Disclaimer: Not mine.

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As the plane lightly touched down, Meg couldn't tear her eyes away from the window. The snow-covered tundra stretched out to the dusky horizon where it faded into the mountains, whose black peaks stood out in harsh relief against the darkening sky. Above, a pair of bald eagles glided lazily.

'Your first time out north?' The pilot called back over the noise of the engine.

Meg turned her gaze forward and shook her head briefly. 'I grew up here.'

He nodded and flipped open the cockpit door. 'It never leaves you.'

She waited for him to pull down the stairs, then grabbed her rucksack and climbed out, stretching out her stiff limbs as she went.

'You need help with your bags?'

She shook her head again and hefted the rucksack over one shoulder. 'This is it.'

He whistled, obviously impressed. 'Jesus, you pack light.'

'Mmm.' She shrugged; her father had taught her how a long time ago.

With a grunt, he pulled up the ramp and pushed it shut. 'Enjoy your trip, eh?' He got back in the cockpit and turned the plane in the direction of the metal hangar.

Meg raised her hand in thanks and started towards the small airport. Already, it was easier to breathe. The air was cool and dry and gently teased her hair free from its neat French braid.

Her euphoria faded slightly when she reached the tiny, one-room airport. Since she'd booked her flight on such short notice, there hadn't been any chance to arrange for a chartered flight to Paulatuk. Instead, she'd been forced to settle for the nearest commercial flight, which landed just west of her intended destination, in Inuvik. Paulatuk was a five-hour trip by snowmobile and although she had protested that she could make her own way there perfectly well, Sue wouldn't hear of it. Thinking of it now, she still felt a twinge of guilt, despite Sue's assurance that long journeys were routine for officers in isolated villages where supplies could be hard to come by—a fact she well knew herself.

Eventually giving in reluctantly, the two had made plans to meet two weeks hence. Meg had not been worried about recognizing Sue; Mounties were few and far between in small rural districts, female Mounties even more so. But the possibility that Sue might be absent had never occurred to her. A quick glance at the small waiting area, however, revealed just that. Aside from two men—Meg's practiced gaze dismissed them as hobby fishermen—sitting at the battered coffee table, and an old man doing a crossword puzzle behind the counter, the room was deserted.

At a temporary loss, and still slightly disoriented from the long flight, she stopped to think through her options. Maybe Sue had been delayed. Or maybe she, Meg, was early. They'd agreed to meet at three. What time was it now? Setting her pack on one of the chairs, she glanced at her watch—it was quarter past—then did another visual sweep of the room.

'Are you Meg, then?'

Startled, she swung her gaze around to the man behind the counter, who had abandoned his crossword in order to examine her.

Snapping almost unconsciously into Inspector mode, she nodded crisply. 'Yes, I am. Why do you ask?'

Unperturbed, he poured himself a cup of coffee and glanced down at his desk. 'Meg Thatcher?'

She nodded again.

'Doug Ferguson. I run the place.' Her mind still on Sue's absence, she forced a polite smile and waited for him to continue.

'Someone called about a half hour ago with a message for you.' He scanned the note. 'A Constable Sue Mackenzie. Told me to tell you that…' he stopped to peer at the message in question, '…something's come up and she won't be able to meet you but she's asked the Inuvik branch to send someone over.' He looked up. 'Does that make any sense to you?'

"Yes, thank you.' The tension building in her neck and shoulders receded somewhat—at least it was nothing serious or Sue would have said more—but her thoughts were still racing with possible reasons for the delay.

He shrugged. 'Sure thing. Coffee?'

'Thank you, no,' she replied distractedly, glancing at her watch again. 'Tell me, how long would it take to drive here from town.'

'Mmm. Maybe an hour. Depends on where from.'

'The RCMP station.'

He nodded slowly. 'Yeah, about an hour if the weather holds.'

Meg followed his gaze out the window towards the pale sky. 'Are you expecting a storm?'

He shrugged again.

With a quiet sigh, she grabbed her pack, pulled out a book she'd bought at the airport convenience store in Quebec and settled into the nearest chair. It could be half an hour yet until anyone came and besides, she hadn't had time for recreational reading since…well, since her transfer.

'So, you're from the RCMP.'

Apparently, the reading would have to wait.

Folding over the corner of her current page, she set the book down on the counter in front of her and dipped her head briefly in acquiesce. 'Yes.'

Undeterred by her reticence, he pushed on. 'So, what's that like? I've a nephew who's got his mind dead set on it. His father wants him to carry on the business, you know, but he's a stubborn one. Known since he could barely walk.' He chuckled. "Why, I remember when he was just little…'

Meg was used to fielding questions about her work; people were always fascinated with the RCMP. Most had a story or two about some cousin in training or a childhood musical ride. Resigning herself to a long conversation, she sat back and listened with half an ear, paying just enough attention to smile and nod when required.

In truth, she didn't really mind the distraction.

When the RCMP had been exhausted, the subject turned to local business (tourist season was going well), weather ('been clear for a week now') and northern life in general. After learning that Meg had never been to Inuvik before, Doug was more than happy to sing its praises and even offered to point out the best spots for fishing when the ice broke—assuming she was staying that long, of course. He paused expectantly.

Meg cleared her throat. 'Thank you, that's…very kind of you to offer but I'm not…my travel plans are…uncertain.'

He flashed her a crooked grin. 'Sure. Anytime. So, where'ya from?'

'I'm stationed in Quebec,' she said stiffly, characteristically ill at ease discussing her personal life.

Doug refused to take the hint. 'Quebec, eh? Lived there your whole life?'

Reluctantly, Meg admitted that she had in fact been born in the Yukon.

'Well, so you're a northerner then!' He looked delighted.

'Was, at one point.' She shook her head ruefully. 'I haven't…this is my first visit since I left school.'

'It never leaves you, you know. Gets in the blood.' He leaned forward and with gusto, began to recite:

'The freshness, the freedom, the farness—O God, how I'm stuck on it all!'

She smiled faintly. 'Robert W. Service.'

He nodded towards the book, which sat abandoned in front of her. 'He sure knew his stuff. You a fan?'

'In high school, yes. But it's been a while.'

'Yeah? The only part of English I could—' He stopped abruptly and shifted his gaze over her shoulder. A moment later, Meg heard the chime over the door tinkle as it swung open. Doug's face broke into a large grin.

'Benton!'

Meg froze.

It couldn't be.

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A/N: Yes, I know it's late. looks sheepish. This was originally going to be part of a longer chapter, but I thought it would be better off on its own. More to come as soon as possible.