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. However, all of the other characters are mine, so I get to make them do just what I want.

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 Meyers-Briggs Type Indicators (MBTI) and similar personality type categorization schemes are used without permission of the copyright holders, however, I have tried to not abuse the concept too much.

RATING: G

Comments should be directed to tomato_3@excite.com

 NOTE: Remember that this series is primarily a romance. . . .

Having escaped the registration procedure largely unscathed, but very disconcerted, the two worthy Mounties headed to the next stop on their adventure - the grocery store.

In his role as navigator, Fraser now guided Meg to the large, massively outfitted 24-hour grocery store only 2 miles from the Gorilla Compound. Upon entering, they had to first decide who should have the shopping cart and who should carry the list. Opting for their already familiar roles, Meg took the former and Ben handled the latter. Now, however, Fraser came into his own. While the navigation from the airport to the apartment had been inordinately simple, making their way through the grocery store was guaranteed to be more of a test of his skills.

Meg's list had covered the basics: dish washing detergent, laundry detergent, dryer sheets, paper towels, margarine, juice, milk, bread, eggs, fruit, popcorn, twinkies, suntan lotion, etc. It did, however, lack for some specificity.

"Uh . . . ." Fraser was not going to be the first to follow the 'name rule' - with any luck they might be able to avoid it for some time. He did, however, have some questions. Clearing his throat before continuing he asked,

"Uh, if I may ask, what do you eat?" Meg looked nonplused for a moment. She'd been looking around the store, trying to figure out how the layout was different from the one she typically went to in Chicago. She was caught off guard a little by his question. Food was such a personal issue, so revealing of the inner person. She couldn't very well just say ~ I live off of cheese, crackers, pickles, carry out and convenience foods. ~ Instead, she just stopped and stared at him.

Recognizing a possible issue, Fraser chose to try to more effectively scope out the territory through an organized search.

"Perhaps it would help if we decided what meals we are likely to eat - " now he paused, trying to decided whether it was safer to say that they would be 'eating in', definitely not 'eating at home.'

"To be eating at the apartment. Most likely we can count on breakfast for the next several days and dinner tonight. Perhaps we should just go for the basics." And with that thought he headed off, Meg following with the cart. He tried as hard he could to sound matter-of-fact about the whole situation, however even discussing the idea of having breakfast with Meg Thatcher over the next several days was, well, disturbing to Fraser's equanimity.

Over the next half hour, Fraser navigated the obstacle course of the grocery store as he collected what seemed like a reasonable combination of foods for the specified meals. Meg participated in this effort, but largely by way of indicating preferences. Fraser was beginning to form a hypothesis regarding her behavior. On the basis of his suspicions, he began to just make selections and see what she said. Her eyes grew huge at the combination of fruits and vegetables he put in the cart. She didn't even recognize some of them.

They did have one minor crisis - the suntan lotion selection. They spent easily 10 minutes standing in front of a six foot by six foot tower of lotions, sprays, oils, and salves, trying to figure out what they would need. Here Fraser was at a loss - he had never used any product of this type, with the possible exception of seal fat to protect his skin from the biting wind of the North. As far as he could recall, he'd never been sunburned. Frostbite, windburn, yes, but not sunburn. In this area, Meg had eminent domain.

"I think we need to be pretty careful, since neither of us has any kind of sun exposure on the order of what we will get here." Turning to look at Fraser, she cast a clinical eye over his visage, trying to gauge whether he could get away with SPF 30, or if SPF 45 should be the first step.

"With your fair skin and blue eyes, you'll be more vulnerable. I think you are going to have to go with the heavy duty lotions for a start." Using selection criteria of which he was totally ignorant, Meg picked out three different products and tossed them into the cart. Eventually they were able to check out and head 'home.'

Arriving back at the apartment, they proceeded to unpack and stow the various items. Meg had been more than a little unnerved by the shopping trip. She had been mentally unprepared for the need to express a preference for food. While she loved to eat, she hated to cook, primarily because she was not very good at it. Over the years, she had learned to make probably two dozen things that she really liked - garlic bread, chocolate pudding, tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, rice krispies treats. Beyond those, she pretty much lived on food made by strangers.

Fraser, on the other hand, seemed quite comfortable in parts of the store that she never even entered - like the meat section. She had tried to cook a beef roast for some friends, once. They'd ended up eating pizza that night. He had picked some hunk of fish to make for dinner tonight. Fish was far too exotic for Meg to even contemplate preparing. She did, however, need to regain some measure of control of the situation, otherwise she suspected all would be lost.

"I'll review the material in the information packets while you do . . . . whatever you are going to do with all of that food." The kitchen had a fairly large counter that acted as a serving space and pass through for the dining area. Meg sat there, spreading out the contents of the information packets, reading to him from various parts. For his part, Ben sliced and diced his way through a pile of tomatoes, onions, green peppers, garlic and mushrooms.

At the end of an hour, Ben had prepared dinner while Meg had reviewed and summarized the materials, identifying those action items requiring their attention that evening. They had discussed several of the pieces of information and agreed on a course of action. It had all been very efficient and relaxed, and in some small way, it scared them both. It had been too easy, too comfortable.

Dinner continued in this vein. Meg was truly amazed at what Fraser had been able to create while she sat there reading the material. She had been aware that he'd been doing things, washing and cutting things. She'd set the table when he'd told her dinner was almost ready, but she hadn't known what to expect when they sat down. Little aluminum foil bundles on plates, surrounded by rice, with a tossed salad. Mystified, she opened the bundle to discover poached fish with julienne vegetables. It looked better than what she'd had in most French restaurants. It also tasted delicious. He seemed pleased at her reaction.

"Okay, I give. How did you learn to cook like this? I mean, as far as I can tell, you've spent most of your life in the Territories. Don't tell me your grandmother was a gourmet cook, too?" She said this with a smile, but she was very interested. It was another mystery of the many that seemed to surround this man.

Fraser leaned back, surprised at her question, since what he'd prepared wasn't all that difficult or unusual. It was actually just a variation on camp fare. He smiled at the thought, recalling his grandmother's cooking skills.

"Far from it. My Grandmother was known throughout the territories as being one of the worst cooks in the country. On the rare occasions when she invited people over to the house, they always insisted on making it a 'potluck' dinner, and then avoided anything that could have been found in a pot in our kitchen. Fortunately, my grandparents' library included several cookbooks. Somehow among the 'Basque Cookery for Beginners', 'The Joy of Patagonian Cooking', 'The Sunset Magazine of Holiday Appetizers', and the two-volume set by Escoffier, I taught myself to cook. It was a matter of survival, you might say." He laughed at this, recalling some of his experiments. Ultimately, friends from town were willing to come to the Fraser's for dinner, as long as 14 year old Ben was cooking.

"How old were you when you decided to teach yourself how to cook?" Meg was curious. She also was intrigued, since she had rarely seem Fraser look this relaxed around her, let alone laugh.

"Oh, probably about eight. I recall that I was tall enough to light the fire in the wood stove. My Grandmother was a strong proponent of self sufficiency, so she viewed my efforts as part of this process. I came to enjoy cooking, its just that I don't find it particularly relevant when it's just for myself." He discretely studied her response to this statement, curious to see if his hypothesis would hold. Meg had listened closely to his tale, actually nodding at parts.

"I know what you mean. I didn't have a Grandmother who couldn't cook; it was my mother. She didn't think cooking was important. She viewed it as a sexist plot to keep women enslaved in the kitchen, and so she made a point of never learning how to cook. When I was growing up we had Gregory, who was a wonderful cook. Since Mother would never have victimized a woman by hiring her to cook, she insisted that all of the household help be male." Meg grimaced at the memory of her Mother's iron will and forbidding nature. Fraser was tying to grapple with the idea that Meg grew up with men in service positions. It explained a few things.

"The little I know I learned from him on the sly. Mother would have been appalled that I was even interested. Then, when I was out on my own, it just became too much trouble." Meg said this with surprising candor.

Ben would never have expected her to be at sufficient ease around him to give any kind of information on her background. The little he knew of her came from miscellaneous snippets that she had occasionally dropped over time. Perhaps she was just tired from the flight and had her guard down momentarily. He did not expect that type of candor to last, however.

Noting that they had finished their meal, he reached over to collect her plate, in preparation for cleaning up. She stopped his hand. He was so surprised he actually flinched. She noticed.

"Oh no. Cottage rules when I was growing up were that the ones that didn't cook clean up. So, I do the dishes. Why don't you look over the orientation materials." He was used to her directing him to perform all manner of menial chores (although far fewer than she had at the beginning of her tenure) that he had automatically figured that this situation would persist. She looked at him, recognizing the source of his response.

"Its clear from the course materials that the only way we are going to get through the next two weeks is to try to redefine our behaviors and work as a team. I think that means that we have to change some of the tasks we've typically done." Having explained herself, also extremely unusual, Meg picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink, from where she continued talking to Ben.

"The only thing that I can see that we need to do tonight is the Meyers-Briggs questionnaire." Fraser, after recovering from this new shock sat down to prepare for the next day.

"Have you ever gone through one of these personality categorization schemes?" He asked her, having looked over the survey form in question.

"Yes, as part of one of the training courses after I was promoted to Inspector. How about you?" She was standing at the sink , wearing the 'I Go Ape For Bananas' apron she'd found in a drawer, looking far more domestic than she realized or probably would have wanted.

He was trying very hard not to respond to this image by focusing his attention on the materials, which he was studying as if his survival might depend on having them memorized. He knew he was being ridiculous, it didn't help. Emotionally, he was being drawn to her as if she were a lodestone and he were a pile of metal shavings. He was totally unprepared for this experience. He felt as though he should be able to resist the lure. Part of the problem, of which he was abundantly aware, was that he'd never lived with a woman. He'd spent all of his adult life on his own. He was extremely disturbed to discover how easy it was to be with Margaret Thatcher in this quasi-domestic arrangement. It scared the living daylights out of him and he knew he didn't scare easily. He could have sworn he heard his father chuckle, but refused to look around for him. Instead, he focused on responding to her question.

"I completed one of the self test forms once, out of curiosity. I've read about Jung's theory and understand the concept of the four main personality components. It will be interesting to see what a more formalized testing approach produces by way of an assessment. As I recall, you are supposed to complete the full questionnaire in one sitting. Circumstances and mood can significantly impact the results." So saying, he got out his number 2 pencil and went at it.

Meg continued washing the dishes. She actually didn't mind doing the dishes, and had been sincere in calling forth the 'cottage rules' of her childhood. It was the only strategy that she could come up with to help guide her through this situation. She'd had more surprises in the last five hours than she'd had in weeks which, given that she was Benton Fraser's nominal supervisor, was saying something. Fundamental to her surprise was the realization that once again, Fraser had adapted to a new situation by merely acting as his nature led him. This was a man who did what was needed, whether he was asked to or not. It always amazed her that regardless of whether she agreed with his assessment of what the situation required, he'd proceed as he saw fit and he was correct more often than not. Sometimes that really pissed her off.

He'd done the shopping for the two of them, and then made this beautiful dinner, all as if this was the most normal thing in the world. It had required that she figure out a functional role for herself in this situation. Otherwise, he would have done everything, and she would have felt like a little Canadian princess. It was a point of pride with Meg that she did her share of the work. She hadn't always had such a sense of parity in her dealings with others and wondered where this impulse toward fairness had come from. Deep down, she suspected that exposure to Fraser and his overdeveloped sense of ethics and fair play was influencing her, somewhat like being overexposed to x-rays.

So, she stood at the sink, washing pots and pans, recognizing that her manicure was being wrecked and not really caring overly much, thinking. That was the really dangerous part about doing the dishes, you got to be alone with your thoughts. Among the many truths she was struggling with was the one that said that being with Fraser in this situation was too easy.

She'd lived with a man for a short time after college. It had been a disaster, primarily because he was a selfish ball of pond scum and she was not used to having to share anything, particularly her space and her fingernail polish remover. They had parted fairly abruptly, and she had never let another man get inside her defenses again. Joining the RCMP had allowed her to respond to the need to give back to society for having supported her family in such a lavish way when she was growing up, but romantic relationships had been less than optimal. She quickly realized that being young and attractive in a male dominated environment, particularly a uniformed service, was a double edged sword. While she may have benefited from somewhat faster promotions, the additional attention was not always desirable.

Then she'd been assigned to Chicago and had to deal with Constable Benton Fraser. Like walking in a large forest full of paths, you don't know how far you've gone until you turn around a look back. Its all just a little mysterious, how one can change without realizing it. So, now she found herself in this situation with Fraser, each trying to cope as best as they could. They intuitively knew how to meld their activities to get the job done. She desperately hoped it was just a fluke tonight, but she didn't think so.

Turning slightly, she glanced over at him, sitting at the dinner table. He was concentrating on the survey form, so he didn't notice her watching him. The light over the table shown down on his head, highlighting the waves that he tended to comb into a tamed mass, shading his eyes. He was probably one of the handsomest men that she'd ever seen, and definitely the nicest, if also more than a little eccentric at times. She had to resist falling into the trap of seeing him only on the surface. Fraser had far to many hidden folds in his personality, unexpected capabilities and surprising gaps to be considered just on the surface.

But deep down, she knew she was a goner.

He looked up at her at that point, having finished the form.

"Done?" She asked. He nodded, and then asked her the same. She indicated the neatly stacked set of dried dishes and pans.

"Well, I think I'm ready to turn in, then. Who knows what tomorrow will bring." She paused before her bedroom door before adding,

"Good night Ben, see you in the morning." There, she'd done it and actually made it sound normal.

"Good night, Meg, sleep well." How did he make that sound as though he'd hugged her? With a mental shiver, she closed her door.

They had managed to get through the first day of their trip; only 13 more to go. However, they hadn't even started the seminar yet.

See, that wasn't too hard. Of course, the true trials still lay ahead, like white water rapids that are heard right around the bend in the river . . . .