First Thing the Next Morning ….
Fraser sipped his breakfast tea slowly, surveying a list of guests for the annual Canada Day celebration Inspector Thatcher had been planning for the last two weeks. He stood leaned over the work table in the kitchen. Thatcher had her bottom of the ladder subordinate, Constable Turnbull, polishing everything in the consulate. Her next subordinate, Fraser, was relegated to dealing with the catering and serving staff. One of the catering companies had refused to return to the consulate as long as Turnbull was there. It seems he and the chef had had a disagreement about how best to serve soufflé. Fraser was deemed more tactful.
"Constable Fraser?" Inspector Thatcher's voice rang out through the first floor of the consulate.
"Yes, Inspector?" Fraser stepped out into the hallway from the kitchen.
"How is the guest list coming?" She walked confidently toward him, a navy suit on with a deep orange blouse beneath it, her pearls lying against her collar bones.
"Quite well, Sir, I've almost finished addressing the entire list." He answered, standing at parade rest.
"While Turnbull is on sentry duty, I had hoped to speak to you, privately." She peered up at him, a meaningful expression in her eyes.
"Certainly, Sir, lead the way." Fraser gestured graciously for her to go into his office only steps away. Meg turned on her heel and quickly walked toward her junior officer's home/office.
Once inside, she closed the door behind them, taking a calming breath before speaking. Fraser stood waiting, curious as to all the secrecy.
"Fraser, I know we spoke last night but I neglected to tell you that I'll be on call again after my next appointment. Hopefully this time the procedure is successful." Meg stood absolutely still as she spoke. There wasn't enough room to pace like she'd prefer.
"Are there any special instructions, Sir?" The Mountie asked passively.
"No, I just thought it prudent to inform you as it will affect your duties when the occasion arises." Meg spoke crisply, as if she hadn't been thinking of the way Fraser massaged her foot the night before as she went about her morning routine. She wished he'd do that on a full-body scale someday.
"Understood, Sir, if I may, best of luck."
Meg noticed the way his light eyes went a bit colder as he wished her good luck. Perhaps it was her imagination?
"Be a friend to her, Ben, show her you can be supportive." Fraser thought to himself as he met Meg's gaze for a long moment. Part of him still hoped it would be unsuccessful. Another part of him knew how much pain that would cause her.
"Have you given any consideration to the name of your child yet, Sir?" He asked, rushing to fill the silence stretching between them.
"Of course, Fraser, I'm not going to call it 'Baby Thatcher' forever." Meg said before she thought how it sounded. Ben ducked his head.
"I've put together a list of thoroughly considered names. I wouldn't want to give my child a name that others could use to make fun." She said ruefully, remembering the teasing she took as a teen.
"Yes, some names can be quite unfortunate." His expression was neutral but his eyes were cloudy.
"I have work to finish." Meg turned and left the small office.
"Hello?" A man's voice carried through the consulate from the front door. Meg walked briskly out of the kitchen to meet the visitor.
"I have a package for Inspector Margaret Thatcher." The UPS delivery man's smile made Meg's expression go sour.
"Inspector Thatcher here." She walked up to him and took the clipboard he held out for her. The delivery man held a large box. Maternity Chic, in regal letters covered the box's sides.
"Set it in the office there." Meg pointed to her office door as she quickly signed the clipboard. Usually women were happy when they received packages. The delivery guy had never met Inspector Thatcher.
"Thank you." She said, handing him back the signature sheet.
"Have a good day." The delivery guy walked back out the front door and into his waiting truck. Meg went into her office and closed the door. She'd forgotten she'd ordered maternity clothes after finding out she was expecting the first time. There were other things in the box as well, baby clothes, toys and a memory book. Part of the Inspector wanted to take the box, unopened, and toss it into the dumpster down the street. The other part of her knew that it wouldn't solve her problems, or take away the guilt she felt for losing the child in the first place.
"I don't have time for this." Meg sighed heavily before turning around and marching out of her office.
After Work ….
Turnbull settled his Stetson on his sandy head as he prepared to walk home from the consulate. It had been a full day of sentry duty and doing errands in preparation for the Canada Day celebration.
"I expect you to be at the consulate an hour early tomorrow morning, Constable Turnbull, do you understand?" Meg called from her office door as the junior Mountie.
"Yes, Sir." Turnbull stopped and answered.
"Have a good evening, Constable." Meg greeted him, her tone still bossy.
"You as well, Sir." The younger Mountie nodded before turning to leave the consulate. Meg stepped back into her office when she heard the sound of familiar boot steps on the hardwood floor.
"Good evening, Inspector, you're here late." Fraser stepped gingerly down the hall from his home/office to her door way.
"Just finishing up a few last minute details before the celebration." Meg answered neutrally. She'd kept her tone and behavior strictly professional since asking Fraser to stop massaging her foot. Fraser understood her reaction, his had been the same; don't cross the line again, you'll get hurt if you do.
"Can I be of assistance, Inspector?" Fraser asked, studying her tired eyes and slight frown.
"No, no thank you, it's nothing really, I'll be ready to leave in a few minutes." Meg declined quickly.
"Dief and I were just about to take an evening walk, perhaps I could walk you to your car when you're ready." Fraser didn't like the idea of Meg walking to her car alone in the evening. The neighborhood around the consulate wasn't particularly dangerous, but one could never be too careful.
"Maybe," Meg shrugged. She tried hard to make herself do the exact opposite of what she actually wanted to do, of what her heart begged her to do. Sometimes she slipped, sometimes she was on top of the train again; a runaway.
Fifteen minutes later Meg had finished her preparations and secured her office. She carried her box of clothing in both hands as she tried to maneuver down the consulate's front steps.
"Allow me, Inspector." Fraser took the box from her, carrying it much easier than she had. Dief didn't move from his spot on the sidewalk, staying off Thatcher's radar.
"Thank you, Fraser." Meg pulled her briefcase shoulder strap into place and followed the Mountie, now dressed in civilian clothes down the street to her waiting, maroon Camry. Dressed in jeans and a light weight button down shirt, he was a heavenly vision of maleness. Meg didn't mind the rear view at all. She'd heard someone once say, "Wrangler butts drive me nuts." Seeing Fraser in a pair drove the lady Mountie almost squirrely.
"Would you like this in the backseat or the trunk?" Fraser stood at the back door of the reliable import.
"The backseat, just give me a moment to unlock the doors." Meg pulled her remote fob out of her purse and hit the unlock button. Fraser easily set the box in the back seat and closed the door. Dief took an inconspicuous spot on the sidewalk near the car.
"We should be finished with the Canada Day preparations tomorrow, thankfully." Meg found herself saying just to fill the silence. The sun wasn't set yet and there was a breeze off the lake carried by the city's traffic.
"Yes, I believe it will be an enjoyable celebration." Fraser agreed, standing at parade rest out of habit.
"Have a good evening, Fraser, I'll see you tomorrow." Meg's fingers toyed with her keys as she tried to maintain her professionalism.
"How is your mother, Margaret?" Fraser said suddenly, moving closer.
"She's fine, I spoke with her the other day." Meg blinked a few times, wondering at his sudden curiosity.
"That's good, I'm glad you can still talk to her." Fraser put his hand up to steady his Stetson as the breeze kicked up for a moment. He chided himself for asking something so obviously none of his business. "I didn't want her to leave just yet." Being a friend was a work in progress for him. Admiring her from afar was much more comfortable. He ducked his head as his mind skipped around.
"I am lucky, Mom is in excellent health and we have a good relationship, flawed but good." Meg shrugged, feeling guilty. Fraser's father was dead, that much she knew for certain. She thought his mother had passed on as well but no one had ever said for sure.
"I'm glad." Fraser met her gaze, his tongue toying with his slightly imperfect eyetooth.
Meg raised a curious brow without meaning to.
"I'm glad you and your mother are on good terms. My father and I, before he died, we were," He paused, looking at his boots. "My father and I didn't speak to each other that often before his death." He was being stoic, Meg could tell. A wave of pain crossed his light eyes. Benton couldn't keep his emotions out of his eyes completely.
"That is his great loss." Meg laid her free hand on his bicep, her dark eyes kinder than Ben had seen them before. He couldn't say anything, couldn't respond. Timidly, he laid his hand over hers and nodded.
After a moment, the lady Mountie reluctantly pulled her hand away and found her car key. Fraser walked around the back of the car, onto the sidewalk beside Dief.
"Good night, Margaret." Benton waved stiffly, unsure of how to act after she'd been so soft and kind.
"Good night, Fra," She paused, turning her head to the side for a moment. "Good night, Benton." Meg said his name deliberately, enunciating each letter for the first time. Fraser's lips quirked at the corners. He simply nodded.
Meg drove home happier than she'd been all day. The box in the back no longer seemed like a delayed reaction guilt trip.
Meg's Apartment ….
Getting the box of maternity wear up to Meg's apartment hadn't been as easy for her as it had been for Fraser to carry it to her car. At least there was the elevator. When Meg finally made it through the door the phone started ringing. She set the box in the floor and picked up the cordless handset.
"Hello, Canadian Consulate, Inspector Thatcher speaking." She rattled off out of habit.
"Well, hello, Meg." Patricia's chuckle greeted her.
"I'm sorry, I just got home from the consulate. How are you?" Meg hung her purse on the back of a kitchen chair and laid her briefcase on the table. Next she slipped out of her dress shoes. Where was Fraser with a foot massage when she needed him.
"Oh, I'm fine, Denver and Mattie are at his parents for the weekend so I thought I'd catch up on about a million things I've been meaning to do for months. You're at the top of the list." She may have technically been complaining but Meg heard the bragging in her friend's voice instead.
"Yes, well, you had to start somewhere." It was difficult not to sound snippy.
"What's going on in your small piece of Canada these days?" Meg slid out of her dark jacket and sat down on her sofa.
"I'm in the process of planning a Canada Day celebration. The guest list is massive, half of them don't like the other half so seating is a nightmare." Diplomacy is a tedious thing sometimes, even to Meg, who was a master at it.
"I can imagine, I helped Audrey plan her daughter's birthday party last week and it was awful. Caitlin has peanut allergies, Daniel is allergic to red food coloring and Marcus' parents can't make him quit saying curse words in front of the other children in Mattie's play group." Meg rolled her eyes at her friend's complaint. Squabbling children were a lot different than unhappy diplomats. If one ambassador got pissed then a dozen treaties and agreements that had taken thousands of man hours to negotiate flew right out the window. Money was lost and people's lives were impacted in negative ways.
"Sounds interesting." Meg turned on the television, muting the volume as a news channel reporter gave details on a peace talk in the Middle East.
"I ran into Dana McBride the other day, she said she saw you downtown walking into a fertility clinic, well, I told her that she was mistaken. Why would Meg Thatcher need to go somewhere like that. I mean, you've always been able to snag any man you set your eye on." Patricia was fishing and Meg knew it, her temper didn't.
"There are a myriad of reasons for a woman to see a fertility specialist, Patricia." Meg spat out before her brain could stop her.
"Well, I didn't mean to upset you, Meg, I was just trying to make conversation. Dana must have seen someone who looked like you." She tried to smooth things over.
"No, she didn't, Patricia, I've been a patient of the Windy City Women's Clinic for the last three months or so. I'm planning on starting a family as soon as possible." Meg said crisply, trying to remember this was her only friend in Chicago.
"Who is the lucky guy, I hadn't heard you were dating anyone in particular." Patricia dug for info.
"There is no 'lucky guy', I'm having in vitro fertilization with donor sperm. Not all of us are fortunate enough to have the perfect husband, the perfect child, the perfect life where our biggest worries are peanut allergies and kids saying dirty words. Some of us try to make the world a better place by finding common ground for representatives from different countries to come together, to remind them that their country isn't the center of the universe." The lady Mountie was on a roll and too mad to stop herself.
"Well, if your life is so perfect, Margaret Thatcher, then why are you spending it all alone. You'll end up a dried up old shrew yet, especially with that attitude. I'm sorry if my child and my husband aren't as important as your diplomatic soiree." Meg heard the dial tone after Patricia hung up on her. The lady Mountie threw the cordless phone to the other end of the sofa. She wanted to kick something, to feel it break in her hands as she crushed it. Tears welled in her dark eyes. She knew she shouldn't have said what she had to Patricia but she'd felt that way for so long her petty gossip and sneering tone had been the last straw.
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