Rating: PG for m/m premise

Disclaimer: The Due South characters belong to Alliance. No copyright infringement is intended.

TYK to my beta readers, Renny Ramos and Marie-Andree. Their support was invaluable.

Through the Eyes of a Child

Cheryl Barnes
January 1999

Katrina promised me someone very handsome would be visiting the homeless shelter tonight. I hope so. This place is so drab and filled with despair. It could use a pretty face to liven it up.

Sometimes I wish I could be more like Katrina. She's a tall, pretty, and sassy fifteen-year-old and I'm just a mousy thirteen. Mama doesn't like her very much, but she doesn't say anything. Then again, she doesn't talk much anymore. She cries all the time.

I try to be brave for Mama and do whatever she or the shelter people want. I sweep, scrape plates, set up chairs -- anything. I don't want to do anything that will kick us out of here and onto the streets at night. I don't mention how much I miss my own bed or my books. Especially my pink journal with the white flowers. I'm too old to miss my stuffed cat. Besides, it's all raggedy and tattered. I wouldn't want anyone to see it anyway.

Mama works in the kitchen mostly. Different people come different days with food for all of us in the shelter. Katrina promised I would like the man coming today because he's got looks to knock your socks off. Her words. Not mine. He's a Mountie, she said. From Canada, with a real wolf-dog that follows him everywhere. I'd like to see that dog. I'd like to hug something furry.

When meal preparation time came, Mrs. Tate, the shelter director, told Katrina and me to clean the long tables. As we scrubbed them with our wash cloths, Bobby started bothering us. Well, mostly Katrina because I don't open my mouth when Bobby is around. He's 16 and mean. He's cute enough, but he's always saying cruel things to Katrina. I've tried to get her to ignore him so he'll go away. She's too mouthy to do that, and has to be as nasty as he is. He made really creepy comments about how tight her shirt was, and if she wanted to met him later behind the shelter's dumpster. She told him in no uncertain terms to go to -- well, I'd rather not say, but it is not a pleasant place. He looked like he came pretty close to hitting Katrina, but she stood there with a ferocious scowl all over her face. He backed off.

Several people came in, wheeling the dollies of food containers. There wasn't anything special about any of the men. Then a cry of joy came from one of the girls who had been standing watch by the window. "He's coming!"

Practically every female in the room clustered around the outside entrance.

Katrina grinned at me. "Just watch."

I kept my eyes focused in that direction, even as I continued to wash the table.

HE stepped through the door.

My hands stilled and I found myself choking from lack of air. I couldn't stop staring at him. Katrina was right. The Mountie WAS gorgeous.

He stood about six feet tall with dark, cropped hair under a broad rimmed hat. His face was long and squared at the jaw. He had beautiful clear blue eyes and a quiet smile he bestowed on all the girls, the pretty and plain alike. Occasionally, he would smile deep enough so that dimples would appear besides the bow-shaped lips. Even white teeth flashed when he laughed; broad shoulders filled out his leather jacket and red plaid flannel shirt. He had a trim torso, form-fitting jeans and black shoes.

HE was Prince Charming, everything I had ever conceived of as physical perfection in a man.

Katrina sniggered beside me and broke the spell. I glanced at her, curious about her ridiculing laughter. She pointed her finger at the Mountie as he talked with Mrs. Tate. Katrina said, "The Mountie is gay."

I felt the floor waver under me and clutched at the table top for support. "NO!" I protested. "No . . . He's too -- too beautiful to be gay. He can have any girl he wants. NO WAY he could be gay."

Katrina smiled mischievously. "Just you watch. A bald guy with a huge nose will be here in a little while. That's his boyfriend."

"Oh!" The answer came out sharp and puzzled. Someone like him should be married and have kids. HE would never leave them alone to cry. I just knew it.

He hung his Stetson and leather jacket on the coat rack and started setting up chairs to go around the table we were still slowly cleaning. Mrs. Tate waved at us to hurry. We picked up our pace, and tried to keep our ogling from being too noticeable. We watched the fluid, muscular movements of the Mountie's arms and shoulders as he unfolded the chairs and slid them into place as if they were made of sponge instead of heavy battered metal.

Candy, one of the most beautiful girls who stayed at the center, approached the Mountie. I thought Candy looked good standing beside him, her honey blond hair and pale skin the envy of all my childhood wishes. He'll pay special attention to her.

The Mountie beamed the same gentle acknowledgment on Candy as he had on old Mrs. Nelson in the wheel chair, Todd, the annoying five-year old brat, and Mrs. Tate. Candy twisted the ends of her hair about her finger, and smiled coyly up at the tall Mountie; she thrust herself out so that her physical assets were thoroughly displayed. I studied the Mountie's reaction. His face tinged with unease and he made an effort to cut off their conversation.

Katrina snickered again and whispered, "I told you."

Mrs. Tate came to his rescue and sent Candy off on an errand in the store room. The Mountie continued setting up the folding chairs, even as he talked with many of the room's occupants.

Katrina and I finished our job before Mrs. Tate got after us again. After we took the dish cloths back to the kitchen, we busied ourselves with arranging the cutlery on the main serving trestle.

"Now watch," Katrina said softly. From her angle, she could see who was arriving in the door before I could.

A tall, lean man with a prominent nose walked inside. "Hey, Benny!" he called cheerfully.

He wasn't ugly as Katrina had implied. He was nice looking, with a thin face and build. His features proclaimed his Italian heritage, from the slightly brooding look of his brows about his green eyes, to the hooded nose over the wide expressive lips. He had obviously cut his hair short in an effort to minimize a balding spot. You could read every emotion that passed through him directly on his face. He dressed rather nicely, too, wearing a navy turtle neck sweater under a pale grey jacket and matching grey pants.

The Italian called out some greetings to the people in a bright, breezy manner, but it was plain to see his attention was focused on the Mountie. The Mountie stopped shuffling the chairs, and his eyes lit with pleasure when he saw his friend. I tried to eavesdrop on their conversation. It was nothing special, just the usual 'how was your day' kind of talk.

Katrina didn't let go of me. She insisted, "Watch. The Mountie will find some excuse to touch him."

As if on cue, the chair the Mountie had been leaning on slipped; the Italian and the Mountie grabbed for it at the same time. Their hands slid together and stayed that way for several heartbeats before they straightened. I could tell it was more than that, though. A happiness flushed the Mountie's symmetrical features in a way that hadn't been present, even when Candy had brushed herself up against his shoulder. The Italian reached out to straighten the shirt collar about the Mountie's neck, his fingers accidentally stroking the strong neck that rose from the plaid. Was it my imagination or did the Mountie lean against his hand?

Mrs. Tate, from the kitchen door, called out, "I need some help bringing the stew into the room. Would one of you gentlemen like to volunteer?"

At the same time, Andy, a really old guy who helps out occasionally, appeared from the side storeroom. "Hey, fellas, I gotta bring a box of cans in here and it's too heavy for me. Could you help?"

I noticed they didn't even have to decide out loud between them. The Italian dropped his hand and moved toward the kitchen. The Mountie turned to Andy after they exchanged a brief smile. Aw, if it had been my mom and dad, it would have been a kiss. At least before . . .

Katrina and I finished setting out the cutlery. A few minutes later, the air was abruptly split by a high childish scream. Todd zoomed across the full width of the floor, his poor mother in pursuit. Unfortunately, at the same time, the Italian was struggling to bring a heavy pot of stew to the table. Cutting his step short to avoid injuring the small child with the hot pot, the stew slopped up and over the metal edge, liberally splashing the front of his suit.

He yelped in pain, almost as loudly as Todd, from the scalding liquid. A full range of excited invectives followed, rising in a scale from mumbling to ear-smashing as he swung the stew pot on the table. Yet, for all his pain and outrage, he didn't utter a single foul word or exhibit any true animosity.

With genuine concern, he asked Todd's mom, "Is the kid okay?"

"Yes." Todd's mother struggled to keep hold of the boy's shoulders. "I'm sorry, mister."

The Italian brushed it off with a shrug and said nonchalantly, "No problem. Got nieces and nephews swarming all over the place at home. I've had more milk spilt on me than a Wisconsin dairy farmer."

There was something gentle in his eyes and the curve of his lips as he spoke to the upset young woman. I bet he played with those nieces and nephews. A lot.

I grabbed a handful of paper napkins and shyly offered them to the Italian so he could wipe the stew off his suit. He glanced at me in surprise, then smiling, took the napkins. "Thanks."

As he started dabbing at the stains on the light grey jacket, the Mountie came back in, easily carrying the large box of pudding cans. I knew that box weighed a ton; I had tried to move it earlier in the day and thought it would take anti-grav units to budge it. He maneuvered it easily through the growing crowd in the shelter and placed it at the end of the serving trestle. What muscles the man must have!

The Mountie's lips were slightly curled, and his eyes glinted with a wicked amusement. "How many ruined suits does this make, Ray?"

Ray. What a nice name.

'I've stopped counting, Benny. This wasn't too bad. Mostly got my shirt and the spots on the jacket don't show too badly."

I noticed the curiously solemn way the Mountie examined the dark stain on Ray's turtleneck. "No, it doesn't show, but you will have to soak it soon, so the stain doesn't set."

"I'm counting on you to help, Benny. This is all your fault, you know. I'd be home watching the Bull's game on tv if you hadn't talked me into coming here."

The light smile never wavered and their eyes never shifted from each other. "I know, Ray."

Ray flushed abruptly, a goofy smile plastered on his lips. Something had passed between them, but I hadn't caught it.

Mrs. Tate interrupted my thoughts. "Would you entertain the younger children? They are starting to get restless and you are so good with them."

More kids than just Todd were causing mischief out of boredom. I readily agreed. I liked to read books to them, even if Katrina thought it was babyish.

Todd had a favorite volume, all battered and tattered at the edges, in his hands as he wriggled between Mrs. Tate and me. I smiled down at the little brat and clasped his hand. Mrs. Tate smiled at me gratefully as I willingly went with the tow-headed youngster. I was glad to help out. Anything to make sure I had a place to stay with Mama.

As I gathered all the kids, I looked over my shoulder for one more peek at the Mountie. Pleased and confused, I found his pretty blue-grey eyes studying me. He smiled his dimpling smile when he noticed my gaze. It made something flutter in the pit of my stomach.

I got the kids settled in the far end of the big room. It wasn't difficult. In the few days I'd been there, they seemed to enjoy these times as much as me. I had several rows of small bodies pressed about me in a mass semi-circle. I took Todd's fairy tale book with the pretty illustrations and began to read.

Several stories later, Todd asked me for one of my made-up tales. I grinned. It felt good that they thought my stories were as good as the ones in the books. Even without pictures, I held their attention as I told about a little dragon lost from its mama and daddy and all the adventures it went through to find them again. Just as Baby Dragon was clasped safely in the scaley arms of Mrs. Dragon, the dinner gong chimed through the room. The kids bolted to line up for the food table. Todd lingered for a second and leaned in for a hug. It felt good. I wanted to hug something even if it was a runny-nosed brat.

"That was a nice story."

Startled, I looked up to see the Mountie watching me. I wondered how long he had been there. My insides melted as he dropped to his heels beside me, the jeans over his thighs stretching skin-tight. I had to remind myself to breathe. Up close, he was even more handsome with his Prince Charming features and earnest manner. I could see the darker flecks of blue in his incredible eyes.

"I don't think I've seen you here before."

I cast my eyes from his and studied the grey floor. "A few days."

"You have a story teller's voice and manner. Do you write down your stories?"

"Sometimes. Usually in my journal."

"Ah, a journal is good. I keep one, too."

I don't know why that information gave me pleasure. "I just wish I still had it . . ." His open manner made me say more than I had intended.

"Yes?"

Prodded by his sympathy, I found myself recounting the steps that had led Mama and me to this place, glancing uneasily from the ground to his face all the while.

"Daddy lost his job almost a year ago and we couldn't make ends meet. Three months ago he walked out the door and never came back. There was no money left to pay the rent after that. Last week, the super came and locked us out of the apartment, confiscating all our belongings to sell to make up for the lost rent money. When we came here, all Mama and I had were the clothes on our backs. I wish I still had my pink journal with the white flowers." I didn't say anything about the stuffed cat. I'm thirteen and should be beyond toys.

His brows closed together and his features stilled into immobility. I missed the freeness that had been there seconds ago. He rose with a sinuous grace I found exciting. He thoughtfully took his leave of me, much nicer than what I'd seen him do with anyone else except old Mrs. Nelson in her wheelchair.

I went to take my place in line, Katrina joining me. She was full of questions. "You are lucky! Most of the girls here would kill to exchange a word with him and he talked to you!"

I smiled weakly, still trembling from telling him about Mama and me. "He was really nice."

"Look, there he is. With his *boyfriend.*"

The bodies pressing in toward the serving table parted enough to let me see. Katrina was right. The Mountie was talking to the Italian again, but this time they seemed to be having an earnest conversation. I couldn't hear the words above the crowd, but I could see the annoyance on Ray's face as he protested the Mountie's argument. After several minutes and irritating bodies that momentarily cut off my view , Ray seemed to agree, somewhat reluctantly, to whatever the Mountie wanted.

I saw his hand clasp Ray's for a second, pressing it in gratitude. The Mountie's face also leaned forward. He appeared like he wanted to kiss the Italian. Ray even had tilted his head and raised

forward, like my mom's whenever I kissed her good night. However, they stopped almost as soon as they had started. I could see Ray was swallowing hard. With an extra squeeze on the Mountie's hand, he left the building with the same swaggering walk with which he had entered earlier.

The Mountie found me unerringly in all that mass of people and smiled at me; a warm beatific smile that burned through my chest and branded my stomach. I could have died happily then.

Mama joined me for supper. She looked tired with red-rimmed eyes. She had been crying again. Maybe not the loud sobbing kind, but the inside type that tore me apart. I stayed right beside her all during supper and tried to distract her. At my prompting, she told me about her day. All too soon, though, supper was over and it was time for clean up. Katrina and I picked up abandoned plates, scraped them into the appropriate barrels, and carried them to the kitchen.

From nowhere, Bobby confronted us. He flicked open a long jack knife, as he swore about getting back at Katrina. Katrina froze in sheer fear.

I screamed. More blood-curdling than Todd could even imagine!

Bobby turned the knife towards me. It gleamed wickedly under the bright kitchen lights. Saint George would give his soul for that knife cause surely it was long enough to kill any dragon! I KNEW he was going to use it on Katrina and me!

Suddenly, Bobby's knife hand was pulled down in the firm grip of the Mountie, and twisted behind his back. His words were calm and even. "You don't want to do this, son."

Bobby tried to twist away from him, spitting out choice expressions.

Slowly and surely, I heard the Mountie talk Bobby out of his rage and they walked off together. I could hear everyone praising the Mountie, admiring both his strength and diplomatic abilities. I was grateful, too. My heart still raced from the nearness of that wicked blade.

Katrina looked after the Mountie with worshipful eyes. "Why does he have to be gay?" There was a wistful quality about her voice that hadn't been there before; it struck an echo within me, as well.

After the supper dishes were done, I decided I had to get away from everyone. I left Katrina talking with the other teens and made for the side door. It led into the parking lot and, since it was chilly out, I hoped I could find myself alone.

I squeezed into a private place between the edge of the brick building and the shrubbery. From there I could see both the shelter's entrance on one side and out into the curve of the parking lot on the other. This particular spot was a favorite of the teens since they could sneak out here and smoke without being caught. Even though I was cold, I revelled in the feeling of just being by myself.

That's when I saw them. The Mountie and the Italian. They were standing beside an ugly green car, kissing. They had their arms about each other, their faces joined in as impassioned a kiss as I had ever seen a hero and heroine exchange at the movies. Fascinated, I couldn't move or tear my eyes from them.

They were of a height so there wasn't any bending or stooping. Ray's hands fondled the Mountie's arms from his shoulders to his elbows while the larger man kneaded and stroked his back in obvious caresses. The remnants of a distant parking light glistened off their foreheads, and shoulders, casting parts of their joined faces in sharp relief, the rest of their features hidden in dark shadows. It created a romantic atmosphere, I thought dreamily.

By an unspoken agreement, their faces pulled apart but their foreheads still leaned against each other, their arms having slid to grasp each other tightly. Ray said, "Thank you, Benny. I needed that."

There was a look of genuine relaxation on the Mountie's face that had never been present inside the shelter. "Me, too, Ray. Me, too."

They pressed their lips together again and I marvelled how this one kiss seemed gentler than the other, but more intense at the same time. There were several smaller kisses that trailed along each other's faces. I noticed with a grin that the Mountie kissed the tip of Ray's nose before claiming another from his mouth.

They moved apart a little then, but never stopped touching. Ray seemed intent on examining all the shoulder creases on the Mountie's leather jacket.

The Mountie asked, "Were you successful?"

I couldn't see Ray's face but heard him say, "Yeah. I flashed my ID and said Chicago PD at the super. He was ready to let me in and didn't ask about a warrant."

"I knew you had it in you to be charming, Ray."

"Well, don't tell anybody. Must be rubbing off from you."

They closed in for another kiss; they kept this one brief, although the Mountie tried to let it linger.

"Thank you, Ray. I think this will make her happy and, goodness knows, she needs some comfort."

"Benny, you can't save the whole world, you know."

"No, but I'm glad we can provide a little kindness now and then."

Apparently, that was another trigger because they embraced tightly again. Just like Mama and Daddy used to do.

Their voices were lower and harder to catch now. Ray said, "Let's not stay too long tonight, Benny."

A catch marked the Mountie's reply. "Understood, Ray. I totally agree. I promised the little ones, however, I'd play a game with them."

"All right. One game but no Inuit stories."

There was something long and sensual in the way the Mountie curled his lips as he paused before he agreed. "No Inuit stories. I'll save them for you."

The shorn head shook as if he was dismayed, but the tone of Ray's words was husky and invoked shivers I didn't understand inside me. "Yeah, Benny. You save them all for me."

They parted with another kiss. Standing separately, they trudged around the grassy knoll to enter the building, as if nothing more than friendship bound them.

I stayed out there several more minutes, letting everything I had seen sink in. Part of me didn't know what to make of it. Another part of me longed for the days I had seen Mama and Daddy embrace like that.

Katrina opened the side door and stuck her head out. She was searching for somebody, possibly me. I slipped out from between the shrubbery to let her know I was there.

"Girl! Where have you been? Get in here."

I moved to join, easing my muscles from the cramped position I had held so long.

"*HE's* looking for you." Katrina was excited.

"Who?"

"The Mountie! Come on!"

I followed her back into the main room where all but a few tables had been removed. Many chairs lined the walls and people milled about, settling in for the evening.

Katrina didn't let me stand still. She pulled me towards the kitchen doors where Mrs. Tate and my mom stood talking to the Mountie and the cop.

I stopped and held back. What if they knew I had seen them and were reporting me. No. They had given no indication they had seen me. I stared up at the tall Mountie and his partner apprehensively, anyway.

The Mountie smiled at me, holding a brown wrapped package out to me. Behind him, the Italian looked on benignly. I didn't feel any censure from them. Falling to one knee, the Mountie's face was almost at my eye level.

Tentatively, I took the object. At my mom's and Mrs. Tate's encouragement, I pried open the crackling cover and, sudden joy flooding me, cried, "Oh!"

Inside lay my diary -- my pink journal with white flowers! I flipped it open and saw my jagged handwriting. It was MINE! Holding it like it was made of precious metal, I gazed into the gentle face of the Mountie. "Thank you! Oh, thank you!" Words failed me.

I felt his arms envelop me. Softly, he said, "I know what it is like to keep a journal. I couldn't allow yours to be lost. It doesn't solve your problems, but maybe it will ease your pain."

I stepped back and stuttered, "I don't know what to say."

"With your gift for words? Remember to record what you feel and do in your journal every day. Years later, when you look back to today, you'll find the strength you need to face the problems of life."

He had my hand in his, the hand he had used to protect me from Bobby's knife, the hand he had used to run along the Italian's back, the hand that had brought my journal back to me.

He bent and kissed my cheek gently. I thought I heard a few envious sighs around me, but I couldn't tell for certain. I was too light-headed. Mama drew me back against her.

The Mountie smiled at her. "Ma'am, you have a strong daughter."

Mama could only nod. I could see she was too tongue-tied by the Mountie's presence and my journal that was supposed to be behind lock and key.

He walked away after that to join the group of children who were waiting for him to play a board game. He placed his Stetson on Todd's head; the little boy grabbed it happily and settled as close to the Mountie as possible.

Ray distracted me, touching my shoulder gently. Tearing my gaze reluctantly from the broad plaid flannel back, I looked up into his amused hazel eyes. "Come with me, there is something else."

I left my mom with Mrs. Tate and followed Ray across the room. He slid into a chair and patted the one next to him, an invitation for me to sit. I could still see the Mountie, but he had his back to us.

Ray pulled a wrinkled paper sack out from behind the chair. "I've something else for you, as well."

Casting the Italian a quizzical look, I quickly opened the bag. The glass eyes of my stuffed cat sparkled at me! Tears started flowing down my face as I snatched my prized possession from the interior of the sack and hugged it against my chest as if it would disappear if I dared let go. I closed my eyes, letting the feel of the fuzzy and matted fur fill and comfort a raw place inside of me.

Ray chuckled, "I KNEW I was right."

In my inability to express my gratitude, I found myself throwing my arms about his neck, hugging him as hard as the furry cat caught between us. Something broke inside of me and I started to sob. His gentle hands held me to his chest, allowing my head to lie on his shoulder while all the emotions of the day, the week, the year flooded out. I could feel his words rumble deep in his chest as he made cooing, soothing noises as he stroked my hair.

He let me cry as long as I needed and eventually I sat up, still holding onto my stuffed kitty. Ray fished a white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against my tear-stained face. As if he was afraid of being overheard, he said softly, "Benny has a tendency to think books are a person's most important possession. His father's journals are his only link with his childhood. It is hard for him to conceive other things could be as important. When I saw that stuffed cat standing guard over your diary, I knew you needed it, too. It looked too . . .loved not to be important."

I rubbed my nose into the toy's furry hide. "Oh, I don't know how I can ever thank you."

A sadness shone in Ray's eyes. "No. Thank you. You've made him happy tonight. Benny grew up a lonely child. Every time he can lessen the sadness of another helps repair the hurt he endured as a child. I knew you would like the journal, but what you needed was the cat. Who knows, with a Mountie behind you, you might find other miracles in your life, too."

I could only nod dumbly at him, knowing he spoke the truth. I had the diary under one arm and the cat under my chin. I even understood why he had waited to give me the cat in private. He wanted the Mountie to believe he had given me the most important gift. I was so touched by the gentleness of this man with the generous nose and the large heart. I wanted to give him something back that would reflect all the happiness he had provided for me. Suddenly, I remembered the plea in his voice when he asked the Mountie to leave early. I didn't have any material thing to give to either the Mountie or the Italian, but I could make it easier for them to slip away.

I stood and brushed the last of the tears away, my hands still trembling over the pink diary and the matted cat. "I know how to liberate the Mountie from the clutches of the munchkin horde."

"What?" His brows drew together in laughter at my curious statement. He stood as I started to sidle toward the center of the room where the little ones were hooting and carrying on as the Mountie played the game with them.

"I know you want to go as soon as possible. Give me five minutes, ten at the most, and I'll have the group playing a different game so the Mountie and you can leave."

"How did you know I wanted to leave early ---" He stopped suddenly, a look of suspicion dawning in his eyes.

Opps! I had given myself away! I struggled to cover myself with more words. "It will be up to you, though, to get him out of here before anyone else can ask him for a favour. I'll let you thank him for everything!"

With a grin at his startled but pleased expression I darted towards the kids to put my plan into action.

The End

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