Two to Tango

by Autumn's Joy

Not what you think. A formal consular event turns more interesting when the orchestra plays a tango.

Disclaimer: I own no part of these characters or of Due South. Sometimes they like to take me out dancing, though.

A/N: Set middle third season after Odds. References to Odds, and Some Like It Red. Slight Spoiler to Perfect Stranger and The Mask, Major spoiler to ATQH. Liberties taken with Fraser's character include giving him the ability to dance.

I saw the dance scene in my head, and wrote the story around it. I was originally going to put this scene in another story, but it just didn't fit.

The lights at the consulate were low. A seven piece orchestra was playing softly. Guests dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns were mingling, smiles plastered on their faces, some genuine, but most forced. Cloth covered tables held oversize floral arrangements and appetizers of both Canadian and Spanish origins.

Inspector Thatcher was bored. She had sent out invitations for this birthday celebration for the Spanish Ambassador before he had gotten her drunk and nearly taken advantage of her. Luckily the bottle of alcohol she had grabbed on her way out of the Consulate that night was the bottle of Glen Dorlan Scotch that Fraser had taken great measures to procure for her. Just before she was about to make a very big mistake with the Ambassador, her eyes had focused on that empty bottle and her alcohol addled brain had managed to remind her exactly where that bottle had come from. For over a year she had kept that bottle hidden in the linen closet since she never did have the chance to share it with her mentor, Superintendent Weinrich. She had hoped to share it with Fraser instead, but Meg knew that was impossible since Fraser never drinks. She never could bring herself to break open that bottle, and then she went and wasted it on that stuck-up, egocentric, Spanish pig with a receding hairline who thought he was God's gift to women. Well, at least she had escaped from that incident with her dignity mostly intact.

There was no way to cancel the party without an explanation, so she was forced to proceed with the plans. Her one consolation was that the Ambassador seemed a little uncomfortable around her. Serves him right, she though. The best thing she could do, she knew, was to smile and pretend that their abbreviated evening together meant absolutely nothing to her. So here she was, dressed in her best evening gown, celebrating the birthday of a man she now despised. At least she knew she looked good. Her deep blue sleeveless dress had a fairly conservative neckline, so she wouldn't have to worry about the gentleman guests looking down her dress instead of at her face, and a plunging back so they would be reminded of what they were missing when she walked away. She didn't want to be constantly looking up at her guests so she selected the highest heels that she knew she could survive the night in.

Meg often wished she had put a bit more effort into dating in Chicago, but every time she tried, the man always ended up being some kind of sleezeball. First that museum curator, then the Ambassador. At least the curator was in prison now, so she didn't have to throw formal birthday parties for him. She had nearly given up having a social life outside of her consular duties, which is why Constable Fraser was her "date" tonight. Of course, she had practically ordered him to attend, taking the place of her non-existent date. Not exactly ordered, per se, but put him in a position where she knew his loyalty and dedication to duty would force him to make the offer to take her date's place. It was brilliant, she thought, leaving her office door open, and talking to an empty phone line. "I'm so sorry you are feeling bad, Jason… The flu, really? Oh how terrible...Of course I understand you won't be able to make it to the party tomorrow….No, it's no inconvenience at all, I just hope you feel better...Yes, you'd better rest and try to sleep this off...Good-bye, Jason." Fraser, just as planned, had heard the entire conversation, but waited so long outside Meg's door that she thought he wasn't going to get up the courage to enter her office uninvited. She really didn't want to have to ask him to accompany her, even on pretense of being a last minute date. But he had offered, and she surprised him by accepting.

Meg had spent the day overseeing preparations for the party while Fraser and Turnbull caught up on paperwork. She thought Fraser may have spent some time at the 27th Precinct with Ray and crew, but as long as he wasn't late and didn't end up in the hospital she didn't care. She had brought her dress, shoes, jewelry, make-up, and hair styling tools with her to the consulate that morning, and had taken over one of the guest suites to get ready. It didn't take long to shower, change, and style her short hair. She was almost finished when the caterer called her downstairs a half an hour before guests were to arrive. She raced down the stairs with her necklace and earrings in her hand just as Fraser was coming in the door with Ray. Fraser looked startled, and Ray gave a quiet whistle, which earned him one of Meg's famous Ice Queen glares.

"Damn, Fraser," Ray said quietly after the Inspector went to answer the caterer's question. "Yer boss sure cleans up nice. And you get to go out with her." Ray, along with the rest of the 27th Precinct, knew that there was some kind of spark between Fraser and Inspector Thatcher. They had bets going as to when the two of them would finally admit it to themselves.

"Actually, Ray, we aren't going out. We are staying in tonight, here at the consulate. You know I'm just filling in for her date who came down with the flu at the last minute. Anything else would be inappropriate."

"Yeah, whatever. But you have to admit that it won't be awful evening." Ray elbowed Fraser in the ribs.

"This is a formal consular event, Ray. The point is to entertain the guests, not have an enjoyable time myself. I'm only here to help Inspector Thatcher in her role as hostess."

"Constable Fraser!" Inspector Thatcher bellowed from the ballroom. "I need you in the ballroom." Ray snickered. "Now!"

"'Bye Fraser. Enjoy yer party." Ray turned around and walked out the consulate doors into the early spring Chicago air as Fraser made his way into the ballroom to answer the Inspector's summons. When he walked through the doors he saw pure chaos. The florist was trying to place flowers where the caterer wanted to put canapés. The orchestra was setting up, and there were instrument cases all over one side of the room. Fraser looked at the madhouse, and could understand why the Inspector would be a little bit short tempered.

When he turned to face his boss, he was floored by her loveliness for the second time in five minutes. She was stunning, a vision in blue, her dress clinging in all the right places without being overtly sexy. She was reaching behind her head to try to fasten her necklace, and getting frustrated with herself when it wouldn't fasten. She couldn't help that her hands were shaking. The caterer was the best in Chicago, but he was so infuriating to work with. It was worse than dealing with bureaucrats.

"Here," Fraser said calmly, "let me…" He took the necklace from her hands, reached around her neck and fastened it on the first try. She hated that he could be so calm, but then, he hadn't had to deal with the caterers.

"If there's nothing else you need, ma'am…" Fraser prompted. He still needed to clean himself up and change into his formal uniform. He didn't want to consider the possibility of being late for his not-date with Inspector Thatcher.

"Dismissed, Constable. Oh, and please report back to me when you are finished." Meg mentally kicked herself. Why did she always have to treat him so formally, so professionally? Well, she was his boss, after all, and if she didn't insist on a purely professional relationship then the men under her command wouldn't respect her. She had learned that lesson early on in her career. In the time she had known Fraser, she was beginning to realize that no matter how she acted, he would always give her the respect she was due as his superior officer. She was beginning to wonder if maybe she could let her guard down around him. Just a little bit. But it was so ingrained in her personality she wasn't sure if letting go was even possible. Well. Meg Thatcher never ran from a challenge, and she wasn't about to let this be the first one.

On his way up to his office/living quarters Fraser had time to think. He had been caught off guard by Inspector Thatcher dressed to the nines, but he was usually more in control than that. The previous spring, Ray Vecchio had asked point blank if he had noticed that Inspector Thatcher was a good looking woman. Of course Fraser had noticed, and of course he would never admit it. She was his commanding officer, and that was all that she could be. He had hoped to dream once, but she had ordered him to forget it. He knew there was something there, but he also knew that to admit it would be to ruin his Inspector's career, which is what she built her whole life around. He would not risk that without her express consent. Which she would never give. Then there was that whole misunderstanding about the baby. Oh, that was embarrassing. Nope. There was no way he would ever again extend himself out toward her in a personal way. He would have to keep the same emotional distance that had always served him well in the past.

When he came back downstairs dressed in his formal uniform, it was with a new determination. He steeled himself against any feelings toward Inspector Thatcher. Any feelings at all.

The party was in full swing, and Meg was still bored. She had greeted the guests as they arrived, asked them about their kids and latest adventures and stored their answers in her memory for use at a later date. She made a little speech wishing the guest of honor a happy birthday with many more to come. She and Fraser, along with the Ambassador and his date, opened the dance floor with an easy foxtrot. She wasn't surprised that Fraser was a passable dancer, as least for a very prescribed, measured dance like the foxtrot. After that, they had split up, Meg mingling with the guests, and Fraser observing his surroundings, occasionally answering politely when he was spoken to. It seemed that Fraser was attracting the attention of all the female guests. Meg tried not to be jealous. He was her date after all. Almost-date, she had to remind herself. He was with her only out of politeness and duty, so it didn't count as a date.

Over the next hour, Fraser spent a significant amount of time on the dance floor with the wives and daughters of various dignitaries. When she noticed a few of them getting a little too close for comfort, and decided it was time to intervene. She set down her glass of champagne and wandered over to where Fraser was being practically mauled by an older woman dressed in a gown much to risqué for either her age or the atmosphere of the party.

Fraser, for his part, had been enjoying the conversation of the Chicago socialites. They had quite an interesting view on life, although one with which he couldn't agree. Still it was nice to get to know another segment of society with whom he had very little contact. That is, until Rita Schmatz had tried to drag him toward the back exit by his lanyard. She had been momentarily satisfied by a dance, and he was then able to escape for a few minutes with the suggestion that he get her another drink. He tried to get her a glass of water instead of the cocktails she had been consuming, but she carelessly threw the glass on the floor before pushing him up against a wall. He was debating his next course of action when Inspector Thatcher mercifully appeared and, giving him a dirty look as if this predicament was his own fault, drew him away.

"Constable, I need a word with you."

"Of course, ma'am."

She threaded his arm though his and gently pulled him away from Mrs. Schmatz, whispering in his ear, "You do realize that Rita Schmatz is one of the most, ah, assertive women in attendance?"

"Yes, I had gathered that."

"And she is the wife of the German ambassador, so we cannot afford to offend her."

"I am well aware of that, ma'am. I was wondering, though, what has happened to her husband that she feels free to press her attentions on other men at a social gathering such as this?"

Thatcher chuckled and nodded over to a chair in the corner where a man in a tuxedo was passed out in a chair, his drink still in his hand.

"I see."

"Constable Fraser!" He heard Rita's piercing voice and winced internally. "You promised me a drink and a dance and a drink." She slurred and went to step between Thatcher and Fraser. Fortunately Inspector Thatcher interrupted and pulled Fraser away from the drunk woman. "Sorry, Mrs. Schmatz, Constable Fraser has just agreed to dance this one with me." She snagged a guest walking past them and led him in front of Rita. "I bet Dwight here would love to get you a drink."

"Of course." Said the unsuspecting Englishman. "What are you having Mrs. Schmatz?"

As Fraser and Thatcher headed for the dance floor, Fraser thought he heard Rita's slurred voice say, "Martini, and a side of you."

"Thank you, Inspector for that fortuitous intervention. Mrs. Schmatz was getting a bit forward."

"Don't worry, Constable, another drink or two and she will join her husband in the corner for the rest of the evening. I've seen them at several other events. I should have warned you."

"No need to apologize Inspector." They entered the dance floor and Fraser took Thatcher's hand. He spun her into a closed hold with a small flourish and stepped out to begin a basic two-step. They had barely begun to dance when the song ended. All the dancers politely applauded the orchestra and waited for the next song to begin.

It only took the first few notes before the inspector recognized the style of the next dance. One, two, three-and-four. Tango. Oh crap. How was she supposed to dance a tango with Fraser? She didn't doubt that he was familiar with the steps. Fraser had a passable knowledge of everything, it seemed, but you can't learn to tango from a book in your grandparent's library. Tango was a very sensual, very personal dance. If you had no connection with your partner, the dance fell flat. That just would not do. If she was to keep Fraser away from women like Rita Schmatz, she would have to figure out a way to stake her claim, and this dance was the most convenient way to do it.

Through the first verse of the song, Meg kept a look-out for Mrs. Schmatz. Every time that pushy woman staggered in their direction, Meg tried to guide them to the other side of the dance floor. She wasn't supposed to lead, but she figured if she gently suggested the direction they travel, it didn't really count as leading. Fraser was taking her suggestions quite well, as he always did, piecing them into his own steps as if the idea to dance this way or that was his own.

The dance floor had cleared and only three other couples remained. Tango was not a dance that was easily learned, or frequently danced in social situations in the United States or Canada. That reminded her of something. "Where did you learn to tango, Fraser?"

"One of my classmates at the Academy was of Argentinian decent." Step forward, one, two, three-and-four. "He had learned tango from his parents who met in a milonga in Buenos Aires. There was this female recruit that he wanted to impress, so he came up with a plan. Several of us learned tango from him, and once there were enough men who could lead, we held dance lessons to teach the woman's part." Step back one, two, step out three-together-four. "For about a year, Carlos would hold weekly tango dances. Of course, he was the best dancer, and I'm fairly certain all the girls came to dance with him." Step out one, cross two, pivot three step in four. "When he graduated, the dances fell apart. But once you tango, it stays with you. What about you, sir, where did you learn to dance?"

"Ms. Matterly's School of Ballroom Dance. My parents thought I needed some help in social situations, so they enrolled me against my will. I hated every minute of it. It's one of the things I held against them when they objected to my decision to join the RCMP." Step back, one, two, three and four.

"Ah."

"What does that mean?"

"Only that an experience that you would choose to forget can be useful to you later on."

Step forward one, two, step out three-together-four. "I guess so, Fraser."

As the two mounties danced, Meg noticed that Mrs. Schmatz was not giving up on her blatant desire to chase Fraser down. A basic tango was not going to take care of the problem. If anything, she was watching them, er, Fraser with even more interest. This would not do.

As the first verse ended, Inspector Thatcher whispered into Fraser's ear, "Constable, this is a tango. And if I learned one thing from my classes at Ms. Matterly's it's that you can't keep emotional distance while dancing a tango."

"You are correct, sir. Neither can you dance tango with both partners trying to lead."

"Oh, you noticed."

"Well, yes, Inspector."

"You didn't say anything."

"I was sure you had a valid reason." Step out one, cross two, pivot three, step out four.

"As a matter of fact, I did. That Schmatz woman was being… obtrusive and treating you like, well, like a piece of meat. I will not have anyone treating one of my officers that way. And if we are going to get her out of your hair, we need to give her a good reason."

"Then you will need to let go as well."

"Excuse me?"

"Like you said, Inspector, to really dance tango, one must not keep oneself at an emotional distance from one's partner."

Blast it, he was right. Meg had neglected to think this through completely. Telling Fraser to lose the emotional distance was one thing, but doing the same herself? Unthinkable. She had struggled for years to build the walls that held her emotions in check, and they had served her well through difficult times in her career. Now she was considering breaking them down. This is for Fraser, she reminded herself, I have a responsibility to do everything in my power to protect the men under my command, and Fraser is one of them. The thought that she would have never done this for Turnbull didn't even cross her mind.

She took a deep breath then looked up into Fraser's eyes and nodded slightly. Almost immediately his face changed from the pleasant expression he usually wore to one covered with an intensity for her that she had seen only once before. His right arm around her back went from supportive to firm and unmoving. His arm remained still, but she could now feel pressure from each of his fingertips on the skin of her back. His left hand gripping hers changed from a gentle leading grip to one filled with tension and demand. There was no way she could even pretend to lead now. She had no choice but to follow. Suddenly he pulled her closer to him until their bodies were almost touching and they took the first steps of the tango.

She looked up into his eyes to see him staring back at her. Their cheeks were almost touching and she could smell the scent of his shaving soap. The last time they had been this close, they were trying to avert a nuclear catastrophe. This time no imminent demise awaited them. No excuses.

Meg didn't have time to think about the steps, but she didn't have to. Fraser's lead was so strong that she could follow without even thinking. They didn't teach the boys to dance like this at Ms. Matterly's, she thought with some amusement. If they did, I might have stayed on voluntarily. The prescribed movements that she had learned in lessons suddenly became alive. The complicated steps that had left bruises on her feet from being repeatedly stepped on suddenly flowed from Fraser to her like a flashflood through a canyon. The arm extensions and head tilts that Ms. Matterly was always calling 'the real life of tango' suddenly seemed natural. What was left of her emotional walls came crashing down. She used the dance to speak the words that she could never say out loud, and used her body to feel what Fraser would never say to her.

Fraser finally felt free to show the Inspector what he felt for her. She actually told him, almost ordered him, to let down his walls. He wondered if she knew the depth of feeling that lay behind them. He had showed her once, and she had retreated away. That was the only time he had known the Inspector to run from something, and he had let her do it. He wasn't going let her run this time. He stared down at the beautiful woman he held in his arms and led her in the dance that Carlos has used to win his Rebekah. He stepped toward her, almost stalking, making her back up, and then suddenly turned to the side. He pulled her toward him, walking backwards, letting her stalk towards him. Then he stopped, let go of her hand, pushed her away, then pulled her back. In a series of quick steps that would have tangled lesser dancers, they travelled sideways pivoting forward, backward, forward, backward, together. He pulled her close to him so that he could whisper in her ear, "Meg, dance with me."

"Ok…Ben." Step out, and across, out and across, and he spun her and brought her back to him.

"Will you really follow me, Meg? Do you trust me?"

"Yes." On that point Meg was certain. She knew not only that she could trust Fraser, but that she actually did. That was what was hiding on the other side of her walls. She held such tight control of her life that she had not been able to trust another person with anything that was important to her. She had to be in control. But in tango, Meg couldn't lead. Her job was to follow, trust, and to enjoy a dance of someone else's making. So she did. She let go the last little bit of control the she was holding on to.

The orchestra was beginning the final phrase of the song, and Fraser knew his moment with Meg was drawing to a close. He tried to pour into those last few steps everything he wanted Meg to know, the respect, the desire, the love he felt for her that he normally kept hidden. He stepped out away from her, planted his feet apart and pulled her toward back him and around to the side. Her feet caught on his left ankle, but her body kept going and she fell into his arms. He lunged to the right, both arms wrapping around his superior officer as he lowered her almost to his bent knee.

As the last chord of the song sounded, Fraser pulled Meg upright, ending the dance pressed even closer together than they had been before, her head looking away from him and her cheek pressing against his shoulder. Meg was breathing hard, both from the effort of the dance and her close proximity to Fraser.

The sound of applause broke her from her reverie. She looked around and realized that she and Fraser were the only couple on the dance floor. The rest of the party had been watching them dance. Meg almost felt embarrassed, but the rest of the guests seemed to think their performance was simply a well-done tango. Fraser released her from his arms. She looked up at him and saw the embarrassment creeping up his neck.

"They don't know, Fraser. They think it was a performance. Just pretend it was."

"I don't want to pretend, Meg." He whispered his thought so quietly she wasn't sure if she had even heard it.

"Later, Fraser, we will deal with it later. Just smile for our guests." And don't you dare dance like that with anyone else, Meg wanted to say to him. She looked around and saw with satisfaction that Mrs. Schmatz was passed out in the corner next to her husband. At least their dance served some good.

The rest of the evening passed without any further excitement. Fraser caught Meg looking his way a few times, and instead of looking away, he gave her one of his smiles, the genuine ones that she hadn't realized she craved. Even when he was speaking with some of the other guests, he paused and gave her a moment of his attention.

As the orchestra finished its last set and the guests began to leave, Meg circled the room, paying her respects to each of her guests one last time. When she came to the Spanish Ambassador, she found she could truly wish him a happy birthday with none of the venom that she had to hide earlier that evening. Her ire was raised only slightly when he said on his departure "I am happy to see that my Latin influence certainly had some positive effects on your life." As if he had anything to do with either her learning the tango or how she had danced it with Fraser.

When the last guest had left, and the caterers were packing up their linens and dishes, Fraser saw Meg let out a sigh and finally begin to relax. Playing the role of host or hostess is always a bit stressful, he knew. Attempting to make each and every guest feel personally welcome while overseeing an entire event would be taxing to anyone, even someone with diplomatic skills as strong as his commanding officer's. He watched her find a chair, an uncomfortable one, but somewhere to sit nonetheless, and practically collapse in it.

Meg closed her eyes for a moment to let some of the tension of the evening melt away. She loved hosting parties, but she was always drained by the end of the evening, as if her energy left with the last of her responsibilities. She let the quiet sounds of the almost empty consulate wash over her. She was faintly aware of someone approaching her seat, but she was too tired to care. She had already paid the caterer and tipped the wait staff. If they needed anything else, they could rouse her. Without warning, warm hands started massaging her bare shoulders and neck, slowly working away the tension that the evening had placed there. Meg opened her eyes, not really startled by who saw standing behind her chair.

"Constable, what are you doing?" Her usual Inspector voice was softened by the relaxed state she had just come from. And from the memory of the dance they had shared.

"You looked tense, ma'am. I thought I could help."

"I thought I told you if you ever got the urge to help me, to resist it." Fraser's hands stilled at Meg's unexpected negative response.

"You certainly did." He removed his hands from her shoulders reluctantly, and turned to go. He knew they needed to deal with the aftermath of that tango, or their walls would go up again. It seemed his superior officer was choosing the walls. But why did she always get to choose? Then it hit him. The only reason she got to choose was because he let her. This was a social situation, they were not on duty, and she was not his superior officer. He lacked the social finesse to dance around the attraction they felt toward each other, so he could either deflect it or address it directly. He was tired of deflecting. Fraser took a deep breath to say something, but before he could utter a single word, he heard Meg say the one word that was music to his ears.

"Wait." It was a question, not a command, not an order.

"Yes, Inspector?" Fraser wanted to smack himself. "Meg."

She reached out with one of her manicured hands and took hold of his. She kept her eyes on his face as she took his hand and placed it on her shoulder where he had been rubbing before. "Please don't stop," she said.

His hands began once more to move over her neck and shoulders searching out the tension that party planning stress had put there. He found knots and worked them out, and then moved on to find another. His hands seemed to know just where the knots were and exactly how to apply pressure and heat to force them to release. When one particularly difficult knot finally gave up, Meg let out an involuntary moan and leaned back into his hands. He began to stroke from her neck down her shoulders, then back toward to her spine. He let his hands travel down the length of her back where the deeply cut dress exposed her skin. His touch became lighter and lighter until the massage had become a caress.

Fraser couldn't believe he was taking such liberties with his superior officer. Neither could he believe that she was letting him. He had been hyper-aware of her responses to his actions the entire evening, but especially after their tango. One rebuff, one reprimanding look, and he would have built his walls back up in a heartbeat. Yes, he cared for Meg, but he respected her too much to push her somewhere that she didn't want to go. If they were going to continue this, it had to be because they were both sure of what they wanted.

"Meg, we need to talk," he murmured softly in her ear.

"Fraser, I'm tired, and I'm not sure I can deal with this right now." She closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the chair.

"If not now, then when? Do you think I'm made of stone?" He asked her the same question she had asked him the last time they had faced their attraction for one another.

"No, neither of us are." Meg looked up at him and asked, "Then why are we still here?"

"Well, I would have thought that was obvious. You have just hosted a formal event and need to remain here until all the staff is gone. I am still here because, well, to be completely honest, because you are still here."

"That's not what I meant, Fraser."

"Of course not."

"I meant, why has nothing changed between us since last year?"

"You told me that what we shared could never repeat itself and that I should forget it. You must know by now that I haven't been able to do that, and I suspect, neither have you." Meg shook her head in agreement. No, she hadn't been able to forget. The sweet memory of being held by Fraser was buried deeply in Meg's heart and only brought out after hours and behind closed doors when she could close her eyes and relive the moments on top of that train.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Meg asked. Fraser nodded once in response. She stood up to face him and asked, "Why did you do it?"

"Do what, Meg?"

"Our contact, Fraser, our kiss. Why did you kiss me on top of that train?"

"Because I wanted to. Because I suspected you wanted it, too. Because you cared enough to grieve for me, albeit briefly. Because I was tired of pretending. Because when we were handcuffed together, I enjoyed holding you in my arms. But mostly because I wanted to." He lifted one hand to rub the back of his fingers along her cheek. "Why did you kiss me back, Meg?"

She smiled at him, a real smile, one filled with joy, love, and a little bit of mischievousness. "Because I wanted to. Because I never took the chance to say what I wanted to say when we were trapped in the egg incubator. Because I was tired of being an Inspector first and Meg second. Because of the affect you had on me while getting us out of those handcuffs. But mostly because I wanted to."

Fraser looked down into his Inspector's eyes. She was a woman he respected like no other, one who could match him talent for talent, whose ideals were as lofty as his own, and one for whom he would give up everything, but he knew she would never ask it of him. He took a step towards her, halfway closing the distance. "Do you still?"

She answered by taking the final step towards him and looking up into his face. Just before their lips met, she whispered against his mouth, "Yes." He felt rather than heard her response, her breath brushing his lips moments after it left her own. In an instant his arms were around her, crushing her to him. The room spun around them and then disappeared entirely as their eyes closed and they gave in to the contact that had been forbidden for almost a year.

Neither Fraser nor Meg felt the need to deepen the kiss immediately. They had both wanted this for so long that sensation followed sensation as their mouths and bodies were pressed together. It was enough that they were there, together. Anyone watching would have judged it to be a fairly tame kiss, but for the two mounties, it signified a release of tension that had been building up for far too long, giving in to feelings they had suppressed for their own sanity.

Back at the 27th Precinct, Ray, Lt. Welsh, and Detectives Huey and Dewey were gathered around a small TV screen in the lieutenant's office. Half empty beer cans, and one slice of pizza, and a bowl of pretzels sat forgotten on the desk.

"Come on, come on!" Ray called out. "Don't back off now."

All four men bent down so their faces were level with the screen. They didn't want to miss this, especially since each of them had a substantial wager riding on it.

"Put your guard back up, idiot! He's just trying to fake you out." Dewey yelled at the screen.

Francesca Vecchio opened to office door wearing her usual too-short skirt and too-tight top. She put her hands on her hips when she saw the four men hunched together around the screen. "What is going on in here? Ray, Ma wants to know if you are going to make it home any time tonight. Since you missed dinner and didn't answer either of your phones, she is worried sick about you, and I had to put down 'Sword of Desire' to come and check on your sorry butt….Oh is that basketball? Who's pitching?"

Francesca stepped forward just in time to see the screen before Lt. Welsh clicked the TV off.

"Is that what I think it was?" Francesca said as she snatched the remote out of the lieutenant's hands. She turned the TV back on, and gasped when she saw the images of Constable Fraser and Inspector Thatcher appear. "Daaaaaaaaaamn!" All five of them stood entranced as they watched the two mounties finished what had been started before Francesca walked in. They all stood, rooted to their places, Huey's mouth slightly open, Francesca's eyes wide open with appreciation tinged with jealousy.

Lt. Welsh took the remote back out of her limp hand and clicked of the TV. "That's enough of that. Let's see how the results stack up. Francesca, where did I put that calendar?"

Francesca pushed Ray off the couch, lifted the cushion and brought out a manila envelope. She opened it and drew out a small, 2x5 inch book. She thumbed through the book until she found that day's date and said with utter disappointment. "Ray. Ray wins the pot."

She threw the envelope and the remainder of its contents to her replacement brother, hitting him in the chest. Ray would forgive her this time, since what hit him in the chest was going to buy him a new stereo for the GTO. But before he could even open the envelope and count his winnings, Lt. Welsh took it from his hands.

"Not so fast, detective. Check the time. 12:43 AM. After being partners for so long, I thought you would have been aware that it takes the Mounties longer to do anything not directly related to crime solving than it takes us mere humans. So, although you had insider information, which should probably make your claim on today's date, or rather yesterday's, null and void, you were still wrong. However, it seems that my method of buying dates directly after the ones you selected paid off quite nicely. If that is all gentlemen…And lady…" He opened his office door and gestured with the remote in his hand for them to leave.

Huey, Dewey, Ray, and Francesca started to walk out the door. Then, all at once, they made a grab for the remote.

"I got it!"

"Quick, turn it back on!"

"Get outta my way, I can't see!"

The image on the screen cleared up just in time for the group to see two people, one in red serge, the other in a deep blue evening gown, disappear through the consulate ballroom doors arm in arm. As the door was about to close, Inspector Thatcher turned her head and looked looked directly into the camera. She raised her eyebrows and smiled, gave a little finger wave, and shut the door behind them.

"If I may ask, Inspector, when did you notice the camera?"

"Oh, just as the guests were beginning to leave. It's a Remington Model B936 Remote Activated Close Circuit Camera, commonly used by police forces throughout North America. Easily installed, even by 27th Precinct detectives not trained in complex electronics. I figured whoever is watching had seen the tango, so they already knew about our, ah, new development. It should be interesting to see who won the guessed the date and won the wager."

"Wager?"

"You didn't know?"

"Oh, I knew about it. I wasn't aware that you knew."

"Of course, I knew, Fraser. Do you think I'd let these things go on under my nose without at least being aware of them? I thought about claiming a date myself, Canada Day perhaps, just to see what their reaction would be when they found out. We Mounties have to get our laughs in one way or another. "

Fraser smiled at the thought of the deviousness that was hidden under his Inspector's no-nonsense outer surface. He was going to enjoy peeling back the layers to see the surprises hidden underneath. Then he quickly suppressed that thought as his mind started to think about other layers he might someday peel off, particularly deep blue ones. Not today, Constable, not today, he chided himself. And he found that he could be satisfied, for now, with what they already had shared.