This is part of a series relating the adventures of Fraser and Thatcher on a training tour in Disney World. Since all kinds of brand names and corporations are mentioned through the course of this epic, let me make it clear I own none of them, and I have used them purely for the purposes of free entertainment, and will make no personal gain from this. The due South characters belong to Alliance, not me. Disney World belongs to some huge publicly owned conglomerate, not me. I hope they don't sue me for some of the liberties I take in this series. I acknowledge the role of Disney in the American Culture, and recognize it as a national resource. As far as I know, there is no Gorilla Compound Apartment complex at Disney World, and if there is, I am sure it doesn't look like the one I invented.

I also acknowledge that management training seminars are a foundation of the international economy, but do not need to be taken as seriously as Disney. The management theories presented in this series are, hopefully, specious.

This series assumes that season 3/4 did not take place; that Ray and the Riv are still around; that Thatcher never cut her hair or got as strange as she did toward the end, but that Fraser's apartment was burned down and he did live for a while at the Consulate.

RATING: PG

Comments should be directed to tomato_3@excite.com

Fraser took one step off the jet and said "Good Lord!" as he felt the brief flash of damp, dense air that the seal around the Jetway connection couldn't quite keep out. Then the air conditioning being pumped up the walkway from the airport terminal took over. He hoped that the sensation he had just experienced might be false, a chimera brought on by reading too many dire descriptions of the Florida summer heat. He hoped.

Ben and Meg had gone to Ottawa enough times in their tenure together to have the drill down fairly well by now. He went to get the luggage while she got the car. Since Ben seemed to be able to get anything he ever needed into his backpack, it usually meant that he was getting Meg's luggage. He'd noticed that over the course of the time that they had been working together the amount of luggage she took on trips seemed to be shrinking. He was somewhat surprised when she handed him only one claim check this time.

"Pardon me. Sir, but you have only one bag?" He couldn't keep the tone of muted surprise out of his voice. She looked at him with a slight frown.

"Fraser, I gave you one claim check. I can't very well ask you to get bags that I don't have claim checks for, now can I? Yes, I have one bag. If you must know, I decided to set myself something of a challenge to see if I could do it." She said the last with a very small smile. Nodding he turned to baggage claim, hoping that he would be able to lift any suitcase that Meg Thatcher had been able to pack with clothing for two weeks. She grimaced at his comment. He didn't have to know that she'd set that almost impossible challenge as a way of distracting herself from fretting over the next two weeks.

As always, Meg drove and Ben acted as navigator. There was little of the latter to actually do, since all main routes had clearly marked signs for Disney World. It was inescapable. The only good thing that Meg could see was that it was unlikely they could get lost, although she was traveling with Benton Fraser, who as far as she knew had never been lost in his life; at least not geographically. Sometimes she wondered about his emotional grounding, however.

~ Don't go there Meg, you've barely gotten off the plane. ~ She glanced at her traveling companion, who seemed to be focused on absorbing his surroundings, studying the differences between where he'd been and where he was now.

~ Stop thinking about her. Look, palm trees! Think about the vegetation; think about the heat; think about the God-awful humidity!! Work on trying to convince your hypothalamus that you have always lived in a swamp and that 90% humidity is the natural order of things. Stop thinking about the fact that you are moving toward some appointment with destiny. You are going to school, nothing more. ~

The first awkward bit occurred at the resort check-in. They were listed as being part of the seminar, with both of their names clearly shown on the reservation. It was just that next little logical leap that the desk clerk made to assume that they were 'together'. This time Fraser was checking in, Fraser of the mortifyingly limited applicable experience, Fraser who could never let a misinterpretation go uncorrected. Meg had been waiting with the car, which she had double parked. She waited, and waited, and waited, and finally parked the car in a newly opened spot and went into to see what could possibly be holding things up.

"As I'm trying to explain, we are together, in that we are both attending a seminar on emerging management strategies. But I want you to understand, that Inspector Thatcher and I are not together in the way that I think that you mean. It would be most -" She should have known. Only Fraser would try to correct a wrong impression with a desk clerk that they'd never see again.

"FRASER! What is the hold up here?" The desk clerk flinched at the tone of command in Meg's voice. ~ Good! Maybe we can get to the apartment and start dealing with the reality of how we are going to deal with reality. ~

"I apologize, Ma'am. I was just trying to correct the impression that Ms. Morehouse had regarding our accommodations. I -"

"Fraser, I don't think this young lady cares one way or the other about our accommodations. Are we checked-in? Do we know how to get to -" She looked at the envelope that Fraser had handed her containing her key and the address of their apartment. She tried not to blush and failed.

"Do we know how to get to 'Flights of Wonder' number 33? Good, now say good bye to the nice lady and let's get out of here." She charged off for the car, Fraser following.

Ms. Morehouse turned to her fellow desk clerk. "You know they might have gotten away with it, if they both didn't blush like the dickens when they saw the section they were assigned." Laughing, they shook their heads and turned back to their jobs.

Arriving at the aforementioned accommodations, Meg and Ben stopped in their tracks, stunned by the effect the Disney architects had created. A veritable jungle of trees edged the parking lot, with only small paths providing access. The unit numbers were posted on blocks of wood, with the numbers apparently chewed out by some creature with small very sharp teeth. Stepping off the path, Fraser was surprised to discover that what looked like newly fallen leaves was in fact some spongy vinyl matting.

"There is something very strange about an organization that would go to the trouble of fabricating yards of matting to simulate dead leaves and mulch, just to create a path. I have a feeling I'm going to find many very creeping things on this trip." Meg muttered as she, too stepped onto the path to their unit. To find said unit, the two intrepid adventurers had to cross a swaying bridge and scale a staircase apparently carved from rock (but actually cast concrete, with low level path lighting and non-skid strips.) Their apartment was disguised as a treehouse, complete with shredded bark exterior (also precast concrete) set on massive tree branches (still more concrete, with additional artificial leaves.) It was only when they actually reached the front door that Meg realized that the exterior of the structure was covered with hundreds of faces of Disney characters, morphed into animals.

"I am going to have nightmares for the next two years, just on the basis of this wall alone," she muttered to her companion before unlocking the door to their 'nest'.

Meg was relieved to see that it looked like a very nice apartment. Tastefully decorated, not saturated with images of movies she'd secretly watched in her childhood. One side of the apartment was taken up with the two bedrooms and baths, which were essentially strung in a line: small bedroom/bath, then master bath/large bedroom. On the other side of the apartment was the living room/dining room and kitchen. All very neat and reasonably impersonal, if one discounted multiple allusions to primate behavior that were subtlety placed around the room. She chose to ignore them. Of course, it was also possible that she was imagining that the 'magic eye' picture on the wall showed a partially clothed dark-haired man and woman locked in a passionate embrace against a background of swaying palm trees. Perhaps it really was only a picture of a lion snoozing under a tree. Perhaps she'd watched the beach scene in "From Here to Eternity" one too many times, too.

Fraser, for his part, was still trying to determine if Disney had access to some hidden file of animal physiology or if it had undertaken some form of highly illegal recombinant DNA animal research to produce the creatures displayed on the exterior of the unit.

Giving up on that line of thought for the moment, Fraser quickly sized up the layout of the apartment and selected the appropriate bedroom. Throwing his backpack on one of the twin beds in the small bedroom, he then put Meg's less-than-gigantic (being smaller than a steamer trunk) suitcase in the large bedroom.

She had taken a moment to look around. Now she was in full 'carpe diem' mode.

"Once we get settled, I think we should run by the seminar registration area and check-in there, too. Then, it's off to the grocery store." Fraser was a little surprised at this last stop. She correctly interpreted his unasked question.

"The grocery store is an absolute must, Fraser. My family used to have a cottage on Vancouver Island. We'd go there every summer. The first thing we did after we unpacked was to go to the grocery store. We have nothing here that we didn't bring with us, and we can't live out of restaurants for the next two weeks, it would cost a fortune. I cleared it with the E&T Directorate, they pick-up all of the costs of the groceries. It's cheaper than trying to live within the per diem for two weeks. So, we go grocery shopping. I started making a list. Here, you can start adding your stuff to it. Then we'll figure out what else we might need once we get there. In the meantime, I'm going to unpack and change." With that she headed into her bedroom.

Closing the door, she sighed in relief. She'd made it through the first wicket, just getting in the door. The place was laid out so that it was actually possible for each of them to have their own space, thank God. They'd just take it one step at a time and they'd make it. She mentally crossed her fingers.  

~ I will know a dangerous situation when I see it. I just have to stop having these 'Tarzan and Jane' images pop into my head like fireworks. Fraser has not carried me off into his treetop lair to make wild passionate love to me, as chimpanzees shriek and birds sing among the branches. I do not own a leather bikini that he can strip from my quivering body with a mere pull of a strategically placed string . . . . ~

Meg mentally acknowledged that Disney had created a very effective atmosphere of the hot, steamy, sweaty, dark, mysterious jungle. But, she was strong and committed to not giving into rampaging desires to feel his lips all over her body. She would cope. She was, after all a respected member of a respected organization. She had an image to maintain. In the meantime, she might just take a moment to wash her face with very cold water.

A half-hour later, Meg emerged from her bedroom to find Fraser doing an inventory of the kitchen equipment and supplies. Standing up from his perusal of the cabinet under the sink, he discovered that Meg in shorts and a tee shirt was a lot more of a challenge then Meg in slacks and a jacket, primarily because there was more of Meg to see. He'd had no idea that her legs went from there to well . . . . there. Clearly, his grasp of basic human physiology had been impaired by the extremely tight control he had exerted over his imagination where his boss was concerned. He found himself staring at her feet, encased in tan sandals, each toenail painted the exact shade of Mountie Red. He was mesmerized. Suddenly, every piece of clothing on him felt . . . snug.

Fraser had seen his boss in all manner of business attire, eveningwear and the Mountie Red Serge. There was a formality to most of those occasions, a structure that defined their interactions. Fraser realized that they both had used social and situational strategies to define the scope and manner in which he and the Inspector related to each other. It was equally disconcerting to him to realize that he too was no longer able to hide behind his uniform. Only rarely had he ever been around his boss when he wasn't in uniform. Shorts, tee shirts and sandals had the impact of more than revealing skin.

He mentally promised himself to review his personal manual on 'the relationship between clothes and behavior' which he had prepared soon after he arrived in Chicago. He wasn't sure that he had written a section of 'How to Relate to your boss when you both have significantly less apparel on than in normal business hours, and she looks beautiful, approachable, kissable . . . .' Perhaps he'd work on that section when he couldn't sleep tonight.

Meg too took a moment to assess the situation. She might have been surprised to discover that they were both thinking many of the same things. Actually, she might have been scared shitless.

~ Good Lord, Fraser dressed for the beach is even more of a trial than Fraser in uniform. I guess my theory that it was just all that Red Serge that turned me on is another myth. He looks casual, relaxed, accessible. Get a grip, Meg, and not on him!! ~ She tried to cover her pause by digging in her purse.

"Ready to go?"

Seminar registration was in a suite in the Contemporary resort hotel. Waiting for them were the seminar organizers, Peter Taylor. ("Call me Pete, we don't stand on formality in these sessions.") and Jasmine Jacobs. After introducing themselves, he handed Meg and Ben two very thick envelopes.

"Here's the basic orientation packet. If possible, We'd like you to read it before we meet tomorrow. There is also a questionnaire we'd like you to complete and bring with you tomorrow, too. As you'll see, the seminar is composed of a combination of discussions, group activities, and team field studies. Our goal, as you will see from the material, is to rebuild your mental and emotional paradigm for collaborative teaming arrangements." Meg had opened her package and was already skimming through the material as he spoke. Fraser was concentrating on what the man was saying as well as the myriad of other nonverbal information he was conveying.

"What we've discovered is that teams, especially small teams, are most likely to have fairly rigid structural relationships, relying on rank and status to define relationships rather than capabilities. This tends to sub-optimize the team efficiency. We've found that remolding these relationships into a more personal, capabilities-based relationship significantly improves the overall team effectiveness. So, with that end in mind, we've designed a series of exercises to allow team members to get to know each other better in contexts other than the purely official."

At this Meg looked up from the papers in her hand to stare at Fraser just as he turned to look at her. ~ Oh Dear! ~

"We've found that breaking down the barriers between team members, so that they see the person beyond their everyday face is a critical component of success." Pete smiled as he explained the basic tenets of his management philosophy.

Pete always liked to see how these high-powered types reacted to the idea that they were going to have to step outside their personas in order to succeed in this course. These two were interesting, since they seemed to be reacting a little atypically - much more controlled. It was unusual to see a team with that much restraint. Looking at the two of them - mid thirties, good looking, no wedding rings, healthy, and standing just far enough apart to not intrude on their personal space, but not so far apart that they would be mistaken for not being together, hmmm. He looked down at the registration sheet: Inspector Margaret Thatcher and Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

Oh, now it was clear. These were the Mounties. It was unusual to have Canadians in these seminars. From his experience, they tended to figure things out in one of three ways: sit down with a large amount of beer and talk about caribou, sit down with a large amount of beer and talk about hockey, or go off into the woods. He wasn't sure where these two would fall in that matrix, or if they had their own new category. Anything was possible. He was pleased to have them in the seminar, however. He'd found that Canadians tended to have a refreshingly different way of thinking about things.

"Thank you kindly for the information. We'll be sure to review it. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow." Ben said with a smile. Turning to his boss he said, "Sir," as if to see her wishes on the subject of leaving, something not missed by Pete.

"Oh, no, Ben. A basic rule of this seminar is 'NO TITLES'. For the next two weeks, no one is allowed to call anyone by any title. No Sir's, No Doctor's, No Professor's, No Inspector's, No Constable's. Only first names will be used - both in sessions and out of sessions. Now, since it appears that you two are not used to referring to each other by your given names, you will have to practice this. Now let's hear you say it." Jasmine explained. She watched as the two turned to face each other. After a long pause, when she suspected that they were actually taking a deep breath, Fraser finally said,

"Meg." Jasmine was surprised that a person could pack as much feeling into such a short sound. For some reason that she couldn't understand, she thought of glaciers calving icebergs in the Spring thaw; of large chunks of ice breaking apart and drifting out to sea.

Meg, knowing what was required, and accepting all that went with this, was able to say to Fraser, finally.

"Ben." Jasmine was once again surprised. She'd never heard a woman's voice sound so close to the deep peel of a Japanese temple bell. For a moment, she thought she could actually feel the vibrations of Meg's voice as they dissipated through the room.

"There, that wasn't so hard, now was it? Why, with a little practice, I'm sure that will come quite naturally to you. You won't even have to stop and think about it." Pete was delighted.

Meg muttered something under her breath as she turned toward the door, leaping at the chance to escape. Only Fraser, of the hyper acute hearing heard her say. "That's what I'm afraid of." She could have taken the words right out of his mouth. This was stacking up to be a very risky learning experience.

Reaching the car at record speed, they stopped and stared at each other over the top of the vehicle. As one they said

"Groceries!"

Later that evening.

"They've checked in; I've met them."

"So, what do you think?"

"I'm in! I have never in my life seen two people with more repressed desire who are still able to walk and talk at the same time. Jeez, how do their coworkers take it? Is this some kind of Mountie endurance thing, or something?"

"Ha, I knew I was right! I knew you'd see what I see. They try to hide it; they never give into it as far as I can see. And by inordinate good fortune, they have two of the most oblivious people working with them that you are ever likely to meet. But, this is not a really healthy situation, and we have big plans for that consulate. I would really like to see this get worked out one way or the other, so we can start with the next phase of the transition."

"Yeah, but most organizations do not encourage this kind of thing. Why are you doing this if it will put them at risk?"

"The plans we have will support this kind of situation, if it comes to pass. Don't worry, I'm not intending them any harm."

"Well, I'll keep you posted on the progress. Wish me luck!"

Next: Grocery Shopping