"What are your plans for today, Maggie?" Fraser asked, standing in the light from above the stove. Fluffy, scrambled eggs sat cooking in a cast iron skillet. Sausages fried in another, smaller skillet. Dief and Aurora stood waiting for their cut of the tempting meat.
"I thought maybe we would see a few of the tourist sights, maybe take in a baseball game." The lady mountie smiled, she'd never seen a game in person. It sounded good to Fraser, who wished he could take the time off to go with them.
"Is Ben up and ready yet?" Fraser glanced at his watch, anxious to be going.
"Yes, he's in the bathroom." As if on cue, the boy walked down the hall and into the living room, his hair heading a million different directions.
"My word," Fraser let slip as he shifted the sausages to a plate. Maggie elbowed him gently.
"Do I smell coffee?" Ben asked, shuffling to the kitchen table, his t-shirt askew and pajama bottoms sagging.
"No." Maggie answered, without looking.
"Could I smell coffee?" Ben wheedled, his face upturned.
"No." Maggie replied, still not looking around.
"Is there apple juice or something?" With a thud the boy sat down on a chair.
"I bought milk yesterday." A glass appeared on the table before him, looking plain and nutritious and dull.
"The biscuit pone is ready, Benton, would you take it out of the oven for me, please?" Steam rose off the golden, fluffy and utterly delicious; a think of culinary beauty. It deserved butter and homemade, blackberry jam.
"You have to go in to the consulate, uh..." Ben didn't know what to call Fraser, he didn't seem like a father yet, he wasn't an uncle or anything.
"Yes, I have a million things to take care of for the dinner party with the Ecuadorian delegation." A knot in Fraser's stomach tightened just a fraction. He dreaded having to manage the florists, the caterers, invitations, security details and anything else that Mr. Gordon deemed necessary.
"Do you think you could get off early, Fraser, we could all go to the baseball game." Maggie asked, setting plates for them all on the table.
"I'll certainly try." Fraser smiled, sounding optimistic, yet knowing he most likely wouldn't make it. Maggie eyed both Bens. Benton, her half brother, seemed a million miles away. Ben junior seemed disappointed. She knew would have to have an intervention.
As Fraser sat at the table, he took a moment to look at the two people eating with him and their canine companions. He had only learned of his half sister a dozen years earlier. Since then he'd become close to her. It was easy, Maggie lead the same kind of life he did, one dedicated to the RCMP. Separating himself from the force had always been a problem.
"Turnbull can handle the dinner, Son, take the day off, go have fun with the boy." A familiar, annoying voice spoke from the living room.
"Mr. Gordon expects me to take care of the details personally, Dad." Robert Fraser stood in the living room wearing a fur lined jacket and mittens. Maggie and Ben turned to see the old man standing casually eating an apple in the living room.
"Oh, that is nonsense and you know it, take the boy to the stadium, have a hotdog, catch a fly ball or something." Robert Fraser spoke, his hands gesturing as he did. Arguing with his father was the only time Fraser had a cross word for anyone or anything. Frustrated, he began eating his breakfast, ignoring his father's presence.
"You have a stubborn streak just like your grandmother." Exasperated, Robert Fraser walked into the bedroom, done haunting for the day. Maggie and Ben exchanged meaningful looks. Awkwardly the three took up where they'd left off eating. Abruptly, Fraser stood up to leave.
"I shall see you both this afternoon." The mountie twirled his Stetson around his index finger before walking out. It was going to be a long day chasing details for the Ecuadorian dinner party.
Scene Break
Mr. Gordon walked into the consulate, the smell of coffee and fresh baked cookies pleasantly assaulting his nostrils. He hadn't had the best night's sleep. The first thing the Chief Liaison Officer did not want to see was his ever attentive, fastidious junior liaison officer. His earnest, guileless, moon face made the nearly exiled Canadian want to scream.
"Good morning, Sir, here is your coffee, three sugars, hazelnut creamer and one ice cube, her is your correspondence and I took the liberty of collecting your dry cleaning." Turnbull smiled, nodding profusely.
"Thank you, Turnbull." Gordon growled, barely remaining civil. He didn't know what it was about the tall, blond mountie that grated so badly on his nerves to the point of aggression. It was a daily struggle not to go stark, raving gonzo. As if Turnbull wasn't bad enough, there was his senior officer, the starched underwear wearing, Benton Fraser. Gordon gritted his teeth when he saw the wooden indian of an assistant standing before his desk, clipboard in hand.
"Good morning, Sir, I've taken the liberty of booking Pierre's Cuisine and ordering the wine," Looking up, Fraser saw his boss still standing at the door, briefcase in hand. It was too early to be that efficient or that happy.
"Morning, Constable Fraser, leave the list on my desk, please." Gordon straightened his pearl gray, silk tie, trying not to loosen it.
"Your boss called ten minutes ago, he said he would call back momentarily." Fraser laid the sheaf of papers on Gordon's desk and excused himself.
"Fraser, have you spoken to Victoria Metcalf's son yet?" In mid-step the red serge clad officer turned. Gordon felt his heart beat quicken. The darkness and displeasure in Fraser's eyes reminded chief liaison officer of a wild animal in a cage.
"Ms. Metcalf's son is in my care, and as long as he is he will not be interrogated like a criminal or used as an informant." A samurai sword doesn't have the edge that Fraser's voice possessed. Stunned, Gordon let the RCMP officer walk out. Seating himself, the CLO (Chief Liaison Officer) answered the impatiently ringing telephone with a brisk, "What."
Scene Break