector," he almost whispered. "You're my new superior officer?"
"You're my new *Constable*?"
He briefly glanced around the room, just in case. "It would appear so, ma'am."
She ran her hand through her hair—it was longer than the last time he'd seen her, he couldn't help noting, irrelevant as it was—somewhat nervously. "I had no idea—that is, I was told Ottawa was finally sending someone to take Constable Allen's place, but I only just received the file, and I didn't have a chance to look at it before we had to move on [name, probably a pun] and bring him in before he got out of the country."
His jaw dropped. "You captured [name]? The one behind more than thirty bank robberies in the past year?"
"He's in lock-up right now." She looked rather pleased with herself. "He gave us some trouble, but nothing we couldn't handle. I was able to get his weapon away from him before he could shoot anyone."
Truly, he didn't know what to say. (It was not, he couldn't help noting, the first time she had knocked him speechless.) The last time he'd seen her, Meg Thatcher had been on her way to an administrative position in Toronto, which she had seemed to be looking forward to. He'd never expected to find her doing—exulting in, really—fieldwork in a tiny town in the Northwest Territories.