Just Thinking   This is the result of an attempt to write from Ben's
POV, and just demonstrates that, for me, writing is like playing Dungeons
and Dragons - nothing works out the way I've planned, and the Dungeon
Master is certifiable. Or maybe I'm just really bad at Dungeons and
Dragons :^) 

 Nik 

 ----------------------- 

 Just Thinking 

 by Nicola Heiser 

 On this day, like so many others, you go home. It's late, like it is so
many nights, but today it's summer and the sun hasn't set yet. The
inspector is still at the consulate; you wonder, as you have many times
before, if you should ask her if she needs your help with anything. But
you know from experience that once she tells you to go home, it's better
if you obey. 

 And anyway, Ray is waiting impatiently to give you a lift home in the
Riv, in that car he values so much. He is talking to you, telling you
about a case he's working on, telling you about a run-in with Lieutenant
Welsh, perhaps, or Elaine. He's gesturing wildly as he speaks, and you
worry when he takes his hands off the wheel to do it, but you know better
than to say anything. 

 Ray is in full flight now, relating anecdotes, perceived slights,
grievances, but through it all, he's watching you. With the abrupt change
in tack that surprises people, he asks you if you're all right. 

 "Yes," you tell him, and "fine", and "thank you for asking". And you
smile at him, a little distracted, and turn back to the window. 

 He asks you again, because he doesn't believe you, but what are you going
to tell him? So you assure him, "I'm fine, Ray," and ask him about a
particular of the case he mentioned, to demonstrate just how fine you are.


 He doesn't believe you yet, but he's willing to let it go for now,
because he knows it's not important yet. But as he turns his head to
change lanes, you hear him mutter something, low-voiced, about the "damn
Dragon Lady". You don't comment; you pretend you didn't hear. 

 He's a good friend, one of your few friends, and over time, he's come to
accept your need to keep some things inside, the way you've learned that
he lives so much of his life on the outside. So when he drops you off at
your building, he gives one of his exasperated, resigned laughs with his
farewell, and tells you to say hi to Dief for him. 

 The wolf is waiting for you; it's been a few hours since Willie last
walked him, and he's restless, a little bored. You apologise to him, but
remind him that it was his choice not to come to the consulate today. He
gives you that look, so you shrug and give him his food, fixing something
for yourself. 

 But Diefenbaker is restless, and you identify the same symptoms in
yourself, so the two of you set out for a walk. You observe, as you start
down the street, the differences between a sunset in Chicago and one in
the north of Canada. It's an observation you've made many times, and the
observation has long since lost the faint tone of complaint that you won't
reveal to anyone but yourself, deep down. 

 And you wonder if a sunset in Ottawa looks anything like this, if there's
anything in the sunset here that is lacking, for her to miss. 

 The people in the street smile at you. Some of them say hello and some of
them stop to pat Dief. You smile back; you've long since come to like
these people and it's a smile of liking rather than good manners. But even
so, you're feeling restless and you're glad when Dief moves on, when you
move out of the mess of buildings and into the expanse of the park, where
you both can run. 

 Here, at last, you can breathe. Not as deeply as you can amidst the snow
and solitude of the north, but deeply enough, for now. It's enough to let
the events of the day slowly settle into place in your mind, where you can
try to make sense of them. 

 Rising up through all of them, as it is wont to do these days, is the
image of the inspector, of her pale skin against dark hair, the curve of
her silhouetted for a moment against the late afternoon sun. You stop
beside a tree for a moment as you see her in your mind's eye, and remember
the touch of her, the feel of her in your arms. 

 Diefenbaker opens his jaws, in that expression you're sure is meant to
indicate laughter, amusement. You shake your head at him; "it's not what
you're thinking," you tell him. "It's not." But he just shakes his head
once and darts off into the darkness between the trees, a faint blur of
white in the blackness, an even fainter howl. 

 Once again, though you won't admit it, he has hit on the truth. You want
her, as much as you've wanted anyone. But you know there's more to this
than pure desire; you've met many women, particularly since your arrival
here in Chicago, and they haven't affected you like this. 

 And though you don't want to compare her with Victoria, you find that
you're doing it anyway, and you're surprised to find that she's as
different from Victoria as Ray is. Your need to help people sometimes
annoys her, as it does Ray, but though they asked you to stop and told you
to stop, they never forced you to, and you doubt that they expected you
to, anyway. They stand by you, and when you think you've lost yourself in
the millions of people who need your help, they reach out a hand to pull
you out, or they close the door between you and the rest of the world for
a moment. A decision you can never make. 

 And no matter how irritated she got with the detective, she never framed
him for fraud, never framed you for first degree murder, never shot your
wolf. A silent voice deep within you, heavily ironic, points out that this
is significant, a big thing. Equally silently, and maybe a little sadly,
you laugh, but you don't want to think about that any more. Victoria is
gone, and today you're wondering about a woman with the courage and drive
and ability to rise up through the still male-dominated RCMP ranks to
become chief liaison of the Chicago consulate. 

 ...thinking about the way she clears her throat and tosses back her head
to focus on the task at hand, no matter how
annoyed/hurt/worried/uncomfortable she is. 

 ...about the way she frowns to hide a non-regulation smile at something
you've said or done. 

 ...about the way she surprised you, when you were struggling to explain
why you didn't want to transfer out of Chicago, by saying it for you. 

 ...about the fact that she is one of the few commanding officers you've
had, and you've had many, who will ask you why you will or won't do
something, and actually listen for your answer. 

 And you wonder why she is so defensive and so determined to pretend she
doesn't have feelings when she has shown that the pretence hurts her. You
know that part of it is Clouthier and his like, but there's more to it
than that, and you wonder if you'll ever know what it is. You want to help
her, but, as with Ray, as with your father, you find that it is the people
you care for the most who are hardest to help. It bothers you that it
should be that way, but it is. 

 But now Diefenbaker is in front of you, looking up at you. His wolfish
nature is calling; he wants you to run with him. You smile back at him and
follow as he sets off, and you are tearing through the night. The
exhilaration of the wind whipping at your face fills you, the chill of the
night, the working of your muscles as your stride lengthens, and your only
thought is of what a great relief it sometimes is, to feel instead of
think. 

 Nicola Heiser died on 24th October 1997, and is greatly missed by her
friends and fans of her writing.