Love is a conflict between reflexes and reflections. Magnus Hirschfield Sex in the Human Relationship
"Constable Fraser," Meg stood behind her desk, hands clasped in front of her. She looked from her desk calendar up to meet his eyes. He too stood firmly, hands clasped.
"Yes," he answered neutrally.
Inspector Thatcher had been quiet and pensive of late. She seemed to be at loose ends as to what to do with him, how whe wanted to proceed to treat him. Instead of her usual brisk manner of dealing with his unauthorized adventures she left him to his own devices; no reprimands, no extra sentry duty and no unreasonable errands.
"I can't do this any more." Inspector Thatcher's voice cracked on the last word. She took a deep, steadying breath, pressing her lips together after exhaling.
"Can't do what, sir?" Ben felt compelled to ask, as if anything else would be out-of-character.
"I can't be your inspector any more. I've gone as far at the consulate in Chicago as I can. It's time for me to move on."
Ben saw her jaw tighten as she ended her sentence. The fine lines around her eyes told of mental stress, though she tried to hide it. Ben looked away, silently cursing his keen observational skills. He didn't want to see the traces of inner turmoil written on her face and obvious in her posture.
Ben mulled over his response. The polite phrases most people used at such times lay at the tip of his tongue. With anyone else he would have said them easily; played his expected part. But this was Inspector Margaret Thatcher.
Inspector Thatcher. Meg Thatcher.
Meg.
"Don't just stand there, son. Either tell her good-bye or give her a reason to stay." Robert Fraser stood behind Meg when Ben looked up again.
"A reason to stay?" Ben said aloud, startled.
"Is there a reason for me to stay?" Meg's brown eyes brightened with hope.
"Good lord, woman. Don't put him on the spot like that. It never ends well," Fraser Sr. nearly wailed before shaking his head in exasperation.
"Dad," Ben whispered.
"What about your dad?" Meg questioned, her old ire flaming to life. To her, Fraser was delaying - as usual. She fully expected Ray or the wolf to burst through her office door with an apocalypse-level emergency.
"My father, he often seems to appear. He, ah, his voice seems to come to me in the worst of times." Ben glared at the spectral sergeant standing at the Inspector's left.
From Fraser, that makes absolute sense, Meg thought as she waited for him to either finish speaking or for the ceiling to fall in.
"Is now one of those times?" Meg quizzed, one brow arched. Now was not the time for asides.
"Yes. Yes, his voice often comes to me with advice." Ben grappled with how to walk the line between what he wanted to say and professional propriety. The consequences and rewards on either side nearly overwhelmed the usually unflappable Mountie. It was a matter of "Maintain the Right" or lose the girl.
"Have you considered all the ramifications of leaving Chicago? There will be members of your staff who will miss you."
Meg saw the sincerity in Constable Fraser's manner. His cornflower blue eyes looked directly at her. He held his head high. His manner quelled her initial reaction of, Ha! No one is going to miss me.
"Anyone in particular?" she asked quietly, her heartbeat quickening. She held his gaze as she bit her bottom lip.
"Constable Turnbull," he answered.
"Oh yes. Of course Constable Turnbull." It was NOT the answer she'd hoped to hear.
"As well as myself."
That piqued Meg's ears.
"Me," Constable Fraser affirmed. He wasn't digging at his eyebrow, pulling at his collar or changing the subject; all positive signs. Meg couldn't help herself, she smiled broadly.
"That's nice. Thank you, Constable Fraser." The pair stood looking at each other, uncharacteristically at ease in one another's company.
"Is there any chance you would stay… if I… If I said I miss you though you haven't left yet?" He'd gone out on a limb and hadn't come crashing down so far.
"You want me to stay?" Meg stepped closer to the desk, as did Ben.
"Yes."
"Is there a reason for me to stay?" Meg bit her bottom lip. Everything rode on this answer. Would he let down his walls?
"My ardent admiration and respect, Meg." Ben used her diminutive name, hoping she would understand the depth of his emotions.
He called me 'Meg'! She mentally squealed.
"I feel the same for you, Ben." Meg rounded her desk to stand facing him. Ben extended his hand, palm up. Meg slipped her hand into his, relishing the warmth and texture. She stifled a dreamy sigh when he pulled it to his lips and bussed a chaste kiss to the back.
"Will you stay, Meg? Will you give this a chance?"
"Kiss her son. Quickly, before the sky falls," Bob Fraser urged.
Ben looked down, seeing his father's apparition in the periphery. For once, the old Mountie had good advice.
"Meg, may I kiss you?" Ben asked quietly, her hand still clasped in his.
"Yes," she answered as he slipped his free arm around her waist, his Stetson still in his grasp.
Meg closed her eyes as his lips met hers with purpose. She felt his tunic buttons against her stomach and chest. She grabbed onto his uniform, their kiss taking Meg back to the speeding train and their first kiss. Wind in her hair, swaying train cars and the scent of horses below came back.
When neither had any reserve of oxygen left, Meg continued to grasp Ben's uniform and he kept his arms around her.
"Now there's a reason to stay," Fraser Sr. commented. Ben saw a familiar devilish twinkle in the old ghost's eyes.
The End