Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

by IHeartHodgela

A choose your own ending story that ties up the loose ends from Victoria's Secret

Teaser: A post-Victoria's Secret story, which ties up the loose ends that were left behind after Victoria's disappearance.

Rating: PG

Author's Note/Disclaimer: The characters of the story are not mine - they are property of Alliance and all other production companies. This is a "Post-Victoria's Secret" story, and basically acts as though it were the next installment after that episode. "Fumbling Towards Ecstasy" and "Possession" are not mine, but belong to Sarah McLachlan. Oh yes, and Fraser's comment on Dief is a bit plagiarized … sorry! I apologize in advance for anything that isn't sequentially right, or any misquotes of the characters, places, or events.

Comments: Yes please!! All are welcomed at: katie6680yahoo.ca It's a first attempt at a DS fic … so be nice!

Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

'Into the sea of waking dreams, I follow without pride…"

Dreams. They were all he had left now, the only thin sinews that held his link to Victoria. The dreams still continued, even now, months since he had seen her, since she'd left. Left him lying on the cold, damp ground, a bullet in his back, and longing in his heart.

And he would have gone with her, was trying to when Ray - Ray had intervened. Ray had been aiming at her - at his Victoria. He had been trying to stop her - to kill her. But he had been in the way - like he had always been when it came to her. This time, though, he had saved her life.

On cold nights like this one, he could replay the events in his mind so well that it almost seemed to be happening again. Seeing her downtown, and then at his apartment. Her killing Jolly, and then him realizing - realizing it had all been a scam. She hadn't forgiven him; she wouldn't ever be able to do that. So she'd gotten back at him, the only way she knew how to. Blackmail - or attempted blackmail. Using her best weapon - herself. Framing him for money laundering, shooting Diefenbaker … she'd gotten him good.

Then why wasn't he angry with her? Sure he was self-controlled, very well at it indeed. Show-no-emotion-Benton, that was him. But he knew - he knew he should be angry with her for what she'd done - at least to him. Jolly was a bastard, but mucking his image and Ray's - that was unacceptable.

So why did he still love her? How come his heart still sped up every time he thought of her - or saw a curly haired brunette downtown? Shouldn't he vengefully hate her??

He often tried to think of what he would have done, if he had been in her position. Would he have stayed, after causing all that trouble? He tried to convince himself that had she been shot, he would have stayed to comfort her. And not because he was a do-gooding Canadian either - because she had been the only woman he had ever loved.

But that was where he knew Victoria was different. She didn't stop to see if he was okay. She didn't try to call, or to contact him after he was released. That was probably what hurt him the most, too, that she just didn't care. No matter how many ways he played it - she didn't care.

But she did. Victoria cared about him more than she, herself, would even admit. And though she tried to convince herself he must hate her, and that he would never want to see her again, she couldn't. Maybe it was partially due to the fact that he was too damn nice, too polite. Hate probably didn't even exist in Fraser's genetic make-up, or if it did, he hadn't seen it since he was a child.

But even if he wanted to see her, did she want to see him again? Past the incessant shouts of 'of course', she realized she probably didn't. Seeing him meant facing up to what she'd done, and all the pain she had caused him. Pain he deserved of course, for putting her in prison, for making her watch those years of her life wasted. 'For doing his job,' a small conscious part of her brain intervened. Those years in prison she'd ignored that voice, forgotten that it had been she who wronged, she who drove the getaway car for the robbery, she who helped plan it, and she who had to pay.

But these days - maybe due to the isolated loneliness that griped her, or the frigid cold of her surroundings, she couldn't ignore that voice anymore. She found herself forced to listen to the voice, to consider that perhaps what it was saying was true. Perhaps she was to blame, and perhaps it wasn't his fault that he wasn't blinded by love, like she had been.

But if she allowed herself to think this, she was forced with the startling realization that she had just caused him more pain - and for no reason.

But she didn't need to think about it anymore - about him. She was free, far from his new home. She wouldn't be - couldn't be found anymore, which was the way she wanted it. Nobody knew where she was, so they couldn't come looking for her. Least of all, Fraser.

He hadn't given up on her either. He had confided to Ray that had the police not been there, he probably - no, he would have gone with her. They would have started a new life, a fresh start somewhere else. Put their past behind them, and start anew.

But he hadn't - Ray had come along, and he had been stopped from going - from being with the one woman he loved.

It wasn't like he hadn't looked for her, either, because he had. He had called in favours from friends all over Canada, and used the Consulate's resources until Thatcher had almost strangled him. He had tried everything he could think of, short of a trip up North, and gotten nothing. Well, all except a response from Ray (amidst sarcastic tones) that if anyone could find Victoria, it would be the Chicago PD, and they hadn't any luck. But if they did ever find her, they'd be sure to allow him five minutes with her.

But Fraser didn't want five minutes with her … he wanted a lifetime. He wanted to be with her forever, to keep her warm wherever she was, hold her when she cried, laugh with her when she laughed, and the whole nine yards.

But he knew he couldn't. He knew that to be with her, he would have to know where she was - and that he did not.

How could she have been so stupid? Taking up a house that had been standing for ages - that had stayed uninhabited for the past twenty years? It was only a matter of time before someone found her, and figured out where she was.

But this anxiety wasn't to be called for just yet. So the old man had stumbled upon her earlier that morning. He had been a wino anyhow, probably too drunk to even realize that he was face to face with a wanted felon.

But he did know someone resided in the house now. He knew where she was, in case his fellow winos didn't believe that there was a 'pretty madam' living it up in the cold cabin atop the hill. And it would only be a matter of time before somebody else knew she was there, and then connections would be made, she would be found, and it would be over. Her freedom, her new life - all gone.

She had to leave. Again. She would have to find somewhere else. But until than, she would have to find somewhere small, and unknown. Somewhere she could stay until she figured out what to do. Somewhere small, and unknown, and outside.

Ending A:

The call had come while he was sulking over his latest demotion from Inspector Thatcher. At first, he hadn't recognized the voice, having not heard it since he had left Canada, and the speaker had seemed well aware of his confusion.

"This is the Canadian Consulate, isn't it?"

He had replied that it was, and was about to ask who the man wanted to speak with when he suddenly recognized the voice. Buck Frobisher had been good friends with Fraser, Sr. from long before his birth. He had also helped out when Fraser Sr. had been killed, not entirely too long ago.

The two talked, reminisced a bit, and then Buck had gotten to the point of his call.

"Just thought you might be interested, Benny. An old con-mate of yours has surfaced here in our jail. You had a case of hers a while back - and she as back out on the street again, until she decided to misbehave again. Although it did happen in your jurisdiction, so I thought…"

"Who." He had interrupted.

"Victoria Metcalfe."

Fraser let a slight silence lapse between them before pelting the questions across the line.

"How? Why? Is she okay? Did she say anything? Are you holding her?"

Buck had stopped his questions with a hearty laugh. He informed him that yes, they were holding Victoria in their prison, debating with the US embassy whether to try her down in Chicago, or up in Canada, for Jolly's murder.

Buck, showing an odd bit of compassion, ended by telling Fraser he just figured he would like to hear they'd closed an old case - and wouldn't have called if he knew it was going to upset him.

But Fraser didn't wait for more words, he had hung up, and was already on his way to the Chicago Airport, with what little stuff he had (Dief included).

When the plane touched down in the northern territories, and Fraser having claimed Dief and his one bag, he was on his way over to the local police station.

He arrived in what he thought to be record time, and raced in. Taking a moment at the door to catch his breath, Fraser realized that he hadn't a clue what he was going to say to Victoria when he saw her. The lengthy flight and car ride over had been used for mind-numbing silence, leaving no time for confessionals. He would have to let his mind dictate, follow what his heart was crying out.

But as the Sargent led her out, Fraser found that everything he had stored in his mind since her disappearance had too, disappeared. He found himself just staring at her - the hair unruly from sleep, pasty blue uniform taking away from her natural beauty. Yet there was still something that made him drawn to her, some sort of inner-beauty that only he could see.

"Victoria," he spoke her name, half questioning, half stating.

She continued to stare blankly at him, her eyes growing cloudy, before giving in. "Ben."

They embraced, and Fraser felt his arms melt into her, as hers were doing to him. She didn't want to let him go, and he wanted the same.

"I'm so sorry, Victoria," he said, softly, into her hair. "I'm so sorry for everything."

"No Ben, it isn't your fault. I don't blame you, I know that now. I don't blame you for anything."

He pulled her out at arm's length, so he could look at her, and found that she was crying. He used his hand to push a stray curl behind her ear, and he leaned in to kiss her.

She allowed herself to be taken in by him, briefly, and then pulled away. "Ben, I'm sorry."

He arched his brows. "Sorry? What for Victoria?"

"For everything. For getting you involved, and for leaving you on the ground - not knowing if you were dead or alive. That has haunted me for months, Ben, taken over my dreams and my thoughts."

"No, Victoria. I think I understand now."

"I can't go back. I can't go back to prison again, Ben. It's already robbed enough of my life, and I can't let it take away anymore…"

"You won't have to," he said, taking a seat at the table before them. "I'm here now, I'm going to stay and see you through it this time … on your side. You have a good chance, Victoria, you can…"

"I can't do anything! I'm boxed in just like I was last time, Benton. I killed a man, and I ran from the police. You can't expect me to believe everyone's going to overlook that."

"I don't," he said softly. "But you are a good person, and you have tried to repent your ways. We'll make the court see that, Victoria. We can get your sentence lessened, at least."

"That's not good enough. I can't go back to prison."

"And you can't run, Victoria," he said, sadly. "You can't run this time."

She was silent before answering, her eyes closed. "I know that."

A constable appeared in the doorway, motioning to Fraser that time was up. Victoria caught the constable's motioning, and she stood.

Fraser walked over towards, and embraced her. He kissed the top of her head, and then whispered to her,

"Victoria, I love you, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you," before walking towards the door. As the constable led him away, he stole one last glance back.

Victoria was stationary, her lips forming the silent words "too late", and a sadness in her eyes that he had never seen before, and that scared him.

In front the station, he told one of the sergeants that he was going to make a few phone calls, and would return shortly.

The first person he called was Ray. He knew what Ray was going to say, and he'd expected the anger. But the support from Ray - that was something he wasn't so sure he'd get. But Ray, always full of surprises, had given it. He told him to stay with Victoria, and he would see what the PD was up to, and call in some favours from his lawyer pals.

"But Fraser," he said before hanging up. "Be careful, okay?"

Fraser agreed, hung up, and then lay on his hotel bed. A groan from the floor caught his ear, and he swung his head around to eye Diefenbaker.

"What."

Another groan.

Fraser lay back down on the bed, closed his eyes, and called to the wolf,

"Just a little nap, then I'll go back."

He awoke nearly two hours later, and jumped from the bed, startled by the lapse of time. He ran to and out the door, without bothering to throw his coat on.

The taxi ride to the station was long, and cold. Fraser found himself muttering that he should have taken the time to grab his coat. And Dief. Oops. But then he remembered the sad look on Victoria's face when he'd left, and he urged the taxi driver to hurry.

When the taxi pulled up at the station, Fraser paid the driver, and got out. He immediately noticed the stark white ambulance pulling away from the front, lights flashing silently. He wrinkled his brows, a chill following down his back, and raced into the building. He was attempted to make his way to the cells when a constable stopped him.

"Whoa son, can't let you go back there."

Fraser questioned him as to why, and gave the explanation that he, too, was a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

"Sorry, still can't let you back," the man said. "You wouldn't happen to be Constable Ben Fraser, would you?"

Fraser nodded.

The man's face grew stern. "Please come with me."

Fraser followed him back to the front desk, where the constable handed him a single sheet of paper.

"Ben," it read. "It's too late for me, and I'm sorry. I loved you."

Fraser looked back at the constable. "Where is she? Where is Victoria?"

"I'm sorry," the man replied.

"Where is she?" He was fighting the tears back. "Where is Victoria Metcalfe?!"

"She's gone."

"How."

"We went in to check on her, after a call from the Chicago PD, and we found her … she'd hung herself, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

Fraser had turned, and was walking away. He threw open the door and stepped into the outdoors. He walked straight away, not turning back, not allowing his mind to express itself, or his nerves to feel the cold. A cry that had been long-awaited escaped his lips, and he fell to the ground sobbing.

And all the fear has left me now

I'm not frightened anymore

It's my heart that pounds beneath my flesh,

It's my mouth that pushes out this breath

And if I shed a tear, I won't cage it

I won't fear love

And if I feel a rage I won't deny it

I won't feel love

Companion to our demons,

They will dance, and we will play

With chairs, candles, and cloths

Making darkness in the day

It'll be easy to look in our out

Upstream or down

Without a thought

And if I shed a tear, I won't cage it

I won't fear love

And if I feel a rage, I won't deny it

I won't fear love

Peace, in the struggle

To find peace

Comfort On the way

To comfort…

And if I shed a tear, I won't cage it

I won't fear love

And if I feel a rage, I won't deny it

I won't fear love

I won't fear love

WELL, WHAT DID YOU THINK? DID YOU LIKE THAT ENDING? TOO SAD, TOO DEPRESSING? YEAH, I AGREE, BUT I HAD TO LIVE UP TO MY FANFICTION NICKNAME OF 'QUEEN OF SAD'. PLUS, ISN'T IT JUST FUN TO WRITE SAD STORIES? OKAY, SO NOT FUN TO READ, BUT …. WELL, I'M GONNA TRY SOMETHING. HERE IS AN ALTERNATE ENDING, SOYOU CAN 'CHOOSE YOUR OWN' OKAY? ENJOY!

Ending B:

"Turnbull … Turnbull?"

"Yes, Constable Fraser?"

Fraser sighed. "Can you just … just let the Inspector know, okay?"

"Know what, Fraser?"

"Turnbull, did you hear anything I just said? Nevermind," he pushed a letter forward onto Turnbull's desk. "Just give this to the Inspector, okay?"

"Is it to be a private matter, sir?"

"Yes, yes, whatever you like. Just make sure she gets it, alright?"

"Okay."

Fraser started to walk to the front door. "Goodbye, Turnbull."

"Goodbye, Fraser," he saluted, as Fraser raised his eyebrows, nodding.

He left the building, and into the taxi waiting on the front street for him. Diefenbaker groaned as he got into the front seat.

"What?" He turned around to face the wolf, signaling to the driver to go. "Listen, we're going back, I don't care what you think. You'll like it once we get there, and the memories return, alright?"

Another groan.

"Impossible," Fraser turned back to the front. "You know," he addressed the driver. "You let a wolf save your life, and he makes you pay, and pay, and pay."

"Sure, buddy, whatever," the driver snapped his gum. "So where'ya heading?"

"The North West Territories," Fraser answered. "I have an old friend up there I wanted to look for, and…"

"Nah, where you headed now? I can't drive you to the Yukon, and I don't want to hear your life story."

"Ah, understood." Fraser replied, compulsively licking his lip. "The airport will be fine."

The remainder of the ride was made in silence, until they finally reached the airport. Fraser paid and tipped the driver, and then, after coaxing Dief (who'd found a packet of peanuts beneath the seats) from the taxi, he headed into the airport. He paid for a connect flight to the North West Territories, Tuktoyaktuk to be exact, and then set into the long wait for the flight to board.

Sitting in the lobby, he finally was given a chance to rationalize his actions. He was going up to his old stomping grounds to rebuild his father's cabin - so why had he told the taxi driver he was visiting an old friend? Perhaps it was simply that Victoria was still on his mind, like she had been since her disappearance. And the fact that he was returning to where they'd first met wasn't exactly cause to forget her. But he wasn't - was not thinking about that at all.

"You are, son."

Fraser turned his head slowly, recognizing the voice that spoke to him. He was met with the rough old face of none other than Bob Fraser, Sr.

"Dad," he said, shortly.

"You are going to look for her, aren't you."

"No," he said, defensively. "I'm going to rebuild your cabin…"

"Which she burned, don't forget."

"Can't I do something nice for you, or is appreciation something you lose when you're dead."

"Son, son, son," Fraser Sr. clucked his tongue noisily. "No need to be crude, the truth hurts - you know that."

Fraser shook his head, refusing to look at his father. "Why are you here? Or rather, why am I seeing you here - since you are a figment of my imagination."

"Well, I don't know. If I'm in your mind, then you've put me there, not vise versa. Guilt maybe?"

"Guilt?" Fraser repeated, mockingly. "What is that supposed to mean - guilt. For what?"

"For what you're doing; for letting Victoria get that close to you; for quitting the RCMP … need I go on?"

"I am not!" Fraser lowered his voice, seeing an old woman cast an odd glance at him. "I'm just taking some time off. I've got holidays, shouldn't I use them?"

"Okay. You're getting your man still, er, woman, aren't you?"

"Would you quit that! I am not going to see Victoria!" He turned back to face his father, only to find that Fraser Sr. had disappeared, and the old woman who'd scowled at him was now seated aside him.

"I don't care who you see," she said. "Long as you stop screaming in my face." She got up and stormed off.

"Very sorry, ma'am." Fraser said to the woman's receding figure.

"Flight 654 now boarding. Flight 654."

Fraser stood up, casting a glance towards Dief.

"That's us."

Dief groaned in response, and Fraser shook his head again. "You know - a little enthusiasm wouldn't involve too much work, would it?" Another groan. "Fine, let's go. You aren't going to like what you see next," he muttered to himself.

Once all her stuff was packed into a small suitcase, she'd found in the attic, Victoria made her way from the house. Careful to avoid any attention, she wrapped herself up in a very large overcoat and scarves to shield her face.

She hadn't had the time to check the rest of the house for things that might be useful, but had the time to simply thrown in her warmest - and only - clothes into the suitcase, along with the few tins of food she'd stored up.

Walking the snow-ridden path, she felt the coldness begin to seep beneath her coat. She had pulled her hands up into the sleeves, at a loss for her gloves, which she hadn't been able to find. She could feel her scalp being to tingle, bare since she'd severely cut off her curls in an effort to become unrecognizable.

A slow drizzle of snow had begun to fall down, cold and wet as it hit her face. The shortage of time hadn't allowed her to think through this decision and she realized now that she was simply wandering, unsure of where she was headed. When she had first come up from the US, she hadn't been sure where to head, either. It had been pure luck that she'd stumbled upon the empty cabin. Simple good luck.

But this time - the horizon was blurring due to the sudden and fast amount of snow coming down - even so, she could tell the cabin she'd just left was the only one for miles.

Blindness - a whitesight they called it - took over now, and that was all she could see. As she continued to stumble forward, the feeling began to bleed from her arms and legs. She opened the case and pulled out an additional jacket, throwing it over herself. Another involuntary shiver, and she continued forward.

A sudden noise startled her, and she felt herself falling down. With what strength she had left, Victoria threw herself backwards and felt the hard, solid ground beneath her bottom. The wind flew from her chest, her lungs deflating, and a hard, cold feeling burning in her chest.

As the powdered whiteness cleared before her eyes - she realized in horror what had just happened. A large gaping hole stood before her, appearing like a huge opening in the ground, dark and as deep as she could see. It was the whole she'd just stepped into and almost fallen through.

Two realizations hit her suddenly, the numbness of her skin unyielding as a shield against the pain. She'd stepped on top of the snow patch, and just about fallen into a deep, never-ending black hole. And worse yet - in all the commotion, she had dropped her bag of supplies, containing everything she owned.

"No…" she whispered, her hoarse voice seeping out and lost amongst the cold air. She carefully got down on her knees, and went as close to the gaping hole as she could. Nothing. She must have dropped the bag down the hole when she'd fallen - and it was surely lost now.

She crawled away from the hole, a safe distance, and sat. Thousands of thoughts were bouncing about in her head, but she needed to narrow her mind to think about her current predicament, and what she was going to do about it.

Fraser's face suddenly filled her mind, and a spark of hope was ignited. His father had a cabin somewhere out here … in the outbacks of the North West Territories … the very one that - her face fell - that she had burned down months before, after taking Jolly's money back. It was now a smoldering ruin - but it was still somewhere.

She got up slowly, pulling the coats about her body, and squinted into the whiteness. She was sure the cabin was just over the hill that stood before her. Determined, she set out.

Ten minutes of walking got her to a place where the wind was fiercer, the snow more blinding - but she could make out a dark pule in the distance. It was the cabin - it had to be.

And then, with a sob, she lost complete feeling in her legs and they gave away beneath her. She fell to the ground, tears in her eyes, freezing and painfully sticking her lashes together.

Victoria realized she hadn't a clue why she had chosen to come back here at all. The cabin was nothing but ashes now - which couldn't help her out one bit. She was alone, scared, cold, and helpless. But not hopeless. She suddenly remembered back to when she'd been on the run from the RCMP, and Fraser had stumbled upon her. He had built a lean-to, to keep them warm and sheltered. If only she could get up …

Willing herself up, Victoria stripped off her top coat and makeshiftly constructed her own lean-to, the right sleeve of the jacket she'd mashed into the tall hill, and the left sleeve, she'd put into a snow pile on the ground. It was loose, but crawling into the small hut she'd created, she realized it was something.

So there she lay in the snow, her lean-to keeping the howling wind out, but no warmth in. From where she lay, her frozen body going completely numb, Victoria was unaware that there was no threat of danger back at the old abandoned cabin. For the wino who had stumbled upon her was now as frozen as she, down behind the house, his secret having died with him.

One last look before her lashes froze together a final time, Victoria could have sworn that a black mass was moving in the distance. Was this a mirage? Like the pool of water people saw when stranded in the desert? Was it Fraser?

But he was back in Chicago, far from the frozen hell she was in the midst of. And even if he did come to the Territories, and stumbled upon her, she saw no reason why he wouldn't let her freeze to death, rather than have to endure what he had just a few short months ago.

Fraser now cursed himself. How stupid, he thought, to try an excursion in the wild snow storm of the Territories. He should have known to stay out at the motel, rather than risk his neck like this.

Dief let out a deep growl from beside him. Fraser exhaled warm breath, watching it smoke out before him.

"Listen, I'm sorry to drag you through this. I obviously haven't a clue where Dad's cabin was. I'll just have to come back again when the snow…" His voice dropped.

In the distance. It was there. She was there again. He shook his head, attributing the vision to the coldness. But he could have sworn that - yes, it was there. It was. In the far distance, a black blur slowly came into view. It was a lean-to (and a poorly constructed one at that). Almost identical to the one he'd built so long ago. The one on the mountain side, to keep the wind and the cold from reaching him and … and Victoria.

She had been on his mind all week, he couldn't deny that anymore. He must just have been dreaming this, dreaming the lean-to that stood out in the lessening distance.

"Dief…" he said, shortly. But Dief had already taken off, and was headed towards his imaginary lean-to. "Dief, wait!"

He took off running as best he could through the knee-deep snow. As he neared it, he knew at once it wasn't a dream. The lean-to was there, and somebody was inside of it.

Coming upon it, he knelt in the snow, Dief coming to stand beside him. Slowly he took hold of the black material, and pulled it aside. A body huddled in the snow, small, petite. But definitely not … Victoria.

She turned, her eyes remaining closed. "Fraser."

It was him in her dream. He had come to rescue her, to carry her off into the warm sunset.

"Fraser," she repeated his name. "Fraser."

He knelt closer to her, bringing his face into hers. He spoke her name, put his hands to her face, and brushed his fingers across her lips. She was dying, she could feel this. Her limbs had almost all gone numb, her face and her brain the last now to go.

"Fraser."

She was sick, dying even. He realized this suddenly. Her pale face, blue eyes - she would die of hypothermia within the next few minutes if he didn't do something.

Torn between doing what he knew was right, and what he felt was right - Fraser knelt beside her. She repeated his name again.

"Fraser." Her lips barely parted as she spoke. "I'm sorry."

And he realized then that he loved her. He was sure he had known it all along, ever since he had first laid eyes upon her back with the first case. He had let her down then, and a second time in Chicago. But not this time.

He picked her up, holding her stuff and unresponsive body close to his. Getting to his feet, he then began to trudge his way back through the snow. It had stopped littering the ground, but the wind itself was blinding. Still he trudged on, sure the main road to the motel was near by.

As he walked, he could feel Victoria's body move beneath his grasp. As though his love and his body heat was melting away her cold.

Her lips parted, lashes separating. All at once her stark blue eyes caught his, and he could see it register on her face.

"Fraser." She whispered. "Will you turn me in now?"

He continued walking, all the while not able to tear his eyes from her beautiful face. This, he knew, was love.

And if I shed a tear, I won't cage it

I won't fear love.

"No," he replied, tightening his grasp around her body. "Not this time."

OKAY, SO THAT IS IT. IS THAT A GOOD ENDING?

EPILOGUE: FRASER MANAGED TO FIND HIS WAY BACK TO THE MOTEL, WHERE HE SLIPPED IN WITH VICTORIA AND DIEF. VICTORIA'S CONDITION IMPROVED INCREDIBLY THE VERY NEXT DAY. THE COLOUR RETURNING TO HER FACE, THE PINK TO HER CHEEKS, AND HER LIPS. AFTER A WEEK UNDER FRASER'S CARE, SHE RECOVERED FULLY. FRASER REBUILT HIS FATHER'S CABIN THAT WINTER, AND NOW HE AND VICTORIA LIVE THERE WITH DIEF, HAPPY AND TOGETHER. FOREVER.