A/N: Okay, I have no idea where all this came from, but suffice to say I'm pleased with the result. It's probably the fic with the most 'Canadian' content I've written up to this point; those with sharp eyes will definitely be able to spot them. Enjoy.

Five Things That Never Happened to Donna Sabine

Detachment

RCMP Corporal Donna Sabine figured one didn't really and truly know the meaning of 'bleak mid-winter' until one experienced a winter in the Northwest Territories.

Somewhere, dimly in the back of her mind, she had known that she could potentially be sent to any detachment in the country when she joined the ranks of Canada's storied 'mounted police'. But gawd, did it have to be here?

'Here', was Fort Providence, some 233 kilometers southwest of the territory's capital city of Yellowknife, on the banks of the Mackenzie River. It was really considered a hamlet; there were barely eight hundred souls living here. Fort Providence had been mostly settled by members of the Slavey Dene tribe when a Roman Catholic bishop decided the area would be a swell place to start a mission back in the late 1800s. A little later, a boarding school was established by some members of the Grey Nuns order, and then the Hudson's Bay Company came knocking.

Access to Fort Providence was mainly a ferry crossing over the MacKenzie, and an ice bridge when the waters froze over in the Winter. There was a lot of discussion lately about the planned construction of a real bridge over the river, which would guarantee year-round access for residents to and from the hamlet.

In spite of the name, Donna didn't think there was much of anything 'providential' about being stationed at Fort Providence, and its historic merits didn't really interest her, either. It was all so small, and so isolated, she felt the loneliness as a constant companion, clinging to her and weighting her down.

There was no hospital; they depended on a health centre staffed by three nurses for medical treatment. There was no correctional facility, though the tiny community saw its share of crime. No banks, either, but that was probably a good thing, because at least that meant nobody would try to rob the damn place. And with three police officers in the entire hamlet, the idea of having to deal with something like that with only two people to back you up was a little scary.

The wildlife was a constant part of the local scenery, like bison and caribou, and Donna had just about become accustomed to seeing the hulking creatures grazing on the sides of the gravel roads.

There were things she definitely hadn't become accustomed to, most notably the cold. Her lips were constantly chapped, and no amount of lip balm, liberally applied, would help matters. Donna learned early that dressing in layers really helped keep her core temperature within safe limits, but always her extremities suffered.

Her first week in Fort Providence netted a visit to the health centre where a sympathetic nurse helped treat her frost-bitten ears. At the time, she'd underestimated how cold it had been when she'd ventured outside without a touque. It was only when a colleague had pointed out that her ears had turned white that she realised she was in trouble. She'd just thought the numbness she was experiencing was a natural consequence of the colder temperatures. Now, she never went out into the cold without making sure she'd properly covered her ears and head.

At that recollection, Donna shivered in her heavy, winter parka. She stamped her feet against the frozen ground, hoping to maybe wake up her frozen toes. It was early January, where the sun just sort of made a half-hearted effort to get up in the morning, shining wanly as if nursing a bad hangover.

She thought suddenly of a line from a Diana Krall/Elvis Costello song that went:

'Narrow daylight entered my room; shining hours were brief; Winter is over, Summer is near; Are we stronger than we believe?'

Apt description – almost. Shining hours were edging closer to seven this time of year, but Winter was far from being over. As for strength, well, Donna was feeling especially drained right now. She'd spent half the night patrolling around, searching for a missing teen. When she'd come upon a snowmobile on one of the access roads, she'd stopped her vehicle and climbed out to inspect it.

Her breath curled around her face in a thick cloud, the vapors visibly hanging for several seconds before finally dissipating in the slight wind. The mercury was registering a lovely, skin-freezing temperature of minus thirty-eight degrees Celsius – a dry, bitter cold.

There was no way they were going to find sixteen-year-old Ronnie McLeod alive. He'd been reported missing around nine PM when he didn't return from what was supposed to be a short spin on his father's snowmobile – the very snowmobile she was now looking at. If the snowmobile had broken down, as Donna surmised it had, Ronnie had probably tried to make it home on foot. In these frigid temperatures, that would be an invitation to hypothermia, and eventually, inevitably – death.

Donna had already dealt with a handful of deaths in the period of time she'd been here, which was nearing the twelve month mark. One had been a suicide. The other was an accidental drowning. It had been awful breaking the news of those deaths to the family members. Donna hated every moment of the uncomfortable silences between the delivery of the devastating information, and the moment when the reality of the situation sank in to the minds of the families.

Even before knowing the outcome of tonight's missing-persons case, Donna started bracing herself for the worst-case scenario. Sure, she might not have warmed to her environment, but the people here were basically good people. A lot of them kept up with some of the traditional ways of life, hunting, fishing and trapping. They'd been cordial enough when she'd tried to mingle with them off-duty; a sort of surface-level acceptance of her presence and vice-versa.

But the only way Donna figured she could serve them best was to maintain a kind of stand-offish attitude. In such a close-knit community where people knew just about everybody else, new-comers like her always felt like intruders. And since her stint in the hamlet wasn't going to last forever, anyway, what sense did it make to try to develop lasting relationships?

No, it was best to remain aloof.

Don't become too interested in them. Don't let them get too close. Don't let anything get personal.

And when you have to break their hearts, don't let them see you cry.

Like the weather and location, just make it through the day with icy detachment.

A/N: 'Narrow Daylight' lyrics were pretty much used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. 'Narrow Daylight' was written by Diana Krall and Elvis Costello.

A touque (alternate spelling 'toque' or 'tuque') is winter-wear. It's a Canadian term for a knitted cap.

For my readers who don't comprehend Celsius: -38 C is equivalent to approximately -36.4 F. Brrrr.