Beachton ….

Benton and Meg opted for diner at the main house with the rest of the bed and breakfast's patrons. The dining room had been decorated in creamy whites and elegant blues. Hannah manned the buffet with a genial smile. The spread boasted moist turkey, dressing, gravy, green beans, and a wide variety of salad fixings. Meg ate lightly, anxious about going back to the cabin for the night with Benton.

Benton noticed Meg's worried ways. She picked at her salad while he ate heartily. He suspected she felt nervous about intimacy. Benton too felt the pressure. He hadn't gotten close or been intimate with anyone in ages. He'd tucked that part of himself away after Meg left for the CSIS. It was easier than opening himself up again.

"How long have you been together?" A beaming, twenty-something blonde from Vermont asked across the table from the Canadians.

"About a year." Meg answered, glancing at Benton.

"I think it's great to see a mature couple in a new relationship, it's so inspiring." The Vermonter gushed, taking her boyfriend's free hand in hers.

"Mature couple! Listen here …." Before Meg could shift her rant into gear, Benton took her by the hand and excused them politely. Fuming all the way, she let him hustle her onto the porch.

"How dare that brat say such a thing! The nerve! I've know you longer than she's been alive." Meg paced the front of the wrap around porch, her stride steady and fast.

"Meg, I'm sure she didn't mean anything by what she said, she came to the wrong conclusion based on your answer." Benton took Meg by the shoulders and made her look up at him. "This is by no means a 'new' relationship." He pointed out, stroking her cheek.

Meg took a deep breath, letting out a growl as she looked up at him by the light of a bug zapper hanging from the ceiling beam. Benton gave her a reassuring smile and pulled her into a side hug.

"Come on, let's go back to the cabin. I packed a special, relaxing blend of bark tea. Maggie says it works wonders on Ray." Benton softly suggested, steering her up the dimly lit path to their cabin.

Once inside, the door locked and their shoes discarded, Benton and Meg sat down on the couch. Meg hadn't said a word, mulling over the blonde's 'mature couple' comment.

"What's on your mind?" Benton leaned over, pulling Meg against him.

"It's not fair, I still feel like I'm in my twenties, most days anyway." She laid her hand on her stomach. She still had bad days stemming from the gunshot wound the previous year in Spencer Falls.

"So do I, but the world doesn't see us that way. Sometimes I look at Ben and think I'm looking in a mirror, then I realize I'm more than thirty years older than I was when I was his age." Benton leaned his cheek against the top of Meg's head.

"Time isn't fair, you're supposed to have accomplished something by the time you're my age, a home, a family, retirement." Meg complained, most of the sting gone.

"Chicago is your home, Ben and myself are your family, as for retirement, I think you're doing the world a bigger, better service by counseling PTSD sufferers." Benton countered. He felt proud of her, conquering her own demons and using her experience to help others.

"My heart tells me all that but my head says I could have done things differently." Meg leaned back, frustrated.

"It's been a long day, why don't you take a shower and relax." Benton suggested, squeezing her gently and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"I'm not ready to lay down for the night." Meg pulled away, sitting on the edge of the couch cushion. "Have you talked to Ben for the night?" she redirected. Benton noticed the way her brows didn't quite relax and the way she pulled herself away, toward the arm of the couch.

"No, it's another hour before he'll expect my call." Benton checked his father's RCMP issue watch, eight o'clock. He wanted to spend the next hour making-out on the couch, but he didn't see it happening that evening.

"I think I'll take a walk." Meg popped up, heading toward the door. She crammed her feet into her loafers.

"Alright, I'll go along." Benton offered, shoving his feet into his tennis shoes.

Meg turned, hand on the door knob. Their eyes locked and she shook her head.

"I'll be okay."

Before Benton could move, she'd stepped out and closed the door firmly behind her.

"Let her go, Son, she's at a crossroads, she just needs time."

Benton whirled, looking toward the banister upstairs. There stood his father, hands clasped behind his back, decked out in his red serge.

"Dad, it's been nearly two years. I didn't expect to see you again." Benton stood up, eyes wide.

"Ah, that long, it seems like yesterday to me. How's my grandson?" Bob Fraser strolled down the stairs and into the kitchenette.

"Ben is fine, he's staying the weekend with his best friend." Benton walked toward the apparition, wondering if he were tired enough to hallucinate.

"Good, friends are important. You didn't have nearly enough interaction with children your own age growing up." Bob studied the glass top stove as he spoke. Shaking his head in distaste, he turned back to his son.

"I had one or two good friends as a child." Benton pointed out weakly. "I have plenty of friends now."

Bob Fraser raised a questioning eye brow but kept silent. Benton stepped closer, frowning.

"Dad, why are you here?"

"It's about your inspector. You're crowding her, rushing her into something she's not ready for." The elder Mountie explained, trying to touch the faucet knobs. His hand swiped right through, as usual.

"She's not my 'inspector', Meg took medical retirement last year." Benton scratched at his eye brow, glaring at his father's ghost.

"She's not ready for this kind of weekend, Son. She has wounds that haven't healed." Bob ignored his son's glare, examining a local landscape painting behind the television.

"I've told Meg I've no expectations for this weekend, it's her choice." Benton gestured, watching his father study the small, plasma screen television.

"A holiday like this has built in expectations for a woman, it's a lover's getaway after all." Fraser Sr pointed out.

"Dad!" Benton growled, embarrassed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to hold his tongue.

"Women are like fish, Son, to land one you have to give them a little slack before reeling them in." Bob Fraser gestured, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Women are not at all like fish, …."

"No, we aren't." Meg said, walking through the cabin door. Benton looked around the room for his father's ghost before turning around to see Meg.

"Who were you talking to?" Meg asked, kicking off her loafers.

"To myself I suppose." Benton answered with a head shake.

"You haven't done that in a long time." Meg walked toward him, their earlier conversation forgotten.

"How was your walk, you weren't gone long." Benton redirected, smoothing his brow with his thumbnail.

"There isn't really anywhere to walk to around here. I needed a moment to think."

Benton watched her take a deep breath, her hands clasped in front of her. She took a deep breath and continued. "Ben sent us on this three day weekend so we could spend some time alone. I thought it would be a good time for us to talk, to discuss things." Meg moved past Benton and sat down on the sofa. "It's been a long time since I've," she cleared her throat, "since I've been with anyone, romantically."

"Let's not dwell on the past, Meg, …." Benton began, perching on the coffee table in front of her.

"Let me, let me finish," Meg looked him square in the eye, determined to get through it. "It's been even longer since I've been with someone, a very long time, since my tenure at the consulate." She stopped and let out a breath. "In Spencer Falls I told you what happened, about my Alice. I haven't been with anyone since." Meg studied Benton, trying to gauge his reaction. His blue eyes never left her face, the love she saw there never wavered.

"Meg, if you don't want to, it isn't important to me, I never want to cause you pain." Benton switched to the couch, taking her hands in his.

"I love you, I trust you. I think it's time for this." She squeezed Benton's hand, leaning in to kiss him. Slowly, she rose, pulling him with her. She led him up the stairs to the waiting queen sized bed.

Benton turned down the bed and stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers. With his back turned, Meg changed into brand new, maroon, silk pajamas. She shook as she tried to button the blouse.

"It's Benton, he loves me, he understands, they're just scars." Meg told herself. When she saw him sitting in the bed, waiting for her to join him, her resolve wavered.

"No pressure." Benton reassured her, smiling lovingly up at her.

Meg lay on her side, curled like a cat. Benton nestled in behind her, a protective arm around her waist. Cool, air conditioned air drifted down on them as they napped beneath one thousand count Egyptian cotton sheets.

"Benton, I'd like to show you something." Meg spoke quietly.

"Alright." Benton rose up on his elbow.

Slowly, she began to unbutton her thin, silk pajama top as she faced away from him. Her fingers moved slowly. Meg dreaded revealing the less desirable side of herself. She slid the creamy silk off her shoulders to reveal long, raised scars. She dropped the material to show scars over every inch of her back as well as the backs of her arms.

"I told you what happened in Iraq, about what they did to me ..." Meg's voice weakened before trailing off.

"I had no idea." Benton reached out to touch a scar near the nape of her neck. His fingertips tickled, making Meg shiver. Benton pressed a kiss to the scar. He wished he could take them away and the pain left behind.

Meg turned to him, laying on her side again. Her dark brown eyes looked up at him, seeking understanding or pity, Benton couldn't decide which.

"This is why I haven't wanted to," she gestured, "to, you know."

Benton let a smile pull at the corner of his mouth before looking away shyly.

"They don't matter to me." He assured her. He noticed a small scar on her breast, partially hidden by the white lace of her bra.

"May I, uh, perhaps if ..." He began digging his thumbnail across his eyebrow, flustered.

Wordlessly, Meg sat up and unfastened her pj bottoms then slipped them off her hips, down her legs. Down to her bra and cotton briefs, Meg lay face down on the bed beside Benton. Lash marks crisscrossed her flesh from shoulders to heels. Some of them wrapped all the way around.

"Oh, Meg ..." Benton shook his head, furious over the pain and damage done to her. He surveyed her from top to bottom. Meg wasn't one to reveal herself so easily; this had cost her dearly.

"It's taken all these years for me to make peace with these." Meg lay on her stomach as she shrugged her shoulders.

"Things would have been different if …." Benton stopped himself, he played the 'What if' game too much already.

"If we'd stayed in Chicago, if I hadn't ordered you to forget our runaway train kiss, if, if, if." Meg sighed. She'd played that game too. "Everything that happened showed me how to love you better." She smiled.

Benton stroked her cheek, delighting in her loving smile. His fingertips trailed down her neck to her shoulder. He lightly touched the first scar at the nape of her neck. Meg felt him press a soft kiss to the rough, uneven skin.

"I love you." Benton murmured against her skin. He moved to the next, a little lower. "I love you."

Tears pricked Meg's eyes as he moved lower, touching and kissing her tenderly. She'd never felt more, or as sincerely, loved. Meg hoped she could love him as well in return.