Diclaimer: I own nothing but the story. Everything else belongs to Alliance.

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"Ma'am." He was still reeling from the shock. He didn't know what to think. "You're… I…"

"I know, I'm sorry." Meg Thatcher raised herself from the couch, her eyes never leaving his face. "I should have explained in Chicago, but I couldn't. It was top secret. I had to disappear, you weren't meant to come here. I thought you would stay in Chicago, look after the Consulate. If you took leave, I was to be contacted and by the time you got here, I was meant to be gone, but I guess it went wrong." She smiled slightly. "No one expected you would leave in the middle of the night, without informing Ottawa in advance."

"I left the required forms at the Consulate. There's nothing happening that the remaining staff cannot handle," he replied automatically, though his eyes never quite met hers.

"Fraser…"

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand what's happening here." He looked straight at her now, all of the confusion he felt evident on his face. "What was top secret? Why did you leave?" He paused, taking in a deep breath. "I thought you were dead." The last statement was delivered quietly, the pain behind it clear.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I never meant for a lot of what happened to happen, but I had to disappear, and quickly. It was too dangerous to wait, and simply vanishing from Chicago wouldn't have worked. Even as it is, I'm not sure we got away with it."

"Got away with what? Who's we? Who are you running from?" He had so many questions, and nothing she was saying was making any sense.

"Look, Fraser. It seems like we've got time, unless," she paused looking up at him, her brown eyes unsure, "do you want me to go?" He shook his head silently.

"OK," she sighed. "Then I suggest you come in and close the door, it's cold in here". He hadn't even noticed that he had been standing frozen in the doorway since the moment he had first laid eyes on her. Diefenbaker had already trotted past him, ignoring the woman by the coach, and settled himself down by the fire that was gently blazing in the hearth. "I'll make some tea, and then we can talk, and I'll explain everything, I promise."

She moved off towards the small kitchen area located towards the back of the cabin. He followed her orders automatically, closing the door and moving further in towards the warmth of the fire. He left his pack propped up against the wall and sat down in one of the chairs, watching her with a warily. After the time it had taken him to accept her death, it was hard to trust that what he was seeing now was really her, and not simply his mind playing tricks on him again. In the first few days, he had looked up every time the front door to the Consulate had opened, expecting her to walk in and demand to know what was going on, that rumours of her death were nonsense. But as the days passed, his hopes had lessened until, on the day of her funeral, they died completely.

Yet here she was, in his cabin, making him tea. He would never have dreamed of this, even before her supposed death. She was stood before him now, offering him a mug of steaming liquid. He took it, grateful for the distraction. She sat on the sofa, her own mug cradled in her hands, as though she were trying to draw strength from it warmth.

"It started back when I was still based in Toronto. My partner and I were investigating a case of what appeared to be domestic abuse. But it turned out to be bigger than either of us had originally thought. A neighbour had reported an argument that appeared to have gotten somewhat heated and we were sent to check on the couple. When we arrived, the boyfriend met us and told us it was nothing, an argument that had escalated. Apparently they had a fiery relationship, and it was just their passion coming through. The young woman in question, Jenna, supported him. We were called again a couple of days later but she was never alone, which made it hard for us to talk to her. He was always around somewhere, watching her. She said that everything was fine and asked us not to call again, although she seemed troubled.

"We were forced to leave the case, she wouldn't talk to us and in the end more urgent matters arose. There was nothing we could do if she did not want to help herself." Meg paused, her voice heavy with regret. "It turned out we should have pushed harder, forced her to come to the station, done something to move her away from the boyfriend. It turned out she was the daughter of a powerful politician in Ottawa, and the so-called boyfriend was no such thing. He had been hired to watch her, scare her. She had found something out about a deal in Ottawa, politicians working with organised crime and taking cuts from the profits of the deals. Her finding out had been an accident. She was visiting her father, doing some work for him, and she stumbled across the evidence. Apparently she had made copies and put them somewhere secure, though no one knows where.

"She had managed to get away from the man stalking her. Somehow she managed to give him the slip. When she got to the station, she was so scared, certain he was going to come for her and her father. We promised her that she was safe, that no one was going to harm her in the station." Meg paused, for her throat seemed suddenly tight and talking was hard. Having to tell the man who had probably never in his life made a mistake even a quarter the size of this one was hard. It was harder still as this man's opinion mattered, mattered more than Meg wanted to admit to herself.

"It turned out I was wrong. I promised her we would protect her, but we couldn't. A couple of hours after she first made it to the station, we had managed to set up transport to a safe house somewhere out of the city. I was so sure we had everything covered, but as we left through the back entrance, gun shots rang out. They seemed to come from everywhere. I couldn't think. I just pulled her down to the ground behind this car. Everything happened so fast it seemed like the world was on fire. When the noise finally stopped, I tried to move Jenna, pull her back into the safety of the building. My arm was bleeding and I think I was shouting at her to move quickly, but she just couldn't get up. Then I saw the blood across her stomach. The bullet had entered just below the rib cage and there was internal damage. I remember when the paramedics arrived, Jenna was already so far gone. She just stared at me, knowing I had failed her, knowing she was dying.

"I met her father at the funeral. He had been approached about what he knew in terms of the deals being made, but he would not talk to us. I think they got to him. It was just him and Jenna, you see, so with her gone there was no reason for him not to come forward. But I guess he didn't trust us to protect him, and why should he?" Meg let out a bitter laugh. "It's not like we did a very good job protecting his daughter."

"It wasn't your fault," Ben said. "There was nothing you could have done. She chose to come to you, and you did everything in her power to help her."

"No, I didn't. I promised her I would keep her safe, and I didn't. She died, and I walked away with a grazed arm. It shouldn't have happened like that."

"No, it shouldn't. She didn't deserve to die, but neither did you. The circumstances were out of your control and things ended badly, but you cannot blame yourself for them. I know Jenna wouldn't have."

"You don't know anything! You didn't see the look in her eyes!" Meg snapped at him, before lowering her eyes back down into her now cooling mug, already regretting her outburst. Fraser was sat listening to her, offering reassurance, and all she could do was attack him for his kindness. But he didn't realise that she needed someone to blame, and it was just easier if that person was herself. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't take it out on you. You come home to your cabin for a holiday and find me here, trespassing, and you very kindly let me stay, and yet I still act like a bitch, taking out all my bitterness and regret over everything that happened on you, when that is the last thing in the world you deserve."

"That doesn't matter," Fraser replied. "But I still don't understand why you had to appear to the world to be dead. And the ambassador in the car with you? What happened to him?"

"My partner on the case was Constable Matt Stevens. We worked together for a couple of years, and we became good friends. Eventually, circumstances meant that I made the move to Ottawa, whilst he chose to remain in Toronto.

"Two weeks before my apparent death, Matt was murdered. Oh, they made it look like an accident. A random shooting that ended in tragedy for one of the RCMP's finest, but it didn't feel right. I had felt like I was being watched, and when I heard about Matt, I contacted someone in Ottawa, someone who would be able to tell me more about it than I would get through any official sources. The following day I got a visit from an old superior. He explained what he thought was going on. Apparently some hot-shot lawyer is attempting to bring a number of MPs to court over a supposed deal that has been made. He says he has proof that certain members of the Government are profiting personally from this deal and that it will cause many small businesses to go out of business.

"As far as anyone can determine, the only proof of corruption in the Government that existed outside of those involved has been the copies that Jenna made before she was killed. Those copies were never found, not by us anyway, but I guess they don't believe that. The criminals must believe that we have the copies, or that Jenna told us where they were, because now they are doing everything in their power to erase everything to do with that case. We couldn't prove anything at the time, so what they think we have now, I don't know, but it was a choice of disappear or be killed. I chose to disappear."

"And the ambassador?"

"There was no ambassador, Fraser. The man everyone saw me get into the car with was in fact a member of the team employed to get me out of Chicago. He was at the function, introduced to everyone as a visiting diplomat and businessman involved in the drilling of oil. An anonymous tip-off to the press informed them of an attempt on the life of 'Ambassador Marceau', and so while they were rushing around elaborating on death threats, setting the scene, we blew the car. We had been careful to ensure that there were witnesses at the function who could testify to seeing me get into the car also. We hoped everyone would assume he was the target, and there would be no questions asked about me. My death would be a tragic accident."

"It worked," Fraser interrupted, and once again Meg was suddenly aware of how her death must have appeared to the man now sitting across from her. She hadn't had the time to really consider the implications of the plan, everything had happened too fast. That didn't mean she had not secretly wondered if Fraser would grieve for her, like she had grieved for him on the train, when she thought he had died falling from the roof. No, she had wondered, she just couldn't let herself focus on that, otherwise he may have been grieving for real.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't tell you, not then, it would only have put you in danger too and I couldn't risk that."

"I could have helped."

"How, Fraser? What could you have done against people like that? They already killed my partner, what makes you think that they wouldn't have got to you?"

"I had nothing to do with the original case, I could have continued the investigation quietly. They would have had no reason to suspect me."

"Except that they are smarter than that, Fraser. They would have known what you were doing the moment you started asking questions."

"I don't believe that. Why didn't you trust me with this?"

"This isn't about you, Fraser!" Meg felt the anger rising deep inside herself. Didn't he see that she couldn't risk any more lives, she'd killed too many people with this case already. No, it was better if she just disappeared, and then maybe the case would die with her.

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