Cara's Freedom ….

Cara walked around the city until nearly dark, enjoying her freedom. She delighted in the lights, the sights and the sounds of the Windy City. There were so many strange looking as well as sounding people and so many things to sketch. Cara drank it in, trying to remember every detail.

By six o'clock she was foot sore and getting sleepy. It was time to think about finding somewhere to sleep for the night. That presented a problem. The teen had plenty of money for a modest hotel room, but a room required an ID. Cara wondered if maybe she could bribe her way into a room. That would eat into her money reserves and she knew it would be best to be frugal with her money. It was a cool evening, about fifty degrees, but the wind was chillier. Cara's options were limited; warm comfort or a cool night on the streets.

"I need a place to think, at least for tonight." Cara thought as she sat on a bench near the lake shore. There was the matter of shelter and food to see to. If Ursula had taught her nothing, she'd taught her how to survive on a lean budget. The single mother chose to put as much of her pay into savings as possible. Cara had not wanted for anything, but Ursula had allowed little in the way of luxury.

Her mind set, Cara made her way back toward the city, looking for a likely hotel, something modest and hopefully little watched over. She spied a likely target in the Hotel Regal, a two story establishment with mostly empty parking spots surrounding it. The few cars that were outside were almost as old as Cara. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, pasting on her most innocent expression. Her palms were sweaty and her heart beat like a fox's on the run. The runaway walked up to the double doors and slowly pushed through. An older gentleman with a gray fringe of head around the back of his balding head sat at the counter watching television. His rheumy eyes drooped as he watched the flickering image on the miniscule screen. An electronic door bell signaled Cara's arrival. So much for sneaking inside. Still, the girl didn't let it deter her. She walked in the small lobby, worn, brown carpet on the floor and faded, dusty pictures on the beige walls.

"Hello, I'd like a room for the night." Cara pulled out the change purse she was using as a wallet. It didn't contain all her money. Having her real wallet stolen had taught her that lesson well. The rheumy eyed man looked at her suspiciously, gauging her character by her youth and bright smile.

"ID please." He turned the television volume down.

"I forgot my ID." Cara pulled out her puppy dog eyes, her mouth pouty.

"No ID, no room, sorry girl." The old man waved one arthritis twisted hand at her, shooing the teen away.

"It's getting late, perhaps I could make it worth you turning a blind eye." Cara pulled out a twenty and gave her best smile. The old man looked unconvinced so she pulled out a ten to go with it.

"It's thirty-five a night, plus a blind eye." Cara dug around until she came up with the sixty-five dollars, nine of it in ones and a dollar's worth of quarters. She could have flopped down a hundred dollar bill but she didn't want the night manager to get the wrong idea. He wouldn't push if he thought she didn't have anything.

"Room 213, second floor, directly over the office here. If I hear so much as a loud television, I'll put you out, do you understand me girl?" He wagged a curved finger at her, the other hand shoving a key toward her on the counter.

"Yes, Sir, thank you kindly." Cara beamed at him, at least until her back was turned.

"Extortionist." She muttered, pushing through the double doors and into the chilling night air.

The single bed was situated in the middle of the small room. A thirteen inch television sat on the dresser beside the bathroom door. It was clean and didn't smell. Cara flipped on the bathroom light and looked around. There was a shower stall, commode and wash basin, all white. A single bulb illuminated the tiny space.

"It'll have to do I suppose." Cara flopped down on the bed. The frame gave way under her weight, dumping her out in the floor with a yelp. She picked herself up and giggled. This was to be her adventure, and what a start.

"There are two keys to this place, I have one and the night manager the other." That made her pause as she looked at the door. Then she looked at the wooden chair in the corner, supposedly to go with a now nonexistent desk or table.

"Bingo!" She took the chair and wedged it beneath the door knob after sliding the chain lock in place.

"Now I can shower in private." The teen peeled out of her various layers and headed for the bathroom. A hot shower would be just what the doctor ordered.

The Canadian Consulate ….

Ray had driven to most of the low rent places he knew of and a few he didn't. He, Fraser and Thatcher had asked every manager and desk jockey if they'd seen Cara. None of them had. Meg wasn't ready to quit but had to admit defeat when they'd gone to the same hotel twice.

"Come on, I'll drop you back at the consulate, I promised Stella we'd go over a case." Ray caught a glimpse of Meg in the rear view mirror. She seemed too desperate, too adamant, even for a dedicated officer. He let it slide, figuring it was none of his business. Neon lights had been glowing for the past hour as the pulled up to the brick building.

"Thank you kindly, Detective, I'll let you know if anything develops." Meg thanked Ray as she slid out, taking Fraser's hand to steady herself. She didn't even get her usual tingle of pleasure from it.

"I'll do the same, have a good night." Ray waved as he watched the pair walk up the front steps.

"Good evening everyone." Constable Turnbull greeted them soberly as his superior officers entered the building.

"Have there been any phone calls, Turnbull?" Meg asked, hoping Cara had called.

"Only official, consulate business calls I'm afraid." The junior Mountie answered with a frown.

"Thank you, Constable, dismissed." Meg walked on past, into her office.

"Ah, Constable Fraser, there's a kettle of chicken and dumplings as well as an apple pie waiting for you in the oven. I assumed you would be out late looking for Miss Lawrence. Please, let me know what you think, I'm still tinkering with the apple pie recipe." Turnbull gave a half smile at the thought of the cinnamon-y goodness waiting for them.

"I shall, Constable Turnbull, thank you kindly." Fraser nodded. The annoyance of the junior Mountie's hobbies was mostly out weighed by their convenience after a long day. Turnbull reminded Fraser of a pet who, when left alone too long, finds something do do with his time. Thankfully, in Turnbull's case, it was cooking and not furniture demolition.

"Good evening, Sir." Turnbull found his Stetson and clocked out for the night. Fraser watched him walk out, his own Stetson still in hand. The building was deathly quiet. After a moment, Fraser heard the sound of Meg moving around in her office. He tapped on her door and waited for her answer.

"I'm busy, Constable Fraser, now isn't a good time." Inspector Thatcher called, her voice strong but tired.

"Your box of tissues is in the bottom drawer of your filing cabinet, where you put them after your last birthday." Fraser called through the door. A moment later the door flew open. Meg's nose was red and her eyes watery.

"That's not fair, Fraser, using your keen hearing and memory against others." She scolded but lacked conviction.

"Yes, I suppose it is. May I come in?" He looked at his high browns for a moment before meeting her gaze once again.

"Come in, I guess I shouldn't pretend anymore, you already know what there is to know." She shrugged, bone tired. The previous day had been long and hard, this one had been even worse.

Ben wished it hadn't taken Cara running away for her to confide in him. There were too many layers to their relationship to suit him. He liked things simple, but they so rarely were. Ben didn't know what to say or how to make Meg feel better.

"Have a seat, Fraser, don't look so glum, I've got that department covered." It was morose, but Meg felt like crap. She felt like someone had cut her off at the knees. She took a seat behind her desk and leaned back to look at Fraser sitting across the desk from her. He sat so straight and so calm. Meg envied him that calm. As tired as she was, the lady Mountie felt the urge to take to the streets and turn over every rock to find her daughter.

"Yes, Sir." Ben toyed with the brim of his hat, his mind turning their situation over from various angles.

"You don't have to call me that now, the bloom is off the rose, as they say." Meg laced her fingers in front of her, sitting with her head against the back of the chair. Fraser's eyes flickered up to meet hers. He couldn't think any worse of her than Meg thought of herself. She didn't see how he could respect her any longer. She couldn't raise her own daughter, how was she supposed to maintain the helm of the consulate?

"To speak frankly, I'm certain you made the best decision possible in a difficult situation. Doing what is best for your child is no easy task, especially for one so young." Ben tried to put himself in her shoes. Life, even for him, had been difficult during his teen years.

"I have to disagree, Fraser, leaving Cara with Ursula wasn't the best for her. My aunt is a cold, unfeeling woman who dominates everyone around her. She didn't want Cara for altruistic reasons, she simply wanted something she didn't have; someone to control. I was no saint growing up, but I should have fought for Cara far harder than I did. Ursula won and I lost my daughter. I betrayed my baby and Jake's memory." Meg's throat ached from the tears she'd cried since the day before, making her hoarse and dry.

"We will find her, you will get to set things right." Fraser tried to pull her back to the present, the past wouldn't solve anything.

"I know in my head that none of this is my fault, that Cara decided to run of her own free will, but my heart feels like it is my fault, that I don't deserve to get her back. I feel like I have so little to offer her."

Ben couldn't imagine the pain Meg had been carrying around with her all this time. It explained a lot of her behavior, her walls, search for perfection and her drive to maintain appearances. She'd hung her self worth on what other people thought of her because she thought so little of herself. That saddened Ben. He admired her strength and wished she saw herself as he did.

"David Mallet said, 'Who hath not known ill fortune, never knew himself, or his own virtue'." Ben spoke low, his eyes fixed on Meg's.

"Don't play games, Fraser, say what you mean." She leaned forward, her dark eyes red from crying.

"You wouldn't know yourself and your strengths without what happened. Learn from it and don't let Cara go without a fight this time." He stated with clarity, leaning forward.

"Point taken, Fraser." Meg sighed, reaching for a Kleenex. What she really wanted to reach for was something ninety proof with a kick. Blurring her already cloudy vision wouldn't do Cara any good and Meg knew it.

"I should take a cab home and get some rest before tomorrow. I haven't eaten all day." Meg started to get up and found herself clutching the desk.

"Sit, Turnbull left dinner in the kitchen." Fraser was there beside her in a split second, his hand on her back, guiding her back to her desk chair.

"I think I will." She took a deep breath to straighten her swirling head. Fraser had already disappeared off to the kitchen. He returned with a tray for two in less than five minutes. Two soup bowls of hearty chicken and dumplings with buttermilk biscuits steamed.

"Here, take a sip of this." He set the tray down on Meg's desk and pressed a cup of tea against her lips.

"Ick, that's too sweet." Meg drank it anyway, glad to taste something for the first time all day.

"I'm afraid in my haste I over sweetened it." Ben knelt down in front of her, his brows knit in concern. He saw a faint, embarrassed smile pull at the corners of Meg's lips when her stomach let out a dinosaur style roar.

"I'll be okay now." She sat up and took a bowl of the southern comfort food from the tray and a spoon. Fraser took his seat across from her and his own supper. They ate in silence until Meg had finished her bowl, thoroughly enjoying the cooked chicken and fluffy dumplings.

"Turnbull should take up the culinary arts for a secondary career." Meg dabbed her chin with a Kleenex to get the dumpling gravy off.

"There's apple pie warm in the oven." Fraser volunteered.

"I'll get it." Meg stood up and took the tray of dishes, leaving Fraser setting in her office. Things looked a lot less doom and gloom after she had her stomach full.

"Apple pie and coffee." Meg set the tray down on her desk again and handed Fraser his dessert plate and fork as well as a steaming cup of coffee. She'd also brought the sugar bowl and creamer. For the life of her, Meg couldn't remember how Fraser took his coffee and she thought how shameful she hadn't even bothered to learn.

"Thank you kindly." Ben stole a glance of Meg as she began eating her apple pie, digging out the filling first. This was the closest he'd had to a dinner date with a woman in months, well, actually, he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten dinner with a woman.

"You're welcome, Fraser." She gave him a half smile that didn't reach her eyes.

After dessert and coffee, Meg called a cab to take her home and gathered her coat, purse and briefcase. It was time to go home to her empty apartment and get some rest. With her bags in one hand, she tried to put her coat on with the other. Fraser had taken the dessert dishes to the kitchen. When he returned he caught her chasing her sleeve.

"Here, allow me." He took her coat by the collar and lifted it onto her shoulder. He avoided her open gaze, focusing instead on her collar standing up on one side. Gently, he reached around with both hands and folded the coat's collar over properly. He ached to kiss her, to pull her to him and lock the world away for a few hours.

"She needs a friend, a support system just now, not a lover." He thought, making himself take a step backward.

Standing face to face, Meg could smell the scent of Ben's leather polish and the cinnamon on his breath. She stood perfectly still, wishing he would make a move, say something, do something, anything. It was tiring being strong and Meg was bone tired of it, sick of it. She wanted to melt into him for a while, to take away a little sliver of Ben's seemingly endless supply of strength.

"Good night, Margaret." He met her eyes, saying her name slowly, lingering over the syllables. For once she didn't hate her name. Ben's voice made it sound romantic, like something out of Shakespeare's plays.

"Good night, Benton." Meg said his full name tentatively, savoring the sound of it in her ears, glad he'd given her permission to use it.

"I'll be here early in the morning." She turned her mind back to the business at hand, there would be time for this later.

"I'll be here, should you need anything." Ben offered neutrally, hoping the phone would ring later. Meg smiled and waved before walking out the door.

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