Man's love is of a man's life a thing apart,
'Tis woman's whole existence.~ Byron Don Juan
Meg felt Ben's fingers fumbling with the buttons on her red, serge uniform. She could smell his unique scent; a mix of Irish Spring soap, leather and something unidentifiable but pleasant. His lips brushed her bare earlobe and a thrilled shudder raced up her frame. Her arms circled his neck. When Ben pulled back she saw his lips move but heard a harsh beeping instead of his voice. Ben's face faded as Meg woke. Her heart beat furiously as she slapped her alarm clock. Still fuzzy, she lay in her queen sized bed trying to recapture the dream. It wasn't the first hot and heavy dream she'd had about Constable Benton Fraser. The lady mountie knew it wouldn't be the last.
After a tepid shower and two cups of coffee, Meg was ready to face her subordinate officers. Lately she dreaded going to work. Her steamy dreams resurfaced when she saw Fraser. Meg had begun avoiding him, more so than usual. Those green eyes melted her every time he fixed them on her. She wondered what his thoughts were when he looked at her.
Arriving at the Canadian Consulate, Meg put on her Inspector Thatcher attitude. She greeted Constable Turnbull with her customary frost. The junior mountie didn't seem affected by it. When she heard, "Good morning, Inspector." from down the hallway Meg had to swallow hard not to yelp in excitement. She turned and nodded formally, her eyes bright as she faced Fraser. Quickly, Meg headed into her office and closed the door behind her. Heart I her throat, she leaned heavily on the double doors listening to Fraser and Turnbull's muffled voices in the hallway. She took a deep, steadying breath and made her way to the desk. She didn't know if she could continue to work around Fraser if she felt like this every time she saw him. Digging in her purse, Meg pulled out the name and number of a therapist a friend at the gym had given her.
"Hello, Dr. Joyce Parker's office." a female receptionist answered cheerfully. In ten minutes time Meg had made an appointment to meet in a few days.
Later …
Dr. Joyce Parker was a petite woman in her fifties. Her steel gray hair lay in permed curls around her head. Owlish glasses magnified her pale blue eyes. She looked like a kind, grandmotherly listener, which put Meg instantly at ease.
"Come in, have a seat." Dr. Parker referred her to a leather arm chair across from her. Nervous, Meg perched in the overstuffed chair. "Now, tell me how I can help you, Ms. Thatcher." Dr. Parker scanned the questionnaire Meg had filled out in the waiting room.
"Please, call me Meg, Dr. Parker." She sat back against the buttery soft leather chair and began. "I keep having very vivid and very inappropriate dreams about one of my fellow, subordinate officers. I'm unsure how to handle them. They've begun to effect my job performance." Meg laid it out as simply as possible. The good doctor listened before speaking or writing.
"This fellow officer is a man, I take it." Dr. Parker began writing. Meg nodded, she could still see Ben's face as she answered.
"What kind of relationship do you and he have?" The doctor's face was unreadable. Meg hesitated for a moment.
"I am his boss." She didn't know how to define their relationship, vague maybe?
"Do you socialize outside of the work place?" Dr. Parker began peeling the layers away.
"No, I keep my personal life and my work very separate. It's a must in the RCMP." Meg sat up straighter and adjusted her suit jacket as she answered.
"Do you feel that your chosen profession is more of a man's world?" The doctor could read the answer before Meg spoke.
"Yes, very much so. As a woman I have had to prove that I can do anything other officers can do only that I can do it better. I've had to be tougher, smarter and above reproach my whole career." Meg adjusted her RCMP, standard issue, wrist watch, her posture ramrod straight.
"Do you feel that this officer you're dreams are about has had an easier career?" The lady doctor studied her patient intently as she sat in the chair. She'd seen professionals with similar problems but rarely one wound so up-tight.
"Yes, I would say he has. His father was a legendary mountie in the Northwest Territories." Dr. Parker interrupted Meg.
"If you wish to call this officer by name, feel free, you have doctor-patient confidentiality privileges." The lady mountie nodded and then continued.
"Fraser came to the United States to track down the man who killed his father and found him. It's a long story, but Fraser spends his spare time helping one of the Chicago Police Department's detective solve crimes. He volunteers, he holds the door for everyone, he's always giving advice on how to help others, people love him, the list just goes on." Meg shook her head, overwhelmed.
"Do you like this altruistic tendency in him?" Dr. Parker noted 'white knight' in her notes.
"Yes, he's an inspiration. Fraser puts himself on the line to make a difference in people's lives. He's quiet but what he says is powerful." The lady mountie leaned against the seat, her head back.
"Are you sexually attracted to this man, Meg?" The doctor's question caught her off guard.
"Oh, my, yes. He's beautiful." Meg felt like a school girl telling her favorite aunt about one of her crushes.
"Describe him for me if you would." Dr. Parker flipped the page in Meg's chart. This would require a fresh page.
"He's tall, around six feet, he's got thick, dark hair, a fair, clear complexion, green eyes like gem stones, long but not feminine eye lashes, broad shoulders, an athletic build, beautiful hands; strong and yet he can be gentle. When he smiles it's like the whole room just got brighter and he has this eye tooth that he toys with when he's thinking, it's just a fraction off but when his tongue plays with the tip of it it is so, so, sexy." Meg emphasized the last word. "Sometimes when Fraser looks at me, it's like he can read my mind or see into my soul. I feel embarrassed because I'm usually thinking about something I shouldn't be. When his hair gets just to the point of needing cut there are these soft, duck tails around his ears and I just want to run my fingers through them. And let me tell you, he smells so good. He does this thing when he's thinking where he smooths his eyebrow with his thumbnail." Meg sighed, her expression wistful. She hadn't been able to tell anyone how she felt about him. Having someone to tell about it made her feel better.
"Have you told him your feelings?" That question brought the lady mountie back to reality. She sat ramrod straight again as her mind came back to the task at hand.
"No, it wouldn't be proper, RCMP regulations forbid such a relationship even if he felt the same." The lady mountie's voice held a note of sadness. She'd read the regulations repeatedly, there weren't any loop holes that would allow either of them to keep their job.
"Do you think the dreams, and how you feel, stems from your physical attraction, the forbidden nature of a relationship or is this Fraser someone you genuinely care about?" Dr. Parker gave her food for thought.
"I'm not certain, Dr. Parker. I am physically attracted, granted, but Fraser is also a good man." Meg felt torn.
"Take some time to think about your answer. How about we have another session this time next week?" Dr. Parker rose from her chair, Meg's chart tucked securely in one arm.
"Alright, Dr. Parker. I'll think about it. Thank you kindly." Meg retrieved her purse and left the office.
"Have a good day, Meg." The lady doctor smiled as she watched the younger woman leave her office and stop at the receptionist.
A Few Days Later …
The smell of bacon frying and the sound of it sizzling waft into the bedroom where Meg lay on her queen sized bed. Slipping on her silk robe and fuzzy slippers, the off-duty mountie shuffled into the kitchen. Standing at the stove Ben smiled and handed her freshly squeezed orange juice. She flashed him a wicked smile and sipped the tangy liquid.
"Is all this for me?" Meg pointed toward the kitchen island filled with pastry, gravy, biscuits, and hash browns. It all smelled wonderful.
"Yes, it is." His smile somehow brightened, if possible.
"Hmm, A man that cooks. I might have to keep you around." She wrapped both arms around his waist and tip toed to see over his shoulder. Ben laughed. Meg pressed her nose against his shoulder. She could feel the soft, fuzzy flannel against her cheek and smelled Irish Spring soap. She slid her hands down to his waist and pulled on his belt loops. He simply swayed his hips a bit as he laid crisp, thick, Canadian bacon on a slotted plate.
"You think you want to keep me around?" Ben turned to lay the bacon on the island. Meg kept her arms around him and looked up into his wonderful, green eyes.
"Yes. I need someone to cook, to eat my bacon and to kiss me good morning." Ben leaned down, his forehead touching Meg's. The handsome mountie began speaking but all she heard was incessant beeping. As always, Ben's face faded as Meg's eyes opened. The white canopy overhead greeted her. With a sigh, she turned the alarm clock off and lay back against the pillow. It was just a dream but Meg felt like Ben was gone forever. Logically, she knew she'd see him in a little over an hour. That didn't ease the feeling of loss in her chest. Tears slid down her cheek as she remembered how he smelled and how his body felt in her hands. With a heavy heart, Meg dressed for work.
Turnbull greeted Inspector Thatcher at the door with an entirely too broad smile on his face. He handed her the morning mail and attempted to make small talk.
"Turnbull, what's wrong?" Meg waved away his predictions for a wet winter.
"My apologies, Sir, I asked Turnbull not to tell you about this." Fraser hobbled out of his office door, his left arm in a sling and his boot barely laced up his shin. Meg nearly gasped. She crossed the distance between them as fast as her heels would allow.
"My word, Constable Fraser, what happened?" The mountie grimaced as she examined the purple bruise along his left cheek with her finger tips.
"I fell twenty feet into a garbage dumpster last night while Detective Vecchio and I were in pursuit of a kidnapping suspect. The landing wasn't quite what I'd planned on." It took every ounce of self-containment Meg could muster not to pull him to her. She had to take a deep breath to contain the tears threatening to spill over.
"What happened to your leg, Constable" Meg pulled back.
"It's nothing, Sir, I am fully capable of performing my duties here at the consulate." That didn't answer the question she asked but that was the only answer she'd receive and Meg knew it.
"Go home, Constable Fraser." Her voice sounded more brisk that she'd intended.
"I'm fine, Sir." Fraser insisted, his jaw working as he struggled to stand.
"Oh yeah," Meg slapped him on the left shoulder as hard as she could. Ben's eyes went wide and his face paled to a sickly white.
"I'm on my way, thank you." He hobbled back to his office to retrieve Diefenbaker and his hat.
"Turnbull, call him a cab." Meg said as Ben disappeared through his office door. The junior mountie nodded and picked up the phone.
Turnbull and Meg stood on the consulate stoop watching Fraser's cab pull away from the curb.
"Such a brave man." Turnbull said, nearly choked up. Meg simply rolled her eyes. Secretly she agreed with Turnbull but she'd never admit it. Meg thought back to the things she'd seen Fraser do, all of them dangerous. It made her wonder how many more times he could put himself on the line before it was his last? The thought froze her breath in her lungs. Without a word the lady mountie returned to her office and told Turnbull not to disturb her until further notice. She then sent him after her dry cleaning, a shop on the other side of town purposely chosen for it's distance from the consulate when she wanted Turnbull out of the office for at least forty-five minutes. In that time she let herself cry and she placed a telephone call to her immediate superior.
"Yes, Sir, I'm ready to take that position in Ottawa you mentioned last year." Meg toyed with an ink pen as she waited for him to speak. "Thank you, Sir, I can be ready to leave in two weeks." She jotted down the information he gave her and hung up. Turnbull tapped on the door just as she hung up.
"Come in, Turnbull." Meg barked.
"How did you know it was me, Sir?" It was one of the thousand times a day she wanted to throttle the junior mountie.
"You and I are the only people at the consulate, Turnbull." Meg turned the paper she'd been writing on over.
Dear Constable Fraser, (scratched out)
Dear Benton,
I write to you now to say that I am leaving the Chicago consulate. My superiors have granted me a transfer back to Ottawa as I asked. This is sudden, I know, but I find that I cannot stand by without telling you how I feel. To say I love you is putting it mildly. I wish things could be different between us, Benton. There is so much I want to tell you. Knowing you, even from the distance between us, I find that I want to be a better person. If I stay in Chicago I can't do that. I also find that I can't see you hurt, physically or emotionally. Seeing you with that bruise, limping, it made me realize how much danger you put yourself in on a daily basis. It's too painful for me to carry every day. I will always love you but I have to leave. I wish you the best. ~Meg
"Ah, yes, you're right." Turnbull nodded happily.
"Thank you, Turnbull, return to your duties." Meg shooed him out roughly, her laundry hanging on one finger. Him she wouldn't miss. Fraser on the other hand was a different story. Leaving him behind she felt may prove the most difficult thing she'd ever done.
Scene Break
Dr. Parker was surprised to see Meg when she walked into the office. Her receptionist had said there was a cancellation but that another patient had called in asking if there were any appointments open. The doctor didn't know it was Meg.
"Come in my dear, come in. What can I do for you today?" The doctor saw Meg's anxiety as clearly as she read a billboard.
"I've asked for a transfer to the consulate in Ottawa and they've granted it. I leave in two weeks." The words came like word vomit. Dr. Parker's eyes were even wider than usual when she heard.
"What brought this sudden change on?" She got up and went to a filing cabinet to retrieve Meg's file.
"Fraser was injured while chasing a kidnapping suspect last night, he fell nearly two stories into a garbage dumpster. His arm is in a sling, he wrenched his knee and ankle and he has a nasty bruise on his left cheek. I can't see him hurt anymore." Meg wrung her hands as she spoke.
"In our last session I asked you to think about your attraction to Fraser, whether it is physical or personal. I see you came to a conclusion." The doctor seated herself comfortably again and began taking notes.
"I had a dream this morning that Fraser was in my kitchen, cooking me breakfast and we were talking about me keeping him. The dream ended when the alarm clock went off. I woke up feeling such a sense of loss. It was unbearable." Meg began crying. The dream still upset her.
"Do you plan on telling him about how you feel, Meg?" Dr. Parker asked, her voice soft with concern.
"Yes, well, I don't know. I've written him a letter. Should I tell him face to face?" Meg hated the helpless feeling of uncertainty.
"A face to face confession will make you feel much better. It will give you a chance to connect to him and allow you to clearly express your feelings. Fraser may have feelings of his own to express to you." Dr. Parker handed Meg a Kleenex. Meg highly doubted Benton Fraser had any feelings for her. If he had, wouldn't he have said something before now.
"How am I supposed to tell him that I love him so much that the thought of seeing him in pain hurts me?" The lady mountie shrugged helplessly.
"Just like pulling off a band-aid, do it quickly." Dr. Parker laid a reassuring hand on the younger woman's arm.
A few days later …
Turnbull walked into Inspector Thatcher's office with her mail and laid it on the desk. He'd been incessantly humming all day and Meg was just about to drive an ink pen through his vocal cords.
"Here, Turnbull, take these please." She handed him a stack of envelopes without looking through them. "They all need postage, see that they get sent out." The lady mountie continued on with her paperwork.
The lanky, blond mountie took the stack of mail back to his desk in the foyer and sat down to lick the stamps for them. Still humming, he licked his way through nearly a whole book of stamps. With a dry tongue and the hundredth round of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" he came across a letter addressed to Constable Fraser.
"Hmm, this one doesn't need a stamp." Turnbull spoke aloud as he rose from his chair. Still humming, he knocked on Fraser's door. "This is for you, Constable Fraser." With a smile, Turnbull gave him the envelope addressed in Inspector Thatcher's clear hand.
"Thank you kindly, Turnbull." Fraser took the envelope and waited until the junior officer had closed the door behind him. Using an ink pen as a letter opener, Ben opened the self-adhesive closure and pulled out a single sheet of Inspector Thatcher's personal letterhead. His eyes scanned the handwritten letter quickly, noting the date of a week earlier. On a second reading he saw tear stains on the thick paper's edge. Ben was taken aback with her words. He didn't know what was more shocking, her leaving or her feelings. The reticent mountie stood up and went to the window. Diefenbaker stepped up beside him after Ben had stood there for twenty minutes. A slow, soaking rain had set in early that morning and hadn't jet let up. People walked around beneath hoods and umbrellas. A few hurried around covered by only newspapers or an occasional trash bag.
"This is quite a predicament isn't it?" Ben smoothed his eyebrow with one thumbnail as he scanned the letter for the third time. He knew how he felt for Meg Thatcher. There was also the matter of regulations.
"Turnbull, I have to leave now. If anyone calls tell them I am indisposed." Ben heard Meg's powerful voice down the hallway. He saw his opportunity. Grabbing his Stetson, the mountie hustled down the hall. It was still rather difficult to get around on his mending foot but he took a deep breath and pushed through the pain.
"Inspector Thatcher, may I have a word?" Ben caught her as the consulate door began to close.
"Make it fast, Constable Fraser, I have an appointment across town." Meg's heart beat like crazy as he drew closer. A faint breeze brought his scent toward her, enticing her. The stormy, gray clouds overhead made Ben's red uniform stand out even more than usual. He was an eye full.
"I believe I received this in error." He handed Meg the letter Turnbull had delivered. Her eyes widened and she put her free hand over her mouth. The lady mountie seemed to melt deeper into her dark trench coat. "You weren't going to give this to me until you left, were you?" His accusatory tone rubbed her the wrong way, mostly because he was exactly right.
"So!" she fired back, her posture straightening and her dark eyes flashing. The rain had begun to blow sideways with the wind, soaking Fraser but he stood on the consulate stoop like a statue.
"I deserve to hear this from you, not a letter as an after thought." Ben's green eyes bore into her.
"There's nothing either of us could have done, Fraser. Neither of us is willing to give up the RCMP, it's as much a part of who we are as anything, it's unchangeable." She stuffed her hand into her pocket so he wouldn't see it shaking. Ben broke his gaze away. He knew she was right. The mountie still felt she should have given him a chance to make that decision. That's what pissed him off. He had nothing to say, other than to ask when she was leaving.
"I leave in a week." Meg hated leaving but she couldn't stay. "I don't want you to change, Fraser, this is what I fell for. You shouldn't have to change for anyone." She spoke softly, her voice quivering. She struggled hard not break down on him. Ben met her eyes when she laid her shaking hand on his arm. Dipping beneath the umbrella, Ben swept her into his arms and pressed his lips against hers'. He tasted salt from her tears on his lips and felt her body against his. He'd wanted to do such a thing for a very long time. The pair stood for a while on the stoop, Meg's head against Ben's chest beneath the protection of the umbrella.
"What do we do now?" Ben came up short of calling her 'Sir'.
"I don't know, Fraser." Meg answered with a tired sigh.
The last of Meg's belongings were boxed up and her kitchen was bare. Only a few things were left in her refrigerator. Lazily, she walked the apartment one last time making sure she hadn't forgotten anything. The lady mountie dreaded sleeping on the inflatable mattress she'd bought so she laid blankets on the carpeted floor and sat down in the corner of her living room. Meg had donated or sold everything she couldn't ship back north. She pulled a small photo album from her purse and flipped it open. The first picture was of her parents. Next was the day she graduated from the academy. Scattered through the album were the highlights of her life, her friends and people she didn't want to forget. The newest picture was one of Fraser, standing sentry duty in front of the consulate. She'd paid a stranger ten dollars to take the Polaroid for her. It was her private album, the one no one saw but her. His green eyes were shaded by his Stetson, but Meg knew them by heart. A knock on the door interrupted her nostalgia. She threw open the door to see the very person she'd just been thinking about.
"Constable Fraser, I, well, this is a surprise." Meg stepped back from the doorway to let him in. The mountie carried Chinese take-out in two bags.
"I thought you may be hungry this evening." He had to stop himself from saying 'Sir'. It seemed wrong to call someone you kissed passionately a few days earlier by such a formal title.
"There's enough here to feed an army, Fraser." She ushered him inside. Ben looked around the empty room then at the quilts on the floor.
"A picnic dinner, perfect." Meg smiled at his optimism. She searched the kitchen cabinets for the Styrofoam plates she'd left. There were a few packets of plastic flatware with salt and pepper as well as napkins in the drawer. Meg grabbed them and went back to the living room. Fraser had begun spreading the containers out when she returned. He'd laid his Stetson near the door and wore his jeans and a red, flannel shirt.
"What's this?" He held up the photo album she'd been looking through, his face on the last page.
"Oh, that old thing, it's just something I found while I was packing." Meg lied through her teeth. They may have admitted their feelings but she still wasn't comfortable sharing her life just yet. Ben didn't believe her for an instant. He turned the page back to the front and looked at the picture of Meg as a girl dancing with her father on her sixteenth birthday. She'd had the Farrah Fawcet feathered hair and braces. Atop those feathers set a tiara. Behind her hung a banner: Happy Sixteenth Birthday Meg!
"You must have been close to your father." Ben turned the album around to her.
"It wasn't long after that he got sick." Meg spoke softly. She missed her dad every day. "What did you bring me to eat?"
"I wasn't precisely certain what you'd like." Ben let her change the subject. He handed her a bottled water and a cardboard container of crab rangoon.
"I've never imagined you and I eating dinner together." Meg dished out half the crab rangoon onto her plate before passing it to Ben.
"I have." He admitted though he didn't look her in the eye.
"You and I are not, we, it's difficult to see us as a couple. We're very different." Meg stammered.
"I don't think we are." Ben held her gaze steady as he spoke, "You graduated first of you class, so did I. You received metals for field work, so did I. You wear red serge, I wear red serge." He quoted to her those words she confronted him with on top of the runaway train before they kissed. *She covered her face with both hands, cringing at them. Ben gently pulled one hand away, holding it, a kind smile on his handsome features.
"I thought we had both put that day behind us." Meg shook her head. It had been only a few months before but she could recall it as if it were that morning.
"Not entirely." Ben pulled her other hand away, pressing a kiss against the palm. Meg could have melted then and there.
They ate in silence for a while, one or the other occasionally asking a question, the other answering. Meg desperately wanted to know how Ben felt about Victoria, the woman he'd been chasing when Ray Vecchio accidentally shot him, but couldn't bring herself to ask. Meg settled for the thought that if he still cared for her he wouldn't be sitting on her bed for the night eating General Tso's chicken.
"How do you use those, I never mastered chop sticks." She watched in amazement as he deftly wielded the long, slender utensils to eat his rice.
"Oh, practice I suppose." He handed her a fresh set from one of the take-out boxes. She spent the next twenty minutes dropping her dinner while he encouraged her before Meg went back to her trusty, plastic fork. She heard him laugh, such a musical sound, deep like water rushing.
"I bet you were an adorable little boy." Meg touched Ben's cheek with the back of her hand after she finished her meal.
"So I've been told." He gave her a crooked grin. It was rare to see his playful side. Meg felt honored that he could show her another side to himself.
They spent the better part of the evening talking, telling stories and listening to one another as they'd never had a chance to before. Meg slowly began to slide down on the blankets, her eyes drooping. She tried to concentrate on the sound of Ben's voice but his words eventually ran together. The lady mountie felt him put her top quilt over her. Then Ben gathered their dinner trash and put it back in the plastic bags. He knelt down to move a strand of hair from her face when she caught his hand.
"Don't leave, Ben, please." Meg sat up on one elbow, suddenly awake. She didn't want to leave Chicago having never been held by him. Ben settled himself on the other side of her, his arm around her waist beneath the quilt. The last thing she remembered was feeling Ben kiss her cheek and whisper something in her ear.
The Next Morning …
Ben had woken up early to the sound of the neighbor's kids stomping down the stairs as they headed to the school bus. It took a second for him to remember where he was and why. Meg lay nestled against him, her face in his chest. Ben lay as still as possible, watching her sleeping so peacefully and wishing she weren't leaving on the noon flight for Ottawa. He'd just caught her and she was flying away again. It was all so new. This felt fragile to him, as if one loud word would shatter their world. When Meg woke up she saw Ben looking down at her, his arm still around her.
"Good morning." She yawned, her dark hair turned every which way about her face.
"Good morning." Ben noted the way she peered up at him through long, dark lashes. They were natural. Impulsively he kissed her.
"You are making it very difficult for me to get up off these blankets to get ready for work." Meg kissed his cheek, working her way to his neck where she pressed hot, wet kisses.
"Don't leave." Two words yet they were so powerful.
"I have to go, Turnbull baked a cake for me." Meg pretended she didn't know the full meaning of Ben's words.
"Don't leave the consulate, don't leave Chicago." She heard a third phrase in his voice, 'Don't leave me'. Her heart hurt hearing those words.
"I can't stay, Fraser. You and I both know the regulations. Neither of us is willing to give up our duty to the RCMP and neither of us is willing to disregard the rules." She sighed as she pulled away. The pain in Ben's eyes hurt her more than she could tell him. She didn't want to leave, especially not when she'd just found him. He just looked away.
"Stay with me a while longer." Ben pulled her closer and began nibbling on her ear, kissing her neck. His fingers fumbled with the small, pearly buttons on her blouse. How could she pull away from a dream come true? All Meg's reasons not to give in disappeared out the window when she felt his breath on her collar bone.
"As much as I want to, Ben, I can't do this." Meg pulled away. She wanted desperately to bar the door and take the day to make love to him. What would happen the next time Ben went after a suspect and they pulled a gun or a knife? Seeing him hurt would kill her. If Ben died, Meg knew she would too. Ben's jaw went rigid.
"I can't convince you to stay?" He asked, hoping against hope that Meg would stay in Chicago. She shook her head, tears in her eyes. Didn't he know how it was tearing her apart to leave? Didn't he know how badly she wanted to find some middle ground to stay with him on? There was so much Meg wanted to say to tell Ben but couldn't because she didn't think it would make any difference. They were at an impasse.
"Please go, Fraser. This is hard enough." Meg stood up, her hands covering her mouth. Avoiding her eyes, Ben picked up his hat near the door and left. Meg let herself sob after the door closed.
Turnbull presented Inspector Thatcher with the going away cake and a card. He asked about Constable Fraser but Meg played dumb. She knew he wouldn't come to the consulate as long as she was there. She'd burnt that bridge to the ground. She left early for the airport. It would take a while to get through security with all her luggage. At any moment she expected to see Fraser's bright red uniform coming after her. She stared out the plane window, wondering if he'd come after her. Fraser didn't.
Ottawa was equally as bustling as Chicago. It felt good to hear people with a familiar accent as Meg went to work at the large building near the center of the city. She felt lost in the shuffle. Back on home ground she wasn't at the top of the totem pole any more. The superior officers she'd waited on messages from in Chicago were now down the hall. As annoying as Turnbull had been, Meg missed him a bit. Words couldn't describe how she missed seeing Fraser on a daily basis. She even missed Diefenbaker, the furry thief who was always sniffing around her desk for the peppermints she kept in her desk drawer. The work was the same but Meg's heart just wasn't in it.
Two weeks after arriving she bumped into her superior officer in the staff kitchen. She stared out the window, sipping coffee, lost in thought.
"Inspector Thatcher, how are you adjusting?" Burroughs asked twice before Meg turned around to answer.
"Fine, Sir, thank you for asking." She forced a smile. He knew better but didn't want to pry.
"You would tell me if there was anything amiss, wouldn't you?" Burroughs pressed as far as he dared.
"Yes, Sir. I assure you everything is fine. I'm still catching up is all." Meg took a deep breath, her smile widening.
"Alright, if you say so." He backed off, taking his coffee and leaving. Meg found her way to the restroom and freshened her face. She looked tired even to her. The dreams she'd seen Dr. Parker for kept her awake. Each night she saw Ben again, felt his kisses, smelled Irish Spring soap and heard his voice. So many times they'd finished what he'd started that morning in her living room floor. Meg woke up crying more often than not. Her thoughts were never very far from Chicago and the one person she'd hurt more than anyone else.
"Inspector Thatcher, you have a visitor." Marcie, the front receptionist's voice sounded automated across the telephone when Meg answered it six weeks into her new assignment at the Ottawa consulate. A pile of paperwork laid on her desk that should have been finished days ago.
"Send them up, Marcie. Thank you kindly." The last three words made Meg flinch. They sounded exactly like Fraser. She checked her reflection in her compact and straightened her suit jacket. A brief tap on the door made her jump.
"Come in!" Meg forced a smile. The door knob turned, the door swung open and Meg thought a ghost had walked into her office.
"Good morning." Ben stepped through the door. It took everything in Meg not to bound over the desk and throw her arms around him.
"Constable Fraser," She stammered, overwhelmed with things to say to him. "What are you doing here?" Finally edged it's way out of her mouth.
"I came to see you." He spoke as if it were down the block instead of hundreds of miles between them.
"All this way? Why aren't you in uniform?" One question came on the heels of the other, spilling through her brain like a waterfall. Fraser simply shrugged and stared at his boots.
"You didn't resign from the RCMP?" Meg's dark eyes flashed, surprised to see him in civilian clothes. Ben nodded. "You can't, you can't give up the RCMP. Not for me, I won't let you." She felt her anger rising. The only way she could handle leaving Chicago was knowing Ben was doing what he loved.
"It's done, Meg." Three words and he'd given up the most constant thing in his life for her.
"I won't let you, Ben. Who did you send your resignation to?" Meg picked up the phone, ready to pencil whip this back to the way it should be. Ben simply took the receiver away from her and hung it up.
"It's done, let it be done." They were only inches apart. Meg could feel him, smell him, she could almost taste him.
"Then why did I leave Chicago?" She leaned against her desk, the fight fading out of her. A tiny part of her was glad because there were no regulations against an RCMP officer and a civilian. Ben leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead.
"What are you going to do now? All you've ever known is the RCMP." Meg wrapped her arms around his waist and settled her cheek against his chest.
"Something will come up." Ben's fingers stroked her shoulder length hair.
"You shouldn't have done this, Ben." She insisted one last time.
"It's done." He responded softly. It felt good to be free. He knew he would miss it. But he also knew that not being an RCMP officer wouldn't change who he was deep down. It wouldn't stop Ben from helping people.
It is easier to sacrifice great than little things. ~Montaigne
The End.
Author's Note: I know absolutely nothing about RCMP regulations regarding officer interactions and intend no disrespect, but for the sake of the story let's just roll with this. Thank you kindly.
* "All the Queen's Horses"
"Til Summer Comes Around" Keith Urban
"Pray" Dierks Bentley
"Trying Not to Love You" Nickelback ** If I could make a dueSouth- Ben and Meg video it would be to this song.