Dreaming and thinking of the day when she would retire had always been a favorite pastime. However, she quickly gave it up in favor of not thinking at all. Once she had left the Yukon, she realized she had lost something greater than her dreams of Toronto. Now her life after work would be simply empty and deplete. No amount of creature comforts and hot lattes could compensate for the barrenness that she knew faced her post-retirement. The one she wanted to share dancing in the firelight and exhilarating adventures with was forever lost. Knowing that changing her mind was not an option- because he certainly would not- she threw herself into her work. No one could accuse Margaret Thatcher of a lackadaisical work ethic. She volunteered for the riskiest operations, was honored, and medaled repeatedly.
Ten years flew by with no thoughts about B.F. (She wouldn't even allow herself to consciously think his entire name… ) It was simply unacceptable, because her focus would deteriorate as soon as she thought about thinking about him. She could not and would not allow that. Too many people and their lives depended on her. Therefore, she simply suppressed and repressed any thoughts of her prior moments in Chicago and anything remotely related to trains. Repression slowly became easier and easier until 10 years later she simply forgot. Nothing was left of Benton Frasier in Margaret Thatcher's mind, except a faint ghost of footstep in the wild, blinding white of the Yukon.