Title: Conscientia

Author: necessary angel

Pairing: BF/ RT

Rating: G Call this pre-slash.

Spoilers: Minor ones for Bird in the Hand

Disclaimer: Not mine, despite all the plotting, whining and begging.

Summary/Notes: A friendship begins. This is set some time after Bird in the Hand. Thanks to Kasha for beta reading, the cultural lesson, and general encouragement. Thanks also to Megan for her fine editing skills. And finally to Maxine for the read through.

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Conscientia

by necessary angel

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"Would you like to join me for dinner?" Constable Fraser's quietly spoken question stops me, as I am about to leave the Consulate.

"Sir?" I take my time about turning to face him.

"We are both off-duty now, Turnbull," he reminds me.

I watch him limp towards me. The leg wound, which he obtained in the encounter with Gerrard, is more or less healed. Constable Fraser is back on light duties, but the after effects of those events are still lingering.

"So, do you want to get something to eat?"

There is a slight note of impatience in Constable Fraser's usually smooth tones. That is familiar; he did little to disguise his impatience and contempt from the beginning. He does better with the speculation, which has crept in more often in the last few weeks, but it is still there if you know what to look for in his eyes.

"Turnbull! Are you...."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I was just... well, that doesn't matter. Yes, I would be delighted to join you for dinner."

I am babbling and he relaxes, his face losing the slight frown. I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Turnbull, we are on our own time now. Please, make it Fraser. Or Benton if you prefer."

There is an oddly challenging expression on his face and he is looking at me very carefully. The ground feels as if it is shifting beneath my feet. Carefully, I fix my gaze somewhere over his left shoulder, and that helps a little.

"Of course, Benton." A sharp catch in his breathing makes me do what I have been avoiding so assiduously, and I look at his face. A curious mixture of surprise and satisfaction flickers across his even features before he controls it. "And you must call me Renfield."

"As you wish. Shall we?"

I push open the door and he follows me into the cool evening air.

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We decide on a nearby Italian restaurant that we discover that we both like to frequent. It should be a pleasant and enjoyable evening. Except that I know there is a sword hovering over my head.

Constable Fraser waits until our desserts have been set down in front of us before making his move.

"You have an interesting service record, Renfield."

His tone is mild, and he might be commenting on the food or the weather. His eyes, on the other hand, are bright and curious, and I have the disturbing sensation that he has reduced me to my component parts with that one look.

I scrape at the chocolate sauce on my ice-cream sundae and lay my spoon down before replying. "I do?"

He frowns, one hand going to the collar of his sweater and then dropping again to the table.

Every hair on the back of my neck is standing on end, but the sword has whistled past my ear without inflicting any damage.

"Yes, you do. Surprisingly impressive." He has rallied but the polite tone has been dropped in favour of something closer to sarcasm.

"Thank you." I manage to maintain the cheerfully bland note of my normal tone. It is a struggle not to laugh at the frustration that flashes bright and clear across his face, but I've had plenty of practice.

Benton shakes his head. "You are very good at that."

The rueful chuckle with which he ends his statement is what finally knocks me off balance.

I stare at him, and for a few brief seconds everything is out in the open on my face. It is enough, though.

"And you know it don't you?"

Benton is leaning across the table now, every part of his attention fixed on me. I can't look away. I was wrong; now he is reducing me to my component parts.

I clear my throat and nod. "It has been necessary to develop certain skills during the course of my career."

"Why?"

I had expected that question. I had my answer ready. But the bluntness of his tone and the blatant curiosity vibrating off every part of him crumbles my intended obfuscation.

"So, you didn't get access to all my records, then?"

I smile at his puzzled start and begin eating my dessert. It is undoubtedly as excellent as usual, but the rich cream is as dry as dust in my mouth. It is foolish to offer such a man a challenge, but I can't resist it. The contempt he had barely bothered to disguise, from the first time we had met, had cut much deeper than I was used to, or prepared to deal with.

Benton is leaning back in his chair now, but he is still watching me with those laser sharp eyes. "I am beginning to realise that...." He is speaking slowly and thoughtfully.

I push away my plate. "There are reasons for that. Good reasons... very good reasons." Nothing can keep the bitterness out of my voice, and to be honest, I don't try very hard.

"Security reasons I presume." His eyes are unbearably gentle and I look away, out of the window at the dark street.

"Among others." The effort to keep my voice even is greater than it has been for a very long time, but somehow I manage.

"I see." The clink of metal against glass is unnaturally loud as he begins to eat his own neglected cheesecake.

I take a deep breath. I very much doubt that Benton does "see", but the acceptance in his voice is much more than I expected. The tight feeling in my throat and stomach grips, squeezing down harder. I concentrate on my breathing, tuning out the subdued noises of the restaurant.

I finally gather myself enough to risk looking across the table. Benton is focusing on his dessert but he looks over at me.

" I understand that you don't wish to talk about it." He stops speaking abruptly, a thumb rubbing over his eyebrow.

I find my voice. "Why did you check up on me? My previous service history can have very little bearing on our duties here in Chicago."

I suspect I know why he did it. Benton is far too good a policeman to take anything at face value for very long, least of all when he is given reason to suspect. I am curious, though, as to what reason he will give me.

His mouth twists. "I neglected a very important lesson my father once taught me."

I can't resist the bait. Robert Fraser is a legend still and his son is not far behind. "Which is?"

"Always know the mettle of the man you are working with."

"As wise as his reputation, then." I pull my dessert back to me and try again. This time, the ice cream is soothing against my dry throat and its taste even bears some resemblance to normal.

"Perhaps." There is an odd note of exasperation in Benton's quiet voice. It doesn't seem, however, to be directed towards me. "But that's not important. What is important is that now I know."

"What?" My tone is entirely too innocent. I can't help falling back onto practised responses, they are far too engrained now, but that is for the best.

Benton shakes his head and grins. "Enough."

I shrug and smile ruefully.

"Not just that." He nods in recognition of my unspoken apology. "I know enough."

I stare at him, ridiculously pleased. Benton's eyes are warmer than I have ever seen them. I clear my throat but nothing comes out. His mouth quirks and he turns his attention back to his cheesecake.

I wait for Benton to finish his meal; my own appetite has vanished. I don't take my gaze away from him for an instant, but he doesn't once look at me. I can only assume he is deliberately leaving me to my thoughts. I wish I could find some suitable topic with which to divert the course of the evening, but he beats me to that as well.

"It is still early. Do you have plans for the rest of the evening, Renfield?" He has reverted to his normal polite façade, but there is lingering warmth in his expression.

I accept his closing of the subject. I have no intention of making any further revelations and therefore there is nothing more to be said.

"I don't have many friends in Chicago yet. So my only plans are with my couch and VCR. Do you like Monty Python?"

Benton's face lights up with enthusiasm. It looks good on him. "Yes, I do very much. Which film do you have in mind?"

"The Holy Grail." I catch the waiter's eye and he mouths "The bill?" at me. I nod and turn my attention back to my companion.

"We are no longer the knights who..." Benton stops, a faint flush flaring over his cheeks.

He suddenly looks much younger than I know him to be and I can't help smiling at him properly. "The best line in the film. Do you wish to join me?"

I know what I expect his answer to be but my stomach still twists as I wait.

"Why not." Benton smiles across at me and picks up his Stetson to pay his share of the bill.

My fingers slip and slide on the worn leather of my wallet and I've never been more glad of my reputation. I take a deep breath and wait out the sweep of relief flowing through me. This conversation had been inevitable since the incident with Gerrard. If Benton Fraser were anyone else I would have been able to escape, but I hadn't wanted to, not once I'd met him. Our confrontation has gone better than I had any right to expect. What happens next is an entirely new game.

End

Additional note: Conscientia means knowledge shared with others, "being in the know"; it also means consciousness, esp. of right and wrong, a good or a bad conscience.