This story is told from Meg's point of view and takes place after Call Of The Wild. So if you haven't seen COTW then you had better wait before you read this. I wondered why she had agreed to a new assignment and how that affected the way she felt about OFM.
BIUBR
On a Darkling Plain/B/I/UBR
by Holly---------------------------------------------------------------BR
BR
You never realise how much a person means to you until you lose them forever. That realisation has come to me, today, as I sit at a desk in Ottawa staring at a faxed message. It isn't my desk, it's a long time since I have had any thing near me that is truly mine. And at this moment I regret many decisions I made over the past year. I feel like I have been adrift at sea for months and now that I finally see land in sight the truth is revealed. But it is too late to do anything about it. It is a land I don't recognise anymore. BR
BR
I have returned to Canada for a while after working undercover for several months. The work was stimulating, dangerous and exciting and I was more than up to the challenge. I consider myself to be an exceptionally strong and self reliant woman. So why am I almost crying now ? I relished my assignments like an actor preparing for a role, and I excelled at them. The first few months were enjoyable, until, that is, a hollow feeling began to spread through my body, a feeling of dread anticipation. It was as if I was finally realising that there was something missing from my life that no amount of adventure could replace. In spite of all the danger and excitement my life was unfulfilled. Gradually I recognised what it was that was missing. BR
BR
When I accepted the transfer I did not think twice about him. He had already expressed a desire to take extended leave (heaven knows he was owed enough of it) in order to go on some quest. The Holy Grail, The Hand of Franklin. Something bizarre. Well, you would expect that from him wouldn't you ? He was never the type to follow convention or run with the crowd. He was his own man all right. He could have been mine. His sort of unconventionality is daunting. I guess that is partly why I never took that leap, that leap necessary to change our relationship from co-workers to friends to lovers. That and the fact that I was his superior officer. I'm not any more. BR
BR
The paper creases in my grip. BR
BR
During the long nights when I lay awake wearing someone else's clothes, in another's bed, in some other person's face, I thought about him. I conjured up an image of him as I had last seen him in my office in Chicago. What sort of image was it that sustained me when times got tough ? When I felt I could not carry on in some stranger's boots ? When I was afraid of being found out. There were times when I sympathised with Ray Vecchio who had spent a year undercover with the mob. BR
BR
The image I brought to mind to sustain me ? That will keep me sane now ? It is six feet tall (metres never did him justice) and is clad in red serge. It suits him. He carries himself with confidence, his back straight and erect in perfect posture. His stance, slightly at ease is relaxed. His head is tilted a little way to the right and a smile is half formed on his lips so there is a slight gleam of white teeth visible. His nose is long and pleasurably shaped. His eyebrows are dark smudges over honest blue-grey eyes. The eyelashes are long and black and he blinks slowly to reveal a questioning gaze. The whites of his eyes are clear. There are few blemishes; among them is a scar on his cheek, he has never told me how he got it. I know there is a scar on his back to partner the one on his heart. A cut throat razor sees to it that he is very clean shaven. I have never seen him wear a beard or even stubble. When I first saw a photograph of him, in his file, when I first got my posting to Chicago I thought he was too fine featured to take seriously. Surely a man so beautiful would be vain and shallow and useless at his job. After all he had been exiled to the US, and at that point was in hospital with an almost fatal bullet wound, under suspicion of theft and murder. It took me quite some time to accept that I was wrong about him. He was honest and reliable, uncomplaining and of great moral fibre. Trusting almost to the point of naiveté. This image I clung to during dark days and nights wishing for the real man. BR
BR
His hair is very short, slightly kinked on the crown of his head, black and shiny. Hair that begs to be stroked, of a fine and silken texture with traces of hair oil, the scent of pine and coconut. His neck is strong, I cannot see his throat for it is covered by his tunic collar. The badges gleam, the epaulettes are stiff and starched, lanyard adjusted perfectly. His Sam Browne belt is worn and well oiled, the brass buttons, polished. He holds his Stetson in his hand, his long gentle fingers clasp the brim. He raises the free hand to his face to rub a thumb across the hairs of his eyebrows. A hand that could be holding mine. A hand that could caress. His shoulders are broad and muscular. He is sturdy. From where I sit at my desk I cannot see his legs though I know they are long and strong. They serve him well in leaping, climbing, skating, swimming, skiing. Did they fail him in his quest ? The paper is a tight ball in my fist. BR
BR
I fought the desire to grab those shoulders and pull him to me close, body touching body. Lips kissing lips. BR
BR
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other then back. Almost a dance. He is graceful. He opens his mouth to speak. His speaking voice is melodious, so too his singing. It is a pleasure to hear him sing, so perfectly in tune, full of energy. I smile at the memory of that song; "Ride forever." "Should the angels come, well it's only then, I'll pull in the reins." BR
BR
What did the angels look like ? I suspect he was made in their image. BR
BR
What was it he said to me that day in my office ? That last time ? He wanted to know if he could have leave to take a vacation with Stanley Kowalski. I told him that when he returned I would not be here. He had hesitated and given me that endearing questioning look, a look that almost broke my heart. I felt a tightening in my stomach, like a punch. BR
BR
"You mean you are leaving Chicago, Sir ?" BR
BR
There was a sadness in his eyes and the smile on his lips died. BR
BR
"You won't be coming back," this time a statement, not a question. BR
BR
My response ? Well I had to be detached, I couldn't afford to admit the feelings that had surfaced, could I ? What would have been the point ? We were pulling in different directions. I steeled myself. I was used to it, used to denying my desires. BR
BR
"No, Fraser, I won't be returning. I am undertaking covert operations from now on. I am going to serve my country in the noblest way possible. Dismissed." BR
BR
Did he look lost ? Maybe for a second, before the mask fell back into place. BR
BR
"Understood," His voice was a whisper. Then louder, "Understood, Sir." BR
BR
He turned on his boot heel and left. He left me and I didn't call him back. I didn't tell him. BR
BR
I sat at my desk and cried as I am crying now, until there were no tears left to fall. I cried for the wasted chances. The lost opportunities. For the silly prevarication, for flirting with other men to make him jealous, for treating him unfairly. I cried for failing to respect him, for failing to love him enough. Or maybe for loving him too much. The pain I had heard in his voice said it all: he loved me. BR
BR
This assignment has taught me a great deal. Not least that we are frail and feeble creatures who all wear disguises to hide our true identities. We seldom follow our hearts as we should and we make too many decisions in the name of logic that cause us misery in the long term. BR
BR
So I missed my chance at happiness with him and it will never happen again now he is gone. I missed a chance to have his love and so the world has changed for me from one of peace to one of doubt, indecision and pain. BR
BR
I relax the grip of my fist, the paper lies in my palm and I stare at it. I don't have to open it to remember what it says. I will not forget the message, ".......sorry to inform you that Constable Benton Fraser and Stanley Kowalski have failed to call into base for six days and are now presumed missing.........." BR
BR
He has left me to suffer from these feelings of regret and loss and confusion. I throw the paper at the wall. Where do I go now ? BR
BR
"Ah love let us be true BR
To one another! For the world which seemsBR
To lie before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new,BR
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,BR
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;BR
And we are here as on a darkling plainBR
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,BR
Where ignorant armies clash by night."BR
BR
BR
Matthew Arnold "Dover Beach" BR
BR
BR
*****BR
BR
EpilogueBR
Deep inside the arctic circle the midnight sun is glowing weakly upon a team of huskies led by a wolf all pulling a sled. The land is deserted. Only the sound of two voices raised in argument disturbs the frozen air. BR
BR
"Ray, how could you do that, how could you drop the radio transmitter? Everyone will think we are dead. And if we get into real trouble there will be no way of getting help." BR
BR
"Look Frase, it was not my fault. You took that corner too fast and the sled tipped over and it was knocked out of my hands, and-" BR
BR
"Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray-" BR
BR
"Will you quit with the Ray Ray, you are so annoying-" BR
BR
"No Ray, listen to me-" BR
BR
"I will not listen to you Frase, that's all I ever do and look what sort of trouble it gets me into, stuck out here in the tundra on some lunatic quest with no way of contacting civilisation." BR
BR
"Ray-" BR
BR
"Fraser-" BR
BR
"Ray, I think I see something in the snow over there..........." BR
BR
BR
The End.........................for now.BR
BR
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------BR
BR
I acknowledge Alliance's right to these characters. I am making no profit out of this story, I am just borrowing Fraser and Thatcher and Kowalski to satisfy an obsession. BR
BR
BR
Copyright © 1998 L. Do not archive or copy without the permission of the author. TYK. BR
BR
/HTML
BIUBR
On a Darkling Plain/B/I/UBR
by Holly---------------------------------------------------------------BR
BR
You never realise how much a person means to you until you lose them forever. That realisation has come to me, today, as I sit at a desk in Ottawa staring at a faxed message. It isn't my desk, it's a long time since I have had any thing near me that is truly mine. And at this moment I regret many decisions I made over the past year. I feel like I have been adrift at sea for months and now that I finally see land in sight the truth is revealed. But it is too late to do anything about it. It is a land I don't recognise anymore. BR
BR
I have returned to Canada for a while after working undercover for several months. The work was stimulating, dangerous and exciting and I was more than up to the challenge. I consider myself to be an exceptionally strong and self reliant woman. So why am I almost crying now ? I relished my assignments like an actor preparing for a role, and I excelled at them. The first few months were enjoyable, until, that is, a hollow feeling began to spread through my body, a feeling of dread anticipation. It was as if I was finally realising that there was something missing from my life that no amount of adventure could replace. In spite of all the danger and excitement my life was unfulfilled. Gradually I recognised what it was that was missing. BR
BR
When I accepted the transfer I did not think twice about him. He had already expressed a desire to take extended leave (heaven knows he was owed enough of it) in order to go on some quest. The Holy Grail, The Hand of Franklin. Something bizarre. Well, you would expect that from him wouldn't you ? He was never the type to follow convention or run with the crowd. He was his own man all right. He could have been mine. His sort of unconventionality is daunting. I guess that is partly why I never took that leap, that leap necessary to change our relationship from co-workers to friends to lovers. That and the fact that I was his superior officer. I'm not any more. BR
BR
The paper creases in my grip. BR
BR
During the long nights when I lay awake wearing someone else's clothes, in another's bed, in some other person's face, I thought about him. I conjured up an image of him as I had last seen him in my office in Chicago. What sort of image was it that sustained me when times got tough ? When I felt I could not carry on in some stranger's boots ? When I was afraid of being found out. There were times when I sympathised with Ray Vecchio who had spent a year undercover with the mob. BR
BR
The image I brought to mind to sustain me ? That will keep me sane now ? It is six feet tall (metres never did him justice) and is clad in red serge. It suits him. He carries himself with confidence, his back straight and erect in perfect posture. His stance, slightly at ease is relaxed. His head is tilted a little way to the right and a smile is half formed on his lips so there is a slight gleam of white teeth visible. His nose is long and pleasurably shaped. His eyebrows are dark smudges over honest blue-grey eyes. The eyelashes are long and black and he blinks slowly to reveal a questioning gaze. The whites of his eyes are clear. There are few blemishes; among them is a scar on his cheek, he has never told me how he got it. I know there is a scar on his back to partner the one on his heart. A cut throat razor sees to it that he is very clean shaven. I have never seen him wear a beard or even stubble. When I first saw a photograph of him, in his file, when I first got my posting to Chicago I thought he was too fine featured to take seriously. Surely a man so beautiful would be vain and shallow and useless at his job. After all he had been exiled to the US, and at that point was in hospital with an almost fatal bullet wound, under suspicion of theft and murder. It took me quite some time to accept that I was wrong about him. He was honest and reliable, uncomplaining and of great moral fibre. Trusting almost to the point of naiveté. This image I clung to during dark days and nights wishing for the real man. BR
BR
His hair is very short, slightly kinked on the crown of his head, black and shiny. Hair that begs to be stroked, of a fine and silken texture with traces of hair oil, the scent of pine and coconut. His neck is strong, I cannot see his throat for it is covered by his tunic collar. The badges gleam, the epaulettes are stiff and starched, lanyard adjusted perfectly. His Sam Browne belt is worn and well oiled, the brass buttons, polished. He holds his Stetson in his hand, his long gentle fingers clasp the brim. He raises the free hand to his face to rub a thumb across the hairs of his eyebrows. A hand that could be holding mine. A hand that could caress. His shoulders are broad and muscular. He is sturdy. From where I sit at my desk I cannot see his legs though I know they are long and strong. They serve him well in leaping, climbing, skating, swimming, skiing. Did they fail him in his quest ? The paper is a tight ball in my fist. BR
BR
I fought the desire to grab those shoulders and pull him to me close, body touching body. Lips kissing lips. BR
BR
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other then back. Almost a dance. He is graceful. He opens his mouth to speak. His speaking voice is melodious, so too his singing. It is a pleasure to hear him sing, so perfectly in tune, full of energy. I smile at the memory of that song; "Ride forever." "Should the angels come, well it's only then, I'll pull in the reins." BR
BR
What did the angels look like ? I suspect he was made in their image. BR
BR
What was it he said to me that day in my office ? That last time ? He wanted to know if he could have leave to take a vacation with Stanley Kowalski. I told him that when he returned I would not be here. He had hesitated and given me that endearing questioning look, a look that almost broke my heart. I felt a tightening in my stomach, like a punch. BR
BR
"You mean you are leaving Chicago, Sir ?" BR
BR
There was a sadness in his eyes and the smile on his lips died. BR
BR
"You won't be coming back," this time a statement, not a question. BR
BR
My response ? Well I had to be detached, I couldn't afford to admit the feelings that had surfaced, could I ? What would have been the point ? We were pulling in different directions. I steeled myself. I was used to it, used to denying my desires. BR
BR
"No, Fraser, I won't be returning. I am undertaking covert operations from now on. I am going to serve my country in the noblest way possible. Dismissed." BR
BR
Did he look lost ? Maybe for a second, before the mask fell back into place. BR
BR
"Understood," His voice was a whisper. Then louder, "Understood, Sir." BR
BR
He turned on his boot heel and left. He left me and I didn't call him back. I didn't tell him. BR
BR
I sat at my desk and cried as I am crying now, until there were no tears left to fall. I cried for the wasted chances. The lost opportunities. For the silly prevarication, for flirting with other men to make him jealous, for treating him unfairly. I cried for failing to respect him, for failing to love him enough. Or maybe for loving him too much. The pain I had heard in his voice said it all: he loved me. BR
BR
This assignment has taught me a great deal. Not least that we are frail and feeble creatures who all wear disguises to hide our true identities. We seldom follow our hearts as we should and we make too many decisions in the name of logic that cause us misery in the long term. BR
BR
So I missed my chance at happiness with him and it will never happen again now he is gone. I missed a chance to have his love and so the world has changed for me from one of peace to one of doubt, indecision and pain. BR
BR
I relax the grip of my fist, the paper lies in my palm and I stare at it. I don't have to open it to remember what it says. I will not forget the message, ".......sorry to inform you that Constable Benton Fraser and Stanley Kowalski have failed to call into base for six days and are now presumed missing.........." BR
BR
He has left me to suffer from these feelings of regret and loss and confusion. I throw the paper at the wall. Where do I go now ? BR
BR
"Ah love let us be true BR
To one another! For the world which seemsBR
To lie before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new,BR
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,BR
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;BR
And we are here as on a darkling plainBR
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,BR
Where ignorant armies clash by night."BR
BR
BR
Matthew Arnold "Dover Beach" BR
BR
BR
*****BR
BR
EpilogueBR
Deep inside the arctic circle the midnight sun is glowing weakly upon a team of huskies led by a wolf all pulling a sled. The land is deserted. Only the sound of two voices raised in argument disturbs the frozen air. BR
BR
"Ray, how could you do that, how could you drop the radio transmitter? Everyone will think we are dead. And if we get into real trouble there will be no way of getting help." BR
BR
"Look Frase, it was not my fault. You took that corner too fast and the sled tipped over and it was knocked out of my hands, and-" BR
BR
"Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray-" BR
BR
"Will you quit with the Ray Ray, you are so annoying-" BR
BR
"No Ray, listen to me-" BR
BR
"I will not listen to you Frase, that's all I ever do and look what sort of trouble it gets me into, stuck out here in the tundra on some lunatic quest with no way of contacting civilisation." BR
BR
"Ray-" BR
BR
"Fraser-" BR
BR
"Ray, I think I see something in the snow over there..........." BR
BR
BR
The End.........................for now.BR
BR
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------BR
BR
I acknowledge Alliance's right to these characters. I am making no profit out of this story, I am just borrowing Fraser and Thatcher and Kowalski to satisfy an obsession. BR
BR
BR
Copyright © 1998 L. Do not archive or copy without the permission of the author. TYK. BR
BR
/HTML