After work …
Fraser walked down the street from the post to the old general store. Diefenbaker had decided to stay with Aurora at the post. The Mountie hadn't said much the entire afternoon. Maggie and Ray had exchanged questioning glances from time to time but they knew that Benton would sort it out in his own way and in his own time.
"Hello, Meg?" Fraser tapped on the door at the top of the stairs that barred her apartment from the stairs.
"Just a moment." He heard her call out. A few moments later she opened the door. He noted that she had washed off her make-up and changed into a pair of loose jeans and an RCMP t-shirt.
"Fraser, come in, I wasn't expecting anyone." Meg stood aside for him to enter. He immediately smelled something delicious baking in the oven. His stomach spoke before he could.
"Oh my, pardon me." He took his Stetson off, wondering where to put it. Meg smiled up at him, shaking her head at his stiff manners.
"I was just getting ready to sit down to chicken and rice with homemade, buttermilk biscuits. There's plenty." She took his Stetson and laid it on the nearest coffee table.
"Yes, thank you." Fraser seemed much more ill at ease in her apartment this time.
"Have a seat, I'll check the biscuits." Meg shrugged, only mildly curious at his nervousness.
Fraser sat down at the kitchen table set for one person. The small, round table had four chairs but only two sat around it. Two others served as pedestals for potted ferns near the window. Fraser took the seat that seemed the least used.
"Were they asking about me at the post? I imagine Constable Hansen was beside himself." Meg's voice pulled Fraser's attention away from her apartment's décor. He stood up, crossing the few steps to the stove where Meg stirred a kettle filled with cooked, white rice, pulled chicken and condensed mushroom soup. The concoction bubbled.
"Yes, Constable Hansen seemed quite concerned for you." Fraser toyed with one of the buttons on his tunic.
"The biscuits are done, will you lift them out of the oven for me, please?" Meg scooted aside and handed Fraser a red oven mitt. Quickly, he lifted the heavy, cast aluminum bread pan out of the four hundred degree oven. Meg directed him to a plate in the cabinet beside the stove. He found a fork in the dish drainer and took up the biscuits. The cat's head biscuits were done to perfection and begging for either jelly or butter; both if you weren't on a diet.
"It's been ages since I've cooked for anyone. I don't remember the last time." Meg began dishing the chicken onto plates, snagging a biscuit for each plate.
"Ben would love to try this, you'll have to write the recipe out for me, if you wouldn't mind." Fraser smiled down at her. Meg's domestic side had surprised him. He hadn't thought her incapable, just uninterested.
The pair sat down at the table. Meg poured them each a glass of apple juice, the most interesting thing in her refrigerator besides old orange juice and a quart of milk. She had quickly brought out another place setting for her company. Neither of them spoke for a while, too busy eating.
"This is wonderful, Meg." Fraser sipped his apple juice, seeing her with new eyes. "I came up to check on you. I didn't expect this."
"After my assignment with the CSIS, I had a lot of time on my hands. I took a cooking class to pass the time." She shrugged. Growing up, she'd learned the basics but beyond fudge brownies, she hadn't been interested in cooking. Meg had never planned on marrying, why learn how to cook?
Fraser saw his opening but dreaded bringing up the past with Meg.
"That is another reason I came to see you this evening," He stopped himself from calling her 'Sir'. "From what Maggie, Ray and I can deduce, there's a considerably large gap in your service record between the time you transferred to the CSIS and when you took the Spencer Falls Post." The Mountie sat back, his appetite gone. He smoothed his brow with his thumb nail. Delving into Meg's past was as uncomfortable to him as it was to her. He wanted her to trust him, to confide in him about it. That's what friends did.
Meg swallowed her rice and washed it down with apple juice, trying not to choke. She was angry. How could he ask something like that? Those years had nothing to do with the case at hand. The part of her that knew he was asking to help her was silenced.
"It's none of your business, Fraser." Meg snapped. "Leave it alone." She stood up from the table and walked to the sink.
"You know I can't do that. When you heard the door of the tow truck slam this morning, you had a flashback. It had nothing to do with the ambush earlier. You were speaking in Arabic. Whatever the flashback was about, it stems from your time in Iraq." Fraser leaned against counter top, studying her. Meg's hands shook as she held her dinner plate. Her dark eyes flashed up at him.
"Did I ask you about what happened between you and Victoria Metcalf, how your son came to be?" Meg's voice rose with each word. Benton's expression changed to one she couldn't read. He looked out the window above the sink.
"No, I haven't." Meg threw the plate into the stainless steel sink, breaking it, her flat ware flying in opposite directions. She turned and walked away, not caring to see the result of her anger on him.
"Why can't my past be left in the past? Why do I have to relieve that hell?" She thought, sitting down on the couch, her face in her hands. Meg couldn't stand the thoughts of Fraser knowing anything about her time in the mental hospital. She didn't want him knowing the things she'd done to survive and escape the terrorists.
"He could never look at me again the way he did this afternoon." Meg thought to herself as she tried to control her breathing.
"Ben stole a hunter's wallet and his hunting knife. He was living in a children's home in Alaska, stealing from cars in a parking lot for the money to come to Chicago to find me. He had an old photograph of me and a letter from his mother, from prison. Victoria left Chicago carrying my child. I missed the first thirteen years of his life. Maggie caught him stealing. He showed her the photo Victoria had sent him. She brought Ben to meet me. Three days later Ben was kidnapped from the ice rink and held in exchange for the money a bank owner in Alaska thought Victoria had hidden when I first caught her in Fortitude Pass." Fraser's voice cracked slightly at the end. Fortitude Pass had changed his life in more ways than he could ever realize. He stared into the dim light of the living room. Meg could only imagine how he felt. She let the tears that had been welling up in her brown eyes fall freely.
"Fraser, I don't want to tell you about my time in Iraq. I can't bear the way you'll look at me if I do." Meg's breath shuddered as she stifled a sob. "You can't know what happened over there. I can't lose you. I can't have you feeling sorry for me." Meg stood up and walked into her bedroom, sobs tearing at her body.
"Meg, stop." Benton followed he down the hallway, past the bathroom, into her bedroom at the end of the hallway. She tried to close the door but he stuck his booted foot in before she could.
"You won't lose me, Meg, you know that. This won't go away. I won't go away." He pushed the door back.
"Do you want to hear every gory detail about how I was beaten to a pulp, my hands and feet tied while I was repeatedly violated? Do you want to hear how I strangled a man until I felt his windpipe crush under the pressure of my bare hands? Or would you rather hear about what they made me watch, how they forced me to watch, as they tortured a five year old girl, trying to extract information from me about who I was sending photographs of weapons depots, uranium processing plants, and military secrets to?" Meg pushed her index finger into Benton's chest. She was blind with rage, but not at him. Her fingers balled into fists and began pounding against his chest. Benton held her wrists, backing Meg back into her bedroom. That only served to strengthen her. She didn't recognize him anymore. He saw the light of familiarity leave.
"It's me, Meg, it's Fraser." He turned loose of her wrists and wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair. She sobbed against his chest when she finally quit fighting him.
"That's all over, you're safe, Meg. Nothing can hurt you now." He began rocking her as they stood at the foot of her bed.
"I didn't deserve it, Fraser, I didn't deserve for them to die. It should have been me." She choked out between sobs. The Mountie's tears mixed with hers as he held her. Benton had a new respect for Meg's inner strength.
"I screamed your name, but you weren't there, you couldn't help me, Fraser, no one could help me." Meg pulled away from him, her nails biting into her palms until she'd cut them bloody. When Meg wiped her face, Benton noticed the blood running down her arms.
"I'm here now, Meg, I'm not going anywhere." He sat her down on the foot of the bed and pried her fingers away from her palms.
"Why, Fraser, why?" Meg sobbed, still shaking. Benton pulled out his handkerchief and tore it down the middle. Carefully, he put one half against each palm until he could dress them properly.
"I don't know why, Meg." He knelt down in front of her. He hated to think she'd needed him and he couldn't be there to protect her. Benton's heart broke for her. He didn't understand how people could be so inhumane, so evil.
"Lay back while I find something to dress your hands." Benton stood up and went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He found the first aid kit and returned to the bedroom with it and a wet wash cloth.
"I don't know how you can even look at me after what I've done, Fraser." Fresh tears welled up in Meg's dark eyes as she lay at the foot of the bed, staring into space.
"You did what you had to in order to survive. You're a strong, caring person." He met her gaze steadily as he bandaged her hands.
"I lost pieces of myself while I was in Iraq, not that I was whole to begin with." Meg
sighed, remembering with shame how she'd let her pride and fear control her. "I lost an even bigger piece after I came back. Alice was born June 18, 1999. Sometimes I wonder what she would have looked like." Meg slipped her bandaged hand to her flat stomach. She looked out beyond him, toward the full length mirror near her closet in the corner.
"You were with child when you escaped?" Benton felt sick at his stomach, thinking of the things this beautiful woman had endured and witnessed. Meg nodded, meeting his gaze for a moment.
"I'm sorry, Meg, truly." Benton laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"She would be twelve by now." A small smile picked at the corners of her lips but tears streamed down her cheeks. "She was still born. I buried her next to my parents." Fraser sat down on the side of the bed behind her, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at his boots.
"You can't look at me, can you?" Meg studied his reflection in the mirror, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Benton whirled, meeting her gaze in the cool, still glass. With his characteristic silence, the Mountie rounded the end of the bed and knelt down in front of her. Gently, he wiped her tears away with his thumb. Meg closed her eyes, the worst of her emotions cried out. There was such kindness in his touch; such comfort. With a feather light touch, Benton leaned in and pressed a kiss against her cheek.
"You are too good to be true, Constable Benton Fraser." Meg let out a shuttering sigh. "How are you so understanding, so forgiving?" She raised herself on one elbow to look him in the eye. Benton shrugged and gave her one of his crooked smiles.
"I've been so afraid all this time that you would hate me when you found out. I never wanted you to see me like this." Meg indicated her red, puffy face and tear stained t-shirt.
"Loving someone means seeing them through good times and bad, Meg." Benton cupped her cheek in his hand, brushing away her never ending supply of tears.
"Love?" The one word surprised both of them. Meg shook her head, wondering if this had all been a dream. Maybe she was still lying on the couch and Fraser had never returned to check on her.
"After a fashion, yes." The Mountie admitted. He'd always imagined telling her this in such a different way, something with candle light and soft music.
"It's been fifteen years, Fraser, how can you be certain?" Meg pointed out. She didn't want to come this far only to lose him again, but she knew that this time she wouldn't let her pride or her career interfere. This time Benton meant more to her than the RCMP did, or herself for that matter.
"You still take my breath away when you walk into the room." He responded, his tongue toying with his eye tooth.
"Does he know how sexy that is?" Meg thought as she stared at him. The first time she'd seen him do that, she'd nearly come unglued. It added to his mysterious air, something sinful, seductive, sensual was lurking beneath that angelic facade.
"Have I got something on my face?" Benton began wiping his chin, turning to look in the mirror behind him.
"No, you're fine." Meg tugged at his hand, yawning. She felt sleepy again after her crying spell. Twice in one day she'd let her weakness get the best of her.
"I should leave, you need to rest." The Mountie began to rise to his feet. Meg sat up on the bed.
"Stay, Fraser. I want us to talk a while longer." She felt clingy suddenly, like her world would disappear if he left.
"Alright." He settled himself on the hardwood floor at the foot of Meg's bed. For the first time, Meg had Benton's undivided attention. She intended to use the time wisely, but saying all the things she'd kept to herself for so long.