Day Five After Surgery ….

Meg woke up feeling wonderful, ready to meet the Larsens. The previous day she and Ben taken a trip to her apartment to get a few things. She hadn't packed a suit. The lady Mountie had found the one she wanted by feel. While she was there they cleaned out her refrigerator and took out the trash.

"Good morning, Meg." Fraser called through the door at a quarter til six.

"It's unlocked, Ben." Meg called back, feeling her way through the room to open the door. When she did, Ben breezed through the door with a tray of breakfast-pancakes. He set the tray on the folding tray at the foot of the bed. Meg sat down, enjoying the warm, buttery smell of still warm pancakes.

"I really am going to weigh a ton before I'm well." Meg sighed and began feeling her way toward breakfast.

"May I eat with you this morning?" Ben asked, pulling up the desk chair.

"Yes, certainly, I'd love some company. I've been feeling like a leper eating all alone up here." Meg found her fork and cut into the maple syrup drenched pancake goodness. She heard Ben doing the same across the folding table from her.

"I wasn't certain if you'd like coffee or milk, so I brought both." Ben had pondered which to bring until he realized that pondering was keeping him away from Meg.

"These are delicious, Ben, I haven't had pancakes since I've been in Chicago." Meg ate slowly, savoring the fattening awesomeness of maple syrup and bacon.

"I'm glad you like them." The Mountie watched her eat, glad to see her happy.

"Have you finalized the plans for brunch?" Meg got back to business.

"Yes, the caterers are arriving at eight and the florists at nine." Ben slipped into Mountie mode.

"Good, what are the travel arrangements?" Meg paused between bites.

"Turnbull is picking the Larsens at their hotel." The Mountie answered.

"I should enjoy this while I can, I probably won't be eating lunch." Meg took another bite of her second pancake. They talked a bit more about the brunch as they ate. When they were finished, Meg leaned against the post, happily full. Ben gathered the dishes and stacked them on the tray.

"You have something on your chin." Ben said, wondering how to get the maple syrup off her chin.

"This is why I dread this brunch." Meg wiped her face with a napkin, but the syrup stayed put.

"Here, let me." Ben took the napkin and dipped it in milk to dislodge the sticky, sugary syrup.

"Please tell me you didn't lick the napkin, Ben." Meg said mildly disgusted.

"No, it was milk." Ben answered, laying the napkin back on the tray.

"Oh, good." Although Meg didn't see what difference it would be after she'd kissed him. She guessed it was the thoughts of it more than the reality.

"I guess I should start getting ready, it'll take a while." Meg stretched her arms above her head, her pajama sleeve balled into her fist. Ben nearly dropped the tray of dishes when he saw that sliver of skin near her navel and the dark birthmark to the left. He swallowed hard and gripped the wooden tray tightly.

"Let me know if you need anything." Ben turned and left the bedroom, his mind hazy. Ben took his sweet time walking down the back steps into the kitchen. When he arrived he met Constable Turnbull pouring himself a cup of coffee before clocking in for the day.

"Good morning, Constable Fraser, how is Inspector Thatcher this morning?" The junior Mountie asked with a bright smile.

"Doing well, good morning." Fraser set the tray on the counter top and set them into the stainless steel sink. He watched an early breeze rifle through the trees out the kitchen sink.

"I see you and the Inspector are taking meals together during her recovery." Turnbull ventured. Ben paused, his mind blank as to how to respond. He couldn't very well deny it, what with two sets of breakfast dishes in hand.

"Yes, to strategize about brunch later this morning." Fraser answered, drying his hands extra thoroughly on a dish towel. Had he been looking at Turnbull he would have seen a mischievous twinkle in his laughing blue eyes.

"Have you spread the table cloth in the dining room, Constable?" Ben tried to remember his to-do list.

"I'll have to iron it first, Sir, then I'll polish the silver." Turnbull took a sip of his coffee. He silently chided himself for saying anything.

"Good, Constable Turnbull." Fraser dismissed him, his mind preoccupied with the coming days' chores.

The Larsens Arrive ….

Viviana Larsen was a lovely young woman who could have graced any magazine cover. There in laid her problem, she knew it. Her long, naturally blonde hair and size two figure garnered her attention, both good and bad, good she thought, bad her father insisted. He wanted his daughter to do more with her life than bouncing from man to man, depending on them for her self esteem and income. He wanted Viviana to be more like Inspector Margaret Thatcher, confident, self possessed, graceful, smart and independent. That's why Gunnar Larsen had arranged for the brunch.

"Welcome to the Canadian Consulate, Mr. Larsen, Miss Larsen." Fraser greeted them at the front door.

"Constable Fraser, this is my daughter, Viviana." Mr. Larsen introduced them with a big smile.

"Hello, Constable Fraser." Viviana politely shook hands with Ben. The Mountie wondered how she managed to stay warm in her leather mini skirt and sleeveless blouse. Her waist length hair floated around her in a mass of luxurious curls.

"Inspector Thatcher is waiting for us in the dining room, right this way." Fraser ushered them toward the dining room near the back of the consulate. He could tell that Viviana wasn't happy to be there but she wasn't being a brat about it. The Mountie had seen the way the young woman had cast furtive glances toward Turnbull, inspecting him from every angle. Ben was glad that he wasn't the object of adoration for a change.

Meg sat waiting in the dining room for the Larsens to arrive. She'd asked Fraser twice if she looked alright in her navy pants suit and maroon blouse. She'd went so far as to ask him if her trouser socks matched each other. Ben had gently squeezed her shoulder and told her she looked lovely. Meg knew he wouldn't have told her that if it weren't true. With that, she'd let him lead her to the dining room. Now she sat patiently at the table, her chin plastered to her chest.

"Inspector Thatcher, I'm happy to see you're recovering so quickly." Mr. Larsen came through the sliding doors first.

"Mr. Larsen, hello. I'm sorry that I couldn't finish our discussion from lunch last week." Meg raised her head slowly, putting her hand out for him to shake.

"I completely understand. I'm given to understand that you were instrumental in apprehending the thief that held up the restaurant where we had just eaten." Larsen said for his daughter's benefit.

"Yes, but I simply assisted Constable Fraser, he's the one who captured the thief." Meg's face warmed. She turned to her left, where she knew he'd planed to sit beside her.

"Inspector, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter, Viviana, I thought she might learn something from meeting you and Constable Fraser." Larsen nudged his daughter toward Meg's outstretched hand.

"Hello, Inspector Thatcher." Meg nodded as she shook the long, tapered hand momentarily. "My father has told me of the work you do here in Chicago." Viviana's voice was soft and accented.

"Here, allow me." Ben spoke, pulling out a chair for Viviana. Gunnar Larsen had already taken a seat across from Meg at the dining room table set for four. Fraser sat down beside his superior officer, ready to help should she need anything.

"Were you injured when you were chasing the thief, Inspector?" Viviana sounded sincerely concerned.

"Yes, I was, my first injury in the line of duty." Meg's fingers touched the strap of her eye patches. "Unless paper cuts count." She amended to herself. A waiter in black slacks and a starched, white shirt beneath a Canadian red vest served the four guests miniature cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, with crisp bacon and fresh fruit salad. Another waiter served coffee. Viviana served herself from the orange juice pitcher sitting on the table.

"Chicago is your first international posting isn't it, Inspector?" Mr. Larsen asked, trying to guide the conversation.

"Yes, so far. The RCMP has given me some wonderful opportunities to meet people from all over the world, to experience different cultures and assist my fellow country men during my career so far." Meg's voice was full of pride. Ben sat still, listening intently. She took on a glow as she talked about some of the people she'd met during her career. Ben noticed that Viviana was listening intently as well.

"What about your family, Inspector Thatcher?" Viviana pushed her eggs around and took a bite of a mini cinnamon roll. Ben waited to hear her answer to this question. He didn't know much about Thatcher's family and suspected her parents were both passed away.

"My family is in Ottawa, I don't get to see them as often as I'd wish to." Meg said simply, holding her professional mask firmly in place. Ben watched Viviana for a moment, seeing her hesitation. Had the Mountie been a betting man, he would have won the bet that see was going to ask Meg if she were married or hoped to be soon.

"Are you in Chicago alone or do you have a boyfriend?" Bingo, bet won. Viviana toyed with her orange juice, watching Meg expectantly. The Inspector took a sip of coffee, hiding behind her cup.

"I'm currently devoted to my work, but I have other interests to keep me busy." Meg gave a Mona Lisa smile. Underneath the table she found Ben's knee and tapped her fist against it lightly. Gunnar Larsen saw the way Ben's eyes widened and the faint tinge of pink rising up his neck.

The conversation progressed to other things; politics, Chicago's sights and attractions, before finally turning to school. Meg was in the process of telling them about her college literature professor and his unorthodox style of reading to his students in one of the five languages he spoke fluently. She gestured expansively with her hands, sending her orange juice flooding across Ben's plate. It shattered on impact with the gold rimmed china.

"Oh dear." Ben pushed back his chair, laying his linen napkin on the table.

"How clumsy of me." Meg pushed her chair back as well, right into a waiter, sending him and the coffee he carried sprawling. Ben and Mr. Larsen rushed to help the poor waiter back on his feet. Meg pulled her chair back up to the table and put her hands in her lap, out of the way. She sat perfectly still as another waiter and Ben cleaned up the mess.

"Is that blood?" Viviana asked, pointing to the shattered glass.

"Inspector, did you cut yourself when you hit the glass?" Ben asked, trying to see her hands in her lap.

"I thought it was orange juice." Meg raised her hands to show a small cut on the outer edge of her knuckle.

"Let me take care of that, Inspector." Fraser pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and hastily wrapped her hand.

"Excuse us, Mr. Larsen, Miss Larsen." The Mountie guided Meg into the kitchen. Carefully, he situated her on a stool and retrieved the first aid kit from the cabinet over the refrigerator.

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Viviana watched through the swinging door as the Mountie slipped Thatcher up on a bar stool, his brows knit in concern. Their head were barely inches apart as he examined her hand. She wondered if they were going to kiss, they made such a cute couple. Viviana had seen the way Fraser watched Meg's every move while they ate. He seemed proud of her when she'd asked about Meg's eyes. Viviana saw that he was obviously sweet on the Inspector. It made her smile.

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"Well, I've made a wonderful impression for Mr. Larsen's daughter, how to be a blind klutz." Meg grumbled as Ben used a wet dishtowel to staunch the bleeding. He told her to hold it while he found the antibiotic ointment and band-aids.

"Nonsense, it was an accident, it could have happened to anyone of us at the table." Ben dabbed on the ointment before gently smoothing a band-aid over the small cut.

"I should never have agreed to have brunch this morning, it's too soon." Meg tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand. "That poor waiter will have bruises." She put her hand to her thundering head. "Ben will you make my excuses to Mr. Larsen, tell him I've got a headache?"

"I will, I'm certain he understands it was an accident." Ben wanted to make her feel better but didn't know how.

"It doesn't feel like an accident, it feels like a failure." Meg's voice cracked before she could hide it. "Take me to the stairs and I'll go on up alone." Ben guided her to the back stair case and watched as she began walking slowly. After a deep breath, he returned to the dining room.

"Is Inspector Thatcher alright?" Viviana asked, her blue eyes wide.

"Yes, she's fine. She asked me to give you her regards, she has a headache." Fraser saw the Larsens exchange a knowing glance.

"We must be on our way anyway, our flight leaves this evening and there are things to be done before we travel. Tell Inspector Thatcher that we wish her the best and a quick recovery." Mr. Larsen stood up to leave, a broad smile on his face. Fraser followed them toward the front door. Viviana hung back, chewing on her bottom lip, her pale blue eyes cloudy.

"Constable Fraser, you seem like the kind of man who cares for everyone, but you especially care for Inspector Thatcher, don't you." The young woman hung back as her father walked out on the front stoop.

"Inspector Thatcher and myself have a solid, working relationship." Ben began.

"Constable, I saw your face when she knocked over the orange juice glass. I just wanted to say that I hope to find someone to care about as much as you seem to care for each other. I like the Inspector, she gave me a lot to think about." Viviana gave him a megawatt smile.

"Inspector Thatcher will be happy to hear that, thank you kindly, Miss Larsen." Ben held the door open for her. Mr. Larsen and Constable Turnbull waited for her at the foot of the stoop.

"One last question, Constable Fraser," Viviana turned her back to her father who rolled his eyes and sighed, tired of his daughter's antics.

"Yes?" Fraser held his hands behind his back.

"Is Constable Turnbull dating anyone?" She giggled and Turnbull's face went up in a blushing flame. Ben looked down at his boots for a moment.

"No, not that I'm aware of, Miss Larsen." He answered honestly. Women just weren't something that he and the junior Mountie discussed. Regulations, leather polish, moose recipes, hockey and curling, yes, but they'd never talked about the women in their lives.

"Thank you, Constable, please tell Inspector Thatcher good-bye for me." Viviana waved as she walked down the handful of steps toward the waiting Lincoln.

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Meg pulled off her suit jacket, kicked off her block heeled loafers and laid down on the bed. She felt like a bull in a china shop. To her way of thinking the brunch had been a disaster. Not only had she drowned Ben's lap but she'd embarrassed herself in front of the Larsens and knocked over an innocent waiter. Meg felt like resigning from the Force, she was so frustrated feeling. She just wanted to scream.

Lying on her stomach, the lady Mountie fell asleep after a while. She didn't hear Ben's tap on the door or him peeking in to see if she was alright. He stepped in and gently laid a fleece throw over her and turned off the overhead light.

Supper ….

"Meg, I've prepared a plate for you." Ben knocked on the bedroom door later. He'd given her a wide berth since brunch, hoping some time alone would help.

"I'm not hungry, thank you." She called from inside. Meg knew that Fraser had checked on her at least twice during the afternoon. His footsteps were different from Turnbull's.

"You have to keep your strength up." Ben stood outside, his hand on the door.

"I'm not hungry, Ben, please go." Meg said with as much restraint as she could muster. She felt grumpy and sullen.

"May I come in?" He persisted in his best persuasive tone.

"No, I just want to be alone." Meg growled. She was shocked to hear the door open anyway.

"Viviana Larsen said you'd given her a lot to think about this morning, she seems to have taken a liking to you." Ben pulled up the desk chair opposite Meg. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him.

"He's taken leave of his sense." She thought, still feeling grouchy.

"Ben, what part of 'I want to be alone', was unclear?" Meg's husky voice demanded.

"Miss Larsen also said that she hoped to find someone to care about as much as we care for each other." Ben revealed, watching her reaction carefully. It was his left handed way of saying he cared about her too much to leave her alone. Meg's mouth dropped open in surprise. She thought back to brunch and couldn't think of anything that would have given her feelings away.

"She's, I, we, you," Meg strung together a line of pronouns as her mind spun.

"Miss Larsen was completely correct, we do care for each other." Ben stated firmly.

"I know we do." She finally came up with a coherent sentence.

"Then let me be here for you now, Meg." Ben took her both hands in his and pressed a kiss to her palm. His touch sent sparks flying through her blood and melted her resolve. Ben moved from the desk chair to sit beside her. Meg felt him put his arm around her, then he leaned her head to rest on his shoulder. He felt her relax against his side.

"What if this is permanent, Ben, what if I have to leave the RCMP? Are you going to take care of me then as well?" She released a shuddering breath.

"We'll meet the challenges that come together." He responded.

"I'm not holding my breath." She pressed her cheek into his collar bone.

"What are you wearing, this isn't your tunic is it." Meg pulled away and ran her hand up his arm, feeling the soft material of his t-shirt.

"No, I'm off duty." He answered, as Meg's fingers found his face. He closed his eyes as her fingertips tenderly explored his face. The next thing Ben knew, she was pulling him down into a kiss. His first instinct was to pull away, to put some distance between them. Where would they take this new found relationship after Meg was well? Would history repeat itself?

"I've made a mistake, haven't I?" Meg pulled back before their lips met. She felt his hesitation.

"No, I'm afraid I've made the mistake." Ben kicked himself as he pulled away.

"The train?" Meg said, knowing why he'd been so hesitant.

"Yes." He admitted.

"I wouldn't trust me either, if the shoe were on the other foot." Meg ran her fingers through her silky, shoulder length hair. She could have kicked herself for ever telling Ben to forget the best kiss of her life.

"What happened on the train wasn't a mistake, Meg. What happened afterward gives me reason to pause." Ben explained, still not certain that he understood his reasoning himself. Most men would have been happy to oblige Meg with a kiss, despite their past. To most men though, a kiss didn't mean what it meant to Benton Fraser.

"I understand, Ben, I do." Meg pulled away. She wasn't angry or upset, just sad.

"That makes one of us." The Mountie thought, tugging on his ear, annoyed at himself. "I do care for you." Ben said finally, taking Meg's hand between both of his. He ached to kiss her, but he knew the pain of separation would be worse if things didn't work out.

"I know you do, Ben, why else would you be here?" Meg said simply. He snaked his arm around her once again and leaned her head against his shoulder. Both of them were lost in their own thoughts for a while.

Ten bells chimed outside before either of them moved. Meg didn't rouse until the last chime had died. With a sigh, she pulled away. Ben still held her hand. When he let go she felt the cool air against her skin and the feeling that she was losing him. That made her heart skip a beat. He'd said he'd take care of her, trusting that was a leap of faith for the lady Mountie. Leaps of faith weren't her specialty.

"Lean back and look at the head board." Ben instructed as he retrieved the vile drops. Silently, Meg did as he said, sad to see him leave but knowing it was inevitable. Two drops hit almost simultaneously, one in each eye. Meg shuddered when they began to settle.

"I'll see you in the morning, Meg." Ben watched as she took a drink of the water she kept on the nightstand.

"I'll be here." She forced a smile. Meg didn't hear him cross the room and kneel down. She felt him press a kiss against her forehead.

"Pleasant dreams, Meg Thatcher." His voice was husky, just shy of cracking.

"You too, Benton Fraser." Meg hated hearing him sound so sad. She knew it was her fault. Quickly, Ben got up and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. It had been a long day for the both of them.

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